Polly Deacon Mysteries 4-Book Bundle

by H. Mel Malton

  Thirty

  No flies on us! In the middle of bug season, when they’re stinging and biting and driving you crazy, come to the Kountry Pantree “Bug Off!” department. We have everything you need in the way of sprays, repellent and lotions. Don’t get stung, get even!

  —An ad in the spring edition of Kuskawa Fishing Magazine

  Serena Elliot may not have been doing any praying for good weather, but a lot of other people must have, because Saturday dawned with a perfect blue sky and a big, happy, yellow smiley-faced sun that was completely at odds with the way I was feeling.

  First of all, I didn’t sleep much at all on Friday night. After I got home from Tim Hortons, I went straight to bed and lay there, staring at the ceiling, tears leaking out of my face and turning my pillow into a disgusting, slimy mess. I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself. I was, in fact, hating myself pretty thoroughly. Hating what I had done to Mark Becker and picking apart the threads of the rope I’d used to hang myself. I played his last words to myself on a continuous loop: “You must think I’m some kind of, I don’t know . . . animal.” Well, yeah. I guess I had thought that. I had assumed that he had no integrity, and in doing so, had proved that I didn’t have a scrap of it myself. The dogs thought I’d gone crazy. Eventually they gave up whining and licking my face and just curled up beside me on the bed, heaving great melancholy sighs until they fell asleep. I continued to stare at the ceiling.

  I must have slept a bit, because I did wake up, or at least come to. And I was still in a wretched state. I threw up again.

  I did make it to the Art Show on time, though, with the Kountry Kow costume and Eddie beside me. Eddie had taken one look at my face and said “You sick?” It was easiest just to say yes. “Well, don’t give it to me,” he said and stayed at his end of the truck cab. The only way I could give it to you, my lad, is to teach you an instinctive mistrust of the opposite sex that goes so bone-deep you don’t even know you’re doing it. Maybe it is something you can pick up from somewhere. Maybe it’s something you can blame on your parents or your genes. Maybe it comes to you in the form of experience. The night before, I had walked through every sexual and/or romantic relationship I had ever had. There were dozens of them. Some made me hot with shame to remember. Some made me sad. Some angry. None of those memories gave me any indication that I’d ever trusted the men I was trying to love. I was completely empty long before I’d emptied my insides in the ferns next to the woodpile.

  “Morninggg!” Yolanda called as we came in, moving towards us, wreathed in smiles. “Arly was here first and brought food! Jesus, Polly, what happened to you?”

  “She’s sick. Don’t get too close to her,” Eddie said, and headed for the back, where Arly’s pastries and a pot of coffee were set up.

  “That right?” she said, taking my chin in her hand and turning my head towards the light from the window. “You look like you’ve been beat up.”

  “Nothing I didn’t do to myself, Yolanda,” I said. “Drop it, okay? I can’t talk about it right now, and we have to get through this day.” Perversely, I had put Becker’s ring on its chain back around my neck. I don’t think it was for comfort. I’m not sure what it was for.

  Arly breezed in with a stack of Bath Tub Bash programmes, which weren’t available to the general public yet, she said. She’d gone out to the Gazette office and scrounged them. Then Dimmy arrived, and I was able to snap out of my daze, or at least appear to. I drank a cup of coffee and nibbled a cherry danish and chatted, saying whatever came into my mind, and apparently passing for an intelligent, fully functional human being.

  At twenty after nine, Eddie finished his fourth danish and climbed inside Audrey, ready to give our visitors a bit of a scare by making her move and occasionally try to bite people. At nine-thirty we opened the doors. The streets were already starting to fill with people—the Bath Tub Bash attracts thousands. The Race wasn’t scheduled until noon, so we had a bit of time, and the Art Show was a pleasant novelty for those who had already walked the downtown strip a couple of times.

  We had decided to put prices on most of the work on exhibit, although we didn’t expect to sell more than one or two pieces. The point of the show was to offer something different, to suggest to the solid citizens of Laingford that art in Kuskawa wasn’t all pastel puppies and canoes on lakes. Maybe we hit the right idea at the right time—who knows? But by eleven thirty, there were little red “sold” dots on three of Dimmy’s photos, two of Yolanda’s big (and expensive) paintings and two of my marionnettes. Arly was over the moon, having found a home for the ashtray breasted lady, and I had turned down a thousand-dollar offer from an American who wanted to take Audrey home with him. Eddie was a big hit, especially when there were little kids in the place.

  The only low point was at about ten-thirty, after Eddie had been snapping Audrey’s mouth and waving her tentacles at a pair of middle-aged sisters who giggled like children and swatted at the foam rubber with their handbags. Suddenly there was an almighty yell from inside the puppet, and Eddie burst out of it, waving his arms over his head.

  The sisters shrieked and then burst out laughing, thinking it was part of the act, but Eddie was obviously in pain.

  “What on earth?” I said, moving in to provide comfort if I could. Had one of Audrey’s springs come loose and stabbed him?

  “I just got stung!” Eddie said, outraged, pointing to a nasty red weal that was rising on his forearm. “I felt it buzzing in there and then it stung me. Jeez, Arly! I thought you said they couldn’t get out.” The sisters looked over at where Eddie was pointing—to the Jar of Death, where Arly’s angry hornets buzzed and butted at the glass. The women beat a hasty retreat.

  “Shit,” Yolanda said. “They were about to ask about the blue canvas, I’m sure of it.”

  “Eddie, you’re not going to have a reaction, are you?” I said. “You’re not allergic?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve been stung before. But man, it hurts.” Arly, full of apologies and insisting that the insect that stung Eddie couldn’t have been from her jar, went out to get ice and some baking soda, which she said was the best remedy.

  “Did you kill it, whatever it was?” Dimmy said. “Or is it still buzzing around in there?”

  “Oh, I squished it, I’m pretty sure,” Eddie said. Cautiously, he went back to the giant puppet and checked inside it. “Yeah. You can see bug parts on the floor. I got it okay.”

  “Yolanda, I know Arly said those things can’t get out, but I’m not so sure,” I said.

  “Me neither,” she said.

  “And if Arly got stung, it could be dangerous.” I remembered the epi-pen thing that she’d displayed at the Oxblood Falls the week before. I hoped fervently she had it with her, just in case. We didn’t need any more death.

  “Why don’t we put the jar into that closet at the back?” Dimmy said. “I’m sure Arly won’t mind, once she sees how concerned we are. The closet’s got a good tight door. I know I’d feel better.”

  “Me, too,” Eddie said. “In fact, I’m not getting back in there until the jar’s out of here.” That clinched it. We entombed the jar in the closet and everyone inspected the inside of Audrey in case there was another lurking hornet. It was too bad, because the Jar of Death had been a popular exhibit—Arly had managed to instill the piece with a kind of evil that went far beyond the buzzing creatures in the jar. However, we were all palpably relieved with it out of the way. Arly, when she came back, was perfectly understanding, and continued to apologize to Eddie as she bathed his wound. Eddie went back inside Audrey for another half an hour, and all was well.

  At eleven, Eddie emerged and went into the washroom to splash cold water on his hot face, then he and I headed for a room at the back, where Kountry Kow was ready and waiting.

  “Is David Kane coming up here to put the costume on?” Arly said.

  “Oh, no, Arly. Eddie’s doing it, but you mustn’t tell anybody. He’s getting big bucks to be Kane’s stunt double,” Yolanda said. Edd
ie and I had stressed the need for secrecy, explaining that Eddie wouldn’t get paid if the secret became known.

  “Eddie? He’s wearing the Kow thing?” Arly said. She seemed to be horrified.

  “Hey, chill, Arly. It’s not as if I’m, you know, joining the Nazis, eh?” Eddie said.

  “No, it’s just, wait...” she said and dashed into the room where the costume was, slamming the door behind her.

  “What’s with her?” Eddie said, then he chuckled and whispered in my ear. “She probably left a mooshy little love note pinned inside or something.”

  “Yeah,” I whispered back, “or taped a ‘Kick Me’ sign to the back of it.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Come on. We haven’t got a lot of time.” Arly came out, blushing and stammering, but Eddie only patted her arm. “We understand, Arly. We won’t mention it.” She gave him a peculiar look and went back to the front of the show room.

  It didn’t take us long to suit Eddie up and velcro and snap him into costume. Yolanda pulled a curtain across the front window of the storefront to mask the interior from prying eyes, and I led Eddie out into the room.

  “Brava, brava, Polly,” Dimmy and Yolanda shouted, applauding. “It’s a beautiful mascot,” Yolanda said. “I love the udder!” She gave one of the teats a squeeze and it squeaked at her. Even Arly laughed when Eddie, who was a natural animator, backed off and grabbed the teat as if he’d been pinched.

  “Now, the trick to pulling this off, Eddie, apart from staying afloat, is to stay silent. One word from the mascot and the illusion is gone, as well as your secret identity.”

  Kountry Kow nodded majestically. Eddie had picked up the trick of nodding using his whole head and his neck muscles. Just nodding normally wouldn’t do more than make the mascot head jiggle a bit.

  There was a knock at the back door, and I opened it furtively. There stood a young man in a Bath Tub Bash T-shirt and a walkie talkie.

  “I was told to come and get Mr. Kane,” he said. “Is that him?”

  “It’s Kountry Kow, yes,” I said, determined not to lie outright for the sake of the developer’s ego. “He won’t say anything because he’s in character,” I added.

  “Cool,” the young man said and grinned. “I’m supposed to guide him back here, too, after the race. You’ll be here?”

  “Sure. Keep him safe. He can see quite well, but he might tend to trip over his feet.”

  We watched from the back window as the Bath Tub Bash official led Kountry Kow slowly to the docking area, which was teeming with contestants, officials, spectators and media.

  “I see they’ve got two TV stations this year,” Dimmy said. “Nice coup for the organizers.”

  “Nice gig for the media,” I said. “A day up in Kuskawa, soaking up the sun and having a bunch of starstruck northerners treating you like a god.” It was true. I saw one fairly well-known video journalist from the Barrie station being positively mobbed by scantily clad teenage girls. “Tough job,” I muttered. “Well, we might as well lock up and go down there. I’ll make sure I’m back to let Eddie back in.”

  “I’ll be here, too,” Arly said.

  “We all will,” Yolanda said. “To congratulate the winner, maybe.”

  “He’ll be lucky if he makes it through the race without half drowning,” I muttered. Through the window, I could see that Kountry Kow had been noticed already. The TV cameras were moving in on him, and there were several little children trying to catch hold of his tail. Saying a little “Please keep him safe” prayer to whomever might be listening, I let the others precede me out the back door, locked it firmly behind me, and waded into the crowd.

  The contestants were lined up in a row along the side of the public dock, each bobbing tub held in place by an official, lying on his or her tummy and holding on with both hands. There were about twenty tubs, and already, one contestant had dumped theirs. Dumping meant disqualification. Over a powerful public address system, a radio voice announced each tub sponsor one-by-one, and the corresponding rider lifted a hand and acknowledged the crowd as it roared its approval. The mascot gimmick had worked, big time. When the Kountry Pantree tub was named and Kountry Kow raised its fuzzy arm, the crowd went nuts. Two tubs over from the Kow, Archie Watson, dressed in an old fashioned grocer’s apron and a top hat, glared malevolently at his rival.

  “This is a grudge match,” Arly muttered in my ear. She was standing beside me, looking pale. “My dad wants this so much he can taste it.” What do you want, I wanted to ask, but I just nodded. Archie Watson did look like this meant more than just a silly race in a bunch of fibreglass Bath Tubs.

  The starter’s pistol fired, and the tubs were off, with a buzzing of tiny engines, like a swarm of electric shavers. Then the noise of the tubs was overwhelmed by the noise of the crowd and the blaring of the loudspeaker. The beginning of the race was not as spectacular as an Indy heat—you have to remember that the tubs were moving at a slower pace than you or I can run, but it was exciting, nonetheless. The pack of tubs thinned out very quickly as the less experienced tubbers bumped into each other, got tangled and sank. The rescue team, a very decorative clutch of buffed and tanned muscle boys from one of the resorts, rode in on Sea-Doos and picked the fallen from the river, towing the waterlogged tubs back to the dock.

  Maybe it was the added weight of the costume, or maybe Eddie was being guided by a higher power, but he was somehow in the lead. The announcer started providing colour commentary.

  “It’s Kountry Kow in the lead, and Emma’s Posies right up his butt,” the announcer said, to appreciative laughter from the crowd. “Sports Cave third and right behind him, Watson’s General Store!” Archie, in his shiny black Watson’s tub, was gaining every moment, his face grim.

  “Now it’s the first turn and the hoop pick-up. Can they do it?” the announcer asked. Kountry Kow reached out to a Sea-Doo rider, whose job it was to distribute the hula hoops. He grabbed the hoop in his black hoofed hand and went on.

  “This is the hard part,” Arly said. The Kountry Pantree tub raced for the marker buoy marked with a big red flag with Emma’s Posies hot on its tail. The Kow tossed, and a roar went up as the hula hoop ringed the buoy neatly. “Horseshoes,” I muttered. “Eddie’s a great horseshoe player.”

  “So’s my dad,” Arly said, and sure enough, Archie’s hoop went over the buoy first time, too.

  “That’s two hoops and Kountry Kow’s in the lead, with Watson’s getting the jump on Emma’s Posies,” the announcer said. “Emma’s Posies is having a little trouble with this one, folks. Get the pointy thing into the round thing, dear!” the announcer shouted. I only hoped the tubbers couldn’t hear him. The crowd thought it was hilarious. The Posy girl took two tries before she ringed the buoy, but the Sports Cave guy ringed it easily and aimed for the leaders.

  “Atta boy,” the announcer said. “He knows where to put it, folks.”

  “Jeez,” I said to Arly, “I thought this was a family event.”

  “Oh, it’s always like this,” she said. “The announcer’s Dick Dolly from MEGA FM. He’s a little crude.”

  “No kidding.”

  Kountry Kow was still in the lead, and now Emma’s Posies was back up with the pack. “Hey, there, the little lady plays dirty!” the announcer cried, as Emma’s girl got hold of the back of the Sports Cave tub with her free hand and started trying to tip it.

  “Is that allowed?” I said.

  “Anything’s allowed, short of shooting your opponents,” Arly said. “Oh, he’s down.” And he was. Even above the roar of the crowd, I could hear the Sports Cave guy shouting at Emma’s rider. He was calling her a bitch, and his face was contorted with rage.

  Now Archie was trying to pull the same move on Kountry Kow. Both tubbers had small fishing nets inside their boats for the purpose of catching a rubber ducky, and Kountry Kow grabbed his net and whacked Archie’s hand with it.

  “Ouch, that smarts,” the announcer said, but the crowd was loving it.
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  “This reminds me of roller derby,” I said.

  “What’s that?” Arly said.

  “Think World Wrestling Foundation on roller skates,” I said.

  “Cool. Oh, poor Dad,” she said. Archie had dropped his net in the water. He had to circle around to pick it up again and lost valuable ground. The Emma girl was upon him, screaming like a maniac. Behind them, the rest of the pack was catching up.

  “Uh-oh. Kountry Kow’s in trouble,” the announcer said. And he was. The rubber duckies, which contestants were supposed to scoop up in the nets, were small, and Kountry Kow’s net was tangled. He was having trouble snagging one, and Archie and Emma’s girl were gaining on him.

  The crowd roared louder as both tubs slammed into the Kountry Pantree tub from each side. Somehow, the Kow’s tub stayed upright, and the sudden stability allowed the mascot to scoop up the coveted ducky. He dropped the net in his tub, pushed the pirates away and headed for the home stretch. Archie scooped up a ducky quickly and then reached out to give the Emma girl’s tub a vicious yank. She went over at once, and a big “awwww” went up from the spectators.

  “Never mind, dear. Your prince has come,” the announcer said, as one of the Sea-Doo beefcakes rode in like a white knight.

  The race would soon be neck and neck. Something seemed to be wrong with Kountry Kow’s engine, and the KP tub was slowing down. Archie got closer and closer, shouting something at his rival that I couldn’t make out.

  “What’s he saying?” I asked Arly.

  “I don’t think it’s printable,” Arly said. “Shit, I hope he doesn’t keel over. I’ve never seen him this crazy.”

  A hush had settled on the crowd as Archie’s tub got within touching distance of Kountry Kow. I could hear Archie now, yelling obscenities. He had picked up his net and was getting ready to take a swipe with it. He looked like it wasn’t fun any more. He looked like he was preparing to do murder.

  Suddenly, as if it had been very carefully timed, the Kountry Pantree tub roared into life and jumped ahead, only just staying out of reach of Archie’s net. The announcer starting yelling incoherently, and the crowd was on its feet.