Red White & a Dog Named Blue: A Chloe Boston Mystery

  Red, White, and a Dog Named Blue

  by

  Melanie Jackson

  Version 1.2 – April, 2011

  Published by Brian Jackson at KDP

  Copyright © 2011 by Melanie Jackson

  Discover other titles by Melanie Jackson at www.melaniejackson.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Contents

  Red, White, and a Dog Named Blue

  — Chapter 1

  — Chapter 2

  — Chapter 3

  — Chapter 4

  — Chapter 5

  — Chapter 6

  — Recipes

  Ode to the Punk Who Stole My TV Set

  Batter Up!

  In Search of Christmas

  Lights! Camera! Action!

  Excerpt From “Due North” by Melanie Jackson

  Chapter 1

  Dread filled me as I stared at my cousin waddling across the field and realized that she had gone from hourglass figure to something more like a snowman while hiding under bulky winter coats and sweaters she had only recently shed. Althea wasn’t just getting fat on hot chocolate and café mocha, she was with child.

  “Oh no,” I said to Blue.

  This was cause for concern on many levels. First of all, I had some serious doubts about Althea and Dale Gordon’s fitness as parents if they were gifted with anything other than a poetry-spouting lardhead. After all, Althea was crazy and Dale Gordon’s mother was a serial killer. But my greatest worry was my mother’s competitive nature that would surely present itself as a desire for grandchildren of her own.

  I am not completely against the idea of children. Someday, in the fullness of time, maybe. But right now I was busy with the Hope County Fair preparations and the 4th of July was almost upon us. I didn’t need this distraction and the possible accompanying nagging.

  Since neither Blue nor I know when her birthday actually is, we have chosen the 4th of July to celebrate. That way Blue gets to have the whole town picnicking during the day and have fireworks at night. What could be better? Only this year I was also involved in another, more political way, with the fair.

  It started innocently enough. Because I like baking and am a well-known cookie-pusher, it seemed normal enough for Mom to approach me about filling in for the domestic arts chairwoman, Norma Webb, when she developed some kind of flu and was unable to be head judge at the cookie baking contest. Of course, it turned out that her flu was related to the fact that she had two daughter-in-laws, Cathy and Kathy, competing in the cookie division and didn’t feel up to the task of choosing one or the other— or neither— as best cookie maker. Some might call this act craven, but I understood completely. If I had to judge a contest between say my mom and my Aunt Dot, I would probably immigrate to a foreign country.

  But then Glory Rhodes, the judge for the pie contest, broke her ribs horseback riding. This was a genuine emergency and I didn’t feel that I could say no when Mom again threw me into the breach. It sort of figured that the two competitive daughter-in-laws would also be entered in this contest.

  Then, a perfect storm of bad luck befell the other judges once they discovered Cathy and Kathy were entered in every cooking category since when one entered, the other followed, and I found myself also judging jams and jellies, cakes, candies and breads.

  My fellow sufferers in gastronomic jurisprudence were Mrs. Graves- whom I like- and Rosemary Lincoln- whom I… er- um… who is my own mother-in-law. Neither Mrs. Graves nor Rosemary had any particular credentials for this job. Neither did I really, but we were the last three women in town ready to stand in the path of the Webb family feud and that got us the job.

  Officially, I wasn’t needed until Friday, but there is always a lot of set up to do and the Chief had given me release time, so Blue and I were at the fairgrounds, lending a hand where needed. Actually, we were being bossed around by my mom, but I didn’t mind. The weather was nice, and Blue and I always had a good time whatever we were doing.

  The Fair is a family affair what with Mom being on the organizing committee and Dad being mayor. It was turning out to be a work thing, too, since the police department had both a public safety booth that was manned with personnel from the police and fire departments, and also a dunk tank to raise money for the Police Athletic League. Three balls for a dollar and you can dunk a cop. The Chief had assigned Dale Gordon to duty there on Friday and I planned on getting in some licks. Dale had toned down the nastiness since marrying my cousin, but he is still far from my favorite person. And I owed him a few for his cracks about my athletic abilities when we were forced onto the same softball team. I’d been practicing. We’d just see who could or could not pitch a fast ball.

  Blue and I walked into the first exhibition hall and saw Cassie sitting at a card table. She was frowning, red pen in hand as she went over the fair’s schedule of events. The fair only happens because of volunteers, but enthusiasm doesn’t mean that people can actually spell. Someone had to bat clean-up and the job usually devolved to her. Cassie is sometimes mistaken for me— from the back. Head on, it is clear that she is blessed with a bosom while I was passed over by the gods of plenty.

  “How is it going?” I asked.

  “How hard is it to spell ‘county’? Surely people know the difference between ‘county’, ‘country’, and ‘counted’. Who would even come to a ‘counted fair’ for ‘county cooking’?”

  I shook my head. An editor’s work is never done. Blue woo-wooed softly and I patted Cassie sympathetically and moved on, glad that of my brain’s many quirks, a need for perfect spelling and punctuation was not among them. Bad grammar is everywhere; there would never be any respite.

  I didn’t see Mom, but there were many other friends around, under tents and up ladders, and generally doing things with electrical wires that I would rather not know about. Since my wedding, I had been a bit leery of all things electrical.

  “Hi, Maria,” I said, going over to help her and Holly hang up her giant quilt. Both women are in Mrs. Graves’ book discussion group, which I had been meaning to join. Holly had been teaching Maria quilting and for a first effort the quilt was— well, a good first effort. Dulcie, her cat, would enjoy it. “How is Dulcie? Did she survive having her teeth cleaned?”

  “She’s fine, but I’m out seven bucks for a salmon fillet. I had to bribe my way back into her good graces.”

  “Doesn’t the exhibition hall look nice?” Holly asked, patting Blue on the head. “I don’t think I have ever seen the floors waxed before. Your mom is a wonder. I wish we could get her to run the home and school club.”

  This was the voice of sweet ignorance, from a woman who had never been on a committee with my mother. The hall actually did look wonderful with all the quilts and photographs hanging on the walls. Dottiebear’s quilt was especially impressive. The form was simple, just ‘drunkards path’ and ‘flying geese’, but the colors were something out of an impressionist painting.

  “It’s impressive. And speaking of slave drivers, have you seen Mom?” I asked them.

  “I think she is in Cascade Hall,” Holly said. “There was some problem with the kitchen sink.”

  “Ugh. Well, I’d better go find her.”

  I didn’t really want to know about the kitchen sink trouble and saw no need to hurry toward it since I had nothing to contribute. A detour by the stables seemed in order, since I hadn’t yet said hello to any of the four-legged, furred or feathered domestic contributors to the fair.

  Dee and Ann were near the sheep pens. Dee breeds the loveliest Manx cats, but has a fondness for sheep which she uses for weed control on her property. Most of the sheep at the fair are white, but Dee’s are black. Ann was her main sheep-shearer and stood a good chance of winning the shearing competition again this year. I’ve learned that there is a real art to denuding a sheep with speed and not having the sheep hate you afterward. Ann had the touch.

  I ducked into the first animal tent and squinted against the wind being generated by a giant fan. I love the weird chickens we get at the fair. I didn’t want to own any though. They seemed meaner than turkeys, which I had found to be surprisingly sweet natured. Best are the bunnies. They look so soft. I’ve heard you can litter box train them, but I was doubtful that Alex and I would be able to make Apollo and Aphrodite accept the big-eared interlopers. Anyway, I wouldn’t be able to let them out in the yard for fear of what they would do to my pumpkins. It was early days yet, but Jacky MacKay and I had a couple of monster pumpkins on our hands. I was sure that this year we would win the Halloween pumpkin contest and I wouldn’t let anything endanger them.

  Blue and I left the back of the tent and found some other friends. Shannon was hiding around the back of the horse stables enjoying a funnel cake in the shade of the Mulberry tree. She is the new night manager at The Morningside Inn. She came highly recommended so the owners accepted the fact that she also arrived with two golden retrievers- Cole, who is more reddish, and Diesel, who is true gold, and also a black cat named Flash. Blue liked them all.

  Frankly, I thought it was brave of her to jump right into things
and volunteer in the first-aid booth at the fair, but I guess this was a quick way to get to know folks in town and some people are just joiners.

  Marlene was next to her, also spattered with powdered sugar. Seeing the sweet sugar snow and smelling the yummy dough made me realize that I was starving. Blue woofed, expressing the thought that she would like some grilled chicken on a stick, only without the stick, and I agreed that this would probably be better than starting the meal with sweets. The funnel cake sure smelled good though. We were lucky a couple of food vendors had agreed to open a few days early to feed the volunteers.

  I waved and continued my circuit. Next I spotted Andrea, her blonde hair up in a ponytail. I waved to her and the boys who were taking a break from setting up the sound system at the arena and petting the goats. The boys were a shoe-in for the watermelon seed-spitting contest. What can I say? It’s a gift. Not everyone can expectorate with both force and precision. Most of us are one or the other.

  Speaking of watermelons, I knew that Mr. Jackman had some tomatoes and other squash entered in the produce contest. We have two categories— one for size and one for taste. It would not surprise me if he won both. His only competition was his neighbor, Mar. She had amazing watermelons and two kitties that were as pampered as any Hollywood starlets. Blue and I had met them while visiting Mr. Jackman. One seemed very Marilyn Monroe, the other was more Liz Taylor.

  “Chloe!”

  Uh-oh, Blue and I had been found.

  “Hi, Mom. I was just about to get some lunch. Have you eaten yet?”

  “No, dear. I have been trying to explain to the plumber why we must have a working sink by tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. If he has to drive to the far ends of the county to get a part, then that is what he needs to do. Some people have no work ethic.”

  I was betting he had found some ethic though. Mom is very ladylike but she usually gets her way.

  “Let’s get some chicken and then we can see what needs doing,” I said soothingly. “So far, everything seems to be going well. No complaints from volunteers and things look great.”

  Mom looked pleased.

  “I could use some lunch. Honestly, I don’t know why I get talked into these things.” Talked into them? Who was she kidding? Mom would rush in and wrest control away from anyone who didn’t look like they were on top of things, civically speaking. In the nicest possible way, of course.

  We started for the big green school bus sporting the sign DAWSON’S DAWGS. The bus had been converted into a mobile kitchen when it was decommissioned by the school district. Blue was too polite to drool at the smell of grilling meat, but I was having trouble.

  “What in the world is Sassy doing?” I asked reluctantly, as she began to drag a red and white tent toward the stables. Sassy used it for face-painting and it was popular with the kids who liked looking like cats and dogs. She claims to also do seals and squirrels, but no one can tell the difference.

  “She found out that the steam calliope is going in next to her spot and her courage deserted her.”

  “Oh. I guess I would move too.” Move, or risk loss of sanity and hearing. The old relic restored by Clarence Watts was a historic marvel but it was also loud. “Why don’t you order, Mom. I’m going to give her a hand. Two chickens sticks for me and Blue, okay?”

  “And a drink?”

  “Yes, please. And a cup of water, no ice.”

  “Of course.” I’ve trained Mom about Blue’s preferences in the beverage department. It wasn’t blistering hot, but Blue’s fur is dense and she can overheat. It doesn’t take much for her to get thirsty.

  Blue was torn between continuing on toward the lovely food smells and coming with me, but she is the best and most loyal dog and our mutual love won out over barbecue.

  “Need a hand?” I asked Sassy.

  “Yes,” she gasped. “It isn’t the weight so much as the wind.”

  The breeze was light, but once un-anchored, the tent did show a propensity for going airborne. It took only a few minutes to get her moved to the far side of the bleachers set up for the magic show and by then Mom had our lunch in a nice brown box.

  “I do hope that no one has tried to bribe you, dear,” Mom said as we settled in at a picnic table. We sat side by side with our backs to the sun. “It would be quite inappropriate, but some people are terribly unethical when it comes to the cooking competition.”

  “Bribe me?” I finished unfolding my napkin.

  “Yes. Rosemary and Mrs. Graves have already received several unsolicited cobblers, cakes and cookies from contestants. Mostly from Cathy and Kathy.”

  “Nothing has arrived at our house so far.” If it had, surely Alex would have mentioned it when he called. Unless they had dropped stuff off after he left and it was still out there, giving the ants a splendid picnic.

  “Those two girls are a handful. They are giving Norma fits. I hear that her boys won’t even come to dinner on the same night for fear of their starting a fight. It will all end in tears.”

  “There won’t be any nonsense at the judging,” I assured Mom. “They’ll be polite and abide by the rules or I’ll disqualify them.”

  Mom stared at me.

  “I believe that you would do it.”

  “I will do it.” Facing down a murderer or two, not to mention my own sister-in-law, had given me some perspective and some emotional muscle which I could use in a good cause. Norma’s feuding daughter-in-laws weren’t that scary in comparison. And if it angered people, they wouldn’t ask me to do the job next year, which suited me fine. I preferred being a casual visitor to the fair.

  That didn’t mean I was looking forward to dealing with feuding family bakers. Any policeman will tell you that domestic disputes are often the nastiest.

  Blue sighed and dropped her head in my lap. I understood completely. The fair was supposed to be about doggie birthday celebration, blue snow-cones and playing in the creek until it was time for fireworks at Courthouse Park. But duty was calling and I promised Blue that she would get to have some roast turkey leg, no matter how many jars of jams and jellies I had to stare down at the competition.

  We dug into our chicken. It was delicious and fortified the inner woman and her dog.

  “What is left to do?” I asked Mom, feeling capable of facing even plumbing woes.

  “I believe we are actually prepared— if the plumber does as he has promised. There was some trouble with Ferris wheel and the haunted house, but they finally arrived last night and passed inspection this morning.” She sounded pleased, if a bit surprised.

  I nodded, not caring. I wouldn’t be going in either. Ferris wheels and haunted houses are on my list of top ten most loathsome things.

  “Will Alex be with you tomorrow?” Mom asked.

  “Eventually. I thought that Mrs. Graves, Rosemary and I should meet a little early and make sure we are on the same page with rules and such. Blue will stay with Alex.” Thanks to those pesky health regulations that said a dog couldn’t be around food unless she was a therapy dog of some sort, I couldn’t bring her into the hall.

  “What’s up first for you?” Mom asked.

  The posted schedule went:

  Friday, cakes(simple), cookies and pies

  Saturday: Breads, jam and jellies

  Sunday: Candies and decorated cakes

  “It’s cakes at ten,” I said. “Cookies at twelve and pies at two. And rush me to the hospital with diabetic coma and impacted bowel at three,” I added.

  “Just nibble,” Mom recommended. “There is no need to be gluttonous. Anyway, you won’t want more than a nibble of some of them.”

  She was right. We had some very creative cooks in town. That didn’t mean their offerings were edible. I planned to pack my rucksack with a thermos of coffee, bottled water and some antacids.

  “I’ll be in to see you around ten,” Mom said. “Your father and I have promised to join in the hoedown at eleven. They have had some trouble making up squares this year.”

  Even in Hope Falls, square dancing just wasn’t as popular as it once was. That wouldn’t stop Mom from seeing that the tradition was upheld at least for this year.

  Chapter 2