Immy and Drew stopped at the pizza and lemonade stands and brought back provisions for Hortense, and for themselves. The pizza was the cheapest thing Immy could find that would keep off starvation for all of them until they returned home tonight. This outing was using up a bunch of her cash. Immy would consult the want ads first thing Monday morning.
“When are the fireworks, Mommy?” asked Drew, chewing her crust vigorously.
“Do not verbalize when your orifice contains consumables, Nancy Drew,” said Hortense.
“Okay,” Drew answered, her mouth still full.
Immy wasn’t sure if Drew knew what her Geemaw’s words meant, but she’d heard them often enough. Eventually she’d figure it out. Immy had.
Hortense leaned close to Immy and lowered her voice. “Who is the military man sitting in proximity to the Cotters?”
Immy looked in the direction of Hortense’s gaze. A man in Air Force uniform, captain’s bars on his shoulders, sat a row behind Louise and Amy JoBeth, who were on the other side of the arena. He leaned forward, talking to Amy JoBeth. Immy couldn’t read her expression, but she could read Louise’s. Not happy.
Amy JoBeth’s face softened as Immy watched the interplay and soon a gentle smile played on her lips and she leaned her head slightly toward the captain’s.
Hortense had said Amy JoBeth’s ex was a military man. Maybe she had a weakness for a man in uniform. Immy knew she herself did. Well, Immy, herself, had a weakness for a lot of men, no matter what they were wearing. Maybe a new guy would turn the tide for Amy JoBeth’s mental state and keep her out of the tornado shelter. But Louise sure looked upset about him being there, talking to her daughter.
“Okay, my mouth is empty,” said Drew. “When are the fireworks?”
Immy smiled at her daughter. “Pretty soon. They have to crown the queen first.”
“Oh, goody! I’m going to be a rodeo queen when I grow up.”
Another reason for Immy to succeed as a detective. Or at something. A rodeo queen was a better role model than a Barbie doll, but Drew probably thought of them as equivalent. At least a rodeo queen had to know how to ride well carrying a big old flag, which is more than a lot of other beauty pageant queens need to know.
“Or maybe a princess.”
“A rodeo princess?” asked Immy.
“No, I wanna be a real princess.”
“I think some genetic components are required for that,” said Hortense with a fond smile. “But, who knows? You may meet a Prince Charming.”
Hortense got that dreamy, wistful look that meant she was thinking about Dad. Immy suddenly wanted to be home and take his badge out of her dresser drawer. To run her fingers over its cool, smooth surface. To bask in memories of her big, strong dad. She reached into her purse for a tissue and her fingers met the gun. She’s forgotten to take it out last night.
Ralph Sandoval’s voice came from somewhere behind Immy. She spun around and tried to spot him in the stands above her. She located him when he and his friends stood up, since he was a head taller than the two guys who stood with him. They edged to the end of their row and started making their way down. Immy waved, but Ralph wasn’t looking in her direction. She waved harder, but still no luck.
The guys reached the bottom and disappeared by the time Immy got to the end of her row. She ran out to scan the area and found them at the beer vendor. The line was long because the alcohol vendors were required to stop selling very soon. Immy fiddled with her hair and her purse and paced around until the three men started back.
“Oh hi, Ralph. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Hi Immy,” he said, brightening at the sight of her. “Hey, this is Don and Phil, my buddies from bowling.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Immy.” She wondered if their last name was Everly, but they didn’t look like brothers. One was thin as a rail, the other pretty chunky.
“Go ahead,” Ralph told them. “I’ll catch up.”
“Ralph,” Immy whispered as they left. “I have a clue.”
Ralph gave her a blank look. “That’s nice.”
Immy huffed out a breath of exasperation. “I have an important clue. I think I have the gun that murdered Gretchen.”
Ralph scratched his head. “I don’t think you can call killing a pig murder, Immy.”
“But everything ties in to that. Someone killed Rusty because they thought he was the one who killed Gretchen.”
“Everything? Does Poppy’s murder tie to it?”
“I don’t know how she figures in, but she was killed the same way. Drugged, then hanged.”
Ralph sipped his beer and squinted at Immy. “You know, you might be right.”
“About what?”
“Maybe we should look more closely at what happened to that pig.” He shook his head. “But we can’t. We don’t have the body, or anything. We didn’t investigate the scene except for clues to Rusty’s death.”
Immy gave his a wide, triumphant grin. “I have the bullets.”
“Wait. You have the bullets—from the pig?”
Immy nodded.
“And the gun?”
“Maybe. If the bullets match the gun, then I have the gun.”
“Okay. It won’t be evidence for court, but it could help us. Bring them in tomorrow and we’ll—”
A shot sounded and Immy hit the ground, covering her head with her hands. She raised up and looked around, then saw a splotch in the dirt beside her. Her elbow was bleeding.
“It’s all right,” she said, sitting up and examining her elbow. “It’s only a flesh wound.”
Ralph reached down and gave her a hand up. “You hit your elbow on a rock. That was a firecracker.”
Chapter 22
The next string of firecrackers sounded like a machine gun, but Immy kept herself from diving to the dirt again.
“You’re sure those are firecrackers?” she asked Ralph.
“It’s the Fourth of July.” He took a swig of his beer. “But I think those are kids and they shouldn’t be shooting them off here.”
More explosions went off and Immy heard snorting and a commotion.
“Ralph, I think they’re awfully close to the bull pens.”
When the official rodeo fireworks went off, which they would do in a few minutes, they were fired from far outside the arena to keep from spooking the animals.
Ralph cocked an ear in the direction of the sounds. Immy heard metal clanging, like a bull was butting the sides of his pen.
“You’re right. And it sounds like an animal is spooked.”
The next sound was worse. A scream.
“Hold this.” Ralph thrust his beer cup at Immy and took off for the pens. Some splashed onto her shirt.
She ran after him, sloshing the rest of it on her shirt, her jeans, and some on her tennies.
“Hold it!” Ralph shouted to a pair of retreating backs. They looked like the same boys who had thrown the rocks earlier, the ones chased off by Kyle Joe. Ralph started after them, but Immy stopped to look at the bull and saw what was in the pen.
This bull was even bigger than the one whose pen Drew had fallen into. A black Mexican bull with horns that gleamed white in the dim light this far from the stadium. The tips of his horns gleamed, too, but they weren’t supposed to. They were supposed to be wrapped in a dark color. And they weren’t supposed to drip.
“Ralph!” yelled Immy.
The bull appeared to nuzzle the form at his feet. Then he hooked a horn into it and lifted it off the ground about twelve inches.
She heard Ralph trotting back.
The form in the pen took shape. It was a man. The man moaned.
Ralph reached her and she pointed. He ran to the pen and started to climb the wall.
The bull backed off a few feet, pawed the ground a few times, then lowered his head and came at the inert man again, goring him in the torso and tossing him again.
Immy screamed.
This time, when the man landed, the bull trampled him with its front hooves.
The man moaned louder.
Immy started to whimper. She hoped it was a bull rider and he was still wearing his protective vest.
The bull pushed at him with its massive head and turned the man so Immy could see his face.
Sonny Squire. He would not be wearing a vest.
Then the pen was surrounded by men, most of them rodeo workers, probably summoned by all the clanking and commotion. Three of them climbed into the pen and distracted the bull. They taunted it and ran up the side rails when the bull charged them.
Meanwhile, a couple more wranglers snatched Sonny and handed him over the enclosure.
He wasn’t making a sound. He wasn’t moving. The ambulance that was always parked just outside the arena drove in and the EMTs bundled Sonny inside. He left a wide trail of blood, from the site of his goring, up and down the sides of the pen he’d been hauled over, and across the dirt to the back of the ambulance. The vehicle took off, not starting lights and siren until it reached the outskirts of the fair area.
Immy wondered if Sonny could be alive, having lost that much blood. She hated bulls.
* * *
“The malt brew libation is supposed to go inside your gastrointestinal system, Imogene, not all over the exterior of your clothing.”
Immy realized she reeked from Ralph’s beer, now sloshed all over her clothes.
“Mother, something horrible has happened. We have to leave.”
“More horrible than being too drunk to get the beer inside you?”
“It’s Ralph’s beer, not mine.”
“What’s horrible?” asked Drew.
“Mr. Squire had an…accident in the…in the bull pen.” She was shaking, her whole body was shaking. Was she going into shock? “I… I have to leave.”
“Is he…?” Hortense raised her plucked eyebrows to ask Immy if he was all right.
Immy shook her head. “A bull was in the pen. An angry bull.”
“Did Mr. Squire fall in?” said Drew. “Like I did? Did the big, strong cowboy get him out?”
Hortense, eyebrows still raised, shook her head behind Drew’s back.
“No, not like you did.” Immy’s teeth chattered when she spoke. “They took him away in an ambulance. Ralph is down there handling things. I have to go home now.”
“Before the Queen?” Drew sounded horrified.
Immy realized the contestants were carefully riding into the arena, in their usual prescribed formation, all dressed up in silk cowgirl shirts. The girls carried fluttering pennants, which advertised rodeo sponsors, stuck on the saddle pommel. They held them upright with difficulty as the wind picked up even more than usual.
“Will you make it?” asked Hortense.
Maybe it would be best to keep to as normal a routine as possible, for Drew’s sake.
Immy leaned her face against her mother’s soft upper arm and let her tears flow. Hortense stroked Immy’s hair and they got through the pageant. The girl in the purple shirt won, which displeased Drew. She’d wanted the pink-shirted contestant to win.
* * *
The next morning, Monday, Immy made a quick trip into Wymee Falls to get a copy of
The Moron’s Compleat Bull and Cattle Handling Guidebook
. If people were going to keep falling into bull pens, she wanted to know how to react.
Back in Saltlick, Immy brought the bullets she’d kept all this time, with Sonny’s gun, into the Saltlick police station. Tabitha had returned from vacation, but, for once, called the chief as soon as she saw Immy come in. Maybe, Immy thought, she feels sorry for me because of my bruise and my elbow.
Immy’s bruised cheek was a yellow-green color today and her elbow was bandaged, where she’d cut it diving to avoid firecrackers.
Immy walked down the hallway behind Chief Emmett and put her paper bag on his desk.
“What is this?” he asked, reasonably enough, settling into his chair.
“It’s complicated,” answered Immy as she perched on the edge of the guest chair.
Chief drew the bag toward him, opened it up and peered inside. “It looks like a gun and…what’s underneath?”
“The bullets I took out of Gretchen.”
His mouth dropped open and he leaned toward Immy. She flinched. Was he going for his gun?
“I had to get them. No one else would. I wanted to know who killed Gretchen.”
“Gretchen was Tinnie’s pet pig, right?”
“How could you forget? That’s what started this whole mess.”
“I well remember what started this whole mess. I just didn’t pay much attention to the pig’s name.”
No one paid much attention to the pig, Immy thought. Her gate was carelessly left unlatched and she was shot by accident. Poor thing. Immy hoped Tinnie had given Gretchen nice treats while she was still alive.
“I think we could solve some other crimes if we could solve this one. Is there any way you can see if those bullets came from that gun?”
“Where did you get the gun?”
“Sonny Squire dropped it last night. He was drunk. I didn’t think he should have it, in his condition, so I picked it up and kept it for him. Until he sobered up.” That story was close enough to the truth.
“You haven’t heard, I guess,” said Chief. “Sonny was DOA at Wymee Falls General Hospital last night.”
Immy took a wild stab. “Was he full of horse tranquilizer, too?”
Chief kept his mouth shut, but gave a start, and Immy knew she was right.
What in the hell was going on? “I know these things can’t be court evidence, but Ralph says they might point to something you could use.”
Chief stroked his chin, at least considering what Immy was saying. “Ralph might be onto something. If this gun killed Gretchen....”
“Then Sonny killed Gretchen.”
“No. Then this gun killed Gretchen. There’s a big difference.”
So, Rusty could still have killed her, but Immy didn’t think so. Betsy had told Immy that Rusty lied about it to protect his wife’s relationship with her father. Immy wasn’t sure Tinnie deserved Rusty for a husband. Then she remembered how many other women he was sleeping with. Okay, maybe they deserved each other. Neither of them deserved little Zack.
She’d just have to wait and see if the bullets matched before she could go forward with any more speculations on who deserved whom.
“Where’s Ralph today?”
“He’s taking the day off,” said the chief, but didn’t tell her where he was.
* * *
When Immy got home, her heart lifted at the sight of Ralph’s truck in front of her trailer. She found him in the backyard nailing boards together. Drew was feeding treats to Marshmallow, who acted like he hadn’t eaten for weeks.