A Fair to Die For Read online

  After thirty minutes of studying recipes she decided on Crock Pot Beef Stew. Since she’d be helping Shirley get ready for her set-up at the War Eagle Craft Fair all afternoon, and a meal prepared in a slow cooker pretty much took care of itself, the stew recipe was perfect.

  She made a list of the ingredients she’d need, grabbed her purse, and left for the grocery store.

  Carrie was putting the makings for beef stew out on the kitchen counter when a dark blue car bumped down their lane and pulled up in front of the garage doors.

  Who?

  Not a car belonging to any of their friends. Couldn’t be the assessor, their cars were white, and clearly marked. Jehovah’s Witnesses? Doubtful, they were here last week. Someone searching for a lost pet? Could be, but it looked like the two men in the car had on suits and ties. Law enforcement? Police officers and sheriff’s deputies in this area wore uniforms.

  “Oh my gosh, was it about Rob? No! Couldn’t be. Her son had called from his apartment near the university not more than an hour ago. He had no classes or student appointments scheduled until afternoon, so planned to spend the morning at home grading exams from his American Indian History class.

  Nevertheless . . .

  When the man on the passenger side got out, his jacket swung back and she saw part of a shoulder holster. A gun? Well, not inside her house. She stepped back from the kitchen window and watched to see if the man with the concealed gun was coming to the door by himself. He was. The driver stayed in the car.

  She would open the door to one man, just to make sure about Rob.

  After the doorbell rang she continued to wait until she was sure the man in the car was staying put. Then she went to the hall, fastened the security chain, and cracked the door open.

  “Yes?”

  “Ms. Edith Embler?”

  Is that a question? Does he know I’m not Edie? What should I say?

  She studied the man, thinking she might need to remember him. About Henry’s size. Full head of dark hair with a bit of grey mixed in, tan skin like Henry’s. Looks strong. Hulking stance is a bit threatening, but he’s smiling, trying to be pleasant. I guess he’s not sure whether I’m Edie or not.

  It took her only a flash of seconds to think this, and, if he even noticed she was hesitating, the man didn’t seem to be bothered.

  “No,” she said, and waited.

  “Is she here?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I apologize.” He took out a wallet and flipped it open, holding it next to the small gap in the door. “Agent Arnold—Arnie—Frost. FBI.” The wallet flipped shut.

  “I see.” Carrie’s defenses went up. “No one by that name here.”

  “Are you Ms. Embler’s cousin, Carrie McCrite?”

  Oh-Oh, be careful. “If I have a living cousin, I haven’t been aware of that” (not until last week). “ I assure you there is no one by that name here, nor do I have any idea where someone by that name might be. Is that all? I’m busy in the kitchen.”

  The man studied her face for a moment, then said, “Thank you for your time. We may call back later,” and walked off her porch.

  She shut the door and locked it. Whew. Probably should have tried to find out more from good old Arnie. Henry would have known what questions to ask, and whether or not I should have told the man about Edie. But, these days wouldn’t it startle anyone—a strange man coming to the door unannounced? Wouldn’t anyone hesitate about answering his questions?

  Well, she hadn’t said a word that wasn’t true. There was only that tiny little deception, skirting around any admission she had ever heard of Edith Embler.

  For the hundredth time Carrie wondered, Is Edie really my cousin?

  Shoving that thought aside, she went back to finish assembling ingredients for her beef stew.

  You might know, Carrie thought several minutes later when the phone rang. I’m cooking, the phone rings. She put a lid on the sputtering skillet, turned down the heat, and went to say “Hello.“

  “You still plannin’ to come?” Shirley asked.

  “You bet. I’m just preparing ingredients for Crock Pot Beef Stew, and I’ll be down as soon as I get everything into the pot. That way I can leave the stew to cook by itself.”

  “Well now, I never heard of making stew in a crock pot. Good idea. Where’d you find that recipe?”

  “Cookbook.”

  “Cookbook? Didn’t know you owned one.”

  “Well, yes, this was a gift from Henry. He has a friend who . . .”

  Shirley’s hoot of laughter stopped her. “Who-eee, so it took Henry to do it. I wondered when you’d break down and get yourself a real cookbook. Helpful things, sometimes.”

  “I have my notebook, and a file box full of recipes,” Carrie said, miffed. Then she remembered the time over a year ago when she’d had to call the county extension office to find out how to make meatloaf. Later, when she’d confessed that to Shirley, she’d endured a scolding and, in between laughs, the information that what Carrie should have done was call her friend, who’d been making meatloaf from memory for almost half a century.

  “How many cookbooks do you have?” Carrie asked, and knew she sounded peeved.

  “Mmmm, I guess six or so. They’re on a shelf back in our office.”

  “See there? You can cook without looking at a cookbook. Well, I can, too!”

  “Okay, but I’ve got experience.” Another laugh. “Never mind, I also know from experience both you and Henry can fix good enough meals. So, where did this cookbook come from?”

  Henry ordered it from a friend of his out in California. The guy is a real chef, the big deal kind. He has his own cooking show on TV, and a restaurant too, The Grass Valley Bistro. Henry met the man on the Internet several months ago, and, last week, got the recipe for tuna salad I told you about from him.” Carrie put her finger in the page with the recipe she’d been following and closed the book to look at the cover. “It’s called The Grass Valley Bistro Cookbook, by Chef John Bohnert. I can bring it to show you.”

  “No need. And calling yourself a chef doesn’t make you a good cook.”

  “Well, maybe not, but it’s pretty interesting, seeing how a chef puts things together. Most of his recipes have more ingredients than mine, though. My tuna salad has three ingredients. Chef John’s has six. I made it when Cousin Edie came, and it was really good.”

  “Hmmmm. You ever hear any more from your cousin since she vanished last week?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “Mighty peculiar, her disappearing like that.”

  “Yes, I know.” Carrie hurried to change the subject. “The book has just a few slow cooker recipes and, since I wanted to make something for supper that could take care of itself all afternoon, I picked out the beef stew. Henry’s in town talking about police work at the grade school today, so I knew he wouldn’t be available to help get supper preparation under way. I’m almost done now. Be there in a bit.”

  “Good. Roger and I cleared space in the workshop and set up my booth there. The three walls are hinged so we can fold it all and load it into his truck. I’m just now starting to figure out where to put everything. When Jason goes out with the shop’s deliveries, Eleanor’s having him come by here with a few display stands she thinks I can use.”

  “I saw the stands when I was in town yesterday, and she said then she was sending Jason with the van to help carry your things when we go to set up at the fairgrounds on Wednesday. She’ll stay behind and keep her flower shop open, but will be with us during the fair. Jason, and probably Henry, are working in the shop for the rest of the week while we’re at the fair, and . . . .

  “Ummm,” Shirley interrupted.

  “Well, I guess she would have told you all that.”

  “Um-hmmm. You do know I’ve been plannin’ on this fair thing for quite a while?”

  “Yes, well . . . sorry. I wasn’t trying to horn in.” After an awkward pause, Carrie said, “I’m getting really excited, and so
proud of you! It’s a big honor to be chosen as an exhibitor at the War Eagle Fair.”

  “Well, I am a mite proud, but woman, if we keep talking you’ll never get that pot filled. Finish your recipe and come on down.”

  “Yes-um.”

  Carrie had seen many of Shirley’s sewing creations and admired them, but she stopped and gasped a squawky “Oh,” when she walked into their dairy farm’s workshop thirty minutes later. The shop floor looked like it had been scrubbed, and Shirley’s display booth mock-up stood in the middle. Chalk lines on the floor marked the size booth she would have at the craft fair, and three walls made of white-painted hog wire stapled to wooden frames outlined that area. A few of Shirley’s baby quilts were already fastened on the wire with wooden clothes pins painted in bright colors. Carrie’s favorite quilt, the cow munching grass, was there, along with a sheep and a red Mack truck. A few small squishy-soft blankets made from polyester fleece were clipped on the wrought iron Christmas card tree Carrie had brought down a few days earlier. A sign near the top of the tree said, “Baby Cuddlys, $35.00.”

  “Wow, these are fabulous,” Carrie said, stroking the fabric.

  Ignoring her comment, Shirley said, “Okay, let’s go to work.” She pointed to a stack of quilts laid on a sheet on the floor. “How can we show off all these different kinds? I’ve got ten of the cows here, shall we start with them?”

  Carrie was still fingering a Baby Cuddly. “This is impossibly soft, but it looks like it will wear longer than Rob’s blankie did. I think every little kid needs one of these. Baby Cuddly. I love the name.”

  “They’re made to last, I don’t do junk. I think most little ones like a blanket to cuddle up to. When I felt of that polyester fleece in the store, I thought how good it would be for babies. I favor the name, too. I registered it in Arkansas. It belongs to me now.”

  “Smart idea. Shirley, what are these loops at the corners for? Look like fat belt loops.”

  “For the baby to chew on or hold to.”

  “You think of everything. Oh, how I wish I had a grandchild.”

  Shirley sighed. “If Junior marries the Tummelton gal I’ll get a ready-made grandson, but her boy is too old for my Cuddlys.”

  “Who says they can’t have more children?”

  “Not me,” Shirley said. “Now, about those quilts. How am I going to show them all off?”

  Three hours later Carrie and Shirley were eating chocolate chip cookies and admiring their work. Carrie had made one trip home to check on her stew, which was filling the house with a marvelous smell, and to dig out the box of curtain rings she had tucked away. They were designed to turn flat fabric into curtains, and each ring had a clip attached. Looping the rings through the hog wire and clipping a baby quilt on each one made it possible to layer quilts so people could look through the selection and decide whether they wanted a brown flowered cow, a tan cow with polka-dots, or one with a black and white pattern, much like Roger and Shirley’s real dairy cows. A parade of other animals marched across the back and sides of the hog wire frame, led by red trucks, green trucks, and blue trucks.

  “When Jason brings the wrought-iron plant stands,” Carrie said, “We can use your colored yarn to fasten Baby Cuddlys to the iron scallops that surround the pot platforms. I think I remember a dozen or so of those around each platform, so we can put quite a few Cuddlys there. What are you going to put where the flower pots are supposed to sit, though?”

  “Got a surprise for that,” Shirley said, going to a box in the corner. She pulled out a Teddy bear made from the same polyester fleece as the Cuddlys. I’ll sit a bear in each pot holder.”

  Carrie smiled as she stroked the bear’s soft head. “Can I buy a bear today?” she asked.

  “Shoot,” Shirley said, let me make you one later, or, if we have any left over after the fair, you can have one of those.”

  “There won’t be any left,” Carrie said, “and, until the stands come, it looks like we’re about ready. Now might be a good time for you to teach me about the procedure we’ll follow at the fair, how to do credit cards, and all. Oh Shirley, it will be such fun working together on a big project again. The three of us haven’t done that since my wedding.”

  “Hard work is what it will be,” Shirley said. “Not so much fun. But I couldn’t do it by myself, so I am most grateful for the help. You’ll have earned more than a free bear at the end of the four days.”

  “After all you’ve done for me, Shirley Booth, I . . . ” Carrie stopped as images of past events rolled out from the corners of her mind. Shirley had been a calm, motherly, and caring friend more times than could be counted. Even when Carrie was in danger, Shirley had been there, miraculously, to hold out a saving hand. Without any visible hesitation, she’d even clobbered a couple of people who threatened Carrie.

  Carrie looked up at the gaunt woman who’s very plainness seemed so comforting and strong. “I . . . ” she began again.

  “Oh shoot,” Shirley said, and she turned away to straighten a bunny quilt.

  Chapter Five

  LOOK WHO CAME TO THE FAIR

  Carrie was stirring stew when Henry walked in the kitchen at 4:00. “Smells terrific in this house. What’s cooking?”

  “Beef stew, a recipe from Chef John’s cookbook. But tell me about your day. Was it fun?”

  “Sure was. The kids asked good questions, some of them funny. One question I got was ‘How many things do you have hanging on those cop belts and what are they for?’ I had to stop and count them off on my fingers, adding that the belt was like a police officer’s tool box. They loved that. I’ll tell you more while we eat. Is it going to be ready soon? I barely had time for lunch, with half the kids in the cafeteria crowded around me, jabbering. Give me time to wash up and I’ll be back to help you.”

  “As soon as these rolls heat, it’s all ready.”

  Carrie waited until Henry had finished his recital of the day’s events before she mentioned her morning visitors.

  “FBI, huh? Well, everything surrounding your mysterious Cousin Edie gets more peculiar by the minute, doesn’t it? I can’t figure out why the FBI. What the dickens is she involved in?”

  “Isn’t there someone you could call? Ask questions? Find out more?”

  “We don’t want to open that can of worms. I’m sorry things aren’t working out well for your relationship with a family member, but . . .”

  “If she is a family member.”

  “She probably is. Otherwise, why would the FBI identify her as such?”

  “Oh. Well, yes. But what do we do if the FBI guy comes back?”

  “Let’s not cross that bridge unless we have to. Now, how are plans for fair set-up going? What’s on our schedule?”

  “All of us but Eleanor are meeting in Jason and Eleanor’s driveway at 6:00 Wednesday morning. Jason is driving the van. He and Roger will take most of Shirley’s stuff, but I have a few left-overs in my car. That’s it. We find Shirley’s assigned location in one of the tents, unload, set up.”

  On Wednesday morning there were so many crafters and helpers getting ready for Thursday’s fair opening that the four long white tents and adjoining craft barn quickly took on the atmosphere of one huge party. Exhibitors who knew each other from past years gossiped back and forth, sometimes in shouts, while they worked on their displays.

  Roger, Jason, Carrie, Henry, and Shirley were quickly absorbed into the hubbub as questions, advice, and shouts of “welcome to the mad house” greeted them.

  At first, Carrie felt overwhelmed by sights, sounds, and hurrying people carrying all sorts of bulky equipment and merchandise. She, along with the men, spent a few minutes watching other vendors. But, seeing what was distracting her crew, Shirley hollered instructions, reminding them why they were there.

  As soon as the three men had the booth’s hog wire framework in place, Shirley sent Roger and Jason to carry boxes in from the van and truck, while Henry stacked, opened, and sorted. Carrie, assisted by Henry, was put
in charge of hanging baby quilts, while Jason and Roger set up the sales counter and placed Eleanor’s wrought-iron plant stands to suit Shirley. Then she handed the two men balls of colored yarn and instructed them to tie on Baby Cuddlys. When Jason tried making yarn knots rather than bows, Shirley said, in her best dialect, “Ye kin tie a shoelace? Then ye kin tie yarn bows. How do ye ‘spect folks to get at the Cuddly they want if they hafta undo a knot?

  “Um, bossy,” Henry murmured. “Sergeant Shirley.”

  “Well, someone has to take charge.” Carrie said, “And she’s right about the bows.”

  Henry grinned and said, “Point taken, apology offered,” as he handed a brown cow quilt and a curtain hook to her.

  There were picnic tables across from the tents, and, when they stopped to eat the lunch Shirley and Roger had somehow found time to pack, Carrie didn’t say much. She was having fun listening to conversations around them. Several minutes later she told Henry, “Folks come here to sell merchandise from as far away as California and Florida, and it sounds like craft fairs are a business for some of them. When they aren’t making what they sell, they’re traveling from fair to fair around the country. Amazing.”

  Jason, Roger and Shirley overheard her last sentence and Jason said, in a stage whisper, “See that couple at the end of our table? They’re glass blowers, and they actually make a living traveling what they call the ‘fair circuit.’ Their home and studio are in Iowa, and all during the winter and in between shows they make flowers and other stuff from glass. In spring, summer, and fall they hit fairs all over the United States. It’s their only business! I thought crafting was just a hobby.”

  “Watch it Jason,” Roger said, grinning, “you’re liable to hurt someone’s feelings. I think what these people do is kinda like small-business manufacturing and sales, and, as you can see, they’re mighty serious about it.”

  “Oh yes, yes,” Jason said in a hurry, “and Eleanor would kill me if she’d heard me call people here hobbyists. I wouldn’t dare call her flower shop a hobby—even though she was old enough to get Social Security when she opened it.”