Don't Sweat the Small Stuff (5 page)

“I can set it up. He’s about one hundred feet away.”

He stared at the window, holding the bottle with two hands. “Angie is staying over, Skip. Tonight.”

“Here? In the trailer? It’s a little small, James.”

“No. Not
here.
She’s in that trailer by Moe’s. It’s the yellow and white one. I should probably head over there and—” He hesitated.

So Angie Clark
did
overnight with the carnies.

“You’re right, James. You go, man. Stay with the girl. I’ll deal with this. After all,
I’m
the one who wanted to have a private
detective agency.
I’m
the one who wants to buy a new truck. I’ll just head on over to Winston’s trailer, and if
I
solve the case, I’ll be sure to share half the money with you.”

My voice was about three times louder than when I started.

“Because you are my best friend, amigo. Why don’t you just let me take care of everything?”

He stood there with his mouth open.

“I would hate to inconvenience you, dude. Your romantic relationships are far more important than the money we could make.” I’d worked myself into a royal rage.

I knew what drove me to rag on him. My relationship with Em. It was going nowhere. James picked women up like litter by the roadside. He tripped over relationships every day of his life, but I had the love of my life and she couldn’t get past the fact that I was emotionally immature. She hated the fact that I was tied to the dreams of James Lessor, and not really motivated to go out and find someone willing to pay me megabucks for having no real skills. And, truth be told, she was probably right. But life is a bitch.

“Skip, I—”

“Just go. You already blew her off on the ride. Don’t blow her off on anything else. I’ll deal with Winston.”

“She’s a bright girl, Skip. A Bluffton Beaver.”

“A what?”

“It’s not a joke. She’s a Bluffton Beaver.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m not standing in the way of that relationship. You and a beaver.”

“Graduated from some school in Ohio. Bluffton University. Their mascot is the beaver. Do you believe that?”

I didn’t.

I could hear music from the midway, ’80’s rock, “Don’t Stop Believing,” a 1981 hit by Journey. Long before I was born. Maybe I had more at stake than James. Maybe I needed to believe more than he did that I could make something of myself.

I turned around and walked into the bedroom. Three steps. But at least there was some distance. I needed the money, and I felt like I needed a relationship that would settle down. And deep down inside, I knew I needed to find out what Winston Pugh knew. The little guy had invited me over, and I was sure that there would be a couple of free drinks. With no other plans, that seemed like a pretty good idea. Free drinks and a chance to find out what made a Moe Show tick.

“Skip, I’m going over to Angie’s trailer.”

I flopped down on the bed, hands behind my head, and didn’t say anything.

“Remember what Moe said.”

“About what?”

“Don’t tell this guy what we’re here for. Somebody in this show is apparently a killer.”

“Oh, yeah. Thanks for reminding me.”

“Hey, pard, we’re going to be trained on the rides at eight a.m. tomorrow morning. By ten we’ll be running a couple of them.”

“No shit? Eight a.m.?”

“That’s the time, Skip.

Life just got better and better and better.

I had a slight headache, probably from the two mimosas, so I drank a beer, popped two aspirin, and walked over to Winnie Pugh’s Petting Zoo.

The dusty ground inside the ring was covered in hoof prints, and three glass-domed gum dispensers were mounted on metal poles by the fence posts. They were crammed with some kind of brown pellets, fifty cents for a handful of pressed processed grain to feed the head-butting goat or miniature donkey, or even the black pig that huddled by the rail. The pig eyed me warily.

Pugh was directing a stream of water from a green garden
hose into a metal trough, and the tiny, bedraggled, gray donkey was wetting his thick pink tongue and taking long swallows of the liquid.

The dust-covered pig approached me, a longing look in its eyes, and I knew right away I should have had fifty cents worth of pellets in my hand. Did Pugh even feed the animals, or did he just depend on the customers? Oh well, I’d learn.

“Get’s hot like this and I can’t keep enough water in this trough.” He looked up at me and again spat tobacco at my feet. “How you doin’, young man?”

I nodded as a mangy chicken strode to the wet tobacco stain and took an inquisitive peck of the offensive brown spit.

“Kiddies be comin’ in tonight. Linda will be out here makin’ sure that all the animals behave themselves.”

“Linda?”

He gave me a sideways glance, then leered at me, the gap between his stained teeth mocking me. “Linda Reilly. She’s not fond of the chicken or the ducks, and she hates pigeons and most other birds, but she’s pretty good with all the other animals. They like her. She respects them and they respect her.”

I couldn’t build a lot of respect for the butt-butting goat, the deer, or any of the other animals on the lot. They were animals for God’s sake. But then, I’d never owned a pet in my life, so I didn’t understand animals.

“So, this Linda, she works for you?”

Garcia, the sheepdog, strolled out from behind Pugh’s trailer, stopping short when he saw me. Finally, he walked over, rubbing against the short guy’s leg. The dog was almost as big as Winston. He eyed me with distrust. I don’t respect animals, and they don’t respect me. It is mutual.

“Linda lives with me, young man. She’s my paramour. And she does other stuff.”

I wasn’t sure what paramour meant. I’d check it out at
dictionary dot com tonight, but I assume it meant that Winston slept with her.

He walked back to the pipe sticking out of the ground and turned off the faucet. “Why don’t you come on in and you can meet sweet Linda. Okay?”

A radio played inside and I could hear an off-tune warbling voice singing along with Kenny Chesney. No shoes, no shirt, no problem.

I nodded to Pugh.

The trailer was smaller than the Airstream that James and I shared and it listed slightly from what appeared to be a low tire.

“You like tequila?”

It contained alcohol. How could I not like it?

As we walked up the wobbly wooden stairs, the big dog let out a low growl. Looking down at him, I saw him snap at me. I vowed to stay away from him for the next three days. Or for the rest of my life.

I was hit with the odor of greasy fried food.

“Burgers, fish, or chicken. The girl loves to fry meat.”

She turned from the stove with a big smile.

“Hi, honey.” He reached up and threw his arms around her waist snuggling his head under her bosom. As he squeezed her tight she leaned down and kissed the top of his shiny bald scalp.

“This here is—” He paused. “What is your name?”

“I’m Skip, Linda. Glad to meet you.”

She released the little man and grabbed my hand. Dazzling me with her green sparkling eyes, she held my hand for several seconds, then let go with a sigh and turned to her skillet.

“Skip, you’re just in time for some early dinner. Winston and I get busy with the zoo from five to nine so we always eat early. Do you like fried frog legs?” She pushed a limp lock of brown hair from her face, never losing that smile.

I hesitated. Over the years James, a culinary grad, had
cooked up some adventurous dishes, but he’d never fixed anything like that. I’d never tried frog legs, but I was certain I would hate the taste.

“I just had lunch, Linda. I’m stuffed.” A weak lemonade and a beer. It was preferable to her early dinner offer.

Pugh set three paper cups on the small kitchen table and poured from a gallon jug of Jose Cuervo. “Nectar from the desert fruit, young man.” He eyed his cup, then threw it back, smacking his lips as he swallowed the cactus juice.

I followed suit.

My eyes watering, I watched as Linda swallowed her shot, poured herself a second and in record time swallowed that as well. She continued to flip the coated frog legs in the frying pan.

“Let’s talk about the Moe Show. That is why you dropped by.”

I nodded. “It is. And to be neighborly.”

“Neighborly?” Linda adjusted the heat on her stove.

Pugh poured himself a second shot and leaned back in the cheap wicker kitchen chair. “There’s no such thing as neighbors here, is there Linda?”

“No, honey.”

“You and me, young man, there’s no real friendship here. No close relationship. Understand?”

I thought I did.

“Don’t get close to anyone. I tell you that for your own good.”

It seemed like everyone wanted to make that point. I didn’t say a word.

“So you’re only with us for this weekend, right?”

“Right.”

“They’re all a bunch of crooks. Lying, stealing, thieving scoundrels. From the food vendors to the management.”

“Moe?”

“I said all of’em didn’t I? They’re
all
in it for themselves.”

Well, I thought, aren’t we all?

“I’m the biggest draw they got, boy, and they’re tryin’ to push me out.”

“Yeah?”

“First off it’s Disney, tryin’ to get me to cease operation. You saw that attorney’s letter?”

I nodded.

“Now it’s the ride guys.”

“The ride guys?”

“They’re pushin’ me, boy.”

“Why would the ride guys want you out?”

“More room for their rides. Whatchu think? Put another big DT-type contraption here. And then where are the kiddies gonna pet a goat or feed a pig?”

“DT?”

“Dragon Tail.”

“So, you’re getting forced out because of space? For another ride?”

“Oh, they haven’t said it yet, but Moe and the sisters—Schiller and Crouse—they want me out so the ride guys can put another machine in. It’s just as obvious as it can be, son. I ain’t gonna let it happen. Ain’t gonna.”

Linda eyed the tequila bottle, and I was certain she was going to take one more shot.

“Winston is quite certain that they’re going to try to move him out this summer.” She poured her third shot.

“All the signs are there,” he paused. “What was your name again?”

“Skip.”

“All the signs are there, boy. I asked for a new arena, a new water tank, and they can’t come up with the bucks. For God’s sake man, it’s a
drop
in the bucket. I asked for a little more money to fix this trailer up just a bit and again, they can’t come up with
the money. It’s a drop in the bucket. But when it comes to a new ride, well then they’re tryin’ to raise all kinds of money. I’m bein’ pushed, boy. Pushed.”

Linda Reilly nodded her head. She raised the paper cup of tequila and poured it down her throat. Cast-iron stomach.

“You see, we hear the sisters talking. Schiller and Crouse. And their brother, Moe Bradley. You know, there are coconut telegraphs out there and people hear stuff. People tell me things.”

The little guy jumped from his chair and grabbed my hand. I stood up and he marched five or six steps to the door. Flinging it open, he pointed.

“You see it out there? The other animal on the grounds?”

The green Dragon Tail was waving in the sky, to the left, to the right.

“They’re talkin’ about some ride that’s even bigger than the DT. They’re figuring out how to afford it and get it on the summer tour.”

“Don’t forget about Disney, Winston.” Linda’s voice got louder and she slurred her words. “You know, how they’re trying to shut you down, too.”

“I mentioned Disney, Linda. I did. It’s all part of it. A damned conspiracy, that’s what it is.” He glared out at the ride, slammed the door, and went back to his chair. Huffing and puffing, he slammed his fist on the cheap vinyl table.

The little man was getting wound up, and I thought it might be a good time to get to the heart of the matter.

“It just seems like everyone is against him.” She stood there for a moment with a greasy spatula in her hand.

“Winston, you’re talking about the rides, and I was curious about them.” Now was the time to confront him about the death. Just ease into it. “I heard there have been some accidents in the last year. Pretty serious accidents. Am I right that someone died after falling off a ride? I believe I read that somewhere.”

The only sound in the small trailer was the radio playing softly. Pugh stared up at me with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Winston, you know about the accidents, right?”

I’d apparently stepped over the line. I don’t know how, but it was obvious I’d crossed a boundary.

“Accidents? You want to talk about accidents? You’re brand-new here, less than a day, and you want to talk about accidents?” He stared up at me and searched my face with his mournful eyes.

This little man had been with the show for a long time. He had to know everything.

“Winston, I read about some accidents. Some of the rides that maybe jumped the tracks? A seat belt might have broken? A safety bar—”

“So you’re here to ask me questions?” He stared at me.

Linda turned from her skillet, the dripping spatula in her hand.

“I’m here because James asked me to be here.” Be low key. Don’t let them know you’re investigating them. “That’s all.” This didn’t seem to be a good idea, but I kept on. “I’m sure someone was killed. I feel certain that I heard that.” Heard it from Moe himself.

The two of them sat there, staring at each other, then at me. The tension was as thick as molasses.

“Winston?”

“Who are you, young man?”

“I told you, I’m Skip.” The little man was having trouble with my name. “I’m James’s friend. You mentioned it earlier. James is my roomate. He’s the new marketing director.”

Pugh licked his lips, staring into my eyes.

“Uh-huh.” Nodding in patronizing fashion, he said, “Young man, I think you’d better leave now.”

It was my turn to stare. I’d missed something here. “Did I say something to offend you?”

“No.” Shaking his head he stacked the paper cups on the table. “But Linda and I have to get ready for tonight’s show.”

“You need to go.” The lovely Linda, now frowning and her eyes shooting daggers at me, held the spatula in her fist like a weapon, and I got the message.