If Fried Chicken Could Fly (29 page)

Jordan Kingsley was making an all-appetizer meal. We didn’t put restrictions on the students’ choices, so he wouldn’t be breaking any rules, but it was a risk. He planned on using mushrooms, potatoes, bacon, liver, jalapeños,
carrots, tomatoes, cream cheese, and eggs. We had no idea how it would all turn out, but we were excited to see what he came up with.

It was fun to watch everything, especially my brother. He was excited to be a part of the cook-off, and I observed him talking to and advising the female students without infusing extra Teddy-charm into the conversations. Oh, he was still charming, just not hopelessly so.

Gram and I had never seen him act this way.

“You know,” Gram mentioned quietly, “maybe we should give him a job. He’s being so responsible.”

“Today. I’m all for helping Teddy if he proves he can keep it together for more than just a few days. Let’s watch him.”

Gram nodded.

“Have you seen Jerome?” I said even more quietly.

“No, I hoped you had.”

“Not since last night, well, early this morning, at the theater. Maybe he’s gone,” I said, swallowing a little sadness.

“He might be. They come and go, Betts. You have to get used to it, and you can’t become attached to them.”

They?
Them?
“I understand.”

Gram put her hand on my arm. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m so sorry, dear, I wish I would have talked to you more about all this ghost goofiness. It’s been so crazy. No, you can’t become attached. Neither we nor they can control when they’re here or when they go. It rattles you the first few times, but you get used to it. I promise.”

There was no time to ask the questions I wanted to ask. How many ghosts were there? How often did they show up?

“I’ll do my best,” I said.

“Good. That’s all any of us can do.” She pulled a long apron over her Mizzou T-shirt. Today, she was all yellow and black. Today she was all Missouri.

I watched her as she turned to look at the students. She loved this time of year but it was also sad, too.

“A good group,” I said.

“Yes, I think we’re getting better, Betts. I think we’re becoming worth the tuition.”

Gram had been worth the tuition for years. I was still catching up, but I got what she was saying. We owed it to our students to teach them to the best of our abilities. We would always strive to improve.

“Let’s get to work,” she said.

We observed, we answered questions but we were careful not to offer too much advice. We didn’t want anyone to have an advantage because we told them something, so we were equally coy with everyone. We weren’t allowed to touch anything unless human blood dripped from someone as the result of some accident. Even if we saw part of an eggshell in a mixture, we had to resist both pointing it out and reaching in for it ourselves.

The students were magnificent. Even Missy Landon, whom we’d often wished we hadn’t allowed into the program, cooked up a storm. Only Jordan seemed to burn something, but it turned out that was how his stuffed mushroom appetizers were supposed to look.

Though we’d said something similar every year, it seemed that our students had outdone themselves and all those who came before them. I was glad I wouldn’t have to judge.

As Teddy and the students were loading the van with supplies and food, Gram pulled me aside and said, “Betts, you need to look for red shoes, got it?”

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Good girl.”

I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to have to think about red-spotted shoes, but I would.

“Just be on your toes, Betts,” Gram said.

“You, too.”

So, other than the fact that there was a killer on the loose, delivery and setup went as expected. Around 11:30 a.m., Teddy drove the van around the closed and now-crowded Main Street and parked on the other side of the hanging platform. The rest of us piled into Gram’s Volvo. She parked on a street a block away from Main Street, and we hurried down the boardwalk to help Teddy unload.

I peered into Jake’s sheriff’s office just as he was entertaining a decent-sized crowd. The black eye worked well with his costume, and I wondered what story he was telling about how he received it. I bet it had something to do with an unruly criminal that he finally managed to subdue. I wanted to hear his poem, but there was no time. I waved, but he didn’t see me.

The street was too crowded to keep my eyes lowered, but I tried to look at feet as I zigzagged around people. I was surprised by how few people really wore red shoes. And no one had red-spotted shoes.

Red food-coloring-stained shoes seemed like such a silly clue, a long shot at the very best. But there was nothing else. Jim and Cliff received a report on the blood, but the person
who lost it wasn’t showing up in any DNA databases anywhere. Besides, whoever shot at Jake and me still might not be Everett’s killer. It seemed unlikely that they weren’t one and the same, but anything was possible.

I looked up and around—really looked closely. I didn’t see Jim or Cliff, but I saw others who could have been there to observe and catch any potential violent moments. Standing on the perimeter of the action were men and women I didn’t recognize. They weren’t wearing costumes or any sort of uniform but were dressed in civilian clothing. They blended into the crowds well, unless you were specifically looking for them, and they were striking because of how still they stood in one place, looking around constantly.

A sudden sense of security calmed my nerves. I knew that if someone really wanted to hurt someone, they’d find a way to do it. Maybe with so many people on the lookout, though, we’d catch on to something before disaster struck.

Setting up the food for the cook-off was more difficult than preparing it. The students had prepared enough food for each of the five judges to have a full taste of each meal, but those plates of food had to be delivered at the same time. The covered plates were put on a cart and then transported up to the hanging platform on a ramp. In years past, we’d mostly filled the cart in the saloon and then stored the remaining food—because there was always extra food, just in case—in coolers in the saloon or in an oven in Mabel’s cookie shop. We’d still use Mabel’s ovens, but this year we’d decided to use the coolers in the pool hall. The pool hall’s coolers were bigger than the saloon’s, and it was more convenient.

We made for a pretty big crowd ourselves, and we got in visitors’ way as we placed food and plates here and there. It was a big production, but Gram and I had done it so many times now that we took it in stride. The students, however, weren’t so calm. They were concerned about things being put together correctly and not being spilled. They were nervous, and every year about this time I wished they’d just go sit in the saloon and have a beer or two.

I gave Teddy the job of helping the students relax and keep their wits about them. He was glad to have the responsibility.

“Oh, sis,” he said. “Someone wanted me to give you a message. He stopped me just as I got here.”

“Who?” I asked as I moved a hot pan into one of Mabel’s ovens.

“Didn’t tell me his name. I didn’t know him either. Must be a new actor or something. He was dressed as a cowboy and he smelled like he’d walked through a campfire.”

I juggled the pan, only saving it because a counter was close by.

“Oh?” I said.

“Yes, he said he wanted to meet you in the basement of the pool hall.”

“Really?”

“You know the guy?”

“Yes.”

“Who is he? Are you dating him or something?”

“A friend, and no.” I couldn’t believe that he had seen Jerome. Teddy would love knowing that he had seen a ghost, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

“You okay meeting him? You want me to go with you?”

“Oh no, I’m fine,” I said with a big smile.

Fortunately, Teddy had to attend to a spat between Marie and Jordan. I could only imagine how nervous they all were.

I couldn’t just walk away from the preparations, but I had another idea. Missy’s chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting looked like it could use refrigeration. The outside temperature was just hot enough that getting that cake to a cooler could be considered an emergency; maybe. I grabbed it and looked for Gram. She was helping with the table on the hanging platform and wouldn’t miss me if I wasn’t gone too long.

I ran into Myron as I turned back toward the pool hall.

“Myron, I’ve got to get this into the cooler. You might want to help with the hot stuff in there.” I pointed to the cookie shop.

Myron nodded and hurried away.

The pool hall had only a few customers playing pool, but a few others sat at the bar and enjoyed sodas. Miles had brought in plenty of help so he was moving from area to area, keeping things cleaned up.

“Betts, I’ve cleared out the first two coolers. You want me to put that in there?”

“I can. You know, it’d be great if you headed out there and helped with some stuff at the cookie shop. They’ll need you for judging soon anyway. If you’re okay to leave, now would be good.”

“I’m on my way. Keep things running smoothly, boys,” he said to the two teenagers behind the counter. They nodded.

I joined them and found a good spot for the cake. They didn’t pay me any attention.

I had no idea where the stairs to the pool hall basement were located, but I guessed in the back. The teenagers couldn’t have cared much less what I did, so I walked boldly through the pool hall, stopping only when I reached the restrooms. Each of those doors was marked, but a third door didn’t have a sign. I opened it, reached into mostly darkness, and found a light switch. Old wood stairs led the way into the basement. If I hadn’t had a mission in mind, I never would have attempted those stairs. There wasn’t even a handrail, but I ventured downward nonetheless.

The basement was both a mess and a disaster. Disorganized stacks of boxes of potato chips, peanuts, and pretzels filled one space. Cleaning supplies were on the opposite side, and there wasn’t anything organized about them either. It was as if everything had been moved in a hurry to clear away the space in front of a side wall.

It looked as though the wall had been pounded upon with a sledgehammer, probably the one that was leaning up against it next to where Jerome sat.

“My brother told me to come down here. How did he see you?”

Jerome smiled weakly. “I can make people see me if I really need to. It uses up a lot of my energy, but I couldn’t find you and I knew he’d give you the message.”

I stepped over a couple boxes and crouched in front of him. “You okay?”

“I’m fine for a dead guy, I suppose.” Jerome laughed. “I don’t feel weak, Isabelle, I just feel like time’s about up. I
can’t sustain myself much longer. I wanted to make sure I showed you what I found.”

I smiled sadly. I would miss him. “What did you find?”

“Last night after you left the theater, Miles came in, picked up those shoes”—he pointed—“and hightailed it back to here. The shoes were in the lobby. They were right in front of us.”

On my other side were the red-speckled shoes we’d all been searching for.

“No, not Miles,” I said.

“I’m afraid so, or at least I think so. Look behind that stack of boxes.” Jerome pointed.

He stood and joined me as I walked over debris and looked on the other side of the boxes.

“Jake’s archives?”

“Right here the whole time.”

“Miles? I don’t understand.”

“Here, read that.” Jerome pointed to a single piece of paper that was out of the files. “It’s her obituary. Go ahead, read it out loud. I think it was the paper I saw on Everett’s desk.”

“Belinda Jasper died tragically as she fell through the stage trapdoor of her own theater. During one of her daring performances, the trigger to the trapdoor was somehow flipped and she fell through, breaking her neck and dying immediately. She was performing her most famous pose, where her body seemed to defy all things normal and twist into a backward pretzel-like stance. She is survived by her son, Jeremy, who will be cared for by other family members.

Best known for her performances, it was also thought she had an affair with the infamous outlaw Jerome Cowbender, the affair having produced the child. From the day Jerome died, she wore a pin over her heart in the shape of a
J
. She also reboarded the floor of the Jasper stage with a
J
—never to honor Jasper as the theater was named but to honor Jerome. She died without ever confirming the rumor that she and Jerome had hidden a treasure of gold.” I looked at Jerome. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“They accepted her, Isabelle. She had the baby, she got to continue her work, she got to stay in Broken Rope. It’s okay. Really, it is. I’m happy for the news. But it made me remember what happened to the gold.”

“What?”

“It’s over there.” Jerome signaled with his head. “Under the stage, buried in the ground. Mr. Street must have figured it out. I give him credit—there aren’t any good clues. Even with all the records your friend Jake has, not a lot was said about the treasure. Reading about the
J
pin might have done it for him, but he’s pretty clever. It’s still there. I was over there and saw where it’s buried.”

“I’d be willing to bet that Miles didn’t figure it out. Everett did. Miles just let Everett do the dirty work and then he killed him.” I looked at the wall. “But I don’t understand why Miles is breaking down the wall to get there. Just go through the trapdoor.”

“He spent a lot of time in the theater last night. He can’t figure out how to get below the stage. Me neither. I looked around for something that opened the trapdoor, but I couldn’t find anything. Maybe they sealed it up, got rid of the switch at some point. The stage is high, Isabelle. From what I
remember, nothing ever got built down there. Magicians weren’t as popular as other acts, so the trapdoor never really got used. There’s probably a fifteen-foot drop to the ground underneath. We used ropes to get us and the gold down there.”

I envisioned spiderwebs, rodents, and moist darkness, but it was still a place we were going to have to go.

“Okay.” I needed to let everyone know, especially Jim. “Jerome, was Jenna with Miles last night?”