Liz Marvin - Betty Crawford 03 - Too Long at the Fair (15 page)

“Your timing is perfect.”

“As ever.  Wes says we’re roomies.  There’s a state patrolman parked out front.”

Normally the two women would have gossiped long into the night.  But not tonight.  Exhausted they fell asleep.

19. Chapter 18

Wes leaned back in his chair.  He’d figured out how the crooks got away with taking or wrecking the cameras.  They had hidden in plain sight.  Blue coveralls, orange parking cones and an orange ladder.  The costumes, for that was what they were, were shapeless and everyone wore hats and dark glasses. 

There had been no more reports of thefts.  State and county plain clothes and uniformed patrols had the desired effect but there had to be a reason for the pickpocket gang to do this.  The vandalism had to be either a distraction, or protection for some crime or some means of allowing them to escape detection and escape. 

Bill entered with two cups of coffee and sat beside his deputy and friend.

“Anything useful?”

“The coffee is.  I came up with a new set of questions and no good answers.”

“Let me guess.  A two man repair crew walked around with orange cones and an orange ladder and worked on all the cameras.  They wore hats and neckerchiefs and sunglasses and you didn’t get a good look at any of them.”

“That what you got from the interviews?”

Bill nodded and sipped his coffee.  “And nothing missing.  All the cameras have been replaced and the Staties are watching the live feeds.  I think it’s a waste of time and effort.  These will be the last places they hit.”

“You think it’s a diversion?”

“It has to be.  Now we just have to figure out where we should watch.”

“What if it’s not?”

Bill finished his coffee “Then they’re dumber than I thought and so am I.  What’s on schedule for tomorrow?”

Wes continued sipping his coffee, thinking. “Starts with the awards ceremony, just friends and family will be there for that, then there’s the Addie and Achmed pie cooking which will attract a whole lotta people followed by Walter Payone’s super-secret civil war battle movie announcement which I hear Henry has set up to include the Civil War re-enactors, both north and south and he’s tied a mock battle in with the fireworks grand finale.” 

“Sounds exciting.”

It will be.  Then everybody goes home but the cleaning crew.”

“And us. Unless we catch these guys.”

“They’ll either hit town or hit the crowd.”

“Too many cameras. Everything will be televised and TV cameramen are notorious for shooting crowds.  They won’t hit the crowd.”

“The bank machines?”

“The Staties have them wired to detect any tampering and they’re being watched.”

“I know. Just trying to figure out what Lofton has that’s worth stealing.”

“They knew to hit the theater.”

“After last year everybody in the country knew about the theater. There’s been a regular run on robbing theaters of old props.”

“Okay what else do we have?”

“There’s a movie coming to town.”

“A film production is coming to town.   How would somebody steal that?”

Bill checked his cup. Empty.  He held it upside down for Wes to see.  “Towns like ours live on memories and visitors.  We don’t make things or discover new technologies and we aren’t a transportation hub or a financial center.  No wars ever started or ended here.  Nobody famous was born here.

“A movie could make Lofton famous.  Make it a tourist destination.  The town could go from shrinking to growing and Wes, a rising tide really does lift all boats.  But if something happened to damage the town’s reputation.”

“Like a string of murders and high profile robberies.”

“Then they film the movie somewhere else.”

“Awww dangit Bill,” Wes stood up, pulled out the coffee maker and started preparing a fresh pot. “We’re gonna have to figure this out.”

“Make it double strength.  I’ll call in the county and state.”

~

Morning came.  Clarise was up and in the shower.  Betty heard her mother in the kitchen and knew breakfast would be ready soon.  Betty stretched and luxuriated in her bed but reluctantly dragged herself to her computer.  She finally had a chance to check her email.

She had three orders and eleven inquiries, six about the bogus picture frame ad.

But only one email caught her eye.  A dealer who specialized in antique southern silver had contacted her.  He had just purchased a similar frame along with a bunch of period items which he listed.  This was a solid lead.  She sent an email asking for the seller’s name and got an almost immediate response wanting to know why.

She chose the truth.  Sort of.  She said the frames belonged to the Beurey family and Adeline Beurey had won the Lofton fair cooking competition seven times and now her great great granddaughter was winning and she’s looking for frames but also for family.  Perhaps the seller was related?

The response was again almost immediate.  A fake name with a phony company and a money transfer that fed into an electronic underground money laundering system.  All she knew was that whoever was behind this was criminally well informed and it would take a whole lot more resources than she possessed to track them down.

She printed out the emails along with the dealer’s contact information and finished just in time to jump in the shower after Clarise.

Betty hummed happily to herself as she washed.  Today would be a good day.  The fair would be over, it would be a success and she had something to show Bill.

Today would be a good day.

~

Fireworks.

That was the first conclusion.  Someone would sabotage the fireworks.  The state bomb squad was called in, the fireworks company was rounded up and every charge, every wire; every connection was checked and double checked.

Nothing.

Walter Payone was roused from his sleep and he assured everyone that no other towns were even being considered for the production.  A very bad tempered producer in Los Angeles was awakened and backed up Walters claim.

Sunrise came and Bill and Wes were still working in the video surveillance trailer when a snatch and grab was observed.  The perp got away with a purse and the victim, a skinny young man wearing lipstick and a wig didn’t want to press charges and everyone was too tired to make an issue of it.

The Staties relaxed.  Just locals having the jitters and dumb criminals who thought they were clever but were in reality about to be caught.

Wes headed for home but Bill knew he couldn’t sleep and it wasn’t the coffee, either.  He couldn’t dump the feeling that they were still being played.  He circled through the entire fairgrounds, down the midway, through the barns, under the bleachers where Marlee May had been found.

Walter Payone was rehearsing a mock battle between the Confederate and Union re-enactors.  Bill had to smile at his increasing frustration with the amateurish and inept performances.

He left them and headed for the re-enactors campground.

The confederate camp was neat as a pin with just too many props stacked around it.  It looked artificial and fussy.  The union camp was neglected and both were empty.  At this hour, with few tourists about perhaps they were visiting a twenty first century shower and restaurant.

But there was no one around. Something just didn’t seem right.

Bill stepped into the confederate camp.  He looked into the first tent, an officer’s tent by all appearances.  Everything was period specific as far as he could tell and laid out just so.  Even a gray jacket left on the back of a camp chair wasn’t hung; it was draped “just so”. 

The larger tents had rows of cots, all matched and all made with military precision.  Neat as a pin and everything in its place.  Two cots had tin type pictures laid atop pillows.  Bill stepped in and examined them.  They were real tintypes but were clearly modern made and artificially aged.  The women were in period costumes but their hair was modern.  He smiled, Betty would be proud he noticed. 

There was one foot locker.  Unlocked.  Inside was a host of wallets, cell phones, watches and modern paraphernalia.  He closed it up without examining them.

He moved over to the union camp.  The main tent had a map of the fairgrounds on a card table and a modern cot.  The floor was littered with empty beer cans and fast food wrappers. A half empty bourbon bottle stood under the cot.

Bill stuck his head inside and saw gym lockers and more trash.  This was not right.  He carefully went inside and checked the first locker.  Locked.  So were the others.  He ruled out breaking into any of them.  It would be easy enough but without a warrant anything he found inside the lockers would be inadmissible as evidence. 

He moved on to the pup tents.  Each held two cots with modern sleeping bags and loads of dirty clothes.  He searched the cots, the tents, the clothes and found nothing.  No wallets, no personal correspondence, nothing personal at all.   Perhaps, after all the pickpocketing the northerners were just being cautious and carrying their valuables with them of locking everything up in the gym lockers.  That would be the sensible thing to do.

Bill left and headed for the entrance to the fair grounds.  The main event wouldn’t start for five or six hours and he needed some rest.

Foot traffic was just picking up as he was leaving.  A deputy stood guard as people entered and off to one side a small contingent of the Gossiping Grannies watched the proceedings like hawks watching chickens.  There was a sign warning fair goers to be on the lookout for pick pockets.  The sign was new.  Odd that it would be put up on the last day of the fair.  Bill asked the deputy who knew nothing about it; it was there when he arrived.

There was only one way to find out about the sign.  Steeling himself, Bill smiled and approached the Gossiping Grannies.  Thelma was there, pale but at the center of the group.

“Good morning ladies.  Do any of you know when that sign was put up?”

“The “watch out for pickpockets” sign?  Certainly.  Two men in blue jumpsuits put it up yesterday afternoon.  About half an hour after Wes tore out of here.”  Thelma answered.

Bill thanked the ladies, wished them well, took as much friendly advice and probing inquiries as he could bear without betraying anything and, smiling, made his escape.

He was still smiling because he now knew where the gang of thieves would strike next.

20. Chapter 19

The sun wasn’t setting but it was on its way.  Thus far Betty’s day had been one long and uneventful bore.  To make matters worse she hadn’t seen Bill at all and he wasn’t answering his phone.

Betty was seated on the reviewing stage between Thelma and Achmed. The three of them were dressed Lofton casual.  Khaki slacks and white tops.  Betty wore a red jacket, Thelma and Achmed wore blue.  The outfit was considered safe and acceptable for anything but a funeral.  Next came Addie who looked like she was wearing her great great grandmother’s dress, followed by Danbey Johnson in a three piece suit and tie and Walter Payone who was wearing, of all things, a leisure suit.  Thankfully they were in the back row.  All the livestock and produce judges occupied the first rows and it seemed that potatoes and carrots had three judges each.  Achmed had his arms crossed and his chin on his chest.  Betty envied his ability to relax and sleep. Quietly.  If Betty attempted that she would snore and fall off her chair.

Walter was on his phone, whispering.  He seemed particularly anxious even by his standards.  He hung up and leaned across everyone, tapping Betty.

“Have you seen Clarise?  It’s urgent!” 

Betty stood up in a half crouch and led Walter off the stage.  The heifer calf awards were being announced; she knew they would not be missed.

“What’s this all about?”

“It’s those blasted re-enactors!  I tried to explain that a fake battle is like a dance and those clods stumbled over their own shadows.  I just got a call from the Confederate Captain.  He says they can’t do it.  If ever there was any doubt it is gone now I am not cut out to be a director but Clarise could whip them into shape in no time.”

“And since she has no time she’ll have to.”  

“Precisely.  I wish Henry were here. He could find her.”

“Oh all right.  I’ll go look.”

Walter was giddy with relief.  “Just tell her the problem.  She’ll know what to do.”  Walter kissed Betty on the cheek and headed up the stairs.

Betty pulled out her cell phone and stepped into the shadows of the reviewing stand.  Clarise answered on the second ring.

“Have you seen Wes?”

“And a good good afternoon to you.  Where are you?”

“I’m at the cooking competition tent calming down the barbecue contestants and you’re welcome.”

Betty could feel a headache coming on.  “Oh no.  I forgot about them.  Is everything all right?”

“I scheduled the make-up competition for opening night of the fall theater season.  The audience will taste before the show, come back for seconds and vote during intermission.”

“And you guaranteed yourself an opening night sellout crowd.  You my friend are a genius and now we need your genius again.”

“Oh no.”

“Walter Payone has been working with the re-enactors and he says they need the special talents of a real director to -”

“No!  Let me rephrase that. H E double hockey sticks no.” 

“It’s just for a few hours, an hour, just a few minutes really.”

“Let me try Spanish.  No.”

“This is your big chance.”

“I take a big chance every time I get into a car with you.  In fact every time I go anywhere with you!  Do you remember that time when we went someplace and did something and nobody got murdered and nobody shot at us?  Neither do I!”

“This time will be - is different.”

“I went berry picking with you and got shot at. Berry picking!  For poison berries!”

“These guys are shooting blanks.”

“What!  You’re letting those clowns hear anything that goes boom?  Are you crazy?”

“Well if we had a director I’m sure they’d be unarmed and sitting around a camp but…” Betty let her voice trail off.  If anything would get Clarise to change her mind it would be the fear of putting others at risk.

“All right!  All right I’ll talk to them but that is all!”

Betty squealed in delight which immediately attracted disapproving glares from the reviewing stand.  “I’ll find Wes for you, Promise.”

“Just tell him I miss his face and I’ll split the bottle of wine you owe me with him later tonight.”

Betty started with a visual search, looking along the perimeter and then scanning the stands.  No Wes.  She quietly slipped away from the awards ceremonies and for the fairgrounds.

He wasn’t on the midway.  Many of the booths were packing up and a few were already closed.   There were lots of cops, but no Wes.

Betty made an appearance at the cooking competition tent, spent ten minutes apologizing profusely and listening to their complaints.  Then she convinced everyone to head for the reviewing stands.  There was more grumbling until she reminded them Danbey was there, all alone, to receive the grand prize for Marlee May.  Dutifully they marched off.

She checked the rides and found a ghost town.  All the rides were shut down and for all practical purposes gone.   She’d never seen the midway all packed up and ready to move.  It was fascinating.  The carnies and roustabouts were all friendly enough but mentally they had already moved on to the next town and the next fairgrounds. For a time she reveled in the relative silence and solitude.  Occasionally she would pass a state or county patrolmen who invariably nodded to her as she passed.  Wes wasn’t one of them.

The re-enactor’s camps were stripped down and empty except for a mess of beer cans and pizza boxes which, Betty was certain, were not period correct.  Her phone rang.  She hoped it was Wes or Clarise of Bill.

It was Achmed. “Get back here now!” He hissed and hung up.  Betty checked the time and sprinted away.

~

Wes crouched in the bushes that grew along the large meadow that passed as the fair’s parking lot. The last mosquitoes of summer all seemed to find him.  The plants were worse.  What wasn’t poison ivy was poison sumac or had thorns.  He whispered into his phone.

“I was supposed to meet Clarise three hours ago.”

About two hundred yards away on the other side of the parking lot Bill was hiding inside a panel van.  The back windows were deeply tinted and all the windows were rolled up.  Inside the temperature had already climbed to over ninety.  He mopped his face.

“She’ll forgive you. I’m supposed to be there for Betty’s presentation.”

“Well then you are dead.  Are you sure about this?”

“Thanks.  And yes.  People who are afraid of pickpockets will lock their valuables in their car.  All the cops and cameras are pointed at the fairgrounds.  This is where they’ll hit.  Let’s be quiet now.”

Bill heard a soft curse and slap of palm against cheek. “Kill the mosquitoes quietly please.  I owe you a six pack.”

“Make it a case. Out.”

The two men sat alone, each in their own uncomfortable silence, waiting and watching.  Bill was seating in the back seat but he was parked in the perfect spot to observe the entire lot if he could look out all the windows at once.  As it was he had to keep low and move slowly enough so that he wouldn’t be spotted.  Wes needed only to look straight ahead, left and right but if anything he had to remain more silent and still than Bill and the temptation to scratch or swat was much greater.

Then Wes saw Clarise and all his comfort disappeared.  His phone buzzed; it was Bill. “Stay put” was all he said.  Wes didn’t speak, didn’t move.

Clarise was searching cars; specifically vans, SUVs and panel trucks.  Eventually she stopped and banged on the side of a painter’s van with a large ad painted on the side.

Confederate re-enactors streamed out of the van like clowns from a clown car.  Clarise shook her finger in their faces, lined them up in quick order.  She marched back and forth up and down the line like a master drill sergeant.  Moments later she was leading them away.

Wes dialed Bill. “False alarm?”

“Nope.” Bill answered. “Just part one.  Stay sharp. It won’t be long now.”

~

Betty was flushed, red faced, sweating and out of breath when she reached the reviewing stand steps.  Achmed was waiting for her with a bottle of water and a hair brush.  She chugged from the bottle while he wiped her face with his handkerchief and fussed with her hair and complained.

“You were the master of ceremonies.  The opening act.  In theory without you the moon doesn’t revolve around the earth, the earth doesn’t revolve around the sun and the stars don’t turn in the heavens. 

“Fortunately you have many friends.  Thelma thanked everyone and introduced Danbey who, apparently, is turning Addie’s homestead into some sort of museum and summer camp.  Addie and I demonstrated our mock pokeberry pie recipe and thanks to the wonders of industrial level cooking and my connections everyone got to try a piece and you just missed Clarise and the Confederates cap off Mister Payone’s announcement that a movie is going to be made in and around Lofton.”

Betty wanted to ask if anyone had saved her a piece of pie but she didn’t dare.  “Sounds like fun.” was all she could manage.

Achmed was not amused “Now get up there and captivate these - this crowd and wrap up the show. Please.”

Betty climbed the steps slowly feeling the weight of Achmed’s words.  She had never felt more like she was heading for the gallows.   She reached the top and the gathered cucumber judges and radish masters parted at her coming leaving a path to a microphone set too high for her to use. 

Thelma and Edna were seated together at the top of the steps. Edna sniffed and looked away but Thelma stood up and gave Betty a hug.  “Thank you for letting me do the introduction.” she whispered “Be brave.”

Betty thought that was easy for her to say; seated in the back near the exit and not having to ad lib a speech in front of thousands of people.  What she said was “Wish me luck.”

“You make your own luck Miss Crawford.”  Thelma said out loud.  Heads turned to look.  Inside Betty shrank into herself but outwardly she smiled and said “of course!” and walked on.  One foot in front of the other.  Somehow she kept moving.  She reached the microphone, twisted the locking ring and dropped the mic to her level.  Only then did she look out over the assembled throng.  Throng. The right word for a crowd that filled the bleachers to overflowing and filled the field in front of the reviewing stand.  There were three thousand people at least.  Probably more.

Her mouth was dry.  If she had written a speech, studied and re-written it, rehearsed it a half dozen times in front of a mirror and perhaps her parents and Clarise then, maybe, she could do this.  But to wing it?  Now?  Live in front of all these people?

“Good afternoon Lofton fair goers!”

A cheer went up.  Betty smiled and waved until the sound began to subside.  She wanted to thank these people for sticking by the fair when things were going wrong and for turning out to celebrate when grief, fear and disappointment were the reigning emotions of the day. 

She wanted to remind them what a good place Lofton was; a town that had survived hard times since its inception and pokeberry pie was proof that they could do turning a sow’s ear into a silk purse one better and turn a poison berry into a prize winning pie. 

She wanted to share the lessons she had learned.  Let go of anger.  Laugh at yourself.  Talk to your neighbors.  Tell them what is truly happening in your life and don’t be afraid that they’ll judge you because they’re going to judge you anyway but probably not in any way you’d expect.  And listen to your neighbors because they may be trying to tell you something important and because you’d want them to listen to you too and above all know your ingredients.

She wanted to make them laugh.  She wanted to hug and thank each and every one of them.  Instead what she said was “I have type two diabetes.”