The little boy stood in front of me staring, one finger up his nose, the other on his crotch as he held such a secure grip on his private parts it was obvious that he needed to relieve himself. I tried to ignore the kid as I sat by myself in the booth and instead focused on the two large banana milkshakes, held in my hands, while I took alternating sips from both.
“That’s a lotta desserts,” the kid said, finally.
“Yep,” I replied curtly, not letting him ruin the moment as my taste buds were treated to what they had been desperately craving for the better part of the afternoon.
“Is that a map?” he asked, pointing to my detective’s notebook which was wide open on the table before me. I had killed what felt like an eternity waiting for my banana milkshakes by digging the pen and pad out of my EDC sheath and sketching a layout of the chaotic fairgrounds.
“Tommy!” snapped the kid’s mother, before running over and grabbing him by both of his hands. “Stop doing that,” she admonished, before giving me a leery look as she noticed the two-hundred-and-forty-pound man all by his lonesome double-fisting milkshakes with a look of pure bliss on his face.
I ignored Tommy’s mom and slurped back the rest of one of my shakes, silently thanking Declan for insisting I take a PI retainer by sticking some bills from the duffel bag in Jasper’s locker into my pocket earlier, because the Cloverdale Dairy Queen’s debit and credit card machines were down and the store was only accepting cash. I also said a little prayer in my head for Jasper, and couldn’t help but feel sad that while my actions that afternoon had helped reveal the truth, they had done very little to lessen the sting of my lumberjack pal’s murder.
Having emptied the first milkshake cup, I shifted my focus to the remaining one when the epic instrumental theme “Head Of The Table”—better known as the entrance music for WWE Superstar Roman Reigns—began to boom from my iPhone’s speakers.
I knew who was calling by the personalized ringtone and picked up right away.
“Hey Pop.”
“How’s it going, Boy?”
“Coroner was on scene by the time I got there,” I said, referring to my efforts to get to Kelly Lewis ASAP while he was still in custody of the country fair security.
“The coroner?!?”
“Yeah. Turns out Lewis expired right before we arrived.”
“Jesus.”
“There’s more.”
I told him about Lewis’s complaint about his throat being sore and the punch I had delivered during our knife fight.
“Could still be something else and just a coincidence,” he said, matter-of-factly. “And even if not, we’re talking an open and shut act of self-defence. Guy came at you with a knife in front of a hundred witnesses, so you won’t even get as much as a slap on the wrist.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I am. Plus, with headcases like that, you never know what kind of drugs—legal or illegal—they’re pumping into their systems. Seems more likely that it could have been an accidental OD, or something in response to his crime of passion.”
“Maybe. Either way, I thought you could get a jump on things for me with your OIC buddy.”
“You’re not sticking around to give a statement?”
“Not after the day I had.”
I filled in my old man on everything that transpired after discovering Lewis had died. When I got to the part about Declan and the peacock, my father was laughing heartily.
“What I would have given to have been there for that!” he said, still cackling. “All these years and he’s still scared of those damn birds.”
“Petrified.”
Eventually my old man’s laughter faded and he cleared his throat. “Where are you headed now?”
“Home to crash. I’m going to need a good night’s rest before I come into the office tomorrow.”
There were a few moments of silence on the other end of the line.
“You mean the Shillelagh.”
“No, Pop. I mean Ounstead & Son Investigations,” referring to our private investigators’ office on the second floor above our family pub. “Unless you don’t have any work for me?”
I heard the sound of frantic hands on a desktop followed by the phone receiver dropping, before it was picked up and my father got back on the line. “Oh, I’ve got work for you, don’t you worry about that.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Roger that.”
I was about to end the call when I heard my father speak once more. “I’m proud of you, John.”
“Thanks, Pop.”
I placed my phone down on the table and took a deep breath. By the time I exhaled something inside of me had started to shift. It felt good.
I took a long sip of my shake, and was enjoying the treat and the solitude, only to have my moment of peace interrupted by a text message alert on my phone.
I put my DQ cup down and checked my screen, expecting to see a follow up from my father. Instead, the name Grasby was there.
“Shit.”
I opened the text and read the message.
What the fuck, Ounstead?!? I heard you left the rodeo? You’re supposed to headline tonight’s show—we had a deal!
I started to type an apology, explaining that I was unable to make it and would find a way to make it up to my pro-wrestling boss when another message came through.
Annie.
I abandoned the draft I had been writing for Grasby and checked what she had sent. It was one of the selfies we had just taken, where we were cheek-to-cheek, her smiling like a beautiful country gal, and me looking like an overgrown and exhausted goof wearing her too-small Stetson. Nevertheless, there was no denying that I had a lightness in my eyes and playful expression I had not seen in a long time.
I grabbed my DQ cup with my other hand and pulled it close for another sip. But it never made it to my lips, because that’s when I first noticed it. I put down my shake and rubbed my face with my free hand. I was just tired, I thought to myself. My eyes were playing tricks on me. I scrolled up and took a closer look at the pic Annie had sent me earlier, the one of Kelly Lewis, dead, lying face down on the table in the portable while in custody with the country fair security guards. I clicked on the photo and made it full screen.
It was still there.
I couldn’t believe it. Holding my phone with my left hand, I used my thumb and index finger to zoom in even further on the image. There was no denying it. What I thought I saw was there. My pulse quickened. My mind raced. And ten-minutes later, I was back at the rodeo.