Fat Cat Spreads Out (19 page)

The cat was back home after another long day at the fair. His owner fed him but skipped her own dinner to sit at the computer in the office. She also skipped a petting session. He tried to jump into her lap twice but was shooed off. He snaked between her legs, but it had no effect. They were both unhappy with each other.

When Chase got to the office, she was determined to finish up the data for Tanner. She pored over the screen, coming up with dessert bar descriptions for the rest of the products that surprised her. For some reason, she was
in the groove. Glowing imagery rolled from her fingertips.

Pink Lemonade Bars: Bring yourself a taste of a lazy summer day, lolling in a hammock.

Much better than “You've never tasted better Lemon Bars.”

Oatmeal Raspberry Jam Bars: Gooey goodness that will bring back warm memories on winter days.

Peanut Butter Fudge Bars: Go ahead, be a kid again.

That was better than the one she'd sent him.

She liked the Harvest Bar description she had done before: Imagine a crisp fall day, just before the frost is on the pumpkin.

She kept that one and several others. She sat back and admired her work. The descriptions were good. At least, she liked them.

She finally sent the file to Tanner shortly before one
AM
, telling him she would have the rest of the pictures by midweek, when the shop was back to normal. Since they would be closed Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, he would get them on Wednesday, but she didn't say that. He replied immediately that he would look at her file.

As she was brushing her teeth, her cell phone chirped. Quickly rinsing her mouth, she saw it was a text from Mike. At this hour! No doubt he hadn't called because he didn't think she would be up. It seemed no one was sleeping that night. The gist of the text was that Jay had checked Dr. Drood's credentials and phoned Mike just now to say there were none. The poor old vet had let everything lapse. Mike had let his vet friend know.

Chase wondered if Mike would pay the doctor anything. Knowing him, she thought he might.

Just before turning out her bedside lamp, Tanner texted again asking for payment. They didn't have a formal agreement, and the amount seemed steep. Granted, he had put in a lot of time and was doing excellent work. Her checking account might not stretch that far, though, and she didn't want to sneak a payment past Anna. She would have to spill it all to Anna very soon. Maybe tomorrow night, after the fair, when she could show her the homepage screen. If Tanner had added some of her new data, that would help.

She had to put him off one more day.

*   *   *

Sunday morning, Inger
rode to the fair with Chase. She wanted to see the Fancy Cat Contest. She chattered nonstop on the way, clearly in a good mood, and told Chase she would hang out until then, watching other competitions and seeing the booths. Chase made sure she had money to buy lunch and some snacks.

“Be sure you're drinking enough,” Chase said, vaguely remembering that pregnant women needed to drink a lot of liquids. She had no idea why that should be so, but Inger wasn't doing much else to actively benefit the baby. True, she wasn't drinking alcohol or smoking, but pregnant women did all sorts of special, weird things. At least Inger had a heavy, lined, woolen coat.

Tanner sent three more texts on the way in. She muted her phone.

The two women parted ways at the midway, and Chase hurried to the big building to drop Quincy off. Patrice, already in her Madame Divine getup, was leaving the vet's place in tears. The fortune-teller shoved past Chase and rushed down the hallway, so Chase didn't even get a chance to offer any sympathy.

Once inside the back room, she asked Mike if his cousin was okay.

“She's still being chewed out by Viktor.”

“Her grandfather?” She had been so impressed by his imperious demeanor. An elegant gentleman. But maybe one who held on to his anger?

“Yes, Viktor can be a harsh man sometimes. He's still upset she didn't tell him she was a suspect. He's also incredibly angry that she's stealing again after she went for such a long period without doing it. It's bad for his health.”

“Why is he so angry about that? Is he overly upset about things because of his cancer treatment?”

“No, that's not it at all. He's spent a lot of money on counseling for Patrice, to cure her of her addiction to stealing things. He even sent her to San Francisco to see a renowned hypnotherapist. The man claimed he could cure anyone of anything. It cost a lot of money. And, until now, we all thought it had worked.”

Oh yes, that made sense. He loved his granddaughter and had put a lot of effort into helping her. “How much is the cat collar worth?”

“I don't know, but it's a lot.”

If Patrice had it, Chase would think she would give it
back to get her poor grandfather off her back. “It's too bad no one has found it.”

“The police have searched almost every inch of this fairground. If it were here, I think it wouldn't still be missing.”

“Do you think someone has sold it?”

Mike shrugged. “Doesn't matter what I think. I sure wish someone could find it, though, to keep peace in my family.”

Chase wished someone would find it—or turn it in—to get Mike off the hook for murder. She was still sure the two crimes were connected.

She noticed that several cages had cats in them today, besides the black one that was usually there. “Are all these cats being held here for the contest?”

Mike nodded. There was a gigantic Maine Coon, a pair of Siamese in the same cage, and another glossy black cat, this one with a white-tipped tail and four white boots.

“Are their costumes here?”

Mike grinned. “You want a peek at the competition, don't you? No, they didn't leave them here.”

Oh well, she had tried. “I'll be back around one to get Quincy into his costume.”

“You finally decided on a costume? What's he going to be? Puss in Boots?”

Chase gave him what she hoped was a sly grin. “It's a good one, but I'm not telling. You'll have to wait and see.”

She stepped inside the exhibit hall on her way out of the building. A Fancy Dog Contest was about to start. She
looked around for Inger, but didn't see her there. Nervous dog owners clustered about with their charges. Some were adorable, others bizarre. A bulldog wore an eyepatch and a tricornered hat with a tiny parrot perched on the brim, a darling pirate. A dachshund wore a brown sweater with bristling triangles on his back—some sort of dinosaur, Chase thought. The poodle ballerina and the Scottie peacock were awfully cute. How would a judge decide who to give the prizes to? They were all so well done.

She hoped the cat competition wouldn't be this fierce.

On her way back to the Bar None booth, she stopped at one of the food trailers for a cup of strong coffee. The large heat lamps felt good on her head and shoulders as she waited in line there. She had slept poorly, worrying about Inger and her baby and about Michael Ramos and the evidence against him. Now she was beginning to feel that a nap would be nice. Too bad she couldn't take one today. Maybe strong coffee would keep her awake. She still had the remnants of her intermittent headache, and the caffeine might help with that, too.

The door to the butter building was, as always, closed to keep the refrigerated air inside. She opened it and went inside to see if she could get any last-minute info from the artists. Right away, she noticed the smell of the straw that covered the floor. She hadn't been especially aware of it before, but since Elsa had declared herself allergic to it, she couldn't help but notice. The straw may have also harbored an aroma of all the stale butter that had been dropped into it.

She strolled past the completed sculptures. The judging would be at eleven, in a little over two hours.

The one carved by the Minskys hadn't improved, in Chase's opinion. It was still an abstract mess. She did notice one on the other side of the room that was also an abstract, but much more attractive. There were no recognizable objects in the Minsky sculpture, but the other one, as Chase neared, proved to contain a number of Minnesota symbols. A stylized gopher held a North Star, and ripples, here and there, probably represented the lakes. There might have been a pair of ox horns and an axe to indicate Paul Bunyan and his companion.

The woman who had done the North Star had done a spectacular job, and the gopher Chase had noticed on the first day was almost lifelike. Other pieces represented the state's teams, the Vikings and the Twins. The only artist present was the woman who had done the huge star.

Chase approached her and complimented her work. “I would never think a five-pointed star could look so good,” she said. It held a map of the Mississippi, beginning with Lake Itasca at the top left, tumbling past St. Paul and Minneapolis in the center, and flowing on to form the Iowa-Wisconsin border near the bottom right. The river was carved deep into the butter, making a path through the star that was edged with figures of birds, ducks, and geese. Little clusters of buildings jutted up, indicating some of the towns.

“Thank you,” the woman said. She was short and plump, with curly brown hair and twinkling eyes. “I've been working on this design for nearly a year.”

“It shows. What do you think your chances of winning are, now that Larry Oake isn't competing?”

Chase watched her reaction closely. She looked genuinely distressed.

“Oh, isn't that horrible? I still can't believe what happened. Right here in this room. I don't know who will win, but Larry should have. I wouldn't mind if they awarded the prize money to his family.”

She didn't seem a likely suspect. She had so hoped to find a really good one here. Someone who was obviously the killer. How disappointing.

C
hase left the butter building. Her side trip had been a bust as far as finding a great suspect. Carefully sipping her coffee, which had no cover and was cooling rapidly, she headed toward the Bar None. The coffee vendor had only two sizes of cups left and no lids. She feared she and Anna might run out of paper bags for the individual sales. They made a lot more of those here than in the Dinkytown shop.

Madame Divine was standing in front of her own booth. Fewer people than usual were strolling the midway right then. She was probably trying to attract customers.

Patrice said hello to Chase. “I hope business picks up,” she said, adjusting her gold turban. Her earlier tears were gone and she looked serene.

“Who knows? It's the last day. Shouldn't we be swamped?”

“I don't know. They have all the contests and the butter sculpture judging today. People might not be that interested in the booths.”

“Have you done this fair before?”

“Oh yes, plenty of times. The last day is sometimes good, sometimes not. It's a toss-up. I have a feeling today won't be that good.” She poked at her turban again.

It struck Chase that a small diamond-studded cat collar could easily be concealed in that headdress.

Two giggling teenage girls walked past, zigzagging their way down the midway. One of them jostled Chase's arm, and her coffee sloshed onto the hem of Patrice's purple caftan.

“Hey!” Patrice snatched her robe and stepped back, giving Chase an alarmed look. “Look what you did.”

The two teens were long gone. “I'm sorry, Patrice. One of them jiggled my arm.” She nodded her head in the girls' direction.

Patrice bent over to inspect her garment. Her gold turban tumbled off her head, onto the dirty walkway. “And
now
look what you've done!” She grabbed the turban and swished into her booth.

There had been no jeweled collar inside the turban. But there was plenty of room for one.

The coffee was mostly gone, so Chase pitched it in a barrel and continued past the travel agency booth. The short redhead was arranging pamphlets on the table at the front of her booth. She kept glancing anxiously up and down the midway.

“Are you looking for someone?” Chase asked.

“Oh yes, my partner isn't here yet.”

“Sally, right? I've met her.”

“Yes, I can't imagine what's happened to her.”

“My name is Chase. I'm in the booth next door.”

“Oh yes, sorry. I haven't ever introduced myself. Holly Molden.” She took Chase's hand. “I'm terribly worried about Sally. I can't get her on the phone, and she's not answering my texts. I hope nothing's happened to her. She said she would be in extra early this morning.” She stuck her forefinger between her teeth and Chase saw that her hand was trembling.

“Has she been here at all?”

“It doesn't look like it.” She lifted a new box of pamphlets, slammed it onto the table, and dug some out. “It's not like her at all to be late and not call.” Her hands continued to shake, and she was blinking back tears. Some fell past her lashes and spilled down among the freckles on her cheeks.

“I hope so, too. Let us know when she turns up,” Chase said as she went toward her own booth, wishing she had some more hot coffee.

Holly seemed overly dramatic, going to pieces because her booth mate was a little late. Still, the blonde wore a lot of bling. Maybe all of it wasn't fake. Maybe she'd been mugged for her jewelry. Chase had the idea in the back of her mind that, if the woman loved diamonds, she might have been tempted to steal a diamond collar. At any rate, Chase hoped nothing terrible had happened to Sally.

She peeked in at Harper's Toys. The curmudgeon was putting his finger puppets into a box.

“Leaving early?” she asked.

He squinted at her and screwed up his mouth. She backed up a step, afraid he was about to spit. He refrained, however, and shook his head. “What business is it of yours?”

“None. Sorry. Just wondering.” She fled to her own booth next door.

The day did start slow. Patrice may have been right, Chase reflected.

Soon, a crowd began to gather in front of the butter building. Eventually, some fair security personnel came along and organized them into a line. Chase watched the proceedings, wondering if she and Anna should take time off to see the judging.

“I'm not interested,” Anna said when Chase asked her. “You go ahead if you want to see it. You could look in at the exhibit hall, too. That's where Inger said she'd be, right?”

“Right, but I didn't see her there when I peeked in just now.”

“We ought to try to keep track of her.”

Chase considered that. “Inger's a big girl. She might object if she knows we're trying to babysit her. I guess I don't need to see the actual butter judging. It will all be on display for the rest of the day.”

She heard a familiar voice next door, at Harper's toy booth. Detective Olson was there. He kept his tone low, and she couldn't make out his words.

Soon, though, he walked into the Bar None booth. He was followed by two uniformed policemen. “We're doing one last search for the missing artifact,” he said, sounding strict and official.

“I need to tell you a couple of things,” Chase said softly, coming up beside him.

He gave her a doubtful look but stood still to listen.

“I was thinking that Madame Divine's turban could be a good hiding place for the collar.”

“We had the same thought a few days ago. She was quite upset we made her unwind it.”

“Oh.” They had been more thorough that she would have been.

“Any more ideas?”

She leaned even closer. “The travel agents next door? The blonde one, the tall one, loves jewelry, and she's missing.”

“What do you mean? Has anyone made a police report?”

“No, her partner said she hasn't shown up yet. They have a jumble of boxes at the back of their booth. Those would make good hiding places.”

“Believe me, we've been through every box and searched all the exhibitors.”

She remembered the quick search of their own boxes and the pat-downs. “I know. It's just . . . We need to find that collar.”

“I would like to. But I would like to nail the murderer even more. Do you have thoughts on that? Any new ones?”

She wished she did.

The crowd disappeared from the midway as the queue was gradually let into the butter building. After half an hour or so, she heard clapping.

“They've awarded the prizes,” Anna said. “Maybe one of us should have gone. I wonder who won.”

Had Detective Olson gone to the judging? Would knowing who the winner was provide any leads?

There were three browsers in the booth, eyeing the Harvest Bars. Anna could handle those. “I'll go see,” Chase said. She ran toward the door of the building. People were streaming out, so she had to wait to the side for them to clear. She could have asked who'd won, but she wanted to see with her own eyes.

She wandered back toward the booth beside the butter building, the jewelry booth, intending to browse their wares. Instead, as she reached the opening between the two, Detective Olson brushed past her with two uniformed policemen and a fair security guard, into the opening. They disappeared behind the jewelry booth. They had all been so intent, in such a hurry, she wasn't sure Olson had even seen her.

No one else seemed curious, but she had to see what was going on back there, behind the booths. The opening was barely wide enough for an average-size person. Someone hefty would find it difficult to squeeze through. Every other booth was set up with a similar passage. The Bar None booth was up against the travel agency booth, with an opening between Bar None and Harper's Toys.

When she reached the back of the jeweler's, she stopped. An official-sounding murmur came to her. She stuck her head around the corner. Detective Olson was kneeling on the ground beside someone. He looked up at one of the policemen.

“What do you think?” he asked. “Strangulation?”

The policeman nodded.

Then Olson saw her. He was at her side in two seconds. “Chase, get out of here.”

“Is someone dead? Murdered?”

“Get out of here. This doesn't concern you.”

She left, but not before peeking around him and catching a glimpse of blonde hair fanned out on the grass and a gleam from the rings on the travel agent's outstretched hand.

Then she ran, blindly, until she was at the food court. She stumbled to the window of the nearest vendor.

“Are you all right?” the avuncular man asked, concern on his face.

She realized that tears were streaming down her face. “Something to drink, please.” Her words came out in a strangled tone. With shaking hands, she paid for a cola, then sat and sipped it until her breathing and heart rate returned to normal. Poor Sally.

There was another murder! And this time the victim had been strangled. Her mind worked furiously. Were the two related? Who would murder both Larry Oake
and
Sally Ritten? Had they even known each other? She didn't think so. It was a stretch to believe that there were two
murderers at the Paul Bunyan Fair, though. It had to be the same killer. Didn't it?

Slowly, she tossed her half-empty cup into the trash and started walking.

She got back to the midway and saw that the crowd exiting the butter building was thinning. Paralyzed by indecision, she didn't know whether to hurry back to tell Anna what she'd seen or to go ahead and find out what had gone on in the sculpture contest. One thing she definitely did not want to do was to let Holly know what had happened before the authorities did. She couldn't bear to be the one to tell her. She would zip into the contest, then get back to the Bar None booth. Maybe, by then, Holly would have been told what had happened to Sally.

Another consideration was whether or not she and Anna were in even more danger now. She would have to be very careful for the rest of the day. She felt an overwhelming sense of relief that today was the last day of the fair. There would be safety in the crowd at the butter contest, so she moved toward that building quickly.

She squeezed inside between two people who were coming out the door. For the first time, the door was propped open. A small cluster of spectators remained, taking pictures, around the woman with the beautiful North Star. Chase smiled. She was glad the woman had won and that she'd come to the butter building after all. She would get back to the booth as soon as she could to warn Anna, but first she wanted to stick around to see if she could find out anything else. It shouldn't take long.
Chase slipped past some other contestants on her way to congratulate the winner.

However, she found she had to pause at the Minskys' table on the way. Mara stood quietly weeping and trembling as her father gouged chunks out of their sculpture and flung them into a trash barrel.

“Daddy, don't. Please don't,” she whispered.

Chase watched, horrified, as the man seemed to grow more and more angry, hurling bigger and bigger pieces of their creation into the garbage. She looked around to see if any other sculptors were destroying theirs. The man who had carved the lifelike gopher was taking pictures of his. The man who had carved the Vikings football team was walking away. She caught him.

“What happens to the sculptures?” she asked.

“The maintenance people will clean up,” he said. He frowned at Karl Minsky. “At least that's what most of us do: leave them here to be disposed of.”

Chase steered around the Minskys on her way to the North Star woman. The anger radiating off the man was almost palpable. It was frightening his daughter, and it frightened Chase almost as much.

On an impulse, she stooped and picked up a bit of the straw with a tissue, then stuck it into her pocket.

Once again, she admired the detailed work on the woman's sculpture. A blue ribbon had been pinned into the butter. She wondered what it would be like to create something like this, to work so hard, and to have it turn out so well, then to see it destroyed. Or to know, from the beginning, that it would be. Butter sculptures couldn't
last long, she was sure. She snapped a cell phone picture of it, just because everyone else was photographing it.

Several people had gone around to the back of it and were taking pictures there, too, so she followed suit and took a few of the back side. She was sure Anna would like to see it.

The detail there was equally as exquisite. While the front captured the route of the Mississippi through the state, the back depicted the Twin Cities with the most prominent buildings in relief. The IDS Tower shot up next to the Capella Tower, with its distinctive round top. The Wells Fargo Center nestled between them. The waterway between the two burgs was sketched in, and the state capitol building stood by itself near the big river bend.

Chase's cell beeped for an incoming text message. She glanced at it. The message, from Mike Ramos, read, “So s.” He must have started to send something and gotten interrupted. She turned her attention back to the contest winner.

The sculptor, whose name tag said she was Astrid, beamed and posed beside her creation. She didn't look like she would tire of this any time soon. Chase couldn't blame her. That amount of prize money would have made her glow for a few hours, too.

A man came in pushing a cushioned cart and wheeled it up to the North Star.

“It's time,” he said. He pulled on a pair of gloves and reached for the statue.

“Where's it going?” Chase asked him.

“Big building,” he said, jerking his head in that
direction. “So everyone can see it and take pictures. We'll display it there on a tray table to catch the drips until it starts to melt too much, then we'll cart it away.”

So this was the beginning of the end for the prizewinner.

Elsa and Eleanor were standing outside when she left the building. Chase couldn't believe her luck. She said hello to them and walked closer.