September 15, 1916
Stories about the fire spread through the fair, hopping from one exhibitor to the other like hungry fleas on a pack of dogs. Rumors abounded. Some said the fire had been set by Max Sinclair in an angry attempt to undermine the competition. Others said Walter Daniels had set the fire to gain sympathy and to point the finger at Max. Very few believed it had been an accident. The wildest theory was that Ella Daniels had set the fire in order to destroy her statue and hide the fact that she just wasn’t as talented as she used to be.
Manning his exhibit, Max fought the urge to speak up every time someone came up with another ridiculous idea. He wasn’t even interacting with the crowd like he used to. Instead, he put out the margarine samples and sat back in a chair, watching them pick up pieces of biscuit as they walked by. He just had to get through that day and the next, and then the fair would be over. He could go home and put this all behind him.
Except he doubted he could ever forget. Holding Ella while she sobbed, the look of anguish on her face, which then changed to anger. The cold steel of Walter’s voice as he told him to stay away. The hollow ache in his gut whenever he thought about what had happened. There was no way to escape feelings like those.
“Why the long face?” Philip Stanley sauntered over to him, one hand in his trouser pocket.
Max grunted. “Haven’t you been listening to the gossip?”
“What, that?” Philip laughed. “Don’t let that get you down, son. People are talking, and that’s always good. You’ve just got to use it to your advantage. Turn a negative into a positive.”
Had he heard him right? “How can any of it be positive?”
“Easy. If Daniels hadn’t been such a champion of iceboxes, there would have been no icehouse, so there wouldn’t have been anything to burn. It’s just another reason why the electric refrigerator is safer and better.”
“All right,” Max said slowly. “That’s a positive for you. But how does it help me?”
Philip smiled, but it was forced and somehow brittle. “We’re partners, remember? What’s good for me is good for you, and vice versa. Now that the butter cow is gone, so is the milkmaid, and that’s good for both of us. What’s not good for me is the way you’re moping around here, scaring off potential customers.”
An uneasy feeling crawled up Max’s spine and prickled the base of his neck. Philip sounded like he was happy about the fire. Max stood up, taking advantage of his height, and looked down at the man.
“What did you do?”
Philip tried to look shocked. “How can you ask me that?”
Right then, he knew. He had no way to prove it, but there was something he could do. He stepped close to Philip and looked him straight in the eye. “Our partnership ends now.”
Any congeniality he’d tried to imitate disappeared. “You don’t want to do that.”
“Yes, I really do. Furthermore, I’m leaving today. I refuse to be associated with a man like you.”
“You’re making a big mistake.” Philip took a step back and shook his head. “Joy will not be pleased that you left a day early. And you can be sure I’ll let them know what a disappointment you turned out to be. Don’t expect to have a job to go back to.”
“Not a problem. I was thinking of changing careers, anyway.” Max plucked his jacket off the back of the chair. “Just tell me one thing. If you’re so dedicated to being my partner, why did you sabotage the food dye?”
Philip cocked his head. “You really don’t understand this business at all. There’s no reason for me to sabotage you. But who does have a reason?”
With that, Philip returned to the Majestic Electric exhibit, immediately calling out to the people nearby with his carnival barker voice.
Philip was right about one thing: Max’s work for the Joy Margarine Company was over. He left all the promotional pamphlets on the table, as well as the rest of the margarine and biscuits. Then he walked out of the building. He needed to talk to Ella, but first, he had one more stop to make.
Inside Homemaker’s Hall, even more talk circulated about the fire and what had caused it. Max was sure he saw several exhibitors point and whisper as he passed by. He kept his head down and kept walking until he reached the Igloo exhibit.
Orville Henderson was slicing feathers off the extremely bare tail of the butter peacock. When he caught sight of Max, his eyes grew wide with fear. “What are you doing here?”
“I just want to ask you a question.”
“All right.”
“Why did you put the onion juice in my bottle of food dye?”
Orville blanched, confirming what he knew to be true.
“It was because of the posters,” Orville stammered. “I … I didn’t want to hurt anybody. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. I never thought you’d burn the icehouse down.”
“I didn’t,” Max said with controlled intensity. “Stanley did that.”
Mouth dropped open like a cod fish, Orville stared at him. “Somebody could have been hurt. Even killed. You have to report him.”
“I would, but I have no proof.”
Orville hung his head. “I’m so sorry.”
Hopefully, his guilt would move him to assist Max. “Right now, I need to convince Ella that I had nothing to do with any of it. Will you come with me and talk to her?”
“I can’t.”
Max took a step closer. “Listen here—”
“Wait. You don’t understand.” Orville held his hands up to ward him off. “I would if I could, but they’re gone.”
“Gone? Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Miss Daniels came by early this morning to tell me. She apologized that she couldn’t give me any more butter for the peacock. Such a shame.”
Orville kept talking about what nice people they were, but Max had stopped listening. He turned and walked away. His last hope of making amends with Ella had just vanished.