The White River Killer: A Mystery Novel (21 page)

It was very late, but his attention was drawn to the photo of the fanatic, Alfarsi, who helped plot the bloody assault. The man appeared to be in his late 50s, and his eyes were dark and narrow, crazed with hatred. There was something else . . . Something familiar. Hubbard’s mouth opened wide with surprised recognition. He stood up, not believing what he was seeing. Son—of—a—bitch! Add thirty years and a beard to Amir’s face and the image would be his. That’s why the FBI doctored the photo. The Arab student’s last name wasn’t Abadi. It was
Alfarsi
.

Amir, the reserved student, the dork, as the girls called him, was the son of one of the most notorious terrorists in American history.

Energized by his discovery, Hubbard spent another hour researching the monster father, but no other account went to the trouble to list the names of Alfarsi’s fifteen children borne by three different wives.

Hubbard released a deep sigh.
Did someone discover Amir’s real identity and seek sick retribution on their own? Or was the kid’s murder caused by something more mundane? An evil closer to home?
Whoever was behind all this thought they could push him out of the investigation.

He was ready to push back . . .

24

R
OUND AND
R
OUND
S
HE
G
OES

I
T WAS THE FLOWER GARDEN THAT DID
M
ARIA IN.
Hubbard agreed to till up his mother’s old flower garden that had gone to seed for a new garden. Maria, through Emily’s translation, had requested for a fun summertime activity.

Emily was a born salesperson. “It will teach me responsibility if I water it every day.
I need that bad.”

The flower garden was followed by an irrigation request for the home’s vegetable garden.

Neither of the planting activities was unusual for a farm. That’s not what drove Hubbard to act. What troubled Hubbard was that Emily
now
referred to them as
Maria’s
flower garden and
Maria
’s vegetables.

There was no time to waste. From his tractor, Hubbard called Mr. Carlos and told him that Maria wasn’t working out. After the Tomato Festival, they had to find new work for her. Mr. Carlos didn’t understand the connection between Maria and the annual event, but he reluctantly agreed to look for a new opportunity for her.

Hubbard knew that he would eventually screw up with her. She was always within arm’s reach and he was too damned attracted to her. Sometimes the pain of his growing desire made felt he was burning alive. It made him want to drink to deal with it. That’s why she had to go.

Emily dashed to the Ferris wheel, followed by Maria, with Hubbard trailing behind them. It was an unseasonably warm night and they had stayed at the fair past Emily’s bedtime. He struggled with an over-sized helium balloon, while carrying all the other fair prizes in his arms.

“The Ferris wheel! Can we go on the Ferris wheel next?” Emily called back to Hubbard. Hubbard looped the balloon string around his fingers to prevent it from escaping his grasp. “Emily! Please slow down.”

“Daddy, can we ride it, pah-leeze?” Backpedaling now, Emily pointed up to the massive wheel as if it he couldn’t see it.

Hubbard bobbed and weaved through a thick crowd, which was heading in the opposite direction, trusting Maria to stay within arm’s reach of his daughter.

“Watch behind you, Emily.” Hubbard grimaced as she crashed into an older woman wearing a full-length raincoat on this clear evening. “Sorry,” he apologized to the silver-haired lady, who seemed annoyed by his lack of parenting skills. Maria had Emily in hand now, and got her headed in the right direction. Hubbard found an opening in the flow of people, dove through like a halfback, and caught up with them.

The heart of the Hayslip Tomato Festival was the Ferris wheel. All the other amusements were simple things—kiddie cars, mirror mazes, tilt-a-whirls—mere handmaidens to the majestic circle towering above the fairgrounds. Some people claimed the wheel had exceeded its useful life, but it was difficult for the town to let it go. The ornate ride was the last vestige of another era, a time when the event drew attendees from across southeast Arkansas, northern Louisiana, and western Mississippi. It rose more than sixty feet above the ground, the tallest structure in Hayslip, and provided a view of the lighted Star City grain silos in a nearby county. Each open car could accommodate two occupants, sitting on a single bench. The small seat was popular with couples (the unmarried kind) both for its view and the intimate proximity it required.

It was almost eleven, and most of the fairgoers were headed to the grandstands to see who would win the drawings and watch the festival’s closing celebration.

A young attendant wearing greasy overalls barked out in a voice that mixed boredom and relief. “Last ride of the night.”

“You know, every year I forget how tall that thing is,” Hubbard said. “Emily, you don’t like heights. Let’s go to the grandstands and see if we won a trip to St. Louis.”

Emily gazed upward and seemed to reevaluate her interest in riding. She grabbed Maria’s hand and she bent down to listen to her. They both gave sideways glances at Hubbard as they whispered.

“What? What is it?” Hubbard said. His eyes examined the front of his shirt, thinking mustard had dripped on it.

Emily put her right foot behind her, balancing it on the toes, rocking it from side to side. “I want you and Maria to go. She’s never been on our Ferris wheel.”

Hubbard felt his face turn red. He remembered how tight those seats were. He had used them to his advantage in high school. They were designed for romance—not employers and employees on a work-related outing.

Maria said something, and Hubbard tried to translate. It was about no passengers riding by choice and Hubbard’s name was included in the sentence. Once again, Emily was forced to serve as their intermediary.

“She said you don’t have to ride,” Emily explained. Before Hubbard could respond, he thought he understood Emily tell Maria that he was in love with the Ferris wheel. That can’t be right. Hubbard believed his years studying French were hampering his Spanish. Perhaps because it meant abandoning his last childhood . . . fantasy was the best word to describe it.
Grow the hell up.

Maria nodded as if she understood how a man could fall in love with an inanimate object. She turned to him and smiled. Her smile should be illegal. It clouded men’s minds.

In previous years, it had been easy to deftly steer Emily, but she was getting older, wiser. “Sweetheart, I can’t go. I’ve got to hold all your prizes. Why this big balloon might carry you away.”

“Daddy, I won’t float off. That’s silly.”

“There was a little girl last year. She didn’t think she’d float off either. But if you look up on a clear night . . .”

A woman’s voice from behind interrupted him. “We’ll hold everything, John Riley. Emily will be safe with us.”

Hubbard swung around to find Margaret Gibbons and her brood of four girls. Her husband was at the rear, serving as paternal pack mule. “My family’s not going to be able to get on anyway. And Emily and Zoe can talk while you’re on the ride.” It was a superfluous offer since Emily and Zoe were already in a clutch, whispering and giggling. “Besides,” Mrs. Gibbons nodded at Maria, “it looks like you two could use a turn or two on that big thing. It’s a beautiful night.” She winked at Hubbard.

“It’s not what it looks like. It’s not a date. I’m paying her.”

Mrs. Gibbon’s brow furrowed.

Hubbard didn’t know how Jim Gibbons could see Maria through the mountain of fair paraphernalia in his arms, but apparently he saw enough. “Wow, what are her rates?”

“Jim, hush,” Mrs. Gibbons scolded him.

Hubbard tried to correct the misunderstanding. “No, I mean she’s my employee . . . domestic . . . uh, housekeeper.”

Mr. Gibbons snorted, and the explanation didn’t seem to aid Mrs. Gibbon’s confusion either.

“Next, please.” Everyone in line had boarded except for Hubbard and Maria. The ticket taker motioned impatiently for them to get onboard.

Maria took a step forward, but stopped when Hubbard didn’t move. She seemed embarrassed by his reluctance. Maria turned to Emily and said something in Spanish about the Ferris wheel and Hubbard.

“Of course he wants to ride. It’s his favorite.” Emily answered her in English, realized she used the wrong language, and repeated it in Spanish. For good measure, her friend Zoe added something more about boys and slow moving . . . trains? Did everyone but him know Spanish?

Mrs. Gibbons took charge and began liberating the items from Hubbard’s arms. She whispered to him sternly, “You can’t leave the girl standing there. You’ll embarrass her.”

Hubbard was outgunned by the opposite sex working in unison. Maria seemed to be trying to decipher what Hubbard wanted to do. She pointed up at the wheel, shook her head “no”, while shrugging her shoulders. Yes or no?

Emily cheered like she was on a pep squad. “Go Daddy!” She was joined by a chorus of Gibbons girls chanting in unison. “Go, go, go . . .”

Hubbard gestured toward the wheel and then placed his hands over his heart like a suitor. “Let’s go . . . Vamos. I love the Ferris wheel.”

They walked up the metal steps and lowered themselves into the small compartment. Hubbard tried to give her as much room as possible, but there was no extra space available. They were as tight as chocolates in a Valentine’s box. The attendant brought the metal safety bar down on their laps with a loud clang. Obviously surprised by the lack of space, Maria couldn’t hide her discomfort at sitting this close. Her back was ramrod straight and her knees were clamped together. She stared into the night with a blank expression.

Hubbard tried to become less aware of her: The warmth of her body, the trace of citrus perfume in the air, and her pert breasts . . . were . . . right . . . there. Employers and employees should not be pressed together under any circumstances.

Without Emily present, he would have to converse with Maria without a translator. He slowly constructed a sentence in Spanish in his head. But when he turned to her, prepared to say, “El fête est fun mañana,” his eyes were drawn to her raven hair brushing against the nape of her neck and he lost his train of thought. He turned away to gather himself.
I’ve become a Pavlovian dog.

The Ferris wheel lunged forward abruptly, throwing them backward as their carriage rocked in response. Maria grabbed Hubbard’s leg to right herself, and he twitched in reaction as if he touched an electric current. She yanked her hand away and whispered a few words. Her eyes focused on the empty space over his shoulder. He couldn’t hear her soft voice in the crowd noise, but it sounded like an apology. It really wasn’t necessary.

The wheel was spinning at a brisk clip now. A little faster than Hubbard remembered, and he was relieved that Emily was safe on the ground. The ride seemed to be too much for Maria as well. She gripped the safety bar so tight, her knuckles turned white.

They rode in silence, making three circuits. Hubbard’s mind was racing, trying to come up with something appropriate to say in rudimentary Spanish. Maria continued to face straight ahead, ignoring the expansive view. As they rode upward to the top of the wheel for a fourth and final time, Hubbard pointed toward the blue lights on the distant Star City grain silos. Pointing had to be an international language. Maria seemed to relax as her eyes followed his arm to her right. At night, the lights on the giant silos on the horizon made them look like high-rise buildings planted in the middle of delta farmland.

They had no time to react when a shrill alarm rang below and the wheel jerked to a dead stop. All the individual cars on the ride, however, had no brakes and spun forward and back with surprising force. Hubbard was able to catch Maria with his left arm before her head hit the front edge of the car. Held only by the safety bar locked at their waist, they were whirled to face the ground one moment, and twirled back toward the stars the next.

The on-lookers below reacted in alarm, expecting the old ride to fling cars into the night sky before their eyes. Maria cried out in fright and her arms covered her face as Hubbard shot a glance below them as their car spun to face the ground again.

The ride workers were darting from side to side like rodeo clowns, trying to find an opening through the rocking cars and make it to the central post holding the Ferris wheel. Hubbard wrapped his other arm through a guard rail on the back of the seat and used his free hand to support Maria’s head to protect her against whiplash. Her dark eyes wide, she dropped her arms and spoke Spanish so rapidly that he caught none of it.

The wheel, undaunted, seemed possessed by evil, intent on discarding its passengers. It moved again unexpectedly, knocking the worker wearing overalls off his feet when he attempted to dodge through an opening between the cars. The ride spun in reverse a quarter-turn, jerked to a stop, and then advanced once more like a mechanical bronco.

Below them, the panicked crowd continued to yell ineffectually at the men, who seemed unable to stop the crazed contraption. Hubbard’s heart jumped when he heard Emily’s tearful voice among the others.

In front of them, Hubbard spotted the heavy hand rail atop the back of another carriage separate from one side and then the other, spinning to the ground. Hubbard could only watch as the back of the old fiberglass seat of the carriage below them continued to splinter. The two teenaged girls inside the car clung to the safety bar like a life raft, shrieking as another section of their seatback gave way. How much could it take before the remainder split apart?