“I dunno,” Virgil said. “We get to work outside. We get the chance to meet some inter’sting people. Some of us, like you, young man, get to have access to guns. It’s a win-win, the way I see it.”
Scott blinked. He verged on annoying most of the time, and he wasn’t great at holding down jobs, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew he’d insulted Virgil, a man who, though older than him, was built wide and solid like a good pickup, and had a spider tattoo on the side of his neck. Scott didn’t want to mess with Virgil, and he knew he just had.
“Sorry, man. I just meant . . . shoot, I didn’t mean to insult you. You’re right, this is a great place. I hope it picks up, that’s all.”
Virgil stared at Scott for a beat or two too long. If Virgil had continued to stare, I might have had to jump in and defend my ex and his copious talking skills. I’d done plenty of that when we were married, and I hadn’t wished for the opportunity to present itself again. Fortunately, Virgil let another smile sprout as he turned and pushed the lever so that the teenage boys could begrudgingly exit the ride.
“I’ll see you later, Virgil. Come by for some jam.” As I spoke, I put my hand on Scott’s arm and directed him away from the Ferris wheel.
“I didn’t mean to insult the guy, Becca. What is he, the owner of the fair or the land it’s on or something?” Scott said when we were far enough away from Virgil that he could neither hear us nor read our lips.
“I don’t know who he is,” I said. “I’ve been trying to figure it out.”
“I’ll go talk to him later, spread some of my Scott-charm. I’ll have him eating out of my hand by the end of the day.”
His Scott-charm wasn’t quite what he thought it was, but he could be likeable enough, especially if you remained more an acquaintance than a good friend, or a wife.
“Do you have a few minutes to walk with me? I need to check on my stall. Want some crackers and jam?”
I could have been rude and told him I needed to get back to work. But as I’d watched him aggravate Virgil, something became clear in my head: I was kind of interested in how he was doing, even if we hadn’t been able to stay married. I didn’t know if some preordained amount of time needed to pass before you could have a mostly clean slate with an ex, but this felt about right. I was also just plain curious; what had he done with his life since me?
“Love some. Just like old times.”
The Swayton County Fall Fair and Festival was located about half an hour from my hometown of Monson, South Carolina, right outside the even smaller town of Orderville. Monson wasn’t in Swayton County, but close enough that the hilly green countryside, now covered in the reds and yellows of changing leaves, was just like what I was used to.
Scott and I wove around a few other quiet or mostly empty rides, a cotton-candy stand, and a goldfish toss. In the last week, I’d spoken to a number of the fair workers, but the only one I’d wanted to really get to know was Virgil, so the free moments that I’d had—and there had been many—were spent chatting with my fellow Bailey’s vendors or trying to engage Virgil in a conversation.
“How long have you been here, Scott?” I asked. I waved to the corn-dog vendor, who I thought was named Jerry, as we stepped around his small trailer.
“Just set up yesterday,” he said. “Really, I had no idea how bad this fair was. I don’t think I’m going to stick around if it doesn’t pick up in the next day or so.”
“The other Bailey’s vendors and I have been talking about that, too. We’ve been here all four days, and are supposed to be here through the weekend and all of next week except Monday. I feel bad for the organizers, but us being here isn’t helping anyone. Potential fairgoers couldn’t care less about us, and we’re losing money by not being at Bailey’s. I plan on bringing out some pumpkins Wednesday for the decorating contest, but I could easily come back just for that.”
“Who else is here?” Scott asked. During our marriage, he’d met a number of the Bailey’s vendors. He’d become friends with a few of them, too. I hadn’t seen him visit Bailey’s once since our divorce, so I didn’t know if he’d kept in contact with any of them.
“Remember Brenton, who makes and sells dog biscuits? He’s here. So is Stella, the baker, and a new vendor who is all about squash. His name is Henry, but I still don’t know him well. He’s quiet.”
“Henry . . . squash? Is his last name Dennis?”
“I think so. You know him?”
“Yeah, I do. He’s a former mechanic, too. Small world.”
“I’d say.”
As we approached the short line of Bailey’s vendors, I observed some less-than-happy friends. Brenton leaned back in his chair, his hands on top of the baseball cap on his head and his eyes tightly shut. Stella had her hands on her round hips as she surveyed her table full of fresh bread. She’d brought less to sell today than the previous days, and it looked like she might still end up going home with too much inventory. Henry, the new vendor, seemed to be texting, the look on his face telling me either that he wasn’t sending happy words or, perhaps, that his thumbs were too wide for the tiny keyboard.
“Scott, is that you?” Stella said as we approached. She looked at me quickly as if to see if it was okay to be friendly to him. I smiled. I didn’t relish the idea of hanging out with either of my ex-husbands, but I didn’t despise either of them either. I’d been the one to end both marriages, but neither Scott One nor this Scott, Scott Two, had been too heartbroken with the decision.
“Stella, Stella, the most beautiful baker to any fella,” Scott said as he reached over her display table and hugged her tightly.
“Oh, Scott.” She laughed. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“Well, I hope I’ve changed a little. Maybe grown up a bit, but I’ll always be me, I suppose.” He looked at me.
I didn’t think he was searching for my approval, but I gave him a half smile anyway.
“Scott, is that really you?” Brenton leaned out of his small stall.
“Brenton, buddy,” Scott said as he sauntered over and shook Brenton’s hand.
“I haven’t seen you for some time. What’re you doing . . . ?” Brenton looked at me. “Are you two back—?”
“No, heavens no,” I said too quickly. I cleared my throat.
Scott laughed. “No, sir, we’re way over.” He winked at me. “I own the shooting gallery stand over there. I’m working the fair just like the rest of you.”
“Are you having any more business than we are?” Brenton asked.
“No, this place is as dead as a snake on the highway. I don’t understand why they even opened the gates,” Scott said.
Henry had come out of his stall and stood next to me. I didn’t know if he was shy or just needed to get the lay of the land before he contributed to conversations, but he seemed comfortable just to stand next to me and listen.
“Yeah, we were talking about leaving, but we might be stuck,” Brenton said. “We’re not sure if Allison wants us to stay no matter what.”
“I’ve got a call in to her,” I said. “I’ll give her the scoop. We’ll know soon.”
Scott looked at Henry. “You might not remember me, but we worked together at a dealership in Charleston.”
For a moment, Henry studied Scott doubtfully. He spoke right before his silence became uncomfortable. “Sure, sure, I remember you. You were great with brakes.”
“I do have quite the brake reputation,” Scott said proudly, but I thought he might be mocking himself slightly. If that was the case, then maybe he had matured.
“Didn’t you leave to—?” Henry began.
“Well, I’m most definitely buying some bread, Stella. What’ya got?” Scott announced, cutting off Henry’s question. I wondered what that was about, but I didn’t ask.
“Ms. Robins, Ms. Robins.” A harried voice turn
ed the group’s attention to a quickly approaching young woman.
Lucy Emory was somehow an important part of the Swayton County Fall Fair and Festival, though she’d never made it clear just exactly what her role was. She carried a clipboard and always had a writing implement in her hand or threaded atop her ear. She rarely smiled and had one answer to almost every question: “I’ll check on that and get back to you.”
I didn’t think she was much older than me, and from the first moment I met her I felt an immediate connection to her denim wardrobe and makeup-challenged ways. Her hair was brown, though, and cut even shorter—boyishly, in fact—than my blonde hair.
“Hi, Lucy,” I said as she stopped next to Brenton.
“Ms. Robins, I’ve heard you are all leaving the fair. Is that true?”
I looked around at my fellow vendors and Scott. Either we had been overheard, or someone had told on us. I didn’t like that neither Allison nor I had had a chance to talk to Lucy before she got the information elsewhere, but the damage had been done.
“Lucy, I’m sorry you heard that news through the grapevine rather than directly from us,” I began. I debated asking to speak to her privately, but it didn’t seem necessary. This was one of those moments that made me wonder what Allison would do. She could handle any situation with professionalism and grace. I wasn’t as polished, and I worried I’d offend someone, but I did my best. “We have discussed the fact that we don’t seem to be helping your business much. Maybe it would be better if—”
“No, no, no, you can’t leave. You just can’t. I know we’ve been slow, but things will pick up.”
I exchanged a silent look of doubt with Stella.
“Does the fair usually start off like this?” I asked.
Lucy’s eyes flashed, and she bit at the inside of her cheek. “Sometimes, yes, but tomorrow’s Friday. It always picks up on Fridays.”
“That would be good,” I said as I looked at my comrades. No one was convinced.
“Lucy,” Stella interrupted, “Becca’s being polite. I’m afraid I’m not on my best behavior, so I’ll just jump in here. We’ll stay tomorrow, but if things don’t look to be improving, we won’t be back. Even with Monday off, a whole other week of business this slow isn’t good. I’m sorry about that, but Becca’s right, we’re also not helping the fair a bit. I’m mystified as to why y’all even wanted us here. I’m certain we haven’t brought one extra fairgoer.”
“But you’re all part of Bailey’s, and Bailey’s is so popular.”
“Maybe your customers aren’t the same as our customers. I don’t know what it is. Please don’t take it personally. We all have businesses to attend to. Not only are we not helping you, but our businesses are suffering, too,” Stella reiterated.
Lucy cringed. “Yes, I understand, but I would appreciate it if you do give us tomorrow and then reconsider the rest of next week.”
“Absolutely,” Stella said as she looked at the rest of us. “I’m sorry, Lucy.”
“We’re all sorry it’s not working out,” I added.
“Sure. Sure.” She smiled weakly until her eyes landed on Scott. “Shooting gallery guy?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You’ll probably be leaving, too?”
“I’m gonna try and stick around,” Scott said enthusiastically. I could tell he felt her pain.
Huh. Maybe he really had matured. The Scott I’d been married to would have just said, “Yep, I’m outta here.”
Lucy looked as though she wanted to say something else but couldn’t quite find the words. Piped-in organ music played cheerfully in the background and mixed with the whirr and rumble of the less-than-reliable machinery of the rides. A wave of corn-dog-scented air made me suddenly hungry.
“All right, then. I guess I’ll let them know,” Lucy said before she turned and hurried away.
I’d asked her a few times who she meant whenever she said “they” or “them,” but she’d yet to tell me. I assumed she meant her bosses, perhaps the fair organizers or owners, or perhaps a manager. I thought about following her and talking directly to “them,” but it wasn’t going to change the outcome. Even though I hadn’t talked to Allison yet, I knew we would have to pack up. It wasn’t fair to my fellow vendors. In fact, I suddenly wished I hadn’t agreed to stay through Friday. There was still a lot of Thursday left to suffer through. My gut was telling me that the next day and a half was going to be long, awful, and bad for everyone’s business.
There were many reasons I’d come to wish I’d listened to my gut. The next day and a half was pretty awful, but not because our businesses suffered. In fact, Friday, early afternoon, business started to boom, and by then we all wished it hadn’t.
Two
“Thanks for taking me today, Becca,” Stella said.
“My pleasure. This works out.”
Stella and I had decided that carpooling to the fair on our last day would be wise. We were both taking only a small amount of inventory, and everything fit nicely in the bed of my old truck, still leaving plenty of space if either of us happened to win a giant stuffed animal or something. We’d discussed whether or not to believe Lucy’s assurances that business would pick up today. We both thought it might, but not enough.
“Oh, hey, I have a question,” I continued.
“I’m listening.”
“Have you heard anything about ‘gypsy magic’ or something like that?” I asked.
“Actually, I have. It’s strange, isn’t it? I’ve asked people about that big billboard out in the middle of the maze. A couple have just said the words ‘gypsy magic’ and then hurried away or changed the subject, but . . . oh, I think it was the corn-dog vendor, his name’s Jerry, told me that legend has it that a gypsy woman used to live on the property and her sprit watches over the citizens of Orderville. He couldn’t remember her name, but he said that people are superstitious about uttering it aloud.” Stella laughed, but it was slightly strained. No matter what you believed, spooky superstitions could still leave an impression.
I wasn’t superstitious about or bothered by legends and such, but the fair’s setting amid a corn maze had given me a few goose-bump moments.
“Maybe he did remember it but didn’t want to tempt fate by saying it aloud,” I said with my best mock-scary voice.
Stella laughed again. “I don’t know. He only recently moved to Orderville. Shoot, I can’t remember what he said, a couple months ago or something. Nice kid. Maybe he can tell you more about her.”
“I’ll ask him.”
“Hey, I’m sorry if I was rude to Lucy yesterday,” Stella said a beat or two later.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about it. It needed to be done. I talked to Allison last night, and she said she’d try to get us out of today and next week if we wanted to. I felt like we should do what we told Lucy we would do, so I spoke for all of us and said that we’d go in today and think about next week, even though we all are pretty sure we won’t come back.”
“Good. We did commit. We need to be there today.” Stella sighed.
“Allison also wanted me to apologize to everyone for her. She didn’t know it would be such a bust.”
“We’ll be fine. One week isn’t going to kill any of us. It’s the strangest little fair or festival or whatever, though, isn’t it? Of course, I would never let my children ride any of those rides, but the animals are cute and well cared for.”
“I love Ferris wheels, but I’m going to have to double-dare myself to ride that one. I will ride it, though, before the day is done. I vow,” I said weakly.
“I’ll join you. Why not, no one’s been killed yet.”
A few minutes later, as I pulled into the parking lot, Stella said exactly what I was thinking: “Uh-oh.”
The lot was a big dirt field, but at its far end, three small buildings
marked the fair’s entrance. Two were ticket booths, and the third was a trailer into which Lucy sometimes disappeared. It was probably where her mysterious bosses were located.
There were only a few parked cars and trucks in the lot, but the three buildings were partially obscured by four police cars, three of them with their lights flashing. The fourth police car wasn’t from Swayton County, but from my hometown, Monson. My good friend and the man I’d recently kissed without warning, Sam Brion, was a police officer in Monson. I wondered if, by chance, he was there, too. But mostly, I wondered what was going on.
“This doesn’t look good,” I said as I steered the truck toward the police cars. As we approached, we saw a crowd of people right inside the front gates. It was only seven in the morning, too early for any fair attendees, so I assumed most of them were fair workers and vendors. I searched for Brenton, Henry, and even Scott, but I was suddenly so worried that my eyes only skimmed. I hoped they were okay. I hoped everyone was okay.
I parked the truck in the dusty lot, and Stella and I hurried through the front gate. I recognized several faces among the gathered group, people I didn’t really know but who I’d seen and waved to over the last week. We finally found Scott on the edge of the crowd, standing away from everyone and staring out at the unpopulated fairgrounds.
“Hey,” I said as I touched his arm.
He flinched slightly before absently saying, “Becca, Stella.”
“What’s going on?” I asked. I saw a bruise on the arm that I touched. I also noticed a tear in the front of his T-shirt. But neither of these things seemed as important as finding out whatever had brought out the police, so I didn’t comment on them.
“Someone was killed,” Scott said as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, covering only part of the tear. “Murdered.”
A Killer Maize Page 2