Mystery at the Fair

  Her thoughts were interrupted by Greta. "The Chief can see you now, Ms. Hays."

  Jean shook off the self-induced panic and stuffed her pen and pad back in her purse. "Thank you, Greta. Call me Jean."

  Greta grinned and nodded as Jean stood and went to the inner office door where she knocked once. "Come in," came faintly through the solid oak door.

  The doorknob turned easily. She found herself in an office that was all male. Police and Fire Department memorabilia covered the bookshelves and tables. Pictures of historic Greyson covered the walls. Nick stood up and motioned her to one of the two leather-covered chairs in front of his old fashioned wooden desk. "What can I do for you, Ms. Hays?"

  He sat down as she did. "Chief, the reason I was in that storage container was to retrieve the fair's supply of ribbons for the exhibitors. I need those ribbons day after tomorrow for the judging of exhibits. Is there a time frame of when those bins might be released? I really need them."

  The man's face looked as though he'd bitten into a sour grape. "Ms. Hays. I appreciate your predicament but it's going to take time to process the evidence we pulled from that container."

  Jean was disappointed but she tried again. "I totally understand, Chief White." She sat a little more forward on the chair. "Would it be possible to dust them for prints, or whatever you have to do, first, so I can get them back?" Come on, she urged him mentally. Give me a break, here.

  She could see his jaw working. He isn't going to cut me any slack at all.

  "Ms. Hays, this isn't TV. We can't process evidence as fast as they show it on police shows. It takes time, and it's more than just dusting for fingerprints. The forensics expert needs time, and it's a one-person-deep office. I won't rush her."

  Jean twisted her purse handles in her hands. His tone of voice indicated he thought she was out of line. All she could think about was how annoying he was and about how she was going to award ribbons to her exhibitors when they were all locked away in a lab somewhere. A mix of anger and panic washed over her. She stood up. "Sorry to take up so much of your valuable time." The words came out a bit snottier than she had meant. She could tell from the look on his face that she'd stepped over the line.

  "Sorry I couldn't be of more help," he said, but the words were cold and his eyes had narrowed.

  She turned and left the office.

  Greta looked up from her computer. "All done? That was fast." She stood up and came around the desk. "I'll walk you out."

  "Thank you," Jean told her as she followed her out of the office, still miffed. "I appreciate your time."

  Back in her car she fumed. "All he had to do was move my bins to the front of the line. The bins have nothing to do with the murder. Even if Arris's prints are on them, they're fair property. What would that even mean?" She smacked the steering wheel, then jammed the key into the ignition and started the car. And what was I thinking? All I managed to do was sound like a shrew and ruin any chance he'd do me a favor. I'm such a moron. She pulled out of the parking lot and headed back to the fairgrounds.

  Chapter Five

  When Jean arrived through the open double doors in the center of the Exhibits building, Karen was just starting to drape table skirts on her exhibit stands. "Hey, let me give you a hand." She grabbed another bottle of water from the cooler and walked over to the Homemaking Arts display area.

  This building was different from the fair buildings where she'd exhibited as a 4-H member in upstate New York. Those had been barns, built in the 1800s. They didn't have air conditioning either but they had huge fans in the gables at either end of the building that sucked the hot, humid air of late summer upstate New York out of the building. It had always smelled of old wood and generations of 4-H kids who'd sweated and worked there. This building was just five years old. It had poured concrete floors, exhaust fans in the ceiling as well as at the gable ends and excellent overhead lighting. The pre-fab building even had toilets, which Jean was thankful for. Maybe next year she could wrangle air conditioning.

  "How'd it go?" Karen pulled the thin clear plastic protector off of two feet of white plastic table-skirt glue edge.

  "Terrible." Jean grabbed the other end of the twenty-foot-long skirting to make it easier for Karen to control sticking it to the stand. "The man is immovable. I explained that we need those ribbons for the day after tomorrow and he said he only had one crime lab tech and he wasn't going to rush her. I asked if the tubs could be processed first. He acted as though I was asking for the sacrifice of his firstborn child." She snorted with frustration. "I don't know what we're going to do for ribbons."

  Karen laughed. "Yeah, Nick is kind of straight-laced. Even as a kid he always did things by the rules."

  "He doesn't think much of newcomers either. I have the feeling he thinks I'm intruding. He was all over my being the VP of Exhibits this morning."

  "Don't worry about him. Like most people born and raised here, he's seen a lot of changes in town since he was a boy. It has changed a lot. Greyson isn't the sleepy village it was thirty years ago. Change is scary for a lot of people." She pulled more of the strip off of the sticky part of the skirt and pressed the skirt into place, Jean feeding her the excess in short sections.

  "You don't seem to mind change."

  Karen shrugged. "I like new things. I never got to travel much so if I can't go to the change, let it come to me. Besides, new people bring fresh perspectives and opportunities. It's good for the town to get the dust knocked off of it once in awhile."

  "Do you know that Arris is the prime suspect?"

  There was a pause as Karen stood up and stared at Jean. She took a deep breath. "I can see how that would be a first thought." She resumed sticking the skirt to the table. "No." She shook her head. "I don't think so. I've worked with Arris on the Fair Board for years. I've never seen the guy get mad or lose his cool."

  Jean handed Karen the scissors to trim the excess skirting at the end of the table. "I never got a crazy vibe from him, that's true. But I've only known him a few months."

  "You've only known me a few months." Karen made a crazy face. "How do you know I'm not crazy?"

  Jean laughed. "Because we go to lunch together at least once a week, hiking at least once a month. You're a little strange but you aren't crazy."

  "Why, thank you." Karen gave her head a few tics, then resumed sticking table skirt to the next table. "Did Nick say that Arris was a suspect?"

  "Not in so many words. But he knows Arris controls the keys to that Conex." She fed Karen more skirt. "I don't like that he's a suspect. What if people don't come to the fair because of that kind of rumor?"

  "Oh." Karen stopped sticking the skirt. "I hadn't thought of that. That would be awful. What can we do?"

  Jean sighed. "I don't have a clue but it would be nice if we could do something."

  "Hmm." Karen went back to the table skirt. "Yes, it would."

  Chapter Six

  Nick White looked up from the reports on his desk at a rap on the door. Before he could say come in, the door opened. A balding, sandy-haired, six-foot-tall man with a small paunch came into the room. His blue eyes crinkled when he grinned. "Say thank you." Police Lieutenant Paul Oliver was Nick's best friend, and also the second-in-command of the Greyson Police station.

  Nick put down his pen and leaned on his desk with both elbows. "For what?"

  "For running interference between you and the Mayor."

  Nick lounged back into his desk chair. "Don't tell me. Ed wants answers about the murder of Ida Grange?"

  Paul dropped into one of the chairs in front of Nick's desk raised his ankle to his knee. "Yep, called to threaten to come over here or the morgue to demand answers. I told him it was too early for any answers, that we were still cataloging evidence."

  "How'd that play?"

  "About as well as you'd think," Paul chuckled. "He doesn't want Greyson to look like a bunch of hicks on the six o'clock news."

  Nick sighed. Murders weren't common in Greyson.
People were going to wonder if a small-town police chief could handle it. "I don't want Greyson to look bad on TV either, but like I told that fair volunteer, Jean Hays, at lunch time. I can't do miracles. The lab needs time. Ed Paige and Jean Hays are both going to have to wait."

  "Isn't that the woman who found the body? She wants to know who did it already?"

  Nick waved his hand in dismissal. "That's not it. She wants the bins from the container. Says they hold her ribbons. The judging is day after tomorrow and she wanted the bins processed first so she can have them back."

  "Can't we do that? Seems a reasonable request. Those ribbons cost a lot of money and are ordered months in advance. Going to be a pretty bleak fair with no award ribbons hanging on the exhibits."

  "She can wait her turn. Another easterner come out here to show the yokels how it's done. No, she can wait like everybody else."

  Paul cocked an eyebrow. "She kick your dog or something? You sound ticked off."

  Nick scowled. "Don't be a shit. Her attitude this morning when I interviewed her just pissed me off. Top of her head barely reaches my shoulder and she was making comments about how it couldn't be Arris, 'cause it would be stupid for him to hide a body in a container he held the keys to."

  "Well, that's kind of true, Nick. It would be stupid."

  "I don't need her telling me how to do my job, that's all." Nick picked up his mug and sipped his coffee. "And she's a transplant, hasn't been here a year and she's already in charge at the fair."

  "Ah, that's it then. She's an invader." Paul snorted. "The town's growing, Nick. It's a nice place, people are going to like it and move here. It's a good thing. We finally have stores and restaurants that stay open past five in the afternoon."

  Nick shook his head. "It was nicer before, quieter."

  Paul stood up. "I grant you that, but I like it now. We don't have to drive an hour and a half to Phoenix to go shopping. I can get pretty much everything I need right here in town. I like that."

  Nick picked up his pen. "I guess that is an advantage." He waved Paul away. "Go question Arris Van Horn. I don't really think he did it but he's top of the list."

  "Sure thing. I'll keep you posted." Paul walked to the door and opened it. "Oh, when are you going to release the victim's name?"

  "The morgue is checking the dental records. The dentist is here in town. Once the ID is confirmed, I'll send a statement to the press."

  Paul nodded. "And cut that woman some slack. Call the tech and have them process the bins first. If my wife doesn't get a ribbon on her pickles she's gonna be pissed."

  Nick sighed. "Yeah. I guess. I'll call the lab. Go on now. You're a pain in my ass."

  Paul laughed as he left the room.

  Chapter Seven

  By seven o'clock that night Jean was the last one in the building. From the far end of the building she did a final walk through, her footsteps echoing off of the cement floor. The fans had been turned off making it quiet in the building after the set-up racket all day. The separate areas looked so nice; Canning, Fine Arts, Photography, Floriculture, Agriculture and the others. They were all ready to accept submissions at noon tomorrow. She checked the other end door to make sure it was locked, then walked back to the middle door.

  Arris had given her the key. A last look around and she flipped off the lights and stepped out into the night. The bugs flew around the light over the door as she locked it. A bat flew by her head and snapped one of the bugs out of the air, making her heart jump. She stepped away from the door and watched from twenty feet away. The light was a bug magnet and the bats were taking full advantage of it. One swooped in for the kill every minute or so. There were birds doing the same thing. Okay. Jean smiled. Restaurant is open, all-you-can-eat-food bar.

  Her feet hurt. She'd been standing up most of the day. What she really wanted was to go home and get in her spa and relax with a glass of pinot grigio. Instead, she was going to have to go to the grocery and get food. Poor planning, she told herself as she walked to the car. And you a project manager. Next year remember to stock the house so you don't have to go anywhere after a long day here.

  She got in her car and drove to the megamart, Ingram's. The traffic was light. Maybe the locals think the town has gotten busy but the evening traffic doesn't prove it. She turned into the store parking lot. A dual-purpose store–general goods, clothes, and electronics—it also had a grocery side. The original residents said it had come into town twenty years ago and was a blessing.

  Jean mentally shrugged. It was just like every other Ingram's on the planet. However, based on comments concerning the stores in town before it came, it was very convenient. She turned into the deli area from the front door. Hmm, pizza or rotisserie chicken? Maybe a pre-made sub? She was standing in the middle of the space when a shopping cart glided past her.

  "He's not worth it."

  Jean blinked, jerked her mind out of the interior discussion of dinner choices and stared. A middle-aged woman, thin to emaciation, with hair dyed blond to the point of death and make-up that belonged in 1980s Alabama stood next to her.

  "Excuse me?" Jean had a hard time making sense of the statement.

  "Arris. He's a waste of time."

  Still befuddled, Jean asked, "And who are you?"

  "Analise. Arris's ex-wife. He's a player, always has been. And you're the new woman. On the fair board, all friendly with him." She shook her head. Jean noticed that the hair didn't move at all. "Don't bother."

  "I'm not—"

  "Oh yeah, that's what they all say." The woman looked her up and down. "I know who you are, Jean Hays. Divorcee, new in town, looking for a new husband, maybe. But they play. Oh yes. They play."

  Jean felt a wave of heat flush over her. "But I never…" She groped for words. "I wouldn't…"

  Analise waved her hand. "You don't have to tell me. But you're wasting your time. He never sticks around long. I learned that to my own regret. Stay away from him if you know what's good for you." She sashayed to the end of the deli counter, around the corner into produce, then frozen foods and the she was gone.

  Jean watched her until she was out of sight. Her heart raced and her hands were sweaty on her purse and the cloth grocery bag she'd brought in with her. She felt a little like Alice going down the rabbit hole. Did that just happen? What did I do to her? Arris has never made any sort of pass at me, not a hint. I know I didn't flirt with him. Jean glanced quickly around the store; no one seemed to be looking at her. Should I say something to Arris? A deep breath calmed her down somewhat.

  Still unnerved, she grabbed the nearest sub from the pre-made subs cooler and dropped it in her bag—lunch tomorrow. At the pizza cooler she grabbed a pre-made pizza—supper tonight. As she passed the rotisserie chicken, she picked one of those up, too. Dinner tomorrow. She arrowed straight for the check-out line and tapped her foot with impatience as she waited her turn. The chicken next to her on the conveyer belt smelled wonderful. That was when the picture of the dead woman falling popped back into her mind. No more chicken for her. Jean's stomach rolled at the thought.

  She had her credit card out and ready as soon as the teen-aged girl tapped the last register button. The girl pulled the register tape and handed it to her. "Thank you for shopping at Ingram's."

  With an automatic, "You're welcome," Jean grabbed her bag and headed for the door.

  At home she put everything in the fridge but the pizza. After reading the directions she set the oven to preheat and put her pizza stone inside. She went to the bathroom and started the water running in the garden tub. She poured an Epsom salt mixture into the tub that smelled of lavender. Her feet still hurt and that would help. After lighting a few candles, she went to the bedroom and got out of her hiking boots and sweaty clothes and put on her bathrobe.

  In the kitchen she shoved the pizza in the oven and poured a glass of wine. By the time she got back to the bathroom, the tub was full. She could see the steam coming off of the water. The lavender she'd put in the
home-made Epsom salt mix smelled wonderful. She could hardly wait. The timer went off in the kitchen. Pizza out, cut and on a tray, the glass of wine next to it she brought the rest of the bottle with her.

  In the bathroom she pulled a chair next to the tub where she put the tray of food and wine. She brought her book from the bed table and, dropping the robe, climbed into the almost too hot water. "Ahh," escaped her lips as she slid in. The hot water and the lavender fragrance immediately relaxed her tightly strung muscles. "That's what I needed," she murmured. Eyes closed, she relaxed and let the water do its work.

  Her mind wandered to the dead woman. Who was she? Did she die in that cabinet? Why was she killed? She wished she could do something about it. No one deserved to die like that. Abandoned, forgotten.

  Don't be maudlin. Jean shook herself and pushed those sad thoughts out of her head. She grabbed her book, made sure the wine glass was within reach, and took a slice of pizza. She bit into it, cheese still melty, pepperoni salty and the dough a little charred on the edges. "Mmmm."

  She didn't come out of the tub till the water was cold.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, Jean cut the foot-long sub in half. Dang, it's vegetarian. Her shoulders slumped. A combo would have been better. "That's what I get for just grabbing and not looking at them," she muttered. She slathered one half with mayo on one side and brown mustard on the other and wrapped the thing in plastic wrap.

  Her thoughts returned to Analise and the accusations. I don't know why she'd do that last night. Do other people think Arris and I are together? The thought embarrassed her. But Analise was divorced from the man, so why so full of venom? Jean's next thought was of her own divorce. A lump rose in her throat just thinking about it.

  That was three years ago. She still fumed at the memory. Dwight had left her with the car and the house but had drained the bank account. Her lawyer had gotten her a decent alimony and with her Air Force retirement she was doing all right financially, especially after she sold the house. But the insult he'd delivered still made her stomach churn. "Not exciting enough," she mumbled as she stabbed the knife into the peanut butter jar.