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It was about 5 p.m. when Di finally had a chance to get close to Mac and out of earshot of the others, as they were on their way to give their dinner orders to Aunt Mary.
It had occurred to Di that they should probably be careful about upsetting the woman if they didn’t want to go the way of the mayor, but, so far, he didn’t think they’d said anything she could take offense at. Mostly, she’d done the talking.
“I had a chat with Velveteen’s assistants,” Mac noted, before he’d filled her in about what the sheriff had said. “From their perspective, at least, Velveteen is pretty thoroughly peeved at having to play mayor, so I think we’re right that she’s out as a suspect.”
Nodding, Di agreed and told her about his conversation with the sheriff, as they walked slowly toward the diner.
Listening and nodding, Mac pondered, “Well, I always suspected he was on the take, so that’s no surprise. But you’re right. Why kill the mayor, when he’s making him rich?”
Playing devil’s advocate, Di added, “Well, apparently, it was the mayor who forced the sheriff to work with the state police to arrest the VanRowe kid.”
Mac stared at him like he was crazy, the late afternoon sunlight shining off her brown hair in a way which made her look like she had a halo. Di had to try not to sigh, as she went on.
“That’s nuts. He’s the local law enforcement. If the state police say, ‘jump,’ he’d better already be reaching for the ceiling.”
“I don’t think he sees it that way, though,” Di shrugged.
Leading him back toward the table where she’d bought Peewee’s frog costume earlier, Mac shook her head.
“I’m not sure that man knows the way the law works at all.”
Although he kept his voice low, Di wondered, “Do you think that’s why the mayor was trying to have him removed from office? Maybe he was afraid that, if they didn’t play ball, the state police may start looking into how the town was run a bit more?”
Holding up a doggy crab costume, Mac stared at him defensively, not answering this.
“What? Peewee always gets crabby when he’s in big crowds for several days.” Still, seeing his look, she added, “No? Very well.”
She continued to dig through the costumes, musing.
Of course, she’d also entirely left Di to his own devices, as Peewee looked up to him with a look which clearly said, Help me!
She was also ignoring the case.
“Uh, Mac, I don’t think we need . . .”
“Nonsense,” Mac shut him down, choosing . . . heaven only knew what and paying Lily from The Well-Dressed Pet for the outfits.
At the other end of the table, someone was pondering a pencil costume which was evidently for a python.
While Lily couldn’t have been comfortable in the heat in her usual all-black ensemble, her pink hair shining in the sun—which would probably match her skin if she were out here for much longer—she was clearly happy with her profits. As if to prove it, she had on a tank top to show off the tattoo which had her own personal spin on Field of Dreams: “If I Stitch It, They Will Come.”
As usual with pet owners who enjoyed having their furry friends in costumes, they were proving her right.
Shaking his head, Di stared down to the dog mournfully.
“Sorry, buddy. It looks like it’s Halloween for you.”
Peewee moped.
Eventually, they made their way back over to Jeanine’s hostess booth outside the diner.
The poor woman looked done in. Her hair was kinking and coming out of her snood, and her red lipstick was now worn off down to a general sort of pink.
“Doesn’t she ever let you go home?” Di wondered.
But Jeanine shrugged.
“Grandma’s paying me and all the other workers triple time for this.” Leaning forward, she added quietly, “There’s a summer trip to Italy my college is offering next year, and I am not missing out.”
Her voice went even lower.
“I get $10 out of every 25-40 of each of the shirts sold, too.”
Leaning back again, she looked perkier at these thoughts, if still exhausted.
The crowd around the diner hadn’t gone down. They only seemed more tired and the children more fretful. Peewee went over nose-to-nose with a bulldog in a bee costume, who’d collapsed in a sulk on the sidewalk while his humans waited for dinner. His look clearly said, You and me both, brother.
Still, Jeanine brought him back, her head cocking toward the door.
“Head on in for your to-go orders, officers,” she said loudly enough that no one would protest, but, by this point in the early evening, no one had enough energy left to care.
Behind them, the streets were still packed, and the Friday buses of tourists from further away were just arriving and gleefully enjoying everything for the first time. On the third stage near the diner, a rather raucous barber shop quartet were doing versions of Nine-Inch Nails songs, which, when sung in four-part harmony, were kind of blowing Di’s mind.
None of those waiting even noticed.
Heading in, Mary greeted them with a nod but was too wrapped up in orders to actually speak to them.
Instead, Barry, her half-Latino grandson from her son’s family came up to them, smiling. He was probably only about fifteen to sixteen and still in high school, but he seemed much perkier than his cousin outside. That triple overtime was apparently doing its job.
“Hey, guys,” he greeted them warmly. “Got the usual list?”
Di slid it over to him, nodding. He was a normal sight in here, as the department often got either him or Alex to do the food runs.
Looking it over, Barry started tapping it all into an iPad while still talking to them.
“So you guys wanna go in on the ‘Welcome to the Job’ present granny’s buying for Velveteen?”
Trying not to give Mac a sideways look, Di smiled. Aunt Mary was definitely working on getting the whole town to move on quickly.
“What is it?”
Still tapping and staring at the screen, Barry shrugged.
“No idea. Wait.” Staring at the piece of paper with the dinner orders for a second and then turning it to Di, he asked, “Is that a ‘2’ in front of the sheriff’s apple pie order? He usually goes for one apple and one peach pie piece.”
Staring at it to make sure, Di nodded. Traditionally, every man wrote down their own orders, and some were easier to read than others.
“I think so, yeah,” Di agreed.
Staring at him as though the world had changed, Barry added, “He was going through the peach with the mayor and half the town yesterday, too.”
Di shrugged.
“Maybe he got tired of it? No idea.”
After a moment, Barry shrugged, too, and went back to transcribing the order.
“Anyway, I think granny’s waiting till she figures out what to give Velveteen. It proba’ly depends on how much money she gets.”
Neither Di nor Mac got a chance to answer, though, as a new arrival came to the counter.
Looking up at her, Barry added, “Hey, doc. The usual?”
Beside Di, Doc MacDougal nodded. She looked fabulously well-dressed—given that it was the fête where all the townspeople generally mooched around—in a rose and ecru business suit which didn’t go with her copper hair, but, with the kind of confidence born of knowing every person in town’s medical secrets, she pulled it off, anyway.
“You got it. For me and Silas. I’ll come back in a while. I’m gonna go get some lemonade.”
“You got it,” Barry agreed, typing away, with only one look to Di and Mac. “I’ll send yours along soon, too.”
“Ooo, lemonade, that sounds good,” Mac said beside him, and Di had to try not to stare, knowing she hated lemonade with a passion. Still, given the look the two women were giving each other, Di guessed this was as good an opportunity to talk as any.
They made their way out, then, saying little, and wandered down to the very end of the fête, where the fresh-squeezed lemonade booth waited. Unlike most of the booths, some of the food and drinks weren’t sold by those who normally lived in the town. They were run by carnies who moved from place to place, like the lemonade guy.
After Di ordered himself one to save Mac—knowing he’d get teased back at the booth but accepting that his place was to get teased about something, so girly drinks were as good an excuse as anything—they all moved a little away to wait for their orders, and he saw the brilliance of the doc’s plan here.
The booth wasn’t as heavily surrounded by visitors as everything else, as a lot of people got distracted before they made it this far. Since there wasn’t anything after this point to see, either, there was more room to stand away from others’ earshot. And, it took a while to make the drink, so they had an excuse to hang around and chat without it seeming suspicious.
Starting immediately on her information, Doc MacDougal seemed to be staring at the sky. “I got back a report from Asheville.”
Although he knew he probably should have let her finish, Di had to know.
“How?”
Toxscreens didn’t usually come back that quickly. Heck, as far as he knew, they’d barely had the time to get the body, given all the other distractions of getting it there past the fête.
Doc smiled at him.
“Their medical examiner and I went to college together. He’s still sweet on me. Now that I’m divorced . . .”
Mac looked impressed.
“Seduction through autopsy? Neat.”
Laughing softly, the doc went on.
“Yes, well. Anyway, it was apparently datura which got him.”
Di and Mac stared at each other.
“Jimson weed.”
Di was still unenlightened.
“Basically, a small white flower,” the doc explained. “But it’s toxic beyond belief. In India, people often use it to commit suicide.”
Di frowned. He was no botanist. If it wasn’t a rose, he wouldn’t know it—and, even then, he couldn’t tell the types apart aside from their colors.
Still in his ridiculous frog costume, Peewee stared back and forth between them in fascination.
“Here’s the thing,” the doc whispered, staring at the ground. “I saw some flowering around the back of the diner. For someone who knew what they were dealing with . . .”
For a moment, Di’s blood ran cold. Because, as much as he didn’t want it to be Aunt Mary, she seemed a lot more likely to have enough brains to identify a plant and find a way to poison someone with it than their venal, inbred sheriff.