11

Monday, July 4th

Peter pulled his Explorer up to the U-Haul store next to the bedlam that was the parking lot of the Greater Bethlehem Temple Apostolic Church. The church was housed in a former grocery store, or perhaps it had been a roller rink. For years it sat with bare concrete walls and no windows, giving no hint to its purpose. Lia had never seen anyone go in or out, but the church must have a large congregation to afford renovations. Recently, an attractive entry with a porte cochere was added and the exterior walls were redone in a lovely cream color.

The property had been drafted into service for the Fourth of July parade years ago due to one compelling feature: the parking lot was larger than a football field.

Peter leaned over to kiss Lia good-bye but was blocked by Chewy, who sat on her lap, wearing his teal and fuchsia tulle ruff with a mutinous expression. Peter gave the dog a wry look.

"Chewy!" Lia admonished. She set her squirming fur-child firmly on her other side and leaned in for a healthy smooch.

"I'd tell you to break a leg,” Peter said, tapping the dent in her chin, “but that would make it hard to march. You have your water?"

"Yes, sir, I also have doggie tutus, the travel bowl for Chewy, emergency poop bags and a pocket full of treats. Don't be such a worry wart." Lia opened her door. Chewy leapt out and she followed with her hip pack of survival gear and a garbage bag stuffed with tulle. Honey stuck her head out the back window and gave Lia a wounded look from the back seat while Viola climbed between the seats to claim Peter and the shotgun seat.

Lia petted Honey’s silky head while Chewy tugged on his leash. "Take care of my baby, Dourson."

"Take care of mine, Anderson. We’ll be watching for you from the library steps."

The crowd of costumed people milling around the parking lot of the church resembled the cantina scene in the first Star Wars movie. Floats were parked at the upper end of the lot, with marching groups filling the rest of the space. The morphing cacophony of color—only some of which was red, white and blue—was enough to induce motion sickness.

Lia grabbed the first person she could find with a clipboard and golf shirt, pegging the woman as a volunteer organizer. The woman checked her list and directed Lia across the lot, away from the monstrous gun Lia created.

She spotted Terry first, due to his insistence that he wear camouflage, and joined the group at their assigned spot in the line of floats and vehicles that zigzagged across the asphalt.

Lia pulled a ruff out of her bag and handed it to Terry. “Green, tan, and brown for Jackson,” she said, “so you’ll match.”

Terry sighed. “If he has to wear a ruff, at least it’s a manly ruff.”

“‘Manly ruff’ is an oxymoron,” Steve snorted as he stooped to slip a red and orange tutu over Penny’s head.

“What do you think?” Lia asked. “I thought the color would show well with her black fur.”

She continued to hand costumes around. Sophie, Nick’s mastiff, dazzled in pink and purple, while Chester and Fleece sported traditional red, white and blue. Bailey and Renee compared tutus for Kita and Dakini, and decided to switch, with Dakini wearing green hues accented with gold and Kita in blues from sapphire to midnight, touched with bronze. The humans, with the exception of Terry, wore khaki in order to make the dogs stand out more.

The interminable wait was made longer because they were forced to stand. Lia looked enviously at the Ladies Lawn Chair Brigade, a dozen women who performed dance routines using vintage aluminum folding chairs. They currently relaxed on their props, chatting. Whoever came up with their concept knew what they were doing.

“I don’t know why we had to check in by ten-thirty,” Bonnie said. “Some of us aren’t twenty anymore.”

“I bet it takes an hour to work their way down the line to make sure everyone is in the right spot,” Bailey said.

“Take Chester for a stroll,” Renee suggested. “If you walk by the lawn chair ladies and wilt a bit, maybe one of them will feel guilty and offer you her seat. If you wait a minute, I’ll go with you. Then you can lean on me and look frail.”

Lia looked up at the pale, grey sky, wondering if it would rain. The Browning Buckmark loomed over the crowd, overshadowed only by a giant, upended plunger built by a local plumber. The parade would go on no matter what the weather. At least we don’t need the dog booties. With no sun, the pavement won’t get hot enough to burn paws.

“We might get a sprinkle or two," Jim said, reading her mind. "Nothing more."

"Balderdash," Terry said. "We're in for a frog strangler. I checked radar."

"I hope we don't get any thunder," Bailey said, tweaking Kita’s tutu into a more attractive arrangement. “Kita doesn't like it. How long do you think the rain will last?"

"All afternoon. We'll be drenched by the time we pass The Comet,” Terry opined. “That is, if they can get this show on the road. If not, we'll drown before we’re out of the parking lot. Today's barbeques are toast. Nobody wants soggy bratwurst.”

"No rain," Jim insisted. "We'll be fine."

"If we don't get a downpour during the parade, I'll wear a Bill Clinton tee shirt every Saturday until Labor Day," Terry said. "Sure you don't want my spare pocket poncho?"

"Deal," Jim said. "Keep your poncho. You'll need it to catch the tears you'll be crying when you lose this bet."

“Jim, I wish you wouldn’t bet,” Bonnie said.

"Wait a minute," Bailey said. "What does Jim do if he loses?"

"I'll wear any tee shirt you choose every Saturday. Till Labor Day," Jim volunteered.

"Done. I'm going to stretch my legs. We've been standing here too long,” Terry said, chortling to himself as he meandered into the crowd, Jackson trotting obediently after him.

“You know he’s sneaking off to surf for the most offensive tee shirt he can find,” Bailey said.

"I can't believe you made that bet," Steve said.

"He'll never let you forget it,” Lia said. “And you—” she turned to Bailey. "Why did you have to say anything about Jim's side of the bet?"

Bailey shrugged. "Fair is fair. Besides, Jim—Ow!" She leaned over to rub her ankle, giving Jim a murderous look.

"Did you just kick Bailey?" Bonnie asked, dumbfounded.

"He did," Bailey said. "I don't know why. You were going to tell, anyway."

"Tell what?" Lia demanded.

Jim ducked his head, looking sheepish. "We set Terry up."

"I don't understand,” Bonnie said.

"It was a sucker bet. The rain is going to miss us. My knee always hurts before it rains, and it feels fine. I've been waiting years for the right time to pull this on him.”

“Oh. Well that’s all right, then,” Bonnie said.

Lia knelt down in the crowd and petted Chewy, who was trying to scratch his ruff off when he wasn’t dancing back and forth in agitation. "Can you believe that, Little Man? Your Uncle Jim is being sneaky and underhanded. But at least you won't get wet."

Unused to the crush of people in bizarre costumes, the dogs remained by their owners, partly guarding, partly out of insecurity. Lia stood up and shifted from one foot to the other, anxious to get going.

"I just hope the dogs don't freak when the noise starts,” she said.

"Relax.” Bailey dismissed Lia’s concern with a wave of one bird-like hand. “By now they’re immune to tubas and drums.”

“Twelve-ten,” Jim said. “They’re late.”

“It’s tradition,” Jose said.

“The road is blocked off.” Bailey nodded at the orange and white traffic barriers and the policemen re-routing traffic. It won’t be long now. Bonnie and Renee are still hanging with the lawn chair ladies. I’ll go get them.”

Lia became aware of a murmur rising at the south entrance to the parking lot. It swept back towards them, growing in volume as it approached. All around her, people straightened up and made last minute checks while volunteers in golf shirts trotted down the line.

At some invisible signal, Oliver Kroner pulled a child’s red wagon out onto Hamilton Avenue then turned south to wild cheers that rolled over the crowd with a sudden infusion of exuberance. The cheers carried from the parking lot to the residents camped along both sides of the road and would follow the wagon on the mile and a half procession to Hoffner Park.

Lia laughed and bounced up on her toes to see the wagon’s passenger, this year’s two year-old grand marshal, Quincy Kroner. Quincy was escorted by a garbage man who had appeared with him in a photograph that went viral in the spring, making Quincy Northside’s most famous resident at the moment.

Quincy was followed by CAIN, the neighborhood food pantry, whose employees wheeled donation barrels painted like Campbell's Soup cans. The Mill Creek Yacht Club’s members high-fived onlookers with canoe paddles while an old Woody station wagon loaded with five canoes crawled along behind.

The front of the parade expanded like a caterpillar inching forward and extruded out onto the avenue as each group lined up in proper formation and exited the parking lot. All eyes were on the road, as this would be the only opportunity most of the marchers would have to see the parade in action. Music started haltingly, then gained confidence and volume as marchers found their rhythm.

Along with the usual fire trucks and vintage cars, high school bands blared while midriff-baring drill teams strutted and shook their booties. Snazzy convertibles carried politicians who queen-waved the crowd while their supporters ran along the curbs passing out candy and pamphlets. Such things were mandatory for community parades.

Northside was famous for being friendly, funky and outrageous. The parade was an excuse for residents to raid their attics to create the most outlandish displays they could conceive. Parade entries ran from the slapdash and outright lazy to wonders of architecture and artistry.

Chicken Lays an Egg dressed in vintage clothes topped with amazing headdresses that made Hunger Games’ District One couture pale and tame in comparison. A body builder, oiled to maximum sheen in his speedo, strutted curbside, stopping frequently to pose. An old pickup towed a skateboard ramp painted with an enormous skull of a longhorn steer. Boarders launched off the truck, buzzed the crowd and ascended back up the ramp to do tricks. A sauntering procession of shirtless young men in kilts carried a banner that proclaimed “Free Willie.”

Some of the floats were out of season, including a hearse topped with pumpkins and a float covered in cotton “snow,” sporting Christmas trees while a man sang a soulful Jingle Bells into a PA system and elves waved to the crowd.

The parade oozed out of the parking lot and the line inched forward. Lia estimated it would take close to an hour before the Dog Stars made it to the street. Hurry up and wait. Next year, I’ll hire a double to stand in line for me. I’ll sit across the street with the spectators instead.

Chewy whined and squatted. Lia sighed and pulled out one of her emergency poop bags. She stepped out of line with Chewy’s mess in hand, hoping to find a trashcan near the church entry. Lia stepped beyond the edge of the crowd and a familiar figure popped into view.

Citrine was alone, leaning against the side of the building. The one time and place where she won’t stick out like an Eskimo at a beach party. Dammit! She’s coming over. Lia kept her eyes averted in hope she was mistaken about Citrine’s intentions. No such luck. Citrine intercepted her at the trashcan.

“I never imagined seeing you here. Oh, look at the adorable ruff!” She stooped to pet Chewy, who had no standards and did not care who gave him attention. “Is he yours? You must be in the parade.”

“Yeah, my friends and I are performing formations with our dogs.”

Lia turned to rejoin her group. Citrine followed.

“What fun! I’ve never seen anything like that in the parade before. Hey, guess what, that guy who broke into my apartment left without taking anything. I guess having his picture taken scared him away. Freaky, huh?”

“That’s lucky. Do the police know who he is?”

“They say they’re still looking. I gave the landlord hell and he installed a deadbolt, so he won’t get in again even if he comes back. By the way, I’ve been watching The Huffington Post, and I haven’t seen your article yet. When is it coming out?”

Does she plan to follow me all the way to Hoffner Park? “I, uh, I’ve been having a hard time hooking up with Leroy’s family. I’m hoping to talk to them after the parade.” Shit, shit, shit! I have to get rid of her before she sees Terry. Lia looked wildly around the crowd, hoping a diversion would present itself. “Are you in the parade, too?”

“Me? Oh, no. I know a couple of the guys with MOBI.” Citrine pointed to a group of bare-chested bicycle nerds on Frankensteined bicycles and unicycles, some with seats six feet off the ground, riding in lazy circles around the ever-widening open space at the back of the lot. “I thought it would be fun to follow them down the hill.”

Oh, great. That means she could notice Terry at any time. They were now twenty feet from the dog parkers, with Terry’s signature camo in full view. Dammit, desperate times, desperate measures.

“Have you seen Leroy’s aunt Debby? She’s on the float with the giant gun. I think they’re short a person for the float. You should go talk to her.”

“Wow! Wouldn’t that be fun,” Citrine immediately veered off, then hesitated. “Keep me posted about the article, won’t you?”

Lia watched until Citrine was fifty feet away, then tapped Terry on the shoulder. He whipped around.

“Wha—”

Lia whispered in his ear. “Citrine’s here. You have to switch shirts with Steve and ditch your hat.” She searched the group for Terry’s roommate.

Steve made a disgusted face. “You want me to what? Wear his sweaty shirt? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“If you don’t, you may wind up without someone to split the rent with,” Lia said.

“What’s this about?” Steve asked.

“You didn’t tell him?” Lia asked Terry.

“Er, no,” Terry said. “I was trying to be discrete.”

Meaning he felt like an idiot and was hoping no one would find out.

“You can explain later.” She turned back to Steve. “Just trust me on this.”

A volunteer trotted up, clipboard in hand. She looked the group up and down. “Mount Airy Dog Stars? Everybody ready? Get into formation. Make sure your rows are spaced to take up at least ten feet across. Next up is the Lucas Cross float, then we have La Boiteaux Woods, and then you and your dogs.”

Message delivered, she moved on to corral the stylists from Taylor Jameson Hair Design, who were dressed in flowing white gowns with ferns and flowers twined in their hair as if they'd just walked off the set of A Midsummer's Night Dream.

The line halted while volunteers guided the Browning Buckmark out onto Hamilton Avenue. Lia took a moment to feel dizzy. She hadn’t realized how monumental it would appear, looming over the road, and how tiny Sarah’s crew would look standing next to it on the flatbed. It’s like the Queen Mary on her maiden voyage.

“It brings tears to your eyes, does it not?” Terry said from the second row. Lia felt the cheer well up and rip out of her throat. She waved wildly.

Stealthy spy music played from a speaker on top of Jerry’s truck. Smoke wisped out of the gun barrel while Fiber and Snark, dressed in scavenged versions of Koi's signature cat suit, took stealthy poses around the grip of the giant Browning.

Alice placed one hand on her hip and reached up to stroke the bottom of the gun’s trigger guard in a pose to make any game show hostess proud. Carol, sporting a new, slimmer leg brace, took a haughty pose and snapped a short whip. Debby fired a few experimental shots with a water pistol upon the onlookers, causing delighted children to run into the street to catch the spray and beg to be “shot.” Cecilie joined Debby in firing on the children.

Where’s Sarah? Lia counted again, but saw no sign of her. Maybe she has something special planned. I bet she’ll emerge from the crowd as an enemy agent.

La Boiteaux Woods Nature Center followed with an adorable hive of children dressed as bees in yellow tee shirts and flapping enormous poster board wings. They kept trying to move into range for Debby’s water gun while happily buzzing around.

Lia’s heart swelled with anticipation as she stood at the edge of the road, waiting for their cue. The volunteer at the curb blew two short blasts on her whistle. Lia looked over at Nick, Renee, and Steve. Renee nodded. The third blast came and the Mount Airy Dog Stars stepped forward in unison, smiles plastered to their faces as they waved to the cheering crowd, every dog at heel.

Lia took time to appreciate Renee’s influence with the parade committee. Placed between the Nature Center Bees and Taylor Jameson’s Grecian Nymphs, there was little to disturb the dogs, though Chewy looked longingly at the nature center bees, their flight pattern resembling dog park chases. Still, the incarceration of the last month had his duty firmly imprinted on his doggy soul and he stayed at Lia’s heel.

“I’m proud of you, Little Man,” Lia said as they marched.

Peter kept Honey and Viola close while he surveyed the crowd gathering on the library lawn. The century-old, red brick building was a classic Carnegie library, one of their standard designs. “What do you think about sitting under the tree?” he asked Brent, who was carrying three camp chairs, their straps slung over his shoulder.

“I think I don’t care, as long as I get to put these chairs down.”

Chuck, Sarah’s assistant librarian, was a tall and substantial young man with a long ponytail and impressive wizard’s beard. He stood on the walkway in front of the building, swinging his arm back and forth in the air to catch their attention.

“C’mon up here,” he yelled.

They walked up the rise to meet Chuck, who bent down to pet the dogs.

“You have plastic bags in case they hear the call of nature?”

Peter pulled the end of a grocery bag out of his pocket to show Chuck, who responded with a fist bump.

“My man. View’s better from here. It’s best from the top of the steps, but Diane and Barbara called dibs on those spots in February. They have seniority and got to pick first. You can also sit on the steps, but you need serious cushioning to stand the concrete for two hours.”

“The shade is down by the bus stop,” Peter pointed out.

“Feel free, but you’ll get crushed,” Chuck said.

“We have hats,” Brent said. “I think we can handle a little sun.”

“Good choice. I’m your unofficial host.” He put his hand in his pocket, and withdrew a key ring. “I have keys to the back door. If you find yourself in need of the facilities, let me know. I’ll be sitting over there.” Chuck pointed to an empty camp chair next to a cooler.

They set up the chairs. Peter sat in the middle. Viola, who liked to lurk in dark, den-like spaces, crawled underneath. Honey sat in front of Peter, grinning.

“Why do you get to sit in the middle?” Brent asked. “I want to sit in the middle.”

“You just want to sit next to Cynth. She made me promise that she would not have to sit next to you. What did you ever do to her, anyway?”

“Well, we’re here,” Brent said, changing the subject. “What do we do now?”

“Let’s see,” Peter said. “It’s not quite eleven-twenty. The parade starts in 40 minutes, then it will take another hour to get here and will last at least an hour after that.”

“We have to wait an hour and forty minutes before this gala event gets off the ground?” Brent asked, incredulous. “What is it about Cincinnati, that the locals enjoy crowding into public spaces where nothing is happening?”

“You can people watch. Take pictures.”

“True,” Brent said, observing the stream of people passing by. He eyed a man in a clown outfit carrying a boa constrictor. “I imagine some of these folks are more outlandish than the parade. And speaking of outlandish …”

Cynth arrived, wearing a red, white, blue and gold tutu and a skintight tank over red high-top sneakers. Her hair piled on top of her head, held there with a wreath made of tulle scraps. Peter could not tell if the low whining noises he heard came from Honey or Brent. He kicked Brent’s ankle as Cynth bent over to set down a small cooler, exposing tiny blue shorts covered with white stars.

“I thought I would get in the spirit of things,” she said as she plopped down next to Peter.

Peter could only nod.

Lia watched Citrine trail the Savage Gun float down the hill to Millionaire’s Corner, occasionally disappearing, presumably to watch the MOBI guys. She’d shown no interest in the Dog Stars. Terry was safe as long as he didn’t run into her when the parade dispersed.

The Dog Stars were performing their weave when Lia thought she saw something in the gun barrel of the Savage Gun float. Smoke billowed out, obscuring her vision so that the thing was reduced to a dark blotch. Distracted, she hesitated long enough for Jim and Fleece to bump into her from behind. Chewy protested with a yelp.

"Pay attention," Jim said.

"Sorry," She moved ahead and forgot about the anomaly, concentrating on leading Chewy through the routine correctly.

They continued down Hamilton Avenue, passing a series of houses that sat up on a rise, giving everyone in the yards a great view. One lawn hosted a party of colorfully draped people playing every manner of percussive instruments. Paul Ravenscraft, local massage therapist, world musician, and non-denominational minister, stopped drumming on his djembe to give her a wave.

Heeling in formation gave Lia a chance to look at the gun barrel again. She could see more of the thing now, dangling a foot below the barrel, and joined by a second something, both swaying in unison. A window appeared in the smoke, closing in again before Lia could get more than an impression.

The things resembled forearms.

Lia stared at the smoke, willing it to part again. It did not oblige her before the next stop, when she was forced to focus on the complicated routine. Chewy was tired and balked at performing.

She slipped a liver treat out of her hip pack and held it close to his nose to lure him along. The stratagem worked, though she had to cage the treat in her fingers so he could not take it from her, and his performance was marred by periodic lunges of his head.

When Lia had a chance to look up again, she could have sworn that the gun barrel was a few inches lower. Two arms now extended fully from the gun barrel, dangling limply in a tangle of long hair from what could only be Sarah’s head—who else but Sarah had that hair?— bobbing fluidly with the movement of the float as smoke continued to twine around her.

Lia snorted a laugh. The Northside parade was famous for outrageous floats. Looks like Sarah decided to outdo everybody. The knitting ladies in their cat suits amped up their poses around the float as more people pointed, laughing and snapping pictures.

Any minute now, Sarah will lift her head up and wave. Lia mentally shook her head and tried to remember what Jose used to anchor the barrel onto the gun’s grip. I hope it can support Sarah’s weight.

The Dog Stars spread out at their next stop for their square dancing routine.

A cracking sound came out of nowhere.

Lia jerked her head up, scanning the parade and sidewalks for the source. She saw people looking around, as clueless as she was.

“Was that a gunshot?” Bailey asked as she do-si-doed with Lia.

“Wrong noise,” Lia yelled after her, returning to her place next to Jose.

Chewy stayed by Lia’s side while she and Jose switched partners with Jim and Bonnie. Next, all the women stood while the men wove around them. Terry started on his pass. Chewy began whining, head bumping Lia’s shin. She stooped unobtrusively and gave his head a little pat.

“You’re doing fine, Little Man. The parade will be over before long.”

Chewy stood up and howled. The other dogs abandoned the routine and joined him, straining their leashes towards the front of the parade.

Lia could barely hear the loud groaning noise over the dogs. She looked ahead in time to see the barrel of the giant gun tilting down, slowly at first. She stared in horror as it picked up speed, slamming against the end of the trailer and summersaulting Sarah like a rag-doll into a heap on the road.

The gun barrel broke free of its insufficient mooring and bounced end over end on the pavement, barely missing Sarah’s motionless form. It rebounded, looming over spectators who scrambled and stumbled out of their chairs as it came crashing down. Lia caught sight of Citrine shrieking as a woman twice her size mowed her down.

Peter leapt out of his chair at the first scream, Cynth and Brent were close behind. Cynth stuffed Viola and Honey’s leashes in Peter’s hand while the dogs stared at him in accusation for abandoning them. Together they shoved through crowds to reach the disturbance, whatever it was.

Spectators were torn between staying in their chairs to keep their prime seats or surging up Hamilton Avenue to see what happened. Either way, they created an obstacle.

Brent was the first to break out of the crowd and directly in the path of the parade. The trio dodged around the cycle geeks and cut through a girls’ dance team. Their path cleared after that as they ran alongside a column of antique cars. The decapitated Browning loomed ahead.

Peter urged the dogs to run faster. Oh, God, I hope it’s not Lia.

The honeybees ran screaming from the careening gun barrel and its macabre load. Lia darted through the evacuating children to get to Sarah’s side, still holding Chewy’s leash. Bailey and Kita were behind her with the rest of her team.

“Oh my God, oh my God! I thought it was a joke! I thought she was pretending to be dead!” Lia dropped onto her knees.

Sarah lay on her side, head twisted and limbs flung wide in a grotesque imitation of 60’s freestyle dancing. Hundreds of onlookers pressed in, forming a circle enclosing Lia with Bailey, Sarah and the dogs. Kita and Chewy whined.

The color of Sarah’s skin caught Lia’s attention. It was pink, not white. She pressed two fingers to Sarah’s throat, above a ring of purpling bruises. She felt nothing and started to panic. Calm down. Try another spot. She slid her fingers up under Sarah’s jaw. Still nothing. She slid her fingers back an inch. Sarah’s pulse was faint, but there.

“Thank God,” Lia said. “She’s alive.”

Bailey turned around, yelling to the crowd, “We need a doctor or a medic! Do we have a doctor or EMT?”

With the temperature in the 90s and the humidity almost as high, it was harder to tell if Sarah was breathing. Lia grabbed a wisp of Sarah’s hair and held it under her nose. The hair fluttered.

Bailey repeated her plea for help.

A burly young man dressed in a paisley caftan pushed through the crowd, followed by a smaller man and a woman. By their clothing, Lia guessed they had been at the drumming party with Paul.

The trio snapped into action, the smaller man feeling Sarah’s limbs for broken bones while the woman took her vitals and the burly man checked her pupils. Lia and Bailey stood back to let them work.

Debby forced a path through, followed by the rest of Fiber and Snark.

“What happened?” Debby demanded.

Sirens split the air. The crowd opened up on one side to let the ambulance through. Paisley caftan machine-gunned the vital information to the ambulance crew while they eased Sarah onto a backboard and loaded her into the ambulance.

With the ambulance gone, the crowd melted back to the sidewalks, leaving Lia and Bailey to face a hysterical knitting club and several police officers. The dog park gang stood by the side of the road, waiting for Lia and Bailey. Jerry stood guard over the broken float, chasing away spectators who wanted souvenirs.

Hamilton Avenue was clear for several blocks ahead, the front half of the parade having moved on, though the MOBI cyclists and a couple of random rollerbladers swooped back around, not wanting to miss any of the action.

Police officers herded spectators to the side of the road and led Lia, Bailey, and Fiber and Snark behind the float, now parked at the curb. The rest of the Dog Stars joined them while two more officers directed the parade past the scene. Lia thought she recognized Cal Hinkle by his straw-colored hair.

Rubbernecking marchers moved silently by as if in paying respect to the accident. They resumed their honking, blaring, gyrating cacophony once they were beyond the catastrophe. It was odd, this black hole puncturing the center of the parade route, sucking in all celebration within its reach.

While many spectators stayed to observe the proceedings, most folded their chairs and left, many of those carrying a chair in one hand while leading a tearful child with the other.

Lia sat on the end of the trailer, watching as park employees led the honeybees back into the parade, resuming their march. At a time when each of those children desperately needed comfort, they had nowhere to go but forward. Solace was more than a half-mile away at the end of the parade route, where their parents waited. They walked huddled together for safety, no longer the exuberant melee of before. The bees had lost their buzz.

How much do they understand? How long will they have bad dreams?

Lia absorbed sound and color but comprehended little. She had always been responsive in an emergency—it was afterwards she fell apart. Now that fearful place deep inside herself did its hysterical best to lure Lia into the fetal position. Just breathe. That’s what Asia says. Just breathe. She became aware of Chewy whining.

“Sorry, Little Man.” She picked him up and held him in her lap, rubbing her cheek against the fur on top of his head.

“What did you see, Lia?” Debby had her arm now and pulled her attention away from the children. “All we knew was the top of the gun fell over and Sarah came out. No one knows why she was up there.”

Alice opened her mouth, but stayed silent when one of the officers shook his head.

“Ladies, please keep to yourselves. We need everyone’s memories intact and uncontaminated,” the officer said. “We’ll be taking your statements separately. A couple of detectives will be here in a few minutes to talk to you.”

As he spoke, Lia spotted Peter, Brent, and Cynth cutting in front of a cherry-red Model T Ford and aiming for their conclave. Peter led Viola and Honey on their leashes. The Model T a-OOGaed in protest and Viola assumed a combative stance, barking maniacally while Honey strained towards Lia. Lia groaned. Now it’s all going to come out.

“What’s the matter, Lia?” Steve asked. “You’re looking sick.”

“I kind of am,” she replied.

“Peter,” Lia said as he trotted up. She held out her free hand to take Honey and Viola’s leashes. Honey jumped up on the trailer and curled at her side. Viola, anticipating separation from Peter, sulked.

He gave her a wry look. “This isn’t what I meant when I said to take care of yourself, Babe.”

Lia said nothing.

Peter gave her a searching look.

“All right,” Brent said, “word is we have a nearly dead body by the name of Sarah Schellenger, who fell out of this float when it came apart.” He pointed at the shambles. “In front of you and a bunch of dogs and some traumatized kids just out of diapers. I don’t think the kids or dogs will be much help, so it’s up to you all to tell us what happened. Is this your entire group, Lia?”

Lia glanced around and did a quick head count. “Yes, this is everybody.”

“Okay, who was watching the float when it fell apart?”

Steve, Jim and Lia raised their hands.

Brent continued, “Who was watching it during the parade?”

Everyone raised their hands.

“Brent,” Lia interrupted, “you should grab Citrine. She followed the float all the way down the hill, and she was taking pictures.”

“Citrine? Leroy’s supposed girlfriend? Where is she?” He craned his neck around, searching the crowd. For once, Citrine’s alarming orange hair was lost in the outrageously attired crowd.

“Last I saw, she was talking to one of the off duty EMTs, a guy in a purple caftan. I think she may have been hurt in the crush.”

Brent sighed. “I’ll get Hinkle on it.”

It’s a hell of a statement, dropping a dead body in the middle of a parade. Attention seeking or poor planning? I bet not one of the thousands of people who saw the float saw anything helpful.

Peter surveyed the remains of the giant gun and wished he could climb up to see if the structure had been tampered with. Can’t though, with the attention this case will have, Roller will have my ass if I don’t leave it for the CSIs. Well, what’s there won’t disappear. Not like memories. Witnesses first.

The ladies of Fiber and Snark drooped in the heat, despite having taken advantage of the float’s towering presence to wait in the shade. Full length, black cat suits, in this heat. I’m surprised none of them have fainted.

“Ladies,” he said, nodding his head in greeting. “I think it’s going to take a while to get your statements. What if we get you out of this heat?”

The women nodded in unison.

Brent raised his eyebrows. “Where do you propose we go? We don’t have room for 12 civilians at the station.”

“Chuck has keys to the library so the employees could sneak in the back to use the bathroom. I bet he’s public spirited enough to let us use the building to take statements.”

“Okay folks! We’d like to use the library to take your statements. I believe you’ll be more comfortable there. Does anyone have Chuck’s phone number so we can work out the details?”

“What about the dogs?” Debby asked.

“If we use the elevator and go down to the activity room, it should be okay,” Alice said. That’s a vinyl floor. Any messes will be easy to clean up.”

“I’ll call Chuck,” Debby said.

“Wait a minute. I’m not leaving my truck and trailer behind,” Jerry insisted, his face turning red. “I’ve got too much money tied up in them.”

Peter made a quick mental calculation of the man’s proprietary interest in the well being of his truck against Peter’s own need for cooperation. “We’ve got an officer here to protect your truck and trailer until the crime scene folks can take possession of them—“

Jerry squawked, “Take my truck? I need that truck for my business. You can’t take my truck!”

Peter knew there was no way to rescue the situation, but he did his best. “Where was the truck last night?”

“In front my house.”

“And the float?”

“Three miles away, at my garage. You taking my garage, too?”

Peter decided he was not going to be the one to tell Jerry Carrico that likely, his garage would be out of commission for at least half a day while it was searched. “Since the truck wasn’t with the float until right before the parade, it’s possible crime scene can release it to you within 24 hours. I’ll tell them to process it first, so we can eliminate it.”

“Thank you,” Jerry grumbled.

Peter sent a text Cynth, who was talking to a group of spectators further up the block. She gave Peter a wave, then came over to join them. Jerry’s eyes lit up at the multi-colored tulle, vision, then jerked his head around to see if Debby was watching. Yes, Jerry, you have a wife.

“Mr. Carrico, this is Detective McFadden. She’ll take your statement here so you won’t have to leave your vehicle.”

“Happy to,” Cynth said, smiling in her deceptively sweet way. “Mr. Carrico, lets see if we can borrow some lawn chairs while we take care of this.” Jerry followed her like a puppy, over to the curb.

Peter turned back to the group. “Who’s ready for a short hike?”

“So the float was locked in Jerry’s garage,” Terry mused as he selected jalapeno peppers and muenster cheese from the loaded buffet in Jim’s yard and layered them on his hamburger. “I’m not convinced this is Leroy’s doing. Could it be a love triangle gone wrong? Was the lithe and lovely librarian cavorting with the earthy grease monkey after hours? Caught in flagrante delicto by the wronged wife?”

“Doubtful,” Lia said, forking up a bite of bun-less burger off her paper plate. She looked down at a sea of salivating muzzles and cut off pieces to share. “Not that Debby wouldn’t do it. I don’t think Jerry is Sarah’s type. And Debby’s not strong enough to shove Sarah inside the float.”

“Ah, but the cheating husband would assist his wife, as that would be the only way to keep his own ass out of a sling,” Terry said.

“Why wouldn’t Jerry just stop Debby from strangling her?” Bailey asked.

Nick guffawed. “Interfering in a cat fight is dangerous. Would you jump into a cat fight, Jim?”

“Not me,” Jim said, shuddering.

“No wise man would,” Steve said.

“I saw them talking before the parade,” Bailey said, taking a bite of pickle. “They didn’t look like they knew there was a body on board, dead of otherwise. And neither of them was any more freaked out than anyone else after Sarah appeared.”

“If I was hiding a body and it fell out in front of a thousand people, I wouldn’t be able to keep my cool. I sure wouldn’t be able to put on a good act of being shocked. I’d just look guilty as hell,” Steve said.

“The butler did it,” Jim said, handing a loaded plate to Bonnie before starting one for himself.

Terry waved him off. “Bah! It’s always the spouse. If Debby didn’t do it, Duane did.”

“Bad back,” Lia said, her eyes glued to her plate. Patience, Anderson. These are your friends. “They’re all middle-aged and feeling it. Duane’s scheduled for surgery. If he picked Sarah up, he’d be in the hospital before he could make it two feet.”

“Why don’t you think it was Leroy, Terry?” Bonnie asked. “Jim told me about your investigations. Seems to me he’s the logical suspect.”

“Nobody can find Leroy,” Terry said. “We can find everyone else.”

“Funny thing,” Jose said. “I can’t believe the float lasted a mile, carrying a load like that.”

“The angle of the gun barrel kept her weight back in the tube while they were coming down the hill,” Jim explained. “Once the ground leveled, her weight shifted, and the barrel acted like a lever.”

“Once an engineer, always and engineer,” Bailey said. “If Leroy and Duane and Jerry didn’t do it, who did? And why?”

“Perhaps she ran afoul of Jerry’s meth-addled mechanic emerging from his secret drug lab,” Terry bobbed his eyes suggestively.

“Jerry doesn’t have a drug-addled meth-head working for him,” Steve said.

“And how do you know?” Terry said.

“Because he’d be an idiot if he did. And even a meth-head knows better than to cook drugs near all those flammable chemicals,” Steve said.

“There’s no place for a drug lab.” Lia said patiently. “The garage is one huge empty room, like a concrete airplane hanger. You might as well say the rest of Sarah’s knitting club ganged up on her and did it,” Lia said.

“By George, you’ve nailed it!” Terry said.

Jim shook his head. Steve rolled his eyes.

“Terry, I wish you’d stop joking about this,” Lia said. “Sarah is my friend, and I don’t know if she’s ever going to wake up. Excuse me.”

Lia headed for the house, followed by a train of dogs. She sat on the back steps. Honey, as always, sensed her mood and leaned on her. Chewy eyed her hopefully for more burger. No longer hungry, she picked pieces of burger off her plate and lobbed them to the dogs.

Idiots. They act like this is a game.

Bonnie sat down next to Lia and put a hand on her knee. “You have every right to be upset, seeing that happen to your friend. I know they sound insensitive, but I think it might be their way of handling it.”

“Like cop humor?”

“Something like that.”

“I just want to sit here for a while. I’ll rejoin the group in a bit.”

Bonnie departed, leaving Lia to the ministrations of the dogs. Lia sat, thinking about nothing and focused on her breathing until her stomach settled. She realized she was hungry and headed back to the table and human society.

“One thing’s for sure,” Terry said. “If Sarah, wakes up, she’ll be able to identify him. He has to finish the job.”

Lia shut her eyes and considered fleeing for the steps again. She and Bailey looked at each other. Bailey winked.

“Oh? And are you planning to set a trap?” Steve asked.

“Yeah,” Jose said. “I seen that in movies. That would be awesome. Hide under the sheets with a gun, and when the killer comes, POW!”

“You get the hospital to let you in Sarah’s room with a gun, and I’ll use my feminine wiles to lure her police guard away so the killer will think the coast is clear,” Bailey offered.

“What hospital is going to let you in her room with a gun? You could be the killer, pretending to set a trap for the killer,” Jim said.

“You’re right,” Bailey said. “I’ll have to offer the officer a quickie in the supply closet to keep him away long enough for Terry to sneak in and the killer to show up. Do you think it will be Officer Brainard, Lia? I could sure keep him busy.”

“This is stupid,” Jim said. The killer is going to see a big, fat lump under the sheets and know someone is hiding there.”

“True,” Terry said, scratching the stubble on his chin. “Lia, you’ll have to do it. You’re small enough.”

“Me? Don’t drag me into this.”

“You at least have to go to the hospital, and see who’s keeping vigil,” Terry urged.

“I will not intrude on her friends and family.”

“You’re her friend. You have a plausible reason for showing up,” Terry said. “We can chip in for flowers. If I show up, they might find it strange. Still, if I profess to offer my best wishes to a member of Lucas Cross’ entourage as a fan of the Colt Savage novels, it might fly.”

“I’ll go,” Lia said. “But only because I want to check on her. And only if you promise to stay away. I’ll go tomorrow. They might know something then.”

“And by then you will have charmed vital information from the delectable Detective Dourson,” Terry said.

“Lia, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Steve said. “I can just strangle Terry in his sleep tonight.”

Long after the barbeque leftovers were wrapped, just as the opening salvos of the annual Armageddon of neighborhood fireworks were launching into the clammy evening air, Peter stepped into Lia’s air conditioning and said a silent prayer of gratitude for the end of a long, hot, sticky day. He plopped wearily onto Lia’s colorful Mission style couch, leaning his head back to rest on the top of the cushion and shut his eyes.

Viola, who was under the sofa with Chewy to get away from the fireworks, nosed out from her hidey-hole and climbed up next to him, snuggling tightly for protection. She nudged her muzzle under Peter’s hand and he petted her without thinking. Honey, an old hand with fireworks, headed into the kitchen. Peter heard the refrigerator door open and shut.

“Bless you, wonderful woman,” he said.

Lia returned, handing him a beer. “Scoot onto the floor. I’ll rub your shoulders.”

Peter thought this was a fine idea but wisely curbed the ready remark about how she could do this daily if they got married.

“Scooted.” Viola jumped down and crawled into his lap as a trio of rockets burst, flashing fuchsia, green and gold outside the windows.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Demanding, aren’t you?” He sat forward to comply and Lia slipped onto the sofa behind him.

“I can always keep my thumbs to myself.”

“Heaven forbid. Demand away, Babe.”

He felt her warm breath on his ear.

“Babe,” she said sweetly, digging her thumbs into twin pressure points, “is a pig.”

“Ow. I get your point.”

He took a pull from the chilled bottle as she gripped his trapezius muscles and pressed her thumbs into the tissue. The tension of the day melted away. The air conditioning chilled the sweat on his body while her circling thumbs worked their way up his vertebrae one by one, then dug into the base of his skull.

Marry Me. The words almost slipped out. Damn Dourson, a little beer, and you lose your filters. You must love sleeping on that couch.

He inhaled deeply, sighed.

“Rough day?” Lia asked.

Peter rolled his head, felt the give in his muscles.

“I don’t know what to think about this one. It’s the strangest case I’ve ever worked.”

“How so?” Her thumbs were now stroking under his shoulder blades.

“We’ve got a corpse that’s not dead, and no obvious motives or suspects. Husband out of town for a gig, that’s confirmed.”

“How is Sarah?”

“She’s in a coma, probably as a result of asphyxiation, complicated by head injury from her fall. Someone strangled her, then hid the body in that float. Since she wasn’t dead, we don’t have lividity to tell us what position she was in when they strangled her. Brent and I went to the garage. We didn’t find any signs of a struggle, so we can’t say for sure if she was attacked at the garage or if she was taken there after the attack.

“The bruises the EMT described suggest she was strangled with a rope or noose, but there’s also a very odd mark on her neck, and we won’t know what that is until we can photograph it. We’ll know more tomorrow after the crime scene folks have a chance to look for trace evidence on her clothes.

If there was any trace evidence on her body, chances are it was lost when she was prepped for surgery. She was rushed into surgery, so no one had a chance to examine her for defensive wounds, but one of the EMTs attending her said her hands and arms weren’t injured.”

“Why do you think that is?””

Lia’s hands stilled. She leaned her forehead onto his shoulder. “Will she live?”

“Maybe, but the bigger question is, how much brain damage did she suffer between the asphyxiation and the head injury, and will she remember anything?”

“Oh.”

“She could have been passed out, maybe drugged. But likely we won’t know for sure. Chances are good that any drugs have metabolized and are already out of her system. We won’t know that for sure until her tox screens come back, but that will take days and we’re not holding out hope.

“How do you think she got up in the float?”

“There’s that rolling ladder you were using at the garage. That’s simple enough. What’s not simple is finding someone strong enough to lift 140 pounds of dead weight up the ladder, and slide a limp body in that tube. You know any gorillas that had their library card cancelled lately?”

“Could two people have done it?”

“Could have,” Peter agreed, taking a pull on his Beck’s. “But who? I thought everyone liked her.”

“You have a point. You didn’t get anything from the interviews?”

“Nobody knew anything until Sarah dropped in, so to speak. The only way I can make sense of this—the float was headed for Mount Rumpke tomorrow. I suspect her attacker put her there so she’d wind up as landfill. That means they had access to the garage or at least knew Sarah had a key, and they knew that the float was being dumped. This wasn’t opportunistic, it was planned.”

“But they didn’t know enough to know it wasn’t strong enough to hold Sarah’s weight.”

“Nope.”

Lia hands were now making large circles on his shoulders. “The ladies didn’t say anything else?”

Peter pulled away, turning to look at her. “You know something. What didn’t you tell Brent?”

Lia sighed and flopped her hands helplessly onto her thighs. “I was sure they’d tell you.”

Peter raised one accusing eyebrow.

“Things have been happening.”

“What kind of things?”

“You remember when Carol got mugged?”

Peter searched Lia’s face. Her eyes were cast down and did not lift to meet his.

They, uh, asked me to look into it.”

Peter felt his temper rising.

“And why would they do that?”

“Because they couldn’t go to the police?”

Peter ignored the pleading in Lia’s voice. He glared at her, saying nothing.

“Look, Leroy’s disappearance wasn’t a Cincinnati case. I told them to go to the police, but I couldn’t force them to come clean, and I didn’t know at the time that Brent would be appointed liaison.”

Peter’s arms were now firmly folded across his chest. “Clean about what, exactly? What does Carol’s mugging have to do with Leroy?”

Lia spat it out in a rush. “Because-Leroy-wants-more-money-and-they-think-he’s-here-and-hunting-them-down.”

“Well now, I’m astonished,” Brent said, taking a seat at Lia’s kitchen table. “You kept vital information about a major crime from the police? Lia, I’m ashamed of you. Pass me a cold one, Brother.”

Peter handed Brent a Beck’s, remaining silent. Lia knew he was still steaming, but Brent’s light tone helped her relax.

“They were just trying to keep Leroy out of trouble. Once he called to let them know he was okay—”

“He WHAT?” Peter blew up.

“Calm down, Brother. I know you’d like to wring her neck right now, but if you can’t behave, you’ll have to sit out this interview.”

“No. No freaking way.”

Lia kept her eyes on Brent. “Look, he disappeared again after the phone call.”

“Now, why wouldn’t they want to tell the Austin police about the phone call?”

“Leroy faked his disappearance to get out of doing a panel at the conference. The Austin police have spent who knows how many thousands of dollars looking for him. Isn’t that a crime? Wasting public resources like that?”

“He went to all that trouble to avoid looking ignorant in front of a bunch of for-real writers?” Brent asked.

“He also figured it would be good publicity. The ladies are afraid he’ll go to jail. They’re also afraid it will get out that he never wrote anything.”

“And kill the golden eBook franchise,” Brent said.

Lia nodded.

“So you were in on the break in, and you lied to my face about it,” Peter said.

“I uh, was the interviewer. The ladies wanted to know for sure if Citrine was involved.”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “Have I been reborn as Ricky Ricardo? This feels like an episode of ‘I Love Lucy.’”

“Would you feel better if I made a Lucy face?”

“NO,” Peter and Brent said in unison.

“You sure this isn’t an episode of Laverne and Shirley?” Brent asked.

“That would make me Lenny and you Squiggy,” Peter pointed out.

Brent shuddered.

“Uh, Is ‘Ethel’ in on this too?” Brent asked Lia.

Lia nodded.

“‘Fred’?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Why bring in the hacker?” Brent asked.

Lia glanced at Peter before she responded. His irritation was ebbing as he got caught up in her new information. “That’s what started it,” Lia said, now on the offensive. “Somebody said something to Alma, who told Sarah that I had access to mysterious resources. We were trying to trace Leroy. Trees found pings from the phone in Cincinnati, but no other calls. It was a dead end.”

“Now, why,” Peter asked, “would someone who was trying to hide leave their phone on so it could be traced?”

“Stupidity?” Lia asked.

“This case has stupidity in it, but it’s too-smart-for-your-own-good stupidity, not plain, old-fashioned, stupid stupidity,” Peter said.

“Carol takes a fall, Cecilie is drugged and almost drowns, and Sarah is strangled but alive,” Brent said. “This murderer of yours is so inept, I feel the urge to trot out a gong.”

“I don’t get it,” Peter said. “If Leroy faked his disappearance, what does that have to do with anything?”

“We don’t know where he is now. There may be a bigger plot in motion.”

“So the faked disappearance masks a real kidnapping where there is no demand for ransom?” Peter asked.

“Or he fakes his disappearance, sneaks up to murder the group, then reappears after having bribed some Central American cabal to claim they kidnapped him,” Lia said.

“Now that’s novel,” Brent said, “and I do mean that in the worst possible way.”

“Why haven’t we heard from this cabal?” Peter asked.

“We haven’t worked that out yet,” Lia pouted.

“Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“I don’t know about you, Brother, but the more Lia tells us, the more confused I get.”

“There’s only one thing to do.” Peter’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Tomorrow we sweat the lady knitters, and I know exactly where to find them.”