Skee Matusik’s Lucky Ducky next door was a play-till-you-win with every player a winner. His prizes probably cost him a dime at the most. Same with the balloon race across from him. But the Bowler Roller, Polly’s Plate Pitch, and the rope climb next to it all had big prizes, so I knew they had to be a lot harder than they looked.
“Change, please!” someone called from the Dozer, and I stepped up into the well of the wagon, took the woman’s two dollar bills, and handed back eight quarters from Tally’s money apron.
It was fascinating to stand back here and watch quarters tumble over the side spills into the baskets beneath each station. I had a vague idea that the Harvest Festival Committee was supposed to get a percentage of the carnival’s take, but how was it decided? The honor system? I found myself thinking about cash-only businesses and the IRS. No paper trails here. How would the government go about guessing how much money the games on this lot took in? ‘Course that line of logic’s what got my daddy into trouble with the IRS all those years ago. He was never convicted for making or distributing white lightning. No, his conviction was for income tax evasion.
“I’m ready to cash in,” said a man’s pompous voice from the other side, a voice I recognized at once.
Reluctantly, I looked over the countertop and saw a startled Paul Archdale, the attorney who’d probably be running for my seat in the next election.
“Judge? Judge Knott?” Disbelief and disapproval were in his eyes. “What on earth are you doing in there?”
“Research,” I said blandly. “I thought I ought to see what goes on behind the scenes at a carnival so I can better understand why some of our rowdier citizens flip out. What about you?”
“Supporting the festival,” he said with returning righteousness.
He tried to hand me the poker chips he’d collected. I knew there was a system for equating chips with prizes, but I didn’t have a clue what it was.
“My goodness,” I told Paul. “You have supported the festival here tonight if you’ve played long enough to get that many chips.”
He flushed and muttered something about getting lucky.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come back in about ten minutes when the owner’s here,” I said. “I have no idea how the prizes work.”
Archdale huffed away impatiently.
Dwight was leaning against the end of the Dozer with a broad grin on his face. “Research?”
I shrugged. “All I could think of.”
Across the way, the man Tally called Sam finished opening the booth just as Tally reappeared with a young woman who didn’t look much older than sixteen or seventeen.
We saw her giving the girl last-minute instructions, then the man left them with a weary wave of his hand and headed toward the trailer area. The girl stepped into the booth and smiled at the people who had immediately paused to play the simple-looking game.
Tally started back through the throng to join us. Before she’d gotten halfway to us, though, screams pierced the air. Even the music pulsing through the loudspeakers was no match for the girl’s terror. Plates went crashing as she stumbled from the booth, wide-eyed and gibbering and pointing to the huge stuffed pandas and Sesame Street characters hanging at the back.
Dwight rushed over and I followed.
There among the prizes hung the body of a woman with bright red hair.
Polly Viscardi.
CHAPTER 15
MONDAY NIGHT
It was a repeat of Friday night, only this time it was me, not Sylvia Clayton, that Dwight was telling he’d see the next day. Unlike Sylvia, though, I didn’t split right away.
The carnival was immediately closed down, of course, much to Paul Archdale’s dismay. As soon as the announcement came over the loudspeakers asking people to please clear the lot, he marched straight up to me and demanded his prize.
“Prize?” I was outraged. “Paul, someone’s just been killed here.”
“Yeah, and I’m real sorry about that,” he said stubbornly, “but I dropped thirty-seven dollars on this game and I’m not leaving without my prize.”
“How many chips you got, Mister?” Tally said from inside the Dozer. “Four? Okay, here you go.”
From the prize rack over her head, she unclipped a bubble pack that held a bright yellow-and-black submersible flashlight that looked like a knockoff of a name brand.
As he walked away somewhat mollified, I muttered, “And may he use it to illuminate a place where the sun don’t shine.”
Tally shot me a startled glance and gave an involuntary giggle. “And here I thought you were from the high- class side of the family.”
“Don’t make any snap calls till you meet the rest of them,” I said, and went around to the front to start folding down the sides for her.
All around us, the other game stands were being closed down, too, as uniforms took over the lot again, canvassing all the operators, asking if anyone had seen anything before Polly’s body was discovered. Patrol cars with flashing red and blue lights had converged on the midway till the EMS truck could barely squeeze past. Instead
