Part 12 (1/2)
”How you figure?”
”You aren't wearing a uniform or a gun,” he said. ”You aren't as scary as I would be.”
That made sense. Even if everyone seemed to know that I was investigating, it was still different than uniformed officers roaming the fairgrounds.
”And if she woulda just told me that she'd hired you, we wouldn't be having this conversation,” he said, frowning. ”Sorry, Deuce.”
”No worries, Sheriff,” I said. ”Sounds like we both got only part of the story.”
He adjusted his hat. ”Story of my life, Deuce. Story of my life.”
22.
Bruce-he of the horned, red wig-squinted at me from the back of a pickup truck. ”You know who did it yet?”
I'd just entered the main gate of the fairgrounds and he was in the bed of the truck, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a very large squirt gun in his hands.
”Nope, not yet,” I said. I pointed at the squirt gun. ”And please don't shoot me.”
He looked down at his hands and laughed. ”Oh, no, man. This is for the parade. To keep everyone cool. I'm just getting some practice in. It's gonna be so danged hot. They'll be begging me to soak 'em.”
I didn't ask what he was practicing on. ”Ah.”
The driver of the truck poked his big, square head out. ”Yo, Bruce. Where we headed?”
”Hang on a sec, Willie,” Bruce said, then to me, ”So, no leads?”
”I'm working on a few things,” I said, being vague on purpose. ”Talking to a few people.”
Bruce's expression soured. ”Yeah? Like who?” ”Just people who knew George, that kind of thing.”
”I don't think anyone knew him too well.”
”Why do you say that?”
He s.h.i.+fted in his makes.h.i.+ft seat in the back of the truck. ”I just think he was kind of a loner. Always seemed to be off by himself, never talked to anyone. Probably a waste of time to ask people about him.”
”Actually, I've found a few people who knew him pretty well,” I said. ”So I think I can put some things together.”
He leaned forward. ”Like who?”
Bruce was awfully interested. ”Just people he spent time with outside of his job.”
”I don't think he did much outside of his job, man.”
”Well, like I said, I'm finding some different things. We'll see.”
”Maybe he got himself stuck in there,” Bruce said.
”Stuck in where? In the freezer?”
”Sure.”
”How? Why?” Buried to his neck in a pile of sausages?
The pickup idled loudly. ”Maybe he was looking for some free food or something. Maybe the door accidentally shut behind him. Maybe he was trying to fix something. Who knows?”
”I don't think he would've crawled in if he was just looking for some food,” I said.
Bruce thought about that, then shrugged. ”I don't know. Maybe he was really hungry.”
Bruce wasn't making sense, which wasn't really surprising considering that he was wearing a red wig with horns for no good reason. He didn't seem like the kind of guy you went to if you wanted, you know, common sense. He seemed more like the kind of guy you went to if you needed squirt guns and free beer.
”You seem to know a lot about George,” I said. ”But I know you said you guys weren't really friends. How's that?”
Bruce moved around like a mouse was running loose in his shorts. ”I told you before, man. I was aware of him. That's all.”
”Right, but you were just telling me how he didn't have any friends and . . .”
”Let's go, Willie!” Bruce hollered and cut me off.
The pickup lurched forward, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Bruce stared at me as they drove away, the squirt gun tapping against his thigh.
23.
I was halfway to the food stand when I saw my father walking toward me from the other direction.
”What are you doing here so early?” I asked.
He frowned. ”Your mother volunteered us to sit at some table. So now I have to sit there while she yaks at everyone that comes through.”
”Fun.”
”No, not fun,” he said. ”I'd rather be home, taking a nap. But I heard something interesting at breakfast with the boys this morning that I thought you might be interested in, too. I called your home but your wife, who is about to have a kid any second, said you had abandoned s.h.i.+p and were already here.”
”You guys aren't boys,” I said, ignoring the crack and digging in with my own. ”You know that, right? You're old men who act like boys.”
”Whatever,” he said, rolling his eyes.