This audience is now on its feet, losing their collective minds.
Something feels off. I turn to look out at the crowd, but I can't tell what's going on because Jet—Jet!—is barreling toward me. His face is all calm determination like this is a normal thing for him to be doing. Behind him, another man I don't recognize is lunging onto the stage and then running past me.
"What the…" I shout, but I'm barely audible over the screams of the crowd. Everything happens in a matter of seconds. My hoop and baton go clattering to the floor. Jet is carrying me off the stage and shouting at everyone backstage to clear out. The other man is yanking the makeshift curtains off their hooks and stomping around. Contestants are shouting, shrieking. Smoke billows. The smell of burning fabric hits me. And then I see it. The curtains have caught on fire. It's pandemonium. Cameron rushes past me and Jet with a fire extinguisher to put out the flames on my baton and hoop where they lie on the floor.
I have managed to completely ruin the 87th annual State Fair Butter Queen pageant.
Chapter Five
Jet
If you had told me this morning that the Butter Queen pageant is such a big deal that it can't even be canceled due to a small fire, I'd have said you were out of your mind.
Granted, Henry had the blaze put out before the fire department arrived, and there wasn't any significant damage. Only one curtain was burned; nothing else caught. The most important thing was nobody got hurt, either by smoke inhalation or stampede.
The complete lack of panic caught me off-guard more than anything. All the contestants and Cameron were behaving as if this kind of thing happens all the time.
Once again, the first-aid crew is on top of the situation, checking over all the contestants and especially Rocket. Before they whisk her away from me, Rocket whispers to me urgently, "You need to tell somebody everything you heard Paris say on the phone, plus this: I've been thinking and I don't think Shirley's food poisoning was an accident. Second, Emmy's eye makeup burned her for no apparent reason, and she was taken out, but she and Aleesha had swapped stations earlier. Third, my barbecue lighter starts a fire? No way. That thing has a safety on it and the fair volunteers and I practiced this half a dozen times. They are supposed to retrieve the lighter and return it to the tent. And I don't see them or the lighter anywhere. Someone is trying to sabotage this entire event and we all know who."
"On it," I say. I'm appropriately concerned but also relieved that Rocket is letting me help her with this.
Before I head back to my seat, I stop off and speak to Henry, filling him in on all the drama.
"How can I help?" he asks, without missing a beat.
"I need you to find that barbecue lighter, talk to the stage crew, and I need you to find out what someone named Shirley Solomon had for breakfast."
One of the things I like about Henry is he never questions me when I need him to help out with a caper. Back in the day, we got into some shit. He's the kind of guy who would help you bury the bodies.
And then I take my seat, and the show goes on, no more than 30 minutes after a near-tragedy. These ladies have intestinal fortitude, I'll give them that much. They'd all do well in the military.
Cameron closes out the talent portion by announcing a twenty-minute break. I fill out the middle portion of my ballot, then head over to check on Henry, who's now texting with someone.
"Hey, buddy. How's it going?" I ask.
He replies, "No one can find that lighter, and the person who was supposed to grab it during Rocket's performance got distracted by a false alarm in the dressing room tent. And on the other lady you asked me about, I don't know what this means, but check it out." Henry hands me his phone. When I see what's on the screen, I'm livid.
"Thanks, pal. Listen. You don't have to stick around for the whole thing. If you want to bail, we can meet up at the butter sculpture."
Henry laughs. "And miss what happens next? I watched my best friend turn into an action hero. Poisoning and a fire outbreak? And this fucking thing is still going. There's no way I'm leaving. Besides, it's so fucking hot out today, they're only bringing the butter sculpture out of refrigeration for like five minutes. The scuttlebutt is they might not display it at all today. So I'm good right where I am."
I thank him, deciding to fill him in later on the fact that I'm going home with Rocket as soon as this pageant is over.
Behind the stage, I find Cameron scribbling furiously on a clipboard while talking to someone on the phone. I wait patiently but then I hear an interesting tidbit.
"Shirley," she says into the phone. "How are you feeling? … The doctor said what? … I can barely hear you, did you say tainted lettuce? Oh no. From her? Are you sure? … Oh my God…well, I'd better go and check on Paris and tell her not to eat anything else from her personal chef…right…as if that girl eats anything ever…but just to be sure…and from here on out, I'm instituting a new rule…haha, that's correct, no more personal chefs or photographers or makeup artists or entourages of any kind at this thing. It's the state fair, dang it, not the Miss Universe pageant. No offense, dear…feel better."
Cameron is already en route to the tent and nearly barrels into me before she sees me standing there. "Lieutenant
