Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (7 page)

“When Kevin what?”

“Well, when he accused me of being a spy. I mean—”

“Hey, hey, Kevin tends to be somewhat of a worrywart. He calls me daily with three or four concerns. They never amount to much. I don’t know where he picked up this spy thing, but just ignore him, okay? Nobody knows anything. I’m keeping it quiet.
You and James, you do as I ask, and if you’re successful, if you figure out who’s trying to sabotage our show, I’ll not only pay you what I offered—I’ll bonus you. Okay? A bonus.”

I nodded my head. He’d startled me and I wasn’t sure how to respond.

“So, what do you say?”

I studied him for a moment, the silver hair combed straight back, the starched collar on his pale blue shirt, and the sharp crease in his gray slacks. Not the look I would have expected for a carnival operator.

“Let’s just get back to the project at hand, okay?” He raised his eyebrows. “We got a deal?”

“Uh, yeah.” And me, wondering why he was offering even more money. Wondering why he was hiring two wet-behind-the-ears private detectives to help save his show. But hey, I needed the money. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever that meant.

He removed his arm from around my neck and walked toward his trailer. And as he walked away I still wondered where Kevin Cross had heard I was a spy.

Winston’s zoo was crowded, youngsters and parents wandering around the dusty ring, clutching handfuls of the pressed food pellets, gingerly holding out their palms as the donkey, the goat, the pig, and assorted other animals sucked up the food, several taking nips at the children’s hands.

“Hey, Linda.” I shouted, and she briefly raised her head.

“Skip.” Glancing up briefly as she kept her main focus on the small children and the animals.

“I’d come in, but it’s five bucks a head.”

“It is.”

She made no effort to cut me some slack. I thought maybe there was a carnie discount, but apparently not. The big sheepdog
approached the fence, pausing as kids petted his thick coat. When he got close to me, he gave a deep growl. The kids were all right. I wasn’t.

I hung around for five minutes, thinking maybe Winston would appear and I could make amends, but he never showed up and Linda ignored me the rest of the time.

Dust from the animal ring rose around me and with my tongue I could feel the grit on my teeth. My partner had deserted me, and I had no idea what or who I was looking for.

Wandering back to the trailer I watched blue, red, orange, and yellow lights flashing in the dusk. The Tilt-a-Whirl with its spinning white lights threw long shadows on the ground, and the cacophony of clashing, crashing music and screams came from everywhere, congregating inside my head.

One more beer, then I was going to pass out and worry about all of this in the morning. Trying to get a grip on what exactly we were to do was impossible. I needed to talk to James and tell him what had happened tonight, but apparently he and Angie had other plans. I was afraid this was going to cost me my paycheck and my bonus.

Popping the beer cap, I put the bottle of Yuengling to my lips, sipping the bitter brown liquid and washing the dust from my mouth.

Sounds from the show drifted in and out, and as the light faded, I heard footsteps outside the trailer. I kept expecting James to walk in. I was anxious to talk to him about the strange encounters I’d had.

The first beer went down smoothly and I opened a second, listening to the sound of someone or someones outside the trailer. There was a crunch, like a person’s footsteps on the gravel where the trailer sat. A muffled cough right outside I thought.

Twice I opened the door and once walked into the dusk to
see if someone was there. There was this eerie feeling in the air, like someone was out there, listening. I’d already had threats from some of the carnies. I wasn’t sure I could trust anyone. Then I dozed off in the middle of the second beer.

When I heard steps on the wooden landing my eyes snapped open. It was dark outside and the raucous carnival sounds had subsided. It must be after nine. Finally a chance to run the day’s events and frustrations by James. The sharp rapping on the door surprised me.

“James?”

“It’s Winston.”

It took me a second. Winston Pugh. I stood up and opened the door.

“James isn’t it?”

“No. No. It’s Skip. Come on in.”

The little guy still had his overalls on, no shirt, and I could detect the odor of animals. Maybe it was Winston’s sweat. Hard to tell.

“You’re a cop, right?” He worked his jaw, chewing hard.

“What?”

“You’re a cop.”

“No.”

“I was told you were.” He stared at me accusingly. The little guy was breathing hard, his jaws working furiously on a wad of tobacco.

“It’s not true.” What I was was pissed. I wasn’t a cop. I wasn’t a spy. At this point I wasn’t exactly sure what I was.

“Then what the hell are you?” He looked up at me, and in the dim light from our trailer I could see sweat on his forehead.

“I’ve been through this with you before.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the marketing manager’s friend. I remember. And your first question to me is about the accidents that have been happening at the show? About somebody who
was thrown from a ride and was killed. Not the type of question a bystander casually asks, is it?”

In the dim light I saw him roll his beady eyes.

“People here, they don’t like busybodies. People who are lookin’ into other people’s business. But listen, boy, I don’t care who or what you are. The point is, I need you to come with me. Right now.” He spun around and marched down the three wooden steps. “Well?” He looked over his shoulder. “Are you coming or not?”

I squinted into the darkness and hesitatingly followed the short man. I thought about leaving a note for James, but he’d probably never show up to read it.

We headed across the lot, past the now quiet and dark rides and booths. The Bar-B-Que Pit was shut tight, the painted pig on the side leering at me. In the distance I could see lights shining softly in Moe’s showplace trailer. And someone was walking with a flashlight on the show grounds. The light bobbed in the distance.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see. You’ll see.” The determined guy walked faster, his short legs moving like pistons, heading toward the air rifle trailer. I heard him spit tobacco in the dirt as he walked.

And then it hit me. I knew where we were going and I really didn’t want to see the skinny guy again.

“Winston, hold on. Are we going to see Kevin Cross?”

He stopped abruptly, turning and planting his floppy rubber boots in the dirt. “You remember I told you that there are no neighbors here?”

“I remember.”

“Well, the closest to any friend I have is Kevin Cross. And Kevin’s got a story to tell. You seem to be the likely person to tell it to.”

I only wanted to go back to my trailer. I only wanted to go back to my apartment, and forget this thing had ever happened.

“I met Kevin Cross already. I don’t think he wants to see me again.”

“Linda says he’s got a story to tell you. Just listen, okay?”

“What kind of a story?”

Two men walked by, puffing on cigarettes, heads down, talking in muted tones. They moved on toward a distant row of four trailers, the pungent odor of smoke trailing behind them.

“I don’t know exactly. He’s got some information on what you referred to as the accidents.”

“And he hasn’t shared this with you?”

“After Kevin’s talk with you tonight, he said he had some things he wanted to come clean about. He called Linda.”

“Your Linda?”

“Yes, whose Linda did you think it was? Do you and I have another Linda in common?”

He had me there.

“Cross told Linda that he had a pretty good idea of who was behind the accidents. She said he sounded almost sinister about it.”

“So why am I going along?”

“Linda said he wanted to see you, and he asked me to be there.” Pugh stood there, chewing on his plug. “Is that okay with you?”

I hesitated. “The guy practically threatened me, Winston.”

“He did?” Pugh looked back at me. “Probably just looking out for your best interest.”

“I don’t know that anyone is looking out for my best interest. You were the one who told me there are no friends here.”

“Just see him, okay. Linda says he wants to talk.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m surprised.” Cross had grilled me. Let me know that he didn’t trust me. So why the hell was he asking to see me now? “You didn’t talk to him?”

Exasperated, he spit on the ground. “Linda did. Okay? She’s
my business manager. Kind of takes all my calls and stuff like that. He told her he wanted to see us. Now let’s go.”

The trailer was closed, a metal shutter pulled down over the opening. I wondered if I could shoot the center out of that target in the dark. I certainly had never been able to do it in the daytime.

“Kevin.” Pugh shouted his name.

The night was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the earlier noise and activity.

He called out again. “Cross, it’s me, Winston.”

“Maybe he went out to dinner or something.”

“Nah. I told you, he talked to Linda. Said he’d be here tonight. He lives behind the trailer.”

There was a stillness in the stale night air, and I was aware of the musty odor of moist bare earth. Dew was settling the fine dust that covered the ground at the show.

“Kevin likes to drink. Probably had a couple back there.”

“Maybe you should check back with Linda. Maybe you got the information wrong.”

“She’s out tonight. Left a couple of hours ago.” The little guy spit. “Oh, he’s here. I’ll find him.”

We walked around the trailer and there was a minicamper covered in pale green and white vinyl siding. Pugh stepped up on the landing and pounded on the door.

“Cross, damn it. Open up.”

Nothing. He pounded again. There was no sign of life.

“Might have passed out.” He turned and looked up at me. “Been known to happen with him before.”

Pulling open the squeaky door, he stuck his head in. “Kevin!”

“Winston, he’s not here.” I just wanted to go back to the trailer. Or jump in the car and drive three miles to my dingy little apartment. I wanted to be anywhere but here at the Moe Show.

The little guy walked in. I stood outside and heard a lone bird singing in a nearby tree.

Thirty seconds later he hadn’t emerged. I decided to give him another thirty and I was gone. This was too creepy.

Some night animal made a croaking sound, and I could hear the hoot of an owl in the distance. The faint odor of frangipani hung still in the air, and I took a deep breath, trying to remember where I’d smelled the fragrance recently.

Thirty seconds later Pugh walked out. He trudged down the steps and looked up at me with a frown.

“He’s in there. Kevin’s in there.”

“Is he coming out? He’s going to tell me his story?”

“Nope. Somebody shot him. Kevin’s dead.”

“Are they going to shut it down?” Along with a group of twenty-five or thirty people, James was staring at the green and white minicamper, his arm around Angie Clark’s shoulders. I saw her shiver in the early morning air. Apparently the noise of the sirens had disturbed the happy couple as the cruisers descended on our little show. It was just too bad that my best friend had his evening ruined by the sirens. Poor James. Poor Agent Hot Pants.

“Shut what down?”

“The show?”

“Well, James, they haven’t asked my permission at this point.”

He removed his arm from Angie’s shoulder and pointed at me. “Hey, hey, pardner. A little sarcasm there?”

“If you had a clue as to what’s been going on this afternoon—this evening—”

James frowned and turned away.

“You’re one of the guys who found the body?” The dead guy reminded me of my father, the last time I ever saw him. The
beginning of a beer gut, a cheap-cut sport coat that was about half a size too small, and a bald spot on the top of his head.

“I was here when Winston found him.”

“So you saw the deceased’s body.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement.

“I did.” Sitting on the toilet, pants at half-mast, and a hole above his right eye. A Rorschach pattern of blood spattered behind him, and gray and yellow globs of brain-matter stuck to the cheap vinyl wall. I’d seen him. Someone had hit the target. Bull’s-eye.

“Now you and Mister Pugh, you both discovered this body at the same time?”

James stood to the side, his eyes going from the detective to me, like he was watching a tennis match.

“No. I mean, Winston, Mr. Pugh went in, found Kevin’s body,” I shuddered. It wasn’t pretty. “Then he asked me to go in with him. And I saw—”

Two men in white carried the stretcher from the camper, the assembled crowd parted, and they slid it into the back of the ambulance. Rotating red and blue lights from two cop cars colored the scene in an eerie purple hue as the detective jotted down notes on a handheld pad.

“I’ll have some more questions. Are you staying here? On the grounds?”

I pointed to the Airstream. “Tonight.”

“You think of anything, you let me know.” The detective handed me a business card. Detective Bob Stanton.

“I’ll definitely do that.”

“We’re going to interview anyone who’s still on the grounds, so I’ll be around for a while.” He eyed James and Angie. “You two hear or see anything?”

James shook his head. “We were both asleep.”

“You vouch for each other?”

“We do.” Angie nodded and hooked her arm around James’s. Almost too much.

“Yeah. I was out like a light. And Angie must have joined me within minutes.” James smiled at her.

“Yeah. Well—” Closing the notepad, he shoved the pen in his jacket pocket and started walking away. Over his shoulder he said, “Lock your doors.”

“That’s comforting.” Angie visibly shivered, and James seemed to hug her tighter.

“How about if I stay the night? It might feel safer.”

She gave him a slight smile. “I think you
were
spending the night.”

“Oh, yeah.” He looked at me, then back to Angie. “Listen, I really need to talk to Skip for a little while. Why don’t you go back to the trailer, and Skip and I will sit outside on those two lawn chairs. I’ll be in shortly.”