Part 7 (2/2)
”Whatever,” he said. ”And I already made some calls. There was definitely something going on with the daughter and the dead guy.”
”Like?”
”Like I don't know yet,” he said. ”But my initial feeling is something was afoot.”
”Afoot?”
”It's a detective word. You should use more of them. People might take you seriously then.”
”I like it better when people think I'm your father,” I said.
His scowl deepened, but he kept his mouth shut as the members of the fair board proceeded into the room. They sat at a long table at the front of the room and, except for Mama, they all looked a bit nervous. Mama sat at the far end, plunked down a stack of papers, and took stock of the crowded room.
”Well, seems like we're a little more popular than usual tonight,” she said with a grin that seemed more menacing than mirthful. ”We'll try not to keep you here all night.”
A nervous chuckle drifted above the heads of the crowd.
She ran through some procedural things-approving minutes from the last meeting, simple committee reports, and attendance. It all seemed very by the book and there was nothing goofy or out of line in what they were doing. It looked just like any other meeting I'd ever been to.
”Now, we will hear from our treasurer,” Mama said, and something close to irritation filtered into her expression.
Wendy Norvold shuffled some papers and cleared her throat. ”As always, our financial report is fluid, due to the fact that the fair is currently in progress.” She ran off a few numbers tied to surplus and expenditures. She glanced nervously at Mama. ”We'll know more about what the town has earned at the conclusion of the fair, like always.”
A hand in the audience went up near the front of the room. The board members looked at each other, unsure how to address this.
”You have a question?” Mama asked, clearly not happy with the interruption.
”Just curious about what the fair earned last year,” a male voice said. ”My daughter is doing a project for school on fairs and we had no idea how much money fairs make when they're open.”
Mama kept her eyes on the questioner while the rest of the board members stared at their papers or their hands.
”We did just fine,” Mama said. ”Just fine.”
”Oh, sure, of course,” the man said. ”But can you give us an idea of what the fair actually took in versus what it costs to put it on?”
”I just said we did fine,” Mama said, raising an eyebrow. ”Did you not hear me?”
”Uh, well, yeah,” the man said, confused, maybe a little embarra.s.sed. ”We were just hoping to get some specific numbers, because I thought it was public information. My daughter . . .”
”Wendy!” Mama snapped. ”You got the numbers?”
Wendy mumbled as she shuffled through her paperwork. ”Uh, I'm not sure I have last year's financials with me this evening.”
”How about your little girl just puts down that we took in a whole bunch?” Mama asked.
The crowd laughed nervously.
”Well, her teacher would really like specific numbers. . . .”
”Look, buddy,” Mama said, pointing a finger at him. ”Wendy just told you we don't have the numbers with us tonight. If you need your little numbers, perhaps you could leave a phone number and e-mail with her and she'll get back to you. That's all we can do and you'll just have to deal with that.”
”Oh, uh, okay, sure,” the guy said, sounding confused and a little sheepish.
”And do it after the meeting,” Mama said, shaking her head. ”We don't need to waste any more time tonight, because I've got a fair to run.”
”What happens if the fair loses money this year?” another voice asked.
A loud murmur went up from the crowd.
Mama set her hands flat on the table. ”And why in tarnation would that exactly happen?”
A man who I didn't recognize stood. He was a little older than me, with thinning hair and a growing belly. He folded his arms across his chest. ”The food stand has already taken a hit and people in the surrounding towns are already whispering that this year is a failure. If they don't come to the fair, Rose Petal loses the revenue. If this is a nonprofit show, what happens if the fair week finishes in the red?”
Heads turned from the man to Mama, who did not look pleased in any way.
”We will be just fine,” she said with a tight jaw.
”That doesn't really answer my question.” The man frowned. ”But I got a few other questions.”
Mama smiled as if she were about to eat the canary. ”Well, be my guest. Sir.”
”The demolition derby was canceled this year,” he said. ”It's always one of the biggest draws. Why?”
”Liability,” Mama answered. ”Cost was too high. And we replaced that event.”
”Yeah,” the man said, still frowning. ”With a clown obstacle course. That no one cares about.”
”Clowns are funny,” Mama said, glancing at her fellow board members.
They all nodded in agreement.
”But no one that I know has bought tickets,” the man said, looking around. ”I can't think of a single person I've talked to who is planning on going.”
Most people nodded, including me. It had seemed weird to me when I'd read about it. I wasn't a huge demo-derby fan, either, but that put me in the minority in Rose Petal. It was one of the big draws of the fair each year. When it wasn't on the schedule, I'd expected there to be some blowback-and a worthwhile replacement. Clowns climbing walls and jumping over water and racing one another in their big clown shoes seemed . . . an odd replacement.
”That was lost revenue even before George's death,” the man said, gathering steam. ”Makes no sense.”
”Thanks for your opinion,” Mama said, her mouth an ugly smile now. ”We'll take that into account when we begin planning next year's fair.”
”And that band you hired? Rusty Cow?” He shook his head. ”My ears still hurt. I'm not sure that guy had ever sung a single day in his life.”
Mama's mouth twitched. ”They came highly recommended.”
”From who?” he asked. ”Deaf people?”
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