Murder of a Small-Town Honey

By standing with her back to the line, Skye was able to observe the performance currently unfolding on the festi­val's center stage. A tiny old lady, dressed in a loose white dress over a red-and-white-striped long-sleeved turtleneck and matching tights, was trying to ignore two little boys who were fighting over a stuffed animal. After one particu­larly loud screech, the woman finally stopped her story-

telling and crouched next to the unhappy children. Her dress was so long and she was so tiny, the only thing that showed in this position was the rolled-up tips of her pointy-toed shoes.

The old lady's amplified voice could be heard through­out the food and games area. 'Sweetie pies, could you do Mrs. Gumtree a big, big favor? If you stop fighting over that itty-bitty teddy bear, Mrs. Gumtree will get each of you one of her dolls when she finishes the story.'

The children were quiet for less than a heartbeat, then a reedy young voice piped up, 'Boys don't play with dolls.'

Skye watched as the two kids, now united against the enemy, an adult, stood and raced off the stage. It was hard to tell from such a distance, but it looked to Skye as if a fleeting expression of irritation crossed Mrs. Gumtree's features before she turned back and pasted a smile on her face.

As Skye used the facilities, smelly as they were, she shook her head over the way Mrs. Gumtree had handled the children. If she ever ran into the woman, maybe she'd give her a few tips on behavior management.

She still had some time before she was due back to judge the chokeberry jellies, so she decided to walk to the pasture where Cow Chip Bingo was being held.

To play Cow Chip Bingo, a flat piece of ground was di­vided into square-yard plats that were sold for twenty dol­lars each. On the specified day, plat-holders were provided with a barbecue dinner, which they consumed picnic-style on their section of grass. One well-fed cow was allowed to wander the field. The winner was the holder of the plat in which the cow dropped its chips.

Skye heard screams and laughter as she approached the playing area. Hurrying forward, she saw people running in every direction. She was just in time to watch a father, holding his daughter over his head, step in a cow pie and go down as if he were sliding into home base.

Skye asked a man leaning against the gate, 'What's going on here?'

He half turned to her, but kept an eye on the field. 'Somebody must've slipped something into the cow's feed. It's dropping a load every few feet. They called for the vet.' The man tsked. 'Worse part is, no winner can be declared, and all the money has to be refunded. This is really going to hurt the 4-H club.'

As he was talking, a middle-aged woman in a go-to-meeting dress and high-heeled pumps ran directly into a large pile of cow chips and went down. When she yelled, 'Shit!' the crowd roared and agreed that was what she had stepped in.

Skye watched for a moment longer before turning back to her duties. With all the pranks being played, she didn't want to leave the jellies unguarded.

The crowd inside the corrugated-metal building where all the domestic goods were to be judged was buzzing when Skye returned.

Her fellow jelly judge was bursting with news. 'Did you hear what happened at the go-cart races?'

'No.' Skye felt her stomach tighten. She had always been afraid someone would kill themselves on the Go- Kart track. 'What happened?'

'Someone poured water in all the gas tanks. All the karts are ruined.' The woman's face was so red from the excite­ment, Skye was afraid she was going to have a stroke.

'How awful. I just came from Cow Chip Bingo and it was spoiled too.'

After Skye gave her the details, the woman excused her­self. 'It's only quarter to. I'll be back by three and we can get the judging going. I've got to find my sister and tell her the latest.'

The judging of the chokeberry jelly contest was one of the main events of the Chokeberry Days Festival. With only a few minutes before the official start, the building was crammed with people. Skye heard snatches of conversation, mostly discussions of the various pranks and why Choke-berry Days should or shouldn't continue.

Skye looked at her watch, wondering where Mayor Clapp was. They couldn't start the judging without him. As time passed and the judging did not commence, the crowd grew restless. They had already divided themselves into two groups—those for Chokeberry Days and those against. As the heat rose in the metal building, tempers flared. Skye gnawed on her lower lip. Five more minutes and she was starting without the mayor.

Gradually she realized that one voice was making itself heard above the crowd. 'These pranks have got to stop. People are getting hurt. Mayor Clapp needs to do some­thing.'

Skye scanned the throng, trying to see who was speak­ing. Instead she spotted Lloyd Stark, the junior high princi­pal, who was chanting, 'Cancel Chokeberry Days!'

When the opposition heard him, they began to accuse Lloyd of pulling the pranks. Faces turned red and fists were raised. One man brandished a hammer.

Turning to her co-judge, Skye said, 'We'd better do something. That mob's reaching the point of accusing Lloyd of assassinating John F. Kennedy and kidnapping the Lindbergh baby.'

Before the other woman could reply, Skye's grand­mother, Antonia, who had been standing with Minnie on the sidelines, walked over to Skye's table, grabbed the biggest jar of chokeberry jelly, and smashed it on the floor.

The roar was abruptly silenced at the sound of the break­ing glass. Into the stillness Antonia asked, 'Can any of you

really imagine Lloyd messing with a cow or crawling in the dirt around the Go-Karts?'

Although the silence continued, tension still throbbed, until Minnie snickered and everyone else started laughing.

Lloyd looked around the sea of faces and perhaps not seeing a friendly one, marched out the door in a huff.

The crowd remained quiet until one man dressed in a suit started preaching about the sins of Chokeberry Days. He talked about the property damage, the people injured, and the trash scattered everywhere.

Skye whispered to her fellow judge, 'Who's that guy?'

'Mike Young. Nice-looking, isn't he?'

Before Skye could think of a response, the name-calling started again, this time led by the owner of the liquor store, and was quickly picked up by other merchants.

Chokeberry Days was to Scumble River what Mardi Gras was to New Orleans. It brought in so much money that retailers could afford to run their businesses at half profits for the rest of the year. They tripled their rates and sold souvenirs, overpriced crafts, and soda at two dollars a can. The liquor store stayed open twenty-four hours, and the town's restaurant actually required reservations.

Even the farmers made a profit selling 'antiques' from their barns and attics, and the last of the vegetables from their gardens. Their wives sold quilts, afghans, and home­made preserves.

Anyone who threatened Chokeberry Days threatened these people's pocketbooks. And they were mighty protec­tive of their cash flow.

Skye's attention was drawn back to Mike Young, who was shouting, 'The only reason the mayor allows this whole debauchery is because he gets to pose with a celebrity and gets his picture in the paper.'

Skye was still eyeing the crowd when a young boy with flaming red hair ran through the open door screaming, 'The mayor's dead! The mayor's dead!'

The crowd was silent for a moment, then a babble of voices erupted. It grew louder and more angry. Skye slipped out from behind the jelly display, grabbed her aunt and grandmother, and ran for the door. She was afraid Scumble River was about to experience its first riot, and she didn't want to be around to see it.

CHAPTER 2

Don't Rain on My Parade

Skye stood trapped on the telephone in her kitchen. She was still dressed in the perspiration-soaked clothes she had worn to attend Mass that Sunday morning. No air-conditioning for Saint Francis Church. Let the Protestants have their creature comforts, the Catholics sweated for Jesus.

The mayor's 'death' and miraculous recovery had been the talk of the congregation. The official story was that he had seen someone messing around the beer tent and gone to check things out. When he tried to tap one of the kegs, he received an electrical shock. An open current had been rigged to the metal handle. Although Mayor