A Deadly Affair at Bobtail Ridge (13 page)

“Let me ask you something. When you were in high school, did the parents get this involved in the prom?”

Jim stares and blinks for a few minutes. He starts to nod. “I see your point. You're right. Back when I was in school, the prom committee was the senior girls and as far as I can remember the school had the devil of a time finding parents even willing to chaperone—much less spend the night here supervising. But times have changed.” He scoots forward to prop his elbows on his desk. “Trouble is, it's a little late to be telling parents they can't be involved. Honestly, Samuel, it's like they think it's their prom instead of the kids.'”

It's times like this I wish Jeanne were still alive. She would have known what to do. So all I can do is try to think what she would have suggested. The key is in what Krueger said about people thinking this is their prom. They need to be given something to do that's more appealing than holding kid's games for their almost-grown high schoolers. “Who is the most well-liked family in the senior class?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who would parents go to for advice if they had a problem with one of their kids?”

“I suppose that would be Emily and Jake Ford.” He gives a mirthless laugh and shakes his head. “If you ask me, Emily is sometimes a little far-out, but she's the first one anyone mentions if there's anything to be done.”

“Is she one of the parents planning the prom?”

He shakes his head slowly. “She bowed out. She said she thought they were going overboard.”

“Can you call her and get her in here?”

“It's almost six o'clock. She's probably cooking supper.”

“Let's try her anyway. Tell her there are problems with the prom.”

Emily says she'll be right down, and fifteen minutes later she arrives, puffing into the office like she's run all the way.

“You caught me doing my workout on my exercise machine,” she says. “I hate it, so I was happy to leave. Although I made myself run here so at least I'd get some exercise.” She pulls her T-shirt away from her chest and flaps it. “I probably smell like a goat.” She laughs. I don't know her at all except to nod to, but I like her right away. She'll do fine for my purposes. “What's going on that has to get done right this minute?”

Krueger explains that the kids are digging their heels in. She sighs and shakes her head. “I tried to tell them they weren't dealing with third graders, but Mary Lou Jennings has always been a helicopter parent.”

That isn't a term I've heard before, but I figure I know pretty much what it means without her having to explain it. “The trouble is,” I say, “what do we do now? I think we have to have something that appeals to those parents that they'd rather do than hang around the gym all night.”

“Hmm.” I can see the wheels turning. “Something kind of unusual and that makes them feel ritzy.” She looks at me in a calculating way, and I start to worry that she's going to involve me in some way. “I hear you know something about wine. How about a wine tasting? I could run over to San Antonio this week and buy some wine and fancy cheese. And I'd tell them that you're going to be there to give a little tutorial about the wine.”

“Oh, no. Wait a minute,” I say. “I need to be on duty.”

“You only have to be at the party long enough to say a few words. Thirty minutes? Okay, twenty minutes. It can't be that hard. But if parents know you'll be there, they'll be more inclined to come.”

“Why is that?” Jim Krueger says, before I have a chance to ask.

“Samuel is the chief of police. They'll figure if it's okay with him, it's got to be okay to sample a little wine. And besides, you've got to admit it's a little unusual. Kind of like a talking dog . . .” She grins.

“I know, I know, it doesn't matter what I say.”

She's all business and writes down my suggestions for a few different kinds of wines. I tell her to ask the advice of the store where she buys it. “Tell them you have a budget. Speaking of budget, how is this going to get paid for?” I turn to Jim Krueger.

“Money's no problem,” Emily says. “I'll charge the parents. That way they'll think it's worth more. And if I need any extra money, Jim's going to have to find it in his budget.”

Krueger grumbles a little but admits that it's better than having the kids refuse to go to the prom. “Now the thing is,” Krueger says, “what are we going to do about the rules for the kids? I hate to give in to their petition. That's not a good precedent.”

“Why not?” Emily says. “It's the end of the school year. By next year nobody will remember what happened this year.”

“I like your style,” I say. “You ever thought about running for public office?”

“Got too much sense for that,” she says. She jumps up. “Is it all settled then? Because I've got to get home. My daughter's about to have a nervous breakdown because she suddenly doesn't like her dress. Sometimes I think we ought to drop the whole idea of a prom!”

CHAPTER 18

I stop in for breakfast at Town Café the next morning, and everybody is full of a story that shakes all the other news right off the map. Gabe LoPresto's building company has won the bid against some big outfits to build the new outlet mall that Loretta told me about. That must be what had him so excited last time I saw him. Gabe hasn't shown up yet, and everybody's waiting to hear the full story.

Town Café is nothing to look at—a Quonset hut with the inside finished in knotty pine. The walls are decorated with a couple of deer heads, photos of every Jarrett Creek sports team from the last twenty years, neon beer signs, and year-round Christmas tree lights strung along the front counter. But it's the local gathering spot because the food is good.

“LoPresto's probably over at Palmer's trying to find a bigger hat,” one of the men says. Everybody laughs, but we're proud of Gabe.

Finally LoPresto comes busting in the door with a big grin on his face, wearing a snappy black Western-style business suit with his best snakeskin boots and his good hat. He deserves to be pleased with himself. He may be a braggart, but his company has a good reputation and his getting the contract is going to put a lot of local people to work after a period of trying financial times for the town.

“Gabe, I'm buying you breakfast,” Harley Lunsford says. We all look at him with wonder. He's never been known to offer a dollar when a dime would do as well. But then he says, “Better yet, you buy—you can afford it now.”

LoPresto laughs along with us. We pump him for information, and he's happy to tell us how he outwitted “the big boys.” He came up with an efficient plan for tearing down the old subdivision, which meant he could underbid the other companies. He tells us that he's going to be looking for subcontractors from all over the place. “If anybody knows of carpenters looking for work, tell them I'm going to be hiring. First, though, I'm looking for anybody who can do grunt work. We've got a lot of tearing down to do and permits to get before we even put a spade into the ground.” He stands up. “You know, Samuel, you may not have to hang on as chief much longer. If the economy picks up around here, we could be in a position to hire a new one.”

After he takes off, I sit around and drink another cup of coffee and wonder why his comment about hiring a new chief doesn't thrill me as much as it ought to.

The word is that Careen Hudson, the ex-teacher who had a fondness for young high school boys is spending every day this week at the fairgrounds in Bobtail showing vendors around and taking applications for those who want to work the state fair in early September. I go over to the fairgrounds to see if I can have a word with her. It's in a big field out east of town.

The grounds look a lot bigger without all the concessions, rides, and crowds. There are several permanent structures on the grounds—the ticket booths, now shut up tight; a huge barn where the livestock part of the fair is held; a big arena with concrete bleachers for the rodeo; and entertainment stages.

I head down to one end where I see cars parked in front of a couple of small wooden buildings. Over the entrance to one is a brass plate that says “Bobtail County Fair Headquarters.” It's eleven in the morning. I came at this time, figuring Careen Hudson would be taking a lunch break and she might have time for me.

Several people are waiting in the outer office. I go over to a desk that holds four stacks of papers—information and applications for vendors and general fair jobs. Hearing my footsteps, a man who looks barely twenty years old comes from around a screened-off area. He's tall and muscular, with a dark head of curls, intense blue eyes, and a strong chin. “Vendor or general work?” he says.

“Neither. I'm here to see Careen Hudson.”

“She's tied up—all these people are waiting to see her.” He tilts his chin in the direction of the waiting supplicants.

“It's a police matter,” I say. “Couple of questions I need to ask her. I can wait.”

He frowns, and I see he doesn't quite know how to handle this wrinkle in the day's business. If I were to guess, he was hired because of his looks rather than for his brains. “You have a card?” he says.

He takes the card and starts toward another door, but the door opens and Careen Hudson steps out. The men in the waiting room come to attention. It's been thirty years since she was a teacher, but time has been good to her. In her school picture she had full lips, dark eyes, and long, lustrous hair. Her hair is shorter, the eyes have a few lines around them, and she may have a few more pounds than she'd like, but she looks good. And she is dressed to take advantage of her assets. She's wearing high heels and a short skirt that shows off shapely legs, a red blouse with enough of the top buttons left undone to give a peek at fine breasts, and a gold necklace that stops an inch short of nestling between them. This is a woman to be reckoned with.

Her assistant hurries over and hands her my card and says a few words to her. She looks at her watch and says something to him.

He comes back and says, “Careen is going to try to fit two more applicants in and then she'll see you while she eats her lunch at her desk.”

The assistant calls the next applicant in, a burly man whose face has gone bright red at the prospect of being in the same room with the bombshell.

Thirty minutes later I'm ushered into the office. Careen is sitting at a wooden desk in a straight-backed chair and she gestures for me to sit in the same kind of chair across the desk from her. It's hot in the office and she is fanning herself. When I sit down she picks up a tissue and blots her nose and forehead. “Every year I promise myself I'm going to get an air-conditioner for this office.” Her voice is low and has a trace of humor in it.

“Why don't you?”

“I'm too cheap. The fair barely makes ends meet as it is, and since I only use this office a few weeks out of the year, I can't justify the expense. That was before I hit the change of life.” She gives me a knowing wink, and I can't help laughing. “Good, at least you've got a sense of humor,” she says. “Some of these poor people are so desperate for a job that they wouldn't know a joke if it pounded them on the head.” She lifts the vee of the blouse away from her and fans herself, and I find myself wishing for the first time in many a year that I was twenty years younger and looking for a challenging woman. “Now what kind of questions can I answer for you?”

“I'm trying to find out if you remember a kid you had as a student back when you were teaching.”

The humor leaves her face. “If you mean that incident that got me fired, I don't have anything more to add.”

“I don't mean that,” I say. “This is about a boy by the name of Eddie Sandstone. Somebody said you were one of his teachers and might remember him.”

She lifts an eyebrow at me. “What I remember may not be very helpful to you. Eddie was a very attractive young man. I was only a few years older than him, and let me tell you, he was one hunk I would like to have gotten to know a little better. Cocky as hell, but I like boys that way.” She shifts in her seat and fans her chest again. I imagine what it must have been like for adolescent boys sitting in a classroom with her.

“I heard he had a temper,” I say.

She pauses, speculating, and I wouldn't be surprised if she liked that in a man, too, but if she does, she keeps it to herself. “I heard that, too. And there was something else. I'm trying to remember exactly what it was. Something that happened with his sister that upset her.”

“You have any idea what it was?”

She shakes her head. “You know how kids are. They'll blab every little thing about stupid stuff—but when something important happens, they clam up. And quite frankly I wasn't all that interested in the drama that high school girls get up to.”

“Any idea who might know something about it?”