Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [104]
“Jim and Martin? No way! They get along so well.”
“Now. Sam and Gabe will, too. When they both grow up a little.”
“Well, I hope they do it soon. It’s gettin’ real old, you know?”
She nodded sympathetically. “Any leads yet on your case?”
I gave a guilty laugh. “Now, Oneeda, you know I’m not supposed to be involved in any of Gabe’s cases.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Before I had to make any excuses, the guys came back with more food than we could possibly consume at one sitting. Between bites of corn-on-the-cob, tri-tip beef sandwiches, fried zucchini, shrimp-on-a-stick, and slices of thick vegetarian pizza, we talked about the festival and read our programs.
“We can’t miss this,” I said, pointing to Dolores’s name. It was a ten o’clock performance, what we called our Late-Night Cabaret. It consisted of stories that might be a bit too mature or scary for children. Dolores was first up. “I’m so curious about her story. She’s been working on it for a long time and won’t tell anyone what it is.”
“We must see it, then,” Oneeda said. “I wonder why she’s keeping it a secret? I can’t wait to see.”
“For exactly that reason,” Jim said laconically.
After we’d finished eating, we agreed to part company since we had different storytellers we wanted to hear.
“I’ve got extra patrol officers covering the festival,” Gabe told Jim. “So you’re off duty, okay? Just relax and enjoy yourself. Show your wife a good time.”
“Likewise,” Jim replied.
Oneeda and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. “Pot telling the kettle it’s got too much water in it,” she said.
“Tell it to me, Sister Oneeda,” I said, holding up my hands, fingers spread. She giggled like a young girl.
“Quick, let’s split them up before they start to unionize,” Jim said, pushing Oneeda’s wheelchair toward the craft booths.
Gabe and I strolled through the crowd, holding hands, stopping briefly at each storytelling area. He patiently followed me as I surveyed each craft booth and checked on the museum and the storytelling classes going on in the studios. After taking care of my official duties and seeing that the festival seemed well on its way to settling down, for the first time in a week I felt myself begin to relax. By ten o’clock the crowds had started to thin out. The festival was open until midnight, and though I was exhausted I was determined to stay until it closed. Gabe and I walked over to the main stage and grabbed an empty hay bale in the back. Most of the seats were already taken as people waited for Dolores’s performance.
“Thirsty?” Gabe asked.
“Get me a Coke. I’ll save a place for you.”
I was looking over the crowd, trying to see who was attending tonight, when I felt the hay bale shift.
“How’s it going?” Jillian asked. She was dressed in off-white jeans, a golden-brown cashmere sweater, and chamois-colored flat heel boots.
“So far, so good.” I held up crossed fingers. “What do you think of the festival so far? Has Constance been here? I haven’t seen her.”
“She was here earlier,” Jillian said, lacing her fingers around one knee. “She’s having a party tonight with some friends from L.A. She’ll be around tomorrow. She seemed happy enough with everything.” She gave me an encouraging smile. “Everything’s going great, Benni. Don’t worry. You’ve done a marvelous job.”
“Thanks,” I said. “That’s exactly the response I was fishing for. I can’t tell you how often these last few weeks I’ve wondered if we’d bitten off more than we could chew with this festival.”
She nodded knowingly. “I felt the same watching the new library go up. I thought I’d pass out from anxiety until the last flower was planted in the patron’s garden.”
Then the lights went out. An excited murmur rippled through the crowd. The moon, as if on cue, moved behind a plum-colored smattering of clouds, giving the atmosphere an even spookier tinge.
“Dolores must have higher connections than any of us,” Jillian said, her tone slightly sarcastic.
A rattle of chains against metal sounded in the grove of pepper trees on the edge of the pasture, and the crowd instinctively swiveled toward