I shrugged. “No, that’s okay. How do you read the instructions?”
“Trial and error.”
“No. Way. That sounds like the perfect way to lose a thumb or your hearing.” I’d had a small bottle rocket explode in my hand. Things had sounded out of kilter for several hours afterwards.
“You’re right. That’s not exactly true. They come with both Chinese, English, Spanish, French, and Korean instructions. They even have languages you’d think they made up just to confuse the rest of us.”
I smiled. He looked as if he needed some encouragement. I didn’t know an awful lot about fireworks, but at second glance the platform he’d built as a launching pad for his show wasn’t that large, and the amount of fireworks—gears, rockets, fuses, and whatnot—didn’t look as if they’d give a show that lasted longer than ten or fifteen minutes. But what did I know?
“This looks like quite a setup. How long do you expect the show will last?”
He thrust his hands on his hips and cocked his head to one side. “How many minutes do you suppose Mr. Mayor Cogburn requested?”
I bit my lip to keep myself from checking my watch. “Twenty minutes?”
“No.” He chuckled again, but it sounded as if his vocal cords were grinding the words through a meat grinder. “That would have been too reasonable for the amount of money he agreed to pay.”
Frank’s bitterness was leaking out in spite of his attempt at civility.
“Mayor Cogburn can drive a hard bargain.” Lenny and I continued our way around the platform. “I hope you stood up for yourself.”
“Of course.”
“So how long of a show did he request?”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Lord, have mercy.” Now ten extra minutes didn’t sound like a lot to me. Still, if he was paid by the minute and he’d underbid to get the job . . . and he didn’t have any cash flow to speak of . . . well, it could seem like an eternity to the poor guy. “Please forgive him, but he thinks it makes him a strong leader to drive a hard bargain.”
His belly laugh filled the air. “Oh, I forgave him, all right, once he’d agreed to an adjustment to my original invoice.”
After getting the tour, Lenny and I cruised back over to the officials’ tent and found an empty chair. There was no sign of either one of the officials, which was just as well. I needed to process all I’d seen and heard over the past four hours. Almost everyone seemed to have a reason to dislike Lucky Straw. I could imagine any one of them punching him in the face, but killing the guy was a stretch.
“Maybe he did fall and hit his head.” I glanced at Lenny. “It’s possible.”
“Yip.”
Lenny was right. Hadn’t I learned my lesson? Sometimes people kill other people the same way I might kill a fly with a fly swatter. It wasn’t the fly’s fault he was born to aggravate people to distraction. But it didn’t make him any less dead.
Chapter 7
Lucky’s Heart Needed a Bit of Help
Lenny and I approached the officials’ tent, dragging our tails behind us. Bridget Peck was flipping through the entry forms in a file folder while her friend Sam played solitaire.
“Can I get you guys anything?”
“Why is it people always say guys when what they actually want to say is y’all?” She turned to Sam. “Haven’t you noticed that tendency, especially in young people?”
Sam glanced up and gave me a vacant smile. “Sure.”
“Do you have everything you need?” We’d provided sandwiches, snacks, cold drinks, and water for the officials. Aunt Linda had even provided chocolate brownies with pecans and gooey centers.
“I would love a fan.” Bridget Peck was dressed in her bright yellow T-shirt and visor. It was about seventy degrees and windy.
“What kind of fan did you have in mind?” If I drove about three miles down the road, I’d pass the chapel where they still passed out paper fans on hot summer days, emblazoned with Juárez Funeral Home on one side and the Mother Mary on the other.
“I don’t rightly care, child. Y’all just bring me a fan, ’cause I’m about to pass out.”
Sam gave me a nod and went back to his solitaire. I checked my watch. “We only have a few minutes until it’s time to start the judging. How about something cold?”
Without waiting for an answer, I tied Lenny’s leash to the table leg and dashed for the paletas vendor I’d spotted on our tour of the fairgrounds only moments earlier. When I returned with three different flavors—mango, coconut, and strawberry cream—Bridget blanched.
“What kind of Popsicles are those?”
“Mexican. And they’re cold. You’re going to love them.”
With a frown, she unwrapped the coconut one and gave it a small lick. Her countenance cleared and she lunged for a bite. Sam took the mango, and I took charge of the strawberry cream.
“You want a lick?” I asked my long-haired Chi.
Lenny didn’t bother to answer. He scooted under the table and lay down, resting his head on his paws.
At Lucky’s tent, Lightfoot stood talking to Ellis. The JP had his camera case in one hand and his medical bag in the other.
I hurried over. “You leaving without saying good-bye?”
“The rest will take place at the morgue, and then it’s off to the state lab.” Ellis checked his watch.
“What do you think killed him?” I asked a bit too innocently.
He fought a smile. “Why bother asking? Weren’t we in his tent together?” Something in his expression made me doubt my powers of observation.
“Did he fall or was he clobbered with a skillet like I thought?”
“We’re still collecting evidence.” Lightfoot gave me a stern look.
“Please tell me something.” I leaned closer, lowering my voice. “Come on. I’ve been collecting evidence myself all morning.”
A silent message went back and forth between the
