Killer Shots Murder Mysteries - Books 1-3 Page 15

  Actually, I don’t have that much experience with kids. At thirty-five and single, I’m the one cheering on the sadistic dance teacher when I watch those kiddie talent shows on TV.

  But I was feeling generous, so while Gwen tried to explain to Mrs. Harper that it was inhumane to spray paint the live ponies pink, I decided to see what I could do with the drunken clown.

  “Hi, I’m Wendy Fairmont.” I didn’t reach out to shake his hand. I was afraid I might contract some weird fungus from his dingy gloves. And was it possible to get lice from someone wearing a wig?

  He looked me up and down. “Are you the broad in charge of this shindig? I was told I’d be paid in cash.” He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and stuck it between his white painted lips.

  “No, I’m the photographer.” I grabbed the cigarette and handed it back to him. “You’re late. The guests will be here any minute.” I pulled some breath mints out of the fanny pack I always wore to such events and gave him three. I wasn’t sure that would be enough. “What’s your name?”

  “They call me Mr. Squishy.” He flashed me a yellow-toothed grin. “Want to know why?”

  “Absolutely not! I meant, what’s your real name?”

  “Why? You aren’t thinking of writing me a check, are you? Cash only, remember?”

  “Mr. Whatever-Your-Name-Is, you’ll only get paid if you adequately complete the services you were hired to perform. In your condition, ‘adequate’ may be too high a standard. Now tell me your name, or I’ll be replacing you with a forty-five-year-old housekeeper.”

  “Did you say something about me?” Myra asked as she rushed by with a bucket of water for the horses.

  “No, Myra. I was talking to this joker.”

  The clown tugged on the strap of his overalls. “I’m a professional entertainer, not a joker, if you don’t mind. The name’s Grover Ward.”

  “Well then, Grover, you need to drink this coffee and sober up quick. Look, here comes the party planner.”

  Gwen scurried up to where we stood by the adults’ refreshment table. Why it didn’t contain martinis and olives for the parents was beyond me.

  “You must be Dub’s replacement,” she said.

  “Yep. Dub twisted an ankle riding his unicycle yesterday. I graciously agreed to take his place at your fine little soiree.”

  Gwen wrinkled her nose. “You look like crap, but Freddy Callahan said you could handle this. I’ll have to trust him, I guess. What do you do?”

  He reached up under the wig and scratched. “What do you mean? I’m a clown.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know that, but what tricks do you do? Do you juggle? Do you have a trained monkey? What?”

  “Oh, I’ve got a monkey, all right, but he ain’t trained, if you know what I mean.” Chuckling, he gave her a wink.

  I threw up a little in my mouth.

  Gwen lost her patience. “Look, clown, this party is for one of the wealthiest, most influential families in this part of the state. If you can’t get it together, I’ll make sure you never work again.”

  “Settle down, lady. I don’t want any trouble. Here.” He pulled a handful of balloons from the pocket of his overalls. “I make balloon animals for the kiddies, okay?”

  Gwen pursed her lips about the same time someone knocked over the cotton candy machine. “Oh, good grief!”

  Sensing Gwen was about to lose it, I offered to help. “You go take care of that, and I’ll keep my eye on Mr. Squishy.”

  “Thank you. I owe you one.” She headed across the room.

  My intentions weren’t totally selfless. Getting in good with the town’s biggest party planner could mean more business for me and my fledgling photography business, the Foto Factory. Yes, I had given in and chosen the alliterative name to fit in with the other businesses in the cutesy, cozy community of Cascada.

  I looked at the ragged hobo and motioned to the coffee. “Drink!”

  In my previous profession, I’d sobered up grooms, fathers-of-the-bride, and even ministers, but I can honestly say this was my first clown.

  Never say never.

  The party room looked amazing. The Harpers had chosen my parents’ lake resort, the Waterfall Lodge, for their circus-themed affair because the other venues didn’t have a trail where the kids could ride the ponies. I left the clown with instructions to keep drinking and went outside to pet the horses before the kids arrived. It would be my last chance before I’d have my hands full with the photo booth.

  Winter in the mountains was not an ideal time to give pony rides, but that’s why they invented parkas. To my surprise, Myra, the lodge’s head housekeeper, was making her own heat with the horse trainer.

  Standing there in his chaps, boots, and spurs, he looked as though he’d walked straight off a western movie set. I wasn’t sure if he was in costume or if those were his real clothes. Sometimes it’s hard to tell in the Southwest.

  “Myra,” I called out.

  When she spun around and saw me, she looked like a schoolgirl caught making out under the stadium bleachers. Her face turned a bright shade of pink.

  “Miss Wendy. I was just petting the horses.” She reached up and tapped the Shetland on its nose. “Good boy.”

  “Um, it’s not a dog, and it’s a mare.” I grinned at her as I walked up and stroked the horse’s neck. “Who’s your friend?” Hopefully, she knew I was referring to the cowboy and not the horse.

  “This is Freddy Callahan.” She grinned sheepishly. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  Not only was I surprised to find out my longtime nanny and friend was in a relationship, I was creeped out that she would call him her “boyfriend.” It sounded so middle-school. But what was the alternative for someone on the far side of forty? Man friend? Guy friend? Main squeeze?

  “Nice to meet you.” Freddy tipped his super-sized cowboy hat. “Myra tells me you’ve just moved back here after a long spell. I’m surprised we’ve never met. I’ve lived in these parts my whole life. How’s it feel to be back?”

  I could have gone into a long story about my rocky start, followed by my short stint as a superhero, but it was too cold for small talk. “Good.” I walked over to the other horse tied to the fence. I grabbed a carrot out of the bucket and made friends with the spotted pony.

  Out of nowhere, Mr. Squishy waddled up to us. “Hey there, Freddy my boy. How’s it hanging?” His speech was still slurred.

  “Grover, are you drunk?” Freddy’s sharp voice made the horses throw back their heads. “Man, I vouched for you to the boss lady. Don’t make me look bad. I need all the work I can get.”

  “Ah, shut your trap.” Then Grover turned to Myra. “Hey there, chickadee. Looks like Freddy’s got himself a sugar momma to take care of him. And a sweet one at that.” He reached out and grabbed a handful of Myra’s behind.

  Freddy lunged, knocking Grover to the ground, the frizzy red wig breaking his fall. Freddy stood over him with a clenched fist. “I’ve warned you before, keep your filthy hands to yourself. Don’t let me catch you doing that again, or else.”

  Myra pulled on Freddy. “Leave him alone. You don’t want to get in trouble.”

  “You’re right. He’s not worth it.” Freddy stepped back just as several cars turned into the parking lot off the main road. He reached down and grabbed Grover and pulled him up off the ground.

  Grover struggled to get the big, floppy shoes straightened out without falling back down.

  We all stood frozen as the mothers and little girls got out of their cars and went inside, carrying bright-colored gift bags.

  Once they were out of sight, I yanked Grover’s arm and dragged him back inside the hall before any other guests got there. “Well, that should have sobered you up. Now put on a happy face and get to work.” I pointed him in the direction of the small carnival canopy where he was stationed to perform with his balloons.

  He rolled his eyes and pointed at his painted, perpetually smiling Mr. Squishy face and groaned. “Like I have a cho
ice.”

  Chapter 2

  Gwen had really outdone herself with the circus music, balloons, blinking lights, and carnival games. As each little girl entered the room, her face lit up and the noise level seemed to raise another decibel.

  The girls loved putting on the silly hats, mustaches, and other props I had brought for their pictures. I used my Polaroid so the kids could see themselves instantly. How ironic that in the age of kids with personal iPads and virtual reality, the girls thought seeing their pictures come to life on that little piece of paper was some kind of Pixar magic. They were thrilled with their pictures and kept coming back for more. I also took digital shots of the party. Gwen allowed me to put my business card in each girl’s party favor bag. I was hoping to drum up more work that way.

  You know what they say: It ain’t a party until someone gets cotton candy in her hair. In this case, it was the birthday girl. Bridgette Harper cried as though someone had set fire to her entire American Girl doll collection until Gwen was able to somehow tame the sticky mess. A barrage of hairspray and barrettes finally got her to calm down. The other girls were having too much fun to pay much attention.

  All seemed to be going well for a while until Leslie Harper tried to drag little Bridgette over to get a picture taken. “Come on, angel, sit in my lap and we’ll take a picture.”

  “I don’t want to take a picture with you!” Bridgette stamped her foot so hard her tiara flew off.

  “Now, angel, that’s no way to behave. Let’s take a picture for Daddy, okay?”

  “I said no!” She pulled her hand away and ran off to join her friends.

  For a moment, it seemed like all the moms and daughters were staring. Leslie walked over to pour herself a cup of punch. She probably wished it had been spiked.

  With her dark-brown hair, impossibly smooth tan, and ramrod straight posture, it was hard not to be intimidated by her. I guessed her to be about five years older than me, but her poise made her seem even older.

  I walked over to her. “Kids. They’re fickle at this age.” Of course, since I’d never had kids and my prospects weren’t looking that good, I didn’t really know what I was talking about. “I’m sure your daughter will change her mind before the party is over.”

  “Stepdaughter,” she whispered. “That little monster is not my daughter. She’s an ungrateful brat.”

  I chuckled. “If you kill her, we can make it look like an accident.”

  “Wendy,” Myra called from the room’s front entrance. She crooked her finger for me to follow her outside.

  “What is it?” I didn’t have on my coat and the cold wind was biting.

  “There’s a little girl who won’t get off the horse, and Freddy doesn’t know what to do.”

  “Is her mother here?”

  “No, she says she rode with another child. Should we call her mother?”

  “Why are you asking me? I don’t know anything about kids.” I rubbed my cold arms. “Did you bribe her? Did you threaten her? Did you call a hostage negotiator?”

  “Of course, except for the last one. I even offered her money.”

  I was surprised that hadn’t worked. “Let me grab my jacket and I’ll be right there.”

  When I got back outside, I hurried over to the horse trailer but stopped dead in my tracks. The little girl was wrapped in a blanket and standing next to Myra. Kneeling on the ground beside her was my older brother, Tyler, holding a small orange kitten. The little girl cooed at the cat and giggled at the little squeaky noises it made.

  I hadn’t seen or talked to my brother since I’d returned to Cascada several months ago. This was definitely not how I’d envisioned our first reunion. Our relationship was shattered ever since the so-called “accident” that ended with my fiancé’s death.

  Dumbfounded, I watched as he talked to the child, showing her how to gently stroke the kitten’s head. Part of me ached to speak to him, but it wasn’t the time or place. I turned and went back inside.

  A mother brushed past me pulling her daughter by the hand.

  “I want cake,” the little girl protested. The back of her dress was smeared with colorful goo.

  “I’ll get you cake when we get home. We’ve got to get you out of this dress.”

  “But Mommy, we didn’t even get to take our picture together.”

  The mother scowled at me as though I were the Grinch.

  “I can do it quick,” I offered, trying to be helpful.

  The woman forced a smile. “No, thank you.”

  Who said parties were all fun and games. Maybe Mr. Squishy had the right idea. A little wine would pair nicely with five-year-old crazy.

  Trying to keep the activities moving along, Gwen announced it was almost time to bring in the cake and sing “Happy Birthday.” A flurry of petticoats and hairbows buzzed around the table as girls vied for positions closest to their best friends.

  I was getting my other camera out of the bag when Gwen motioned to me. “Would you get Mrs. Harper, please? She said she was getting more ice cream, although I can’t imagine why. Anyway, she’s not going to want to miss this.”

  I wasn’t so sure. As I headed to the kitchen, I noticed someone else missing. Mr. Squishy. Knowing him, he was probably outside taking a smoke break. Just as well. I glanced in the kitchen. The only person there was Gwen’s assistant, Ally, who was readying the three-layered cake to make its grand entrance into the party room. I’d seen smaller cakes at weddings.

  “That’s gorgeous,” I said. “I didn’t realize there was a bakery around here that could make a cake like that.”

  Ally glowed. “There’s not. I made it myself. Don’t tell Gwen I told you, though. She tells everyone she brings in food from Albuquerque so she can charge more.”

  “Sneaky. Well, I hope she’s paying you well because that cake is magnificent.”

  “Actually, she’s not, but that won’t matter for long.”

  Gwen stuck her head in the kitchen. “Wendy, have you found Mrs. Harper? The natives are getting restless. And Ally, that cake better be perfect. We can’t afford to have anything go wrong now.” She dashed back out.

  The next logical place to check for my missing person was the restroom. That’s where I would hide if it were my kid’s party. As I rounded the corner, Mrs. Harper appeared. Although her shoulders were back and her head was high, her face was a mess. She’d obviously been crying. She had done her best to wipe away the mascara under her eyes, but the telltale signs were there.

  Mrs. Harper insisted everyone, moms included, gather around the table for a group shot. I snapped off multiple pictures, hoping there was at least one where everyone had their eyes open and focused in the general direction of the camera.

  After singing and cake and games and incessant music, the clock finally struck two and the party was over.

  Now came the tedious part. Cleaning up and clearing everything out.

  “Have you seen Grover?” Freddy asked. “He may have left without getting his money.”

  That didn’t sound like the Mr. Squishy I knew, or barely knew, as it turned out. “Check the supply closet. Chances are he’s passed out somewhere.”

  As I packed up my photo equipment, Gwen came up with a large rolling cooler. “Wendy, do you think the lodge could use ten gallons of ice cream? Turns out little girls don’t care too much for ice cream when they have fruit and a chocolate fountain. I don’t want to throw this stuff out.”

  “Sure. We’ll put it in the freezer so you can take your cooler.” I grabbed Myra to help me. “Let’s put this ice cream in the walk-in freezer. Mother can serve it to the guests.”

  When we got to the kitchen, Myra stared at the empty hook on the wall. “Where’s the key to the freezer? I thought I put it back when I was in here earlier.” She pulled on the freezer handle, but it didn’t budge.

  We looked around but didn’t see the key. Ally said she hadn’t used the freezer.

  I put a hand on Myra’s shoulder. “Okay, let’s retra
ce your steps. When did you have it last?”

  Poor Myra seemed rattled as she tried to recall exactly what she had done earlier. “I came in here to get a soda for Freddy.” She pointed at the large commercial refrigerator. “That’s when I noticed the walk-in was unlocked. The key was on the hook as always. I didn’t think it was safe to leave the freezer unlocked with all these kids around, so I locked it and put the key back. At least I thought I did.”

  She checked her pockets, inside the refrigerator, and on the floor.

  “Is this what you’re looking for?” Ally held up the missing key. “It was on the floor over here by the garbage can.”

  Myra let out a relieved sigh. “Thank goodness. I thought I was losing my mind.”

  Just as she was about to unlock the freezer, Mrs. Harper stormed in. Her face was taut. “Stop! What exactly are you doing with that ice cream?”

  I looked up in surprise. “We were just putting it up. Gwen offered it to the lodge so it wouldn’t go to waste.”

  “She had no business doing that! I paid for that ice cream, and I’ll decide what happens to it.”

  Wow. I had never seen anyone so possessive over dessert, unless you count me and pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. Also, I would pretty much cut anyone who tried to take away my rocky road. “No problem. Where would you like me to put it?” I had a suggestion but bit my tongue.

  “Put it in my car.”

  “Are you sure? I have to take it out of this cooler and it might drip on your interior.”

  “I said, put it in my car!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I almost saluted.

  As Mrs. Harper stormed out of the kitchen, I motioned to Myra to follow her with the cooler.

  But Myra had a sneaky grin on her face. “Crazy woman.” She opened the cooler and pulled out two of the gallon containers. “People like that shouldn’t be allowed to have their cake and ice cream, too.” She unlocked the freezer and gasped. She took a step back and nearly tripped over the cooler.