A Killing Fair by Glenn Ickler Read Free Book Online Page A

Tubb called a halt, and the troops scattered. “That M.E. is so good at ducking questions he could run for governor,” Al said as we walked to the car.
    â€œHe certainly had his ducks in a row,” I said.
    â€œI hope you’re not suggesting the doctor is a quack.”
    â€œAll I’m saying is that nothing ruffled his feathers.”
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    * * *
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    We were on Como Avenue, passing the fairgrounds, when Al said, “I wonder how that square dance caller who handed the stick to Vinnie feels about being that close to the poison pill.”
    â€œThat’s a good question,” I said. “I should have gotten a reaction story from him.”
    â€œIs it too late?”
    â€œI wonder.” I took out my cell phone and punched in the State Fair public relations number. Lorrie Gardner answered.
    â€œHey, Lorrie, this is Mitch,” I said. “Is that square dance caller who was there the other day still performing?”
    â€œScott Hall?” she said. “Yes, his club is dancing every day at 10:30 and 2:00. They’ve moved from Heritage Square over to the Bandshell because Scott said he got the creeps being on the stage where Vinnie died.”
    â€œCan’t say I blame him. Think he’d do an interview about how it felt to be that close to a dying murder victim?”
    â€œI could run up and ask him; I think they’re still dancing up there. He’s usually very good about talking to the media. I wish I had more people—”
    â€œOkay,” I said, not wanting to hear an entire list of her wishes. “Just scoot up there and see if he’ll talk to us. We’ll swing in and park by the Admin building and meet you there.”
    â€œThe little Admin parking lot is full and you can’t park on the grass,” Lorrie said.
    â€œWe’ll find a spot. And the first thing I’ll do when we get there is run over and get a Pronto Pup.”
    â€œDo you eat Pronto Pups all day long?” Lorrie said.
    â€œPronto Pups are good any time of day. Can I bring you one?”
    â€œGod, no! I’d be burping all night.”
    â€œSome people don’t appreciate fine dining,” I said.
    We turned north onto Snelling Avenue, drove into the fairgrounds through the Dan Patch Avenue gate and parked on the grass beside the Admin building. Al stayed by the car to intercept Lorrie while I went looking for a Pronto Pup.
    â€œBring me one,” Al said. “It’s the only thing I can eat on a stick after Tuesday’s little demonstration.”
    When I returned with our mustard-slathered treats, I found Al and Lorrie in her office, where he was showing her some of the photos he had shot of Vinnie doing his dance of death. It was even hotter inside than outside. “Don’t you have air conditioning?” I said.
    â€œIt doesn’t work in this weather,” Lorrie said. “That’s why the boss lets me dress for a day at the beach. And Scott says he’ll talk to you when your mouth is empty of Pronto Pup.”
    â€œHot dog! Come on, Al, let’s go out into the fresh, cool, eighty-five-degree air,” I said.
    We found Scott Hall taking down his sound equipment at the rear of the stage. His dancers, dressed in matching red and white outfits, were beginning to straggle away. Al followed me onto the stage, and we introduced ourselves to the caller, who was decked out in a red Western-style shirt with white trimming, a white tie, white pants and black cowboy boots. The same white ten-gallon hat he’d worn when celebrating the origin of the Square Meal on a Stick completed the ensemble. Not a drop of sweat was visible on his face.
    â€œYou guys were there for the, uh . . . you were there when Vinnie died, weren’t you?” Hall said.
    â€œThat’s right,” I said. “We were right at the foot of the stage, almost as close to Vinnie as you were.”
    â€œAnd you want to know my reaction