"I heard what you did," she said after they had introduced themselves. She pulled a sage green scarf from the rack. "Take this to cover the bandages."
"Oh, I can't do that." Jean raised her hands to refuse the gift. "That's too much."
"Nonsense," the vendor told her. "Come on in. I know a cute way to tie it."
Jean hesitated.
"Come on." The woman waved her into the booth. "It will go well with your blouse."
After another moment, Jean accepted. "Thank you. You're too kind."
"One good deed deserves another, my mother always told me." She stood behind Jean and put the scarf around her head. Jean could feel the woman wrapping and tying. "There. Take a look." She handed Jean a mirror.
The scarf ends had been wrapped from back to front and around again, and the knot in the back looked like a little flower. "Oh, how cute!" She fingered the knot. "That's very clever. Thank you."
The woman grinned. "I do my nieces' scarves up for them all the time. It's fun to share."
Jean shook her hand. "You've been so wonderful. I appreciate it."
The two women exchanged hugs and said goodbye. They waved to each other as Jean left. As she walked away she felt good and realized her headache was gone. She also realized the tension was gone, tension she hadn't realized she'd been carrying. Trust, she thought to herself. You didn't trust anyone after the attack. Now you do. It felt as though a huge weight had been lifted. The day seemed brighter. She stopped at an ice cream vendor and bought two vanilla ice cream cones. After she paid, she turned around and spotted her minder. Jean walked over to him and handed him a cone.
"This is for you."
Surprise covered his face, then embarrassment as he glanced around to see who might be watching.
"Go on, take it. It's a hot day and you've had to follow me around for a day and a half already. Enjoy yourself a little. It's a fair."
He hesitated, then took the cone.
"I hope vanilla is okay."
"It's just fine. Thank you." He took a lick.
"It seems goodwill and kindness is just flowing through the midway today." Jean began her walk back to the Exhibits building. Officer Williams waited. "Oh, no. No more trailing behind me. Walk with me. Tell me about yourself and your family."
His eyes widened.
"I'm serious." Jean waved him to her side. "Let's get to know each other."
He moved up beside her and they walked off together. "What's your first name?" By the time they arrived at the building, she knew he was Tom, had a wife, Glenna, a six-year-old boy, Randy, and a three-year-old girl, Emma.
It wasn't until she got back to the building and looked at Karen that she remembered. "I forgot your fries." She slapped herself on the forehead with the palm of her hand. "I'll be right back." She spun around and hurried out of the building. "Sorry, Tom. I was supposed to get cheesy fries for Karen." Jean strode right along and went straight to the fries vendor. The booth was two up from Analise's sandwich truck. After she gave the man her order she watched the food truck while she waited. She saw another young man, this one blond, in sneakers, jeans and a t-shirt go up to the window. Analise motioned him around to the open door. Jean couldn't hear anything they said over the noise of the carnival music and the people walking by. She could, however, see Analise. The woman was obviously angry. She pointed at him over and over in short, sharp jabs. Whoever the young man was, he acted defensive, then got angry himself and pointed at her before storming off. Analise smacked the door frame of the truck and went back inside.
That was interesting. Jean looked around for Officer Williams. He was at the next booth getting a hot dog, so he hadn't seen the exchange. I wonder what that argument was about? Her musings were interrupted when the vendor said, "Here you go, Miss."
He handed her a heavy-duty paper plate covered with spiral-cut potato, deep fried and covered with melted cheese sauce. "Oh my."
He grinned. "It's my best seller."
"Thanks." She grinned back at him. "This is for a friend. I may have to come back later and get one for myself."
"See you then." He moved on to his next customer.
She picked up Officer Williams when she walked by. He was eating his hot dog. "Wow, that's a lot of fries."
"I know," she laughed. "I might get one myself, later."
He nodded. "I can see why."
They hurried. Jean didn't want Karen's food to get cold. On the way back she wondered about the two different young men arguing with Analise an hour apart. What would Analise be sorry for? And who was she telling to "just get it done?" Then the second young man. He seemed angry but not the same as the first man. She wished she could have heard that exchange. Analise seemed different with him than the first guy. It was a puzzle.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
At seven Jean was hungry and there were two more hours before fair closing. She'd spent the day in the Exhibits building talking to the other volunteers. There had also been questions from visitors about the building, the exhibits and where things were on the fairgrounds. One interesting thing did happen, though. Two hours earlier Karen had called Jean over to the Homemaking Arts department.
"Jean, meet Vera MacIlroy." Jean had seen the woman and her friends yesterday, standing in front of her prize-winning quilt, but they hadn't spoken. Vera was in her sixties and was built like a farm hand. Her hair was drawn back into a severe gray bun and her pale blue eyes were surrounded by the wrinkles that came from working in the hot Arizona sun for decades.
"Nice to meet you, Ms. MacIlroy." Jean held out her hand and Vera shook it. It was a surprisingly firm grip for an old woman. "I saw you yesterday with your friends but I didn't have a chance to congratulate you on winning Best of Show."
"Call me Vera, I still think of Mrs. MacIlroy as my mother-in-law. And thank you. I've been trying to win that prize for years."
"Terrible thing about Ina." Jean studied the woman's reaction.
"It is." Vera shook her head. "I don't know what this county is coming to, murder right in the middle of town."
Jean tried another tack. "I understand Ina was your chief competitor. I heard you were quite upset at her last year."
"She was. And I was. I was so mad I spit on her quilt." Vera sighed. "I felt bad about it later. Not very Christian of me. I let my pride and my jealousy get the better of me. I apologized to her the next day. Then I went around and apologized to everyone who'd had to witness my childish behavior." Vera studied the floor at her feet, then lifted her head and straightened her spine. "I'm glad I apologized. I'd hate to have that on my conscience now that she's gone. She made beautiful quilts."
Jean could see genuine sadness on the woman's face. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Vera."
"Thank you." Vera sniffed and then smiled at Jean. "I hear you're new in town. How do you like Greyson?"
"I like it very much. There are a lot of nice people here."
"I'm glad. Feel free to stop by the Methodist Church on Sunday. Service is at ten." She grinned. "After the service is a potluck. I make a mean enchilada casserole."
"I appreciate the invitation, Vera. Enjoy the fair."
"I will. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, too." Jean and Karen watched as the woman rejoined her family.
"What do you think, Karen?" They saw Vera, her daughter and granddaughter wander off to the Photography department.
"I don't think she killed Ina."
"She's strong enough. She has a grip like a vise." Jean adjusted her scarf.
"But she was genuinely sad about Ina's death."
"And there were the apologies. That would be easy enough to check, so I don't think she was lying." Jean adjusted one of the afghans hanging on a display rack. "No, I'm with you. I don't think she did it."
#
Two hours later the traffic through the building was slow and Jean was a little bored. She adjusted her scarf, still tied the way the scarf vendor had left it. "I'm going to get something
to eat," she called over to Karen.
Karen wandered over to where Jean was sitting. "I'm still full from the fries. Could you get me a lemonade? That will help cut all the grease I ate at lunchtime."
"I should think so," Jean laughed. She pulled her wallet out of the bag she had stashed away under the displays and stood up. "I won't be long."
"Take your time. It's only going to get slower." Karen went back to her chair where she had her needlepoint project and sat down.
Jean walked out into the cooling night air. It was still stuffy in the Exhibits building; much nicer outside. She strolled to the midway. The clientele had changed. During the day it was the elderly and families with young children. Now the people she passed were young adults, teenagers, and young couples, sometimes pushing a baby stroller. The carnival and midway were lit up like Times Square and the music from the carnival seemed even louder. How nice, she thought, that people are out having fun.
Memories surfaced of her and Dwight, taking Jimmy to a fair when the boy was about eight. They were just like the couple in front of her now - walking along hand in hand, child dancing along in front of them, pointing out every new and exciting thing, begging for every trinket or food item that caught his eye. She had to swallow the lump that began to form in her throat. That was a long time ago and far, far away. Jean took a breath and pushed the memory down. She was still too angry over the divorce to enjoy the memory of her son at the fair.
As she walked she evaluated the food selection. She'd had bratwurst for lunch so she wanted something else. The taco stand caught her eye. Tacos at the fair—a new thing for her, this being the southwest. In New York it had been fried dough with tomato sauce and a sprinkling of parmesan cheese. Here it was tacos and Navajo fry bread. The same as fried dough, but instead of tomato sauce, it was refried beans and cheese. She hurried over. "Two tacos, please. Beef and cheese."
While she waited she watched a group of teenaged girls go by, giggling and shrieking at their own conversation. A gaggle of teen boys followed along about twenty feet behind them. The girls turned occasionally to peek at the boys and peals of giggles sounded at each turn. Jean had to smile. Some things never changed.
#
Nick White got out of his car and flashed his badge to get through the gate. The woman in the booth waved him through. He made it a habit to come to the fair every day it was open, usually in the evening. That's when trouble came, if it happened at all. Generally it was some young guy who'd had too much to drink in the beer tent and gotten offended by something stupid, then started a fight. He hoped it stayed quiet this year. Most of his officers were interviewing people about Ina's murder. He didn't have a lot of officers left to cover a disturbance at the fair.
His stomach growled. Yeah, yeah, he told himself. Stop skipping lunch. Fine, let's get something here. He knew the guy who had the taco stand. The owner had a permanent setup in the parking lot of the local hardware store. Nick stopped by the stand at least once a week and tacos sounded good right now. He headed for the stand.
He saw Officer Williams before he saw Jean and stopped short. Nick spotted her at the stand counter, ordering. He waved his officer over.
"Hey, Chief." The young man stood at attention though he was in civilian clothing.
"Hey, Tom." Nick jerked his chin in Jean's direction. "How's it going?"
"Pretty dull, Chief, a lot of standing around doing nothing. There was some excitement this afternoon though."
Nick's interest perked up. "Oh?"
"Yeah. Some old guy had heat exhaustion. Ms. Hays stepped right in, pulled her scarf off of her head and got water and put it on the old guy's head. She took charge. Sent the daughter for cold water, got more handkerchiefs and bandanas from the crowd, had me call the ambulance. By the time the EMTs got here, she had cold compresses on all of the guy's pulse points and had calmed the wife and daughter down. It was a sight to see."
Nick cocked an eyebrow. "Good emergency first-aid skills."
"I thought so."
"Anything else?"
"Nope. She's buying dinner. I think I will, too."
"That's what I'm here for. I go to Jose's stand at least once a week." He clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Enjoy your dinner."
They stepped up to the counter and ordered. Tom drifted off to the left of the stand as Nick approached Jean.
"Hi there."
Jean turned. "Hi Nick. Checking up?"
"Yep. I come every night of the fair. Sometimes there's a little trouble over at the beer tent."
She nodded. "Anything yet on my attacker?"
"No, sorry." He stuck his hands in his pockets and watched the parade of people walking by.
"I saw something today. Three different things, matter of fact."
He drew a deep breath. "Go on."
Jean nodded toward Analise's food truck. "This morning I saw her talking with a young guy, mid-twenties, maybe, dark hair, an angry discussion. He told her she'd be sorry. Right after, I saw her make a call. She was upset and angry and told whoever she was talking to to take care of it. Then about an hour later I saw a different young man, blond, go to her window. She took him around to the truck door where I saw them have an argument. I couldn't hear, but there was a lot of finger-pointing and yelling. The blond guy stormed off. Analise didn't seem very happy."
She's still trying to be a detective, he grumbled to himself. "Doesn't sound like much. Do you know the guys?"
"No." She shook her head, sounding disappointed. She turned to face the Chief. "But I know an argument when I see it and they were both mad about something."
He did his best not to roll his eyes. "Could have been anything, Jean. She may owe the guy money, he may owe her money. Hell, knowing Analise, it could be a lover's quarrel."
"He couldn't be more than twenty-five!"
Nick's eyebrow went up. "It happens."
"I guess. But something is going on there, Nick. I just know it."
"All that police training?" As soon as he said it he wished he could pull the words back. He could see her face go from shock, to disbelief, then anger. He started to say he was sorry.
She held up a hand. "Not another word." Jean spun on her heel and left.
Tom hurried up. "What happened?"
"Nothing. I'll get your food. Follow her." Tom hurried off after the rapidly retreating Jean.
Put your foot in it that time, Nick, you fool. He watched Tom hurry after Jean. Behind him he heard Jose call out, "Nick, her order is ready."
"I'll take it to her, Jose." He turned to the counter. "Wrap it up, will you?"
"Sure, Nick."
"Mine and Tom's too."
Jose waved acknowledgement.
Nick stood and thought about what Jean had told him. She has an eye, that's for sure. I should have said that, not some snarky response. I need to check out Analise some more. It's possible she is framing Arris. Damn. I just had to open my big mouth.
Nick called Tom. "What else did Jean want?"
"She was getting lemonade for Karen."
Nick picked up the tacos and the lemonade—with an extra for Jean—and trudged over to the Exhibits building. He found Karen Carver in Homemaking Arts, the department empty, doing some sort of needlework.
"Hi." He handed her one of the lemonades. "Ms. Hays forgot her food."
Karen put down her work and took the lemonade. The plastic cup was wet with condensation and sticky to boot. "Thanks for the lemonade, Chief."
He swallowed. Hard. "Uh, Ms. Hays?"
Karen took a sip of the lemonade and screwed up her face. "Hoo, that's tart. Just the way I like it." She rolled the cup around, the ice stirring the drink with a soft rattle. "Jean gave me the keys to close up and left." Karen sat back in her chair and eyed the bags in his hands. "I guess she decided she wasn't hungry after all."
That made him feel worse. Now the woman, who had been hungry, didn't get her dinner. He stood there, staring at Karen. "Uh," he tipped his hat with his
free hand, "thank you, ma'am."
He turned, left the building and dropped the tacos in the nearest trash can. "Son of a bitch, Nick, you can't do anything right," he cursed himself out as he left the grounds.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The next morning the Chief arrived at the fairgrounds at nine in the morning. Just walking through the gate made him remember the blunder of last night. He took his hat off and rubbed his hand through his hair. There had been no reason to crack wise last night but there it was.
Now he was back to follow up on Analise. He was tempted to stop by the Exhibits building but he resisted the urge. No good would come of that. He hitched his equipment belt up and strode to the sandwich truck. Analise was sitting in the door of the truck, drinking a bottle of water. "Analise." He tipped his hat. The carnival music was already going. He wondered how the vendors and volunteers could take three days of that racket.
"Chief." She saluted him with the water. "What brings you out to the fair so early in the day?"
He waited until an elderly couple, the husband in a scooter, passed by. "I'm looking into Ina's murder. You're next on the list to be interviewed."
"I don't have a lot of time, Chief." She capped the bottle and stood on the top step of the fold down stairs leading into the truck. "I've got the noon food to prep."
"Just a few questions, Analise. When was the last time you saw Ina?" Nick pulled his notebook out of the front pocket of his uniform khaki shirt. He clicked the pen and looked at her expectantly.
She shrugged. "I don't know. Last winter, I guess. Arris and Ina were probably at a dance somewhere and I saw them. Who knows?" She turned and stepped up into the truck.
Nick followed her, mounting to the step she'd just left. He was just about inside the truck, and there was nowhere for Analise to go. He jotted a note. "Did you speak to Ina? Or Arris?"
"No." She began ripping a head of lettuce apart and putting the individual leaves into an rectangular aluminum container.
"Just no?"
"No, not really. I might have said hello to her in the ladies room. That's it. There was no reason to talk to Arris." She eyed Nick. "You do know Arris and I have been divorced for years, right? Why would I talk to either one of them?" She picked up a bulb of garlic and slammed it on the aluminum counter breaking the cloves apart. Analise picked up a knife.