Barbara Graham - Quilted 04 - Murder by Vegetable (11 page)

Because of Tony's height, augmented by the ladder he stood on, Theo could see him at the far end of the museum grounds. It looked like he was picking something out of a tree branch. A cheer for him went up when he pulled an errant balloon from its spot and handed it down to the toddler in a man's arms. Good for Tony; he'd probably be reelected sheriff in a landslide if Winifred Thornby put a photograph of his action in the newspaper.

Failing in all attempts to identify the man and woman whose conversation so intrigued her, Theo grabbed her purse and rummaged around in it. At last, she found an old shopping list and a pen. She wrote a note about the conversation she'd heard—the words and what the voices were like. What really struck her was the lack of emotion from both the teller and the listener. Were they cold and callous monsters? Not knowing the whole story, was she jumping to inaccurate conclusions? Was this dead thing a person? A goldfish? A possum on a dark road?

She used the camera built into her cell phone to take a few random photos. Maybe if she showed them to Tony later, he'd be able to answer her questions.

Theo wondered if she could deny a county resident entrance to the festival. Angus Farquhar offered her seven dollars in limp singles. Without touching them, she could tell they would be damp with the man's sweat or maybe something worse. Angus leaned forward, his little piggy eyes were red rimmed. He belched directly in her face. The whiskey fumes almost knocked her off the folding chair.

“I don't think . . .” She began, hoping inspiration would come to her, but her mind remained blank. Angus slammed his big hands on her table, making her ink pad, rubber stamp, and change box bounce.

“I'll bet you don't think, little missy.” His lip curled back from his yellow teeth. “My money's good.”

Theo saw strands of meat hanging from his teeth and smelled something rotting. She leaned back, trying to evade the sight and smell. “Alcohol is not allowed on the premises.”

“Don't have any on me.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“I'll let you pat me down. You can take your time.” “I'll have to object.” Tony's voice came from just behind her. “If there's any patting down, I'll do it.”

Theo wasn't sure when she'd been happier to have her husband appear.

Angus straightened. “We was just chatting. Your little wife don't think my money's any good. I got as much right as anyone to be here.”

Theo opened her mouth to protest, but Tony's hand on her shoulder cut her off.

Tony's voice was calm. “I'm going to take your money, Angus, and I'll stamp your hand to let you into the festival. If you so much as breathe too close to anyone, I'm going to haul you out of here in chains.” Tony took the cash, coughing a bit when Angus's overall aroma hit him. “A few ramps might improve your breath.”

As Angus stomped past them, Theo turned to watch his progress. While she and Tony were dealing with Angus, a fair-sized crowd had gathered behind them. “Ticket sales as a performance art.” She laughed. “Thanks for stopping by. I don't like that man.”

“Sheila hates him. I don't want to have to arrest either one of you for putting something extra in his pie.” Tony ruffled Theo's curls and kissed the babies. “Call me if you see him do anything that I can use as an excuse to get rid of him.”

“He smells like a distillery,” Theo whispered. “I think he's drunk.”

Tony hadn't appeared to be listening but he nodded. “Too bad we couldn't have caught him driving down here. I doubt we can charge him with eating under the influence.”

“Even as crowded as it is, I bet he'll have a table to himself.” Theo fanned her hand under her nose.

“In the meantime, I'm collecting you for the taking of the family photo.” Tony leaned over her shoulder. “I forgot to tell you earlier. Mom insists we have a picture taken of the whole family. She's rounding up everyone.”

“Who's the photographer?” Theo checked the girls. They were perfect. Without looking, Theo knew Chris and Jamie and their cousins would look normal in a photograph, not like the unnatural poses of overly clean children at Easter. On the other hand, she would like to change her shirt. This one had barbeque sauce on it.

Interrupting her thoughts about clothes, Tony said, “Nina volunteered. She thinks the light will be great in front of the old barn.”

Theo understood why Jane would want a photograph of all her children and grandchildren together. She would like one too. The last family portrait didn't include Kara and Lizzie, of course, but then it had been taken years earlier when Jamie was an infant.

“What about the ticket table?”

Tony nodded toward the barn. “Here comes Celeste. Since she actually works at the museum, she offered to hang out here as long as necessary.”

The delightful young woman who worked for Jane and Martha hadn't been married for long. She and her school teacher husband strolled to the ticket table. “Patrick volunteered to keep me company.”

As she and Tony walked toward the office, Theo studied the Abernathy family. Oldest and biggest was Caesar Augustus. Solid, dependable, and the one most likely to set up an elaborate prank. She still laughed whenever she thought of his buying an old metal canning device to can all the Christmas gifts, and then hid all the openers. Christmas morning had the children in a panic. And the women, too, for the cooking as much as the presents. Next to Gus stood his wife Catherine, elegant, beautiful, and sweet. They had no children, but they loved to baby-sit. Could anything be better? Probably only if they ever produced a child or two of their own.

Next to Gus stood Tiberius. Although slighter than Gus and Tony, Berry was not small. His skin was bronzed. If he wasn't at work, he was usually out on his bass boat. He lived to fish. His wife was pleasant, but she tended to avoid being too involved in the Abernathy gatherings. Their twin boys were fifteen and it looked like they planned to grow as big as Gus. Standing to the side, Calpurnia was wiping something off her daughter's face. Her husband was talking to Jane, who, in her late sixties, was still trim and energetic and dyed her hair a soft blond.

Posing sixteen adults would be tricky. This was a logistical nightmare. Theo watched Nina frown as she attempted to organize the nine adults and seven children. Trying different arrangements of small groups and straight lines, Nina took lots of shots. Theo's diminutive size usually put her in the front row with the younger kids. Berry's twins towered over her and they loved it, patting her on the head as if she was a puppy. Most of her baby weight was gone but some still lingered, in all the wrong places. Theo felt like a mushroom standing in a forest.

Tony made his way to the museum office as soon as the photograph session ended. A storage room had been set aside for the can-can dancers' dressing room. In a few minutes he would have to step onto the stage for his debut. He wasn't sure how the community might react to the entertainment supplied by the combination of firefighters and law enforcement, but he hoped the dance would be popular enough to fill the hats passed afterwards. Being able to buy some new rescue equipment would make the humiliation worthwhile.

Retired sheriff Harvey Winston was tying his ruffled skirt on over a full set of bright red long underwear, opting to tie the skirt below the widest part of his belly. With the red long johns and his luxurious white mustache, Harvey looked like Santa Claus in drag. Tony relaxed, guessing no one would be able to focus on him. All eyes would have to be trained on Harvey's ensemble or Halfpenny's hitherto secret assortment of tattoos. The two of them made the remaining four dancers appear rather bland.

Once onstage, the dancers in high heels spent most of their time trying not to have their toes crushed under hiking boots or firemen's boots. Miss Cindy's choreography was quickly abandoned. It became a case of every man for himself. The gaudy hats were tied under their chins and served the secondary purpose of holding the garish wigs in place, but a couple slid to one side, causing intense merriment among the dancers. The audience laughed, showing they thought the dance was funny too.

Bow-legged Halfpenny, the bank manager, one of the dancers who had donned high heels, bent forward and flipped his skirt over his head, displaying the full cascade of gaudy ruffles and the unmistakable sight of blue denim shorts. The audience howled and clapped and whistled. Some people threw cash onto the stage. More money went into the hats and helmets being passed. The dancers descended into the throng, posing for pictures, for a fee.

In spite of newspaperwoman Winifred Thornby's unpleasant editorial the previous week, she even put a few dollars in a hat and promised to praise the men, in print, for their enthusiasm. Tony had seen her deposit the money. He'd believe the rest of it when he saw it.

Garbled sound came from the loud speakers. Mayor Calvin Cashdollar was taking this moment to make a speech to welcome all the visitors to the First Annual Silersville Ramp Festival. Considering the party had been going on for hours already, most people laughed or ignored him. Calvin made it sound like he'd slaved for months working on setting up the event. Tony wanted to yell at the man, and announce to all present that the mayor had absolutely no part in the organization or actual work of putting the festival together. He took a step forward, only to have his mom grab him by the arm.

Jane's eyes sparkled with merriment. “Don't you dare.”

“Dare what, Mom? I'm not causing any trouble.” Tony squeezed her hand. He doubted he could fool her any better now than he could when he was eight. He'd removed his hat and wig but still wore the can-can skirt in case more cash for photos was offered.

“I invited the mayor to introduce the acts.” Jane fluffed her curls. “It gives him something to do. Even a part-time mayor needs to earn his keep.”

Appeased, Tony glanced back at the food booths. “Are you going to have enough food?” The glimmer of panic in her expression told the story. “What can I do?”

Jane rubbed the little line forming between her eyes. “I don't know. Those people are eating everything but the plates. And the bags of trash, mostly plates, are indecent. I had to send Tiberius into town for more garbage bags.”

Once her words began, Jane babbled, mostly nonsense. When she ran out of steam, Tony heard an agonized plea, “Can you get them interested in something else, like the music or those vegetable weapons?” Jane's expression was a cross between horror and delight at the idea of another potato flying through the air, distracting the mighty diners.

Tony nodded and turned, nearly tripping over two little boys in team shirts gathering trash and shoving it into a black plastic bag large enough to hold a man's body. It took both of them to haul the bag from table to table.

Up on the stage, the mayor stepped away after introducing the next performers, a husband and wife team, Eddie and Ginger. Eddie plucked at the strings of a guitar while his wife arranged her skirt and settled on a stool, a zither on her lap. They played well, sticking to the old mountain songs, plaintive and at times cruel.

Satisfied the musicians would help slow the diners, Tony headed for the ticket booth, thinking he could juggle the babies for a bit and let Theo have a break. Hairy Rags plowed into him, not bothering to glance up or apologize, and then veered away, walking toward the woods. As rude as ever, he had one hand pressed against the back of his neck, covering the space between ear and spine, and one over his chest. Mostly what Tony noticed was the odd sound he made: kind of a wheeze.

Dodging people carrying plates of aromatic foods, Tony weaved his way through the “relics” until he found Theo. She looked pathetically happy to see him.

“If I don't get to the bathroom, there's going to be a puddle right here.” Theo shoved one baby at him and then the other, climbed off her chair, and trotted toward the main office building.

“Should I watch the girls?” Tony kept an eye on her back. When it went stiff, he knew she'd heard him and would talk about it later. He couldn't understand why he enjoyed ruffling her feathers, but he did.

“Say, Sheriff.” The words came from the far side of the makeshift ticket booth. “Don't suppose you'd let an old man in without a payment? I kin promise not to eat much, but I purely desire some ramp pie.”

Orvan Lundy. Tony couldn't believe his luck. He'd been at the ticket table for maybe ten seconds and was already in a quandary. Tony was sure the old sinner couldn't afford the seven-dollar entry fee and equally sure he shouldn't let the old guy in for free. Orvan sidled closer, rubbing his gnarled and weathered hands on the bib of his overalls. “Maybe there's chores I could do, you know, as a trade?”

Tony thought it sounded like a good plan. “Why don't you go help the kids who are doing the trash collecting? Just tie the tops of the garbage bags closed, good and tight, then carry them out and put them in the back of Gus's pickup. Some of those boys are a little short for the duty.” Tony congratulated himself for not mentioning Orvan's own lack of vertical stature.

Orvan stood at attention, clicked his heels, and saluted. Less than a minute later, Tony saw Orvan carrying a trash bag with one hand and a slab of ramp pie in the other. The old guy could probably qualify as a “relic” too, but would never admit to his age or do anything civic-minded. There certainly was nothing wrong with either his arm strength or his appetite.

“I leave you in charge for two minutes and you've got Orvan working?” Theo's voice teased him. “And I heard what you said about holding the girls.”

Before he could respond, the musicians stopped and an appreciative audience began to clap. Above the applause a boom announced Quentin's potato cannon had launched another spud. Tony turned to watch. The potato fell short of the stock tank again. The crowd cheered in spite of the miss.

A scream cut through the noise.

“I killed him.” From his vantage point, Tony saw Quentin bolt down the hill, his long arms flapping like featherless wings. “I killed him. Where'd he come from? I killed him.” His words fell into a shocked silence.