I shoved the thought out of my mind and concentrated on watching the crowds.
“Shall I see if I can win you a life-sized, glow-in-the-dark, lime-green stuffed hippopotamus?” Michael was pointing to the ball toss and flexing his fingers, as if eager to test the skills he’d honed all summer playing fast-pitch softball.
“They’re not life-sized, only four feet tall,” I said. “And while either of your sons would love a stuffed hippo taller than he is, you know what will happen if you bring one home and expect them to share.”
“True.” He shuddered slightly, no doubt remembering the particularly savage battle the boys had had a few days earlier when Josh became convinced that we had given Jamie a larger helping of watermelon chunks.
“I could try to win two,” he suggested.
“Try later,” I said. “When we’re off duty.”
“Remind me why we’re patrolling the Midway,” he said, as he dodged a teenager who was too busy talking on her cell phone to watch where she was waving her giant ball of cotton candy.
“Not the whole Midway,” I said. “Only this narrow strip along the fence between it and the agricultural areas.”
“Shouldn’t we also be patrolling that strip of fields between the woods and the barns?”
“We’ve got a brace of Shiffleys covering that—they’re perched in portable hunting blinds up in the trees. If anyone sneaks out of the woods and tries to cross the open pasture, the Shiffleys will see them. You and I are supposed to keep an eye out for signs that some of these apparently innocent Midway visitors are actually plotting something more sinister.”
“Like someone trying to smuggle stolen hens onto the Ferris wheel?” Michael suggested. “Or someone with telltale bits of pumpkin rind on his clothes?”
“More like someone taking an undue interest in any part of the fence separating the Midway from the rest of the fair,” I said.
“True.” Michael studied the fence for a moment. “It would be easy to slip away, hop over the fence, and sneak up on the barns.”
“Easy to slip away and hop over, maybe,” I said. “Sneaking up on the barns might be a little harder. About an hour ago, Randall Shiffley put some of his uncle Hiram’s goats in the pen just over the fence.”
“The ornery ones Hiram trained to chase revenuers away from his still back when he used to be a moonshiner?”
“The ornery ones, yes,” I said. “But what’s this ‘used to be’ nonsense? Since when did Hiram reform?”
“I thought he gave it up when Randall was elected mayor,” Michael said. “You mean he’s still at it?”
“He didn’t give it up,” I said. “Moonshine’s become big business these days—arguably another heirloom crop.”
“But still illegal.”
“Which is why Hiram moved his base of operations across the border to Clay County, where it wouldn’t be so much of an embarrassment to Randall if he got arrested.”
“Well, that was thoughtful. And having Hiram’s goats on the case should make the exhibitors feel better.”
“The exhibitors don’t know about the goats,” I said. “They also don’t know that you and I are patrolling the Midway. We’re not on the official patrol list. So if you hear anyone complaining about our leaving a gaping hole in our security, don’t enlighten them.”
“But—oh. You think the prowler’s an exhibitor.”
“Could be,” I said. “If it was just a prank, why haven’t the chickens turned up? More likely, someone wanted to sabotage their competitors, and did a little extra mischief to confuse things—and who would care about sabotaging one of the competitors except another competitor?”
“Which means Chief Burke will be taking a close look at all the competing quilters, pumpkin growers, and bantam chicken fanciers?”
“I assume,” I said. “Another possibility is that someone wanted the chickens, and sabotaged the quilt and the pumpkin, again to muddy the waters. And anyone that gung ho for poultry—”
“Is probably here, exhibiting,” Michael said. “Makes sense. I can think of another possibility, though. What if someone wants our fair to fail? Someone involved with a rival fair?”
“Then if they’re smart, they’re here, pretending to be having a great time, and studying everything we do for ways to outshine us and sabotage us.”
“And if they’re stupid, like Brett Riordan, they’re here trying to talk up their own fair right under our noses.” He shook his head. “Annoying. But yeah, it makes sense that the prowler’s probably here. And has probably volunteered to be on patrol.”