The Hen of the Baskervilles (28 page)

Especially as I neared the top of the wheel, where I could get a panoramic view of the whole fair, teeming with ant-sized people. I could see mosquito-sized cows being led around the show ring by ant-sized farmers in overalls. On the distant stage an aphid-sized kilted bagpiper was marching up and down. The John Deere and Kubota equipment exhibits looked like a collection of child's toys, with a flock of overall-clad termites swarming around them. Closer at hand, in the Midway, people didn't quite look like ants, of course. More like Barbie and Ken dolls. And all of them, ants, aphids, termites, and dolls, were swarming busily but peacefully.

Well, with the possible exception of a booth almost at my feet, where a Ken-sized Deputy Plunkett and the G.I. Joe–sized operator of a ringtoss were having some sort of altercation. Not a shouting match—I saw the ringtoss operator look around as if for eavesdroppers, and then lean closer before saying something to Plunkett.

And just then the Ferris wheel swooped into motion. I lost sight of Plunkett and the barker. For the first couple of revolutions, I tried to find them again, but I realized the effort was making me uncomfortably dizzy. So I leaned back and tried to push Plunkett out of my mind to enjoy the ride.

And I did enjoy it, but as soon as the Ferris wheel operator released me from my car, I threaded my way through the Midway to the ringtoss. Plunkett wasn't there, and the operator was doing a lively business, so I decided not to interrupt him. But I spotted Plunkett approaching a food concession a few booths down the row. I watched for a few moments as Plunkett stared up at the menu and then spoke to the man behind the counter. The man called something over his shoulder, then handed Plunkett a can of Pepsi. Plunkett leaned against the booth, popped the can open, and took a long swallow.

Curiously, I hadn't seen any money change hands.

I strolled up to the booth and ordered a fresh-squeezed lemonade and slid two dollar bills across the counter to pay for it.

“Lemonade, Sam,” the man said.

A high school kid plucked a lemon out of a nearby bin, deftly sliced it, and began rotating the first half on a juicer. The fry cook lifted an Italian sausage from his grill, laid it on a bun, and then slathered on layers of green pepper strips and translucent onion slices. One of my favorites. My mouth began to water, and I made a mental note to call Michael and ask if I should bring dinner back from the Midway.

But not just yet. I turned to Plunkett.

“Afternoon,” I said. “Nothing much happening with the murder investigation?”

Plunkett, who had just taken an enormous bite of his sausage, shook his head.

“Suspect's out on bail,” he said, when he'd chewed and swallowed his first bite. “And we get some time off. Only for the weekend. Monday, the crime lab in Richmond should get back to us about the evidence we sent down there.”

“That's good,” I said.

“Good? You really think anything they find down in Richmond is going to get your friend off?”

“I just meant it's good that you're all getting a break,” I said.

It could be true. I hoped that Horace and Vern and the chief were getting a little time off to enjoy themselves. At least if they were still putting in long hours, they'd been able to rid themselves of Plunkett for a while by pretending to be taking some time off. They'd probably find that as relaxing as actual time off.

“Yeah, 'bout time we got a break,” Plunkett said. “Of course, not all of us are slacking off,” he added. “I'm still working on the case. Got an angle of my own I want to follow up.”

“An angle you're not telling Chief Burke about?” I asked.

He frowned and took a bite of his sausage—a little hastily, as if to give himself time to think. As he chewed, I could see him studying me. I had the feeling he was trying to sort out how well the chief and I knew each other, and whether I was one of the people he needed to win over to get hired in Caerphilly.

“I said an angle,” he said, when he'd finished chewing and swallowed. “If I had any kind of evidence, of course I'd take it to the chief. But right now, for all I know it could only be a wild idea. Lot of people bothering him with wild ideas, so I'm looking for some evidence before I tell him mine.”

“That makes sense,” I said. “The chief appreciates both initiative and thoughtfulness.” I didn't add that he hated sneakiness. Plunkett would find that out soon enough. In the meantime, he looked very pleased with himself.

“Have a good day,” he told me. Then he took another large bite, nodded to the vendor, and strolled off.

“Here's your lemonade,” the man behind the counter said.

As he handed it to me, I noticed that my two dollar bills were still on the counter. In fact, they were closer to me than they had been when I put them down. I ignored them, sipped my lemonade, and nodded appreciatively. After a long few moments, the counter man picked up the bills and put them in his cash register.

“I didn't see any money change hands when Deputy Plunkett was here,” I said. “He's running a tab with you?”

“You could say that,” the vendor said.

“Is that all he's asking for?”

The man snorted as if I'd said something ludicrous.

“Anything you want the fair management to do about it?” I asked.

“Best not.” He shook his head. “No need to antagonize the local law enforcement. Especially if the whole fair's moving over here to Clay County next year.”

I choked slightly on my lemonade.

“Just where did you hear that?” I asked.

“From him.” The vendor nodded in the direction Plunkett had taken. “You mean it's not true?”

“It may be true that Clay County will be having a fair next year,” I said. “But if they do, it won't be the Un-fair, and they'll have to organize it all by themselves. There's considerable sentiment in Caerphilly County for having the whole Un-fair in our own county next year. Midway and all.”

“That's good to hear,” he said. “I'd come back for that. I'd have to be pretty hard up for business to come back to Clay County again.”

“You think that's a general sentiment?”

He nodded.

“A lot of us were disappointed when we got here,” he said. “We knew you'd checked us out pretty thoroughly before going with our outfit, and that's usually a sign of a well-run event that treats the vendors fairly. Plunkett and his bully boys were a nasty shock.”

So it wasn't just Plunkett. I filed away the information.

“Imagine how our chief of police feels,” I said aloud. “Having to deal him into our murder investigation.”

He laughed and shook his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “Hard enough to catch whoever did it without somebody trying to undermine you while you're doing it.”

I was startled—not at the idea, which had occurred to me, but that someone with no inside knowledge of the investigation had come up with it.

“You think Plunkett is deliberately trying to undermine the investigation?” I asked. “I assumed he was just incompetent.”

“Who knows?” He shrugged. “He keeps bragging to us about how he'd have solved it by now. Making fun of what your chief of police is doing. Claiming he'll never solve the case. Maybe Plunkett is just gloating. But do you really think he's above doing everything he can to keep your chief from solving it?”

“No,” I said. “It sounds just like him. He probably resents our taking charge of the case, so it makes sense he'd cause trouble.” Or maybe he was counting on solving the case to boost his chances of getting hired on in Caerphilly.

“Besides,” the man said. “He keeps bragging about how low the Clay County crime rate is, and how they hardly ever have any unsolved crimes.”

“So I've heard,” I said. “Of course, I've also heard that that when they can't find the real crook, they can always find someone to frame. Someone who's been stupid enough to tick off Sheriff Dingle, for example.”

“Or a carny,” the man said. “We make great scapegoats. We've all been pretty impressed that your police chief hasn't taken the easy way out and arrested one of us.”

“He won't,” I said. “Unless he finds good evidence that one of you did it.”

“I can't be a hundred percent sure no one from the Midway did it,” he said. “But if I had to put money on it, I'd say it was someone from your side of the fence. No offense meant.”

“None taken,” I said. “I agree with you.”

I thanked him for the lemonade and strolled off. I decided I didn't need to talk to the ringtoss operator. I had a pretty good idea what was going on.

As I made my way back to the gate, I realized, a little sadly, that I was seeing the Midway with my own eyes again, rather than the boys'. The booths and rides might be brightly painted, but the colors were harsh and garish and the paint was getting a little chipped and faded. The games of skill weren't completely rigged, but the odds always seemed to be with the house and when you came down to it the prizes were a little tawdry. And the fairgoers might be happy, but the barkers and concession operators had a pinched, anxious look. And they might have good reason to feel anxious. The counterman hadn't said anything, but it was obvious that Plunkett's free meal was only the tip of the iceberg.

I waited until I was back on the Caerphilly side of the gate before stepping away from the path and pulling out my cell phone to call the chief.

 

Chapter 31

“Is there anything you can do about officers extorting money from fair vendors?” I asked.

“If you have any evidence that any of my officers are—”

“Clay County officers,” I added.

“Oh.” His tone changed from indignant to rather melancholy.

I relayed what I'd heard from the counterman—including his suggestion that Plunkett was trying to sabotage the murder investigation.

“I've already had my suspicions about the wisdom of including Deputy Plunkett in our investigation,” the chief said. “But it shouldn't be a problem now that the sheriff—our sheriff—has announced that he's taking personal charge of the investigation.”

“He is?” The sheriff of Caerphilly was over ninety, and had won his last few elections largely by proclaiming that he was going to keep delegating everything to Chief Burke, who in addition to being the police chief of the town of Caerphilly was also deputy sheriff of the county. I suspected a ruse.

“He's conducting the investigation from his farm,” the chief said. “So if Plunkett wants to stay involved, he's welcome to go out there. Might have to slop a few hogs while he's there. On the sheriff's orders, I've put all my officers back on general patrol here at the fair.”

“Where if they happen to run into any information that seems relevant to the murder—”

“They can bring it to me, and I will assess whether it's something the sheriff will want to hear about. Getting back to those allegations of extortion over in Clay County—we'd need to get the state police involved. I can contact them if there's someone willing to stand up and make a charge. If no one's willing—well, accusing another county's law enforcement of corruption's like taking a stick and whacking at a hornet's nest.”

“I'll see if I can find at least one victim willing to complain before we let the hornets know we're coming,” I said. “It'll be a lot easier if we wait till the end of the fair, when they'll be less afraid of retaliation. And if Randall and I can talk the rest of the fair committee into dumping Clay County from next year's fair.”

“That last idea has my vote,” the chief said. “And I'll see if our sheriff has any suggestions about how to handle the situation. He's been jousting with Sheriff Dingle a darn sight longer than I have. Might have some good insights.”

“As long as they're not old buddies.”

“They most definitely are not,” he said. “In fact, the only times I can recollect our sheriff using intemperate language were a few occasions when he had to deal with his Clay County counterpart. Keep me posted if you find a witness willing to talk.”

With that we hung up, and I headed back to the sheep barn.

I found Michael and Rob trying to swaddle Groucho with what seemed like several acres of hot-pink polyester fabric festooned with matching feathers. Groucho wasn't spitting at them, which I'd have been tempted to do if I were a llama in his situation, but he wasn't cooperating one bit.

“What on earth are you trying to do to the poor beast?” I asked.

“Get his costume on,” Rob said. “We're going as pink flamingos.”

“Both of you?”

“From what I've seen, the judges really go for it when the llama and his handler have coordinated costumes,” Rob said.

Michael held up what appeared to be a jumpsuit made of the same garish pink polyester and feathers—presumably Rob's costume. His mouth was twitching as if he were having a hard time not bursting out laughing.

“Awesome.” I resorted to Rob's favorite word. I probably giggled a little as I said it.

“It's not awesome yet,” Rob said. “It's a mess. And we only have forty-five minutes till show time”

“Let me try.”

It took nearly all of the forty-five minutes, but Michael and I got both Groucho and Rob into their flamingo suits. Then we glued on all the feathers that had come off in the struggle. Groucho made a rather odd-shaped four-legged flamingo, so I improvised a second flamingo head out of surplus polyester and feathers, and attached it to the middle of his back. It bobbed and nodded as he walked, an effect I hoped the judges would find as comical as Michael and I did.

“Cool!” Rob said. “Now there are three of us!”

I'd have felt completely ridiculous doing all of this if not for the fact that throughout the barn, other llama and alpaca owners were stuffing their darlings into equally ridiculous costumes.