“Who?” I asked.
“The guy who ran the Ferris wheel.”
“Virgil?” I said.
“Yeah, the one I was rude to yesterday.”
“Oh no!”
I had to sit down, but there wasn’t a chair close by. I sank to the ground. I felt like I might faint, but I didn’t want to. I focused on staying conscious. Scott and Stella crouched next to me.
“We were both talking to him yesterday,” Scott said to Stella. “Were they better friends than I thought?”
“I don’t know. You okay, Becca?” Stella asked.
I was too busy focusing to answer, but I managed a nod as I tried to take a deep breath and force my vision not to tunnel.
Scott watched me closely, and Stella put her hand on my shoulder. I was grateful that they were both silent as I worked through the initial shock. It took a few moments, but soon I felt steady enough to speak.
“We weren’t really friends,” I said. “I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ride that bucket and a half of bolts they’ve been calling a Ferris wheel. We chatted but never really became friends. I think I just had plans . . . maybe had plans to get to know him better. He was . . . interesting. It’s just such a shock to hear that he was killed. I’ll be okay in a second.”
Scott rocked off his knees and sat next to me. Stella patted my shoulder and smiled sympathetically.
“Do you know what happened, Scott?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s not pretty, though.”
“I can take it. Like I said, it was just the initial shock.”
“He was found hanging from the top chair of the ride, by his own belt, but he was shot first. It was awful,” he said thoughtfully. He’d been supportive of my anguish, but I could tell he was trying to hide his own.
“Did you see him?”
Scott nodded. “I’m the one who found him. I was here early. The shooting gallery was acting up last night. It needed some tweaking. I came in early to take care of it.”
“Oh, Scott, I’m so sorry.”
Scott shrugged and smiled at me. “S’okay. You know how tough I am.”
“Still,” I said, “that had to be rough.”
“Becca?” a voice pulled my attention up and away from Scott.
I had to shade my eyes from the first rays of the early morning sun. I could only distinguish the person’s outline, but I knew who it was. “Sam?”
“I should have known you’d be around here somewhere. There’s been a murder.”
“Sam,” Stella said. “It seems we haven’t seen you since the last dead person.” She extended her hand, and he helped her stand.
He reached for my hand next. I took it and stood up next to Stella. Scott made it up by himself.
Stella was right. I hadn’t seen Sam since shortly after the last murder that had occurred in the Monson vicinity. In fact, I was certain he’d purposefully been ignoring me the past several weeks. Our last conversation had gone something like this:
“Sam, I’m sorry about the way I handled my feelings for you. I shouldn’t have just kissed you out of the blue like that, particularly when I was committed to Ian.”
“So, the kiss was a result of your feelings for me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you still with Ian?”
“We haven’t broken up, but I told him about the kiss.”
“How’d that go?”
“Not well.”
At that point, Sam had sighed. “Becca, I’m pretty sure I told you I’d consider even a dual with Ian if it came to that. I wasn’t kidding, really, though what I meant was that he and I could fight it out on even ground—we could both puff up our feathers and you could choose one of us. I don’t want to break anyone up who doesn’t want to be broken up. Please figure out what your heart wants. When you know that, you will either never break up with Ian or you will. Let me know when you know.”
And that had been it. That had been the last time we spoke. Ian and I weren’t officially broken up yet. Though we still saw each other, we weren’t officially much of anything at all. He was mostly busy with his new land and lavender farm. I was mostly busy with my market stall and my extra business at five Maytabee’s Coffee Shops. We were busy, and busy had been a great excuse to not face reality head-on. I felt stupid and immature about the whole thing. I thought I’d known exactly what I wanted, but when it came down to it, I only knew I wasn’t sure about anything except that my behavior made it pretty clear that maybe I didn’t deserve either of them.
Now that I was standing, the sun was no longer blinding me and I could see Sam clearly.
He hadn’t changed over the last several weeks, but he wasn’t in his uniform. His brown hair was free of whatever slick gunk he put in it when he was on duty, and he wore a simple black T-shirt and jeans.
His eyes were the same clear blue that seemed to change temperature more than color with his moods. Right now they were warm and friendly. He smiled, which made me smile, too.
“Sam, what’re you doing here?” I asked.
“The local guys were concerned they couldn’t round up enough officers to investigate the murder. Turns out they were fine. I’m on my way out. You want to walk me to my car?”
“Sure.”
Scott cleared his throat.
“Oh, sorry. Sam, this is one of my ex-Scotts . . . I mean, one of my ex-husbands . . . that sounds horrible. Sam, this is Scott Triplett. He and I were married at one time.” I had never once, before attending the Swayton County Fall Fair and Festival, had to introduce one of my two ex-husbands when they were in an “ex” status. It was awkward duty, probably because they were both named Scott, or maybe because there were two of them.
“Actually, we sort of met earlier,” Sam said. “However, I didn’t know about you two being married.”
“I didn’t get your first name. Sam?” Scott reached for a handshake.
“Sam Brion. I’m an officer in Monson.”
“Nice to meet you officially or, I guess, unofficially.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Sam said.
“How about I get you to the car, Sam?” I said.
“Sure, okay.”
“I’ll be right back,” I told Stella and Scott.
We threaded our way through the crowd and back to the parking lot. For a few steps, neither of us said anything. I was glad when he was the first one to finally speak.
“What’re you doing here, Becca?” he asked. He seemed to be keeping a bigger distance from me than he normally would. It wasn’t much, but I noticed it.
“The event organizers asked Allison if she would ask some vendors to set up here. They thought it would be good for the fair and good for us. As far as I can see, we haven’t brought them one extra person. And our businesses are suffering. This is our last day probably, except that I’m donating some pumpkins for their maze opening next Wednesday.”
“And your ex-husband—one of them at least”—he smiled—“what’s he doing here?”
“He owns the shooting gallery stand. We ran into each other just yesterday. In fact, I was talking with Virgil, the man who ran the Ferris wheel, the man who was apparently killed, when Scott came up to me.” We’d stopped next to Sam’s police cruiser. I put my hands in my overalls’ pockets and peered up at him as he peered down at me. October in South Carolina could still have extra-warm moments, but usually, the mid-autumn temperatures were perfect for enjoying the outdoors. I felt somewhat chilled this morning, though, but that might not have had anything to do with the temperature.
“He found the victim. He was pretty upset earlier.”
“I imagine he was. Who wouldn’t be?” I’d found my own fair share of dead bodies. The experience didn’t have a calming effect.
Sam nodded. �
��Did you know the victim well?”
“Yes and no. I didn’t really know him, but I had been stopping by and talking to him. I love Ferris wheels and wanted to ride that one, but I needed to find a good dose of courage first.”
“You were afraid?”
“Did you get a close look at this one, or a close listen? No, probably not. It’s not . . . well. I figured I should make sure my will was in order before I hopped aboard.” I smiled weakly. Sam smiled, too, which made me smile a little more.
There was way too much smiling considering the circumstances.
“What did you know about Virgil?” he asked.
“He didn’t talk much, and he had a tattoo on his neck. In my imagination, he was part of some violent Russian mob group and his tattoo was for some crime he had to commit to become a part of the gang. He escaped and has been in hiding in South Carolina doing odd jobs here and there.”
“That’s a pretty good imagination.”
“Did you see the tattoo?”
“No, I didn’t even see the victim. I got here after they’d taken him down and away.”
I looked back toward the fairgrounds. “That had to be quite the challenge.” I swallowed. “Wasn’t he hanging from a top seat of the ride?”
“That’s what I heard, but your ex, Scott, turned on the ride and brought him down to see if there was anything he could do for him. He ended up having to climb part way up to gather him, so, well, so the body wasn’t . . .”
“Really? He climbed up?” I thought about that a moment. I supposed that’s what I would have done, but I wasn’t sure. “Were they angry he didn’t call the police first?”
“No, not angry. They were just hoping someone else could confirm Scott’s story.”
“They doubt him?”
“I don’t know, Becca. I don’t think so.” Sam sighed and rubbed his hand over his chin. “Here, I thought, was a potential murder you might not feel the need to get involved in. Then when I show up, not only do I find you, but I also find that someone you care about is connected to this mess, too.”
“That’s past tense . . . well, I suppose I do still care about Scott’s well-being. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him, but he doesn’t take up much space in my thoughts and hasn’t for quite some time.”
“Strange that he’s here, though. I mean, was it a surprise to run into him?”
“Completely.”
Sam nodded and then looked toward the fairgrounds.
“So . . .” I began.
“What?” Sam asked, his eyes now locked on mine.
“Sam, are . . . you . . . are we okay?” Normally, I wouldn’t ask such a question, but I hadn’t seen him for a long time, several weeks, and no matter why he was there, it was really good to see him and I didn’t want the moment to pass without at least trying to make things better between the two of us.
Sam stared at me a long moment. “Becca, I’ve decided I’m not going to be that easy for you. I know where this is headed. I also know that you and Ian are officially still together. What I said the last time we spoke still holds true—I’m not interested in being a part of breaking up any couple. I think it’s pretty clear where I stand. You have to be the one to let me know. I’m not going anywhere.”
I suddenly remembered the time I thought Sam was dead. I shivered.
“If and when you’re ready,” he continued, “just give me a call and ask me out. Take me out on an amazing, unforgettable date and we’ll see how it goes. For now, though, will you try to stay out of this murder? Your ex seems like a pretty good guy. He might need a friend, but I don’t think he’s under suspicion for the murder. You won’t need to investigate.”
“I see.” I swallowed my embarrassment. “Well, today’s my last full day here, I’m pretty sure. I was shocked about Virgil, but I didn’t know him know him. Even if Scott was under suspicion, I doubt I would feel compelled to clear his name.” I paused. Actually, I might, I realized, but I wasn’t going to tell Sam that. “I’m going back to Bailey’s tomorrow and sell my jams and preserves and stay out of all this.”
“Sounds smart.” Sam put his hand on his car door. “You’ve got me curious about the tattoo, though. I’ll look into it and stop by Bailey’s tomorrow or the next day if I think it’s okay for you to know the details.”
“You will?” Before I’d accosted him with the kiss, he’d stopped by Bailey’s a lot. We’d become friends, and more than anything I missed our friendship. Well, maybe that’s what I missed most. I knew it would be fun to have the old Sam back if that was possible, but I’d thought about the kiss way more than I should have.
“See you later, Becca. Stay out of trouble.”
I waved as he drove out of the parking lot.
I turned toward the fairgrounds once again. There’d been a gruesome murder, and I’d spoken to the victim—as small a conversation as it had been—just the day before.
Any joy I’d just felt over reconnecting with Sam washed away and was replaced by an only slightly diluted version of the shock I’d felt when I first heard about Virgil. I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to go home, back to Hobbit my dog, and back to Bailey’s. I wanted to see Ian and Allison and tell them what had happened, but my recent experiences with murder told me the police would probably want to talk to me and the other vendors about what, if anything, we’d seen, or knew about the victim.
The air smelled earthy, only slightly crisp with fall, and with a hint of the greasy fair treats that I loved so much. No one had their machines or stalls up and running yet. I wondered if the “show would go on” or if they’d all just shut down. I hoped Lucy and her bosses wouldn’t care when the Bailey’s vendors left, which I thought would be about two minutes after the police dismissed us.
“Let’s get this over with,” I mumbled to myself as I made my way back to my friends, and my second ex.
Three
The police interviews went as I expected: slowly, stretching throughout the entire morning. Though the only person who knew where I was in the middle of the night and before I picked up Stella from Bailey’s was my dog, Hobbit, the police didn’t seem to think I was a killer. And Stella had her entire family to support her alibi. Henry and Brenton were equally unconcerned about whether the police thought they might be involved. As far as I could see, no one was arrested, so either they didn’t find the culprit or didn’t have enough evidence yet to arrest someone.
Once we were done, Lucy gathered everyone together and announced that the search for initial evidence was complete and that the fair could resume normal operation. Similar to what happened at Bailey’s when one of our market vendors, Matt Simonsen, was killed, the fair workers were concerned there might be a killer in their midst. But Lucy allayed their fears much more adeptly than I would have expected given my earlier interactions with her. She told everyone to be cautious, and she announced that she would be hiring a team of security guards to patrol the grounds and escort people to their cars if they chose.
Not one local fair vendor thought the fair should close. Henry, Stella, Brenton, and I couldn’t wait to get out of there, but we were the only ones. Even Scott wasn’t in a huge hurry to leave.
I tried to put myself in their shoes, and I realized that I’d have to just chalk it up to the “old hometown spirit.” Besides, they didn’t have a Bailey’s to go back to, a place they knew was better. If business had been slow before, it was bound to be even slower now, if there was any at all. The thought that we should invite all the fair workers to bring their attractions to Bailey’s or set up shop in Monson crossed my mind, and then left it. Of course, that wasn’t a viable idea.
But then I got the biggest surprise of all. Murder turned out to be very good for fair vendors, it seemed—with the obvious exception of Virgil. After the police interviews, at around noon, my fellow Bailey’s crew and I ca
me together a distance away from our stalls to plan our escape—I mean, our return home. As we conferred, the noise level around us rose to a notch I hadn’t heard at the fair until that moment. Suddenly, there were people everywhere. I stood on my toes and looked out toward the parking lot; it was filling from a line of vehicles that started so far down the state highway that I couldn’t see the end of it
“If you kill someone, they will come,” I said. The only one who heard was Stella.
“Uh, that seems strange,” she said. “Do you suppose that’s just the normal Friday bump in traffic that Lucy spoke about or . . . something else?”
“I have no idea, but look”—I nodded toward her stall—“you’ve got a line of your own forming.”
She turned and looked and then turned back to me with panic in her eyes. “I don’t think I brought enough bread.”
Someone tapped on my shoulder.
“You make jams?” asked a middle-aged man holding a kid’s hand with one of his and a cone of cotton candy with the other.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll take some.”
Instead of making the quick getaway we’d hoped for, we manned our stations.
For the next couple hours, we were swamped with customers. There wasn’t time to further consider why the crowd had grown; we just had to take care of everyone to the best of our limited inventories. We all sold out way too quickly, and Lucy was none too happy with any of us.
“I told you things would improve,” she said, seeming to have recovered from the trying morning.
“We’re sorry, Lucy. We really are,” I said, because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“S’okay. I’d really like for you to come back again tomorrow and next week though. I think we’ll be just as busy. I think you’ll all sell a lot.”
Considering the circumstances, it suddenly felt wrong to tie our commitment to the fair to our bottom lines. It’s what we’d done only the day before, but now things were different.
Stella and I looked at each other, both of us uncertain how to handle Lucy’s request.
A Killer Maize Page 3