Stay At Home Dad 03-Father Knows Death (7 page)

“Are you happy about it?” I asked. “About being a big sister soon?”

She shrugged her tiny shoulders. “I guess. I think so.”

I repositioned myself in front of the tub, shifting my weight from one knee to the other. “Tell me.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, it’s just that everyone’s so excited. About the baby. That’s all Mommy and you talk about. Grandma and Grandpa are always buying toys and clothes and stuff. For the baby.”

My heart broke a little for my daughter. I knew it took a lot of courage to say these things, to talk about how she was feeling. And I also knew that she had absolutely nothing to worry about. I could have a dozen kids and still love all of them differently but the same. Every parent knew it.

But my daughter didn’t.

I rinsed her off with a couple more cups full of water, grabbed the towel off the hook, and rubbed at her hair. On cue, Carly reached out and lifted the plug on the drain.

“I’m happy about it,” I said. “Just as happy as I was the day you were born.”

She looked at me. “Yeah? You were happy the day I was born?”

I smiled at her and lifted her dripping body from the tub. “Happiest day of my life. You were the best gift I ever got. You were the best baby in the entire world.”

“I was?”

I toweled her off. “Yep. And you know what?”

“What?”

“You’re gonna be the best big sister in the entire world, too. I just know it.”

She nodded and smiled at me. “Okay, Daddy. I will be.”

I hugged her and got her in her pajamas and handed her off to Julianne before heading out the door. And I made it to the fair board meeting with five minutes to spare.

The meeting was being held in one of the community rooms at the Rose Petal Library and I was surprised to see that most of the seats were already taken when I walked in. I’d gotten the impression that no one really cared about the board or their monthly meetings, so I wasn’t expecting a crowd. But maybe George Spellman’s death had stirred some interest.

I found a seat in the back row and Victor arrived a minute later, sliding into the seat next to me.

“Why the hell are there so many people here?” he asked, scowling. “Why aren’t they over at the fair?”

“Got me. I thought it would be empty.”

“I talked to the old lady,” he said. “We’re set with a retainer.”

“That was quick.”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “Apparently, you made an impression on her this morning”

“I’m awesome.”

“Whatever,” he said. “And I already made some calls. There was definitely something going on with the daughter and the dead guy.”

“Like?”

“Like I don’t know yet,” he said. “But my initial feeling is something was afoot.”

“Afoot?”

“It’s a detective word. You should use more of them. People might take you seriously then.”

“I like it better when people think I’m your father,” I said.

His scowl deepened, but he kept his mouth shut as the members of the fair board proceeded into the room. They sat at a long table at the front of the room and, except for Mama, they all looked a bit nervous. Mama sat at the far end, plunked down a stack of papers, and took stock of the crowded room.

“Well, seems like we’re a little more popular than usual tonight,” she said with a grin that seemed more menacing than mirthful. “We’ll try not to keep you here all night.”

A nervous chuckle drifted above the heads of the crowd.

She ran through some procedural things—approving minutes from the last meeting, simple committee reports, and attendance. It all seemed very by the book and there was nothing goofy or out of line in what they were doing. It looked just like any other meeting I’d ever been to.

“Now, we will hear from our treasurer,” Mama said, and something close to irritation filtered into her expression.

Wendy Norvold shuffled some papers and cleared her throat. “As always, our financial report is fluid, due to the fact that the fair is currently in progress.” She ran off a few numbers tied to surplus and expenditures. She glanced nervously at Mama. “We’ll know more about what the town has earned at the conclusion of the fair, like always.”

A hand in the audience went up near the front of the room. The board members looked at each other, unsure how to address this.

“You have a question?” Mama asked, clearly not happy with the interruption.

“Just curious about what the fair earned last year,” a male voice said. “My daughter is doing a project for school on fairs and we had no idea how much money fairs make when they’re open.”

Mama kept her eyes on the questioner while the rest of the board members stared at their papers or their hands.

“We did just fine,” Mama said. “Just fine.”

“Oh, sure, of course,” the man said. “But can you give us an idea of what the fair actually took in versus what it costs to put it on?”

“I just said we did fine,” Mama said, raising an eyebrow. “Did you not hear me?”

“Uh, well, yeah,” the man said, confused, maybe a little embarrassed. “We were just hoping to get some specific numbers, because I thought it was public information. My daughter . . .”

“Wendy!” Mama snapped. “You got the numbers?”

Wendy mumbled as she shuffled through her paperwork. “Uh, I’m not sure I have last year’s financials with me this evening.”

“How about your little girl just puts down that we took in a whole bunch?” Mama asked.

The crowd laughed nervously.

“Well, her teacher would really like specific numbers. . . .”

“Look, buddy,” Mama said, pointing a finger at him. “Wendy just told you we don’t have the numbers with us tonight. If you need your little numbers, perhaps you could leave a phone number and e-mail with her and she’ll get back to you. That’s all we can do and you’ll just have to deal with that.”

“Oh, uh, okay, sure,” the guy said, sounding confused and a little sheepish.

“And do it
after
the meeting,” Mama said, shaking her head. “We don’t need to waste any more time tonight, because I’ve got a fair to run.”

“What happens if the fair loses money this year?” another voice asked.

A loud murmur went up from the crowd.

Mama set her hands flat on the table. “And why in tarnation would that exactly happen?”

A man who I didn’t recognize stood. He was a little older than me, with thinning hair and a growing belly. He folded his arms across his chest. “The food stand has already taken a hit and people in the surrounding towns are already whispering that this year is a failure. If they don’t come to the fair, Rose Petal loses the revenue. If this is a nonprofit show, what happens if the fair week finishes in the red?”

Heads turned from the man to Mama, who did not look pleased in any way.

“We will be just fine,” she said with a tight jaw.

“That doesn’t really answer my question.” The man frowned. “But I got a few other questions.”

Mama smiled as if she were about to eat the canary. “Well, be my guest. Sir.”

“The demolition derby was canceled this year,” he said. “It’s always one of the biggest draws. Why?”

“Liability,” Mama answered. “Cost was too high. And we replaced that event.”

“Yeah,” the man said, still frowning. “With a clown obstacle course. That no one cares about.”

“Clowns are funny,” Mama said, glancing at her fellow board members.

They all nodded in agreement.

“But no one that I know has bought tickets,” the man said, looking around. “I can’t think of a single person I’ve talked to who is planning on going.”

Most people nodded, including me. It had seemed weird to me when I’d read about it. I wasn’t a huge demo-derby fan, either, but that put me in the minority in Rose Petal. It was one of the big draws of the fair each year. When it wasn’t on the schedule, I’d expected there to be some blowback—and a worthwhile replacement. Clowns climbing walls and jumping over water and racing one another in their big clown shoes seemed . . . an odd replacement.

“That was lost revenue even before George’s death,” the man said, gathering steam. “Makes no sense.”

“Thanks for your opinion,” Mama said, her mouth an ugly smile now. “We’ll take that into account when we begin planning next year’s fair.”

“And that band you hired? Rusty Cow?” He shook his head. “My ears still hurt. I’m not sure that guy had ever sung a single day in his life.”

Mama’s mouth twitched. “They came highly recommended.”

“From who?” he asked. “Deaf people?”

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.”