Fat Cat Spreads Out

SEVEN

Chase wouldn’t have believed it possible, but the fair was more crowded on Sunday than it had been on Saturday. Their neighbor had finally shown up. So far, the man she assumed was Harper had plopped boxes on his table and was stringing up his banner. It was cute, with “Harper’s Toys” spelled out in primary-colored capital letters. Some of the letters were in the shape of toys. The A looked like a teepee playhouse, both Ss were jump ropes, and the O was a striped beach ball.

She went over to say hello. The man, older and gray-haired with rather ugly black tattoos on his stringy forearms, balanced on the table and struggled to fasten the string to his banner in the upper corner of his booth. She didn’t want to distract him and make him lose his balance, so she waited until he spied her before she said anything.

He finally got the banner up, using a copious amount of soft swearing, and climbed off the table.

He saw Chase. “Hey, what do you want?” His voice was gruff.

That was rather ungracious, she thought. How was he going to sell toys if he frightened small children?

“I want to say hi. I’m Chase and I’m in the booth next door. I’m looking forward to seeing your toys. Are they handmade?”

“Yeah, they’re handmade. You’ll see ’em when I get set up.” He turned his back on her and started ripping his boxes open with a pocketknife. She walked away without seeing any of the toys. Why was he so unfriendly? The travel agents, their other neighbors, seemed nice anyway.

She whispered to Anna about Harper. “Our neighbor is a crabby old toymaker. Don’t bother trying to talk to him.”

“Maybe,” Anna whispered back, “he’s harried, being a day late to the fair. His mood might improve.”

Chase doubted it. After she zipped over to drop Quincy at the vet’s office, she hurried back to help Anna get their booth ready to open. The onslaught of dessert bar buyers was truly phenomenal. Sales rivaled those of their two busiest times at the Bar None, which were freshman move-in week at the U and the holiday rush from mid-November until Christmas Eve.

Luckily, they were prepared, with piles of boxed treats and tray after tray of individual bars.

Anna had thought to bring several packages of wet wipes for the sticky fingers of customers who scarfed down their sweets right there at the booth. She and Chase had noticed many of them doing that on Saturday. The eager customers couldn’t wait to pop the Strawberry Cheesecake Bars, Lemon Bars, Cherry Chiffon Bars, and pineapple-coconut Hula Bars into their mouths.

Anna took a break midmorning to run home and check on Inger.

After Chase called the night before, Anna offered to let Inger stay at her place. She had more room—an actual guest room, in fact. Since it was Sunday, the shop was supposed to be open, following the normally scheduled Bar None business days of Wednesday through Sunday. However, they had decided to close up today, under the circumstances.

When Anna got back, Chase asked how Inger was doing.

“She was having morning sickness when I left earlier, but now she says she’s feeling better. She was watching television. I believe she knows that she has to make some decisions about her future and the baby’s soon. She had me drop her off at the shop.”

“She went in to work?”

“Said she wanted to help out with the baking.”

“The poor kid. I wonder if her parents will come around.”

“I hope so.”

Julie and Jay showed up just before lunchtime to help in the booth. Naturally, as soon as they arrived, there was a lull. So instead, they wandered off together to see the sights.

By noon, both women were starving.

“Charity,” Anna confided, leaning her head next to Chase’s while ringing up a large sale, “I’m going to drop if I don’t get something to eat.”

Chase grinned. “We can’t have that. I’ll run over to the food trailers and get something. Do you know what you want?”

“Surprise me. Anything but funnel cakes. I don’t want extra powdered sugar all over our floor.”

“Does Inger have lunch?”

“She said she just wanted crackers, but I left some chicken soup for her to heat up.”

Chase hurried out of the booth and down the midway. The beautiful, unseasonably warm weather was holding.

She had worn a knit jersey top, rust-colored and lighter than the sweater she wore yesterday. She brought along her suede jacket, which had served her well the night before. In the back of the booth, Chase had spied a heavy cotton dashiki in bright kente cloth that Anna had stashed for herself for later.

For now, the sun bounced off the tarps of the vendors’ booths, glinting off the white paint of the closed door to the butter sculpture building. The faintly dusty smell of the sawdust rose from her feet. Fallen autumn leaves had mingled with the sawdust. In places, she could even pick out brilliant reds from the maple behind their own booth.

The armed police guards were still around. Chase was reminded to be aware of her surroundings and keep her guard up.

She slowed a bit when she heard sobbing between the butter building and the one next to it, that of a hawker of handmade silver jewelry.

The large sculptor, Karl Minsky, stormed out from between the buildings and strode away without noticing Chase. He was followed by his daughter, Mara.

Mara dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and almost stumbled into Chase.

“Is something wrong? Can I help you?” Chase asked.

“Yes. And no. I don’t think you can help us.”

Chase took Mara’s arm gently and guided her toward a seat near the food trucks. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Maybe a soda,” she said between sniffs.

The nearest line for sodas was short, so Chase wasn’t gone long. When she got back, Mara seemed more composed. “Do you want to tell me about it? It might help to talk.”

“I’m so frightened.” Mara sipped her drink. “Daddy had a big argument with that man, right outside the main exhibition room.”

“What man?” Chase asked, although she was pretty sure she knew.

“The one that’s dead. I’ll bet a lot of people heard them arguing. And now he’s been killed.”

“Just because they had words doesn’t mean your father killed him.” She felt a need to comfort the poor girl.

“He was so mad.” Mara whimpered. She gave a couple of gulping sobs.

Chase wondered if the girl thought her father had killed Oake. The next time she saw Detective Olson, she would check and see if he knew about Minsky’s threat.

“I’m so sorry to bother you with this. Please forgive me.”

Given his intensity when she’d met him earlier, Chase could easily picture Karl enraged. It was very possible he was the killer. But she soothed Mara as best she could and hurried on to complete her errand as Mara wandered off, nursing her drink.

Anna probably wondered what was taking so long. Chase picked the shortest line, fried peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, quickly grabbed two, and scurried back toward the Bar None booth.

When she was almost there, she could have sworn she saw Mike duck through the hangings into the fortune-teller’s booth.

Julie and Jay strolled by.

“Do you need us yet?” Julie asked.

“Check in with Anna. I’m on my way there in a sec,” Chase said, dawdling.

They continued on toward the Bar None booth, stopping to browse at the travel agency.

Mike’s mission in the fortune-teller’s booth was short because he came out as Chase passed by.

“Love you,” Madame Divine called as he left.

Love you! Who was this woman?

“Having your fortune read?” Chase asked with a bright, stiff smile. She really wanted to ask him what he was doing there. “Does Madame Divine think you’ll be off the hook soon for the murder?”

“I wish she could know that,” he said, and walked past her toward his office, trailing the scent of lavender. He hadn’t returned her smile.

There was one more delay getting the fried sandwiches back to Anna. Julie and Jay and two women stood talking outside the travel agent’s booth, which was next to the Bar None. As she neared, she realized the two women were the travel agents.

“Have you heard?” Julie asked Chase. “About the missing diamond cat collar?”

“It’s the prize for the contest. The Picky Puss Cat Food Company donated it. It was displayed along with all the other cat items,” Jay added.

“It was the most valuable thing there,” the tall blonde said.

“I wonder what they’ll do now,” the redhead said.

“About what?” Chase asked.

“The collar!” The redhead threw her arms out. “It’s the whole point. Why have the contest?”

“They have to have it,” Jay said.

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Julie called as Chase left them to their speculations and proceeded to the Bar None, recalling that Patrice, aka Madame Divine, had been protesting behind her tent about having borrowed something from an exhibit and having lost it. If Chase recalled the words correctly, she’d been addressing her grandfather and she’d mentioned the Fancy Cat Contest. Had she taken the diamond cat collar? And lost it?

What was Mike’s involvement with her anyway? There must be more than a pet connection. She vowed to find out. And to try not to be overly jealous when she did find out.

The toymaker had gotten his booth set up, finally, and was in full swing. Chattering children crowded into his booth, begging their parents to get them a carved wooden truck or a hand-sewn doll. Chase was heartened that the children took pleasure in the simple, non-battery-operated toys. If and when she had children, she would like for them to play with toys like that. Harper remained surly, even with his customers, but they bought the toys anyway.

Midafternoon, a scruffy-looking man walked past the Bar None to Harper’s booth. He wore filthy, baggy jeans and a zippered jacket that was stained with what looked like automobile grease. Chase was curious because he didn’t look like the typical toy buyer, or even the average fairgoer. Julie, standing at the edge of the booth, wrinkled her nose at his stench. Chase sidled up next to Julie and watched.

The scruffy man waited for the crowd in the toy booth to thin out, then approached Harper.

“Hardin, I heard you were here,” he said.

Hardin? Julie and Chase exchanged a look.

“Keep your voice down,” Harper whispered. “Get over here if you want to talk.”

The man went around to the other side of the display table. Julie and Chase could no longer hear them. Hardin? Harper? Was the man hiding and using a false name?

“What’s going on with that guy?” Julie asked.

Chase gave a helpless shrug.

The scruffy man left soon after, and children once more flocked to Harper’s.

Whatever the toymaker’s name was, he was good for the Bar None because the children, stopping for the toys, were also attracted to the pretty stripes and good smells next door. Or maybe it was the parents who were drawn in. However it worked, families usually stopped at both booths. Anna, Chase, Jay, and Julie, relieving each other periodically, toiled hard all day long.

That evening as Chase dragged herself, exhausted, to Mike’s office to pick up Quincy, she reviewed what she would say to him on her way.

How exactly do you know Patrice? No, too direct. Have you known Patrice long? That might do. Have you heard about the missing diamond collar? That would be good. Is it the same one that Patrice filched from the exhibit and lost? Maybe not.

When she got there, the door between the reception area and the examining room was wide-open. Patrice and an older man were talking with Mike inside. Betsy was again gone. Mike was certainly giving her nice hours.

“Hi, Chase,” Dr. Ramos said as soon as he saw her. “I’ll go get Quincy.”

That seemed rude to Chase. “Who are your friends?” She entered the room and said to Patrice, “I know you, of course. I’ll be by for my fortune before the fair is over.”

Patrice seemed happy about that.

Then Chase turned to the older gentleman. He had a dignified air about him. His wispy gray hair didn’t take away from his ramrod posture. Although he was beanpole thin, his casual clothing—a pair of khakis, a long-sleeved pullover sweater, and polished loafers—fit well.

“This is Vik, my grandfather,” Patrice said.

“Viktor Youngren.” The man held a careworn hand out to Chase. “I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Mike finished containing Quincy and handed the crate to Chase. “Meet more of my Youngren relatives.”

“You’re related? To Patrice?”

This man was obviously not a Ramos relative. Mike had a Swedish mother, and Patrice must have a Swedish father.

“Yep, she’s my cousin, the daughter of my aunt Betsy.”

Thank goodness she hadn’t gotten a chance to ask some of her idiotic questions about Patrice and Mike’s possible romance. The three acted like they were going to stay and chat all night, so Chase said her good-byes and stepped into the tiny reception room, closing the door halfway. She waited, still inside the darkened room for a moment, fiddling with Quincy’s carrier and peeking through the opening to see if any fireworks were going to erupt.

“Mikey, I’m so sorry this happened to you.” Patrice wasn’t keeping her voice down. “It’s all my fault you got caught in there.” She waved her hands when she talked. Patrice’s rings glittered in the bright overhead lights.

Chase stared at the turquoise one on her left hand.

She had stolen Chase’s ring when they’d shaken hands in her fortune-telling tent! Chase gaped at the brazen woman.

“At least I could say I was looking for the cat,” Mike said. “It gave me an excuse for being there. If not, I’d look even more guilty.”

When Chase heard Viktor start to berate his granddaughter for hiding “it” in a butter sculpture, she moved on.

Why did Mike need an excuse to be with the dead man? Chase was more puzzled than ever, and beginning to have doubts about Mike.

When she returned home, tired to the bone from standing and selling all day, Inger was still in the shop, packing up last week’s leftovers to take to the homeless shelter. They usually dropped them off on Sunday night. Inger had also done a good bit of baking.

“Can I go with you when you take these?” she asked Chase.

“Sure. Just let me put Quincy upstairs.”

Chase wondered why Inger wanted to go, then remembered she’d been eager to go there last week, too.

“I’ll take them in if you want to wait in the car,” she said as Chase pulled out of the parking lot at the Bar None.

“That’s okay. I’ll help.” They had less than usual this week, since they’d been taking so much product to the fair and selling nearly all of it each day.

On the way, Chase tried to find out why Inger was so eager to visit the shelter.

“You really like going to the shelter, don’t you?” she said.

“It’s a wonderful thing you and Anna do. I like to help out with that.” Her eyes glowed with her bright smile.

“Do you know any of the people who work there?”

Inger looked away, as if they were passing fascinating scenery instead of going down the streets of Minneapolis. “Not really.”

After they parked and went inside, though, and made their way to the kitchen, Inger scanned the dining room with a look of disappointment. They only had to make one trip to cart the two boxes of dessert bars inside.

The burly chief cook greeted them warmly. “Glad to see you again. The folks here always look forward to your desserts.”

He chuckled at Inger. “I think your young man’s luck has turned. They’re not here anymore.”

Chase raised her eyebrows at Inger in question, but the young woman turned away and busied herself unpacking one of the boxes.

When they finished unloading, the cook gave each of them a hug, his apron redolent of sausage, the main course for the night.

They walked out past the tables full of hungry homeless people. About half were single men, some old and some young. The others were couples or families, some with children, and one couple with two toddlers. Chase knew they all had to leave during the day and she wondered what people with babies did in the cold winter weather when they had no place of their own.

Inger inspected the diners one last time on their way out to Chase’s car.

On the way back, Chase had to ask her point-blank. “Were you looking for someone?”

“Where? At the homeless shelter?”

“Yes. That’s the only place we’ve been.”

“Well, sort of. He wasn’t there, though.”

“A young man?”

Inger shrugged.

“I guess it’s good news that he’s not there any longer, that his luck has changed,” Chase said.

“Mmm.”

That’s all Chase could get out of her before she dropped her at Anna’s for the night. Before she pulled away from Anna’s curb, Tanner messaged her that he didn’t have product information and pictures yet. No, he didn’t. At the next red light she messaged back that it might be a few days before she could get that to him. She would have to photograph each product and write a description. The prices wouldn’t be hard; those were already set. How would Tanner set up online ordering for the customers? Or should they all just come to the shop to buy dessert bars, like Anna wanted them to? It might be too complicated right now to set up ordering and shipping procedures. It was a lot to think about. And Tanner had wanted a blog and Twitter and Facebook! No way. At least not in the near future.

Later that evening, she replayed the conversation that had come to her through the vet clinic door. The diamond cat collar again. She looked up the cat food company online and the dazzling collar was featured front and center on their page.

“What do you think?” She addressed the cat in her lap, who had been helpfully batting her arm as she reviewed the online information about Picky Puss. “Do we still want to enter the contest?”

Quincy blinked his large amber eyes.

“That means yes?”

Quincy twitched the very tip of his ginger tail.

“We have to come up with a costume. Honestly, I don’t know if you would tolerate being filmed for a commercial, but it would be excellent to get your picture on a cat food bag.” She stroked him and he lowered his head, arched his back, and purred his appreciation.

“I wish you could tell me exactly what you saw in that butter sculpture building.”

Quincy raised his head. Did he know the word butter?

“If only you could testify that Mike didn’t kill anyone. I’m sure you’d do that if you could, right?”

He leaned into Chase’s hand as she caressed the side of his head. She fingered his silky ear, the one with the notch missing from a fight.

Quincy closed his eyes and continued to purr.