Part 5 (1/2)

He swept the hat off his head and bowed in a grand gesture. ”Good evening, Miss Carly.”

”Hi, Mr. Doolittle!” she said, giggling. ”I like your s.h.i.+rt.”

He straightened, and he was just barely taller than she was. He glanced down at his s.h.i.+rt. ”It's one of a kind.”

”A one-of-a-kind what?” I asked as I sat down on the front steps. ”Wrapping paper for a pineapple?”

He ignored me. ”How are you and your beautiful mother tonight?”

”I'm sweaty,” Carly said. ”She's upstairs taking a shower because she was sweaty, too.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a tiny plastic animal. ”I thought you might like this.”

Her mouth dropped open and the football fell to the ground as she held out her hands. ”It's a kitty!”

He placed it in her hands. ”I saw all of those animals in your playroom last time I was here . . .”

”Littlest Pet Shop,” Carly said, entranced by the plastic cat in her hands.

”. . . and I thought you might like another one.”

”I'm gonna go put it with the others right now!” she said, turning on her heels and sprinting for the house. ”Thank you!”

She whizzed past me up the front steps and I heard the screen door slam shut behind me.

”How are you so nice to her and so rude to me?” I asked, holding up my hands.

”She's small and cute,” Victor Anthony Doolittle said, walking across my lawn. ”You're big and ugly. Duh.”

”I thought it was because she's the only one around here you can actually look in the eyes without climbing a ladder.”

He sat down next to me on the steps. ”Your jokes are so tired at this point. At least try to be creative.”

Victor and I liked each other. I think. We'd spent too much time together to not like one another. He'd roped me in as a reluctant partner in his investigating business and the reluctance had mostly disappeared. I worked part-time for him and it kept me busy during the downtime I had watching Carly. But our like for one another was almost always displayed in trying to embarra.s.s and irritate each other.

”I'll try to be a little more creative,” I said.

”Not subtle and not funny,” Victor said, adjusting his hat. ”So instead of working on your c.r.a.ppy stand-up routine, maybe you could explain to me why some battle-ax named Mama Biggs was calling me this afternoon looking for an update on her case.”

”An update?”

”That's what she said you promised her.”

I sighed. ”I didn't promise her anything, Victor. She's somewhat insane.”

”Yeah, the crazy sorta spilled through the phone.”

I told him about George Spellman, the Biggs family, and the general nut-jobbiness that had surrounded the opening day of the fair.

”So I didn't tell her anything or promise her anything,” I said. ”She just a.s.sumed we'd investigate.”

”Why does she care, anyway?” Victor asked, scratching at a mosquito bite that had just blossomed on his knee.

”I guess because of how it might affect the fair.” I answered. ”I'm not really sure. Like I said, she just showed up and a.s.sumed we'd investigate.”

”Has to be another reason.”

”I offer up the insane thing again.”

He shook his head. ”Nah. Something else. Why would she care? If it was just about the fair, she'd let the police handle it and issue a statement. Distance the fair from it. You know?”

That made sense. Susan Blamunski's rumor-spreading came to mind.

”What?” Victor asked, looking at me. ”You know something else?”

I s.h.i.+fted on the steps, my back tying up a bit. ”I'm not sure what I know, but I heard another crazy story that might somehow matter.”

”Nothing is ever too crazy for this asylum you call a town,” Victor said. ”Spill it.”

I told him what Susan had told me about Matilda Biggs and Spellman.

A smirk emerged on Victor's face. ”Now we're getting somewhere.”

I smashed a mosquito lurking by my ankle, ready to strike. ”Hey, I'm telling you, this Susan woman might be just as nuts as the rest of them. She could've made it up on the spot, for all I know,” I said.

”Easy enough to find out,” he said, pus.h.i.+ng himself off the steps and adjusting his hat. ”I'll talk to Mama Biggs and work out the financials. She wants to ante up, we can visit this little meeting tomorrow night and see what shakes out.”

I glanced up at the window, then back at him. ”I promised Julianne I'd stay out of this one.”

”You mean like every other case we take?”

I paused. ”Yes.”

He grinned as his little legs took him to his car. ”So figure out a way to start apologizing to her.”

11.

”All of the food is rotten,” Pete Boodle said with a frown.

The next morning, we were at the fairgrounds early. Carly wanted to walk through some of the exhibits before we had to work another food s.h.i.+ft. But that now looked in doubt, as she and Julianne had headed to the open cla.s.s building, and I'd stopped by the food stand to grab some coffee when Pete delivered the bad news.

”The new freezer they brought in didn't work,” he said, hands on his hips, frustration all over his face. ”Everything went bad overnight with the heat.”

Several people were unloading the now foul-smelling freezer, stuffing garbage bags with hot dogs, pies, and hamburgers.