Father Knows Death Part 12

"How you figure?"

"You aren't wearing a uniform or a gun," he said. "You aren't as scary as I would be."

That made sense. Even if everyone seemed to know that I was investigating, it was still different than uniformed officers roaming the fairgrounds.

"And if she woulda just told me that she'd hired you, we wouldn't be having this conversation," he said, frowning. "Sorry, Deuce."

"No worries, Sheriff," I said. "Sounds like we both got only part of the story."

He adjusted his hat. "Story of my life, Deuce. Story of my life."

22.

Bruce-he of the horned, red wig-squinted at me from the back of a pickup truck. "You know who did it yet?"

I'd just entered the main gate of the fairgrounds and he was in the bed of the truck, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a very large squirt gun in his hands.

"Nope, not yet," I said. I pointed at the squirt gun. "And please don't shoot me."

He looked down at his hands and laughed. "Oh, no, man. This is for the parade. To keep everyone cool. I'm just getting some practice in. It's gonna be so danged hot. They'll be begging me to soak 'em."

I didn't ask what he was practicing on. "Ah."

The driver of the truck poked his big, square head out. "Yo, Bruce. Where we headed?"

"Hang on a sec, Willie," Bruce said, then to me, "So, no leads?"

"I'm working on a few things," I said, being vague on purpose. "Talking to a few people."

Bruce's expression soured. "Yeah? Like who?" "Just people who knew George, that kind of thing."

"I don't think anyone knew him too well."

"Why do you say that?"

He s.h.i.+fted in his makes.h.i.+ft seat in the back of the truck. "I just think he was kind of a loner. Always seemed to be off by himself, never talked to anyone. Probably a waste of time to ask people about him."

"Actually, I've found a few people who knew him pretty well," I said. "So I think I can put some things together."

He leaned forward. "Like who?"

Bruce was awfully interested. "Just people he spent time with outside of his job."

"I don't think he did much outside of his job, man."

"Well, like I said, I'm finding some different things. We'll see."

"Maybe he got himself stuck in there," Bruce said.

"Stuck in where? In the freezer?"

"Sure."

"How? Why?" Buried to his neck in a pile of sausages?

The pickup idled loudly. "Maybe he was looking for some free food or something. Maybe the door accidentally shut behind him. Maybe he was trying to fix something. Who knows?"

"I don't think he would've crawled in if he was just looking for some food," I said.

Bruce thought about that, then shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he was really hungry."

Bruce wasn't making sense, which wasn't really surprising considering that he was wearing a red wig with horns for no good reason. He didn't seem like the kind of guy you went to if you wanted, you know, common sense. He seemed more like the kind of guy you went to if you needed squirt guns and free beer.

"You seem to know a lot about George," I said. "But I know you said you guys weren't really friends. How's that?"

Bruce moved around like a mouse was running loose in his shorts. "I told you before, man. I was aware of him. That's all."

"Right, but you were just telling me how he didn't have any friends and . . ."

"Let's go, Willie!" Bruce hollered and cut me off.

The pickup lurched forward, kicking up a cloud of dust.

Bruce stared at me as they drove away, the squirt gun tapping against his thigh.

23.

I was halfway to the food stand when I saw my father walking toward me from the other direction.

"What are you doing here so early?" I asked.

He frowned. "Your mother volunteered us to sit at some table. So now I have to sit there while she yaks at everyone that comes through."

"Fun."

"No, not fun," he said. "I'd rather be home, taking a nap. But I heard something interesting at breakfast with the boys this morning that I thought you might be interested in, too. I called your home but your wife, who is about to have a kid any second, said you had abandoned s.h.i.+p and were already here."

"You guys aren't boys," I said, ignoring the crack and digging in with my own. "You know that, right? You're old men who act like boys."

"Whatever," he said, rolling his eyes.

He had breakfast every morning with his four oldest friends at the same restaurant and they sat there like the town elders and gossiped like their wives. While I made fun of them every chance I got, they did know what was going on in Rose Petal ninety-nine percent of the time.

"There's some rumbling that they're looking to move the fair next year," he said with a sly grin, because he knew I was going to be interested. "Did you know that?"

"Move it?"

He nodded. "You know that plot of land at the north end of the county, up near Denton? Was supposed to be some fancy schmancy development but then the money dried up and it never went through?"

"Vaguely."

"It's there," he said. "Trust me. The land is pretty usable. Needs some infrastructure and a few other things, but it's a good chunk of land."

"It could hold the fair?"

He shrugged. "Structures would have to be built because it's essentially vacant right now, but, sure. Plenty of acreage. I would guess that it's already zoned for plumbing and electricity, given that it was originally going to be housing."

I looked around. I'd been coming to the fair since I was born. I'd covered every inch of the fairgrounds. I knew exactly where everything was, including all of the secret hiding spots I'd discovered as a kid. I couldn't imagine it all going away.

"Who exactly wants to move it?" I asked. He raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think? Your pal, Mama Biggs."

"Can she move it?"

"Here's the really interesting thing," my father said, glancing around. "Sure, she can move it. The fair board as the governing body can do whatever they'd like. And as you well know, they'll do whatever she tells them. But that land up north? It's for sale."

"I'm not following you."

"In order to move the fair, that land has to be offered up for use by whomever owns it," he explained. "Right now, it's still for sale. Has been for almost two years, since the developers went belly up. The developers still own the rights and they've been looking to sell it to recoup their losses. They aren't interested in leasing it, because they're starving for money and they need to get as much as they can as quickly as they can. But there haven't been any takers."

"So, then, how can the fair be moved there? Wouldn't the land have to be owned by the county or something to house it?"

He smiled. I'd seen that smile a lot over the course of my lifetime. It was the one that said, "I'm so far ahead of you, I can barely see you when I look back over my shoulder at you."

"Well, it would definitely have to be owned by someone, yes," he said.

I waited.

"Mama Biggs was at the bank last week," he said. "Applying for a loan. To buy that property."

I took all of that in for a minute, working it through my head, watching several families stroll by us.

"Ed told me this morning," my father said. "I wasn't even talking about your shenanigans."

"So she wants to buy the land so she can hold the fair there?" I said, trying to connect the dots. "Why?"

My dad shrugged. "No idea. But I thought it was interesting."

"Why would that appeal to her?" I asked, confused. "So the county would have to pay her to use the new fairgrounds? That makes no sense. She'd have to pay for all of the new construction, not to mention the infrastructure needed to turn it into a fairground. I can't believe that would be worth it."

"Well, since no one knows exactly what this rinky-d.i.n.k carnival takes in each year, maybe there's more money in it than we know," he said.

"Who owns these fairgrounds?"

My dad paused. "The county, I'd a.s.sume."

"But you don't know for sure?"

He chuckled and slapped me on the shoulder. "I can't do all your work for you."

24.

"You look perturbed," Julianne said.

We were sitting outside the 4-H building under an awning and Carly was off helping her grandmother.

"Perturbed?" I said, then shook my head. "No. Not perturbed."

She grabbed one of the hot wings from the paper boat in her lap and held it up. "Hmm. Okay. How about bewildered?"

"Are you just trying to use big words to confuse me?"

She gnawed on the wing. "Maybe. Whichever word you like, you are clearly preoccupied with something."

I nodded. "Yes. The impending birth of our child."

She dropped the empty bone into the boat. "Ha. Funny. But that is not what I see in your expression. And remember. Being, like, ten weeks overdue gives me incredible powers of clairvoyance."

"I don't remember hearing that at birthing cla.s.ses for Carly."

She chewed on another wing. "That's because you're a man and your hearing is awful."

"I remember everything from birthing cla.s.s."

She snorted. "Oh, really? So how did you promptly forget all of it the minute we walked into the delivery room?"

"I didn't," I said.

"I think your memory is just as bad as your hearing," she said. "It's the whole reason we signed up for the refresher cla.s.s. Which was totally stupid and pointless."

The refresher cla.s.s wasn't stupid and pointless. We'd dutifully gone for six weeks of learning and bonding with other parents-to-be. Six of them, actually. All of whom had delivered healthy, happy babies. The "reunion" had been last week. We were the only ones still incubating, much to Julianne's dismay.