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

to what happened to Vinnie?”
    â€œIt would be an interesting addition to the follow story today.”
    â€œWell, does the fact that I can’t step onto the same stage two days after the fact give you any clue as to how I feel?”
    â€œLorrie says being on that stage gave you the creeps,” Al said.
    â€œIt actually made me feel like puking,” Hall said. “I can still see Vinnie gasping for breath and going through those awful contortions. I’ve even dreamt about it. Woke up soaked with sweat and yelling. Scared my lady friend half to death. The worst thing is I feel kind of guilty because I’m the one who handed him the stick.”
    â€œSpeaking of the devil, are they trying to sell those things?” I asked.
    â€œHell no,” Hall said. “Who’d buy one after everything that’s been on the news and in the paper? I can’t even look at a fried potato without thinking about what the meat on that stick was wrapped in.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t blame yourself for handing the stick to Vinnie,” Al said. “You had no way of knowing that it was loaded with strychnine.”
    â€œAnyway, I’m still shook up about the whole thing,” Hall said. “It’s the kind of shock that never seems to go away.”
    â€œWell, we’ll go away and let you get packed up,” I said. “Thanks for your comments and your time.”
    â€œNo problem,” Hall said. I much prefer “you’re welcome,” as a response to “thanks,” but I smiled and shook his hand. “Oh, hey,” he said. “The president of our club is still here. Erik Erickson. You should meet him. He was onstage, too, and he might give you a comment.”
    Hall waved to a man in his mid-fifties with a receding hairline and the beginnings of a pot belly. “Hey, Erik, come on over.” Like all the male dancers, Erickson wore a red Western-style shirt, white tie, white pants, and white shoes. I remembered seeing him standing behind Hall on the day of the murder, and I had a feeling I’d also seen him somewhere else not dressed for dancing.
    We shook hands all around, and I asked Erickson the name of the club.
    â€œWe’re the Oles and Lenas Square Dance Club,” he said.
    â€œAre you kidding me?” I asked.
    â€œNo way. The traditional Minnesota Scandahoovian jokes are all about Ole and Lena so the founders thought it would be fun to name the club after such well-known personalities.”
    Hall told Erickson that Al and I were looking for reactions to Vinnie Luciano’s death. “You were there,” Hall said. “Do you want to say anything?”
    Erickson stiffened and thought for a moment before he said, “It was the most god-awful thing I’ve ever seen. I was horrified by what was happening. In fact, I had to get off the stage. My wife said she almost fainted.” He pointed across the stage to a red-haired woman at least fifteen years his junior. The top two buttons of her blouse were unfastened, and, sharp-eyed reporter that I am, I observed that her cleavage was a match for Trish Valentine’s.
    â€œThanks for your time, Mr. Erickson,” I said. “I’ve been thinking I’ve seen you somewhere dressed in regular clothes. Do you work downtown or have you come into the newsroom for something?”
    â€œMy day job is in the drug store on Wabasha Street. You might have seen me there,” Erickson said. “At night I’m the artistic director of the Parkside Players Theatre.”
    â€œThe one in the basement in Lowertown?”
    â€œThat’s the one.”
    â€œThat’s where I’ve seen you. My fiancée and I have season tickets. You always come out onstage to tell us how much we’re going to love the show, point out the emergency exits and remind us to turn off our cell phones before the curtain goes up.”
    â€œHey, nice to meet a