Death Rides a Pony, page 9
Exhausted, the sisters slept hard that night. Upon waking the next morning, the events of the previous evening seemed like nothing more than a bad dream. But when they arrived back at the festival grounds to open their booth for the day, it was impossible to pretend that the nightmare hadn’t really occurred. The area surrounding the carousel was cordoned off with bright yellow police tape, and there were plenty of police in action – some uniformed, others with forensic gear, and a third group that appeared to be inspecting the inner workings of the carousel. If Nate was among them, he wasn’t visible.
Summer breathed a shaky sigh of relief. ‘I should want to see him. I should apologize for being so … so …’
‘So tired,’ Hope finished for her. ‘We were all tired. Nate included. Which is why I don’t think that apologies are necessary. No one said or did anything scandalous or irreparable.’ She chuckled. ‘Well, maybe Percy deserves an apology. You did accuse him of being a murderer.’
‘That probably was a step too far,’ Summer conceded with a smile.
‘Thank goodness Rosemarie didn’t hear it. She might never have forgiven you.’
The smile broadened. ‘How true.’
‘Speaking of forgiveness …’ Hope lowered her voice discreetly. As they had the previous day, they wound their way through the general bustle toward their booth. Being morning, the crowd was thinner, mostly consisting of other booth holders. The temperature wasn’t much cooler, however. It was only because the sun hadn’t yet reached its full height that they weren’t racing for shade. ‘Did you notice the attic last night?’
Alarmed, Summer halted. ‘No. I didn’t hear or see anything. What happened?’
‘Nothing. That’s what I mean. There was nothing at all. It was completely still. Not a peep, or a bump, or a shadow out of place. When was the last time we had a whole night with perfect quiet?’
‘Never. At least, not that I can remember. Even years ago, when we were kids. There was always some sort of a disturbance. Whimpering, banging, restless roaming. And now, all of a sudden, there isn’t anything?’
Hope nodded. ‘It has to be considered an auspicious sign, don’t you think? Either the attic has decided to forgive and forget the remarks that were made yesterday or it paid them no heed to begin with.’
Summer started to agree, but then she offered a third option. ‘Or it might be lulling us into a false sense of security. You know how the attic loves to play games. This could just be the calm before the storm. And if that’s the case, it’s going to be an almighty tempest.’
‘Good lord, I hope you’re wrong.’
‘That makes two of us.’
They exchanged an uneasy glance and began walking again.
‘I wouldn’t mind a storm,’ Summer said after a moment. ‘I’m tired of the heat. I’m tired of the dust. I’m tired of the beastly sun. I want thunder, lightning, and a torrential downpour. That would cool things down and freshen things up, if only for an hour.’
‘Sounds nice. As long as it occurs outside in the open air and not inside the brownstone.’
Summer blanched. ‘I wasn’t suggesting … I meant an actual storm, in the meteorological sense.’
‘From your mouth to the elementals’ ears. But let’s change the subject to be on the safe side. We don’t want to give the attic any ideas.’
‘Heaven forbid! That’s the absolute last thing we want to do. And she,’ Summer added with a pronounced groan, ‘is the absolute last person I want to see.’
Hope took a swift survey of the crowd surrounding them, but no one stood out to her. ‘Who?’
‘Melody. Melody Witten.’
The name didn’t mean anything to Hope. ‘Should I know her?’
‘No. Be grateful that you don’t. She’s about as pleasant and appealing as a malarial mosquito. Quick!’ Summer grabbed her sister’s arm and started to pull her to the left. ‘If we turn here, maybe we can avoid her.’
Although Hope willingly followed along, they made it only a couple of paces before Summer stopped with another groan. ‘Too late. She spotted us.’
Hope was about to say that she still didn’t see the person, but an instant later, a woman stepped directly in front of them, blocking their path.
‘Hey there, Summer,’ she cooed.
‘Melody,’ Summer returned curtly.
Melody Witten had heavily frosted hair and such a thick layer of mascara combined with eyeliner that she had a raccoon-like appearance. She was about the same age as the sisters, but her choice of attire was not in the least similar. While Hope and Summer had selected their breeziest blouses in anticipation of a sweltering day in their booth, Melody was dressed in a skimpy, pumpkin-orange bikini.
‘Maybe we were wrong,’ Summer murmured to Hope. ‘Maybe there is a dunking booth at the festival, after all.’
Summer’s voice rose a bit too much, and Melody looked at her quizzically.
‘A dunking booth? Oh, I understand.’ She inclined her head. ‘You mean my bikini. It’s not for swimming. It’s promotional. I’m wearing it for Aaron and Gary’s booth.’
Hope took a startled step backward. Gary? Shifty Gary?
Summer – to her considerable credit – barely blinked at the reference. ‘Promotional?’ she inquired.
‘Good sales require good advertising,’ Melody responded in a sing-song manner. ‘That’s what Aaron always says.’
‘Your husband certainly is an undying salesman. He invariably has a scheme afoot.’
Although it was spoken in a neutral tone, Hope could feel the contempt lurking just below the surface. Melody, on the other hand, seemed to construe Summer’s words as a compliment.
‘Yes, Aaron is a fantastic salesman. Except’ – she glanced around surreptitiously, as though about to reveal a highly confidential secret – ‘the booth wasn’t very successful yesterday. We had some visitors, but we didn’t get many tickets from them. So Aaron and Gary put their heads together last night and came up with this.’ With a dramatic flourish of her arm, Melody motioned toward herself.
Hope and Summer exchanged their own surreptitious glance. It was Saturday morning, in a public park, at a family-oriented festival. Under such conditions, a teeny-weeny bikini didn’t seem like the wisest or most effective promotional tool. On the contrary, there would in all likelihood be a substantial number of wives and girlfriends who – upon spotting said bikini – were going to briskly steer their husbands and boyfriends away from the booth.
‘What kind of booth is it?’ Hope asked.
‘Mead,’ Melody answered.
‘Mead?’
‘Alcohol made from fermented honey mixed with water,’ Summer explained to her sister.
‘There’s much more to it than that,’ Melody said. ‘There can be fruits and spices also. Aaron got the idea from you, actually.’
It was Summer’s turn to take a startled step backward. ‘Me?’
Melody nodded. ‘Gary is continually telling us how much money you’re making from the herbs and teas you put together. So Aaron started thinking about what we could do along the same lines, and he came up with mead. He figured that if you could get rich on herbs and teas, then we could just as easily get rich on mead – and Gary, too.’
Hope and Summer glanced at each other again, and this time they burst out laughing. The boutique was in a constant financial struggle. In the best of months, Summer barely managed to break even with her herbs and teas. The idea that money was merrily pouring in was hilarious.
‘There’s no need to be rude.’ Melody scrunched up her nose indignantly. ‘Aaron says that the mead market is right on the cusp of taking off. We only have to be patient. You shouldn’t begrudge us our success when it happens.’
With visible effort, Summer attempted to rein in her laughter. ‘I hope that you’ll be very successful. And I certainly don’t begrudge you anything. We’re not laughing because of the mead. We’re laughing because of what you said about riches. It couldn’t be any further from the truth. Believe me when I tell you that there are no riches raining down on Hope and me and our little shop.’
It was clear from the way Melody’s nose remained scrunched that she didn’t believe Summer one jot. ‘Of course, it’s none of my business how much money you have or in what ways you try to hide it. That’s between you and your conscience and the government tax people.’ She sniffed. ‘But speaking as Gary’s friend, I feel it my duty to say that it’s wrong of you not to share your wealth with him.’
Summer’s mouth dropped open.
Hope was likewise rendered momentarily speechless. She wasn’t sure which part of Melody’s claim was more staggering: that Summer was in possession of secret wealth or that she was supposed to share the purported wealth with Shifty Gary.
‘It’s wrong of you,’ Melody repeated with another sniff. ‘The money was earned during the course of your marriage, so it’s only fair that Gary be given half of it. And that’s especially true in this instance, because you were the one to abandon the relationship. You walked out on Gary and filed for a divorce.’
Crimson fury flooded Summer’s face. ‘I walked out on Gary and filed for a divorce because he was having an affair! Gary lied to my face and cheated behind my back for months on end!’
‘It was a fling,’ Melody responded equably. ‘All men have flings.’ She shrugged as though an adulterous husband was no more of a problem than a sprouting potato in the pantry. ‘If I’m allowed my two cents, I think that you should try to patch things up. At his core, Gary’s a great guy. You won’t do any better than him.’
Summer gaped at her with a mixture of anger and disbelief. Hope, on the other hand, was beginning to feel some pity for Melody. It was partly because of the pumpkin-orange bikini and partly because it wasn’t much of a stretch to assume that husband Aaron was a cheater, as well. For her part, Melody didn’t appear at all upset or rattled by the conversation.
‘Well, it was nice chatting with you,’ she said, ‘but I have to get back to our booth. And you have to get to yours. The festival will be opening soon. Good luck today!’
Summer was still gaping, so Hope replied politely, ‘Good luck to you also.’
With a cheerful wave, Melody turned and started to walk away. After a step or two, she abruptly turned back.
‘I’ll tell Gary that I saw you,’ she cooed. ‘I’m sure he’ll want to know, so that he can see you, too!’
‘Oh, no,’ Summer began. ‘That’s a really bad …’
Either Melody didn’t hear her or didn’t want to hear her, because she waved once more, cooed a goodbye, and disappeared into the crowd.
For a long moment, Hope and Summer stared after her in silence. Then Summer groaned just as she had at Melody’s first appearance.
‘Why? Why did we have to run into her? Why does she have to tell Gary?’
‘Were you aware that Gary had a booth here?’ Hope asked.
‘No! I remember him mentioning mead once a long time ago. That’s how I knew what it was. But I had no idea that he was trying to turn it into a business. Why would I?’ Summer gave a derisive snort. ‘I didn’t have a clue about Gary’s lovers, so why would I have a clue about his hobbies?’
Hope had no answer for that.
‘And now’ – Summer groaned again – ‘thanks to Melody and her big mouth, he’ll come to our booth.’
‘Not necessarily. It isn’t guaranteed that Melody will tell him. And even if she does, Gary might not be any more eager to see you than you are to see him. Plus, we don’t know whether he’s heard about what happened to Davis. As you said yesterday, with Davis gone, Gary will be forced to choose a new realtor for the house. He may not react so well to that.’
‘Good point. But if Gary does come’ – Summer revisited her fear from the day before – ‘then he’ll see Larkin’s glittery brothel banner, and he’ll tell the judge about it at the court hearing next week.’
‘I would worry less about the banner,’ Hope said, ‘and more about Gary telling the judge how fabulously wealthy you supposedly are.’
‘Except I’m not!’ she protested.
‘I know that, of course. But how would a judge know? Especially a judge who handles family matters. They must be continually dealing with people who hide assets or pretend to earn less than they really do in an effort to avoid paying maintenance or support. I would guess that most judges take those sorts of claims pretty seriously.’
Summer sighed. ‘Well, Gary can make whatever claims he likes. And the judge can believe whatever he likes. I can’t pay what I don’t have. What’s the old saying? You can’t squeeze blood from a turnip.’
‘That’s an old saying?’
‘What’s an old saying?’ asked an unexpected voice.
Spinning around in surprise, Hope and Summer found Morris Henshaw standing behind them. Hope’s first thought was one of concern. Was Morris all right? How was he handling the shock and disappointment of losing the carousel for the remainder of the festival? To her relief, he appeared to have taken the bad news in his stride. Morris’s face was calm. His eyes were alert. And in his hands was a clipboard that contained a typed to-do list, with priorities highlighted in fluorescent ink and notes neatly printed in the margins. It looked as though Morris might be challenging Gram for the title of Best Organizer.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ Morris apologized. ‘I thought that you heard me approach. But I suppose in this hullabaloo it’s impossible to hear much of anything.’ He smiled with undisguised satisfaction. ‘Isn’t it marvelous? So many people – and all here so early! The ticket sales will be excellent today.’
‘Speaking of ticket sales,’ Hope said, ‘I’m terribly sorry about the carousel.’
‘It’s upsetting,’ he agreed. ‘The most appalling part is the lack of quality.’
‘Lack of quality?’ Summer asked.
‘Lack of quality,’ Morris repeated, his voice rising to emphasize the point. ‘A piece of junk. That’s what the carousel is. Breaks down without any warning whatsoever. Snaps in two like a brittle twig in a mere puff of wind. And they expect us to hand over good money for such rubbish? Absolutely not! Amelia Palmer and I discussed it first thing. As co-chairs of the festival committee, we came to an immediate decision. Not only will the committee refuse to pay the remainder of the outstanding rental fee, but we intend to demand the full return of our deposit. It’s a matter of principle. They sent us a faulty carousel, and they’ll take it straight back without a penny from us. In my mind, that’s the final word on the subject.’
‘Have you spoken to the company about it?’
‘Olivia has. She was on the phone with them for half of the morning. You should have heard her. The company was arguing one thing and threatening another—’
‘Threatening?’ Summer exclaimed.
‘There’s no need to worry. Olivia would never stand for any attempt to bully her. She gave them a good scolding in response.’ Morris smiled again. ‘Your grandmother may have the tenderness of a kitten, but if provoked, the razor-sharp claws of a tiger come out. And when she showed any sign of wavering, Dylan buoyed her up.’
‘Dylan?’ Hope said in surprise.
‘Yes. Dylan came by the house with croissants and fresh juice for breakfast. Wasn’t that kind of him?’ Morris didn’t pause for a reply. ‘He said that he wanted to check on us after the debacle with the carousel, because he knows that the success of the festival means a great deal to Olivia and me, so it means a great deal to him.’
Hope raised an eyebrow. Funny how she had used those exact same words with Dylan the evening before.
‘He’s so thoughtful,’ Morris continued to gush. ‘When Olivia asked me to tell you that she might be too busy to visit your booth today – she has more calls to make concerning the carousel and the festival insurers – Dylan volunteered to drop by the booth in her place. It was very considerate of him.’
The eyebrow went higher.
‘Very considerate indeed,’ Summer remarked. ‘Did Dylan happen to say whether he intended on having dear Larkin with him?’
A crease formed in Morris’s brow. At first, Hope thought that it was because he had detected Summer’s thinly veiled sarcasm, but it turned out that he was simply pondering the question.
‘I don’t know what Larkin’s plans are for the day. The office isn’t open on the weekend, of course. Dylan didn’t mention their dinner last night, so I’m not sure if that went forward or not. They may have changed it to another evening – or lunch instead. If that’s the case, then Dylan might bring Larkin along to the booth.’
Annoyed, Hope shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
Checking his clipboard and wristwatch simultaneously, Morris gave a shout of dismay. ‘Oh, I’m running late! I’m scheduled to meet with the detective to discuss the matter of the carousel. Detective Phillips. Such a competent and congenial fellow. When we arranged the appointment, he made a comment about stopping by your booth later today also. Apparently, you spoke with him yesterday evening? I had the impression that he hadn’t gotten all the answers he was looking for.’
It was Summer’s turn to shift her weight with annoyance.
Morris checked his watch again. ‘And I believe that you’re running late, too. Shouldn’t you be at your booth? Eager ticketholders must be knocking on the door – or, in this case, the draperies.’
His tone was reminiscent of a parent scolding a child who wanted to play in the yard on a sunny afternoon rather than sit quietly inside and finish a homework assignment. But it was difficult to be irritated with Morris, because he never intended any malice. He always meant well.
