2 Landscape in Scarlet (5 page)

“So unfortunate,” Rose murmured back
and they both nodded
.

Juliet was
more than surprised, she was astonished
. In the time she had been gone,
Comstock
had
somehow
gotten
staggering drunk,
and was
blurting out jaw-dropping belches that caused head
snaps in those who bore the brunt of the olfactory assault. Still wearing just enough of his
R
eaper makeup
to frighten
people
, the combination of
the
lurching
gait
and ghastly white face made him into a believable zombie.

No one was sorry when he stumbled away
in the direction of the
portable
toilets
and more than one person
in Juliet’s hearing
expressed the hope that he would find somewhere far away and sleep it off before the fairgoers figured out he wasn’t just acting
the part of a monster
.

“Juliet, have you met Lulu Weston?” Rose asked
, recalling her manners
.

“Not yet. Juliet Henry. I’ve been eyeing your pumpkins.” But not with enthusiasm. Juliet wasn’t fond of the whole fairies and angels school of decorating.

“Thank you. I noticed your little bags
.
…”

“Trick
-
or
-
treat bags. So much better than a plain pillowcase or paper that tears
for the serious candy-gatherer
,” Rose supplied, always tactful, bless her fearful little heart.

“What a clever idea.” She didn’t mean it. “Well, I should be getting back.”

“Things may pick up again now that the punkin chunkin is over,” Juliet agreed. “Rose, have you had anything to eat yet? Why don’t you go on and I’ll keep watch here. Everything is marked
,
isn’t it?”

“Yes. Well, if you’re sure.
I could use a bite to eat
and it would be nice to stop in and see what’s selling this year
.
”

“
I’m v
ery sure.” Juliet wanted some quiet time. “I’ve taken terrible advantage of you today.
Go forth to eat and shop.
”

Rose murmu
red that this wasn’t true
and she was happy to help
, but g
ra
bb
ed her backpack and headed for the fo
od tents w
ithout a lot of dillydallying.

Juliet surveyed her booth
with pleasure but also dismay
.
There was one more day to the festival and
her
table was looking a little bare. She
re
arranged what she had
left
to fill empty spaces
and then recalled that
she
had a few other things at the bungalow she could bring down in the morning, some sample aprons and a few children’s t-shirts. They might not sel
l if the weather was cold but they would fill the holes in the
stock so things didn’t look quite so sad and picked over
.

Maybe she should take a page from Samuel Levy’s book and offer
silk-screening
demonstrations. Maybe even let people print their own shirts and aprons. There seemed to be a lot of takers who were
willing to don a
smock
and latex gloves so that they could play with the grayish
-
green clay without getting dirty.

It would be a bother and she would have to see about insurance
,
but maybe….

He was filled with every kind of pain and couldn’t get rid of it. He knew that it wasn’t normal but he was tired, so tired
and sick
. He should be going for help
—
a doctor…. He tried to follow that thought, but it was like walking down a long hall where the lights went out one by one.

What would happen when the last light went out? Would that be the last darkness?
And those footsteps
—
was it death that dogged him?
Or was it the devil out to claim his own? He knew what his father would say if he were still alive.

Juliet’s
metal folding chair was uncomfortable and made her feel like she had extra bones in her butt
—
all of which hurt. It was time for a walk. A trip to the restroom was a plausible excuse
for a walk
.

“Rose, can you look after things for a moment?” she asked.
And it would only be for a moment. She wasn’t going back for the semifinals of the punkin chunkin. If Garret made the finals she would cheer him on tomorrow when things would
likely
be less crowded.

“Of course.” Juliet had done as much for her when she
took her very
late
lunch
and
a
longer
bathroom break.
Rose had been a good neighbor and shopped from her friends and colleagues.

Juliet
stretched a bit and started for the
north
side of the parking lot.
She paused when she saw how many people were in line at the blue toilets and how many of them were mothers with small children.

Time for plan B.

Juliet heard the first distant alarm bell
of the subconscious
when she round
ed
the back of the old stables
where the church restrooms were
located
.
She was hopeful that
the
old bathrooms had been overlooked by most people who would only see the screen of ancient oleander
instead of the badly warped door
.
She
preferred
a real toilet and sink
to those
chemical toilets
anyway,
and was willing to go further afield to get them
, even if it meant tromping through the mud
.

It was
oddly
quiet back there and she could hear the
west
wind which was moving among the trees
announcing that the
fog would be rolling in soon and that the
sun’s time was coming to a close
. It was the wind which showed her the clutch of monster balloons caught in the branches of a yew tree. It was the
distended spheres
twisting in the breeze
which stirred atavistic dread
and chilled her skin
. The balloons should have floated away
when they got their freedom
, but they were caught in the tree’s branches, kept from heaven. It seemed a kind of existential message. Perhaps a word from the Divine sponsor
—
and not a good one
since the balloons were all about violence and murder
.

Something impended. Something she would rather not see.

Breath caught at the throat and walking silently, Juliet approached the shrubbery under the tree
that clasped the balloons
. She didn’t get too close because of the thistles and
their
nasty thorns
that
were
red
where
wind
-
born
e
leaves had impaled themselves.

And because of the shoes. The worn soles
with rubbed-
down heels
, facing downward
,
bumped her alarms up another degree.

She stepped a little closer, wanting to discover that it was just someone’s cast-off clothing, but of course it wasn’t. Pairs of shoes didn’t fall toes downward unless there was someone in them.

It could be a drunk
—
l
ike Comstock
—
but
even inebriated,
why would he crawl in the thistles and wet leaves when there was a bathroom
and bench
nearby?
Had he been trying to hide? But from what?

She took one more step and smelled the blood and vomit
odor that the wind cast up in her face
.
The smell of recent death
disloc
ated her brain, derailing hopeful surmise
that he was only unconscious or slightly injured
.

In her old job she had been a kind of
an autistic
hall
monitor for the media
that covered international affairs
. She had no real authority to do anythi
ng about what she saw and heard and read.
S
he could do nothing but note names and transgressions and then track down the source of disinformation
which she then passed on to others
who would actually take action
.

She also looked for patterns to predict future behavior so her organization could head the bad guys off at the pass.
That sometimes meant looking at photos of terrorist attacks
and trying to see what others had missed
.
She didn’t deal directly with violent criminals or crime scenes
, but she knew about them, was
trained to observe them.
She had left her job behind
in D.C.
, but not her skills and inclinations.
All it took was one body and she was back there again.

“Damn.”

It struck her that on the other side of the old building
full of paintings
life went on as normal. There was music and laughter, popcorn and unfriendly goats.
People were dancing and throwing pumpkins
and reveling in the change of season
by wearing scary costumes
.
She could step out there and be normal too. But she didn’t
move
. She stayed there
, holding her breath,
looking at all the red. Red blood. Red leaves.

“Juliet? Are you coming to the punkin—” Garret asked and then stopped abruptly. “Oh hell.”

Juliet stood aside, grateful that she wouldn’t have to summon help
or examine the body
for signs of life that so obviously weren’t there
. A part of her also made note of the fact that they were behind the stables and couldn’t be seen from the parking lot. That was bad news for the dead man
who had passed away unseen by fairgoers
who might have been able to help
—
and she was quite certain he was dead, though of course Garret pushed into the shrubs far enough to check for a pulse.
It was protocol.

“I think it’s the balloon man.” She pointed upward at the balloons snared in
the branches overhead. It was
a point of pride that her voice sounded normal
when inside she was so not feeling like she should be
.

“Comstock? I guess it is.” Garret didn’t roll him over. He would want to photograph the crime scene first.

And it was a crime scene. Juliet knew it. The caffeine from her two cups of tea ebbed away leaving her stranded and suddenly weary,
alive to this trauma but also a
n old
er
one
where it had been a friend’s body that she examined
.

If her stomach would accept it, she should eat something sweet for quick energy. Maybe a deep
-
fried Twinkie, however inappropriate the gesture would be. After all, wasn’t it wrong to think of food when you were standing next to someone who would never know the pleasure of eating again?

“No bullet holes, no obvious wounds. The neck isn’t broken.”

Garret spoke to her like a colleague. She tried to take pride in that but didn’t seem able to feel much of anything.

“Henderson is at the first aid booth?” she asked, wanting a reason to leave.
She needed a couple minutes to get a grip on her thoughts and feelings.

“Yeah, ask him to grab his kit
—
and tell him to come the back way. We don’t need a scene
until things are secured
. I sure hope the news van has left.”

“I think they did.”

The wind changed directions
suddenly
, curling back toward them. The smoke drifting in from the grill where the skewers of chicken were cooking was repellant,
though it helped hide the worst
of the dead man’s
odor
s
.