I sighed.
“You could say that,” I said. “We had a murder last night.”
“I heard about that.” He didn’t sound particularly alarmed. “Over at the Midway, right?”
I nodded.
“Well, what do you expect? Bunch of carnies, and in Clay County at that. But no more animal thefts?”
“Not that I know of.”
“But are you sure you’d have heard?” He was looking anxious again.
I pulled out my cell phone and called the police station. I used their regular number, not 911, but I still got Debbie Ann, the dispatcher.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“No problem,” I said. “If I had a problem, I’d call 911. I just wanted to see if you’d heard about other incidents here at the fair last night.”
“Other than the murder, you mean?”
“That’s right.”
“No. No other incidents.”
“That’s good,” I said.
“Not that I’d expect any,” Debbie Ann went on. “With the whole fairgrounds swarming with police all night.”
“I agree.”
“In case you’re curious, your friend’s lawyer just arrived, and the chief sent a deputy down to Richmond to take the gun to the crime lab. It’s not looking good.”
I winced. So much for hoping the real culprit, or at least another strong suspect, had turned up while I was asleep.
“Thanks.” I hung up. “No other thefts,” I said to the farmer.
“Thanks,” he said. “I don’t want to take any chances with my livestock. I’ve got Red Wattles.”
I admit, I glanced at his neck, which was red and wrinkled but largely wattle-free, before catching on.
“I see,” I said. “Red Wattles … they’re hogs, right? A heritage breed?”
“That’s right.” Something that could probably be classified as a smile crossed his face. “Sweetest-tempered hogs I’ve ever raised, and you should taste the bacon.”
I tried not to show my reaction. I was no vegetarian and I’d lived in a farm community for years now, but I was still occasionally surprised—and a little put off—by how matter-of-fact some farmers were about eating their livestock. And I had come to feel particularly sorry for pigs. People might keep chickens for the eggs, sheep for wool, and cows for milk, but if anyone had invented a nonlethal job for pigs, I hadn’t heard of it.
“Randall says it’s a shame so many of the heritage breeds are so neglected,” I said aloud.
“And your fair’s doing a good job of getting them some attention,” the man said. “I aim to win me some medals here this weekend—long as no one steals my hogs.”
“We’ll do our best to keep them safe.”
He nodded, touched one finger to the bill of his cap, and strode off.
I couldn’t decide whether to be appalled or relieved at his reaction to the murder. Appalled, I decided, on general principles, but it certainly would be less trouble for the fair if his reaction was typical. Somehow I didn’t think it would be.
I leaned back against the side of the pen, then sat up again when one of the sheep snuffled at my hair. I didn’t feel rested, but I didn’t think there was any way I could go back to sleep. And as Rose Noire had pointed out, the fair would open all too soon.
I heaved myself to my feet and pulled together a few things. A change of clothes, and my toilet kit. It occurred to me that I’d never found time for a shower yesterday, and maybe I should do something about it before things got too busy.
I stepped out of the barn and looked around. To my right, I could just make out that the gate where we’d found Brett’s body was still cordoned off with crime scene tape, with a uniformed deputy guarding it. No rubberneckers as far as I could see. The few people who were out seemed intent on getting somewhere. To one or another of the barns mostly, with a few people scurrying toward the exhibitor bathrooms.
I headed that way myself.
I was still trying to rinse the last bits of soap off myself—why did it seem so much harder in cold water? And why had I let Randall overrule me on the question of installing a hot-water heater for the showers?—when I had to step out of the shower again to answer my phone.
“Meg, dear.” Mother. “You might want to drop by the wine pavilion.”
She hung up before I could ask why.
Chapter 21
A few minutes later I was clean and dressed but very far from in a good mood.
“What now?” I muttered, as I half strode, half ran toward the wine pavilion. Its red-and-white–striped exterior seemed incongruously cheerful this morning.