Father Knows Death Part 3

"I can't believe they're letting us keep it open."

He raised a sweaty eyebrow. "Really? Not me. With all the stuff that goes on around here at the fair, nothing surprises me anymore."

I shrank back as a woman carrying a toddler with a dripping ice cream cone pa.s.sed by. "That right?"

He nodded. "Yep. Nothing stops the fair."

"Clearly."

Pete chuckled. "Right? You'd think something like this might've put a dent in the day. But if they'd tried to shut us down, she would've come out guns blazing."

"She? Mama?"

He nodded again. "Oh, yeah. Mama Biggs and her entire crew."

"Crew?"

"Matilda. Bruce." He waved a hand absently in the air. "Woody and Wendy. Probably others I don't even know about. That seems like one family tree with a lot of goofy branches."

"Who are they?"

"They're actually in charge of all the fair food," he said. "They're on the fair board, too. It's like a clan or something. Or maybe gang is a better word for them. I'm not sure what the best word to describe them is." He stretched out his legs and rubbed his knees. "But I didn't for a second think the police would shut down the food stand. Pretty sure Mama's got some under-the-table deal with them."

"Are Wendy and Woody related to Mama, too?" I said. "And, just so you know, I can't believe we're grown men referring to a grown woman as Mama."

He laughed. "Me, either. But I don't even know her real name. I'm not sure if Woody and Wendy are related to Mama. I don't think so. That might be a little too overt to make every member of her family a board member, even for Mama. Woody and Wendy are married, but you wouldn't know it. They fight like cats and dogs most of the time. Woody should be here any minute." Pete chuckled again. "You can't miss him."

It amazed me that even after living in Rose Petal my entire life, there were still people I didn't know. The town felt so small and so insular that I was always surprised when I heard a name or saw a face that I didn't recognize. I'd known about the fair board as a group for years, but it wasn't until I'd gotten roped into helping with 4-H that I'd learned any of their names.

"And you didn't hear it from me, but there have been lots of whispers about all of them," Pete said.

"Whispers?"

He leaned forward. "None of them have real jobs. All they do is the fair." He raised an eyebrow. "And the board positions are all volunteer."

"None of them are paid?"

"Think Mama might get some sort of nominal stipend for being the chairwoman, but other than that?" Pete shook his head. "They're all unpaid volunteer positions."

I leaned back and watched a stream of people walk by on their way to the free stage and wondered what show might be drawing such a crowd.

"So where are they getting their money?" Pete sighed. "Midway. Food stands. Ticket booths. You name it." He winked at me. "But, remember. That's just whispers."

Skimming from a county fair was probably more common than I knew. But I didn't like the idea that they might be stealing from local organizations that depended on fair revenue to survive. Like Carly's 4-H group.

"No one's called them on it?" I asked. "Checked out their financials?"

Pete smiled. "You should really come to a fair board meeting. I think you'd enjoy it."

"Why's that?"

The smile stayed on his face. "There's one tomorrow night. They always have one during the week of the fair. Just come and see for yourself."

I made a mental note to try and check it out.

"And if you wondered why the sun just disappeared," Pete said, his smile changing from mischievous to amused, "here comes Woody."

7.

As a former football player, I had been around lots of large men, but I wasn't sure I'd ever seen anyone the size of Woody.

As he ambled over to us, I put him at about six foot eight and 350 pounds. He just seemed to take up s.p.a.ce, swallowing up the air around him. A black baseball cap sat on his boulder-size head, an unruly Fu Manchu beard encircled his mouth. A green tank top exposed long, muscled arms and denim shorts hung to his knees. Dirty sandals attempted to corral feet, which looked more like small pontoon boats.

"Hey, Pete," he said in a gravelly voice. "Takin' a break?"

"Nope, we're done," Pete said, standing. "You know Deuce?"

Woody fixed me with a ma.s.sive grin. "Can't say that I do." He extended a ma.s.sive hand. "Woody Norvold."

I stood and we shook hands, his grip surprisingly dainty considering he looked like he could lift the earth. "Deuce Winters."

"Oh, sure, sure," he said, nodding. "Football player extraordinaire. Dead-body finder."

Everywhere I went, people gave me new suggestions for business card slogans.

"Excuse me a sec, will you, boys?" he said, sliding past us. "I'm starving and I need a quick snack. Be right back." He strode over to the stand.

"Told you you couldn't miss him," Pete whispered. "He's like an eclipse."

"How have I never seen that guy in Rose Petal?"

"He lives over in Brecker."

"Still."

Woody lumbered back out, a bratwurst in each hand. No buns. Just brats, held like hammers.

"So. Lotta excitement out here today, I guess," he said in between bites.

Pete and I both nodded.

"Good to see they didn't shut us down," he said, polishing off one brat and starting on the other. "No food would be a tragedy."

I wasn't sure if he meant no food for the fair or for himself. The 4-H stand was the only one that served anything substantial, but there was still the popcorn place, the cotton candy cart, the ice cream "shoppe," and the corn dog vendor. You could get anything battered and fried there: Oreos, Snickers, whole pickles, bacon, probably even bubble gum.

"Board still meeting tomorrow night, Woody?" Pete asked.

"Oh, yeah. Sure. It's a tradition."

"Like Bruce's wig," I said.

They both looked at me, confused.

"Never mind," I said.

Woody finished the second sausage and wiped his greasy hands on his shorts. "Anyway, yeah. Meeting's tomorrow night at seven."

"What goes on at the meetings?" I asked.

"Board stuff."

"Which is?"

Woody rolled his ma.s.sive shoulders. "Just board stuff. Votes. Discussions. That kinda stuff. People will make some complaints about the fair and want them fixed this year. They'll make suggestions for next year. Most of it'll be nonsense, but there might be a good nugget or two in there. And I'd imagine there'll probably be some talk about George tomorrow now, too."

"Did you know him?" I asked. "George?"

Woody rubbed his huge chin. "You could say that. He was around here a lot. Nice enough fellow. I liked him." He paused for a moment, considering something somewhere in his ma.s.sive skull. "But we didn't hang out together or nothing. We didn't get together on Sundays to watch football or go hunting. So I knew him. But we weren't all buddy-buddy."

His answer was nearly as convoluted as Bruce's, and both of their hemming and hawing started to raise some more questions in my mind.

He glanced at the watch on his wrist. "I gotta get running, boys. Gotta check on the other stands and make sure everything's running smooth." He grinned. "And maybe grab something else to eat. Good to meet you, Deuce. See you later, Pete."

He took a couple of steps away from us, then stopped.

"You know, I really wasn't friends with George," he said, looking at me.

"Sure," I said. "I understand."

He blinked several times, something pa.s.sing through his eyes, and he rubbed at the Fu Manchu again. "Yeah. More like I was aware of him."

8.

"They both said aware," I said. "Don't you think that's odd?"

Julianne and I were standing at the bottom of a ma.s.sive slide, which Carly was about to go down for the ninety-seventh time. It was the safest looking ride at the fair and the only one she could get me to agree to letting her go on.

"They're all odd," she said.

"Yeah, okay. But I mean they used exactly the same word to describe how they knew him. Or how they didn't know him. Don't you think that's odd? Even more odd?"

Carly bounced down the slide, giggling the entire way. She hit the bottom, scrambled to her feet, and sprinted to the stairway to go up again. I watched it bounce a little as she bounded up, and tried not to envision the whole thing crumpling to the ground.

"The only thing I think is that if this kid doesn't get out of me soon, I'm going to reach up there and pull it out myself," Julianne said, a hand on her enormous belly.

"I don't think that's physically possible."

"And I think you are treading on thin ice with a ma.s.sively irritated pregnant woman." She frowned at me. "You promised me you wouldn't get involved."

I held out the lemonade I'd bought and she grabbed it from me, sucking hard on the straw.

"I'm not involved," I said. "I was just part of a conversation and I'm just making some . . . observations."

"Those observations usually get you in trouble." She handed the empty cup back to me and I tossed it in the trash.

"I just think it's weird."

Carly bounced down again and sprinted for the stairway.

"Last time!" I yelled.

She made a face at me and started up the steps.

"Well, it is weird," Julianne said. "But the whole thing is weird. You found a guy in a freezer. And I feel confident in saying they are all working with limited vocabularies. Maybe they just learned the meaning of aware."

"Ha. But what if they're ripping everyone off? Including 4-H?"

"I think my ankles are going to explode," she said, walking in place, her hands braced on her lower back. "Well, then, if they are embezzling, that's not good."

"I wanna go to the meeting," I said. "Just to listen to them. Pete thinks I'd enjoy it."

She shook her head. "No."

"Come on. One night. I promise not to say a word."

"You promised to stay out of it and it seems like you are practically in the middle of it already."

"I promised to stay out of George Spellman's death. This is totally unrelated."

She glared at me. "Do you even believe the words that come out of your mouth?"

Carly reached the bottom of the slide again.

"Okay, you're done!" I yelled.

"One more!" she yelled back.