Father Knows Death Part 11

"We protest," Scarecrow said. "Man, we protest."

"How? Where? Who?"

"Right now, we're kind of a . . . loose group," Dorothy said, adjusting her sungla.s.ses on her nose. "Our membership is growing. We hold some information sessions about things people can do, but they aren't well attended, to be honest. So sometimes we get together and protest. Peaceful demonstrations."

"How many members do you have?"

She shuffled her feet. "About twenty. We're trying to grow it, but it's not easy. People either don't want to get involved or they don't believe."

I was expecting to hear that it was just her and Scarecrow, so I was actually surprised.

"We do pet.i.tions, hold rallies, things like that, too," Scarecrow said.

"And George was part of your group?" I asked, a little disbelieving.

They both nodded vigorously.

"George was awesome," Dorothy said, a wistful smile on her face. "He came to a meeting we had about three months ago and he knew a lot about a lot. He was really into recycling. He knew about composting. He was really well read. He just was into it and he didn't treat us like a bunch of crazy hippies. He was older than most of the rest of us, so he wasn't so much our leader, but he was kind of a . . ."

"Mentor," Scarecrow said.

"Yeah, mentor. That's a good word. He helped us find info and he would run meetings when I couldn't be there," Dorothy said. "Like when I had to be at work at Chili's or Luke . . ."

"Jesus, Emily," Scarecrow/Luke whispered under his breath.

Her face reddened. I wasn't sure if it was because she'd given his name away first or that I now knew hers, too.

"It's okay, Dorothy," I said, nodding and pretending I didn't catch her real name. "Go on."

Despite the stupid names, I sort of liked them.

"I mean, when Scarecrow had a frat meeting," she said. "Or something like that. The point is, George was involved and he helped us and he was really concerned about what was going on in Rose Petal. He took it seriously."

"How did he help?"

"He'd put information together," she explained. "Make it so we could understand it. He totally broke down fracking and the dangers it posed to people, especially in Rose Petal. When people got fired up, he'd calm them down. He believed in nonviolent protest all the way. He didn't want us to do anything stupid. But he really believed in the idea of making people aware."

First, the Petal Dawgs. Now, C.A.K.E. George apparently had a lot of outside interests. I'm not sure why, but I hadn't pictured him being involved in community activities. I saw him just doing his job and that was it. I was probably guilty of thinking that about a lot of folks in Rose Petal. It was hard envisioning them as anything other than what I saw them as on a daily basis.

"And last week," Dorothy said, glancing at Scarecrow, "he said something bad was happening in Rose Petal."

"What was it?"

"He wouldn't tell us," she said, shaking her head.

"Yeah," Scarecrow said. "He said he wasn't ready to involve us yet."

"You ask why?"

"Yeah, of course," Scarecrow said, annoyed. "But he wouldn't say anything. Just said he'd learned something and he was upset and he needed to find out more before he told us."

"Have you talked to the police?" I asked.

They both made faces as if I'd spit on their shoes.

"No," Dorothy said. "Like we said, we don't talk to the pigs. And, let's face it. The police here in Rose Petal are kind of lame."

Hard to argue with that, especially after my conversation with Sheriff Cotter, but still.

"George was murdered," I said, looking at both of them. "That's the kind of info they can use to help find out who killed him."

"Or they can ignore us and treat us like c.r.a.p," Scarecrow said, scowling. "Bad enough that we're college kids. But add in the fact that we're doing what we're doing and it seems like everyone thinks we're stupid. That's why we came to talk to you."

"Me? Why?"

"We heard you were looking into his death," Dorothy said. "And people say nice things about you. We didn't know who else to go to." She paused. People said nice things about me? "You are investigating his death, aren't you?"

I hesitated, then nodded.

"So we thought you should know," Dorothy said. "I wish it was more. George deserves better than what happened to him. Maybe whatever he knew was the reason for him getting killed. I don't know. But the way he acted?" She glanced at Scarecrow. "It seemed like a super big deal."

Scarecrow nodded an affirmation.

I watched the cars line up in the gra.s.s-lined lot like ants. Families poured out of their cars, kids bouncing with excitement, parents smiling and holding their hands, telling them to settle down and watch out for cars.

"I'll have to tell the police," I said. "And they'll probably want to talk with you."

They once again exchanged anxious looks.

"Just to interview you," I a.s.sured them. "They'll want to know what he said, see if you can remember any more details. I can vouch for you, tell them you're legit."

"We just told you all we know," Scarecrow said. "We don't know anything else. Really."

"Sure," I said. "But they'll want to confirm. They'll want to put it down on paper and add it to the case file. Dorothy's right. It might have something to do with his death and, if it does, the police might be able to follow it up. I'll follow it up, too, but the police should always know anything that might help them with a murder investigation."

Scarecrow leaned in close to Dorothy and whispered in her ear. They both glanced at me, but I couldn't read anything from their looks.

Scarecrow put his hands on his hips. "You'd have to be able to contact us. And be able to tell them who we are, for them to bring us in."

"Well, yeah," I said. "So maybe I could get a phone number or something? And I'd need your real names. Nothing's going to happen to you. I promise. The worst that can happen is that they don't take you seriously. You've done your part. That's all you can do."

"But what if they think we had something to do with it?" Dorothy asked.

"They'd have no reason to think that," I a.s.sured her.

"But you don't have our numbers," Scarecrow said, fidgeting. "Or our names."

"I have your first names." I had to admit at that point that I'd heard them.

"But not our last names."

"True. But I think you'd be smart to give them to me."

"You'll have to catch us," he said.

I didn't understand. "What?"

"Run!" Scarecrow yelled and they both took off sprinting across the gra.s.s lot, looking back over their shoulders to see if I was chasing them.

I was not.

I was just standing there, wondering for the millionth time if they added crazy to the water in Rose Petal or if everyone here was just born that way.

21.

Before I could get into the fairgrounds, I was intercepted by an unfriendly face.

Sheriff Cotter adjusted his sungla.s.ses. "Son, I think that maybe you have a memory issue."

He'd seen me coming toward the main gate and went from sitting in his lawn chair-de facto security-to standing up and hitching up his belt.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"Remember that conversation we had?" he asked, tilting the brim of his cowboy hat up slightly. "About not investigating until the fair closed?"

"Vaguely," I said.

"Son, I'm not messing around here," he said. "I specifically asked you to leave it alone until the festivities were over with."

"Well, unfortunately, I was hired to check into George's death," I said. "I'm being careful to not disturb the fair in any way."

"The point is that I asked you not to," he said.

"I know you did," I said. "And I'll be honest with you, Sheriff. That didn't really make much sense to me."

"That right?"

"Well, maybe not about me doing the investigating. The part that didn't make sense was you letting a criminal act go unlooked at for a few days," I said. "Can't imagine that's the best way to go about it."

He sucked on his teeth for a moment. "That because you've got all that police experience?"

"I've never been a police officer."

"Exactly," he said, smiling. "So you probably shouldn't be thinking you know what I should be doing."

I nodded. "Probably not. But I'm curious what state law enforcement would think of that practice. Like, say, if I called the Texas Rangers later on today and let them know that you're sitting on a possible homicide. I wonder what they'd say."

The smile vanished. "Are you threatening me, son?"

"I'm just making an observation," I said.

"I'd suggest not making those, then."

"Or?"

"Or you'll be sorry," he said, raising an eyebrow behind the sungla.s.ses.

"So I should let Mama know you don't want me doing anything about George's death?" I said.

He shuffled his feet against the dirt and hay on the ground. "Mama? What does she have to do with any of this?"

"She's the one that hired me," I said. "And she's the one who told me that if anyone gave me any trouble, I should let her know. And this right here? Sorta seems like you're giving me trouble."

He sighed. "Mama hired you?"

"Yes, sir."

He tilted the brim on his hat back down. "Well, that makes it all a little different now. Wish she'd tell me things when she changes her mind."

"Changes her mind?"

His mouth twisted, but he didn't say anything.

"She the one who told you to hold off on investigating?"

His mouth twisted tighter. "We have a standing agreement."

"What exactly is that?"

"Anything bad happens at the fair, she asks me to wait until it's over," he said. "I work around it. But I don't make a lot of noise."

"Why?"

"So it doesn't screw up the entire week," he answered. "One bad week here and it can have a trickle-down effect on the entire town. So it's not like I've just been letting the thing sit. I've just been very quiet about it. If I'm stalking the fairgrounds, asking every single person questions, it's gonna look a whole lot less friendly than normal. People will stay away. They'll talk. It'll mess up the whole week."

I didn't disagree with him, but it was still hard to see how that took precedent over a murder investigation.

"I pulled prints from the freezer," he explained. "Body is being checked for DNA samples down in Dallas. Determined cause of death."

"Which was?"

He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged, as if saying it didn't matter if he told me or not. "Trauma to the head. Not sure what the weapon was, but looks like he took a blow to the back of the head." He shrugged again. "So I'm doing things. I'm just not doing anything that might ruffle Mama's feathers." He paused. "Probably why she hired you."