Food Fair Frenzy Page 2

  “I know what it’s about,” Renmar said. “It’s about what mother did last year. They probably want her gone, and then there goes my entries into the contest.”

  “What did she do?” I asked.

  Just like Miss Vivee to get thrown out of someplace steeped in tradition.

  “It’s about the people getting sick. At the food tents,” Gavin interjected into our conjecturing. “We think this might have something to do with that.”

  “Has anyone died?” Miss Vivee’s first words. I looked over at her. She had leaned out further this time. I hoped she didn’t tumble out of that folding chair.

  “No!” he said taken aback and looked at her questioningly “No one’s died.” He shook his head and swallowed.” But it might be a clue as to what happened to make all those people sick.”

  “Oh.” Renmar seemed relieved. She relaxed her stance, stood aside, and looked at Miss Vivee. “Mother, are you going to help them? Seems like a pretty important matter.” Renmar gave a fake smile and ran her fingers through her bobbed brown hair.

  “You’d give in, throw your mother to the wolves, wouldn’t you?” Miss Vivee asked Renmar. “If it meant your 7-Up cake didn’t miss the judging.”

  “That’s not true, Mother. And I’m not throwing you to the wolves. He works for Lincoln Park.”

  “Nope,” Miss Vivee said. I couldn’t see her eyes behind her double pair of glasses, but I’m sure there was a twinkle in those blue eyes of hers. “I’m not going to help.”

  “Mother,” Renmar said. “This is important.” She looked at the Fair Official Guy. “Isn’t it?”

  “Yes ma’am,” he said and gave a nod.

  “Don’t care,” Miss Vivee said. “They can’t make me, and I won’t do it.” She crossed her arms.

  “How can you not help, Miss Vivee?” I asked. “I was over there by the pie tent and it was bad. People getting sick. Falling out. It was really bad.”

  “But no one died,” she said, and looked over at Fair Official Gavin for confirmation.

  He shook his head “no” again.

  “This is a sick person doing this,” Miss Vivee said rebelliously. “And I won’t give in to the whims of a deranged individual.”

  “You don’t know they’re deranged, Miss Vivee,” I said.

  “They made people sick and then sent a note about it? That sounds sick to me,” she said. She bent down and picked up Cat and put her on her lap. She patted her dog. “I won’t be a part of it.”

  “Mother,” Renmar said. She used a calm, composed voice. “They’re counting on you. You should be very proud of that. Plus, it’s your civic duty to help.”

  “Look who’s talking,” Miss Vivee said to Renmar. “Doing your civic duty is not hiding extinct fish for twenty years.”

  “I had no idea they were extinct,” Renmar said, hurt showing in her eyes, obviously her mother’s words bringing back an unpleasant memory.

  “They weren’t extinct,” Mac said. “Not if they’d been swimming in that creek all that time.”

  “You,” Miss Vivee pointed a bony, shaky finger at Mac. “Stay out of it.”

  “Momma,” Brie said. “Be nice.”

  “You’re good at solving things like this, as much as I hate to admit it,” Renmar said. “You should help.”

  Miss Vivee didn’t budge.

  “Logan,” Renmar looked at me. “You talk to her, she listens to you.”

  Everyone looked at me expectedly, including Miss Vivee.

  They should know that Miss Vivee didn’t listen to me, or for that matter, to anyone. I don’t think that she even followed any kind of plan in her head. She acted off the cuff, and usually in direct contradiction to how everyone else thought things should be.

  “How about if I just take you home, Miss Vivee,” I said. “I think the sun and the day has been too much for you.” Thought I’d try a little reverse psychology. “All these people worrying you.” I patted my leg for Cat to come over to me. He jumped off her lap and circled my legs.

  At least someone was cooperating.

  Then I reached out to give Miss Vivee a hand and help her out of the chair.

  She swatted my hand away. “Oh my Lord. I hope I don’t throw up,” Miss Vivee said. “All this hullabaloo over some pie.” She smacked her lips. “Two minutes ago,” Miss Vivee looked at Renmar. “When you thought it was about that god-blasted cake of yours, you wouldn’t let the man near me.”

  I had to hide my chuckle.

  “Give me the note.” Miss Vivee waggled her fingers, reaching for it. But before he could, another “Official” came up and whispered in Gavin Tanner’s ear.

  The man’s eyes darted from Renmar to Brie, and then over to me. He opened his mouth to speak, but let it snap shut.

  “What is it?” Renmar asked.

  Gavin looked at Official Guy #2, who took the note from his hand. “I apologize for the inconvenience, ma’am but I don’t think we’ll need you anymore.” New Official Guy-in-Charge nodded his head, and tugged on Gavin’s arm.

  “If you’ll excuse us . . .” He bowed out and walked away, Official Gavin following behind.

  We watched, but before they got out of our view, we saw Yasamee’s sheriff, Lloyd Haynes stop them. They whispered among themselves for a few moments, and then they all turned back and looked at us.

  Lloyd came over. He took off his four-dented brown hat, and brushed back the tuft of chestnut hair that had fallen in his face. His usually crisp tan-colored uniform shirt was damp from his sweat, and I could see him tighten the muscle in his square jaw line as he readied to speak.

  “What’s going on?” Brie asked before he could even get any words out.

  "We’re gonna need Miss Vivee,” he said, his brown eyes showing his seriousness.

  “Is this about what happened last year?” Renmar was back on that seemingly oblivious to his tone and demeanor. “Because I did pay the restitution that they required-”

  Lloyd held up his hand stopping her mid-sentence. “Miss Vivee, will you come with me? I need you in the Judges Tent.” He walked over to her and put out his hand, you could see his solid triceps muscle flex through his short sleeve shirt as he grabbed her and pulled her up. Then he looked at Mac. “We’re going to need you, too.”

  “Is someone dead?” Miss Vivee asked again. She seemed hopeful.

  “Yes,” Sheriff Haynes said. “And it might just be another murder.”

  Chapter Four

  Of course it would be murder. What else could it be?

  Since I’d met Miss Vivee that’s all I’d seen. As an archaeologist, I usually dug up dead bodies, but with Miss Vivee around they were just dropping at my feet.

  Miss Vivee wasn’t morbid or a psychopath, I knew that for sure, but it sure would seem odd, I know, to any onlooker how she acted. She hadn’t wanted to help when it was people getting sick, but now that she’d heard “murder,” she was raring to go.

  Whatever Miss Vivee had done last year at the annual food fair, and I could only imagine, all had seemed to be forgiven. They came for her help at the first sign of trouble. And even though she had no official capacity – as anything – Sheriff Haynes had come for her and Mac first thing.

  Macomber “Mac” Whitson was easy to understand getting high clearance, he was a doctor. The only MD, apparently, at the food fair. But Miss Vivee’s only expertise, besides always turning up at the scene of a murder, was that she was a Voodoo herbalist. Sick in love or health, she proclaimed she had the powers to put one out of their misery. Literally, I’m told. But I must admit, Miss Vivee did have a knack for just looking at a dead body and knowing what had caused its death. That kind of power sure would come in handy in my profession.

  “Hey. What’d I miss?” Hazel Cobb came through the flap on the canopy tent, her dark brown skin glistening from being out in the sun. “I just saw Sheriff Lloyd Haynes walking with Miss Vivee and Mac. Is something wrong?”

  “Mother doesn’t need to get involved with any of t
his,” Renmar said. She walked over to the ice filled cooler and took out a big glass, gallon-jar of lemonade. “You know how she gets all involved with those murders, thinking she can solve them.”

  She does solve them, I thought to myself. She and Mac could have their own amateur sleuth, crime solving, hour of elderly brain power, television show. It would soar in the ratings department. Betty White meets Angela Lansbury, with Andy Griffith as the sidekick.

  “Murder?” Hazel Cobb asked and pulled two red Solo cups out the plastic, holding it for Renmar to pour. “Who in the world has been murdered now?”

  “I just won’t have it,” Renmar continued, ignoring Hazel’s questions. “And Brie, how could you let Lloyd take Mother away like that?” She sat down in one of the chairs and Hazel Cobb sat down beside her.

  “Me!” Brie said. “What makes you think I could have any control over that? Or him? That’s his job.”

  “Isn’t he your boyfriend?” Renmar asked.

  That one took me by surprise. I looked over at Brie who was turning beet red.

  “I . . .” she said and then seemed stuck for words.

  “Oh everyone knows.” Renmar waved her hand. “Don’t try to hide it.”

  I didn’t know.

  “Renmar, don’t be so crass,” Hazel said. “She called herself keeping it a secret.”

  “Well, she should have done a better job of it.”

  “I’m sitting right here, you know,” Brie said.

  I looked at Brie. She did look different lately. Her usual motherly-like frocks and French rolled hair were gone. She had her light brown tresses brushed in soft curls that framed her face, her freckles were nearly hidden under a light dusting of face powder, and a frosted coral gloss covered her lips. She wore a light blue skort, showing off surprisingly shapely legs. Her matching tank top showed her tanned arms and ample cleavage. For the first time since I’d met her, I thought she looked pretty. I smiled.

  Brie’s got a boyfriend. How cute.

  “All I know is we came here to have fun,” Brie said finding her words.

  Like me, Brie was the baby in the family and for the most part acquiesced to Renmar on everything. Dating, though, seemed to have helped her find her footing against her big sister.

  “But if Lloyd -” Brie cleared her throat. “Sheriff Haynes needs her. What’s the harm?”

  Plus, I thought. Who could stop Miss Vivee from doing what she wanted to do?

  “And what was on that note?” Renmar said. “Why did they need Mother to look at it?”

  Hazel swallowed a gulp of lemonade. “What note?” she asked. She still hadn’t been briefed on the goings on.

  I wondered what could be on it, too. What could be written on a note that would give answers for what I’d seen in the Plethora of Pie tent?

  “I just won’t have it,” Renmar mumbled her feelings again.

  Renmar thought Miss Vivee needed protecting. She was, in Renmar’s mind, old and feeble. She was no longer able to make good decision on her own, and she treated her as such. Bay had told me that Miss Vivee needed protecting, too, but for a different reason. He wanted to shield others from keeping her from being independent. Exactly what he thought his mother was trying to do. All their coddling of her though, no matter the reason, didn’t help. Miss Vivee could not be controlled.

  My opinion, in the small amount of time I’d spent with Miss Vivee, was that she didn’t need any help from anyone, for anything. She had a mind of her own and it wasn’t one to be toyed with. I knew that both Renmar and Bay meant well, but their actions just helped fuel Miss Vivee’s fire. I think she did more things – took more risks – just to upset them.

  “Logan!” Renmar jolted me from my thoughts. “You go and see about Mother.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. You. And fix yourself.” I stood up and she waved her hand up and down at me. “You look a mess. Is that the way you want Bay to see you?”

  I looked down and brushed off the front of my clothes. “I was trying to help the sick people in the pie tent,” I said in a whiny voice that even surprised me.

  “That’s really no excuse, Sweetie. I’m sure you could’ve helped without getting so dirty.”

  “Oh leave her alone, Renmar,” Brie said and smiled at me. “That’s what she does. Gets dirty. She’s an archaeologist.”

  “Not today she isn’t. She’s representing the Colquett and Pennywell family.” She looked at me. “So skedaddle! Go check on Mother and make sure she isn’t dragging our good name through the mud.”

  Renmar, just like me, knew there was no stopping Miss Vivee, although she never gave up trying, or relegating me the chore of putting a halt to her antics. I’d thought it a good idea anyway to at least go make sure she didn’t cause too much trouble.

  I walked toward the judges’ tent where they had taken Miss Vivee and Mac. As I had passed by the Plethora of Pie tent, I saw that it was empty. The artificial lights were off, no sweet smell wafted from inside the flap, and it seemed chillingly quiet after the earlier kerfuffle. I didn’t see that Aunt Martha or her precious, unhelpful Marigold anywhere, either.

  Once I got to the tent where the Sheriff had taken Miss Vivee, I saw that judging was going on right outside of it. There was a stage with a table and three people – two woman and a man sitting at it, and one empty chair. A woman was at the microphone, her southern drawl was filled with gentility. She wore her honey brown frosted hair in a Justin Bieber cut, and donned large solitaire diamond earrings, and a high-count carat-filled tennis bracelet, all a bit much for her casual blue jeans, tank top, and wedge sandals outfit. She was announcing winners and awarding blue, red, and white ribbons. The audience was seated in white wooden folding chairs, all of them cheering and laughing, apparently having a good ole time.

  Well. Doesn’t anyone know about the dead body?

  I pulled back the flap on the tent and stepped inside. The first person I saw was my Bay. I took my hand and tried to smooth down my hair. I tugged on my shirt and licked my lips. I wished I could look in a mirror.

  Darn that Renmar.

  He smiled at me and nodded. He was dressed casually in blue jeans, and a sage green button down shirt. He looked so handsome. No way I could go anywhere with him looking like I did.

  Bay stroked the chin of his smooth, honey-colored skin, and scrutinized the crime scene with those hazel eyes of his that always seemed to sparkle.

  Okay, maybe they just seemed to sparkle to me.

  I eased up next to Mac and nudged him. “Is it really another murder?” I asked, hoping that it wasn’t.

  “Seems like it,” Mac said.

  “Oh, man,” I said and shook my head.

  “When did Bay get here?” I asked. “I didn’t see him.”

  “He entered the fairgrounds on his way to our picnic area, but got sidetracked by Sheriff Haynes.”

  “Oh,” I said and nodded.

  “He hadn’t forgotten about you,” he said and rubbed my arm.

  I smiled. “I didn’t think he had.” I pointed to what I assumed was the body. It was on the dirt floor underneath a white paper table cloth. “So who’s the stiff?”

  “He was one of the judges for the sweet contest. Apparently whatever he tasted didn’t sit too well with him.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “A lot of that’s been going around.”

  Mac chuckled. “Best to stick with my goose liver and onion sandwiches.”

  “So who was he?” I asked.

  “From what I’ve heard, he was a bigwig around here.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “That’s what they’re saying. Very rich. Very important.”

  I wonder what he was doing at this little Podunk county fair.

  “What was his name?” I asked.

  “Jack Wagner.”

  I never heard of him, but with me not being from around there, that wasn’t strange. I’d bet Miss Vivee knew who he was, though.

  Miss Vivee claimed to be a hundred years old
. Her daughters, who weren’t sure how old she was, thought she was probably in her nineties.

  How could you not know how old your mother is?

  Back home in Ohio, everyone in my family knew each other’s ages. We’d write it on birthday cakes, and proudly announce it every chance we’d get. But Renmar said around here it wasn’t polite to talk about a woman’s age. Well, at least for everyone else because Miss Vivee talked about it all the time. Not that what she professed to be was the actual truth, but no matter how old she was, she definitely had lived long enough to know just about everyone around.

  I looked over at Miss Vivee. They had gotten her a seat and were stepping around her gingerly. She was part of the investigation. Right smack dab in the middle of it. She was holding a piece of paper in her hand and was taking in everything they said and did.

  “How’d he die?” I said.

  Mac shrugged his shoulders. “His wife said he had a heart attack. He was back here at the tasting table,” he pointed to a long table set alongside the back wall of the tent. “At least that’s the version his wife gave.”

  “So, then it’s not murder,” I said. “He died from natural causes.”

  “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. “I took a look at him. Seemed pretty fit to me, especially for a seventy-one year old man.” He blew out a breath. “And then there’s that note.”

  “What’s on the note?”

  “A poem.”

  “A poem?” I scrunched up my face.

  “Yeah. Vivee’s got a copy of it.” He pointed his head toward her. “That means we’ll get a look at it later. But from what I gathered about the note it makes the Sheriff think he was killed with a botanical poison. That’s why he asked Vivee to take a look.”

  “So he was murdered?”

  “Vivee and the Sheriff think so.”

  “What does Bay think?”

  “You know Bay, he holds his judgment until he has all the facts. But he wouldn’t go against Vivee, leastways not in public.”

  That was my Bay, always the defender of his grandmother.

  “You would have thought his wife was the county coroner the way she made the pronouncement of the cause of death.” Mac shook his head. “When the Sheriff asked if he had a history of heart problems, she said no.”