“Mrs. Kaufman came by my booth a little while ago,” I said. “She wanted me to come back here with her, so when I got here, I wasn’t sure what to expect. So the thing is—”
“What are you trying to tell me?” he asked.
I stopped and waited as he entered the kitchen. Officer Rakestraw froze, then turned back to me, his eyes wide.
“What the hell is this?”
“Umm… this is what I was trying to tell you.”
The officer grabbed the walkie-talkie unit on his shoulder, pressed a button, and spoke hurriedly into it. I didn’t understand half the words he said—J-9, 10-4, R2D2? I did catch the words “suspected homicide” and “witnesses present,” though.
“Just so you know,” I said after he’d finished, “I’m not a witness, and I wasn’t present when this happened.”
He gave me a hard stare. “Look,” he said, “I get it. Officer Sanchez has a history with you, so he’s taking it easy on you. If you ask my opinion, he needs to be reassigned. So far, you’re the best suspect we’ve got, and he refuses to take you downtown. It’s bullshit if you ask me. But no one asks me.” He flexed his fists. “Not anymore,” he added quietly.
He turned to the distraught woman on the floor. “Mrs. Kaufman,” he said loudly.
She looked up.
“I’ll need you to come with me.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, but you will need to come with me. There are certain protocols that need to be maintained and evidence to be collected, and as of now, you’re placing yourself in a position to become a target of our investigation.”
Mrs. Kaufman looked at me with pleading eyes, and then she turned to Officer Rakestraw.
“I understand,” she mumbled quietly.
It took her a minute to get to her feet, but after she stood, she followed us outside.
I shouldn’t have felt guilty. There was nothing I could have done. Mr. Kaufman was already dead when I arrived. Still, Mrs. Kaufman had felt I could help her husband somehow, and it hurt to disappoint her. But I’d done nothing wrong. Whoever had murdered Mr. Kaufman should be the one to take the blame, not me.
When we arrived at the front gate, Officer Rakestraw ushered Mrs. Kaufman inside the small room that had recently become the interrogation room.
After she went inside, the officer turned to me, his face set in a hardened scowl. “The only reason I’m not cuffing you right now is because I’m not stupid. I have respect for my superiors, even if they don’t deserve it. But mark my words—I am watching you. You slip up once more, and I’ll make sure it’s the last time. Got it?”
I swallowed my fear. He wanted to intimidate me, but I refused to let him.
“I got it. But you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“I’d better not.”
He went inside and slammed the door behind him, leaving me alone outside.
It was then I realized I was surrounded by a crowd. Turning away, I headed back toward my booth, feeling their eyes follow me. Up ahead, the midday parade had started, and I had to dodge through the crowd once again to get back to my booth.
It was just my luck that the Gypsies were marching past as I tried to make my way through the crowd. One of the young girls caught my eye and soon made her way toward me. I tried to avoid her, but once she’d spotted me, she kept pace with me.
“Wouldn’t you like a lovely flower?” she asked, playing the part as she attempted a Gypsy’s accent, slightly rolling her r’s and making her w’s sound like v’s.
“No thanks. I’m good.”
“It shall bring great luck,” she said as she trailed behind me.
“I doubt it.”
“And it would look so pretty in your hair.”
“I don’t think so.”
“‘Tis a free gift! Why won’t you accept it?”
My patience was already worn thin, and this girl’s hassling was about to wear it through completely. “Look,” I snapped as I turned around to face her, but I paused when I noticed the basket of flowers she carried.
Intermingled with the roses and carnations were flowers I recognized too well. The purple petals with the long, hood shape were unmistakable, as were the red flowers with yellow centers.
“Where did you get these?” I asked.
“They are grown in my mother’s magical garden of love. They are beautiful, aren’t they?”
I plucked out one of the red flowers. “What kind of flower is this?”
“‘Tis a poppy.”
“A poppy?”
She nodded.
“Is your mother’s magical love garden here on the festival grounds?”
She eyed me. “It’s… well… I don’t think I’m supposed to say.”
“Why not?”
She glanced nervously at the crowd. “Because it is a secret garden,” she said, still trying to keep up the Gypsy act.
“Drop the act,” I snapped, “and tell me where you got this flower.”
“Fine,” she said in her American accent. “My mom buys them, but I don’t know where. Walmart, probably. You happy?”
“Yes.” I tried to return the poppy, but she turned away.
“Keep it!” she shouted over her shoulder before giving me the one-finger salute.
Lovely girl. And so polite. I’d have to compliment the kid’s mom whenever I got a chance. Holding the poppy, I made my way back to my booth, but as I approached, I found Princess Esmelda standing outside.
“Princess,” I said, showing her the flower, “do you know the meaning of this flower?”
She studied the poppy. “My people call them poppies—the same as their Earth name—however, I do not know the meaning.”
“Would your brother know its meaning?”
“Yes. He is quite astute on such things. Would you like me to take you to him? I believe he returned to the tent along with the others. They were entertaining a group of humans.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Entertaining?”
“Yes. I am sure my brother is showing off. He gets that way at home sometimes. He is a performer at heart
