CHAPTER 21
The fireworks exploding overhead sound like the gods throwing a tantrum with enough colored lights to make Las Vegas jealous and booms loud enough to wake the Founding Fathers.
I’m standing in the shadows behind Julia’s covered wagon with Watson pressed against my legs, both of us processing what just happened and what it means for my rapidly deteriorating evening plans.
The main festival area erupts with cheers every time a firework paints the sky with all its glory, but all I can think about is how deliberate this murder was, and how calculated.
“Watson,” I say, looking down at my furry little buddy watching the sky with equal parts fascination and horror, “we need to find Cooper. Fast.”
Watson perks up at the mention of his daddy’s name, his tail kicking into full helicopter mode because in his world, Cooper equals sweet treats and peak masculine attention. He lets out a sharp bark as if he’s ready for action—even if he has no idea what that action is.
It usually entails food, so I can understand the enthusiasm.
We head back toward the main festival, weaving between blanket-sprawled families and dodging kids armed with sparklers, when I nearly collide with Flip Flapjack as he steps out from behind the Colonial Kitchen truck carrying a tray of what looks like leftover fried chicken.
“Effie!” he calls, steadying the tray before it turns into a full-blown food fight. “Heck of a thing about Julia, huh? Though I gotta say, I’m not surprised someone finally snapped and went after Larry.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, even as my instincts kick in—that familiar buzz that usually means something big is coming.
“That hippie girl was hanging around earlier, asking questions,” Flip continues, lowering his voice despite the fireworks booming loud enough to cover a small military operation. “About Julia’s booth. About Larry’s habits. Seemed friendly enough at the time, but now that I think about it…”
He trails off with a meaningful look that confirms everything my brain has been trying to piece together for the past five minutes.
“Thanks, Flip,” I say, my pulse kicking up now that the pieces finally click. “I owe you one.”
Watson gives a sharp bark like he agrees this is exactly what we needed—then immediately abandons the moment when someone drops a piece of funnel cake three feet away.
I head toward the main festival to find Cooper when something catches my eye near the old broken dock where the woods meet the lake. It’s a secluded spot, away from the main celebration, where the lights don’t quite reach and the noise fades to a distant hum beneath the explosions overhead.
Sunshine Crumpet sits alone on the weathered planks, her purple space buns silhouetted against the water like a slightly unhinged fairy-tale princess. She’s traded her tie-dye for dark clothes that let her melt into the shadows, and there’s somethingabout the way she’s sitting—hunched, watchful—that sets my internal alarm blaring.
Watson presses closer to my legs.
“Stay close, boy,” I murmur, making a decision Cooper would absolutely arrest me for. “We’re going to have a little chat with our favorite organic food vendor.”
I approach the dock like I just happened to be out for an evening stroll, Watson trotting beside me, ears perked on high alert.
“Sunshine,” I call as we get closer. “Beautiful evening for fireworks, isn’t it?”
She turns, and in the flickering light overhead, I catch the flash of surprise before she smooths it into something she clearly thinks passes for friendly.
“Effie! What a surprise to see you down here. Just needed some quiet space, you know? All that festival energy can be overwhelming for someone sensitive to vibrational frequencies.”
“I bet,” I say, settling onto the dock beside her while Watson plants himself between us like a furry bouncer, nose twitching as he catalogs whatever the lake—and Sunshine—are giving off.
We sit in silence for a moment, watching smoke drift across the stars.
“Sunshine,” I say, “I need to ask you again about Larry Rocket.”
“What about him?” she says, blinking with practiced innocence. “I mean, it’s a shame he’s missing all the festivities. He really did have a heart for feeding the people.”
“You talked to him quite a bit that day, didn’t you?”
Another firework explodes overhead.
“Sure,” she says. “He came by my booth a few times.”
“And you chatted with Flip. You asked about the other vendors.”
