Leave Tomorrow Behind (Stella Crown Series) (7 page)

“Amy Kaufmann is your sister? Claire and Bobby’s mom.”

“That’s right. She’s been such a blessing during this time.”

I wasn’t sure if she was giving an opening to ask about her husband’s death, but I didn’t really want to take it, if she was. Nick, apparently, did.

“How long has your husband been gone?”

“Several years now. Cancer. Taylor was young, but she remembers him.”

Nick’s expression had gone all thoughtful, and I knew he was thinking about how he could die young, too. Not that I would let him.

“So Taylor and 4-H?” I said, wanting to change the subject.

“My brother-in-law offered to let Taylor take care of one of their cows, or even raise a calf. But she didn’t have the interest. She was more into…girl stuff.”

“Like the pageant.” I tried not to let my irritation with the whole judging-by-looks thing come through in my voice.

She glanced at me, a grin teasing her mouth. “Right. I guess I don’t really have anything against it. I own a salon in Philadelphia, so I deal with a lot of girls—and their mothers—who are involved. But it was never really my thing. I don’t really socialize or anything with the moms. I guess we don’t have much in common.”

Hard to believe, looking like she did.

“But Taylor thought it would be fun, and she has met a few nice girls through it. It’s not the same as me with the moms. Taylor and those girls are all connected on Facebook, and Twitter, and Face Time…I don’t even know all the right names. They share their contact lists, their photos, everything. You’d think they were all sisters, or at least cousins. And as far as the pageant itself, at least it offers something other than just the beauty portion. It’s taken cues from some of the larger organizations, and the contestants have to do community service, make good grades, and display a good deal of talent.”

“What’s Taylor’s talent?” Nick asked.

I expected something like baton twirling, or doing a cheer. Yay.

“She’s fluent in American Sign Language. She’ll do a song translated into that, kind of like a dance.”

“I’ve seen that sort of thing,” Nick said. “It’s beautiful.”

“I agree. Plus, she can use it as part of her service portion. She’s already translated at many events, and in schools.” A doorbell sounded in her purse, and she pulled out her phone. She frowned at the screen.

I didn’t like her new expression. “Are the kids okay? Daniella?”

Her head jerked up. “No, I mean, yes, the kids are fine. It’s…someone else.” She gave a brief smile, but it lacked the warmth of the earlier one. “It was so nice meeting you both. I hope to see you around some more this week.” She tucked her phone into her purse and strode away.

We watched her go. “Gregg, do you think?” Nick asked.

“If it was, I hope she’s got her knee ready.”

She disappeared into the crowd.

“So,” Nick said, “she’s nice
and
pretty.”

“I believe your earlier description of her was ‘perfect.’ ”

“Which I meant in a completely non-competitive way, compared to you.”

“Uh-huh.” I stared at him, but his pleasant, honest expression didn’t waver. “Whatever.”

“So,” he said,“maybe some funnel cake?”

I laughed at the change of subject. “I thought you were done with fried things.”

“Well, I was earlier, but that smell…”

“Then let’s go. I don’t want to deprive you of the best the fair has to offer.”

He grinned like a little boy.

Chapter Eleven

We bought a fresh pastry and ate it at a table in the school food tent, where we saw lots of familiar faces and had more than one conversation about the crappy economy and whether or not there would be any farm kids left for next year’s fair. Gloom and doom. That’s us. Welcome to the world of livestock and agriculture.

After a while Nick and I brushed the powdered sugar off our shirts—and he brushed some off my face—and we wandered back toward the parking lot.

“Leaving so soon?” Carla was just exiting the calf barn as we walked past. Only this time she wasn’t alone. Lugging her veterinarian tool kit was “the love of my so far disappointing life as far as guys go.”

“Hey, Bryan,” Nick said.

Bryan shifted the toolbox to his left hand and shook Nick’s, like the proper “aw shucks” guy that he was. “Nick. Good to see you.”

He glanced at me, and I bared my teeth in what I hoped was a convincing smile. He tipped his cowboy hat. Carla rolled her eyes.

“So are you?” she said.

“Are we what?”

“Leaving?”

“Yeah, we’re all tuckered out.”

She gave me a look, like what the heck was I saying, but seeing Bryan and his NASCAR accessories always made me feel like I needed to talk hillbilly, or we’d leave him out of our conversations. I know. I’m an ass. But, come on. Does he really have to wear the ginormous Jeff Gordon belt buckle and T-shirt and the watch with all the fancy timers? Was he afraid that without those identifying markers he would disappear?

“Sorry,” I said, “we’re just tired. This is our second time here today, and Nick’s doing his ghost impression.”

“I’m better now,” he said. “That funnel cake helped. We can stay longer.”

“Nick—”

“Ooh, funnel cake?” Carla grabbed my elbow and turned me around, walking me back toward the fairway. I glared at Nick, and he grinned. I’d make him pay later. In a good way.

“So,” I said. “You get things worked out from earlier today?”

Carla blinked, like she was having to reroute her thought processor from focusing on fatty foods. “What things?”

“You know. The parents who thought their animal was going to get sick from the neighboring stall.”

“Oh, them. Talk about drama. You’d think these people had never seen a cow before. But then, maybe these people haven’t.”

“Who?”

“That family. The ones who always buy their animals from the State Fair.”

“You know about them, too?”

“You kidding me? All us vets know about them. It’s not as if the champions don’t get listed everywhere, with their photos all over the place.”

“So the Greggs were the ones complaining?”

“Them and about a dozen others. It’s like people get off their own farms and forget to bring their brains along. Ooh, look! Elephant ears!”

“I thought you wanted a funnel cake.”

“Doesn’t matter. As long as it has fat and sugar, I’m happy. Right, honey?” This last was to Bryan. “That’s why you and I get along so well. I’ve got all the fat, and you’ve got all the sugar!”

He smiled at her, his eyes glowing, and she let go of my arm to go snuggle under his.

I, on the other hand, had neither fat nor sugar. I suppose I was the gristle. And Nick was the icing. Good enough to lick.

“What are you grinning about?” He walked up beside me.

“I’ll show you later.” I put my arm around his waist and hooked my thumb through his belt loop.

His eyebrows rose. “I like this. The fair makes you frisky.”

“And hungry.”

“Stop!” Carla shrieked.

I spun around, ready to defend her. But she was pulling Bryan along to the homemade ice cream stand. Nick and I watched as she ordered a large waffle cone.

“That woman,” Nick said.

“Yeah. Isn’t she great?”

“Want to get a table?” Bryan asked Carla, when she’d returned with a cone as big as her head.

“No. I want you to win me something.”

He winced. “I’m never any good at those carnival games.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun.”

So the four of us wandered around the games, losing quarters—and dollars, which made me cringe—and marveling at how the international carnies lacked so many teeth. And hygiene skills. And names we could pronounce.

“Hey,” Nick said while we waited for Bryan to shoot ducks with a water pistol. “Isn’t that the Gregg guy again?”

Gregg was still in his suit, walking quickly down the fairway, head swiveling side to side, like he was looking for somebody. I hoped it wasn’t me. I really wasn’t in the mood for a fight.

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “At least he’s not threatening anyone at the moment.”

“Until he finds who he’s looking for.”

Two more men in suits followed Gregg, also searching the lines and stalls. These guys didn’t look like executives. They looked like bodyguards. Or thugs. Not from the same security company who had worked the concert. Their suit coats fit snugly around bulky arms and chests, and what promised to be a gun holster, and the men stood at least a head taller than the regular fair crowd. One of them caught my eye and held my gaze just long enough for a chill to sneak up my spine. But then he was gone. I shuddered.

“Stella!”

I searched for the source of the voice, and Nick pointed up. Zach was on the double Ferris wheel, peering over the edge, tipping the car forward. Taylor peeked over the front, too, and the car tipped even further, swaying as she waved.

“Whoa.” I held my hands up, like I could keep them from falling, should they tumble out.

The wheel kept turning, and the next car in line held Randy and Bobby, with Claire squished between them. She wasn’t having as much fun as Taylor, that was easy to see. And then they were gone, spun up toward the sky, and I was left feeling a little dizzy and carsick.

“Guess Taylor’s not ready to go yet, huh?” Nick said. “Her mom’s going to be wondering.”

“I’m ready, though,” I said. “I’ve got to be up in six hours.”

“Is it really that late?”

“So who’s that little vixen up there with Zach?” Carla’s eyes sparkled, maybe because she was interested in Zach’s love life, maybe because Bryan had just won her a gigantic purple puppy. Or something that sort of looked like a puppy. With horns.

“She’s a competitor in the Lovely Miss Pennsylvania pageant,” I said.

Carla blanched. “Not that horrible girl I saw hanging around the food tent earlier.”

Nick barked a laugh. “No way.”

“This girl is actually nice,” I said. “She’s Bobby and Claire’s cousin from Doylestown. She seems genuine.”

“In every way?”

“From what I could tell, although I wasn’t really looking.”

She angled her eyes toward Nick, and he held his hands up. “Not even going there.”

“But her mother,” I said, “is perfect, according to Nick.”

“Stella…”

“Just kidding. She seems pretty perfect to me, too.”

Carla wrinkled her nose. “She’s not one of those crazy moms who puts her three-year-old in beauty pageants, dresses her up in skanky clothes, and makes her dance to ‘Maneater’?”

“No.” I laughed. “Taylor, the daughter, doesn’t look like that. And her mom seemed like a normal person. She said the whole pageant idea was Taylor’s, and the only reason she let her do it was because of the community service element, and the pageant’s focus on talent.”

Carla harumpfed. “Twirling a baton in a skimpy outfit?”

“I didn’t know batons wore outfits,” Nick said.

I elbowed him. “Actually, Taylor’s talent is sign language.”

Carla nodded. “Okay. I can deal with that.”

Zach yelled again, coming around on another spin, and we waved up at him.

“Remember?” Nick said in my ear. “We were going home?”

Right.

“Carla—” I turned to tell her we were leaving, but she was busy being kissed by Bryan. Or by the gigantic horned puppy he’d won for her. It was hard to tell. I cleared my throat, and Carla pushed the stuffed animal to the side to see me. “We’re going.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow!” She grinned and hid behind the puppy again.

Nick laughed. “Guess the fair makes her frisky, too.” He swung my hand as we walked away. “See, Bryan’s not so bad, right? You just spent over an hour in his presence, and no one died.”

“Whatever.” Actually it really hadn’t been that bad. He didn’t talk to me much, and he made Carla as giddy as…well, as Taylor was around Zach. Interesting.

We made our way down the fairway and had just passed the calf barn when screaming split the air. We stopped like dogs on point, and listened. More screaming. Close by. We ran toward the sound, and found a teenage girl up on the manure trailer, shrieking, her hands on her face. An overturned wheelbarrow lay on the ground, obviously tipped off the trailer, its contents spilled into the path. I leapt over the dropped manure and ran up the ramp. The girl grabbed me, crying and saying things I didn’t understand, her face pushed into my shoulder.

Nick ran up the trailer behind me. “There.”

I followed his finger toward the pile of manure. I didn’t understand why the girl was so freaked out, because cow crap was a matter of daily business. Maybe there was a rat, which would be gross, but not unheard of. Or maybe she slipped and thought she was going to fall off. But she kept screaming, and blurting out unrecognizable words, and I took a closer look where Nick was pointing. He’d gone even paler than he’d been before the funnel cake, and I realized something was out of place. A person was lying on the pile—but no, not on it. In it. All I could see were jeans and farm boots. The entire upper half was covered.

Other people had arrived, and I wrenched the girl off and shoved her onto someone else. Together, Nick and I grabbed the legs of the person and pulled, but whoever it was was really stuck. A few more people joined us, and with a few hard tugs and some careful use of shovels, we were able to slide the person onto the bare floor of the trailer. Impossible to see who it was, with all that crap everywhere. Nick peeled off his shirt and I used it to wipe the person’s face, doing my best to clear the nose and mouth. It soon became obvious that it was a woman, and also that my actions wouldn’t do any good. She wasn’t going to be breathing again no matter how clean her airways became. Not with the way her eyes were staring, and the way her chest wasn’t rising up and down.

And then I sucked in my own breath. Because I saw something else mixed in with the muck surrounding the woman’s head. It wasn’t straw, because I would recognize that right off. But it was bright white, where it hadn’t been ground into the manure. Stunned, I rubbed Nick’s shirt over the woman’s head, clearing enough of the dirt that I could see that the white strands were attached to her scalp.

I had just seen that hair earlier in the evening, when it had been flowing beautifully, a part of the woman’s easily recognizable persona. I took another look at the victim’s face, realizing with horror who I was seeing.

It was Rikki Raines.