'Oh, just fine now,' he assured her. 'I chucked most of it up, and the rest is settling all right.' He fingered the blue ribbon pinned proudly to his T-shirt. 'Mr. Tucker's going to win.'
'Is that right?'
'Always does. He can move real quick when he's a mind to.' He let out a whoop with the rest of the crowd. 'Here they go!'
The shouts and laughter from the onlookers were as wild as the squeaks from the pigs and the curses from the men pursuing them. As an extra incentive, the ground had been watered and churned to mud. Men slipped and sloshed in it, belly-flopped and back-flipped. Pigs squirted out of questing hands.
'Oh, why don't I have a camera?' Caroline let out a crow of laughter when Tucker skidded on his backside. He twisted when a pig raced across his knees, but came up empty.
'That FBI doctor's good!' Cy shouted, cheering when Teddy tackled a pig and nearly held on. 'Might've had it if Bobby Lee hadn't tripped over him. Mr. Tucker's going for the big one. Come on, Mr. Tucker! Haul 'em up!'
'An interesting contest,' Burns said as he stopped beside them. 'I suppose dignity is sacrificed for the thrill of the hunt.'
Caroline nearly shot him an impatient look, but she didn't want to miss anything. 'You're keeping your dignity, I see.'
'I'm afraid I don't see the point in wallowing in mud and chasing pigs.'
'You wouldn't. It's called fun.'
'Oh, I agree. In fact, I've never been more entertained.' He smiled down at Tucker, who was currently sprawled facefirst in the dirt. 'Longstreet looks quite natural, don't you think?'
'I'll tell you what I think,' she began, but Cy grabbed her arm.
'Look! He's got him! He's got him, Miss Caroline.'
And there was Tucker, slicked with mud and grease, holding a squirming pig over his head. When he grinned up at Caroline, she wished she'd had a dozen roses to throw.
No spangle-suited matador had ever looked more charming.
' 'To the victor go the spoils,' ' Burns noted. 'Tell me, does he get to keep the pig?'
Caroline tucked her tongue in her cheek. 'Until the butchering and pot luck supper next winter. Excuse me. I want to go congratulate the winner.'
'One moment.' He blocked her way. 'Are you still staying at Sweetwater?'
'For the time being.'
'You might want to reconsider. It isn't wise sleeping under the same roof with a murderer.'
'What are you talking about?'
Burns glanced over to where Dwayne and Tucker were washing down mud with a beer. 'Perhaps you should ask your host. I can tell you that I'll be making an arrest tomorrow, and the Longstreets won't have much to cheer about. Enjoy the rest of the festivities.'
Saying nothing, Caroline latched on to Cy and pushed by him.
'What did he mean, Miss Caroline?'
'I don't know, but I'm going to find out.' By the time she'd worked her way through the crowd, Tucker was gone. 'Where did he go?'
'He probably went down to McGreedy's to hose off with the others. Most everybody'll be packing up to go down to Sweetwater for picnics before the fireworks. They'll be opening the carnival, too.'
Frustrated, Caroline stopped. She couldn't talk to him surrounded by a bunch of wet, back-slapping men. She needed him alone. Rising on her toes, she scanned heads and faces. 'There's Delia. Why don't you catch up with her, ride back to Sweetwater? I'll wait for Tucker.'
'No'm. Mr. Tucker said I was to stay with you when he wasn't around.'
'That's not necessary, Cy. I don't…' A look at the boy's set jaw and she swallowed a sigh. 'All right, then. We'll park ourselves somewhere and wait.'
Sitting on the stoop in front of Larsson's, they watched the exodus from town.
'You shouldn't let that FBI man worry you, Miss Caroline.'
'He doesn't. I'm just concerned.'
Cy tugged his ribbon around so he could read it again. 'He's like Vernon.'
Surprised, Caroline turned to study Cy. 'Agent Burns is like your brother?'
'I don't mean he goes around starting fights or hitting women. But he thinks he's smarter and better than everyone else. Figures his way's the only way. And he likes having his foot on your throat.'
Caroline rested her chin on her hand and considered. Burns would detest the comparison, but it was eerily apt. With Vernon it was Scripture-his interpretation. With Burns it was the law-his interpretation. In either case it was the using of something right and just for personal power.
'They're the ones who lose in the end.' She thought of her mother as well, a great wielder of power, a master of carving out her own will. 'Because no one who doesn't have to stays with them. That's sad. It's better if people care about you even if you aren't always smarter, even if you aren't always sure you're right.' She stood. Tucker was strolling down the street, his shirt flung over his shoulder, his hair dripping, his jeans soaking wet. 'Looks like we're going home.'
She crossed the street to slip her arms around him. Laughing, he tried to nudge her back. 'Honey, I'm not as clean as I might be.'
'Doesn't matter.' She turned her head to murmur in his ear. 'I need to talk to you. Alone.'
He would have liked to have interpreted the demand as romantic, but he heard the tension, felt the nerves in the line of her body.
'All right. Soon as we can.' He kept one arm around her as they began to walk. 'Let's get a move on, Cy. I heard Delia's cooked up a regular feast. Probably baked a few pies, too.'
Cy grinned good-naturedly. 'I ain't looking at another pie till next Fourth of July.'
'Got to keep in practice, boy.' Tucker flipped a finger down the boy's blue ribbon. 'You know why I'm so good at latching on to those slippery critters?' He swung Caroline off her feet. ' 'Cause I'm always grabbing some wriggly female.'
Caroline relaxed enough to smile. 'Are you comparing me with a sow?'
'Why, no, indeed, darlin'. I'm just saying if a man puts his mind to it, he can keep what he wants from slipping out of his hold.'
Back at Sweetwater, there were blankets spread on the grass, and the calliope was piping its siren song from over in Eustis Field. Near the pond where death had so recently floated, music twanged out from a fiddle, a banjo, and a guitar.
Here and there exhausted children napped, many of them sprawled where they'd dropped. An impromptu Softball game was under way, and now and then the crack of the bat set up a cheer. Old men sat in folding chairs to root and gossip and wish for strong, young legs that could pump toward home. Young people drifted toward the carnival, where the rides were half price until six.
'Is it like this every year?' Caroline asked. She was close enough to the music to appreciate, far enough from the carnival not to dwell on how tawdry it looked in the daylight.
'Just about.' Tucker lay on his back, debating if he had room for one more drumstick. 'What do you usually do on the Fourth?'
'It depends. If I'm out of the country, the day goes by like any other. When I'm in the States, we usually tie the concert to a fireworks display.' The fiddler took up 'Little Brown Jug,' and Caroline began playing it in her head. 'Tucker, I have to ask you about something Matthew said to me earlier.'
The agent's name had Tucker deciding against another drumstick. 'I should have figured he'd find a way to ruin things.'
'He said he was going to make an arrest tomorrow.'
She closed her hand over his. 'Tucker, are you in trouble?'
He shut his eyes briefly, then rolled, folding his legs under him to sit. 'It's Dwayne, Caro.'
'Dwayne?' Stunned, she shook her head. 'He's going to arrest Dwayne?'
'I don't know that he can,' Tucker said slowly. 'The lawyer thinks Burns is blustering, that maybe he was trying to get Dwayne to say something he shouldn't. All he's got is speculation. No physical evidence.'
