Джанет Кантрелл - Fat Cat Spreads Out

“No, that’s not it at all. He’s spent a lot of money on counseling for Patrice, to cure her of her addiction to stealing things. He even sent her to San Francisco to see a renowned hypnotherapist. The man claimed he could cure anyone of anything. It cost a lot of money. And, until now, we all thought it had worked.”

Oh yes, that made sense. He loved his granddaughter and had put a lot of effort into helping her. “How much is the cat collar worth?”

“I don’t know, but it’s a lot.”

If Patrice had it, Chase would think she would give it back to get her poor grandfather off her back. “It’s too bad no one has found it.”

“The police have searched almost every inch of this fairground. If it were here, I think it wouldn’t still be missing.”

“Do you think someone has sold it?”

Mike shrugged. “Doesn’t matter what I think. I sure wish someone could find it, though, to keep peace in my family.”

Chase wished someone would find it—or turn it in—to get Mike off the hook for murder. She was still sure the two crimes were connected.

She noticed that several cages had cats in them today, besides the black one that was usually there. “Are all these cats being held here for the contest?”

Mike nodded. There was a gigantic Maine Coon, a pair of Siamese in the same cage, and another glossy black cat, this one with a white-tipped tail and four white boots.

“Are their costumes here?”

Mike grinned. “You want a peek at the competition, don’t you? No, they didn’t leave them here.”

Oh well, she had tried. “I’ll be back around one to get Quincy into his costume.”

“You finally decided on a costume? What’s he going to be? Puss in Boots?”

Chase gave him what she hoped was a sly grin. “It’s a good one, but I’m not telling. You’ll have to wait and see.”

She stepped inside the exhibit hall on her way out of the building. A Fancy Dog Contest was about to start. She looked around for Inger, but didn’t see her there. Nervous dog owners clustered about with their charges. Some were adorable, others bizarre. A bulldog wore an eyepatch and a tricornered hat with a tiny parrot perched on the brim, a darling pirate. A dachshund wore a brown sweater with bristling triangles on his back—some sort of dinosaur, Chase thought. The poodle ballerina and the Scottie peacock were awfully cute. How would a judge decide who to give the prizes to? They were all so well done.

She hoped the cat competition wouldn’t be this fierce.

On her way back to the Bar None booth, she stopped at one of the food trailers for a cup of strong coffee. The large heat lamps felt good on her head and shoulders as she waited in line there. She had slept poorly, worrying about Inger and her baby and about Michael Ramos and the evidence against him. Now she was beginning to feel that a nap would be nice. Too bad she couldn’t take one today. Maybe strong coffee would keep her awake. She still had the remnants of her intermittent headache, and the caffeine might help with that, too.

The door to the butter building was, as always, closed to keep the refrigerated air inside. She opened it and went inside to see if she could get any last-minute info from the artists. Right away, she noticed the smell of the straw that covered the floor. She hadn’t been especially aware of it before, but since Elsa had declared herself allergic to it, she couldn’t help but notice. The straw may have also harbored an aroma of all the stale butter that had been dropped into it.

She strolled past the completed sculptures. The judging would be at eleven, in a little over two hours.

The one carved by the Minskys hadn’t improved, in Chase’s opinion. It was still an abstract mess. She did notice one on the other side of the room that was also an abstract, but much more attractive. There were no recognizable objects in the Minsky sculpture, but the other one, as Chase neared, proved to contain a number of Minnesota symbols. A stylized gopher held a North Star, and ripples, here and there, probably represented the lakes. There might have been a pair of ox horns and an axe to indicate Paul Bunyan and his companion.

The woman who had done the North Star had done a spectacular job, and the gopher Chase had noticed on the first day was almost lifelike. Other pieces represented the state’s teams, the Vikings and the Twins. The only artist present was the woman who had done the huge star.

Chase approached her and complimented her work. “I would never think a five-pointed star could look so good,” she said. It held a map of the Mississippi, beginning with Lake Itasca at the top left, tumbling past St. Paul and Minneapolis in the center, and flowing on to form the Iowa-Wisconsin border near the bottom right. The river was carved deep into the butter, making a path through the star that was edged with figures of birds, ducks, and geese. Little clusters of buildings jutted up, indicating some of the towns.

“Thank you,” the woman said. She was short and plump, with curly brown hair and twinkling eyes. “I’ve been working on this design for nearly a year.”

“It shows. What do you think your chances of winning are, now that Larry Oake isn’t competing?”

Chase watched her reaction closely. She looked genuinely distressed.

“Oh, isn’t that horrible? I still can’t believe what happened. Right here in this room. I don’t know who will win, but Larry should have. I wouldn’t mind if they awarded the prize money to his family.”

She didn’t seem a likely suspect. She had so hoped to find a really good one here. Someone who was obviously the killer. How disappointing.

TWENTY-FOUR

Chase left the butter building. Her side trip had been a bust as far as finding a great suspect. Carefully sipping her coffee, which had no cover and was cooling rapidly, she headed toward the Bar None. The coffee vendor had only two sizes of cups left and no lids. She feared she and Anna might run out of paper bags for the individual sales. They made a lot more of those here than in the Dinkytown shop.

Madame Divine was standing in front of her own booth. Fewer people than usual were strolling the midway right then. She was probably trying to attract customers.

Patrice said hello to Chase. “I hope business picks up,” she said, adjusting her gold turban. Her earlier tears were gone and she looked serene.

“Who knows? It’s the last day. Shouldn’t we be swamped?”

“I don’t know. They have all the contests and the butter sculpture judging today. People might not be that interested in the booths.”

“Have you done this fair before?”

“Oh yes, plenty of times. The last day is sometimes good, sometimes not. It’s a toss-up. I have a feeling today won’t be that good.” She poked at her turban again.

It struck Chase that a small diamond-studded cat collar could easily be concealed in that headdress.

Two giggling teenage girls walked past, zigzagging their way down the midway. One of them jostled Chase’s arm, and her coffee sloshed onto the hem of Patrice’s purple caftan.

“Hey!” Patrice snatched her robe and stepped back, giving Chase an alarmed look. “Look what you did.”

The two teens were long gone. “I’m sorry, Patrice. One of them jiggled my arm.” She nodded her head in the girls’ direction.

Patrice bent over to inspect her garment. Her gold turban tumbled off her head, onto the dirty walkway. “And now look what you’ve done!” She grabbed the turban and swished into her booth.

There had been no jeweled collar inside the turban. But there was plenty of room for one.

The coffee was mostly gone, so Chase pitched it in a barrel and continued past the travel agency booth. The short redhead was arranging pamphlets on the table at the front of her booth. She kept glancing anxiously up and down the midway.