September Fair Page 21

  “Did you go to jail?”

  “Nah. I had good lawyers. And my parents were so excited that I was turning out just like them. They wanted to see me do more of the same, but I couldn’t. For me, two wrongs just don’t make a right.”

  I munched thoughtfully on my pizza. “So the group you’re in now, Mad Cows, Mad People, isn’t radical?”

  He laughed. “We try, but we do it within the bounds of the law. Our message is one of education and sustainability.”

  I felt a kindred spirit in Aeon, though he was more organized than I’d ever be. He seemed like a gentle soul, if a lost one, and I wanted to reach out to him, pay him back for taking me into his confidences. “Hey, I need a sounding board for some theories about the Milkfed Mary murder. You interested?” He nodded, and over more pizza and organic apple pie, I told him what I knew about Janice’s peculiar past and Kate’s embezzling. I threw in my trump card. “Lars might have been involved, too. There are rumors that he was seeing Ashley, and I bet he’d go to great lengths to keep that news from getting out.”

  He cocked his head, his expression unreadable. “But it did get out.”

  “Lars might not know that.”

  “Regardless, you’re still left with the big question: how would anyone have pulled off the poisoning? The papers said that Ashley wasn’t alone all morning, and the only thing she ingested was a diet cola that several witnesses saw her open.”

  “But we don’t know where the ice cubes came from.” I had promised Mrs. Pederson and Glenda Haines that I wouldn’t spill that cyanide had killed Ashley, so I kept it vague. “A lot of poisons can be turned into a gas, which could then be frozen in an ice cube.”

  He sat back, and I waited for him to tell me how stupid that sounded. Instead, he said, “That makes Lars a much more likely suspect than Kate or Janice, given his access to chemicals and a lab.”

  “Yes!” I said, grateful that he agreed with my logic. “I think so, too!”

  “Then you should let the police know.”

  “I already blabbed my suspicions to a reporter.”

  “Who?” Aeon asked, sitting forward.

  “Some Chaz guy at the Pioneer Press. He was covering the press conference Kate held last Monday.”

  “You told him everything you’re telling me?” He raised both eyebrows.

  “Oh no. Just my theory about the poison in the ice cubes. I don’t know if he’ll even go to the police with it. He didn’t seem too impressed.”

  Aeon leaned back into his chair as he contemplated what I’d told him. “Then you have to. I’d do it anonymously, though. From a pay phone. Take it from someone who knows, you don’t want the police to have your name connected to bad news.”

  “Hallelujah,” I said. “I’ll go do it now.”

  “I’ll come with.”

  “Fine.” We bussed our table and headed north and east, toward the only pay phone that I knew of, the one near the 4-H building. We were inside the booth when I remembered that I’d lost all my change to Mrs. Berns in cards. “Let’s run back to the Airstream. I’m sure she won’t mind if I borrow some quarters. They were mine to begin with.”

  “Not a problem. I wouldn’t mind seeing your trailer.”

  An odd tone in his voice made me glance over, but all 6’5” of him was loping along innocently, a quirky smile on his face, his sad blue eyes guileless. “It’s not as cool as it sounds,” I said. “The guy I’m borrowing it from pimped it out to look like a 1973 rumpus room.”

  He flashed me a peace sign. “I can dig it.”

  “You’ll have to. Here it is.”

  “Cool. Hey, looks like someone left you a note.”

  I looked where he was pointing, at a scroll of paper in the handle of the door. The rolled paper made a dry sound and popped open when I yanked it out.

  Aeon watched me as I read. “What is it? Everything all right?”

  “No, it isn’t,” I said quietly. “This changes everything.”

  “Who’s it from?”

  “It’s not signed. Look.” I held out the note, which read:

  If you want to find the truth about Lars Gunder, go to his office tonight. You’ll find a report that says it all.

  “Wild. You recognize the handwriting?”

  “No. And it’s written in block letters, so I don’t think I was meant to. And how in the heck would I break into Bovine Productivity Management?”

  He looked around. No other fairgoers were visible, but we were surrounded by trailers, the nearest one only ten feet away, pink flamingo twinkle lights decorating the windows. “Maybe we should go inside. Whoever left the note might still be around.”

  “Okay.” We advanced into the Airstream, where I made a quick scan of all the corners to make sure we were alone. Everything looked as I’d left it. “I think the first thing I’m going to do is call Bovine Productivity Management and find out if Lars is coming back to the fair tonight. I’d feel better if I could keep watch on him.”

  “Not a bad idea. And you weren’t lying about this place.” Aeon whistled softly as he looked around. “How do you attach shag carpeting to a ceiling?”

  “The miracle of hot glue guns, I believe. Make yourself at home while I call.” He was forced to stoop to move around, but he politely walked the twelve feet to the other end of the trailer, by Mrs. Berns’ bedroom door, to give me a sense of privacy. He fingered the love bead curtain that hung outside the nonfunctioning bathroom while I dialed.

  “Hello, Bovine Productivity Management.”

  “Hi, this is Mira James, with the Battle Lake Recall. I toured your facilities on Wednesday?”

  “Of course.” I imagined her voice was chilly, thinly veiling her contempt at me for accidentally stumbling into the carcass room and forcing BPM to revisit their security policies, resulting in piles of memos and meetings for all employees. “How are you?”

  “Fine. I had some follow-up questions to ask Mr. Gunder, who gave me the tour. Do you know if he’ll be at the State Fair this evening?”

  “I’m afraid not. He left this morning for Duluth. He and his family are taking a long weekend. Such a lovely time of year for that. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll try again next week.” I ended the call and turned to Aeon. “He’s out of town until Monday.”

  “Perfect. This’ll make it easier.”

  “Make what easier?”

  “Breaking into his office.”

  I held up my hands. “Are you insane? I already said I’m not breaking into BPM. That place is better protected than the White House. And anyhow, what happened to Mr. Follow-the-Law?”

  “Mira, you gotta understand something. Mad Cows, Mad People has been tracking BPM for the past year. That company is the worst perpetrator of animal cruelty in the business.”

  I grimaced. I hadn’t even told him about the mountain of poor dead animals I’d stumbled into. He’d probably spontaneously combust with anger. “I believe you, but what’s that got to do with us?” I asked.

  “If we could take them down, we could help millions of cows and help preserve the food chain. You’re right that I won’t risk anyone getting hurt, but there’s no harm in peeking inside a little room at the top of the Cattle Barn.”

  “What?”

  “Lars’ office. The note must be referring to the one he has here at the fair. A person’d have to be nuts to try to break into BPM.”

  “I forgot about his office here.” I eyed him suspiciously. “How’d you know about it?”

  “Like I said, MCMP has been following BPM for a year. We know a lot about them.”

  I sighed. “And how’re we going to waltz past ten Milkfed Marys to get to that office? Or should we just have them stand guard?”

  “I’ve got a better idea. How about we sneak in when all the princesses are at the fireworks display tonight?”

  He knew his stuff, which made me crabby. I hated it when I didn’t get to be the boss of the plans. “Fine,”
I grumbled. “But I’m only going along because I’ve already been in that office.”

  He chuckled. “So then it’s not really breaking and entering?”

  “Correct. It’s ‘returning.’”

  “Fair enough. What do you want to do until the fireworks start?”

  “Know how to play Gin Rummy?”

  It was nearly dark when we left the trailer, at least as dark as possible on the neon-lit fairgrounds, and I had won back most of the money I’d lost the night before. Aeon was an agreeable loser, and I got to see deeper into his laidback side, the noncrusading, knock-knock joke aspect of his personality. “What time are the fireworks supposed to start?”

  “Ten o’clock sharp. The Milkfed Marys should all be backstage by now at the Grandstand, getting ready to introduce the event.”

  “It does look dark up there,” I said, indicating the second floor of the Cattle Barn ahead. “Are you any good at picking locks?”

  “It’s one of my many talents. My parents taught me young.”

  I looked at him sideways. “You guys ever do anything normal, like go to the zoo or play on the swings?”

  “Zoos are the worst kind of prisons for animals. We had a tire swing in our backyard.”

  “Good to hear. You ready, Freddie?”

  “Ready. This should be a breeze, by the way. Old locks are the easiest to crack.”

  We sauntered into the now-familiar Cattle Barn with about 50 other people. As usual, the traffic was constant. Inside, fair workers were delivering a late meal to the farmers who had animals on display. They each received a Styrofoam container of what looked like beef stroganoff, corn, bread with a square of butter, and 2 percent milk. The cows didn’t seem to mind that the farmers were munching on their relatives and byproducts, but I realized that I would never be able to look at beef or dairy products the same after the adventure of this week.

  Our plan was to nonchalantly stroll up the stairs to the dormitory as if we were expected, and that’s just what we did. If anyone was wise to our subterfuge, I didn’t notice because I was too busy trying to appear innocent.

  The door at the top of the stairs was locked for the first time in my experience. Aeon directed me back down to the bend in the stairway to keep an ear out for any unexpected arrivals while he got to work. Within minutes, he had the door open. The dorm was a little eerie at night, like a strange Goldilocks fantasy where all the beds were empty but the bears might return any minute.

  “Let’s make this quick,” I whispered, as we tiptoed across the expanse of the dormitory to the offices on the far side.

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  “Wait,” I said. We were in front of Lars’ office. “Can you unlock Janice’s office, too? I need to check something.” I hadn’t tipped my whole hand to him. It just wasn’t in my nature.

  “I thought we were supposed to be quick.”

  I smiled, but didn’t tell him what I was after in the office. “It’ll take me a second.”

  He pinched his lips but didn’t argue. I watched, fascinated, as he knelt in front of Janice’s door and brought out a soft leather pouch of what looked like metal toothpicks in various sizes. When he said that old locks were the easiest to pick, I had envisioned him flipping a tiny tool out of his Leatherman, not unrolling break-in gear as calmly as if he were pulling a tissue out of his pants.

  “You always carry picklocks around a fair?”

  “You and I lead different lives, Mira.”

  The words felt condescending, and I reacted defensively. “Probably, but that doesn’t explain you carrying around a full set of picklocks. What else are you packing? Plastic explosives? Guns?”

  He stopped in mid-pick and turned, standing to face me. He held his hands over his head, and his voice was much gentler. “You can search me. Wait, I’ve got a better idea.” He turned all four of his pants pockets inside out, revealing their contents. “I’ve got a wallet with seven bucks, some gum, a healthy dose of lint, a Swiss army knife that I’ve carried around since I was ten, and up until just now, the picklock set. I like to be able to get in and out of any place, always have, but I wasn’t lying about being a pacifist.”

  We stared at each other for a few seconds, him patient and me undecided. Soon enough, I realized we had come too far to turn back, so we might as well keep working together. I trusted him less and less with each passing moment, though. “I’ll assume you don’t have any dynamite taped to your ankles. Can you open that lock or not?”

  “Watch me,” he said, grinning, and sure enough, he had Janice’s door unlocked in under thirty seconds. He held it open for me and went to work on Lars’ door after I slid through.

  Aeon had the only flashlight, which he’d need to use sparingly given the number of windows on this side of the building. Fortunately, the moon was nearly full and the streetlights outside reflected through the floor to ceiling windows, giving me enough faint light so I could see around the interior of Janice’s office well enough to read the letters on her desk. That’s not what I had come for, though. I was after something bigger and stranger.

  I took stock of my surroundings. The office was small, no more than ten feet by ten, and it was dominated by a huge, old wooden desk placed in the center. Two metal filing cabinets as tall as me stood beside the desk, pushed against the wall Janice’s office shared with Lars’. On the opposite wall was a door that must lead to a closet. To my right, a dull leather couch hugged the cheap paneling, leaving only a ten-inch channel between it and the desk.

  I rifled through the drawers of the desk and the filing cabinets, but that search yielded only paper. There wasn’t anything untoward behind or under the chair or couch, or in the cushions. That left only her closet.

  Pulling open the creaky door, I stared at a spare power suit that looked an awful lot like a hanging body in the shadowy light. I squelched my fear and pushed the outfit aside. Nothing in back, including no secret door, which I always checked for when searching places I wasn’t supposed to be. My pulse hammered with the urgency of my search. If even one of the princesses came back early and discovered Aeon and I snooping around here, we’d be in deep trouble.

  My last hope was the top shelf of the closet, which was stacked with shoeboxes, each with a year written on the end in thick black marker. I couldn’t quite reach the bottom of the shelf, and so hopped and pulled, hopped and pulled, until I wrenched a box loose, this one marked “1999.” One more hop and it was out, but it slipped from my hands while I was hauling it down. The top came off, and an explosion of jewelry and human hair showered down on me.

  “Ew! Ew!” I danced around, shaking off the disembodied hair. The chunks landed on the ground with soft thuds, like mice falling from the sky.

  “What is it?” Aeon asked, running into the office. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Well, something, but nothing I didn’t expect. Janice has boxes of trophies in her closet.”

  “Come again?”

  I knelt down and began gingerly tucking the earrings, bracelets, and other baubles back into the box. I was less eager to touch the hair. Each chunk was taped at one end making it look like a homemade paintbrush. On the tape, Janice had penned information about the source of the hair. I currently held “Alicia, 1999, 4th runner-up” in my hands. “Earlier this week, I was talking to some of the Milkfed Marys. Megan, one of the runners-up, mentioned that one night she had woken up to see Janice leaning over Ashley’s dormitory bed. At first, I thought it was connected to Ashley’s murder, but then I noticed that three of the Milkfed Marys were missing a small strand of hair from their heads. Janice, too. See?” I held up another brown-hair packet, this one labeled, “Janice, 1999, No grays yet!”

  “Jesus. So all these boxes are full of hair and jewelry she stole from past Milkfed Marys? That’s messed up.”

  I shrugged. “And mostly harmless.” I didn’t mention Janice’s rough life or that I’d lost my dad about the same age as Janice’d lost her sister. If she ne
eded tiny baubles and hair trophies to keep her sane, who was I to judge?

  Glancing back at the stack in the closet, I pointed out to Aeon that they started in 1978. “I’m pretty sure Janice stole my camera after I let slip last Saturday that I had photographed something odd about the back of Ashley’s head during her ceremony. I realized yesterday that the oddness I’d captured had been a piece of hair missing from Ashley’s head, and that the only person who wouldn’t want that known was Janice. She must have broken into the trailer, snatched the camera, deleted the photos, and then returned it.”

  “Weirder and weirder.”

  “She is an odd duck, but hey, beauty pageants in general are weird. In a world where grown women put on swimsuits and twirl a baton for strangers, collecting contestant hair as a memento doesn’t seem that odd.” I finished repacking the box, using two pieces of paper to slip the hair in without touching it.

  “Here, let me help you.” He grabbed the shoebox from me and put it back in its chronological spot. “As much as I’d like to further plumb the psyche of this woman, we need to get what we came for.”

  “I’m with ya’. You got Lars’ office open?”

  “Come see for yourself.”

  I gave Janice’s office a quick visual sweep to make sure it looked as it had when I’d arrived, locked the door behind me, and padded over to Lars’ office. The space was a mirror image of Janice’s, down to the couch, desk, filing cabinets, and closet door on the opposite wall. Aeon was already inside, elbow-deep in the filing cabinets.

  “Find anything yet?”

  “Haven’t had time. It looks like this place is mostly a storage room for past pageant materials, though. Check his desk.”

  All the drawers were unlocked. I opened them one by one, removing everything—pencils, erasers, paper clips, notepads—and giving it the once-over before returning it. “Nothing. Did you check his closet?”

  “I’m on it. You look in the garbage and the couch cushions while I search the closet.”