Thrown Off: A Cozy Mystery (Brenna Battle Book 3) (18 page)

Sammi picked up something near my feet. A toothbrush. Some treat! A sort of hygienic business card for Dr. J.R. Hooper, D.D.S., I guess. The kids were going to need it, after all this candy. But she really should watch her aim.

Before I could stop her, Sammi hurled the toothbrush right back at Rebecca. It thwacked her braces and came straight at me like some kind of possessed boomerang. My hand snapped up instinctively, and I caught it. Oh, it was tempting to peg Rebecca right back with it. Instead, I tucked it in my back pocket. Yep, that’s me. Brenna Battle, taking the high road. Being a good example for children.

But Sammi didn’t take too well to that particular example. She slipped the toothbrush out of my pocket and chucked it back at Rebecca.

“Sammi!” Katie gasped. But it was too late.

This time, Rebecca’s back was turned. Rebecca didn’t have a chance. Sammi had a good arm, and the toothbrush struck her right in the bum.

“She did that on purpose,” Sammi insisted.

Rebecca yelped and swatted at her own bottom. “There’s a bee!” she screamed.

Blythe gasped and looked back at us in dismay. Anthony and Charles rolled around the mat laughing and imitating Rebecca’s face. I just about choked to death, trying not to laugh myself.

One of the Daughters of the American Revolution bent down in her long, petticoated dress and picked up the object responsible for Rebecca’s “sting.” She shook her head. “It was just this. One of your toothbrushes.”

Rebecca snatched the toothbrush back and hissed, “Thank you.” She turned on me with a threatening glare.

On the one hand, I was embarrassed that Sammi had pegged her in the rear end in front of the crowd. It hardly spoke well of what Bonney Bay Battlers could do to help reinforce positive behavior. On the other hand, when Rebecca gave me that look, I wished I were twelve years old so I could say,
Puh-lease. Is that the best you’ve got?

I decided to go with nonchalant and I gave her a shrug. “Sorry. I guess Sammi thought you might want that toothbrush back, since it accidentally landed on our truck.”

Rebecca gave me one last nasty look, then hurried forward, away from our float, hurling toothbrushes at the crowd with a vengeance.

Our first stop was at the intersection of Pioneer and Main Streets. A Master of Ceremonies was stationed there, on a small platform, with an American flag as a backdrop.

“All who are able, please rise while Bonney Bay’s own Pinstripe Quartet sings the National Anthem,” he said.

I motioned for my little group on the truck with me to rise, and Blythe stood proud with her Battlers on the ground, pompoms held over their hearts.

The song ended, the crowd applauded, and then we were on. Will’s cruiser pulled forward, then Gainsborough in a red convertible on loan from a local car dealer. The M.C. introduced each float and group to the crowd as we approached. The librarians advanced and we idled in place as Helen blew a whistle and the librarians sprang into motion. They pushed their carts forward, then back, zig-zagged in sync, then spun the carts in circles, letting go to clap their hands to their chant:

Books,

Books!

We’ve got books!

You got a
B
?

I got a
B
!

Brilliant!

O
,
O
, we got two
O
s!

Outstanding! Out of this world!

K
!
K
for knowledge

And Kickin’ it!

S
!
S
for smart

We’re so smart,

Just check out this cart!

“Woo-hoo! Go, Helen!” Blythe cheered.

I gave the librarians a whistle. This was fun. So, so, much fun. I seriously owed my sister an apology for dragging my feet on this.

And then it was our turn. The truck rolled into position, and James cranked the music up. Anthony and Charles started off, while Sammi and Katie stood, hands on their hips, on either side of me, heads down. The tempo changed and the girls danced onto the mat, high-fived the boys tag-team style, and launched into the mock fight I’d choreographed. It was perfect and they were having so much fun, so into the act, there just might’ve been a little tear in my eye.

The little ones in the front waved their pompoms and their miniature flags in time with Blythe. All but Ellie. She waved one pompom a little out of sync and tucked the other one under her arm so she could pick her nose.

The crowd burst into laughter and cheers. Someone whistled loudly. I followed the sound and saw Will, pinkies in his mouth, standing beside his cruiser with the door open. He caught my eye, smiled, and waved. Oh, the dimples! The look in his eye! The crowd roared for my Battlers and the camera flashes ricocheted off my podium shirt. I loved the Fourth of July, I loved this country, I loved this town, I loved my sister, I loved my new life—and I loved that man. It was a sweet, sweet feeling. No stomach-twistiness. No fear.

We tossed candy at the crowd like there was no tomorrow. Will got back in his cruiser and we pulled forward. As the parade marched on, a stilt-walker puppet wove along the edges of the crowd. It held out its hand for kids to “shake.” Then it bobbed over to our truck. What was he doing? Could he see how close he was? Oh, he wanted me to shake his hand. I smiled and reached out.

“Mind your own business,” a male voice growled from underneath the billowing white cloth that covered the person inside.

“What?” I withdrew my hand.

“Mind your own business, if you know what’s good for you.”

There was no questioning the intensity of the threat in his tone. I lunged and grabbed at the cloth, but the puppet swayed back at the same time. The fabric flapped up and a man’s hand pulled out just a little. He had a gun.

29

He has a gun!
I almost shouted it, but to cause a panic like that, right here, could be disastrous, and he was already working his way back through the crowd, the gun—or whatever it was—concealed, not drawn in threat. Just as I hesitated, the truck started rolling forward again. Was it a real gun? Was it a gun at all? Couldn’t it have been a black phone? A walkie-talkie used to communicate with the other stilt-walkers?

I glanced at Sammi and Katie, then the boys. They were all happily waving and throwing candy. They must not have seen it, or heard the threat.

If it was a gun, was the man who’d threatened me someone connected to Millie’s murder, who didn’t want me discovering the truth? If so, that meant that I was right about Carlos, and he wasn’t the killer. Or was it someone who was convinced Carlos was guilty, and who was afraid I was working with him to cast blame elsewhere?

There was a strong possibility that the killer was on the loose, running around this parade. I had to tell the police. I texted Will, but he didn’t respond. I wasn’t surprised. Not only was he on duty, he was driving the police car at the front of the parade. Not exactly a good time to text and drive. I could jump down, run ahead to his cruiser, and tell him, but that would mean jumping down while we were still moving, leaving the kids alone on the truck, and leaving everyone to wonder what on Earth was wrong with me. Maybe I should call 9-1-1. From the back of a flatbed truck during the parade? Where four kids could easily hear what I was saying? One of whom, at least, was nosy and inclined to interfere in dangerous business.

#

As soon as the parade was over and we reached the staging area, I grabbed Blythe and whispered to her what had happened.

“Are you sure it was a gun?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

I shook my head. “No. That’s the problem.”

Blythe said, “I think we should report it. He’s part of that stilt puppet group. Somebody knows who was under that costume. The police can find him and see if he’s armed.”

I hugged my sister. She made so much sense. Sometimes it drove me crazy. Times like now, I loved it. “Okay, you make sure all the kids get back to their parents. I’m going to tell Will.”
And find those stilt people.

As I headed toward the front of the parade group, I ran into Helen Rolf. “Hey, Helen. I loved your book cart dance!”

“Thank you, Brenna, but your little Battlers stole the show.”

I felt my smile return. “I can’t believe they pulled it off. Blythe worked really hard to choreograph that and get them ready. Listen, Helen. I’m trying to find one of the guys who was operating a stilt puppet. Do you think they’re still around here somewhere?“

“Maybe. They’re with George Find from the Artists’ Association. Do you know him?”

I shook my head and tried to mask my surprise. The Artists’ Association? Gunter? He was part of the Artists’ Association. Could he have been the guy? “I haven’t met George Find. What does he look like?”

“Long, sandy hair. Ponytail. Ah, and he’ll be wearing his usual patriotic pants for Independence Day, I’m sure.”

“Patriotic pants?”

“Pants that look like a flag. You’ll see.”

Just as Helen had predicted, it was the pants I spotted first. Loose, late eighties M.C. Hammer-style pants. The stars and stripes billowed on George Find’s legs as if they were a double flag pole.

He was helping a stilt-walker out of his costume. My heart beat double-time. Was this the guy? But a sweaty, smiling woman—not a man—emerged from the papier-mâché and fabric.

Undeterred, I walked up to George. “Hi, George. I’m Brenna Battle. My sister, Blythe, and I were in the parade today with our judo kids.”

“Hi. I saw you guys. The kids were great. A real crowd-pleaser.”

“Thanks.” I looked around at the stilt-walkers disembarking from their high perches, leaving their parade roles. None of their costumes looked like the one the guy who’d threatened me wore. “Are these all your stilt-walkers?”

“Yeah, I think they’re all here. Why? Are you looking for someone in particular?”

“The guy who was wearing a tuxedo. I mean, not literally a tuxedo, but the puppet was painted like it was wearing a tuxedo, and a top hat and a beard…Abraham Lincoln! I think it was supposed to be an Abraham Lincoln puppet.”

George frowned. “We don’t have an Abraham Lincoln puppet.”

“Nothing that might look like Abraham Lincoln?”

“No, the closest we have is Uncle Sam, over there.” He pointed to an empty puppet, carefully laid out on the ground. It sported a tall hat, but it was blue with white stars, not black. Typical of Uncle Sam, the papier-mâché head’s beard was gray-white.

“No, that’s not it. Were there any other puppets in the parade? From some other organization?”

“Not that I saw. And there never have been before. I don’t know of another organization that does stilt puppets. They’re kind of our thing, you know? But individuals can enter the parade if the committee approves them. Maybe there was someone new this year who’s into stilt-walking.”

“Maybe.”

“Let me know if you find out who it was. Maybe he’ll be interested in joining the Artists’ Association.”

I tried not to let my disappointment show. “Okay, thanks for your help!” Now I had to find Will and share my completely implausible story. But what could I say? What could I say that wouldn’t make me sound nuttier than Chief Sanders already thought I was? Somehow, my being right—in the end, at least—about the last murder in Bonney Bay, hadn’t done much to improve the Chief’s impression of me. A nosy fruit loop, that’s how he treated me. Someone to be tolerated, probably in part because he was basically a polite person, and in part because I was going out with his best officer.

It doesn’t matter what he thinks
, I told myself. Except that it could ultimately impact what he thought of Will, and therefore affect Will’s career.
Yeah, there’s that. But there are little kids here, happy families, who have no idea there’s a dangerous killer among them.

I found Will in his cruiser and he stepped out to talk to me. Quietly, I told him about what I’d seen and how I’d already found George and the other stilt-walkers and confirmed that the man I’d had the unpleasant encounter with was not affiliated with the Artists’ Association.

Will rubbed his chin. It was getting stubbly, as it always did late in the day. “I believe you, Brenna. And not just because I saw the same guy.”

My hopes lifted. “You saw him, too?”

“Yes, he came toward the front of the parade a while after the rest of the stilt-walkers. But…you’re not sure it was a gun?”

“No. But I am sure about what he said to me. I’m just not certain exactly what he meant by it.”

“Brenna, the thing is, why would he show you his weapon right there in front of the crowd and risk someone seeing it, or you calling him out? It would be pretty stupid.” He shrugged. “But criminals do stupid things.”

“I don’t think he meant to brandish his weapon, if that’s what it was. I tried to grab him, and I pulled up part of the cloth of the puppet costume, and that’s how I saw it.”

“I’ll radio it in. We’ll be on it, Brenna.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I knew I sounded disappointed. Like a little kid who thought she was getting a hot fudge sundae with the works and got a vanilla cone instead. I summoned the grown-up within. The part of me that understood that there wasn’t anything else I could do now. Or Will, either. Someone might be sent to actively search for that guy, but not Will. He was already on crowd-control duty.

And I had nothing the police could really act on, other than trying to find the costume, or anyone who might’ve seen the guy get dressed in it. If they couldn’t find that, how would they ever figure out who it was? They only had the vaguest description to go on. Either there was just some jerk trying to scare me running around town, or a killer. A killer who I couldn’t identify any more specifically than a light-skinned man. I closed my eyes and tried to picture the hand I’d seen. Just a glimpse. Just for an instant. I just didn’t have enough to go on. Maybe if I saw it again…

I was just going to have to keep my eyes open and catch this killer myself. He or she knew I was looking for them. Why else would they seek me out, try to attack me or intimidate me?

I made my way back to Blythe and told her the news.