Street’s Fair in Love and War

Street’s Fair in Love and War
(part 3 of The Dog Days of Murder)
©2024, Joseph L. Thornburg. All Rights Reserved.
(contains violence, mature themes)

“Here you go, give this a try.” The woman in the tent handed Caesar a plastic spoon with a faintly orange liquid in it. He put the spoon in his mouth and looked puzzled.

“Umm, is this supposed to be orange juice?”

“Orange juice? No, it’s marmalade. Do you like it?” She wore a billowy biscuit colored blouse decorated with blue sunflowers for some reason and a little bow at the collar. There was also a tan skirt and a scarf decorated with zigzags in shades of eggplant, turquoise, and orangutan. Inside the tent, there was a long table with jars stacked three high and a small metal cashbox underneath. The woman sat in a folding chair behind the table. A little light came through the small tent windows, but a couple of clip-on lamps provided most of the illumination. There was also a straw sun hat, set aside.

“It’s very uhh … subtle.”

“You should try it on toast. I can make you a little piece, if you’d like.” She pointed to the far end of the table, upon which sat a toaster, which was plugged into an extension cord which ran along one side of the tent and out a little flap in the back.

“Oh, no, that’s fine.” Caesar patted his stomach. “I just ate lunch.” His stomach, not in on the white lie, betrayed him by growling.

She closed her eyes reverently. “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” She opened her eyes again and tilted her head, expectantly. When Caesar didn’t say anything, she continued. “Well, you must take a jar home. Perhaps two or three? You can give the extras to friends.”

Caesar thought he’d have no friends left if he gave them this watery preserve. “Ah, I seem to have forgotten my wallet.”

“Never fear, I’m here all day.” She tapped on a sign on the table upon which was written, in a rather poor attempt to look like old English calligraphy, SISERA CROWNE’S PRESERVES. “Do be sure to come back.”

“I’ll try. I’m one of the vendors myself. I work at BaxCam Coffees.”

“Oh, yes. You know, I had some this morning. I think you could save money if you watered it down a bit. It’s far too strong. Nobody likes strong coffee.”

“Well, thank you for the advice …”

She walked to the tent flap and pointed to a booth about fifty feet to the left, and across the street. “And whatever you do, don’t waste your time with that one. Dahlia. She’s a dear, dear friend, but her jams just scream with flavor. I mean, she even puts little bits of fruit in them. I was picking strawberry seeds out of my teeth for a week.”

“Oh, well, thank you for that advice as well.” Caesar would’ve welcomed even the most bitter piece of fruit at that moment, anything that would erase the blandly offensive nothingness of Sisera’s marmalade. He knelt to go through the flap of the tent.

Directly next to Sisera’s tent was another, made of camouflage canvas. The flaps were open to reveal a table of military medals and memorabilia.

“Hello,” said Caesar to the man sitting inside. “You’re not a local merchant, are you? I don’t think we’ve met before.”

The man stood up, the top of his baseball cap brushing against the tent ceiling. He extended a catcher’s mitt of a hand. “Captain Franklin Ahgupuk, retired, army. And no, I’m not local. Every year, for about two months, I go on a tour to buy and sell military collectibles from around the world, and this weekend I’m here in East Kingsley.” Caesar noticed he was wearing a BaxCam Coffees t-shirt.

“Well, welcome to our city and our annual street fair. I’m Caesar Campbell, I work at BaxCam.”

Ahgupuk snapped his massive fingers and tapped his shirt. “You guys are great! I grabbed a breakfast bagel there this morning, really good.” He gave Caesar a thumbs up.

“I’m just on my lunch break. Drop in later if you’d like, I’ll give you a free coffee.”

“Great! Thanks! Uhh, speaking of coffee, could you watch my tent for just a minute? I’ve got to go to the boys’ room. Usually my wife travels with me but she’s in Fairbanks taking care of her sick aunt.”

“Sure.” Captain Ahgupuk nodded and walked briskly over to a row of porta-johns and disappeared inside one. A moment later, he emerged, looking relieved. He waved at Caesar, who waved back and went on his way. He passed the alley leading to the back of BaxCam and saw Innocenzio’s delivery truck. Innocenzio was hauling a large box towards the back door, upon which he rapped.

“Hey, handsome!”

“Hey Caesar!” He leaned in for a quick peck on the lips.

“Hey, Innocenzio, what do you have for us?” said Benjy, opening the door.

“Something from Möblea.” He brought in the box and, with a grunt, shoved it to the center of the break room. Patricia and Alexandra pushed the folding table and chairs back. Benjy took out a box cutter and cut the packing straps. Everyone helped unpack the box and remove the contents.

“Metal folding chairs?” exclaimed Alexandra. “Aw, Patricia, those are so uncomfortable!”

“Well, Benjy said nothing fancy. And they’re durable and easy to clean.”

Alexandra rolled her eyes, but Benjy said, “It’s cool. Thanks, Patricia.”

“No sweat, boss. Can we get rid of these old chairs now?”

“Sure. Set aside the decent ones and we’ll give those to thrift. But first I need you to run over to the office store and pick up some masking tape. I thought we had more but I can’t find any.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Patricia disappeared out the door.

Caesar turned to face Innocenzio. “Shame you have to work today, the street fair is fun. I’m still on my lunch break.”

“As it happens, this is my last delivery of the day. Let me put this dolly back in my truck and I’ll come with you.” Innocenzio jogged towards his truck, tossed the dolly inside, changed shirts, then came jogging back. They stepped through the door leading into the coffeehouse. Elijah was at the counter.

“Alexandra, we need help!” he cried out.

“What can I do?”

“Start some decaf, the carafe outside is almost empty.”

Benjy came in. “Alexandra, I’ll start the decaf, go see if Cadence needs anything else.”

“Her pastry platter is getting low,” said Elijah.

“Gotcha.” Alexandra looked out the front window. A table had been set up with a few carafes and a platter, which contained a forlorn bran muffin and a population of crumbs. Cadence was dealing with a long line and pouring drinks as quickly as she could. Nearby were a couple of picnic tables and benches for the customers. Alexandra grabbed a set of tongs, and deftly placed a dozen or so pastries on another platter.

Elijah sang out: “Fred with the red t-shirt, Fred with the bowtie, come and get your drinks!” The two Freds approached the counter and, recognizing they were kindred moniker spirits, bowed to each other and collected their drinks. A young woman then stepped up, accompanied by a young man and an older woman.

“Heya Niss,” said Elijah, smiling in recognition. “Who are your friends?”

“This is my Aunt Panphyla, but everyone just calls her Aunt P.” The older woman giggled at hearing her nickname and waved at Elijah. “And this is my friend Jye.”

“What can I get for you today?” said Elijah to the trio.

“One iced rosemary macchiato for me, one iced green tea for Aunt P …”

“And an iced cortado with cookie crumbs for me,” added Jye.

“Gotta have those iced drinks on a day like this, right?” said Elijah. “Anything else?”

The older woman whispered something in Niss’s ear. “Oh, and one of those blueberry muffins.”

“You’ve got it! I’ll call you when they’re ready, won’t be too long.” The trio moved to one of the tables.

“Decaf’s going, I’ll start on their drinks,” said Benjy.

“Thanks, Benj.”

When a customer opened the door to enter, Cadence looked over her shoulder and sang out into the coffeehouse: “Alexandra!”

“Decaf’s on its way!” She started heading for the door with the pastries.

“I need more napkins too!” Alexandra whirled, expertly balancing the platter on one hand while she grabbed a big handful of napkins with the other.

Cadence turned back to the dapper man waiting in front of her.

“Hi, sorry to keep you waiting, what can I get for you?” said Cadence.

“Yes, please,” said the man. “I would like very much a coffee and one of those … how is the word? A scoon?”

“Scone. I’ll get those for you lickety-split.”

The man looked puzzled. “Lick … licky-split?” But Cadence had already poured the coffee into a to-go cup and popped a scone into a bag. The man waved his phone over the reader to pay. As he turned to leave he saw Dainty sitting at a picnic table enjoying a bruttiboni. “Dainty, hello!”

She turned around. “Achileven, hello luv!” She stood up and grabbed him in a bear hug. With his coffee in one hand and his food in the other, he did his best to hug her back.

“Oh, I have changed my name. Americans can not easily pronounce Achileven, so as part of my citizenship process I have deciding to become Archie.”

“That’s a good name, Arch. And your English sounds better.”

“Yes, I followed your advice and hired a private tutor to help me.” He looked past her. “Is that young woman new? I don’t think I’ve seen her before.”

Dainty looked over her shoulder and saw Patricia, who was looking both ways before jaywalking across the street. “Oh, you mean Patricia Fondre. They hired her a couple of weeks ago. Poor thing.”

“Poor …? She has no money?”

“Poor can also mean unfortunate. I think she’s homeless. Came in for a job, and you know Benjy, always wanting to help people. So he hired her.”

“Ah, I understand. Fondre, what a strange name. It sounds French, perhaps?”

“I don’t think she’s French. Or at least, she doesn’t have a French accent.”

“I should ask my tutor. Her husband is from Gabon.”

“Why don’t you join me?” Dainty patted the seat next to her.

“I would like very much, but I must hurry. I am seeing my tutor shortly and just have time to eat my snack before my lesson.” He waved the little bag with the scone in it. “Perhaps Friday we could have lunch?”

“I’d love to, but I’m hosting a writers club meeting.”

“Oh? I did not know you did the writing.”

“I don’t but my daughter does. They usually meet in a church but it got burned in that awful fire so I’m letting them meet in my place.”

“That is nice of you to do. Another time, then?“

“All right, luv. Enjoy your lesson!” Archie bowed to her and left.

Benjy set down three drinks and a plate with a muffin on it. “Elijah, your order.”

“Jye! Aunt P! Niss! Your drinks are ready!” sang out Elijah like a carnival barker.

“Benjy, I can come back from lunch early and help out,” said Caesar.

“We’ve got it under control, and Patricia will be back in a minute.”

“Okay, but if you get swamped, just text me and I’ll come running.” Caesar and Innocenzio left and began walking down the street past the vendors.

“Have you sampled anything yet?” asked Innocenzio. Caesar told him about Sisera and how she recommended he avoid Dahlia’s.

“Well, if Sisera thinks Dahlia’s jams are terrible, then perhaps that means they’re quite good! We should check it out!”

The two men made their way down Merchant Road, passing Jocasta and Haemon Payne’s table and Ari Hashisaki’s table. With both tables displaying antique figurines, including French santons and Japanese haniwa, it was as if the Paynes and Ari were about to stage an extravagant version of toy soldiers at war. Next to their tables, on an easel, was a placard that read THE GREAT PELLACONIGLIO. A coffee can with a label on it that read TIPS, GRAZIE MILLE! sat in front of the easel. A man in a shabby tuxedo with a clip-on bow tie had his hand deep inside a top hat and was fishing around for something. “C’mon … c’mon!” he muttered to himself. His audience, which consisted of one four-year old boy, watched for a moment and then pointed past the magician and said, “Look, a bunny!” The man dropped his hat and gave chase. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, there were no tips in the can that needed to be guarded.

The next table was covered with purple cloth and candles and crystals, and had a sign that read HALO PRAIRIEFLOWER, PSYCHIC AND CLAIRVOYANT. Caesar saw it too late to avoid it.

“Hello, Caesar!” Halo leapt up, her caftan swirling about her. “I knew I’d see you today.”

“Sure you did, Halo.”

“Hello, Halo,” said Innocenzio.

“Hello Innocenzio. Now Caesar, I have more news for you.”

“I bet you do.”

“I communed with the spirits again. Remember?”

“Yes, yes, I know. Someone is out to harm me.”

“They are quite insistent, you know. But they have another message.”

“Oh boy, what is it this time?”

“‘I scream in the sun’ is what they said.”

Caesar wanted to scream himself. Why did he have to put up with this ridiculous woman? But in spite of his skepticism, he said, “And pray tell, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know, I’m just the messenger.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t ice cream, not I scream?” Innocenzio said.

“Don’t encourage her,” whispered Caesar.

Halo thought hard. “You know, I’m not sure now. It’s one or the other. But I suppose if someone tried to harm you, maybe you’d be outside screaming for help? And it is a hot summer day.” She gestured extravagantly towards the sun, as if nobody had noticed it hitherto.

“Well, I’ll try not to get killed except on rainy days, then.”

“Ice cream melts in the sun,” offered Innocenzio.

“Melts! Ooh! That’s significant somehow!” Halo closed her eyes for a moment then shook her head and shrugged. “In any case, always be careful! Always! Even on rainy days!” She clutched one of Caesar’s hands. “I don’t want something bad to happen to you, Caesar.” Her concern was so sincere that Caesar felt a little bad about mocking her. As Alexandra had said before, Halo meant well. Caesar promised himself he’d try to be a little more gracious.

“Okay, Halo. I’ll try to be careful. Thank you.” Halo smiled and whirled twice before sitting down, causing her caftan to tornado around her.

“That’s better,” said Innocenzio, as they continued walking.

“You know I don’t believe in that stuff. Predictions, spirits.”

“Mm, I don’t either. At least not like you see on TV. But some people do have a sort of intuitive sense. Maybe she’s picking up on something? And we are always chasing after killers.”

“I wouldn’t say we were chasing after them, it just kinda happens to us.”

“You know what I mean. It seems to happen to us more than most people. Maybe Halo’s just worried about you.”

“Okay, all right. I’ll be careful. I’m a big boy.”

Innocenzio flexed his biceps. “And I’ll be there to protect you just in case!”

After passing several more tables, they crossed the street to the next group of vendors and reached Dahlia’s spot. She didn’t have a tent, but a simple canopy over a table covered with jars of jam. There were several boxes stacked up behind the table, and two folding chairs. She wore a simple beige sweater over a simple beige dress and a pink apron. Her curly beige hair peeked from under a bright white kerchief. Working with her was a rather nondescript woman named Iris, the kind who seemed oblivious to her own potential, but there was a twinkle in her eye, as if any moment now she’d burst forth from her cocoon. For now, she seemed content enough being Dahlia’s assistant. Several people were sampling Dahlia’s goods. One man was stuffing his face with a slice of bread topped with strawberry jam, as if he were starved. Perhaps he was, and weak from hunger, as he seemed to struggle to stay standing.

“Dahlia, thish … is the bessht jam you’ve made yet.” He swallowed his mouthful, but that didn’t make his speech any clearer. “Sushh … such very sweet straw.”

He belched, sighed, then finished his sentence. “Berries!”

“Oh, thank you Major.” She saw Caesar and Innocenzio. “Can I interest you in a sample of jam?” She held up a large platter of slices of bread that had been cut into quarters, each topped with different types of jam. “That’s raspberry, that’s kiwano—seedless, of course—that’s bell apple, that’s dragon fruit …”

“Wow, quite an assortment!” said Innocenzio. He took a slice and popped it into his mouth. “Oh my gosh, Caesar, you have to try this!”

“Do you have strawberry?” half-smirked Caesar.

“Of course!” said Dahlia, handing him the plate the Major had been hoarding. “Major, you need a break. If you don’t slow down, you’ll choke yourself.”

“I’m sorry, it’s justshchth … all so uh, so very good. Very good indeed!” He nodded enthusiastically, as if agreeing with himself.

“I’m surprised you’re not eating Sisera’s goods,” said Iris, also half-smirking

“Wellllll …” began the Major. “Don’t tell Shishkabob … Scissor … Sisera I’ve been over here. Lovely woman but she, err, she …” He stopped, distracted momentarily by nothing, hiccoughed, then resumed. “She … ish a little challenged in the kitten. No, no … the kitchen!”

“I’d like a few jars,” said Caesar.

“I’m offering a special. If you buy three, you get a fourth one free!”

“I’ll definitely take four then!”

“Me too!” said Innocenzio. “Let’s pick eight flavors and then we can share.”

“Oh, thank you, gentlemen!” clapped Dahlia. “If you’d like, I’ll hold them here and you can pick them up later so you don’t have to carry them around all day.”

“No need, I work over at BaxCam.” He jerked his head over one shoulder. “I can just take them with me.”

“BaxCam! I got some of your coffee there this morning. By the way, I don’t suppose the owner would be interested in carrying some of my jams?”

“You can certainly ask him. His name is Benjy Baxter. I’ll put in a good word for you.”

“Great!”

The major, having located and hijacked another plateful of samples, cleared his throat loudly. “I think I ate that too … just too too too fast. A little parched.” He coughed again. “Al’ama! I’d better go get shome-thing to wet my whissher … whisshle.” He bowed, nearly pitched forward, righted himself, and teetered towards the beer tent.

“It’s no wonder Arthur drinks,” said Dahlia once he was out of earshot. “I think it’s easier for him than dealing with guilt.”

“Guilt?” asked Innocenzio. “Over what?”

“Well … you didn’t hear it from me, but a few years ago he was in love with a woman, a … oh, what was her name?” She tapped her temple with a spoon, inadvertently depositing a dab of banana cream butter there.

“Don’t act so coy, Dahlia,” said Iris. “You remember her as well as the rest of us. Julie English.”

“Oh yes, that’s right. Anyway, they were in love, but Arthur also liked the easy life, like playing the horses. Julie was as broke as he was. But then Sisera set her sights on Arthur …”—her voice dropped to a stage whisper—“… and since Sisera has money …”—her voice returned to normal—“… Arthur decided to dump poor Julie. She left town shortly after that. The humiliation of losing Arthur was bad enough but, err … well, I really shouldn’t say.”

“Go on, say it!” said Iris. “You started it!”

“Oh … well, the rumor was Julie was once … err …”

“A lady of the night,” finished Iris.

“Well, something like that, maybe she just made those … videos or something. Anyway, that was well before any of us met her, and Julie had since found a more … respectable job …”

“Nothing disrespectable about her kind of work, Dahlia dear.”

“I’m not trying to judge her, I’m just telling you what I know.” She suddenly noticed how one temple felt slightly cooler than the other and reached up to touch it. She grabbed a napkin and dabbed away the mess. “Anyway, Julie tried to put her past behind her, but Sisera wouldn’t let it go. Told anyone who’d listen what Julie had been up to, and word got around to Julie’s boss and she was out of a job. And so she left town.”

“And she made sure Arthur-boy earned every penny she gave him! I’d drink like a fish too, married to a woman like that! I feel sorry for the man. And for you, Dahlia!”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“Oh, here we go, still playing coy. Tell them about what she did to your business.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Shall I then?” Dahlia said nothing. “Fine, I shall!” It was Iris’s turn in the spotlight. “Dahlia decided to start a homemade jam business. Got a loan from the bank, got it going, and soon was the talk of the town. Well, this didn’t sit well with Queen Sisera, who didn’t like someone else challenging her position …”

“I wasn’t challenging her position, as you put it. I don’t care about being queen of the town. Ugh, what a horrible aspiration. I just wanted to sell my jams!”

“Sisera began spreading word about dear ol’ Dahlia’s jams, and Dahlia sued her for slander. Didn’t win, though, did you?” Dahlia said nothing, but did cock an annoyed eyebrow. “Not enough evidence to prosecute, right?”

“Iris, and I say this with all the love in my heart, kindly shove it!” snapped Dahlia.

Iris looked surprised. “You’re right, Dahlia dear, I went too far. I apologize.”

“Well,” said Dahlia. “it hurt my business, didn’t it? All that work to build up a reputation and a clientele and then Sisera comes along and knocks it all down, and then starts her own jam business.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” interjected Caesar hastily. “Have you actually tried her jams? Water has more flavor. You’ve got no competition.”

“I know,” sighed Dahlia. Iris put her arm around her shoulder. “I know. But that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been difficult.”

“Yes, dear. I hear you. She’s made it difficult for all of us. If only she didn’t wield so much power.”

“But she doesn’t any more, ever since Aceline moved to Chisholm!”

“Aceline?” asked Innocenzio.

“Dahlia, ma chérie, there vous are!” Everyone turned. Two women and a man were approaching. They made a striking trio: one woman wore slacks, a collared shirt, a pin-stripe vest, a newsboy cap, and a red bowtie. Except for a white t-shirt and jeans, the man was dressed completely in black leather: boots, jacket, chaps, and a biker cap with a chain trimming the brim. He stood at least six-foot-seven and his clothing barely seemed to contain his muscles. The severe hypermasculinity was relieved only by a large red Japanese parasol which the man held delicately in his exquisitely manicured fingernails. But it was the elongated woman in between them who stole the show: she wore a honey colored shift dress that covered her from neck to wrists to just below the knees. It was decorated in a wild explosion of stained-glass style drooping willow branches (which made her look even taller) and butterflies. What appeared to be a single red hydrangea, the size of the woman’s head, was tied to her bucket hat with a broad ribbon. But while such a spectacle would’ve invited titters, there was something in the woman’s visage that kept her critics at bay: severe red bangs framed an angular face with shining black eyes that almost dared anyone to poke fun. They seemed at odds with her genial, almost regal smile.

“Aceline, you came!”

“Mais bien sûr, Dahlia, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. An opportunity to gallivant away from charming Chisholm and deliciate in the joys of a street fair.”

“Maximilian,” said Dahlia, “do you have any paintings displayed at the artists’ tent?”

Before the man could speak, the other woman cut in. “I submitted a few, but I daresay my work is far too challenging even for a city like East Kingsley. I depict life in all its naked, raw honesty! But what’s at the artists’ tent? Pictures of trees and cats and silly little cottages.” She looked at Maximilian and slapped him on the back, and he started a half-step forward. “Oh, sorry, Maxi. No offense intended.”

“None taken, Harlow. But my little amateurish paintings certainly wouldn’t hold a candle to those by the East Kingsleyites. No, mostly I’m here to see if I could find something to add to my collection of gewgaws.”

“Gemgaws?” asked Innocenzio.

“Bagatelles.” Innocenzio shook his head. “Gimcracks.”

“Knickknacks,” said Harlow. Maximilian made a face of distaste. “Don’t mind Maxi. If there’s a fancy-schmancy way of saying things, he’ll say it. Why bother? Why not just cut to the chase?”

“Really, Harlow …” began Maximilian.

“Now, now, mes amis, let us not brabble on such a monsterful day,” refereed Aceline.

“Aceline, my dear, we were just talking about you,” said Dahlia.

“Oh?” At this point Aceline finally seemed to notice Caesar and Innocenzio. “How do you do? I’m Aceline Koenig.”

Caesar was about to respond when a ball of yarn rolled and stopped at his feet.

“Oh dear, there it goes again.” An elderly woman stepped forward and bent over to pick up the ball, then looked at the two men. “I’m sorry, it gets away from me from time to time.”

“No problem,” said Caesar. “Are you enjoying the fair?”

“Oh yes. I’m June Maple.” Upon her gently curling grey hair she wore a white sunbonnet, an ankle length grey skirt, and a periwinkle sweater that looked handknitted.

“Quel beau chapeau! I’m Aceline Koenig.”

“Oh, sorry!” said Caesar. “We left you hanging. I’m Caesar, this is Innocenzio.” He turned back to Miss Maple. “Do you have a booth here?”

“Oh, no. I just came to enjoy. My grand-nephew was showing the fair to me on his computer. With all the vendors and booths and crafts and food, I just had to come.” She held up a small knitting bag and popped the wayward ball of yarn inside to join its colorful brethren. Two knitting needles protruded.” I brought my knitting to work on in case I needed to sit a spell.” She raised her bonnet slightly to dab at her sweating brow with a lace handkerchief. “Now, wait a minute. Caesar and Innocenzio? Why, you two are the Coffee Detectives!”

Caesar nodded, while Innocenzio gave her a little salute and said, “At your service, ma’am!”

Aceline regarded Miss Maple. “Are you also a detective?”

“Strictly an amateur, my dear.”

“Well, so are we,” said Innocenzio.

Miss Maple beamed at him. “I do hope we can have a little chat! I just love a good murder mystery. I read them all the time, you know. Keeps my brain young trying to solve them before the end. I actually did solve … what was it? Expiration on the Euphrates by Christie Agnes. I knew as soon as that young woman shot her former lover that something was amiss!”

“You’re welcome to walk with us,” said Caesar. “Have you seen anything yet?”

“Not yet. I only just arrived. I saw the big crowd at this table and thought it would be a good place to start.”

“Aren’t you a little warm in that sweater?” asked Innocenzio. “I can carry it for you if you like.”

“Oh no, young man. When you get to be my age, you need all the warmth you can get.”

“Well, Miss Maple, you don’t look a day over …” Innocenzio peered more closely. “Actually, you look … oh, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t be trying to guess a woman’s age.”

“Not to fear! I’m proud of my seventy-five years.”

“Seventy-five?” blurted Dahlia. “I’m only fifty-five and you look younger than me.”

“You should wear a hat like mine. Sun isn’t good for your skin, you know.”

“It’s a lovely sunbonnet. Did you make it yourself?”

“Yes, and thank you. Technically, it’s a poke bonnet. Very old-fashioned, youngsters don’t wear hats like this any more. But they serve a good purpose, so I keep wearing mine.” She ran one finger along the brim. “I’m very proud of my rolled blanket stitch here. All handsewn. None of those fancy machine stitches for me!”

The two men weren’t sure what to say. Aceline hmm’ed and turned back to Dahlia. “You said you were just talking about moi?”

“We were just saying how Sisera owns half the town, and she’s got the city council under her thumb. Whatever Queen Sisera wants, she usually gets. She wants a zoning law change so she can have her business closer to home, bang, she’s got it. Not to mention her indisputable morality.”

Harlow rolled her eyes. Maximilian coughed. “Uh oh,” said Innocenzio. “I think I see where this is going.”

“Any time Maxi or I ran into Her Royal Highness Queen of the Bible, she started quoting Leviticus,” said Harlow.

“Ah, one of those,” said Caesar.

“It’s only because she’s managed to piss off most people that we all kinda stick together.” She put her arm around Maximilian’s shoulders. “The town has our back, at least. Hip hip hoorah for dear Aceline! She’s been our savior!”

“Oh, you are too kind,” said Aceline, secretly relishing the acclaim.

“Oh yes, indeed,” spoke Maximilian finally. “When she moved to Chisholm, she obviously wasn’t going to let someone like Sisera push her or anyone else around, queen or not.”

“Moved from where?” asked Innocenzio.

“Pilling.” Aceline tapped her lower lip. “Oh, how long has it been?”

“Exactly two years and three months ago, to the day,” said Harlow.

“About the time Julie left,” said Iris. “Did you ever meet her, Aceline?”

“Julie?”

Dahlia answered for her. “They never met. You know that old saying, ‘When a door closes, God opens a window.’ I thought of that because it seemed Aceline appeared the day after Julie left.”

“You know,” said Iris, “Sisera tried some of her zoning voodoo on Aceline, to stop her buying a vacant lot so she could expand her yard, but Aceline brought in her team of attorneys, and pow! Aceline has a bigger yard. And she throws the most divine parties.”

“Sisera wouldn’t know, not that Aceline never invited her.”

“Good old Aceline,” said Harlow. “Magnanimous enough to extend the hand of friendship to her enemies. But Sisera always declined.”

“And stay ye not, but pursue after your enemies, and smite the hindmost of them …” said Miss Maple. “Joshua chapter 10, verse 19.”

“Golly Gego, someone should smite her!”

“Harlow!”

“Well, she’s such a phony. Full of herself, always trying to take charge, making backhanded compliments.”

“Now, now, let’s all be un peu charitable,” said Aceline.

Dahlia harrumphed. “Why, just before the fair today she said (and then she imitated Sisera’s voice), ‘Oh Dahlia darling, you’re selling jams too? It’s only because we’re friends that I don’t want to be the one to tell you how inopportune they are. All those little strawberry seeds!’ I’ve never had any complaints, but you should taste her grape jam. Like she just mushed up a bunch of grapes, seeds and skins and all, added some water, then stuck it all in jars.”

“Brr,” shivered Innocenzio. “But she must be kinda okay, I mean, as a person. Major Arthur married her, after all.”

“She had him by the balls!” spat Harlow, which caused Dahlia to blush. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it? They were a perfect match, what with him strutting around insisting everyone call him major. And he’s not even a proper major, just a sergeant major. Kept bragging about his time serving in the Middle East, but it was always ’Why doesn’t anyone there speak English?’ Claims he’s fluent in Arabic but I think alamo or whatever he’s always saying was the only word he knew! And you know why he married her, don’t you?” Dahlia nodded. Aceline and Maximilian tried to look innocent. “When you drink your pension away you need money, and Sisera had it. Arthur had been seeing Julie, then she disappeared when he went after Crowne.”

“Cha-ching!” said Iris.

Aceline cleared her throat diplomatically. “I went to Chisholm on a petit vacation and just fell in love with the town, and so I moved there. Fortunately, my work is completely mobile.”

“What do you do?” asked Innocenzio.

“Ever read The Lion in the Forest D’Amour?” The men shook their heads. “A Shining Star for My Love? The Love Embezzler? No? My, my, my. Well, my books are mostly aimed at women readers. Aceline is my real name, but I write novels as …”—she drew herself up—“Marie Anne Grande.” Aceline bowed slightly, but the men still looked puzzled. “Roman d’amour.” She finally deigned to spell it out in terms they might understand. “Romance novels.”

“Oh, like Scaramouche Publishing type books.” Aceline bowed again. “Well, we’ll have to go buy one, won’t we Caesar?”

“No need!” Aceline reached into her pocket and pulled out a rather slim volume. “Already autographed. I hope you enjoy it.”

“Her books are wonderful,” said Maximilian. “Why, they …” He suddenly stopped, distracted by something across the street. A woman seemed to be waving at him. Everyone turned to look.

“Oh, that’s Patricia, one of my co-workers,” said Caesar. He waved back. The pedestrian light changed, and Patricia stepped into the street. A car coming down the cross street blew through the red and lurched right. Patricia seemed oblivious to the fact it was bearing down on her.

“Look out!”

Caesar ran out and grabbed Patricia’s wrist. He yanked her towards him, away from the passing car. The force of the yank caused Patricia to stumble, but Caesar deftly caught her, like a dancer dipping his partner. And in that moment, with their faces so close together, there was an indefinably familiar somethingabout her, but when you’re trying to save someone’s life in an adrenaline-fueled situation, all kinds of odd thoughts pop up in a flash then disappear as quickly. The car drove half a block, threw itself into a drift, then careened abruptly down an alley.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” said Innocenzio.

Caesar pulled Patricia to a standing position, but her knees buckled and she fell against him. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Let’s get out of the street.” He helped her walk back towards BaxCam.

“My god,” she finally said. “I could’ve been killed!” She was shaking.

“You poor dear,” said Miss Maple. She took one of Patricia’s hands and clasped it.

“Lucky we were there,” said Innocenzio.

“Are you going to be okay?” asked Caesar.

“I don’t know. I …” She began to gasp in short jagged pants.

“Come on, sit down.” The two men guided her to a bench in front of BaxCam.

Benjy and Alexandra came running out. “What happened? Is everyone okay?” asked Alexandra.

“Just a near miss,” said Caesar.

Patricia began to cry. “I could’ve died … oh lord, I could’ve died.”

“Come on,” said Benjy. “Let’s get you inside the break room, then I’ll order a Witchhike and send you home.”

Patricia wiped away her tears and tried to sound composed. “Oh, boss, I can’t. I’m in the middle of a shift.”

“No, no. Once you’ve calmed down a bit you’re taking the rest of the day off.”

“Okay, I’m too shaken to argue.” She looked at Caesar. “Thank you. Oh geez, Caesar, thank you doesn’t seem like enough. You saved my life!” Though still unsteady, she managed to stand up and hug him.

“You’re … welcome.” Just as saying thank you didn’t seem like enough, saying you’re welcome also didn’t seem like enough either, but Caesar didn’t know what else to say.

“Alexandra, take her inside.” Alexandra gently pulled Patricia’s hands from Caesar, put an arm around her and guided her to the door.

“That poor child,” said Miss Maple.

“You don’t know half of it,” said Benjy. “She’s sure had more than her fair share of hard knocks.”

“Well, she’s one of us now,” said Innocenzio. “Maybe our paths intersected for a reason.” Benjy nodded.

“What a stupid driver,” said Caesar. “I mean, how could he not tell there’s a fair going on? The street is full of people! Seriously, he could’ve hit her!”

Innocenzio nodded glumly and glanced down the alley where the car had gone. “What’s that?” he said, pointing. The two men and Miss Maple walked over. There, on the ground lay an orange blouse, a pair of red stiletto heels, a pair of women’s gloves, and what appeared to be a yellow and orange swath of striped cloth, several feet long.

“Who left their clothes here?”

Caesar held up the cloth. “What is this, a cape?” But it was far too large for that. He looked at the blouse. “Is someone walking around topless?”

“Well, it is a hot day,” said Miss Maple, dabbing at her forehead again.

Caesar noticed something fluffy and small at his feet. “Miss Maple, did you drop your yarn again?” But as he stooped to pick it up, it suddenly jumped and hopped away.

“Hello again, Mr. Bunny!” said Miss Maple. “You really should go back to your friend.”

“Excuse me,” said the magician, suddenly appearing out of nowhere and panting. “Did you see a white rabbit go by here?” All three of them pointed down the alley and the magician ran off.

“He might’ve said thank you,” said Miss Maple.

Caesar was still considering the discarded clothing. “Do you think the driver threw them out?”

“Maybe … but why?”

“Let me see those,” said Miss Maple. She held up the striped cloth. “This looks very familiar. Ahh, you know, I believe I saw a young woman wearing this earlier! She had it wrapped around her head, like a turban.”

“And was she wearing this blouse, these heels?”

“I didn’t get a look at her feet, but yes, she was definitely wearing this blouse!”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” quoted Innocenzio, looking down the alley where the white rabbit had gone.

“We probably should take them to lost and found, but I get the feeling we should hang on to them for the time being,” said Caesar.

“A clue, you mean?” said Miss Maple.

“A clue?” asked Innocenzio. “But to what? There hasn’t been a crime.”

“Yet,” said Caesar. “Let’s get back to the fair.” They stepped out of the alley.

“Damnit, what the hell?” cried out someone. All three looked towards the right. A tent had partially collapsed. Captain Ahgupuk was running up to it. He ran a quick circle around it, looking at the ground.

“Problem, Captain?” asked Caesar.

“Someone stole one of my pegs! I popped out for a moment to get a sandwich. I couldn’t have been gone more than two minutes. And I came back to find this!” He snapped his fingers in annoyance as he walked around again, looking more carefully this time. “Fortunately, I have spares, but they’re in the tent.”

“We can help,” said Caesar. Captain Ahgupuk nodded, and showed them how best to hold up the tent while he went inside to fetch another stake.

“What a funny thing to do,” said Miss Maple, after the Captain has successfully repitched his tent. “Why should someone want to steal a stake?”

“Maybe someone needed one,” said Innocenzio.

“Oh, but that seems rather rude, doesn’t it? Most people have tables here. Only a few have tents. This poor gentleman, and …”

“… and Mrs. Crowne,” finished Caesar. He looked at her tent. “Still fully up.”

“Some prank, then, I suppose,” said Miss Maple. “Not a very funny one.”

“Nobody ever accused pranksters of having a sophisticated sense of humor,” said Innocenzio.

Miss Maple looked around. “Clothing left in the alley, and now this. You might be right, Caesar. It somehow seems a little strange.”

They stood there for a moment, looking at Sisera’s tent. “I think we can just skip it,” said Innocenzio.

“Oh, no,” said Miss Maple. “I want to see for myself if her jam is as bad as everyone says it is.” She suddenly looked slightly ashamed. “Oh, dear, is my schadenfreude showing? That’s not very Christian of me, is it? But let’s pay the poor woman a visit, shall we? I don’t imagine she has many friends. We can afford to show her a little charity.” She began walking towards the tent. The two men caught up to her, and Caesar held the flap open for her. It was very dark inside. “Oh dear, I can’t see inside at all.”

“We’ll go in first,” said Caesar. “Hello, Mrs. Crowne? Are you in here?” The clip-on lamps were out. There was just enough light coming through the windows to illuminate a figure, presumably Sisera, who was slumped in her chair, her head hidden by her sun hat. She didn’t move.

“She might be asleep,” whispered Innocenzio. “Maybe we should just tiptoe out.”

“Wait, look!” He pointed to the ground beneath the chair. Even in the dark, they could see the grass was stained by a dark liquid. “Mrs. Crowne?” Caesar carefully lifted her hat. A metal stake was protruding from her temple. Blood had oozed from the wound and dripped on the ground. “Oh geez.”

“I hope that’s not the missing tent peg.”

Caesar sighed. “It probably is.”

The men stepped out of the tent. Innocenzio called the police.

“What’s wrong?” asked Miss Maple.

“Someone’s been murdered inside the tent,” said Caesar. “The vendor, Mrs. Crowne.”

“No!” cried Miss Maple. “I knew something funny was going on!”

A crowd had begun to gather and babble. “Ooh,” said someone, “a murder right in front of The Coffee Detectives! We get to see them in action!” Cellphones were whipped out, pictures were taken, messages were texted, #TheCoffeeDetectives began trending. The crowd moved forward towards the tent.

“No, no,” said Caesar, “nobody should go in. We’ve called for the police. We don’t want to contaminate the crime scene.”

“Said with such authority,” sighed an admirer.

The group from Chisholm arrived. “What’s going on here?” said Maximilian.

“Someone’s been murdered inside the tent,” said Caesar.

“Oh no!” cried Maximilian. “Not Mrs. Crowne!” He ebbed forward, but Caesar barred his way. Despite Maximilian’s height and weight advantage, he wasn’t difficult to restrain. One suspected he didn’t really want to go inside, he just wanted to give the appearance of concern.

“We have to wait for the police,” said Caesar.

“But I can identify her!” said Maximilian, and he tried—rather feebly—to push Caesar out of the way.

“No, no,” said Aceline. “Better let moi do it. I can keep a calmer head.” She took a deep breath. “May I?”

“Well,” said Innocenzio, “I don’t suppose it could hurt to let her look.”

“Okay,” said Caesar, “we’ll go in with you, just long enough to look. But don’t touch anything!” The three of them entered, then reemerged a moment later. Aceline looked pale.

“I’m afraid,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her chest, “that it is true. Sisera Crowne has been murdered.”

Maximilian swooned and would’ve fallen to the ground if Harlow hadn’t caught him. “O’Keefe’s Teeth!” she cried. “And where’s Arthur? What will he say?”

“I’m sure he went somewhere to refresh himself,” said Aceline. “What do vous make of this, Coffee Detectives?”

“We must wait for the police,” repeated Caesar.

And just then, Lieutenant Tennant came walking up with three officers. After Caesar and Innocenzio told Tennant what had happened, he said, “Okay, I’ll get statements from you two a little later, but right now I need to talk to these friends of hers.” He turned to one of the officers. “See if you can find this Arthur Crowne.” The officer nodded and left, calling Arthur’s name as she made her way down the street. “You two,” he said to the other officers, “get some backup and get everyone away from here. We’ve got to shut the fair down. It’s a crime scene.”

“Oh, come on, officer!” said a young spectacled woman in the crowd. “We’ve got The Coffee Detectives right here! Don’t tell me you’re not going to let them solve this case!” She began clapping in time and chanting, “Coffee! Detectives! Coffee! Detectives!” and quickly the crowd joined in.

The two officers looked at Tennant. “Don’t look at me, get that crowd back!” The crowd began to boo. “Well, boys,” said Tennant, “any ideas? Unofficially, of course.”

Dahlia pushed her way to the front. “What’s happening?” she said to nobody in particular.

“A woman in that tent got murdered!” responded nobody in particular.

“Oh dear lord!” She swooned. Harlow let go of Maximilian with one arm to catch her. “By Cindy’s darkroom, someone help me!” She staggered under the weight. “Maxi!” She shook him. “Stand up!”

Dahlia recovered first and walked over to Tennant. “I’m Dahlia Quisquous. I’m a … an acquaintance of Sisera Crowne. You’re saying she was murdered?”

“I haven’t said anything yet. What are you doing here today?”

“I have a booth. Mine’s over there. I sell homemade jam, too.”

“Do you know the victim’s husband, Arthur Crowne?”

“Of course I do. We’re all from the same town. Where is he, anyway?”

The first officer returned, her arm around Arthur’s shoulder as he staggered through the crowd. “My wifi … my wifey … I mean, my wife. What’s this? She’s dead?”

Tennant put his hand gently on Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m afraid so, Mr. Crowne.”

“Al’ama! It’s Major Crowne!” He tried to salute but nearly knocked himself over.

“Sir, have you been drinking?” asked Tennant.

“Oh, jusht one little tiny drinkie at that tent over there.” He tried to point but couldn’t straighten his arm, so he gestured in a 180 degree arc vaguely towards the beer tent.

The first officer whispered to Tennant. “I think he’s had more than one, sir.”

“Yes, I can see that for myself. Sir, I’m sorry to have to ask you these questions, but can you think of anyone who wanted to murder your wife?”

Arthur’s eyes widened and he looked around. “Just one? I mean …” He coughed and hiccoughed simultaneously and yelped. “Why, uh, why, uh … what was the question?” One of his legs, embarrassed by the spectacle, tried to leave the scene and Arthur nearly fell over. Harlow didn’t try to catch him.

“Lieutenant!” said Miss Maple, suddenly and sharply. “Perhaps we could get this poor man a chair? Can’t you see he’s had a terrible shock?” Tennant nodded to one of his officers, who looked around, ran over to a vendor’s table and brought back a chair. Maple tried to offer Arthur her arm, but the officer waved her off and sat him down.

Caesar walked over to Aceline and her group. “I can hardly believe it, mon cher Maximilian,” said Aceline. “Poor, dear Sisera, la mort, la mort! She shall be missed. Gone, but not forgotten! When nous return to Chisholm, I shall put together a committee and nous must hold a service in her honor.”

“Good luck getting anyone to come to that,” hissed Maximilian. Harlow laughed bitterly but Aceline shushed them.

Miss Maple joined them. “Sounds like he has an alibi.” She dabbed at her forehead again, then her eyes. “I don’t think he could’ve done it, though.”

“Why not?” said Caesar. “He has a motive, though it seems unlikely.”

“I wonder if Arthur was having second thoughts about his marriage?” said Dahlia. “If you get my drift.”

“No!” cried Maximilian. “I really can’t see him murdering Sisera!”

“Oh no? He did serve overseas in the army. Saw some action, so he says.”

“So have lots of people, but that doesn’t mean they go around killing everyone!”

Miss Maple seemed to bristle. “Well, young man, I know I’m just an amateur, a little old lady. Call it women’s intuition, if you’d like, but I doubt he did it.” She strode back over to Tennant. “Lieutenant, this may not be related, but I did see a rather strangely dressed woman coming out of Mrs. Crowne’s tent earlier today.”

“Strangely dressed?”

“Well, strange to me. I don’t understand the fashions of today’s young people. But I believe she was wearing these clothes.” She pointed to Caesar. He held up the clothing as he and Innocenzio joined them. “She also seemed rather tall.”

“That might be because of these heels.”

“Ah, of course! And she had rather wide hips.”

“You mean she was overweight?” asked Tennant.

“No, just what you might call pear-shaped.”

Captain Ahgupuk suddenly pushed his way through the crowd. “I saw her too! Weird looking woman. Yeah, she had on that turban thing. And uh, and uh …” He began snapping his fingers, like he could start a fire that way. “Yeah! A kind of big lumpy bag. She saw me watching her and told me to mind my own f … uhh, effing business.”

“Sir, I understand you’re missing a tent peg.”

“Yes, but what does …” He snapped his fingers several more times. “Are you suggesting I’m the killer?”

“No, but I’d like you to look at the tent peg and see if it’s yours.”

“You know, lieutentant” said Miss Maple. “I have a theory about all of this. The discarded clothing, the mystery woman.”

“We have a theory, too,” said Innocenzio. He looked at Caesar, tipped his head to one side and raised his eyebrows. Caesar nodded. “More than a theory, in fact. We know who the killer is!”

“Really?” said Miss Maple. She clapped her hands. “Oh, I’d love to know. Do tell.”

Innocenzio smiled at her, and reached his hand towards Captain Ahgupuk, as if to grab his hat. Ahgupuk looked puzzled but didn’t move. Then, just as his fingertips touched the brim, Innocenzio’s hand suddenly changed direction and whipped Miss Maple’s hat off her head. A grey wig came off with it, revealing a woman of about forty with strawberry blond hair. “Lieutenant, meet Julie English.”

Maximilian and Dahlia swooned again, but Harlow just sighed and let them fall to the ground.

---

“Well, she confessed, but I don’t understand how you figured it out.” Tennant sat down at a little table where Innocenzio and Caesar had been waiting for him. There was a paper bag on the floor near Innocenzio’s feet. The air conditioning in The Watery Hole was still struggling to cool the place down.

“There wasn’t a single clue that made us say aha! It was really just a preponderance of clues.”

“Such as?”

Innocenzio typed something on his cell and read it aloud: “Then Jael Heber’s wife took a nail of the tent, and took a hammer in her hand, and went softly unto him, and smote the nail into his temples, and fastened it into the ground: for he was fast asleep and weary. So he died. Judges, chapter 4, verse 21. He being King Sisera.”

“So she got the idea from the Bible?”

“Kinda. Sisera was one of those judgmental holy roller types, who made everyone’s life miserable, particularly Julie’s. I’m sure Julie thought it was poetic justice to murder Sisera in such a Biblical manner.”

“And let’s not forget the rabbit,” said Innocenzio.

Tennant’s eyes widened. “What rabbit?”

“We passed a rather sad excuse for a magician at the fair. His rabbit got away and he was chasing after it. Miss Maple commented about how the rabbit should go back to his master, but she couldn’t have known about that since it happened before she claimed she arrived.

“It also seemed odd that she should be wearing so much clothing on such a hot day,” said Caesar. “She was always wiping the sweat from her brow.”

“Yes! And when she saw Arthur, she also dabbed her eyes. Now maybe sweat got into her eyes, but I think they were tears from seeing her old love again.”

“She showed up at the fair dressed in a bizarre costume that would certainly attract attention, murdered Sisera in her tent, then ran into the alley and did a quick change routine, dumping some of her clothes there, then came back as sweet and innocent Miss Maple.”

“Quick change? Like you see on TV?”

“Exactly. Miss Maple never should’ve mentioned her sewing expertise. She came to the street fair in one outfit but had everything set up so she could commit the murder then almost instantly change to the other. Allow us to demonstrate!” Innocenzio picked up the bag and ducked into the men’s room. He came out a few minutes later, with a length of cloth wrapped around his head, and another one, green in color, wrapped around his waist, like a short skirt. The skirt bulged at the sides. He also carried what looked like a sweater with the sleeves tied together, making a make-shift purse.

“It doesn’t suit you, dear,” chuckled Olive, bringing Tennant his beer.

“You’ll have to use your imagination a bit,” said Innocenzio to Tennant. “So I’ve got on a turban and a mini-skirt. Pretend I’m wearing a blouse and high heels. I’m the killer, right?” Tennant nodded. By now other patrons in The Watery Hole were watching. “Here we go!” He undid part of the skirt. It unfolded and the hem fell to the floor, turning into a floor-length skirt. There was a another length of fabric pinned behind the green one, in a different color, so the long skirt was now yellow. He ripped the turban off his head and tossed it aside. He kicked his feet, first the left, then the right. “That’s me kicking off the heels.” He untied the arms of the sweater. There was a baseball cap, a pair of chopsticks, and a small paper bag inside. “This is a hat with a wig attached,” he said as he put on the cap. “The chopsticks are knitting needles, and this bag is my knitting bag.” He put the sweater on. “All you have to do is pretend I had another pair of shoes in my bag, and voilà, I’m Miss Maple!” The crowd applauded, and Innocenzio curtsied.

“Wow, amazing,” said Tennant.

“She made sure Captain Ahgupuk saw her when she left the tent. And once she was Miss Maple, she could pretend to be a witness to the mystery lady, thus corroborating what the captain saw.”

“Why didn’t she just take off after the murder?”

“I suspect she had hoped to see Arthur again. She seemed a little defensive when he fell under suspicion. If she had just waited for everything to blow over, she might’ve gotten away with it.”

“So this had nothing to do with the reckless driver?”

“I don’t think so. That was just coincidence.”

“Well, you two have done it again. Thanks.”

“By the way,” said Caesar, “any news on the … uhh … detached member from the sushi bar?”

Tennant shook his head. “No. Strange, isn’t it?”

“I don’t get why someone wouldn’t report … err … losing it.”

“Could be any number of reasons.” Tennant tossed a peanut in his mouth and chased it with a sip of beer. “The owner could be dead and his body hasn’t been discovered. He could be too embarrassed to report it. Or he might’ve lost it while committing a crime and doesn’t want to get in trouble.”

“Yikes, said Innocenzio. “Even so, you’d think he’d still want it back.” He made a face. “Of course, by now I guess it’s too late to reattach it.”

“Well, that just proves the old saying,” said Olive as she bused a nearby table. “A stitch in time saves nine.”

And everyone in the bar groaned.

The End