At some point I realized that Michael had been wiser than me—seeing the Midway through the boys’ eyes was cheering me up. I loved watching them absorb all the new sights, sounds, and smells.
We finally gave in to Josh’s pleas to go on the Ferris wheel—Jamie sensibly wanted nothing to do with it. And neither did Josh once the car swung up about six feet into the air to load the car after ours. In his defense, he was rather overdue for a nap. To avoid a major meltdown, I handed him down from the car to Michael. It was probably against the safety rules, but given the volume of his shrieks, the Ferris wheel operator didn’t object to this quick solution to the crisis. Then, while Michael and Rob whisked the boys back to the sheep barn for milk and naps, I took a solo ride on the Ferris wheel. I told Michael that I didn’t want to disrupt everyone else’s ride any further by making the operator let me off, but I was also eager for a little peace and quiet. I hoped I wouldn’t change my mind when the Ferris wheel actually began moving at full speed, but the first slow, jerky revolution, with the operator stopping to unload and reload each car, was surprisingly peaceful.
Especially as I neared the top of the wheel, where I could get a panoramic view of the whole fair, teeming with ant-sized people. I could see mosquito-sized cows being led around the show ring by ant-sized farmers in overalls. On the distant stage an aphid-sized kilted bagpiper was marching up and down. The John Deere and Kubota equipment exhibits looked like a collection of child’s toys, with a flock of overall-clad termites swarming around them. Closer at hand, in the Midway, people didn’t quite look like ants, of course. More like Barbie and Ken dolls. And all of them, ants, aphids, termites, and dolls, were swarming busily but peacefully.
Well, with the possible exception of a booth almost at my feet, where a Ken-sized Deputy Plunkett and the G.I. Joe–sized operator of a ringtoss were having some sort of altercation. Not a shouting match—I saw the ringtoss operator look around as if for eavesdroppers, and then lean closer before saying something to Plunkett.
And just then the Ferris wheel swooped into motion. I lost sight of Plunkett and the barker. For the first couple of revolutions, I tried to find them again, but I realized the effort was making me uncomfortably dizzy. So I leaned back and tried to push Plunkett out of my mind to enjoy the ride.
And I did enjoy it, but as soon as the Ferris wheel operator released me from my car, I threaded my way through the Midway to the ringtoss. Plunkett wasn’t there, and the operator was doing a lively business, so I decided not to interrupt him. But I spotted Plunkett approaching a food concession a few booths down the row. I watched for a few moments as Plunkett stared up at the menu and then spoke to the man behind the counter. The man called something over his shoulder, then handed Plunkett a can of Pepsi. Plunkett leaned against the booth, popped the can open, and took a long swallow.
Curiously, I hadn’t seen any money change hands.
I strolled up to the booth and ordered a fresh-squeezed lemonade and slid two dollar bills across the counter to pay for it.
“Lemonade, Sam,” the man said.
A high school kid plucked a lemon out of a nearby bin, deftly sliced it, and began rotating the first half on a juicer. The fry cook lifted an Italian sausage from his grill, laid it on a bun, and then slathered on layers of green pepper strips and translucent onion slices. One of my favorites. My mouth began to water, and I made a mental note to call Michael and ask if I should bring dinner back from the Midway.
But not just yet. I turned to Plunkett.
“Afternoon,” I said. “Nothing much happening with the murder investigation?”
Plunkett, who had just taken an enormous bite of his sausage, shook his head.
“Suspect’s out on bail,” he said, when he’d chewed and swallowed his first bite. “And we get some time off. Only for the weekend. Monday, the crime lab in Richmond should get back to us about the evidence we sent down there.”
“That’s good,” I said.
“Good? You really think anything they find down in Richmond is going to get your friend off?”
“I just meant it’s good that you’re all getting a break,” I said.
It could be true. I hoped that Horace and Vern and the chief were getting a little time off to enjoy themselves. At least if they were still putting in long hours, they’d been able to rid themselves of Plunkett for a while by pretending to be taking some time off. They’d probably find that as relaxing as actual time off.
“Yeah, ’bout time we got a break,” Plunkett said. “Of course, not all of us are slacking off,” he added. “I’m still working on the case. Got an angle of my own I want to follow up.”