Father Knows Death Part 8

A few more nervous laughs floated through the air.

Mama just stared at the man.

"And the Ferris wheel hasn't been open at all" he said.

"Mechanical issues," Mama said, drumming her fingers on the table. "That is beyond our control and we won't risk the lives of the people in this town."

"Isn't that the most popular ride every year?"

She sneered at him. "I don't know. Why don't you poll the people in town and get back to me?"

"I don't need to," he said, unfazed by her tone. "I already know. You also denied the elementary school permission to do the snow cone booth this year. Why was that?"

"We are trying to create a healthier environment this year at the Carriveau County Fair," Mama Biggs said.

"Does she believe what she's saying?" Victor whispered in my ear. "Because, I don't."

I wasn't sure if she did or not, but I was with Victor. This guy was pointing out a lot of things that weren't adding up.

"Right," the guy said. "Because mini-donuts and fried everything are so healthy. People come to the fair to eat fair food."

The crowd again murmured, both in agreement and excitement.

Mama Biggs, however, was definitely not excited.

"Sir, I don't know who you are and I don't really care," she said, staring at him with eyes like lasers. "Until you have run the fair for two decades and actually have the experience to know what you're talking about, I'd suggest you shut your yap."

The man's face went crimson, but he didn't back down. "Well, maybe it's time for some new blood on the fair board."

Mama's face turned to stone. "Elections are at the end of every fair. You are welcome to submit your name for consideration."

"Maybe I will," he said, nodding. "Maybe I will. Because nothing you people are doing this year is making any sense to any of us."

The murmuring grew to actual conversations and people were clearly surprised and excited and confused at what had just transpired.

Mama smacked her hand down on the table and stood. "And now that we've covered everything, I move that we end this evening's meeting."

Matilda and Bruce both offered a meek "seconded" and the board hurried away from their table and out of the room, Mama still glaring at the man who dared question her.

15.

The questioner of Mama Biggs stuck out his hand. "Butch Dieter. You're Deuce Winters, correct?"

We were standing outside the library, the crowd having moved out after the meeting but not in any hurry to disperse. Victor had disappeared to go talk to Matilda and I had sought out the questioner in the crowd.

"I am," I said, shaking his hand.

"Then I should thank you."

"Why's that?"

"Because you were my inspiration," he said.

"Inspiration?"

He nodded. "I heard about you standing up to her earlier today. Heard you didn't take any of her guff, that you stood your ground with her and called her out for being so obnoxious. Soon as I heard about that, I decided I was gonna stand up, too. So, thanks."

"Uh, you're welcome," I said, unsure of how to respond. "That was kind of a show in there."

He shrugged. "I guess. I'm just tired of that old bag lying to everyone."

"Lying?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Pinocchio has nothing on her."

"How do you know?"

He looked me up and down. "I heard you're working for her."

"Sort of," I said, unsure of how to put it. "My partner and I are looking into Mr. Spellman's death."

"That right?"

"Yeah. You knew him?"

His face clouded over. "George was a good friend."

"Was he? You weren't just aware of him?"

Butch nodded slowly. "Yeah. We were buddies. I was pretty shocked. We all were. He was a great, great guy. Deserved better."

"How'd you know him?"

Butch scratched his head. "Gosh, I've known him for a long time. We used to be neighbors until he moved awhile back. And he was in the club."

"The club?"

"Motorcycles," Butch said. "Actually, the guys are about ready to take some action. When something happens to a brother, it's serious business."

"A motorcycle club?" I asked, still unsure of what he was talking about.

Butch glanced around us and stepped a bit closer. "Look, I can't really talk about the club with someone who's not a member, all right? But trust me. We are looking into this and we will respond."

"Respond? How?"

"We're supposed to ride during the parade at the fair," he said. "We'll probably make a statement then."

"What kind of statement?"

"I can't discuss it," he said apologetically. "Club rules. But you can bank on it. The boys will respond."

I felt like I'd been dropped into some sort of weird B-movie version of Fight Club, but I let it go for the moment. "Were you serious about trying to get on the fair board?"

"I don't really know," he said. "I'm pretty busy at my office and I got some other stuff going on, but I really think she's ripping everyone and everything off."

"Why do you think that?"

"I'm an accountant," he said. "When I'm not out riding my hog, I crunch numbers all day. Nothing she says or does makes sense. I love this fair. Been coming since I was a kid. And I think she's got something cooking and it's not good for any of us. But I can just eyeball the amount of cash that goes through here and this fair should be growing. Instead, it feels like it's shrinking."

The crowd was finally starting to disperse. I agreed with Butch. The fair did seem to be shrinking and there really wasn't a good answer for it.

"So, maybe not me, but I think someone else needs to get on that board and break up her little family-run monopoly," he said, frowning. "It's not fair. No pun intended."

I thought for a moment. "George worked for the fair, right?"

He nodded. "Yes, sir. Every year. He was in charge of the grounds. Big job. And he did it for nearly free because he loved the fair. It cut into his other jobs, but he didn't care."

"What other jobs?" I asked.

"He had a landscaping business and did some handyman work," Butch said. "He was just one of those guys who could do a bit of everything. But come fair time, he'd clear his schedule. He liked being around the fair and being a part of the setup and upkeep. I mean-he loved it. He planned his entire life around it."

"He work a lot with Mama?"

He smirked. "What do you think? Of course. She calls the shots, so she was the one giving him his workload."

"He get along with her?"

"Actually, better than most," Butch admitted. "He just kind of laughed about her. I think he just liked working here so much, that he was willing to overlook all of her c.r.a.p. He found a way to coexist with her."

Cars were now streaming out of the parking lot.

"Was George in a relationship?" I asked. "Was he married? Girlfriend?"

Butch's face went crimson just like it had during the meeting. "Hey, man. I can't talk about that kinda stuff."

"Why not?"

"It's against club rules to talk about other guys' girls," he said with a straight face. "That kind of thing could lead to bad news for me." He shook his head, as if he was reminding himself. "No, sir. I can't talk about that. My bros might find out and I'd have to answer to the rest of the PDs."

"The PDs?"

"The Petal Dawgs," Butch said. "That's the name of the club."

16.

"So you think she's lying?" I asked.

Victor nodded. "Yep."

We were leaning against my minivan in the parking lot of the library. Most everyone had left and there were only a few cars remaining. Butch had excused himself, driving off in a late model Ford pickup rather than on a motorcycle like I'd expected, and I was left to ponder the validity of the Petal Dawgs when Victor came shuffling out of the library and motioned me to the parking lot.

"I didn't ask Matilda anything point-blank," Victor said. "I didn't want to freak her out. So I asked a couple of questions about how long she'd been on the board, that kind of thing. Then I asked how well she knew Spellman and she got real quiet."

"So you think Matilda was having an affair with Spellman, then?"

He adjusted the hat on his head. "I don't know if it was an affair, or what it was, but there was something going on. I started asking her questions and she turned red like a tomato and that bozo in the wig came over to intervene."

"Bruce. The bozo's name is Bruce."

He waved a tiny hand in the warm evening air as if shooing away a pesky mosquito. "Yeah, sure, Bruce. Whatever. The dope in the wig. But he came over and tried to get all tough-guy with me and I told him if he didn't back off, I'd beat the c.r.a.p out of him like I do everyone else."

"I'd like to see that list."

"Shut up. Anyway, she didn't give me a single straight answer about Spellman, and I felt like the rest of that group was eavesdropping the entire time. The old bag was definitely trying to listen in. We need to get Matilda alone and talk to her." He paused. "Actually, I'd rather you get her alone. I'm afraid she might sit on me and kill me. Jesus, is she big."

Before I could come up with a way to get her alone, the doors to the library opened and Mama emerged, leading her crew. The Nor-volds walked quickly to their old pickup, Bruce and Matilda walked slowly toward an old SUV, and Mama was beelining right for us.

"What exactly am I paying you two to do?" she demanded, her eyes bearing down on me first, then Victor.

"Investigate," Victor said. "That's what you gave me the retainer for."

"Right. So what exactly do you think you're doing in there upsetting Matilda?"

"I wasn't upsetting her. I was asking her questions."

"That upset her," Mama said, her eyes bulging.

"What exactly were you asking her?"

"That, ma'am, is exactly none of your business."

Mama's head looked like one of those cartoon characters whose heads were about to explode and steam started to shoot out their ears.

"Shorty, I am paying you and you work for me," she said through locked teeth. "Everything you do is my business."

Victor looked at me, bored. "Do all of you tall people just resort to short jokes when you got nothin' else?"