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  “I think Watts knows you’re out of the picture as the actual murderer.”

  “Yeah.” She glanced at the box under me. “But I might be a partner in crime.”

  “No. Just because someone stole your stuff—if that even happened—it does not mean you’re responsible. It means someone took something that wasn’t theirs and used it in a way you never would.”

  “But if I’d locked the box up better—”

  “It was locked?”

  “Well, sure. I would never leave it open. Too much dangerous equipment in there. Obviously.”

  “Did it look like someone had gotten in? Is the lock messed up?”

  “Not that I noticed.” She leaned down to look between my knees at the keyhole. “There are scratches on there, but they could have happened anytime. It’s not like I’m always watching for someone to steal my stuff. The only other time I got robbed was when my truck got mashed, and that was obviously different. I don’t like thinking somebody’s always out to get me.”

  “Of course not. You have all that goodwill toward men I’ll never have.”

  She chuckled. “Toward women, too.”

  I knocked her with my shoulder. “So now what? What did Watts really say?”

  “She wanted to know if I’d noticed anything weird, or if I was missing something. But I hadn’t had a chance to go over inventory since Sunday. These kids and their animals. What is up with them needing a vet all the time?” She grinned, and some of her usual spark made its way back into her eyes. “So we went through the box. It’s impossible to tell if I’m missing a syringe—I’ve got a container of a hundred, and I’d have to go back through records to find out how many I’ve used since I stocked up. Plus, there’s no way to tie the syringe to me, necessarily. It’s not like they each have a serial number, or anything. It was the same brand, we think, but they’re like, everywhere.”

  “What about the Ace?”

  Her face darkened again. “I’m not missing any of that, according to my records, but I could be wrong, I guess. I’m not a perfect organizer every second of the day. God, how did this happen?”

  “Hey, remember what I said? Not your fault. You’re here to do a job. Tranqs are part of it. Other people need to keep their hands off.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  We sat for a few moments, and then I said, “Bryan thinks somebody’s out to get you.”

  A flash of irritation raced across her face, but I wasn’t sure if it was directed toward Bryan, or toward the “somebody.” “He’s sweet. But I’m fine.”

  “Carla, could it be the other vets? The ones who wanted this job?”

  “Why would they want it? It sure hasn’t been fun so far. And no, I can’t see someone trying to get me unlicensed over a week-long stint at the county fair. It’s not that great an honor. I’m finding that out fast.”

  “So who else? Anyone unhappy with results lately? Someone have a prize animal you’ve had to put down, or anything?”

  “It’s been a very tame month. I’ve thought about it. I can’t come up with anybody who would be mad at me for any reason.”

  “So maybe Bryan’s just imagining things.”

  “I sure hope so, but I don’t know. It was the whole lemon peel thing that really got him worried. He figures somebody did it just to see if I could figure it out.”

  Damn that Austin. He had no idea how his stupid actions would affect people other than the Greggs. I knew I’d regret keeping my mouth shut.

  “He’s wrong,” I said.

  “Who is?”

  “Bryan. About the lemon peel. It had nothing to do with making you look bad.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Just…trust me on this.”

  She frowned. “Is there something I should know?”

  “No.” I stood. “Anyway, I thought it was the texts that got Bryan all riled up.”

  Her face darkened. “He told you about those?”

  “Sure. He’s worried.”

  “And smothering me.”

  “Carla, he loves you. He wants to protect you.” Wow. Was I really defending him? I must have been suffering from a lack of sleep. Or something. “So who sent the texts? And what did they say?”

  “Don’t know who they were from. It was just a number. And they just said stupid things about me becoming a laughingstock, or being proven incompetent, or something.”

  “Do you still have the texts?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see the number.”

  She gave me a suspicious look, but got out her phone. Of course I didn’t recognize the number. I don’t even know why I looked. I wished I had the number of the person who’d texted Austin, pretending to be the fair office, so we could compare them.

  “What?” Carla said.

  “Nothing.”

  She was still looking at me funny. “What are you not telling me?”

  “Nothing. Please, don’t ask anymore.”

  She stared at me for a few more long moments, then shook her head. “Fine. You can tell me when it’s convenient for you.”

  “Carla…”

  “No, no, I’m sorry. It’s just been such a crappy day so far. And now I need to help a hysterical mother who is sure her son’s pig is on its deathbed, but he’s headed off to be in the parade. The kid, not the pig. You going?”

  “I don’t think you need me to come. Isn’t Bryan going with you?”

  “I meant the parade.”

  “Oh, I guess. I told Zach I’d be there to wave. I also told him not to take my eye out with a Tootsie Roll.”

  “Wear safety goggles. Okay, I’m off. Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “Anytime.”

  Bryan must have been watching, because as soon as Carla stood, he hustled over to grab her box.

  Nick came over, too, and we watched them leave. He brushed some straw off my back. “Everything okay now?”

  “It’s better. But still not perfect.”

  “Nothing ever is.”

  “Speaking of not being perfect, where’s Miranda?”

  He grinned. “She’s fallen in love.”

  “She found Mr. Right in the rabbit barn?”

  “Sure did. Come meet him.”

  I trudged after Nick, knowing whoever this guy was, I was going to hate him.

  But I was wrong.

  How can you hate a little guy named Pouncer, who weighs thirteen pounds and is covered with fuzzy, black and white spots?

  Chapter Twenty-five

  I needed pie. Nick needed to sit. Miranda needed…a brain transplant. The booster food tent could offer two out of the three, so we headed there as soon as Miranda was done with her rabbit love fest. There was no point going home anymore, because we’d have to turn right back around if we were going to make it to the parade. So food was the answer. But as soon as we sat down with two pieces of cherry pie and a Diet Coke—Miranda was such a party pooper—I was sorry we’d come in.

  “Hello, again!”

  The three of us gazed up at the mother of the hideous Summer, me with regret, Nick with something approaching fear, and Miranda with distaste. At least she and I had that in common. And at least the monster daughter was nowhere in sight.

  “So, have you cleared your schedule?” The woman gazed straight at Nick, of course, like he had completely overpowered her with his gorgeousness. Which, perhaps, he had.

  Miranda’s nose wrinkled. “Cleared his schedule for what? You do know he’s engaged.”

  The miraculous thing here was that she said that last sentence without a stutter or even a hint of disgust.

  The woman batted her eyes, which wasn’t quite as terrifying as when her daughter did it, but was bad enough. “He knows what I’m talking about.”

  From his blank expression I could tell she was wrong.

  “The Lovely Miss Pennsylvania pageant,” I told him.

  Understanding brought life back to his face. “Oh. Um. I really wasn’t—”

  “Y
ou simply must come. Summer would be so thrilled to see you in the audience.” Her body language suggested that she herself wouldn’t be sorry, either. Sometimes I didn’t mind the whole Nick-as-chick-magnet thing, but this woman was beyond creepy, being totally oblivious to me, sitting right beside him.

  Miranda’s eyes were like tractor tires, probably because she was waiting for me to deck the woman. But I gripped my plastic fork, breathed deeply, and tried not to imagine plunging the utensil deep into the woman’s throat. Probably wouldn’t work, anyway, plastic not being the best weapon known to a crossed woman.

  Nick smiled, back in control. “I’ll see what I can do, Mrs.…”

  “Moss. But it’s just Ms. And you can call me Sherry.”

  “I see.” His eyes flicked toward me. “I’ll have to see what my fiancée is thinking of for tomorrow evening.”

  Her adoring gaze went sour for a second, before the fake smile came back, which she aimed at me. “Surely you don’t want to miss out on such an exciting event. My daughter is going to do very well, I know, and I would hate for anyone to miss it.”

  “I really—”

  “—don’t,” Miranda said. “Or, she doesn’t. Want to miss it, I mean. We’ll be there. Thank you for the invitation.”

  Ms. Moss turned her smile on Miranda, where it faltered. Try to hook one guy, and suddenly she’s got two women to deal with. Not in her plans, I didn’t think. “Well, that’s…wonderful.” She blinked, like she was resetting her program, then dove into her purse and pulled out a photo of Frankenstein Summer.

  Miranda gaped at it. “This? Is your daughter?”

  “Yes. Isn’t she lovely?”

  Miranda choked and coughed, like she’d just swallowed her Diet Coke the wrong way. I whacked her back, to make the idea convincing.

  “But that’s the girl we saw at the calf judging. She’s—” She put her hand over her mouth, like she couldn’t stand to say any more about it.

  Summer’s mom was oblivious to the whole freak out going on in Miranda’s head. She was more interested in beaming at Nick. “I’m so glad you’ll come. It will be a pleasure to see you there, Mr.…”

  “Nick. Just call me Nick.”

  “Oh, yes. Nick.”

  I swallowed. Just hearing her say his name in that breathless way made me want to go take a shower. Or at least spray myself down over at the dairy barn.

  Finally, the woman swayed away, looking back over her shoulder to see if Nick was watching. He wasn’t. But I was. She spun around and hustled away.

  “Nick,” Miranda said, “you are way too nice to women like her. It’s disgusting.”

  “Sorry. Don’t mean to be disgusting.”

  “No, you’re not disgusting. She’s disgusting. Tell him, Stella.”

  “Actually, I found the entire thing disgusting.”

  “And how can she possibly think her hideous daughter has any chance of winning the pageant? I’m sure the judges would rather pick a girl off the street than have that monstrosity representing Lovely Miss. I know I would.”

  It was a valid question. Did Summer’s mom really not see the joke her daughter had become? And how did she get into the pageant in the first place? Were there no guidelines? No criteria for being at least fifty percent human?

  I knew just who we could ask, if we cared that much. Taylor. Or her mom. But I really didn’t care enough to even think about it another second. “So, what do we do now? You guys want to go? I’m ready to ditch this place.”

  Miranda checked her phone. “But isn’t the parade soon? And isn’t Daniella’s daughter going to be on a float?”

  “Yeah, I guess. Zach’s going to be on the dairy one, with the other kids in his 4-H club, and I did tell him I’d watch. Not that he really cares.” I dropped my forehead onto Nick’s shoulder. “Can’t we just go home? I’m tired of being here.”

  “We should ask Taylor,” Miranda said.

  I rolled my head to look at her. “If we should go home?”

  “No, dummy, how that Summer girl got into the Lovely Miss pageant.”

  “We can’t really go home,” Nick said. “Not if you want to keep your promise and see the parade. It starts in an hour. And then the combine demo’s after that.”

  “So?”

  “You’re not really going to make me miss that, are you? My one chance at seeing farm equipment destroy each other?”

  I leaned back. “Really? That’s on your bucket list?”

  “It has been ever since I heard about it last week.”

  “Fine.” I relaxed into my chair. “What are we going to do for an hour?”

  “Ask Taylor about the pageant,” Miranda said again, echoing the thoughts I’d had a minute before and had forgotten already.

  “Why do you care so much?”

  “Because that girl—not Taylor, I mean the surgically enhanced one—should never have gotten into the competition, and I want to know how it happened. Come on, we’ve been doing everything for you today. Can’t we do something for me?”

  Nick, being no help at all, was watching me with amusement. “What do you say?”

  “Whatever.”

  Miranda clapped. “So where do you think Taylor is?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “But you can find out. Who has she been hanging around ever since meeting him yesterday?”

  Right. I sighed and texted Zach.

  is taylor with u?

  He buzzed me back almost immediately.

  yes

  where ru?

  west parking lot getting ready 4 parade

  “All right. If we want to catch him, we’ve gotta go now.”

  Miranda was up and halfway to the exit before I’d even sat all the way up in my chair.

  “Come on, Love,” Nick said, holding out his hand and grinning. “Let’s go do something for Miranda.”

  I let him help me up. I could think of something I wanted to do to Miranda. Would that count?

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Holy crap it was hot. Six in the evening and it felt like high noon. I half expected someone to stroll out onto the street with six-shooters and a ten-gallon hat. I edged back, away from the curb, into the sliver of shade provided by the arts and crafts building. Sweat rolled down my back—and my front—and I tried to remember why parades in the middle of the summer were supposed to be fun.

  We hadn’t had any luck getting to Zach or Taylor, because only those involved in the parade were allowed behind the barricades by the time we got there. Our investigation into the inner workings of the pageant would have to wait. Darn. And here it was so important.

  Lucy, Tess, and Lenny had joined us for the parade. Lenny was large enough to act as a shade tree, but his family had staked that spot out before the rest of us could make a claim, so we just had to sweat it out.

  “Ooo, look Tess, I can see a firetruck!”

  No, it wasn’t anyone’s mom who was so excited. Not a little kid. Miranda. It was like she’d never seen a parade before.

  “I’ve never seen a parade!” she squealed.

  “Seriously?”

  She clasped her hands at her throat, staring down the street. “Well, like the Macy’s one on TV, and whatever, but not in real life. Unless you count the one we saw in that dinky little town near home, where there was only one firetruck and the mayor. That doesn’t count.”

  I looked at Nick. “Really? No parades?”

  He shrugged. “Not in our family’s activity plan, I guess. Or our town’s. I don’t know why.”

  I caught Lucy’s eye, and she shrugged, like it was a mystery to her, too.

  “Eee!” Miranda shrieked. “I hear a band!”

  Oh, thank God. The firetruck was also blowing its horn, deafening everyone within the square mile and drowning out whatever Miranda said next. Soon the flag corps strode by, beginning a long line of what would be a show-and-tell of regional emergency fleets, high school marching bands, floats with the different 4-H clubs, horses, tractors
, classic cars, and the Kiwanas guys on their miniature motorcycles. I’d seen it all before, so I took the opportunity to check out who was watching the parade around us.