Stay At Home Dad 03-Father Knows Death (16 page)

Carly just stared at her mother, wide-eyed with wonder.

As the song wound down, Susan planted herself in the middle of the stage. She made one more clawing gesture at the audience and thrust the microphone into the air, an evil-looking smile settling on her face as she stared out into the wildly cheering crowd.

I followed her gaze.

Matilda Biggs was at the other end of it. She stood near the bleachers, her arms folded across her ample body, shaking her head, before she turned and walked off.

37

“It would’ve been awesome if they had just clawed each other’s eyes out,” Julianne said.

She was flat on her back in bed, her tank top pulled up to expose her enormous belly. I was next to her, my hand on the mountain, feeling for kicks or other signs that the progeny finally might want out.

“Susan doesn’t seem the type to like Celine Dion,” I said.

Julianne closed her eyes. “Maybe she’s just into power ballads.”

“Or maybe there was some sort of fair betting pool on who would win karaoke,” I suggested.

“I totally would’ve participated in that pool.”

We dissolved into laughter again. We’d had a good night. We’d had fun together. Fun had been missing from the fair until that night and I was glad it was back. Yes, Julianne was hot and miserable and I was frustrated. But there was comfort in the fact that we could still go out to something goofy and ridiculous like Carriveau County Idol and have a good time.

“Carly said she wants to sing next year in the kids’ division,” Julianne said, staring at the ceiling.

“Ummm . . . no.”

“Why not?”

“Because she can’t sing.”

“She’s a kid.”

“Which is exactly how most of those other yellers ended up there in the first place,” I said. “They didn’t have a parent up there to tell them no.”

“Why would you tell her no?”

“Because she
can’t sing
. She unfortunately inherited my singing talent. Which means she got none.”

Julianne frowned. “Hmm. I told her we’d see.”

“You heard the way everyone mocked the people who got up there and couldn’t sing,” I said, rubbing her stomach. “You heard the way
we
mocked them. Do you want people doing that to our daughter?”

“They wouldn’t mock her.”

“Oh, yes, they would.”

She thought for a moment. “I would kill anyone who mocked my child.”

“Well, then, you’d have a long list to get through.”

She laughed and tried to turn into me, but her stomach made it impossible and she groaned. “Oh my God. I’m going to rip this thing out with my bare hands if I have to. I can’t even hug you.”

I pulled her as close as I could and kissed her forehead. “Soon. It’ll happen soon. I can feel it.”

“There’s no baby in you. You can’t feel anything.”

“Maybe I’m just intuitive.”

“Maybe you’re just saying things to try and make me feel better.”

“Maybe.”

She smiled and closed her eyes. “Well, that’s okay, I guess.” She paused. “I wanted to hug Matilda. I felt badly for her.”

“I know. It was sad.”

“I think she really loved George. The way she sang that song.”

“Seemed that way.”

She tilted her head so it was on my shoulder. “You need to find out what happened to him. For her.”

I laid my hand over my heart. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”

She opened her eyes. “What?”

“Are you actually asking me to do some investigating?” I said, still clutching at my chest. “You want me to stay on a case?”

She smacked me in the stomach. “Stop. I’m serious. I really wanted to hug Matilda tonight. She needs closure. She needs to know what happened to the love of her life. So figure it out. For her.”

I took her hand from my stomach and kissed it. “Okay. I will.”

“But do not miss the birth of your child or someone will have to solve your murder.”

“You’ve been making a lot of death threats lately.”

She closed her eyes. “All the more reason to do what I say.”

38

Carly came into our room, yelling, “The parade’s today! The parade’s today!”

She was gone before I could groan at her about how early in the morning it was.

Julianne was still snoring softly, so I rolled myself out of bed and into the shower. I was downstairs twenty minutes later and Carly was already dressed and at the kitchen table.

“I’m excited,” she said.

“Apparently so.”

“You know I love the parade. And we get to march in it this year!”

“I’m aware.”

“Aren’t you excited, Daddy?”

I wasn’t sure what I was. The forecast called for a temperature a degree or two over one hundred. I was already tired from a late night. Marching with the 4-H group in the parade in that kind of heat was not my idea of fun. But I knew she’d been looking forward to it for months.

“Yes, I’m excited,” I said, sticking bread in the toaster for her and then pouring her a glass of milk.

The parade was the big finale for the fair. Yes, the rides on the midway stayed open until dusk, but the exhibit buildings would begin to empty, the vendors would begin folding up their tables, and the livestock owners would begin taking their animals home as soon as the parade ended.

Nearly every business in Rose Petal would have some sort of float, along with nearly every service organization within the county. Some would be as simple as a wagon with some marchers and some would be elaborate in their decoration. The 4-H one fell somewhere in between, having adopted the theme of “Come Grow With 4-H!” I hadn’t seen it yet, but it had been described to me as an oversize garden on the back of a flatbed trailer.

The parade route was nearly a mile long, snaking down Main Street and finishing at the fairgrounds. The street would be lined with people on blankets and in lawn chairs, cheering and waving, as the marchers and float riders threw candy. A panel of judges would wait at the fire station, judging each float, working hard to determine who would win the hundred dollar check for that year, along with a small golden cup.

It was hokey, it was silly, and it was Rose Petal, but it was ingrained in the DNA of the town and I’d been in it or at it every year of my life, and I wanted Carly to have those same memories as she got older.

I just didn’t want it to be so hot.

Julianne found her way downstairs just as the toast popped up and I was scrambling eggs in the skillet. She glared at me with sleepy eyes, blaming me—again—for the fact that coffee was off-limits as long as the baby was inside of her. I pacified her with juice, the eggs, and some toast of her own.

Carly mowed through her breakfast and scrambled upstairs to change into her costume, which consisted of something that made her look like a human corncob.

Julianne pushed her plate away. “I was thinking about last night.”

“You want to pursue a singing career?”

“Hardly. I mean, about Matilda and Susan. That whole look thing that was going on.”

I slid the dishes into the sink. “Yeah?”

“I wonder if it was about more than the song choices.”

“Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because I’m a woman. Because the more I thought about it, the more it felt like a bigger thing.”

I filled the skillet with water to let it sit and loosen the egg skin stuck to it. “Okay. What kind of thing?”

Julianne stared longingly at my cup of coffee, then forced herself to look away. “Maybe Susan knows about the land deal. Maybe she’s pissed about that. Or, maybe she’s just blaming the entire Biggs family for screwing up her precious 4-H food stand.”

I nodded and scrubbed the plates. “That could make sense.”

“I mean, you know what that woman is like,” Julianne said, and, even though I couldn’t see her, I knew she was making a distasteful face. “She doesn’t need a reason to be a pain in the rear end or to decide she doesn’t like someone.”

I chuckled. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“You know it’s true, Deuce,” she said. “No, I can’t stand her, but she just loves to create drama like she’s still in high school. Every time I see her, she makes a snide comment about me. She did it the other day. She doesn’t need a reason. And the only reason I’m telling you this is because I really do want you to help Matilda.”

I shut off the faucet and dried my hands. “Her singing last night really got to you.”

Julianne hesitated. “It did. I know I’m a big hormonal mess, but I felt terrible for her. And if someone is picking on her or making her life tougher than it already is, well, then, I guess I just want you to help her in any way you can. And if finding out what happened to her boyfriend is something that would help her, then you should do it.”

“You’re getting soft in your pregnancy,” I said.

“You should shut up and be nice to me and not make fun of me, husband who is not carrying some alien life form that will not leave the mother ship.”

“Duly noted.”

“Now, I’m going to go upstairs and put on my hideous green T-shirt and pretend to be happy about marching in this parade in four-hundred-degree temperatures,” she said, pushing herself up from the table.

“You’re walking in the parade?” I asked. “I thought we agreed you’d ride on the float?”

“That was when I thought your offspring would arrive in a reasonable amount of time,” she said. “Walking has been known to spur labor. I would walk to Oklahoma at this point, if I thought it would force this kid out of my stomach.”

“You’ll still be the most beautiful woman in the parade,” I said. “Just like every other year.”

“Oh my God, shut up,” she yelled at me, going up the stairs. “If the kid’s still in me, you’ll get sex.”

39

The 4-H float did not look like an oversize garden to me.

It looked like . . . something else.

The floats were all parked at the south end of Main Street, each group having been assigned a numbered slot in which to park their float and make last-minute adjustments and finishes. People were scurrying around, yelling at one another, yelling for tape and staples and extra hands.

We’d been assigned slot 27, so we were about middle of the pack. As we walked up to the float, Julianne and I in our green shirts, Carly in her tiny corncob outfit, I slowed when we got closer.

“What the hell is that?” I whispered to Julianne.

“I have . . . no idea.”

I was glad I wasn’t the only one confused.

Behind the white pickup truck was a flatbed trailer. On the flatbed trailer were six long . . . things. Three green, three orange. I knew that they were probably supposed to be cucumbers and carrots, but they looked distinctly like . . .

“Don’t even say it,” Julianne whispered. “I can see it in your eyes. Do not say it.”

“But they look like big, giant . . .”

“Vegetables,” Julianne said. “They look like vegetables. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“I can’t be the only one that sees this,” I said. “Who the hell was in charge of the float?”

Julianne grinned at me. “Our pal. Susan.”

“And she couldn’t see that it looks like they have six big . . .”

“
Vegetables,
” Julianne said, emphasizing the word. “They are vegetables.”

“Telling you right now,” I said, pointing at the
vegetables
. “The judges are going to dock our float for being inappropriate.”

“Well, take it up with the queen bee,” Julianne said. “Because here she comes.”

I looked to my right and Susan Blamunski was headed our way, a big fake smile plastered on her face.

“Doesn’t it look fabulous?” she gushed, then eyed Julianne. “I know this is your first look at it, since you haven’t been to any of our float decorating sessions.”

“We were at the first two,” Julianne said. “But I don’t think you were.”

Susan’s smile flickered. “I don’t recall that.”

“Of course you don’t,” Julianne said. “I’m gonna go help Carly get situated.”

“She’s a bit touchy,” Susan said, once Julianne was out of earshot. “Probably the pregnancy. And the extra weight.”

“Saw you at Idol last night,” I said, changing the subject.

“Oh, thanks!” she said, mistakenly assuming I was complimenting her performance. “I rehearsed for a couple of weeks.”

“I take it you and Matilda aren’t friends?”

She raised a thin eyebrow at me. “Why would you think that?”

“Just seemed like there was something between the two of you.”

She fumbled with a square of tissue paper and started folding it accordion-style. “Oh, I think she’s just going through a tough time right now. I feel badly for her. But I like Matilda just fine.” The fake smile reappeared. “I need to go pomp that one cucumber.”

“Pomp?”

She held up the tissue paper. “You stick this in the chicken wire.” She smiled. “Pomping.”

“Ah. Got it.”

She hustled off to pomp the . . . cucumber.

I stood around, looking for something to do, but everything seemed to be covered, so I wandered down the sidewalk to the group in front of us.

And ran into Dorothy.

She seemed startled at first, then just nodded as if she’d expected to run into me. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey.”

She peered around me. “Interesting float.”

“I had nothing to do with it.” I looked past her. A group of about twenty people surrounded a simple pickup truck with a massive paper-mâché structure, which looked like the earth, in the back of it. They were all wearing bright orange shirts with “C.A.K.E.” emblazoned across the front and a picture of Earth on the back. “I like the earth,” I said.

“So do we,” she said. “That’s why we do what we do. The planet is in danger.”

“I meant the one in the back of the truck.”

She looked at me, puzzled, then shrugged. “Oh. Right. Yeah, it’s pretty cool.”

Scarecrow approached us, looking at me nervously. “What’s going on?”

“I was just admiring your float,” I said.

He looked at Dorothy. “Everything cool?”

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Relax,” I said. “The cops aren’t going to jump out of the bushes.”

They both glanced at the hedges for a long moment.