September Fair (23 page)

Mira

I immediately pulled the “send” trigger before I chickened out. I had never been so direct with Johnny, so open about how I felt about him. I really did want to finish what we’d started after his show at the Leinie Lodge, though. I wanted him to kiss me long and hard. There. It was out there. It was the truth. I wanted to press up against Johnny as if I was butter and he was hot toast. I wanted to kiss so long that our lips pruned. I wanted to roll in the grass with him like we were wildcats tied together at the waist. I wanted all that and more.

Then, a thought occurred that squeezed my heart in a bad way: had my e-mail been too obtuse, too vague? Would he think I wanted to finish what we started in my garden, tying up the tomato plants? Or finish what we started at the library, where we were renovating the children’s reading space? Or even finish what we started in dialing back our relationship to friendship mode? Christ. I was a lousy flirt. I should have just told him he needed to kiss me and be out with it. I couldn’t retract the e-mail, though. It was hurtling through cyberspace, probably already on his laptop and maybe even being read.

I shut down the computer, grabbed the camera, and headed to the daily State Fair Parade, certain that everyone could spot my dork flag flying. The streets of the fairgrounds were packed with couples strolling hand in hand, laughing and leaning in to each other. How did they make it look so easy? Did I have a cellular disorder, a genetic man-repellent visible only under microscope or by watching me stumble through a conversation with a decent guy? Agh.

Fortunately, the sounds of a marching band signaled the beginning of the early-afternoon parade and saved me from further self-flagellation. I elbowed my way to the front and turned my camera on so I’d be ready when the Milkfed Mary float sailed past. I didn’t need to wait long as their float led the parade. The float was blue-spangled on white, pulled by a car that featured a plywood cow cutout on each side to disguise it. On the back of the float, ten cute beauty queens in ball gowns waved prettily at the crowd. I was pleased to see Christine had stuck to her principles and was nowhere in sight. Megan was on the far side of the float, so I made a mad dash across the front, wondering briefly how embarrassing it would be to get run over by a cow car going twelve miles per hour.

“Megan!” I yelled. The parade route was loud with cheering and clapping for the Milkfed Marys. “Megan! Over here!”

She separated her name from the rest of the cheers and looked in my direction. I caught her attention, giving her an expectant look. She flashed a rueful grimace and held up her hands to indicate that she hadn’t found out anything. I let the float pass, snapping photos as long as I was there. I retreated to the shade of an oak tree when the Milkfed Marys were out of sight so I could look over the photos.

“Hey, did you get what you were looking for? That was some crazy high-risk photography, running out in front of a moving float like that.”

I had been so engrossed in studying the photos that I hadn’t seen Aeon approach. I looked into his bright blue eyes, which appeared sad, tilting down at the corners. Maybe it was the dappled sunlight under the tree throwing shadows. “Hi, Aeon. How’re you doing?”

“Been better. You eaten yet?”

“As a matter of fact, no.”

“Care to get a late lunch with me?”

“Let me guess. You’re a vegetarian.”

“Vegan, actually. But you don’t have to be. The Blue Moon Drive-in has great woodfired pizzas with rice or regular cheese.”

I reminded myself that Aeon was still on my suspect list, a hard fact to remember when he was being so nice. “Deal.”

“Hey, I got a joke for you,” he said, as we strolled to the diner.

“Okay.”

“Knock knock.”

“Please.” I rolled my eyes to play it cool, but the truth was, I loved knock knock jokes.

“Come on. Knock knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Interrupting cow.”

“Interrupting cow wh—”

“MOOOO!”

I laughed. The kids at the library story hour would love that one. “You actually have a sense of humor! So how come you’re so serious all the time? You worried that if people find out you’re a human behind those glasses and that picket sign that they won’t take you seriously? A jury might go easier on you if you cracked more smiles, you know.”

He stopped in front of the restaurant and looked down at his shoes. “You Googled me.”

“What?”

“You Googled me and found about the ecoterrorism stuff, didn’t you?” His voice had an odd lilt.

I crinkled my forehead. “Yeah, but that’s not what I was talking about. I was just teasing you.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he entered the restaurant, ordered his pizza, and sat at a table. I did the same, joining him though I wasn’t sure he welcomed my company anymore. In the back of the diner, an episode of “Gilligan’s Island” was playing on the big screen. We both pretended to watch it, neither of us talking even as our pizza and grape sodas were delivered.

“Look,” he said, putting his rice cheese pizza down and finally speaking. “Freaking out people and breaking the law isn’t my style. It’s what The Originals did, and it took me awhile to find my own direction.”

“The Originals?”

“My parents. Chandra and Chad. They founded GreenFreedom, but you probably know that already, too.”

“I did,” I mumbled around my pizza. “You call them ‘The Originals’?”

“They’re the original counterculture hippies, hell bent on civil disobedience and insurrection. I was raised in that environment, and it rubbed off on me. All of it, the good and the bad.”

“What was the bad?”

“The idea that I needed to destroy something to get attention. I understand activists who believe there’s no other way to get heard, but it’s not my style.” He shook his head, his face impassioned. “I found that out the hard way, with the bombing and the vandalism.”

“Did you go to jail?”

“Nah. I had good lawyers. And my parents were so excited that I was turning out just like them. They wanted to see me do more of the same, but I couldn’t. For me, two wrongs just don’t make a right.”

I munched thoughtfully on my pizza. “So the group you’re in now, Mad Cows, Mad People, isn’t radical?”

He laughed. “We try, but we do it within the bounds of the law. Our message is one of education and sustainability.”

I felt a kindred spirit in Aeon, though he was more organized than I’d ever be. He seemed like a gentle soul, if a lost one, and I wanted to reach out to him, pay him back for taking me into his confidences. “Hey, I need a sounding board for some theories about the Milkfed Mary murder. You interested?” He nodded, and over more pizza and organic apple pie, I told him what I knew about Janice’s peculiar past and Kate’s embezzling. I threw in my trump card. “Lars might have been involved, too. There are rumors that he was seeing Ashley, and I bet he’d go to great lengths to keep that news from getting out.”

He cocked his head, his expression unreadable. “But it did get out.”

“Lars might not know that.”

“Regardless, you’re still left with the big question: how would anyone have pulled off the poisoning? The papers said that Ashley wasn’t alone all morning, and the only thing she ingested was a diet cola that several witnesses saw her open.”

“But we don’t know where the ice cubes came from.” I had promised Mrs. Pederson and Glenda Haines that I wouldn’t spill that cyanide had killed Ashley, so I kept it vague. “A lot of poisons can be turned into a gas, which could then be frozen in an ice cube.”

He sat back, and I waited for him to tell me how stupid that sounded. Instead, he said, “That makes Lars a much more likely suspect than Kate or Janice, given his access to chemicals and a lab.”

“Yes!” I said, grateful that he agreed with my logic. “I think so, too!”

“Then you should let the police know.”

“I already blabbed my suspicions to a reporter.”

“Who?” Aeon asked, sitting forward.

“Some Chaz guy at the
Pioneer Press
. He was covering the press conference Kate held last Monday.”

“You told him everything you’re telling me?” He raised both eyebrows.

“Oh no. Just my theory about the poison in the ice cubes. I don’t know if he’ll even go to the police with it. He didn’t seem too impressed.”

Aeon leaned back into his chair as he contemplated what I’d told him. “Then you have to. I’d do it anonymously, though. From a pay phone. Take it from someone who knows, you don’t want the police to have your name connected to bad news.”

“Hallelujah,” I said. “I’ll go do it now.”

“I’ll come with.”

“Fine.” We bussed our table and headed north and east, toward the only pay phone that I knew of, the one near the 4-H building. We were inside the booth when I remembered that I’d lost all my change to Mrs. Berns in cards. “Let’s run back to the Airstream. I’m sure she won’t mind if I borrow some quarters. They were mine to begin with.”

“Not a problem. I wouldn’t mind seeing your trailer.”

An odd tone in his voice made me glance over, but all 6’5” of him was loping along innocently, a quirky smile on his face, his sad blue eyes guileless. “It’s not as cool as it sounds,” I said. “The guy I’m borrowing it from pimped it out to look like a 1973 rumpus room.”

He flashed me a peace sign. “I can dig it.”

“You’ll have to. Here it is.”

“Cool. Hey, looks like someone left you a note.”

I looked where he was pointing, at a scroll of paper in the handle of the door. The rolled paper made a dry sound and popped open when I yanked it out.

Aeon watched me as I read. “What is it? Everything all right?”

“No, it isn’t,” I said quietly. “This changes everything.”

“Who’s it from?”

“It’s not signed. Look.” I held out the note, which read:

If you want to find the truth about Lars Gunder, go to his office tonight. You’ll find a report that says it all.

“Wild. You recognize the handwriting?”

“No. And it’s written in block letters, so I don’t think I was meant to. And how in the heck would I break into Bovine Productivity Management?”

He looked around. No other fairgoers were visible, but we were surrounded by trailers, the nearest one only ten feet away, pink flamingo twinkle lights decorating the windows. “Maybe we should go inside. Whoever left the note might still be around.”

“Okay.” We advanced into the Airstream, where I made a quick scan of all the corners to make sure we were alone. Everything looked as I’d left it. “I think the first thing I’m going to do is call Bovine Productivity Management and find out if Lars is coming back to the fair tonight. I’d feel better if I could keep watch on him.”

“Not a bad idea. And you weren’t lying about this place.” Aeon whistled softly as he looked around. “How do you attach shag carpeting to a ceiling?”

“The miracle of hot glue guns, I believe. Make yourself at home while I call.” He was forced to stoop to move around, but he politely walked the twelve feet to the other end of the trailer, by Mrs. Berns’ bedroom door, to give me a sense of privacy. He fingered the love bead curtain that hung outside the nonfunctioning bathroom while I dialed.

“Hello, Bovine Productivity Management.”

“Hi, this is Mira James, with the
Battle Lake Recall
. I toured your facilities on Wednesday?”

“Of course.” I imagined her voice was chilly, thinly veiling her contempt at me for accidentally stumbling into the carcass room and forcing BPM to revisit their security policies, resulting in piles of memos and meetings for all employees. “How are you?”

“Fine. I had some follow-up questions to ask Mr. Gunder, who gave me the tour. Do you know if he’ll be at the State Fair this evening?”

“I’m afraid not. He left this morning for Duluth. He and his family are taking a long weekend. Such a lovely time of year for that. Is there something I can help you with?”

“No, thank you. I’ll try again next week.” I ended the call and turned to Aeon. “He’s out of town until Monday.”

“Perfect. This’ll make it easier.”

“Make what easier?”

“Breaking into his office.”

I held up my hands. “Are you insane? I already said I’m not breaking into BPM. That place is better protected than the White House. And anyhow, what happened to Mr. Follow-the-Law?”

“Mira, you gotta understand something. Mad Cows, Mad People has been tracking BPM for the past year. That company is the worst perpetrator of animal cruelty in the business.”

I grimaced. I hadn’t even told him about the mountain of poor dead animals I’d stumbled into. He’d probably spontaneously combust with anger. “I believe you, but what’s that got to do with us?” I asked.

“If we could take them down, we could help millions of cows and help preserve the food chain. You’re right that I won’t risk anyone getting hurt, but there’s no harm in peeking inside a little room at the top of the Cattle Barn.”

“What?”

“Lars’ office. The note must be referring to the one he has here at the fair. A person’d have to be nuts to try to break into BPM.”

“I forgot about his office here.” I eyed him suspiciously. “How’d you know about it?”

“Like I said, MCMP has been following BPM for a year. We know a lot about them.”

I sighed. “And how’re we going to waltz past ten Milkfed Marys to get to that office? Or should we just have them stand guard?”

“I’ve got a better idea. How about we sneak in when all the princesses are at the fireworks display tonight?”

He knew his stuff, which made me crabby. I hated it when I didn’t get to be the boss of the plans. “Fine,” I grumbled. “But I’m only going along because I’ve already been in that office.”

He chuckled. “So then it’s not really breaking and entering?”

“Correct. It’s ‘returning.’”

“Fair enough. What do you want to do until the fireworks start?”

“Know how to play Gin Rummy?”