I love Laclede’s Landing in the morning. Busy, but not too busy. No tourists. No parents. The air was crisp. The sidewalks were salted and, most importantly, I was alone.
If you don’t count Pickpocket, that is. The poodle was prancing beside me in his brand new coat and booties, proud as all get out. They were Black Watch tartan, imported all the way from Scotland and made of the finest wool. Not my idea. I’m pretty sure the booties cost more than my entire outfit, which I got on Black Friday at the Gap. The Girls bought the tartan and it was definitely not on sale. Millicent said that if Pick was going to be my protection, he should look the part. Personally, I thought the plaid could not begin to make up for the enormous topknot on the poodle’s head. It had a large bow.
The dog stylist came to the mansion the night before and gave Pickpocket a trim. I thought when she asked me what we wanted and I said, “Something sensible and low maintenance,” she would, ya know, give him something sensible and low maintenance. Instead, he looked like we were headed to the Westminster Kennel Club for the big win.
When I squawked about the goofy cuffs and whatnot, Angela was aghast. This was a modified show cut. Did I really want Pickpocket to go out like he was an ordinary dog and not a poodle?
Yes. The answer was yes. But…The Girls thought he was adorable and that’s when they broke out the tartan. If Pick scared away so much as a purse snatcher, I’d be shocked.
I couldn’t imagine what Spidermonkey was going to say. We were meeting at Café Déjeuner and he, like everyone else, was on about my safety. He didn’t want to meet at all, but, since we were keeping the liquor cabinet off all devices, there was no other way to discuss it.
“Sit,” I said to Pickpocket when we arrived at the café door.
He didn’t sit. He never sat unless there were treats involved. That poodle was too smart for my good and he made life hard. It was getting pretty old having to bungie cord the fridge closed and hide the remotes because he knew how to turn on the TV and liked the volume on max.
“Sit.”
Nope. Not gonna do it. Pick wagged his stumpy tail at me and tilted his head. I think he felt sorry for me that I was so dumb.
“Fine,” I said. “Treat.”
His rump dropped so hard I heard it hit the sidewalk.
“You’re a bad boy, you know that?”
He knew and he was proud. I pulled out his therapy dog vest and opened the door. Sally the usual barista glanced up from her phone. I waved the vest and she rolled her eyes. Pick dashed in and danced in circles as Sally admired his duds.
“I have to take him in the back,” she said. “He’s adorable.”
“Go for it.”
“What’ll you have?”
“Latte and a cinnamon roll,” I said.
She grinned. “Help yourself,” before taking Pick off to be loved up by the baker.
I went behind the counter to make my own latte and I waved at a firefighter I knew. Cory and his friends were drinking protein power smoothies and discussing their abs. Chuck should’ve been there. Cory looked like Shy Baldwin on Mrs. Maisel if he were a lumberjack. On second thought, Chuck would probably start drinking that stuff and it smelled funny even from a distance. I had enough stink to deal with as it was. Boiled eggs were the bane of my nighttime existence.
Spidermonkey smiled at me from his usual seat by the fire. He set aside his Wall Street Journal and adjusted the plaid cuffs under his lavender cashmere sweater, every inch the successful grandfather and not a bit the incorrigible hacker that knew the ins and outs of every sleazy enterprise in our fair city.
I poured perfect foam into my cup and ignored his darkening expression as he kept glancing at the door. The microwave dinged and I carried my ginormous cinnamon roll over and sat down with my nose in the air, waiting for the inevitable dressing down.
“Where is Fats?” he asked.
“Bevo Mill 7-11,” I said.
“What is she doing in Bevo Mill? She’s supposed to be with you.”
I took a swipe of icing off my roll and taste tested it. Oh, so good. “She didn’t make it.”
“Mercy, what is Fats doing?”
“You know what? I don’t like to ask, but I’m thinking debt collection. Early morning. They’re in bed. Easy pickings.”
“At the 7-11?”
“Oh, no. She was done with whatever she was doing at seven in the morning on a Saturday and now she’s barfing in the 7-11 parking lot.”
“Why didn’t you wait?”
“I’m perfectly capable of driving ten minutes and I’ve got Pick,” I said.
“Oh, yeah. He’s very intimidating with that ball of fuzz on his head.”
“He’s got huge teeth.”
“You’d never know it.”
I shrugged. “Well, I’m here now. Are we doing this or what?”
My super hacker grumbled, but he pulled out a file from a leather attaché case. “I normally would’ve emailed this to you, but, to be on the safe side, I went old school.”
“On everything?”
“I feel the need to keep you dark for now.”
“Alright.” I took the file and read Rich’s Uncle Orson’s death certificate, chart from the ER, and police report. Pretty straight forward. Elderly. Heart attack. Found on kitchen floor by housekeeper. No sign of foul play. No autopsy.
Then Spidermonkey handed over Rich’s record. He was a good cop with an unblemished record except for an excessive force complaint from a drug addict that attacked him with an ice pick. I was inclined to dismiss that and I focused on his write-ups. Excellent all-around. Top detective in his department. His instincts were mentioned more than once.
“So Rich has the goods,” I said.
“If he doesn’t like how Thooft looks for this, I’d be inclined to listen,” said Spidermonkey.
“I’m more than inclined.” I told him about my meeting with Kimberly and my day in St. Seb.
He tapped his long fingers on his files. “I wasn’t sure about that, but you’re obviously onto something.”
“Were you able to dig anything up on Anton?” I asked.
“I want to show you this before we get to him.” He gave me another file. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was telling me. Electronic data. My phone. My laptop.
I held up my palms. “Want to give me a clue?”
“Someone has been trying to breach your communications hard during the three months before your attack. Three weeks before, the attempts doubled.”
“Anton?”
“In my opinion, no,” said Spidermonkey. “He had a six-year-old Dell with out of date virus and malware protection.”
“He wasn’t a hacker,” I said.
“Not even close, but I took a better look at whether your phone had been breached. Thooft wasn’t a computer guy, but one is easily hired”—he winked at me—“and while I was looking, I got to thinking.”
“About what?”
“You have a tight group of family and friends and it’s well-known.”
“So what?” I asked.
“So if someone wanted to know your whereabouts and they couldn’t get at you directly, maybe they’d try your boyfriend or your mother.”
“Did they?”
“Yes, but only certain people in your life had an uptick in attempts.”
“Which ones?” I asked.
“Those of us that know about your interest in The Klinefeld Group and Stella.”
I ate some cinnamon roll while he got out another file, this time with color-coded graphs for the nimrods like me. There were plenty of attempts going on, efforts to get into all our accounts, email, banking, etc.
“People are trying to hack The Girls?”
“They’re fabulously wealthy and elderly. Their accounts are under assault constantly. Can you imagine the payday if someone got into their checking account?”
“Cha-ching,” I said.
“To put it mildly,” said Spidermonkey, “but that’s not the concern here. You are always under assault from whatever obsessed man has decided you’re his type. Carolina has some of the same issues, but not nearly so much, unless you’re making headlines, then her attempts go up. Your dad has issues, but those are generally ex-cons trying to screw him over.”
“Chuck’s all,” I said, looking at his charts, “communications, not banking.”
Spidermonkey smiled at me. “Glad you saw that because that’s what made me dig. Take a look.”
I leafed through the pages. He had Aunt Tenne in there, Grandad and Grandma J, my grandparents in New Orleans, Claire, himself, Uncle Morty, Joy and all the academics we had working on the Stella inquiry. Basically, anybody close to me. Everyone looked steady for the last year, except me, Chuck, Fats, Mom, and The Girls.
“Attempts on our email and texts are way up in the last four weeks,” I said.
“Yes, but I have to say I didn’t think much of it. There were spikes in that data before when Lester died and when you were attacked in New Orleans. They also went high after Carolina had her stroke, too. St. Seb was predictable.”
“My head hurts,” I said.
“Drink your coffee,” he said, “and take a look at the communications tries. Pretty steady and didn’t change after the attack.”
“If it was Anton, they should’ve.”
“Unless he had a partner, yes.”
“So have you taken a hard look at Anton?” I asked.
“I have and so far what I’ve found matches his sister’s account of him.”
Behind me the café door banged open and Fats staggered in with Moe under her arm and sweat on her brow despite the icy fog hanging around outside.
“Mercy…I told you…to…wait,” she gasped.
“I decided against it,” I said. “You should go home. You don’t look so good.”
She took a deep breath and drew up to her full size, which seemed bigger than normal given the parka she was wearing. “I promised Chuck I’d stick with you.” She paused. “Is that coffee?”
“It’s a coffee house,” I said.
“Oh, God.” She dropped Moe and dashed to the back, yelling for the bathroom and startling the firefighters. A door slammed and Sally came running out with Pick.
“What the hell was that?”
“My friend,” I said. “Coffee makes her sick.”
“Pregnant?”
“Very.”
“Poor thing.” Sally lit a couple candy-striped Christmas candles and started brewing peppermint tea. Pickpocket and Moe had a good sniff and started tussling on the rug.
“So,” I said, “where were we?”
“Thooft,” said Spidermonkey. “Totally normal until six weeks ago like the cops said and then obsessed with you.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“Neither do I and I’ve reached out to Novak in Paris. His network is top notch with the sex trade.”
“I don’t like where this is going,” I said. “What are you hoping to find?”
“What was going on in those Incel sites with regards to you. I can see that Anton was on several boards, but there’s more to it than what I’m seeing. He was also on 4chan, but the discussions he was in have been deleted. Novak says he can get them back, but it’ll take a day or so. He’s busy just now.”
“You think there are more where Anton came from?” I asked, my stomach in a knot. “Could he have been kidnapping me for the sex trade?”
Spidermonkey reached out and patted my shoulder. “That’s a possibility. You wouldn’t believe what goes on in those groups these days.”
Yes, I would.
“Did Thooft need money? Presumably he wasn’t kidnapping me for his own pleasure.”
“I haven’t found any money issues, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have them. I’ll keep hunting, but you have to keep Fats with you.”
I glanced back toward the bathroom. “I’ll try, but it’s not looking good.”
“I’m sure Calpurnia would give you someone else, if you asked,” he said.
“She’s not going to ask.” Fats walked, dignity intact and looking like, Vomit? What vomit?
“I’m on it,” she said.
Sally gave her a cup of peppermint tea and came out to play tug of war with the dogs. “I won’t brew any more coffee.”
“Thanks, but that’s not necessary,” said Fats. “I’m fine. It was a temporary situation.”
Sally wrinkled her nose but, wisely, didn’t counter that. Spidermonkey said, “Well, I should probably go, ladies. Have a nice trip.”
“Trip?” I asked.
“To St. Sebastian. I hear they have a nice police chief down there.”
Fats gulped her tea, but sweat appeared on her brow again. “I’ll be ready…in a minute.”
Sally came over when I finished my latte and gathered up our debris.
“Thanks, Sally,” I said.
“No problem. Say hi to your mom,” she said. “Everybody still worries about her. People ask about her since she comes in with you.”
“That’s so nice.” I smiled, but that didn’t last long. Fats bent over doing what sounded like Lamaze breathing, including the hehehe. Sally ran away and Pick hid under my chair.
“What’s happening?” I asked. “Are you going to throw up again?”
“There’s nothing left,” she croaked.
“Can’t you do something?” Spidermonkey asked. “Isn’t there a pill?”
“There is and she won’t take it,” I said.
“The baby isn’t getting any drugs.” Fats straightened up. “I’m better.”
We looked sideways at her, but she was armed and, ya know, her, so I moved on. “Do you think The Klinefeld Group is behind the communications attempts?”
“I would think so, but they haven’t broken through so I can’t imagine why they’d be after your mother’s communication. There’s no reason to think she knows anything about what you’re doing. We may have another bad actor.”
“What’s going on?” Fats asked.
I gave her a quick rundown and she asked, “Could Thooft have anything to do with The Klinefeld Group?”
Spidermonkey shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. No connection to money, art, and his attempt was amateur hour. The way they went after the Bled Mansion and Lester, that was pretty slick, so I don’t see it.”
“He lived in Germany,” said Fats.
“With few connections to Germans. He was a teacher. His friends and life centered around the school,” said Spidermonkey. “Since Thooft tried to access Blankenship at Hunt, he could be connected to Kansas through someone he met on the Incel sites. I’m tracking where the attempts came from, but I’m not there yet.”
“What about his family?” I asked.
“There’s nothing to connect them to Blankenship, Kansas or The Klinefeld Group, but I’ll continue to look,” Spidermonkey said.
Fats breathed deep her tea and asked, “Did you tell him about the weird personality change and Kimberly?”
“I was getting to that.” I told Spidermonkey all my new info. “You’re a father. How weird is it that Ann didn’t want Kimberly to perform?”
“You’re sure she was talented?”
“It sounds like it, but I can dig.”
Spidermonkey steepled his fingers. “You should because it’s hard to say. My oldest thought for certain he was the next Tiger Woods, but he was only ever slightly better than average. My daughter was gifted with math like me but decided that literature was her thing. She was going to be a novelist.”
Fats got sharp-eyed. “What did you want her to be?”
“A physicist.”
“What is she?”
He laughed. “A physicist.”
Fats gritted her teeth. “You made her?”
“We didn’t make her get a PhD in physics. She came to it on her own.”
I forced myself not to lick the remaining icing off my plate. “Oh, yeah? Like how I’m a private investigator. They didn’t make me, but here I am.”
“I made her take math. All the math and she excelled, despite doing her level best to fight us every step of the way,” said Spidermonkey.
“Is your son a golfer?” Fats asked.
“He is, but it’s not his day job.”
“Because you didn’t support him?” she asked.
I don’t think we’re talking about Kimberly anymore.
“So…parents do what they think is best?” I asked. “Maybe Ann didn’t think Kimberly was any good.”
“I’d go to the school and talk to the teacher. But all these little things may not mean anything. Kimberly not going to Broadway is hardly unusual. Every little town has a kid that looks like they’ve got the X factor. Lots of people don’t want to do interviews and be in the press.”
There it was, a little feeling. Something wasn’t right. Those little things, as Spidermonkey called them, were important. We were missing something. “It can’t be a coincidence, can it?”
“Life is full of coincidences.”
I nodded, but my gut said no. And not just no, hell no.
After Fats finished her tea, Spidermonkey paid the bill and my bodyguard sprang to her feet. “Where to next?”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Never better.” She gave a thumbs-up to Sally behind the counter. “Those peppermint candles are the bomb.”
Sally held out a particularly pretty candy-striped candle. “Take it.”
“How much do I owe you?” she asked.
Sally winked. “On the house.”
Fats took the glass mason jar and happily carried it, still lit, to the door. “Let’s hit it.”
“Aren’t you going to blow that out?” I asked.
“Why?”
I walked out onto the street and blew out a frosty breath while Pick selected a parking meter to pee on. It was a hard decision. So many choices. “You can’t have an open flame in the truck.”
“Says who?” Fats asked.
“Common sense.”
“People smoke in cars and somebody I know puts on mascara while driving.”
“That’s you,” I said.
“There’s no law against it,” she said as Pick stretched out his lead to a Porsche, bypassing a battered Hyundai, to pee on the upscale meter. The poodle was a snob.
“There should be,” I said. “Speaking of the law, what was that wink about?”
“Do you really want to know?” Fats asked.
I pursed my lips.
“I didn’t think so.”
Spidermonkey came out and we hugged. He gave Fats a particularly good one and said, “I can’t wait for the baby to move.”
“She already has,” said Fats. “Three days ago.”
“Really. That’s unusual, isn’t it, Mercy?” he asked.
“For a first pregnancy, but it happens.”
Fats grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “She’s an overachiever already.”
God help her if she’s not.
“Were you poking her?” I asked.
Fats’ eyes shifted to the left and Spidermonkey laughed. “First time moms are always—”
Above us was a slam and a harsh scrape of metal against wood. We looked to see the window air conditioner on the second floor above us slide out of the window and hang by its accordion side panel. Fats shoved Spidermonkey out of the way, he hit me, and we both rammed into the Hyundai. The AC unit crashed onto the sidewalk, exploding into a million pieces and a woman above us shrieked.
“That almost hit you,” I said to Spidermonkey and he sagged on the Hyundai clutching his heart, nodding.
Sally ran out with a cup of coffee in her hand. “What the hell was that?”
“Air conditioner,” said Fats.
“I told Lenny to replace that thing,” she said. “Are you okay?”
We nodded and she banged back inside yelling for Lenny, whoever that was.
“Oh, my God,” Spidermonkey said. “What are the odds?”
“Not good.” I took his wrist and checked his pulse.
“And it’s my second time.”
“It can’t be,” said Fats.
He nodded gulping for air. “My uncle’s house in 1962. That one grazed me on the shoulder.”
“Holy crap.” His pulse was up there, but that was hardly surprising. “I’m calling Loretta.”
“No, don’t. She gets upset,” he said.
“I don’t blame her. I’m upset,” I said.
Fats cracked her knuckles and said, “I’m going to have a little talk with Lenny.”
“Who’s Lenny?”
“He owns the building. That’s an Airbnb up there. Dirtbag obviously did it on the cheap. Look at that window casing. It’s falling apart.”
We looked up and I became aware of muffled crying. “I’m going to check that out.”
I went in and saw Cory and his friends going up the back stairs.
“The guys have got it,” said Sally. “Don’t worry about it, Mercy.”
A man yelled down, “She won’t open the door.”
“She has to open the door!” she yelled back.
“She’s naked!”
Sally slapped her forehead. “It’s always something.”
“It really is,” I said. “But she’s crying. You’ve got to call 911.”
She slumped. “Alright. Geez, it’s not even Friday the thirteenth.” She started to call the cops, but just then a police cruiser wailed to a halt in front of the café. A couple of uniforms stopped to talk to Fats and Spidermonkey before rushing in.
“Ah crap!” said Parker. “It’s you.”
I met Parker when I was investigating Gavin Flouder’s murder and he was not a fan. I admit the feeling was mutual. Parker was just as disheveled, cranky, and bleary-eyed as I remembered, but the look of disgust he gave me was worse.
“I didn’t do it,” I said.
“That’s what they all say.”
“Who’s this mysterious they?”
Cory came pounding down the stairs. “We need the EMTs and a key.”
“What happened?” Sally asked, digging around in drawers.
“Your guest fell and she won’t let us in,” said Cory. “I told her we were firefighters.”
“She’s naked,” said Sally.
“That doesn’t matter.”
It kinda did. Cory was one of those guys that even sounded hot. Unless I was spurting from a carotid I wouldn’t let him in to see me all messed up on the floor. A girl needed good lighting, preferably candles, to be seen naked by Cory. He was on the St. Louis firefighter calendar and it left little to the imagination.
Sally held up a janky old key. “I found it.”
The other cop said, “EMS en route. ETA in two.”
“She’s going to freak. She doesn’t want help.” Cory shook his head and sighed, making him both hot and adorable. “She said she’ll kill herself if we come in.”
Parker jerked a thumb at me. “Send up the wiener threader.”
I thrust out a hip and stuck my nose in the air. “I’ll have you know I don’t thread wieners anymore.”
“Wieners?” Cory asked.
“Oh, that’s right,” said Parker. “You got fired from that stellar job. I wonder why.”
“It wasn’t a wiener problem. I’m good with wieners.”
“That’s what they all say.”
I threw up my hands. “They again.”
“I bet you miss them wieners,” said Parker.
Cory frowned. “What are we talking about? Hot dogs?”
Parker glared at him. “For God’s sake, go flex outside. You’re giving me acid reflux.”
“But what’s Mercy threading?”
“Penises, ya showboat,” barked Parker. “Get out.”
The firefighter drew back. “Huh?”
“Is it penises?” Sally asked. “That sounds wrong.”
“Penai?” suggested Cory.
The other cop stepped up. “Penes.”
“I like penai,” said Sally. “Mercy?”
“I don’t know. Penises, I guess,” I said. “The point is I don’t thread them anymore.”
“Why would you?” Cory asked and gave me a look that you never want to get from a superhot firefighter or any hot guy really.
“I was a nurse,” I said. “Catheters.”
“Oh.” Cory’s faced scrunched up. “Ew.”
Parker glared at me. “What do you mean ‘used to be’?”
“I’m a private investigator now,” I said with pride. I don’t know where it came from. Maybe just a desire to bother Parker.
“Oh, hell. That’s just what this friggin’ state needs, more weird shit happening,” he said. “I’m gonna retire and move to Florida.”
“‘Cause there’s no weird stuff going down in the Sunshine State,” I said.
“You’re not there, so it’s a start.”
Sally waved the key at me. “Are you going up or what?”
My phone buzzed and I checked the screen. Kimberly. Problem with my contract. Awesome. I pocketed my phone and reached for the key, but Parker snatched it away. “Get lost. You’re not a nurse anymore.”
“I’m still a licensed BSN,” I said.
“I rethought it,” said Parker with a sneer. “The last thing a naked middle-aged woman wants is you walking in.”
“You don’t know,” I said. “And what’s middle-aged got to do with it.”
Parker tossed his hat on a table. “Everything. I’ve got a wife and I know.”
“She might not be middle-aged.”
“Pretty sure she is,” said Cory. “Maybe even older.”
“Not helping,” I said.
“But he has a point,” said Sally. “I’m not sure I’d want you to see me naked.”
Cory turned to her and winked. “What about me?”
“For you I’d make an exception.” Sally winked back.
“I’m going to vomit,” said Parker.
I crossed my arms. “I’d enjoy that.”
Fats opened the door. “Ambulance is here. Mercy, Spi— he’s trying to drive.”
I hated to let that douchebag Parker win, but the EMT squeezing past Fats cinched it. Parker waggled his fingers at me and I ducked out. Spidermonkey was trying to book it to his Mercedes and we chased him down.
“Hey,” he said as Fats pinned him to his door. “Let go. I’m fine.”
“Loretta will be the judge of that,” said Fats.
“This isn’t my first rodeo.”
“Well, your last one was a long time ago, so deal with it,” I said.
Loretta was speedy. She showed ten minutes later with one and a half hands manicured. “Another air conditioner? What are the odds?”
“Third time could be the charm,” he said.
“That’s not funny.” Loretta hugged him and gave her husband the once over. “You seem okay, but I’ll drive and the boys can get the car.”
“Loretta—”
She stuck her finger in his face. “This is not a discussion.”
“It could be a negotiation,” he said, oozing charm.
“Not if you want to be able to find your golf clubs tomorrow.”
Spidermonkey sighed and said, “I won’t forget this.”
“Nobody will. It’s too weird,” I said. “Speaking of weird, Loretta, can I ask you a question?”
Loretta flipped an untamed curl out of her face and said, “It makes me nervous when you say things like that, but yes, you may.”
“If you had a kid that was so talented that when she tried out for the school musical the choir teacher said she could be on Broadway, would you freak and pull her out of any school musical stuff?”
Loretta pulled back and made a face. “No, what kind of parent do you think I am?”
“So that’s weird?”
“Absolutely. We supported our son’s pro golfing dream until reality winnowed him out. That’s what you do.”
“Even if you were very private and didn’t like publicity.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be my publicity, would it? If the child wants it, they deserve a chance, regardless of the parent’s issues,” said Loretta and Fats gave her a bear hug that literally took Loretta off her feet.
When Fats put her down, Loretta asked, “What’s that for?”
“Proving me right,” said Fats and she pointed me toward her truck.
“Is this a case?”
“It is,” said Spidermonkey with a nod at me. “I’ll explain in the car.”
I waved and we got in Fats’ truck. Pick decided today was the day he was going to ride in the front seat and I battled him as my phone buzzed again. Kimberly. Not a good sign.
“What does she want?” Fats asked.
“Something about our contract.”
“Do you think she’s changed her mind?”
“Maybe, but, if she has, I’m sure her mother’s behind it.”
“I’m liking Ann less and less,” said Fats.
I pushed Pick back in his seat with Moe and threatened no biscuits for a month. He knew I was lying. You have to give giant poodles biscuits. You have to. There’s no choice involved.
“Your phone’s going again,” said Fats.
I put my arm up, blocking another attempt by Pick, and answered with the other hand, “Hi, Kimberly.”
“It’s Chief Stratton down in St. Seb.”
I checked the screen. Sure enough. It was Stratton and I liked that a whole lot better. If Kimberly was going to fire me, I’d rather do it later than sooner. “What’s up?”
“I’ve got another tidbit for you,” she said. “I don’t know if it’s relevant, but I thought I’d give you a buzz.”
“On Anton or Kimberly?” I asked.
“Kimberly.”
Stratton and her sister had gone out to dinner at Crabapples last night and got to talking with Karen and Carrie. It turned out both of the ladies were involved with the town fair in different capacities. They remembered when Anton left and his seat went vacant. There was a big meeting and they decided to offer the slot to Kimberly. It was kind of a tradition to keep seats in the same family and the general feeling was that Kimberly was the right choice. She did a ton of volunteering at the fair and had since she was a kid. She was social and knew everyone. They thought she’d be willing to do more promoting and interviews than Anton ever did. As expected, she was delighted and accepted.
“Let me guess,” I said. “She changed her mind.”
“Yes, she did. The day after, she called up and said she was too busy with the vet practice and her kids.”
“Did they give it to Gregory or Kevin?”
“I think the board was a little pissed and the seat went to Sheila Molina. She’s great and it worked out,” said Stratton.
“You think it was Ann getting in the way again?”
“That’s the consensus.”
“What is her problem? Is she just a jealous, crappy mom or what?”
Fats glanced over and said, “That gets my vote.”
“It doesn’t play that way, but it’s hard to say what goes on when nobody’s looking.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I said.
“And one more thing,” said Stratton.
“I can’t imagine what’s next.”
Fats raised a brow and I shrugged.
“Now this isn’t exactly a fact, more like a curiosity.”
“Hit me.”
Stratton told me about a fair tradition that went back to the beginning. Every year a local girl was named the St. Sebastian Town and Country Fair Queen and it was a big deal. The girls would be sponsored by a local business and do all kinds of activities to promote the fair before competing on stage in a Miss America-type deal. It sounded like a nightmare to me—your whole town judging you like cattle—I got that on a regular basis, so forget it, but most girls in St. Seb wanted to compete. There were good scholarships involved and some notoriety, if you were up for that. Kimberly was a beautiful, outgoing, and popular girl. Everyone expected her to do it. Stratton’s sister, Amber, did compete, coming in second, and she said she was relieved because she figured Kimberly would walk away with it. She was that kind of girl, but she didn’t come to any of the preliminary meetings for information or anything.
“Did Amber ever ask her why?” I asked.
“She didn’t really see her. The fair’s at the end of the summer and there was all the college prep and they didn’t really run around together.”
“Probably Ann again,” I said.
“That’s what they all think,” said Stratton.
“But they like Ann?”
“They do. She’s a nice lady apparently.”
I seriously doubt that.