A Killer Maize

by Paige Shelton

  Jena Bellings arrived in Orderville on the back of a gypsy wagon. She saw her future husband as he walked down the street. She immediately took herself off the wagon and walked beside him, telling him she could see their future. It was said that she told him about his success, their marriage, and their son.

  They married within the week.

  Now, yearly, right outside Orderville, Wallace Bellings’s three children, two sons and a daughter, began and continue to hold a fair and festival devoted to the good fortune the town has seen, good fortune that is said to have come to the community because Jena Bellings jumped off that gypsy wagon.

  Though I was disappointed the blog post didn’t mention Monson, I was intrigued. It was fun to attach good fortune to a legend and all, but the town wasn’t quite as well off as the blogger seemed to think. Orderville was getting by just fine, and from what I could see no one seemed to be struggling, but fortunes weren’t abounding—well, at least not for anyone who wasn’t a Bellings, perhaps. The only new building I’d seen that was in good condition was the service station. Everything else had seemed somewhat worn down. And the rides at the fair had been in bad shape. Renard had mentioned that it was his family that kept the town’s economy up and running, so either their fortune wasn’t that large, or the Bellingses were a little stingy. I didn’t have the whole story so it probably wasn’t fair to speculate.

  The rest of Jena’s links led to similar items. I found some black-and-white pictures of the mysterious woman, too; she looked just as she’d been described to me: long, wild hair, and a beautiful angular face. I couldn’t make out her eye color, but I could easily see how Renard favored his grandmother. I was sure her eyes had been just as spectacular as his.

  There wasn’t much that was substantial, though. One post talked about her death but didn’t mention that her husband had been accused of the crime, or that it had been a crime at all, or a suicide. It simply said that she died by hanging. Her death had occurred a long time ago, but I thought it odd that I couldn’t find anything more about it.

  I typed “Orderville, South Carolina” in to the search engine.

  Apparently, the town had been established in the early 1700s and was all but a ghost town when Sebastian Renard Bellings planted and harvested his tobacco crop in the 1920s, bringing the town back from its near death. The most current information stated that the town was a small farming community with a rarely changing population of about twelve hundred.

  Nothing about Jena had been included in the few articles about Orderville.

  I plugged in “Virgil Morrison, Orderville, South Carolina.”

  I found three mentions of Virgil Morrison, but only one of them lived in South Carolina. One link was an article from Friday’s paper describing his horrific murder and how the authorities thought the killing was random. They thought that perhaps the killer had already left the area. I hadn’t known either of those things.

  One Virgil was located in Florida and had won a horseshoe championship, and the third one had been a cattle driver in California some forty years earlier.

  My phone suddenly buzzed.

  I wasn’t in the mood to talk to Allison about the breakup, so I hoped that wasn’t why she was calling.

  “Hey, sis,” I said as I answered.

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Not much. You?”

  “Well, I’m calling about your corn-dog friend, Jerry.”

  “Did he come by today?”

  “Yep and I checked his references.”

  “Uh-oh. You calling because they were bad?”

  “No, they’re perfect, immaculate. He’s a well-liked guy back in California. He managed a couple grocery stores, made them money, too. His personal references glow as well. Thanks for sending him over. He’ll be a good addition to Bailey’s.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said hesitantly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  My reaction to what she’d found had been wary. Really? I wanted to say. Then why couldn’t he find a real job in Orderville? The economy?

  “What’s up, Becca?”

  “I don’t know. I’m glad his references came back so great, but did he strike you as that kind of guy? The kind that makes a business money?”

  “We didn’t talk for all that long. He’s young, though. Maybe he doesn’t know how to come off as polished yet. He must be a hard worker.”

  I shook off the funny feeling. “I’m sure he is. I hope to get to know him better.”

  “He’ll do well at the market. I’ll come get Hobbit tomorrow about two, okay?”

  “Thanks, she’ll love spending the afternoon with Mathis.”

  “He’s so excited. Oh—gotta go! Talk to you soon.”

  After she clicked off, I typed “Jerry Walton” into the search engine and hit pay dirt, but just for men with that name. I clicked on at least twenty links, but nothing seemed to lead to Jerry the corn-dog guy.

  Last but not least, I typed in “spider tattoo.” I got a lot of information about spider symbolism and some amazing pictures of wicked-looking spiders and impressive tattoos. I didn’t find one thing to indicate spider tattoos were inked on to the skin of Russian mobsters like I’d hoped I would.

  Finally, when I was tired enough to think my wonky feelings about Orderville, Virgil, Jerry, and everything else didn’t matter, I shut off the laptop and the light and fell asleep with Hobbit keeping me warm.

  It was no surprise that I dreamed of black kittens, gypsy magic, and wonderful men with exotic brown eyes and long, dark hair.

  Twenty-three

  When I woke up, I called Lucy to make sure the pumpkin-decorating contest was still on. I could deliver the pumpkins to Bailey’s if plans had changed, but she assured me that plenty of people would show up excited to decorate a pumpkin and visit the corn maze for the first time of the season. I didn’t have to set out for the maze until after lunch, so Hobbit and I went for a run and then I raked up the pumpkin vines. It was Wednesday, my normal day for deep cleaning my kitchen, so once the field was cleared, I pulled out the cleaning supplies and got to work. I exhausted my body and tried to halt my overly active mind just a little. Or at least give it something to do other than think about Ian and the strange town of Orderville, South Carolina. I’d found that sometimes, when I quit trying or thinking so hard, that thing that I didn’t realize I was looking for could become suddenly clear.

  So as I scrubbed and mopped and scrubbed some more, I forced myself to focus on the songs coming from my iPod. I sang along to “Midnight Train to Georgia,” “Piano Man,” “Dancing Queen,” and whatever else came up on the “shuffle songs” setting.

  While the entire experience was exhilarating, by the time I was done, nothing new had popped into my mind. All the questions I’d had before I started, I still had, and all the oddities of Orderville and its citizens seemed no less odd.

  But my kitchen was spotless.

  On the drive to the corn maze, I came to a few more conclusions about myself and the way I’d behaved. Though I was sad about Ian and me, I still wasn’t devastated. We were both going to be okay. I actually thought we might be able to handle being only friends. I hoped so, at least. I also decided that though I was sad about Virgil, and curious, too, I wasn’t going to be able to find his killer. I’d done my part. I’d told Sam about the documents I’d found behind the shooting gallery. If Scott was somehow involved, then the police would have to figure it out. Scott wasn’t my problem anymore. I was going to just leave things alone, let them be.

  I hoped Scott wasn’t guilty, though.

  The food trailers and the other temporary setups like the shooting gallery were gone, leaving only the bigger rides and Lucy’s trailer. Extra measures had been taken to make sure the world knew the rides were off-limits. Yellow tape was strung e
verywhere. The vacant machines, empty fairgrounds, and yellow tape added to the corn maze atmosphere, and though the day was warm and sunny, it felt just as it should: a little creepy and a lot of fun.

  Lucy was standing outside the fairgrounds and to the side of the corn maze as I steered the truck down the lot. She held her clipboard at the ready and seemed to be relieved to see me. She waved and guided me forward.

  “Look at all those pumpkins! How wonderful, Becca. Pull over there and back into that small corralled area. I’ve got some boys who will help unload.”

  I did as she’d instructed, guiding the truck down a path bordered by stacked bales of hay.

  I was halted by a kid I thought I’d seen around the butter sculptures. He and a few others—not necessarily kids—started unloading the pumpkins. I also saw Scott, Ward, and Jerry the corn-dog vendor, who I thought was supposed to be at Bailey’s today. Had Allison said anything about his start date? I couldn’t remember.

  I got out of the truck and pitched in to help.

  “For an EMT, you sure do spend a lot of time doing other stuff,” I said quietly to Scott as he and I both grabbed for pumpkins.

  “I only do that part-time. Speaking of which, your chin is looking better.”

  I placed a pumpkin under one of my arms and touched his with my available hand. “Come on, Scott, what are you doing here? Your ties to this place have me both curious and concerned. Talk to me.”

  So much for leaving things alone.

  He looked at me, the October sun making his blond-blond hair look golden and causing him to squint.

  “Becca . . .” he began, but then stopped.

  “What, Scott? What’s up?”

  “Nothing.” He shook his head. “These pumpkins are great. Thanks for bringing them.” He turned and hurried to the corral.

  I almost had him. He’d almost told me something, but I doubted it was that he was a killer. What was he up to? I’d get it out of him by the end of the day.

  “How’s the kitten?” Ward asked as he reached into the truck bed.

  “She’s got a home where she’ll be spoiled and loved and fed only the finest foods.”

  “Well, that’s good news. See, I knew what I was doing.” He winked.

  I smiled.

  “What are you naming her?” he continued.

  “Something perfect, but her new owner hasn’t come up with the right one just yet.”

  The corral had already been stocked with some pumpkins, but the addition of mine filled it to almost bulging, and it looked like there would be plenty for the kids who were scheduled to arrive at three o’clock. Even without the rides, they would have fun with the animals, the maze, and the pumpkins.

  I was distracted by the scent of something spicy, and my stomach growled reflexively. I looked around to see a witch stirring a large cauldron. I’d forgotten that people would be showing up in costume to the maze-opening events. The witch was currently the only one dressed up, though, so maybe I could escape before the costumes took over.

  “Mmm, what’s that?” I said as I sniffed over the cauldron.

  The witch looked up and smiled hesitantly. “Hi, Becca.”

  “Oh, hi, Dianna.” I was startled by Dianna’s getup. From what I’d observed, she wasn’t exactly the fun type, the sort of person who dressed up in a great witch costume.

  “It’s Brain and Eyeball Stew. The dumplings make the brains, and the black olives make the eyeballs. Don’t tell the kids, but it’s just chicken and dumpling soup.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “Hey, I’m glad you’re here. About the other day, I’m sorry I was being dramatic. I just wanted you to be aware. I didn’t have your phone number, and I didn’t want to just call your farmers’ market out of the blue and warn them about Jerry.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s all right. I appreciate the warning. I talked to my sister, the market manager, and his references came back glowing. Is there something specific you’re concerned about?”

  Dianna stirred the stew as though she’d done it a million times; the look on her made-up face was doubtful and perfectly sinister. The crazy gray-haired wig only added to the picture. “And that doesn’t seem odd to you? Suspicious even? You haven’t known him all that long, right? Well, you do know that he hasn’t held jobs well. In fact, I think if your sister talked to people who he’s worked for in Orderville, she might get a different story. He’s not reliable, but that’s not even the least of it.” She pinched her mouth and then looked away. “I’m sorry again if I’m being dramatic, but maybe you should just suggest to your sister that she look a little closer at him.”

  “Got it,” I said. “I will. And thank you.” Dianna had vocalized exactly what I’d been thinking.

  She looked at me again and nodded.

  Dianna Kivitt and I would never be great friends. We were clearly very different people, but I suddenly wondered if that wasn’t more about me than her. She was just who she was, suspicious by nature. I realized that perhaps I should have figured out by now that suspicion was sometimes a smart way to stay safe.

  “Becca, yoo-hoo, do you have a minute?” Lucy said from the corral.

  I excused myself from the cauldron and hurried back to Lucy.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” she said. “You’ve been so kind and patient. I actually wondered if we’d see you this afternoon.”

  “Oh. No problem. My pleasure.” I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t the type not to hold up my end of a bargain, but that felt wrong.

  “So, well . . .”

  “What?”

  “Well, I was wondering if you’d like to stick around and help with the festivities,” she said so cheerily that I laughed in reaction.

  “You don’t have enough people to help?”

  She shook her head. “It seems that that silly ‘gypsy magic’ rumor, legend, whatever, has grown so much because of poor Virgil’s death and the roller coaster problem, most of my helpers have been scared away. Ward wasn’t even supposed to be here, but he offered to help out.”

  That probably explained Jerry’s participation.

  I truly had nothing to do but go home, and Hobbit was spending the day with Mathis. If Hobbit had been waiting, I probably would have said no. But she wasn’t.

  “Sure,” I said after only one deep breath.

  The kids, who arrived loudly and via a big yellow school bus, clearly knew absolutely nothing about gypsy magic. Or they just didn’t care. They ranged in age from five years old up to eleven or twelve. They stepped off the bus and into a world where they got to run around in costumes, yell, decorate pumpkins, and eat things that tasted good but were made to look gory. What wasn’t to like?

  I took up a post with the pumpkins and helped dole out markers and stencils and glue and glitter. There were no knives, so carving wasn’t a part of the decorating, and not one of the children complained.

  During the crazy afternoon, Dianna brought me a bowl of the Brain and Eyeball Stew, telling me I’d been there a couple hours and should probably eat something, but other than that I lost all track of time. I lost track of Scott, Jerry, Ward, Lucy, and, eventually, Dianna. I played with kids, and ended up covered in marker and glitter and glue and even some stray yarn that someone had used to create a Raggedy Ann pumpkin.

  I was a mess and I had a great time.

  The kids finally left at about six thirty, and the corn maze began to transition to its early evening and nighttime audience. As it began to get dark, I thought I might be able to finally steal away. And I would have succeeded if only Lucy hadn’t found me again.

  “I didn’t see you all afternoon,” I said.

  “Oh, I was around, here and there. I saw the fun you were having with the kids and I didn’t want to disturb. I really can’t thank you enough
for your help. I promise I won’t ask you to do anything ever again. Well, until next year when we need more pumpkins, I guess.” Lucy smiled.

  “No problem.” I looked around. “Scott still here?”

  “Yeah, he’s somewhere. I had him inside the maze with the kids. I think I’ve talked him into staying and donning a zombie costume for the nighttime crowd. I bet he’ll be wonderful.”

  I was suddenly just plain tired of wondering. “Lucy, I’ve got to know something.”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s going on with you and Scott? I mean, I saw the two of you disappear into the trailer and you didn’t answer when I knocked. I know he’s not my husband anymore, but that left me with a funny feeling. You do know he’s married.”

  “Of course, I know,” she said, but she blushed slightly. “I know . . . well, rest assured there’s nothing illicit going on between Scott and me. He’s helped out with the rides. He’s good at fixing things. I didn’t hear you knock and I don’t know how I missed it, but our meetings have been about the rides.”

  I blinked. I couldn’t tell if she was being truthful or not. Or was she telling the truth in a roundabout way? Had she and Scott been meeting about the rides but plotting to sabotage roller coaster tracks and such? She must have read my mind.

  “Becca,” she said as she put her hand on my arm, “Scott and I didn’t have anything to do with the coaster tracks breaking. In fact, and it might have been when we didn’t answer your knock, he was adamant in telling me that some of the rides were far too dangerous to allow them to continue to run.”

  “And you didn’t listen to him?”

  She nodded. “Yes, we did listen to him, and we were considering it seriously, I promise you that. I wish we would have. Orderville is full of superstition and somewhat unexplained events, but plain and simple that track was weak. There’s no gypsy magic at work there, and I don’t think anyone sabotaged it. Scott caught it the first day of the fair. He asked for some blueprints or schematics of the rides, and he marked where he thought they might need extra work. He found the exact spot on the tracks that ultimately broke and drew it up for me, for us. He was trying to help.”