by Tegan Maher
They made it back and he'd just finished cleaning up his mess and putting away the spices when the announcer called them to the stage.
"How many entrants were there?" I asked Justin, half afraid there'd be too many, but hoping there was enough so that if he won, it wouldn't be by default.
"Fifteen," he said, and I picked up a small quaver in his voice.
Bobbie Sue pulled her against her side as they walked. "Now you know, win or lose, you did your best. If you don't win this one, listen to what the judges say. Sometimes they give a critique, sometimes not. Cherry pick it cause some of it's gonna be personal opinion, but some of it'll be right, too."
He was listening, watching the ground as they walked.
"And whether you come in first place or last, we're proud of ya. You still cook a meaner steak than most grown men do," Earl said.
Justin huffed out a breath. "Last? Unless they ain't got taste buds, there's no way that steak is comin' in dead last. Maybe not first," he said, shaking his head, "but not last. That's for sure."
I crossed my fingers and hoped to the fates that he was right.
Waiting outside the great hall for the judges to appear was sheer torture, and we fidgeted as much as the kid did. Finally, though, they did. After all the platitudes and general pats on the back to all competitors was made, the judge picked up a small trophy, and announced the honorable mention, which I learned is only a thing at some competitions, not others.
They awarded third to a smiling blonde girl who looked to be about Justin's age, then second to a heavy-set boy who beamed with pride. We held our breath—it was make or break time. He won, or he didn't.
They were holding a huge trophy, a ribbon, and an envelope. And the winner of this year's youth grilling competition goes to ..."
I looked down at him, standing there with his knees locked. His face was so red I was afraid he was gonna pass out if they didn't announce one way or another in the next couple seconds.
"Justin Poling of Bobbie Sue's BBQ! Justin, come on up here!"
The place erupted in cheers—the one thing about get-togethers like those are that everybody wants to see kids do well—but Justin stayed rooted to the spot, then looked up when Earl gave him a shove on the shoulder.
"Go on, boy," Bobbie Sue said, her smile so wide her eyes were crinkled half-shut. "You did it. Git up there!"
He stumbled forward, and it musta sunk in because he puffed up like a little banty rooster again, except this time, he meant it. He shook hands with the judges and held his trophy aloft, waving to the crowd. He turned back toward us, and the judge said into the mic, "Justin, you're forgetting something. I think this envelope has a check with your name on it!"
Justin turned on his heels wearing his duh face on top of his grin and took it, thanking him again.
"C'mon Justin," I said, slapping him on the back. "Let's go find you the biggest sundae this place has to offer!"
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
WE ENDED UP FINDING an ice-cream booth over at the fair, but Justin insisted we swing by and invite Billy, too. Bobbie Sue'd convinced him to leave the trophy at the truck, but he was wearing the ribbon pinned to his shirt.
Cheri Lynn popped in while we were walking and squealed when she saw the ribbon. "Oh, sweetie! We just knew you could do it!" She was tearing up and fanning her face. "I'm so proud of you!"
"Thanks," he said. "And I won money, too! Five hundred whole bucks!"
"Mercy!" Cheri Lynn said. "What are ya gonna do with it all?"
Bobbie Sue raised an eyebrow. "He's gonna put some of it back, then hold on the rest of it awhile ’til he has time to think about it a little."
Cheri Lynn nodded, her expression serious. "Of course he is. That's definitely the best plan."
Justin grinned and said out of the corner of his mouth, "Then I'm gonna buy some video games and a slingshot!"
"No slingshot," Bobbie Sue snapped. "Them things ain’t nothin' but an accident waiting to happen."
"I'll have to agree with that one," Cheri said. "I got hit with a rock flung from one of them when I was a kid. Still got the scar."
We told her where we were going and asked her to come along. Her face brightened. "I'd love to! Serena and I had a nice chat the other night between clients." She furrowed her brow. "You know, I don't know how she does it. Everybody either wants to know if they're gonna get married or if their significant other is cheating on them. That'd make me crazy in no time flat."
I agreed. I wasn't a fan of dealing with the public in general, but if I had to do her job? I don't think I'd last a week.
By that time, we'd made it to the petting zoo and I was happy to see it was still early enough that there was no line outside of Serena's tent. We could hear video game noise from inside. I stuck my head in and called hello, and she yelled, "Madame Zarena isn't seeing clients yet."
I laughed and called back, "Can Madame Zarena and her delightful offspring stop playing Zelda long enough to make time for some free ice cream?"
The noise paused and Billy's head popped out from behind a curtain that separated the back of the tent from the front. When he saw Justin's ribbon, he rushed forward for a closer look. "Dude! You won? That's awesome!"
Serena congratulated him. "So you want ice cream, do you, little one?"
"Yes!" Justin said. "A huge sundae, with caramel and chocolate and strawberry syrup! And cherries."
"Of course," Serena said, fluttering her hand to her chest. "You can't forget the cherries. I happen to know just where to get that."
She led the way past the booth that we'd found and stopped at one that had waffle cones on display. The woman inside smiled when she saw Serena and slid the glass door open. "Hey Serena! What's up?"
Serena explained what we were celebrating and it wasn't long before we all had enough ice cream in front of us to put us into sugar comas. I ordered a banana split and Hunter asked if I wanted to split it. I snorted and looked at him like he'd lost his mind. He'd gotten to know me pretty well, but sometimes I still had to remind him who he was dealin' with.
We plowed through our treats, and Justin regaled us with each and every second, describing everything from how he picked to steaks to how nervous he was waiting to hear the results.
Soon though, Serena had to go open up her booth and we had to get back to the trailer.
"I'm gonna call the sheriff again, too," Hunter said. "It's a little strange, at least from what I've seen from him, that he hasn't called me back."
We'd gone over the bare bones of it with Serena and she ran her tongue along her teeth. "I don't like to get involved—you know how I feel about messin' with the natural order of things," she said, "but I get the feelin' you got somebody workin' against you here."
Cheri Lynn rolled her eyes. "Do you have any idea how much that sounds like something Madame Zarena would say?"
Serena huffed in frustration. "Yes, young one, I do. And I'm trying to do my best to walk the line between helpin' and interferin'. It's fine most of the time. Let's try it this way."
I noticed that the cadence of her honeyed, Cajun accent became thicker when she was serious. "There's not just one person behind this. And no, I can't see a face or even tell how many, though I do sense a woman. Just ... watch your backs. They've already shown they're willing to kill. I'd hate to be seein' harm come to any of you."
Hunter'd stepped away from the table, and came back shaking his head. "He still didn't answer. That's so odd. If I were in his shoes, I'd be tracking every lead, especially if it was semi-credible."
I lifted a shoulder. "I guess he's not you."
"I guess not." He worried his lip. "I just hope he hasn't come up with something and he's avoiding me. Now that is something I'd do."
That didn't make me feel better at all and I no longer felt like celebrating.
"Cheri Lynn, are you down for some snoopin'? We need to find out what the connection is between the two guys that used Earl's and Jimbo's recipes."
S
erena nodded. "That feels right to me. It's what I'd do. Just watch out, because when you poke a bed of vipers, you're likely to get bit."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WE WERE CUTTING UP on the way back to their truck when my phone rang. It was Shelby.
"Hey. Tell me something good," I said.
"Well, I have something sorta good." I could hear the bustle of the restaurant in the background. "And sorta bad, too."
I sighed. Why did that seem to be my life, lately? "Okay, start with the something good."
"There was a note in the mailbox about Ranger, but it had rained, and you know how that stupid thing leaks." I did. It was one of those things I didn't think about until it rained, then forgot about ’til it rained again. I did almost everything online anyway, so it wasn't like it was foremost in my mind to keep the junk mail dry.
"Okay, so what happened?"
Hunter had gone quiet, listening.
"It was written in marker, and it said I think I have your horse. He's fine—or at least I think it said fine. Then it said If he's yours, call 3-7-7, then I think the next number was either a zero or an eight, and the rest was completely illegible."
I huffed out a breath. "Okay, so at least we sort of know he's okay. No name?"
"I think there was, but it was just a blue blur. Couldn't read it at all."
That took a load off my mind—wherever he was at, he was with somebody and was alright, so I could push aside the nightmares of him being stuck on his side in a ditch somewhere. The next trick was to find out who had him.
"Will doesn't have any idea?"
Her eye roll was practically audible. "Yeah. He knows, but he's keeping it for a surprise. Of course he doesn't. He's called everybody. Twice. None of our existing people have him."
"Then what's the bad news?"
"Some guy stopped in here asking for Earl from an Atlanta newspaper. He's actually sitting at a table eating right now."
"Hang on a second. I'm putting you on speaker."
I motioned for everybody to stop and huddle. "An Atlanta reporter is at the restaurant asking questions about Earl."
"Okay, Shel, go ahead."
"Anyway, we're slammed tonight and this guy comes in asking about Earl and says he understands he's a prime suspect in the murder. I told him no comment, but now he's over there asking other customers questions. What do I do?"
Bobbie Sue scowled. "Go over there right now and tell him to get out. We have no comment."
"I'm not good at that," Shelby said.
I held up my hand to Bobbie Sue. "Lemme think for a second, sister."
Cheri Lynn's eyes lit up. "It's Sunday, right?"
I nodded.
"Then it's simple," she said, as if I were missing the obvious. Which I was. "We have a PR person that handles all of the information in Keyhole. And I happen to know that she's at Brew right pumpin' Raeann for info about that server she hired. It's makin' her crazy that she can't dig up any information on her before Christmas. Says it's creepy, someone not havin' a past."
My mental lightbulb went off. Of course—Coralee! Glancing at Cheri Lynn, I said, "You're brilliant! How fast can you bring her up to speed on what's goin' on here?"
She cocked a brow and shook her head. "Sugar, when have you ever known Coralee not to be up to speed on anything?"
"Point taken. Will you pop to Rae's and tell them what's goin' on?"
She grinned and gave a little salute. "Justin, honey, we're all super proud of you!" He smiled and saluted back, and she was gone.
"Is she on the way yet?" Shelby asked. It was getting louder in the background. "Old lady Schumacher just headed to the booth behind him, and you know how batty she can be. She'll say whatever she finds—never mind. I see Coralee crossin' the street right now. Cheri Lynn looks like she's talkin' a mile a minute, so she's probably fillin' her in. I gotta go. We really are busy. Justin—congratulations, big guy! Love y'all!"
She hung up, and I slid my phone back in my pocket. Bobbie Sue's lips were pinched together and Earl's brow was drawn so low I could barely see his eyes.
"Reporter from Atlanta! What's a reporter from Atlanta doin' in my restaurant?"
That was an excellent question, but I just had to trust that Coralee would handle it. I could only keep track of so many fires at once.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
WE WERE ALMOST BACK to the truck when a flash of bright yellow caught my eye. I swiveled my head to see what it was, and tapped Hunter in the belly with the back of my hand to get his attention. I shushed everybody and pointed.
"Ain't that the bossy lady who runs the fair?" Bobby Sue asked, squinting in their direction. "The one who was at the murder?"
"Yeah, Gregoria Stanton," I said, thinking to myself that somebody should probably tell her yellow wasn't her best color. She kept glancing around like she was waiting for someone and by the time we realized who she was, a man walked around the corner of the giant refrigeration unit she was hiding behind.
It wasn't long before the conversation seemed to heat up. Both of them were gesticulating and pointing.
"Who's that she's talkin' to?" Earl asked.
That would be Al Cassidy, the owner of Grillin' and Chillin'. The reason he's able to live up to the name is because he doesn't have to spend any time comin' up with his own recipes. Apparently he does okay with yours."
Earl growled and turned in their direction, but Bobbie Sue grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him back.
"I'll tell you the same thing you told me," she said. "Ain't neither one of us gonna do the other any good, or Justin either, if we're in jail. It'll work itself out."
I was relieved to hear her say it, but one glance at her face told me her resolve might not last forever. If looks could kill, there'd be two folks droppin' dead at that moment.
"Let's go back to the truck," Hunter said, picking up the same vibe I was.
Max, who'd been so quiet I'd almost forgotten he was with us, spoke up. "It occurs to me that it would be good to know what they're saying," he said.
"No shit, Sherlock," I said, raising a brow. "You have some kind of magical listening device?"
He waggled his ears. "As a matter of fact I do. You may be surprised to hear this, but not many folks suspect that I can carry their conversations back to anybody, so they tend to just keep talking like I'm not even there."
Every once in a while, he'd say something like that and it would make my heart ache a little for him. It had to suck for him. But usually he'd keep talking and the warm-and-fuzzies would go away.
"It's not like anybody else has been able to come up with anything. If we're ever going to get out of this giant nightmare of a fun house, it looks like I'm going to have to take care of it myself." See what I mean—it didn't usually take more than a sentence or two to toughen me right back up toward him.
We were less than fifty yards from them. "Okay then, donkey genius, go hear what you can hear."
He trotted off and cut between two trailers so he could circle back around and probably pretend to be eating. Or, you know, actually find a trashcan with half-eaten candy in it.
At any rate, Hunter and I bolted forward to catch up as Earl stomped the rest of the way to his truck.
Serena had said a woman was involved, but I hadn't expected it to be that woman.
We'd just sat down and popped the tops on our beers when Max reappeared. He flopped down by Earl and heaved a deep breath.
Several seconds passed and he didn't say anything. "Well," I said, not in the mood to deal with his theatrics. "What were they talking about?"
"Oh," he said, yawning. "You know, just people getting stabbed over recipes. I only caught the tail end of the conversation."
For once, Earl was even irritated at him. "C'mon Max. Quit messin' around. We need it word for word."
Another huge donkey sigh. "Fine. She said, I can't believe you were stupid enough that you thought you'd get away with using Earl Baker's recipe! Everybody knows
that sausage and he said, So what, prove it."
Hunter had leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. "That's it?"
"No. Then she said she was only notifying him as a courtesy that the cops knew about the recipe poaching. She said—her words—I'd watch your back if I were you. I've already eliminated one person who wouldn't cooperate and won't hesitate to eliminate another. And she was really growly when she said it, with her finger in his face. Then she spun off and left him standing there."
We sat staring at each other in stunned silence.
"Looks like Serena was dead on." Bobbie Sue said. "Now we just gotta prove it."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SHERIFF SCOTTSDALE showed up at our trailer the next morning, right after Shelby had told me Ranger was still missing. Not the best start to the day.
We told him about the chat. His techs had already found the comment but he was up in the air about what to do. Apparently, there were other comments of similar nature, though that one was the only one that was even close to being identifiable.
"That's actually what's savin' his bacon right now," he said. "Even though my knee-jerk reaction was to lock him up and call it done, that's a little too easy. He may be a lot of things, but I don't think he's stupid."
I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful there was a man investigating who had a little common sense.
"That bein' said, it doesn't take him off the suspect list. As a matter of fact, the old man he says he talked to doesn't remember talkin' to him, and Gregoria Stanton swears she saw him in the general area right before the body was found."
Hunter shook his head. "About that. We saw her having a heated discussion with Al Cassidy last night over behind the carnival's refrigeration units. I assume you know who that is?"
He nodded. "The guy who supposedly used Earl's recipe."
I didn't like the way he said supposed, but I let it slide.