Unraveled (8 page)

We were back on the ground a few minutes later, with Pepper cussin' a blue streak. “That's the last time you're gonna pick the rides tonight. The next one is mine and it sure as hell ain't gonna be buggy.”

She led off, pulling at Mark's hand and I followed. I was eyeing the bright red candy apples in a free-standing booth when a really greasy guy behind the counter of the Balloon Dart game waved to catch our attention. “Hey, little girl! Come try your luck, sweetheart!”

“Kiss my ass.” Pepper said it loud enough for them to hear it. “I ain't your sweetheart.” She stopped, as if someone had thrown a switch.

“What?”

“Look at the prizes there.”

They looked like baby toys to me. “I see a bunch of stuffed animals.”

“No, behind and to the right.”

I saw a display of pocket-size transistor radios tucked between the cheap prizes that caught her eye.

Mark shook his head. “You'll never win one of those.”

“Bet I do.” She was already digging in her jeans for the quarters Grandpa gave us.

The carney behind the counter held a handful of darts. “C'mon, young lady. Give it a shot. Five darts for a quarter. Pop them all and win!”

“I want one of those radios.”

She had a transistor radio up until just before she ran off for California. She broke it and had been wanting another one ever since. I tried to explain that the adults were enjoying the silence, because they didn't like the Rolling Stones or the Beatles. They wanted country music when it was soft and low, but she kept on aggravating them by playing rock 'n' roll on the black plastic GE in the living room. Miss Becky kept it tuned to the local Chisum station so they could listen to the weather and ag reports during dinner, when Grandpa came in from the field. They always got irritated when they found it on a different station.

The man took Pepper's money and handed her the darts. “Get them all and you win the grand prize.”

Her confident smile was a mile wide. She threw the first dart and it stuck in the soft, pitted cork between a red and yellow balloon. Disgusted that she'd already lost, she pitched the rest without a care. One bounced off a red balloon, and the other hit the tied end, poking a hole that slowly whistled the yellow balloon flat.

“Good try.” The carney handed her a plastic doll that probably cost three cents.

“I want another go at it.” She handed him some more money and lost when she popped only two balloons.

I was watching pretty close and started to get the idea that something was wrong.

“Let me try.” Mark traded money for the darts and had the same bad luck.

Ten minutes later, Pepper was out of Grandpa's money and digging for the folding allowance she had in her back pocket.

The carney clapped his hands. “That's the way, gal, get mad and win one of those big prizes.”

I didn't like the look in the greasy man's eyes. “Hey, we need to go do something else.”

She had her back up by then. “I
said
I want one of those radios.”

“You're not gonna get it.” Mark took her arm and glared at the carney. “Let's go ride something. How about the Octopus?”

Her blood was up. “No. I'm gonna win at this game.”

“Look. Did you check those darts?” I was watching the man's hands. “There's something wrong.”

He gave me a smirk that I'd seen before on other people when they thought they knew something I didn't. “Hey, kid. You're wrong. Watch this.” He threw a dart, popping a blue balloon. He threw another, and this time a yellow one popped. “That's all there is to it.” He popped a third.

“See?” Pepper gave him another dollar and the carney made change. He handed her five more darts. “Good luck.”

“Why don't you give her the ones
you
used?” I'd finally figured out what was going on. I turned to tell Mark, but he wasn't there.

The carney's face changed, the way a person's will do if you start to worry on their last nerve. “She
has
darts.”

“Not those. Pull yours out of the board there and let her throw
them
.”

“I don't want to get in the way of her throwing.”

Pepper ignored us and popped three. “See. I'm getting the hang of this.”

The carney handed Pepper a cheap stuffed monkey and flashed her a grin with yellow teeth that needed brushing. “I bet you can do it this time, gal.”

“Hey, let me throw.” I was sure the game was rigged.

I paid and he handed me the darts. I ran my finger across the tips to find one was sharp, and the others were dull as a worn pencil lead. I rolled one in my hand and realized it was lighter than the others, and they were bent. I threw the first and missed. The second glanced off a balloon and stuck in the corkboard.

“You need to throw harder kid.”

“No I don't.” The next popped a balloon. The last was one looked different from the others and the point was sharp. One side of the balloon board was thicker with more targets than the middle. I flicked the sharp dart toward the top without putting any effort into the throw. It hit the board and fell, popping three balloons on the way down.

“Sorry, kid. Falling dart. You lose.”

“No, he don't.”

Grandpa's voice was clear as a bell over my shoulder. Mark was right beside him and I knew where he'd gone.

“It's a disqualified throw. They have to stick.”

“Where does it say that? All I see is pop five for the prize.”

The carney's eyes hooded. “Them's the rules.”

Grandpa put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me back with the other two. He stepped close to the booth. “You want me to look real close at those darts? I bet they need sharpening. How about them balloons? They might look like they're full, but I bet they ain't hardly got no air in them at all.”

I moved a little, and the man saw Grandpa's gun on his hip, then he noticed the badge. In that second, he deflated like the limp balloons on the board. “Fine then.” He reached up to unhook a giant stuffed bear that was hanging overhead.

“Not that.” I pointed. “She wants the radio over there.”

It looked like someone had stole his soul. His shoulders slumped and he reached for one on the shelf.

“Nope.” Grandpa's voice was soft, but it seemed to cut through all the noise and music. “Give her one of them you have hid under the counter.”

With a pained look, the carney fetched a radio still in the box. Pepper took it like the guy was gonna grab her. Grandpa nodded his head. “Take it out and turn it on.”

We waited while she did, and it flickered to life with static.

Grandpa was satisfied. He took Pepper's shoulder and turned her away from the game. Now, young lady…”

He was interrupted when a guy with silver hair rushed up to Grandpa. “Constable, we got trouble.”

“We had trouble right here with one of your people, Delmar.”

The carnival owner looked surprised when saw the radio in Pepper's hand. “We'll talk about that in a little bit. I just got word there's a man dead in the parking lot.”

Grandpa stiffened. “You kids find James and stay with him, and keep away from these games.” He took off after the carnival owner.

“I think I saw Daddy by the gate.” Pepper headed toward the entrance.

I followed, knowing what was on her mind. “You didn't neither.”

“It's a good place to start looking.”

Mark hung back. “I know you. You're gonna get us all in trouble.”

“Daddy may be at the car. That's the best place to meet up with him. Why, you scared?”

I saw something in Mark's eyes I'd never seen in my own. It was a look of complete confidence. “I'm not afraid of anything anymore.”

“We can't get in trouble doing what we're
supposed
to do.” She batted her eyes and pulled a strand of hair from her mouth. Her eyes widened. “Oh, I'm
scayered
.” She stretched the word into two long syllables. “I heard something about a dead man. I need my
Daddy.
”

There was no use arguing, so Mark and I followed her out the gate.

Chapter Fifteen

The Wraith stood at the back of the crowd, watching from under a slouch hat that hid his features. Not even his own cousin nearby recognized him. It was good to be back in Lamar County, where he intended to settle up before leaving to earn a living in Alaska. He'd be safe there, far away from Texas. At least he wouldn't have to put up with the humidity there, where the government would give 160 acres to any man who wanted to homestead.

***

Ned followed the silver-haired carnival owner through the haphazard parking lot, dreading what he might find. As usual, bad news traveled fast and a crowd had already converged on a point farthest from the brightly lit grounds.

A crooked column of cars was parked close to a strip of woods bordering the pasture, some with their headlights on, illuminating the nearest trees and casting harsh shadows into the woods.

Onlookers milled in the beams. A still body lay facedown in the trampled grass.

“Step aside, men.” Ned rounded a bumper and pushed toward the still figure. “Y'all don't get in my light. Anybody see what happened?” Heads shook as Ned knelt and shook the colored man's shoulder. “Feller, you all right?”

“I believe he's dead, Ned.”

He looked up, squinting at a backlit figure. “Who're you?”

“It's me. Rick Patterson.”

“Oh, Rick.” Ned had known him since the man was a kid. His daddy owned the Chisum feed store. Ned felt for a pulse. “You didn't see what happened, neither?”

“Naw. I swung in to park and the lights caught him laying there. We left 'em on for you.”

“You didn't see anybody leaving?”

“Nary.”

Ned rolled the body over and felt a chill down his spine. “Well, if that don't beat all.”

“Who is it?”

“Merle Mayfield.”

“I don't know him.”

“I do.” Ned rose, picking up the silver Cross pen that had fallen from his pocket. Merle Mayfield was one of Hollis' younger brothers. Ned frowned at the sight of Top and Pepper pushing through men lining the area. James stepped up behind them, put his hands on their shoulders, and turned them away, back toward the car.

Ned felt empty, standing in the harsh headlights. With Merle Mayfield dead, he was sure the long-standing feud between the Mayfields and Clays was back with a vengeance.

“'I god, this is just getting started.”

Someone handed Ned a flashlight. He glanced up to see the frightened eyes of Isaac Reader. Most of the gathering crowd kept a respectful distance, but the twitchy little sun-browned farmer stayed close by. It seemed that Ike was a magnet for death and trouble, which kept him rattled most of the time.

“Ike, what'n hell are you doing? Don't you know they have clowns in there?”

Reader was deathly afraid of clowns and often slept with a shotgun close at hand when the bigger Carson and Barnes Circus folks came through town on their way to the winter grounds across the river in Hugo, Oklahoma. Ike admitted to worrying that someone dressed as a clown would show up at his door, asking to borrow a gallon of gas for a dead car or something.

“Listen, listen, I know they do, but this ain't the circus. The only clowns in there are selling balloons, and you can tell where they are by watching over folks' heads.” He lowered his voice. “I came to see that tattooed lady I heard about. They say she don't wear much, 'cause she's all covered in pictures…”

“I get what you're sayin'.” Ned snapped on the light to examine the body and surrounding area. “Good Lord. He's been beat to pieces. Y'all stay back. I don't want no one tramping through this grass and maybe destroying evidence.”

“He's right. Give him some room.” The deep voice of Deputy John Washington filled the night air, clear as a bell over the cacophony behind them. Dressed in black slacks, his khaki shirt with the deputy sheriff patches and badge, and his ever-present Stetson, the giant of a man towered over the crowd.

“Glad you're here, John. You get a call?”

“Nawsir. We was already inside when I heard there was trouble with one of my people out here. You know who that is?”

“Merle Mayfield. He's been beat plumb to death.” Ned directed his flashlight through the crushed grass, realizing he'd been smelling it since he walked up. “It wasn't with no fists, though. His skull's busted in. Somebody used something on him.” He glanced around. “I want everybody back behind that next row of cars over there. Nobody pick anything up, neither.”

“Back y'all, back!” Ike waved his arms as if moving a herd of cattle. “You heard the man.”

Ned would have grinned if the situation hadn't been so horrific. He saw a silver Rayovac in John's hand. “Shine your light around these cars and trucks and see if you can find anything. I'm gonna talk to that feller over there that found Merle.” He rose on popping knees and turned to the carnival owner. “Delmar, you know anything about this?”

“Nope. We don't have trouble inside. I have people watching all the time, and when trouble starts, we come get one of y'all, or whatever deputy is close by. The problems are always past the gate and the lights, where they get to drinking and arguing in the dark. I've had folks robbed before, too.”

“Well, this wasn't a robbery. It was a killin', and I suspect I know why.”

“Um humm.” John returned with a bloody axe handle ten minutes later. “This was in the bed of that pickup over there. The blood's still wet.”

The rough handle was aged by the weather and Ned knew it wouldn't contain fingerprints. “Hold it for evidence, then.”

Ike Reader visibly shivered at the sight of John holding the bloody axe handle. “I swan.”

Delmar seemed unsure of what to do. “What about me?”

Ned shrugged. “I don't see no reason you can't go back inside. There'll be lots going on out here for a while, ambulances and such.”

“You want me to shut it down for the night?”

Ned caught a glimpse of John's girlfriend, Rachel Lea, standing with her kids near the cars. They were grouped around her like chicks around a hen, but the two oldest, Bubba and Belle, stood a little off. Belle had the toddler on her hip.

“Nope. Let them kids have fun.” Ned caught John's eye. “I need to see you over by the car a minute…alone.”

They wound their way through the cars and trucks parked in ragged formation. “What is it?”

Ned's face was a stone mask when he reached into his pocket. “I found this in the grass by Merle's body. Thought it was mine, but mine's in my pocket.”

It was a chrome Cross pen with the initials C.P. etched into the body.

They'd seen Sheriff Cody Parker sign with it dozens of times.