Stay At Home Dad 03-Father Knows Death (4 page)

“No one’s called them on it?” I asked. “Checked out their financials?”

Pete smiled. “You should really come to a fair board meeting. I think you’d enjoy it.”

“Why’s that?”

The smile stayed on his face. “There’s one tomorrow night. They always have one during the week of the fair. Just come and see for yourself.”

I made a mental note to try and check it out.

“And if you wondered why the sun just disappeared,” Pete said, his smile changing from mischievous to amused, “here comes Woody.”

7

As a former football player, I had been around lots of large men, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anyone the size of Woody.

As he ambled over to us, I put him at about six foot eight and 350 pounds. He just seemed to take up space, swallowing up the air around him. A black baseball cap sat on his boulder-size head, an unruly Fu Manchu beard encircled his mouth. A green tank top exposed long, muscled arms and denim shorts hung to his knees. Dirty sandals attempted to corral feet, which looked more like small pontoon boats.

“Hey, Pete,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Takin’ a break?”

“Nope, we’re done,” Pete said, standing. “You know Deuce?”

Woody fixed me with a massive grin. “Can’t say that I do.” He extended a massive hand. “Woody Norvold.”

I stood and we shook hands, his grip surprisingly dainty considering he looked like he could lift the earth. “Deuce Winters.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” he said, nodding. “Football player extraordinaire. Dead-body finder.”

Everywhere I went, people gave me new suggestions for business card slogans.

“Excuse me a sec, will you, boys?” he said, sliding past us. “I’m starving and I need a quick snack. Be right back.” He strode over to the stand.

“Told you you couldn’t miss him,” Pete whispered. “He’s like an eclipse.”

“How have I never seen that guy in Rose Petal?”

“He lives over in Brecker.”

“Still.”

Woody lumbered back out, a bratwurst in each hand. No buns. Just brats, held like hammers.

“So. Lotta excitement out here today, I guess,” he said in between bites.

Pete and I both nodded.

“Good to see they didn’t shut us down,” he said, polishing off one brat and starting on the other. “No food would be a tragedy.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant no food for the fair or for himself. The 4-H stand was the only one that served anything substantial, but there was still the popcorn place, the cotton candy cart, the ice cream “shoppe,” and the corn dog vendor. You could get anything battered and fried there: Oreos, Snickers, whole pickles, bacon, probably even bubble gum.

“Board still meeting tomorrow night, Woody?” Pete asked.

“Oh, yeah. Sure. It’s a tradition.”

“Like Bruce’s wig,” I said.

They both looked at me, confused.

“Never mind,” I said.

Woody finished the second sausage and wiped his greasy hands on his shorts. “Anyway, yeah. Meeting’s tomorrow night at seven.”

“What goes on at the meetings?” I asked.

“Board stuff.”

“Which is?”

Woody rolled his massive shoulders. “Just board stuff. Votes. Discussions. That kinda stuff. People will make some complaints about the fair and want them fixed this year. They’ll make suggestions for next year. Most of it’ll be nonsense, but there might be a good nugget or two in there. And I’d imagine there’ll probably be some talk about George tomorrow now, too.”

“Did you know him?” I asked. “George?”

Woody rubbed his huge chin. “You could say that. He was around here a lot. Nice enough fellow. I liked him.” He paused for a moment, considering something somewhere in his massive skull. “But we didn’t hang out together or nothing. We didn’t get together on Sundays to watch football or go hunting. So I knew him. But we weren’t all buddy-buddy.”

His answer was nearly as convoluted as Bruce’s, and both of their hemming and hawing started to raise some more questions in my mind.

He glanced at the watch on his wrist. “I gotta get running, boys. Gotta check on the other stands and make sure everything’s running smooth.” He grinned. “And maybe grab something else to eat. Good to meet you, Deuce. See you later, Pete.”

He took a couple of steps away from us, then stopped.

“You know, I really wasn’t friends with George,” he said, looking at me.

“Sure,” I said. “I understand.”

He blinked several times, something passing through his eyes, and he rubbed at the Fu Manchu again. “Yeah. More like I was
aware
of him.”

8

“They both said
aware
,” I said. “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

Julianne and I were standing at the bottom of a massive slide, which Carly was about to go down for the ninety-seventh time. It was the safest looking ride at the fair and the only one she could get me to agree to letting her go on.

“They’re
all
odd,” she said.

“Yeah, okay. But I mean they used exactly the same word to describe how they knew him. Or how they
didn’t
know him. Don’t you think
that’s
odd? Even more odd?”

Carly bounced down the slide, giggling the entire way. She hit the bottom, scrambled to her feet, and sprinted to the stairway to go up again. I watched it bounce a little as she bounded up, and tried not to envision the whole thing crumpling to the ground.

“The only thing I think is that if this kid doesn’t get out of me soon, I’m going to reach up there and pull it out myself,” Julianne said, a hand on her enormous belly.

“I don’t think that’s physically possible.”

“And I think you are treading on thin ice with a massively irritated pregnant woman.” She frowned at me. “You promised me you wouldn’t get involved.”

I held out the lemonade I’d bought and she grabbed it from me, sucking hard on the straw.

“I’m not involved,” I said. “I was just part of a conversation and I’m just making some . . . observations.”

“Those observations usually get you in trouble.” She handed the empty cup back to me and I tossed it in the trash.

“I just think it’s weird.”

Carly bounced down again and sprinted for the stairway.

“Last time!” I yelled.

She made a face at me and started up the steps.

“Well, it is weird,” Julianne said. “But the whole thing is weird. You found a guy in a freezer. And I feel confident in saying they are all working with limited vocabularies. Maybe they just learned the meaning of
aware
.”

“Ha. But what if they’re ripping everyone off? Including 4-H?”

“I think my ankles are going to explode,” she said, walking in place, her hands braced on her lower back. “Well, then, if they are embezzling, that’s not good.”

“I wanna go to the meeting,” I said. “Just to listen to them. Pete thinks I’d enjoy it.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Come on. One night. I promise not to say a word.”

“You promised to stay out of it and it seems like you are practically in the middle of it already.”

“I promised to stay out of George Spellman’s death. This is totally unrelated.”

She glared at me. “Do you even believe the words that come out of your mouth?”

Carly reached the bottom of the slide again.

“Okay, you’re done!” I yelled.

“One more!” she yelled back.

“One more, that’s
it
!” I told her.

“Which means, like nine more,” Julianne said.

“I just wanna hear what goes on at these meetings,” I said, ignoring her. “I’m not inserting myself into Spellman’s death.”

She glanced sideways at me, shaking her head. I knew I was driving her a little nuts, but I was genuinely curious. The fair was a big deal in Rose Petal and if people were screwing around with it, I wanted to know. It wasn’t just that anyone associated with the fair might be losing money. The fair had been around for as long as anyone could remember and there were tons of Rose Petal residents who poured their hearts into the week to continue the tradition. If someone was undermining that, people needed to know.

“You’ll find a way to go even if I say no,” Julianne sighed. “So just go.”

“I won’t say a word,” I said. “I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Just don’t expect me to bail you out if you get arrested or something.”

“I’ll take cash with me.”

Carly was at the top of the slide and I walked to the bottom. She frowned at me, then jettisoned herself down the slide. She tried to scoot by me, but I grabbed her and picked her up. “Nope. Said that was the last time.”

“But, Daddy!”

“No buts. It’s time to go.”

Her bottom lip quivered and tears formed in her eyes. “I wanna keep sliding!”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

She let loose with a bloodcurdling howl and burst into tears. People in all directions turned to look and immediately gave me the raised eyebrow, wondering what I had done to make this cute little girl scream her brains out.

I looked at Julianne. “We’re really gonna have another one of these?”

“Yeah,” she said, grinning evilly. “And I hope it has a penchant for making one certain stay at home dad’s life a little more uncomfortable.”

She
really
needed to get that kid out.

9

“I do not understand why anyone would pay me to dig holes in my backyard,” my father said.

We’d been home an hour before my mother and father had barged in the front door, my mother because she’d gotten wind that Carly was upset over something at the fair and my father because someone was apparently offering him cash to mess up his yard. Julianne was flat on her back on the sofa, her feet in my lap, feigning sleep, probably relishing the fact that I was having to deal with them when I just wanted to pass out.

“What exactly are you talking about?” I said, reaching for the beer I’d set on the end table.

He frowned at me from his spot in the easy chair. “Have you not been listening?”

“Actually, no. I haven’t.” I took a long gulp from the bottle. “You tend to ramble on about nothing and I find that it’s easier to tune out and pretend I’ve listened than to actually try to follow what you’re saying. I started doing it back in high school, actually.”

His frown turned to more of a snarl. “They want to dig in the backyard.”

“Who?”

“The gas people.”

“People made of gas? How can you see them?” His face screwed up with irritation. “Pammy! Where are you?”

Julianne’s fingers dug into my thigh, but her eyes remained shut. She should’ve been an actress instead of an attorney. I wasn’t sure whether she wanted it quiet or she was enjoying the conversation and wanted me to know it.

My mother walked into the room, holding hands with a red-eyed Carly, who was munching on an ice cream sandwich.

“What?” she asked my father. “And don’t yell. Julianne and the baby are sleeping.”

“Explain to your son about the diggers,” he hissed.

“Well, they’re this family on television that has, I believe, nineteen kids . . . ,” my mother began.

“Not those crazy yahoos!” my father barked. “Those are the Duggars! I said
diggers
.”

My mother parked herself on the floor and Carly gravitated toward my father. He scooped her up and set her in his lap. She was oblivious, studying the ice cream in her hands.

“Oh, yes,” my mother said. “The diggers. Apparently, we own some valuable land.”

“How valuable?” I asked.

She shrugged. “We don’t know. They want to come to talk to us about it. Or, rather, they want to come talk to your father because I’m entirely uninterested in the subject.”

“Again, I ask—who exactly are
they
?”

“What was the name of the company, Eldrick? I can’t recall.”

“Taitano Resources,” my father spat. “Like they’re trying to confuse me or something into thinking they work with computers with a fancy name.
Please
.”

I didn’t recognize the name of the company. I took a long drink from the beer. “I’m totally lost here.”

My father settled back in his chair and wrapped his arms around Carly. “Taitano Resources is an oil and gas outfit. They want to drill on our property.”

My parents had owned the same house on the same several acres since before I’d been born. My father had long maintained that one reason I’d excelled in football as a kid was because we basically had a football field for a backyard, where he had spent hours throwing me passes. They were among the early residents of Rose Petal before suburbia had encroached and started throwing up fancy new neighborhoods with gates and streets named after jewels and ponds.

“I got that much, thanks. Drill for what?” I asked.

“Natural gas,” he said, making a face. “Apparently, we’re sitting on it.”

I stroked the sides of Julianne’s feet. “So tell them no.”

He glanced at my mother. “But they’re offering us a lot of money. To lease the land. Or however those leases work.”

“I find it hard to believe you don’t know how the leases work,” I said to him.

“Well, I know how they used to work,” he said. “But we didn’t really deal with them at the bank. We just held the money people made
from
the leases. But that was awhile ago and maybe they’ve changed. And I’m not about to use that danged Internet to go looking for information. You know how I feel about the Internet. That thing is evil.” Dad had tried, unsuccessfully, to join Facebook, and it put him off the entire World Wide Web for good. He was convinced he could live off the grid for the remainder of his life.

I wasn’t exactly sure how the leases worked, either. Texas laws were weird. When you bought a home, you either retained the rights to your land or you signed them away. In the development that we lived in, we had to sign them over as a condition of purchase. I had no doubt that my parents had retained every right to their property, given that they had lived there for so long.

I knew that oil and gas companies would “lease” the land from you, meaning that they could come in and drill and dig and do whatever they needed to do in order to get to what they wanted. The homeowners were paid—handsomely, in some cases—for the use of their land. They didn’t receive a share of what was taken, but they were paid a sum for the companies to come in and do their work.