Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Taylor was ready to launch into her story, but they’d reached the gate.
“Two adults,” Jameson told the attendant and handed him a ten.
Unprepared, Taylor didn’t say anything until they had stepped into the fairgrounds. Already knowing how Jameson would respond, she simply stuffed a five-dollar bill into his coat pocket. “That’s my share.”
“It’s five dollars, Taylor.” Jameson flashed a smile. “I can afford to treat you.”
“Yes, but why should you?”
He shot her a wink. “Because I want to.”
As they strolled deeper into the fairgrounds, the aisle lined with fat pumpkins, colorful gourds, and cornstalks tied together with rich plaid ribbons grew wider.
They went from strolling with families and couples on both sides to having room to breathe. Finally, Taylor thought, finally she could tell him what she’d discovered. The words pushed against her lips, ready to tumble out .
“Sawyer,” Jameson called out, his hand abruptly rising in greeting.
Taylor wasn’t acquainted with the man who changed course and wove his way toward them. He was of average height and about her age, with a handsome face and intelligent brown eyes.
“I didn’t expect to see you here this afternoon.” Sawyer cast a curious glance in Taylor’s direction. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Sawyer Moorhead.”
Taylor liked the man’s firm handshake. “Taylor Higgs.”
A light of recognition flashed in Sawyer’s eyes. “Are you Bob’s daughter?”
“I am.” Taylor kept her tone easy. “Did you know my father?”
“I went fishing with your dad and Jameson a couple of weeks before he passed.” Sympathy darkened Sawyer’s eyes. “Please accept my condolences. Bob was one in a million.”
Tears stung the backs of Taylor’s eyes. For a moment, the sky overhead turned dark, and the festive mood around them stood on the verge of collapse.
Happy memories, Taylor reminded herself.
“My dad was truly a wonderful man, but not a particularly good fisherman.” Taylor kept her tone light. “I remember this time when we went fishing. He was convinced he had this enormous fish on the line?—”
“Was this when he caught an old, waterlogged boot?” Jameson interrupted.
A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she nodded, recalling how her dad had been determined to pull in the big one .
“He told me that story when we were out in the boat.” Sawyer chuckled. “Along with the time he caught his own hat when he was casting.”
Jameson’s gaze turned distant with memories. “Bob might not have been the best fisherman, but I think we can all agree that he had the best stories. ”
“For Dad, it wasn’t about the fish as much as relaxing with friends and enjoying nature.”
“He will be missed.” Sympathy shone in Sawyer’s brown depths. “I’m glad I had the opportunity to know him and now to meet you.”
“I’ll be making my home in GraceTown, so I have no doubt our paths will cross again.”
“I’m sure they will.” Sawyer glanced at his phone. “I hate to cut this short, but it’s time for me to get back to the clinic.”
“Clinic?” Taylor asked.
“Sawyer is a vet,” Jameson answered. “He’s part owner of Animal House.”
“My father and I practice together,” Sawyer clarified.
Taylor resisted the urge to sigh. “That must be wonderful.”
“Most days.” Sawyer flashed a smile.
“What brought you out here this afternoon?” Jameson asked.
“A handler was concerned about an alpaca in the petting zoo. One of the animal’s eyes was red, and they noticed a discharge.”
“Is it okay?” Taylor asked.
“He’ll be fine. I cleaned the eye area and gave the handler eye drops to use.”
Curiosity filled Jameson’s eyes. “I didn’t realize you dealt with those kinds of animals.”
Sawyer smiled. “I had experience with camelids at a previous practice. This kind of thing isn’t unusual for these animals.”
Taylor wanted to ask what other animals fell into the camelid category, but that would only prolong the conversation, and it was clear that Sawyer was eager to get to his afternoon appointments.
“It was nice meeting you,” she said instead. “I’m thinking that once I get settled, I’ll get a dog or a cat. Now I know who to take them to.”
“Once you’re ready, you might want to check out Paws Haven, a local rescue organization. It’s a good place to go for a new furry friend.”
When he strode off, Taylor turned to Jameson. “I can’t believe my dad told the two of you the boot story. He was so embarrassed when it happened.”
Jameson began to walk, and Taylor fell into step beside him.
“I guess it’s just like anything. Things that were a big deal at one time in your life aren’t when you look back on them.”
“You’re right.” Taylor thought about her clashes with her mom over clothing choices and curfew, heck, even about how clean she kept her room. Typical teenage battles. NBD in the grand scheme of things.
“We need to locate the balloon dart game,” Jameson told her, all business as the midway came into view. He stopped walking, and his gaze turned assessing as he gave her a once-over. “Not right away. We don’t look the part.”
Taylor glanced down at her jeans and boots. She wore a sweater under her dad’s coat. “What part?”
“A couple enjoying the festival and determined to win prizes.” His eyes narrowed. “We need to get in the mood. Have you eaten lunch?”
“I had ice cream and cake. Does that count?”
He shook his head, then swung over to a stand operated by the Rotary. “Two corn dogs, please.”
When she tried to pay him, he shook his head. “Business expense.”
One corn dog and half a bag of rainbow cotton candy later, Taylor had begun to fully embrace the carnival experience.
She licked the spun sugar from her thumb. “I haven’t eaten this poorly since college.”
“It’s a carnival.” Jameson tossed the empty cotton candy bag into a trash can. “If the machine hadn’t been broken, we both would be chowing down on a deep-fried Snickers bar right now. ”
Taylor made a face. “No, thank you.”
“Have you ever tried one?”
“No, and I?—”
“Trust me, you’ll be hooked once you try it.”
As Taylor gazed into his gorgeous brown eyes, she almost believed him.
“Where’s this booth we’re checking out?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Over there.” Jameson gestured with his head to a row of games. “But first, it’s time to buy a hat.”
He gestured to a stand selling all types of hats.
“Waste of money,” she declared.
“We want to give the impression that we don’t mind dropping money on games of chance and frivolous things.” He lowered his voice. “The food got us in the carnival mood. The hats will make us look the part of a couple out for fun on a Wednesday afternoon.”
It made sense, which was why Taylor walked away five minutes later with a baseball cap featuring the festival logo—pumpkins, lights and autumn leaves.
Jameson opted for a straw hat.
Taylor couldn’t stop giggling. The more she tried, the worse it got. “You look like you should have one foot on a tractor and a piece of straw between your lips.”
“Oh, so you’re saying I look sexy?” He flashed a smile. “In that case, I’m going to wear it every day.”
She laughed again, and it seemed natural to take his arm as he purchased forty dollars’ worth of midway tickets on their way to the balloon stand.
Busy filling balloons with air—not nearly full enough in Taylor’s estimation—the man working the booth didn’t appear to notice their approach until they stood in front of the counter.
He looked about her dad’s age, although he could have been younger. Years of hard living and too much sun had weathered his skin. Several missing teeth and greasy blond hair pulled back in a tail gave the impression of a man down on his luck.
Once he turned and noticed them, he smiled widely. “Step right up and try your luck! Win a prize for your sweetheart.”
Since they hadn’t discussed how to play this, Taylor went with instinct. Placing the palm of her hand flat against Jameson’s arm, she shook her head. “This game looks too hard. Let’s try another one.”
As if worried they were about to walk away, the man doubled down. “It’s easier than it looks. Just a couple of tries, and you could be walking away with one of our top prizes.”
Taylor’s gaze lingered on a stuffed panda as tall as she was before returning to Jameson. “I’ve always wanted a giant teddy bear.”
No lie. When she was six, she had begged her dad to win her one.
“I’m good at darts,” Jameson assured her. “I won our dart league last year.”
Sensing victory, the man pushed darts toward Jameson and then Taylor. “This is the perfect game for couples. Team up and double your chances of winning.”
Jameson hadn’t been boasting about his mad skills. The strange thing was, even when it appeared he’d hit the target, some would pop, but others wouldn’t.
Taylor missed more than she hit, but experienced the same issues as Jameson. With each game taking six of Jameson’s tickets, three for him and three for her, they’d gone through nearly twenty-five of the thirty dollars they’d allotted for the game. So far, they’d won only a bright yellow rubber duck and a glow-in-the-dark bracelet.
“I hit that one.” Taylor forced a whine into her tone as she turned to the attendant. “Why didn’t it pop? ”
The attendant offered a sympathetic smile. “Sometimes the dart doesn’t hit the target exactly right.”
And sometimes, Taylor thought, balloons weren’t filled fully.
“We only have enough tickets left to play one more game.” Jameson glanced down at the six tickets in his hand then at Taylor. “Let’s try our luck at another booth.”
“You could still win the lady a bear.” The man’s voice turned sly. “I noticed you’ve been having luck hitting the balloons at the edge of the board.”
Taylor had noticed that and had wondered if those were the fully filled balloons.
“I’d really like a bear.” Taylor stared into Jameson’s eyes.
He smiled. “I’m going to win you that bear.”
Taylor gave the duck to a passing child, who squealed with delight, but she kept the bracelet that encircled her wrist and the small teddy bear under her arm that had cost thirty dollars to win.
It wasn’t the giant one she’d insisted she wanted, but one on the small side that Jameson won in that final attempt. When her eyes had lit up and she’d flung her arms around him, for a second, Jameson had believed the story they’d spun.
Once they left the booth, they headed straight for the manager’s trailer. Jameson knew Vern was eager to get his report. The man listened, grim-faced, and only nodded when Jameson relayed what he and Taylor had observed.
Jameson had wanted Taylor to come in with him, but she’d insisted on waiting on a small bench outside of the trailer. When he stepped back out into the afternoon sunshine, she no longer sat on the bench.
Instead, she stood under the leafy branches of a nearby tall oak, ball cap on her head, the bracelet on her wrist and the teddy bear peeking out from her bag.
She smiled when she saw him coming. “How did it go?”
“You could have come in with me.”
Taylor shook her head. “He hired you. Was he happy with the report?”
“He was glad to know the score. Before I left, he called someone to take over the dart game and send Wally to him.”
“The guy running the booth was Wally?”
When he nodded, Taylor asked, “What will happen to him?”
She sounded surprisingly concerned about the man’s fate.
“That’s up to Vern.” Jameson shrugged. “We still have ten dollars in tickets. Want to check out the corn maze?”
“You bet.”
Once they’d started their journey through the maze, Jameson turned to Taylor. “Tell me about the coat and notes.”
“Which do you want to hear about first?”
Jameson wondered how he’d missed that her brown depths held flecks of gold. He pulled his thoughts back to the conversation. “Let’s start with the coat.”
The tall bales muffled much of the sound, so it felt as if they were the only ones navigating the maze. And maybe they were. The attendant, who’d been scrolling through his phone when they’d approached and given him the tickets, had commented about business being slow this afternoon.
“Did I tell you I went to the house of the woman who had dropped the coat off at Nifty Thrifty?”
“You didn’t.” Jameson knew he’d have remembered that. “Why did you go see her?”
“The clerk at the thrift store said she was married, but I thought my dad might have been having an affair with her.”
“Why would you think that?” Jameson blurted, then pulled his voice down. “Your dad would never have a relationship with a married woman. ”
“I didn’t think he would,” Taylor hurriedly added, “but I had to rule out the possibility. That’s what you do when you’re investigating a case, right? Rule things out?”
Jameson gave a grudging nod. “I’m beginning to think you’d make an excellent detective.”
“Thank you. However, I’m not sure I’d be suited to your profession. I don’t like lying, which seems to be somewhat of a necessity in your business.”
“How did you get her address?”
Taylor explained about the fifty-dollar ruse.
“I’m impressed.”
“Not only was Eileen old enough to be his mother, but she appears devoted to her ill husband.”
“You eliminated her as his lover.”
“I did, which was both a relief and a source of frustration. If this coat was her husband’s and not my dad’s, then where was his? And where do the notes fit into all of this? I tried to come up with next steps to help me solve the mystery, but no road seemed clear.”
“I’ve been there.” Jameson expelled a breath. “Extremely frustrating.”
Her lips curved. “Then I saw the photograph.”
Taylor explained about the pic and the paint spot on the sleeve. She lifted her arm to show him the spot. “This coat is definitely my dad’s.”
“Excellent detective work.” Jameson flashed a smile. “Your father would be proud.”
Taylor’s eyes widened. “You believe me?”
Jameson didn’t bother to hide his confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Maybe because it sounds so,” Taylor waved a hand, “unbelievable.”
He chuckled. “Not to me. Not in this town.”
She shot him a skeptical glance .
“I try to keep an open mind.”
After a moment, as if convinced of his sincerity, Taylor nodded. “I guess what matters is that his coat is back where it belongs.”
“What about the notes?”
“Counting the one that came just a bit ago, there have now been three. I compared the handwriting on the first note to several handwritten examples around the house. The slant of the letters and everything else matched. It’s my dad’s handwriting.”
He kept his tone offhand, but the magnitude of what they were discussing wasn’t lost on him. Could Bob really be communicating with his daughter from beyond the grave?
Jameson cleared his throat and fought for calm. “In the first note, he tells you, ‘I love you. Don’t sell.’ What did the second one say?”
“A little context first. My mom has been texting me nonstop. Yesterday, I was fed up and started to dash off a text telling her she needed to stop bothering me. That’s when the second note appeared. It said, ‘Be kind.’”
“Sounds like Bob is giving you a nudge, though I’m betting you’d have been kind anyway.” His gaze met hers. “Your dad always trusted you to make the right decisions.”
“I don’t know about that,” she said. “On my way home from Eileen’s house, I started thinking of all the mistakes I’ve made, all the times I was so sure I had the answers. As I look back, I see I didn’t. Have all the answers, I mean. It’s like he’s encouraging me to slow down, to stop and think.”
Sensing she had more to say, Jameson only nodded.
“I feel that I’ve been given a great gift. My dad is still here for me, just like he promised he’d be, guiding my way along the path of life.” Though her tone remained light, her brown eyes turned misty. “It’s as if he realizes how much I still need him and his guidance. ”
“Any idea about the ‘don’t sell’ part of the first note?” Jameson asked.
“That’s murky. I’m hoping that once I meet with Mr. Blount, that will become clear. Does he not want me to sell the house? Or his car? Or maybe the coat?” She lifted her hands and let them drop. “At this point, I just don’t know.”