"Oh, I would like to have seen them, but that sheriff had me cornered for another statement." She paused and stared at an insect flitting around a bush with yellow flowers. She reached into the denim tote, pulled out the mason jar, and unscrewed the lid. She slid the top to the side but didn't completely remove it, held the jar up, and quickly closed it when the bug flew in. She dropped the jar back into the tote and smiled at me. "Sorry for the interruption," she said, "but that was too good a catch to ignore." We continued walking.

  "You collect insects?" Well, duh . . . that was my reply.

  "Everywhere we go. I've got an extensive collection."

  "Good you have a hobby . . ." I began, thinking I'd tell her it would help to keep busy while she was grieving--or whatever.

  "It's more serious to me than a hobby. I've collected insects as long as I can remember, starting with lightning bugs before I started school. I used to just catch the insects and mount them on boards with stickpins. Now I usually kill them with fingernail polish remover or some other chemical before sticking the pins in them on displays."

  "Fingernail polish remover? Why not use bug spray?"

  "The acetone in the remover kills them more quickly and gently. Have you ever watched a roach die after spraying it with one of those canned sprays?"

  I promise, I tried not to lie, but I couldn't stop myself. I just didn't want to discuss roaches struggling and waving their little legs and antennae as they died.

  "No," I said, just as though I'd never even seen a roach, alive, dead, or dying.

  We'd reached the end of the path, but we stopped and stood talking at the edge of the music arena.

  "I hope to someday discover an insect never before captured. Even then, I'll never stop collecting, but I always kill specimens as quickly and painlessly as possible."

  "Yeah," I mumbled.

  "If I do find an unknown insect, I plan to name it after Fred. Like I said, I think I'm in denial or shock or something. Fred and I were married over twenty years, and we spent those years traveling together and working for a break in his career." She wiped her eye with the back of her hand. I wasn't sure, but that could have been a real tear on her cheek. "Did you know Fred had signed on with Second Time Around?"

  "Yes, Dean Holdback told me that."

  "The tall guy in Broken Fence?"

  "That's the one."

  "Well, Fred and I worked hard to get him into the big time, spent every minute on his career, every dollar on fiddles and music equipment. Finally he got his break and someone broke it."

  "That's what I was talking about. Not to hurt your feelings, but I'd think after all those years, your reaction to his murder would be more than grief over his career."

  Melena's eyes narrowed. "Who told you?" she demanded.

  "Told me what?"

  "Was it Bone? Did Bone tell you?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Bone told you that Fred and I were separated, didn't he?"

  "No, I didn't know that."

  "I wanted to keep it quiet for a while, and now that he's dead, I'd just as soon nobody ever knows. We would never have divorced anyway, but he wanted a separation, and that's why I didn't come down here with him. I decided to surprise him at his first performance with Second Time Around, but he never even knew it." Melena's hands trembled and she sniffled. "Please don't tell anyone," she begged.

  "Of course not. That's none of my business."

  "I don't know what to do now." Melena resumed walking toward her chair. "I mean after we get out of here and I have Fred's funeral. I quit college when I met Fred, and I'd like to go back to school, but I don't know how well I'd do competing with young brains, and my scholarships are all gone. Then again, if I found the right talent to manage, I could put someone else at the top like I did Fred."

  I tried. I promise I tried, but I couldn't resist asking, "Someone like the Great Pretender?"

  "Yeah, with the right management, that man could go to the top."

  "Melena," I tried again, "what's the connection between your husband and Kenny Strickland?"

  "None really. We all knew each other from festivals and venues, but they never performed together or anything like that."

  "I was trying to find a connection for Fred's body being in Kenny's case and for Kenny being murdered right behind him in another macabre musical way. It's gotta be the same killer."

  "Sorry, I can't help you. I don't have any idea why anybody would kill either of them. I barely knew Kenny Strickland."

  We sat down, without another word, to listen to another Stephen Foster tune. Melena's statements didn't quite jibe with what had appeared to be a heated argument between her and Kenny when I saw them earlier. The separation aside, I still couldn't understand why Melena wasn't more upset about her husband. Or why she denied knowing Kenny well enough to fuss with him. My reverie was interrupted by Roger thanking the Pine Tree Girls and announcing, "Take yourselves a fifteen-minute intermission and get something cold to drink 'cause this next act's gonna have a surprise for you!"

  Just then Dean and Jane came up, carrying three bottles of Dasani water, saving me from the decision whether to go to the snack area during the break.

  "Hey." Dean nodded at me, then assisted Jane into her chair. "Gotta go get ready for the stage." He handed me a bottle of water, opened the other two, gave one to Jane, and half emptied his in one long gulp.

  "Where have you been?" I asked Jane and then realized how it sounded. "I'm sorry," I said. "You are grown."

  "I didn't ask you where you went. Dean and I came back before, and you weren't here." Jane's tone clearly told me she wasn't in a good mood.

  "Remember the creep I told you about? He was Little Fiddlin' Fred's brother-in-law. I've been talking to him and his sister." I whispered so Melena wouldn't hear.

  "You've been investigating?"

  "No, just talking."

  "Does the widow look like someone off Seinfeld, too?"

  "No, she's older, but quite pretty. Dark hair and eyes."

  "What's she wearing?"

  "Shorts and a red peasant blouse tied at her waist."

  Fifteen minutes later, Lewis Fox's bass player, carrying a bass case similar to the one that had held Little Fiddlin' Fred's body, followed Dean, Arnie, and Van onto the stage behind Cousin Roger.

  "Now, back for your listening pleasure, here's Broken Fence." The band broke into "Colleen Malone" before Cousin Roger completed the introduction. At the last note, Dean stepped up to the vocal mic.

  "As most of you've probably heard, Broken Fence suffered a tragic loss last night. Our bass player and friend Kenny Strickland died. He'll be missed, and we considered canceling further appearances here, but since no one is allowed to leave, we know Kenny would want the show to go on. Please welcome"--he waved toward the bass player-- "Norm Hunter of the Whet Strap Boys."

  Norm waved at the crowd. Dean introduced Arnie on mandolin; Arnie introduced Van on banjo; and Van stepped up to the center mic. "We'd be remiss if we didn't introduce you to the tallest guitar player in bluegrass, Dean Holdback. We keep Dean in Broken Fence because we can always find him in a crowd." Dean curtsied. The crowd cracked up at six feet eight inches and well over two hundred pounds of man curtsying.

  Chapter Eleven

  "

  And now . . ." Van turned toward the others. "Can we

  get a drum roll out of these stringed instruments?" The three other musicians tapped their knuckles in percussion on the wooden bodies of the guitar, mandolin, and bass. "You were promised surprises at this festival," Van continued, "and we have one for you right now."

  Reverend Cauble, a lay preacher I knew because Otis and Odell often hired him for funerals of deceased who had no minister, climbed the steps and walked over to Dean. I figured he was roasting in his black suit, the same one he wears at the mortuary. What kinda deal was this? A memorial service onstage? Appropriate, but hardly something to be introduced as a "surprise."

  "Dearly beloved," Cauble intoned. That's the only word that fits how Cauble talks. He intones. "Though we've had two tragedies at this festival, we are now going to celebrate a joyous occasion."

  The band broke into an acoustic bluegrass version of "Here Comes the Bride," and from the back of the arena, a man and woman approached the stage. The man wore a light blue seersucker suit, pink carnation boutonniere, white buck shoes, and a cream-colored straw hat. Looked like a character out of William Faulkner or Tennessee Williams.

  The woman's white dress was traditional bridal, long sleeved and full skirted with a six-foot train dragging along, kicking up a dust storm. She carried a bouquet of pink and white roses and carnations enveloped in baby's breath.

  The bride stumbled as they walked side by side with arms linked, but the groom caught and supported her as they climbed the steps on the side and walked to Cauble in the middle of the stage. Broken Fence stepped respectfully into a semi circle behind the preacher.

  The vows of the brief nondenominational wedding ceremony were obviously written by the couple. They included reference to the couple meeting at a bluegrass festival and the preacher prayed that their love and marriage would last as long as bluegrass music is around. When Reverend Cauble announced, "I now pronounce you husband and wife," he added, "Ronald, you may kiss your bride."

  The man dipped the woman so far back that her head almost touched his knee. He lifted the veil and flipped it back over her head. He planted a long, loud, smoochy kiss on her, then stood her upright. The woman shook visibly. I wondered if the heat had gotten to her. Would she faint?

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Dean said, "I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Reuben." When the couple turned toward the audience and bowed, I realized that the bride and groom were Sarah and Ron from Bone's trailer. "Mrs. Reuben will now toss her bouquet for some lucky young lady in the audience." Dean motioned toward Sarah. She bent and bowed her knees, held the bouquet between her legs like a four-year-old basketball player making a free throw, and tossed the flowers into the air.

  The bouquet flew straight at me. I reached up, only to be knocked aside as Melena leaped into the air like a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader with arms and legs splayed back in parentheses. She snagged the bouquet right before it reached me and clutched it to her chest as her feet touched the ground. Her grin was total joy, the excitement of the win. Suddenly, her expression changed to something unidentifiable--shock, horror, maybe embarrassment. She threw the flowers into the air as though they were hot potatoes. Melena sank back into her lawn chair and broke into loud sobs.

  The bouquet landed in Jane's lap. She lifted it and held the blossoms to her nose. "Roses," she said, "roses and baby's breath with carnations."

  "What did she say?" Melena asked through her sobs.

  "She said roses and baby's breath and carnations," I answered.

  "How'd she do that?" Melena sniffled up her tears.

  "Fragrance."

  "I can understand knowing roses by their odor--but carnations and baby's breath?"

  "Oh, Jane's good at that," I said. "She can identify almost anything by smell. She recognizes people by scent, too. Changing colognes doesn't even confuse her. She can tell it's me no matter what I'm wearing."

  Commotion on the stage tore my interest away from Melena. Sarah and Ron were having their first dance, clogging to "Rocky Top." The faster the band played, the quicker their feet flew. I consider myself a pretty good dancer, but no way could I have kept up with those two. Sarah's legs were flying when she stepped off the front edge of the stage and tumbled onto the dirt in front of Jane and me.

  I jumped from my chair to help Sarah, but Ron leaped from the stage and landed on both of us. Staff ran over and pulled us all to our feet. I slipped back to my lawn chair and brushed the dirt off my legs. The bride's and groom's clothes were wet with sweat and filthy with dirt, but I have to say they'd both freshened their breaths extensively. The whole area smelled like a distillery.

  Jane sniffed and said, "Gin. Definitely gin and mint." She turned toward me. "You told me no alcohol was allowed at this festival."

  "Not supposed to be," I answered, "but some folks sneak booze in anyway." I leaned closer to her. "Pulley Bone Jones has mint gin in a Scope mouthwash bottle in his camper. That's what the bride's been drinking."

  Just as I mentioned his name, Bone arrived carrying a collapsible chair. "Whass up?" he said before he motioned his sister to move over, then set his seat up between Melena and me.

  He'd overheard what I told Jane because he leaned across me and asked her, "Would you like some of my special mouthwash?"

  "Would you repeat that?" Jane said. Her expression was quizzical.

  "I asked if you'd like some special mouthwash."

  Jane's face lit up with surprise. "Boner?" she whispered in a soft, seductive voice.

  The surprise on Jane's face was no match for the shocked look Bone wore.

  "Roxanne?" he said. "Are you Roxanne?"

  I'd warned Jane over and over this would happen. Someday one of the callers on her 900 line would turn out to be someone we knew. In this case, someone we met turned out to be a regular client. She'd mentioned this guy she called "Boner" to me as one of her steadiest clients.

  "Callie, will you change places with me?" Bone asked.

  We switched chairs so that we were lined up Jane, Bone, me, then Melena. I wondered where Andy was. Would he be the next act? Would he come out and sit on the other side of Melena so she could talk more with him about becoming his manager? Aaron Porter put an end to that fear. He came through the middle of the crowd carrying an orange canvasbacked director's chair and set it up beside Melena.

  "Hello, Mrs. Delgado. I've been wanting to tell you how sorry I . . ."

  I tried. I promise I tried to keep my mind on the music and not listen to the conversation on either side of me. I succeeded in ignoring Aaron and Melena, but I couldn't help dipping into Jane and Bone's talk.

  Jane's words were hard to hear. She spoke softly. Bone probably thought he was whispering, but I could hear him. "You lied to me, Roxanne. You said your hair was raven black, but I love the red."

  Broken Fence kicked off "Love Me Darling, Just Tonight," and I didn't hear Jane's response.

  "It shouldn't be awkward," I overheard Bone say. "I feel like we know each other"--he smirked with what he considered a flirting smile, which was wasted on Jane since she couldn't see it anyway--"intimately."

  "No, no, I understand you're not a . . ." Bone's volume dropped and I didn't hear the last word, but buh-leeve me, I could guess what he'd said. He grinned. "Only on the phone, you say? Do you have a cell phone with you? I'd love to call you right now."

  I quit pretending not to be listening and laughed. "Outta luck, Bone," I interrupted. I pulled my phone from my shorts pocket and held it out to him. "I haven't been able to get a signal on this thing since we got here."

  "Shoulda remembered that from when I worked here with Happy Jack and at that new crab restaurant they started building on Flower Island." He leaned toward me and asked, "You can't hear our conversation, can you?"

  "Some of it."

  "I really like Roxanne--I mean Jane," he said, "but I don't want to embarrass her."

  "She's not easily embarrassed, but she doesn't like discussing her work, and she's not here to work."

  I'm not sure if Jane heard what Bone and I said, but she probably did. "Boner," she said, "we can talk later. I'm really tired and I'd like for Callie to take me back to the bus for a nap."

  Bone jumped up and touched Jane's arm. "I'll walk you to the campground," he said.

  "No, I said I'll talk to you later. Callie, please go with me." She stood and put her cane in front of her, moved it left and right much faster and more forcefully than her usual way, and whapped Bone in the shin with it. "Sorry," she mumbled as I stepped beside her and led her away from the music area. I tried unsuccessfully not to grin.

  About the time we reached the path to the campground, I saw tears in Jane's eyes. I wanted to say, "I told you so. Told you something like this would happen," but my mortuary training told me to put my arm around her shoulder and say, "It's okay. It'll be all right. You don't have to even talk to Bone if he calls again."

  "It's not that. Not Boner. I made a fool of myself, Callie." She burst into sobs. Yes, Jane cries real tears. Her congenital eye condition prevents vision but has no effect on her tear ducts.

  "What did you do?" I patted her shoulder.

  "I told Dean how I feel about him."

  "That's okay, Jane."

  "No, it's not! He turned me down." Her sobs subsided. For probably the only time since I went to work for Middleton's, I didn't have a tissue with me. Jane wiped the tears from her face with her arm. "He said that he really likes me and that he's attracted to me, but he vowed to his wife he'd never cheat on her. Then he said that thing you always say about if they'll cheat with you, they'll cheat on you. He made me feel like a tramp."

 

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