He gave me an unhurried grin and pushed back the rim of his gray cowboy hat so I could see the full expanse of his wide, tanned face. His blue eyes flashed bright against his skin. “What in John Wayne are you talking about? Juliette and I were tickled to death by your aunt. She gave us a good old laugh. I’ve got a couple of loony aunts myself who feel like they need to tell everyone how to run their lives. That’s all I was trying to say.”

  He ran his tongue over the top of his shiny teeth, then smacked his lips. “You seem a tad jumpy. Tell your gramma I’ll make her a good trade for that little red truck of hers whenever she wants.”

  I tried to keep my face calm when I went back into the air-conditioned suite. His laughter followed me until the glass door closed. In less than five minutes, he’d managed to threaten me, my aunt and my gramma, letting me know that he knew exactly what was going on. Now I was convinced that he had to know something about Cal’s death.

  I weaved my way through the crowd and down the stairs. I pushed open the door and practically head-butted Justin Piebald.

  “Hey,” he said, grabbing my shoulders. “You okay?”

  I stopped, blinked my eyes rapidly, trying to hide my angry tears. “Yeah, fine. Just allergies. Dust, you know. Crazy. All the animals. Alfalfa and . . . you know, allergies.” I realized I was babbling, so I clamped my mouth shut.

  “Uh, yeah,” he said, his expression confused. “Right. What . . . well . . . you know it’s . . .” He stuttered like a teenage boy.

  I stared at him, wondering what he thought about his father. Now that he was a cop, did it embarrass him to have a father who it was rumored was slightly crooked? What would it do to Justin if his father actually was involved with Cal’s homicide?

  “Have you seen Jazz?” I said, without exactly knowing why.

  Just the mention of her name caused his cheeks to turn pink. “Not today. Why?”

  “Just wondering if she’s doing okay.” I inspected the toes of my boots. This exchange was awkward and I wasn’t sure how to maneuver out of it.

  “Sure you’re okay?” he repeated.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” I went around him and melted into the crowd. When I got about fifty feet away, I turned around. He was still standing in the Bull Pen’s entryway, watching me. The suspicious thoughts I’d had last night came back to me.

  Stop it, I told myself. There is absolutely no reason for you to mistrust Justin. Even if Milt was involved with Cal’s death, there’s no reason to believe Justin was. Except what if he knew something and was torn between his sworn duty as a police officer and his emotional duty as a son? Which would win out? I didn’t know Justin well enough to guess. But I knew somebody who might.

  Sam was still in the arena shooting the breeze with the barrel-racing girls. From the bleachers he yelled comments that were a combination of encouragement and harassment. The girls called back with good-natured hoots.

  “Hey, Sam,” I said, sliding in next to him. “I have a question about a friend of yours.”

  His darkly tanned face was half shaded by the rim of his red cap. “Whatever they did, I swear I wasn’t involved.”

  “As far as I know, none of your friends have done anything. I just want to know what you think about Justin Piebald.”

  He turned his head back to the arena to watch a pretty dark-haired young woman run the barrels. “He’s cool . . . for a cop. Why?”

  “I know this is awkward, what with him being your friend and also working for your dad, but his dad . . .”

  “His dad’s a dickhead.”

  “I agree. But what I was wondering was . . .”

  “If Justin is like his dad? About as much as I’m like my dad. Does that answer your question?”

  “Sort of. It’s just that . . . okay, what if . . . what if there was something about his dad he knew, something his dad had done that wasn’t legal . . .” Up here in the bleachers, the midday sun felt like scalding water on the back of my neck. I undid my pony tail, feeling instant relief when my damp hair covered my neck.

  Sam’s face remained neutral, but his chocolate eyes were troubled. “I don’t want to be between my friend and you and dad.”

  I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I have a bad feeling about his dad and I’m afraid that maybe Justin might know something.” Around us the cacophony sounds of the fair seemed to ebb and flow like a stormy ocean.

  “Look, I know that some weird ass stuff is going down between Justin and his dad. I don’t know if it has anything to do with Cal. I don’t think so. I hope not. But Justin’s my friend.”

  “If you knew . . .”

  He looked me directly in the eyes. “If I knew for sure that Justin or his dad had anything to do with Cal’s death, you know I’d tell you. Dad might think I have completely whacked out morals, but I don’t.”

  I touched his forearm. It was hot and slightly damp. “Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything like that. And I’m sure Gabe doesn’t think you have whacked out morals. It’s just I know what it’s like to feel like you need to protect a friend.”

  “If Justin helped cover up his dad murdering Cal, then he isn’t my friend.” He shifted on the bench, the wood creaking under his weight. “You know, Cal was my friend too.”

  “One last question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you think the relationship between Jazz and Cal was serious? I mean, like marriage serious?”

  He shook his head without hesitation. “Doubt it. Jazz told me she liked him, but she was also kind of confused about how she felt. She felt sorry for him too and that’s never cool. If a guy figures something like that out it would make him feel totally lame. Second rate.”

  “You think Cal knew she felt sorry for him?” It seemed this young man didn’t catch any breaks in his short life.

  Sam considered my words. “He was so into her that I doubt he noticed. He was just glad she was hanging with him. And even if he did find out, he probably wouldn’t have been surprised or maybe even cared. Cal didn’t expect much in life.”

  “That’s sad.”

  Sam shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, it’s messed up. But, you know, Cal was one of the most righteous guys I ever met. When he believed something, he was totally into it. He was all about doing what was right and treating people with respect. And that dude wasn’t afraid of anything. I always got the feeling that was because he felt like he had nothing to lose, you know?”

  I leaned down and gave him a hug. “Thanks, Sam. Every time I hear a little more about Cal I think that I would have liked him.”

  “You would have. He thought you were pretty cool.”

  “Me?” Why was I even on this young man’s radar?

  “He got onto me once when I was ragging on you. He said that I should cut you some slack because the person who had to change the most when you and dad got married was you, that you had to figure out how to be a second wife, a cop’s wife and a stepmom.”

  “That was very perceptive of him.” I tapped the rim of his ball cap. “You were ragging on me? I’ve always been an excellent stepmother.”

  “It was when I wanted to buy my truck, remember?”

  “Yes, and I was smart not to take sides.” Sam had wanted Gabe to loan him the down payment and Gabe wanted him to earn the money himself. Despite being tempted when Sam begged me to intervene, I’d stayed out of it. They’d compromised. What Sam saved for a down payment, Gabe matched and they both felt satisfied. And neither was angry at me.

  “Thanks for your insight,” I said. “I just hope that the sheriff’s department solves this soon. Cal deserves justice.”

  “For sure.”

  I was walking past the Australian Battered Potatoes stand when I heard my name called. One of the members of the San Celina Quilt Guild hurried toward me, holding an ice-cream cone the size of a baseball mitt.

  “Wow, for me? Thanks!” I said, holding out my hand.

  “You wish. This is my lunch and dinner. I’ve taken a double shift at the fair booth so Retha can help make dolls tonight. I’m glad I caught you. Maria embroidered some doll faces.”

  “Thanks for taking a double shift. Like you probably heard, the dolls are selling incredibly well. Are the doll faces at the booth?”

  “No, she’s finishing them up over at the Family Campground. Said you could come on by anytime. If she’s not there, ask Bobby Joe where they are. Nothing gets past him.”

  I laughed. “Some things never change. I’ll head over right now.”

  The Family Campground was in back of the midway. The noisy, dusty campground was an adult’s nightmare and a kid’s dream. Many of the kids competing lived in the Central Valley or Shandon or San Miguel. Commuting every day could be a real pain so many 4-H and FFA leaders brought their RVs, tent trailers, campers, canvas tents and plain old canopies and during the fair, the vacant lot behind the midway became “Kidville.”

  Kidville’s unofficial mayor was Bobby Joe Gomez, an ex-bull rider and San Celina High School football star most notorious for being voted prom king three years in a row. That was a good fifteen years before my time in high school, but his reputation was school legend. Bobby Joe was not only as handsome as a movie star with his thick, wavy mahogany hair and rugged jawline; he was as easygoing and good-natured as a department store Santa.

  For the last thirty or so years, Bobby Joe had held the position of Kidville’s snack and soft drink guard, squabble mediator, Band-Aid dispenser, soother of broken hearts and king of the oak wood barbecue. From his perch on his electric wheelchair, he ruled his temporary kingdom with a Solomon-like benevolence. An unfortunate ride on a bull in Reno named Whiskey Pete ended his rodeo career and permanently injured his spine, but started a whole new career that probably ended up paying him much better than rodeo every would. His insurance agency carried the personal, ranch and car insurance for almost all the ag people in San Celina County.

  I’d stayed overnight at the campground myself a few times when I was a kid. Walking into the crowded maze of tents and sleeping bags brought back some wonderful memories of late nights in Kidville eating Frito pie, s’mores and singing chorus after chorus of “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” or “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall.”

  Maria was nowhere to be seen, but Bobby Joe was inside his fancy RV enjoying a blue and red tinted shaved ice and watching General Hospital on a tiny television. He wore a colorful Hawaiian shirt and a dark blue ball cap that said Don’t Even Think About It. It was his favorite admonition to any kid who came up to him with a questioning look on his or her face.

  “Caught you,” I said, climbing up the ramp.

  “Nothing to catch,” he said, licking a bit of red ice from his bottom lip. “My addiction to General Hospital is a known fact. It’s my only vice.”

  “No comment,” I heard his wife, Janet, say.

  I glanced down the short hallway. She was lying on the king-sized bed with an ice pack on her head.

  “What happened?” I said.

  “Sinus headache,” Bobby Joe said.

  “Man, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s the dust. She took some decongestant. What can I do for you?” he asked, putting the soap opera tape on hold.

  “I think you have some doll faces Maria embroidered?”

  “In the top drawer under the stove.”

  I found them and stuffed them in my backpack.

  “Get yourself a Coke while you’re up,” he said.

  “That sounds great.” I pulled a bottled Coke from the refrigerator.

  “So, how’s the fair going for you?”

  I sat down on the captain’s chair across from him. “I suppose you heard about Calvin Jones.”

  “What is it with you and homicides? Trying to keep your husband in a job?”

  I grimaced. “Not hardly.”

  “Sorry, bad joke. Did you know the young man? The paper didn’t say much and everyone in fair management’s been pretty tight-lipped.”

  “That’s understandable. It’s not exactly the family-friendly image the fair is looking to promote.” I took a long drink of my soda. “I didn’t actually know Calvin Jones, but he sounds like he was a nice young man.”

  “That’s too bad. I imagine this has been rough for Levi too. There are those in this county who’d pay extra admission just to see things go wrong on his watch.” He set his cup of shaved ice down on the table next to him.

  “Like who?” I said, my ears almost twitching. Metaphorically speaking, Bobby Joe Gomez knew where a good many bodies were buried in our county.

  He gave me one of his famous James Dean, bad-boy grins. “Now, I don’t like to talk out of school . . .”

  “Don’t let him kid you, Benni,” Janet called from the bedroom. “He’s a bigger gossip than the National Enquirer.”

  He feigned shock. “Whatever is she talking about?” He crooked his finger at me. I leaned closer.

  “Milt Piebald’s got political ambitions,” he said in a low voice. “Mayor of Paso and then, some say, he has eyes on being a senator or governor.”

  That was his big piece of gossip? I leaned back, a little disappointed. Milt Piebald wouldn’t be the first slightly off-plumb businessperson who had political aspirations. “So?”

  “Finding a body in his Family Farm exhibit isn’t exactly the type of free publicity that he was angling for.”

  Now I was really disappointed because what Bobby Joe suggested meant that someone else was behind Cal’s murder, someone who had it in for Milt Piebald. “Any idea who might have it in for Milt?”

  “Maybe only every other person who bought a car from him.”

  “That’s no help.”

  “Sorry, it’s all I got, Inspector Ortiz.”

  I stood up, drained my bottle and set it down on the counter. “Thanks, Bobby Joe. You’ve given me some food for thought.”

  “Wish I could tell you more. Hey, on your way out could you take my granddaughter’s gym bag and throw it with the others?” He pointed to a pink and white Hello Kitty canvas bag.

  “Sure.” I reached down and picked it up, groaning at its weight. “Geeze, Louise, what does she have in here, rocks?”

  “It’s her dance clothes, believe it or not. They’re going to be performing tonight at seven p.m.”

  “Where do you want it?” I asked, heaving it over my shoulder.

  “Outside by the red cooler, next to the others. Thanks.”

  I walked down the ramp and carried the bulky bag over to the cooler, setting it next to the other girly bags. Just as I was walking away sunlight through a space in the canopies caused something to flash, catching my eye. I bent down to look at the jumble of colorful duffels and backpacks. A sparkly heart-shaped sticker decorated one light blue bag. I covered the top half of it with my hand. The bottom was pointy, like a star. It might have been the sticker I’d seen on the white pickup truck who’d played bumper cars with me.

  I glanced over the rest of bags. Four others had similar stickers. In black Old English lettering they said Road to Queen. I picked up the blue bag and went back up the ramp. Bobby Joe was back to watching his soap opera.

  “Quick question,” I said, holding out the bag. “Do you know what this sticker is for?”

  He glanced up. “It’s the beauty queen classes that Juliette Piebald teaches over at the Paso Robles community center. My little granddaughter has a ball at them. The kids just adore Juliette.”

  CHAPTER 14

  I WALKED THROUGH THE FAIRGROUNDS CONTEMPLATING THIS new piece of information. Did Juliette Piebald have a white truck? Could she be the person who tried to run me off the road the other night? For what possible reason? She’d been a tentative suspect because of Aunt Garnet’s suggestion about her and Dodge Burnside, but I honestly couldn’t imagine her smashing Calvin Jones over the head, rolling his body in the Harriet Powers quilt and then planting it in her own exhibit.

  Though what Bobby Joe said about Milt’s political aspirations might give her motivation. If he ran for office, an affair might be discovered by some newspaper reporter looking for a juicy story. But would Juliette actually kill someone to conceal a love affair? She might not alone, but if the affair was with Dodge Burnside, maybe she talked him into helping her. Maybe his dad helped them both. Maybe she and Lloyd Burnside were having an affair. Possibilities caused my brain to buzz like one of those Footsie Wootsie machines. How would Cal have found out about this alleged affair and why would he care? It didn’t make any sense.

  Once I reached the parking lot, I couldn’t resist taking a quick stroll through the vehicles looking for the sparkly sticker advertising Juliette Piebald’s rodeo queen classes. Since I needed to pick up Aunt Garnet at 2 p.m., I only had time for the rows of cars and trucks in preferred parking. That seemed easy enough. Though looking for a white full-size pickup eliminated many vehicles, I had a lot of bumpers to check. White pickups in a California ranching community were the color of choice mostly for the safety factor (easier to see in the gold and green hills and, especially, at intersections), but also because they were often fleet vehicles and cheaper.

  After fifteen minutes in hundred-degree heat, I gave up. There were just too many white full-size pickups. Disappointed, I drove back to San Celina.

  At First Baptist, I found Aunt Garnet sitting in the front row of the sanctuary. Her head was bent and it appeared she was praying so I decided to go to the church office and shoot the breeze with Pastor Mac.

  His assistant, Trudy, was chewing a wad of gum whose cinnamon flavor was apparent when I walked through the doorway. “He’s at the fair,” she said.

  “I’m actually here for my aunt Garnet, but she’s in the sanctuary. If she comes looking for me, I’ll be waiting for her on the bench outside.”

  “She said she needed time alone with Jesus,” Trudy said. “I told her to just take as much time as she wants. She was a real big help with the hygiene bags. I think she might become a regular.”