A Fair To Die For
It's October, craft fair season in the Ozarks, and
Carrie and Henry are helping their friend Shirley sell
her quilts and Baby Cuddlies at the War Eagle Craft Fair.
After a mysterious cousin with ties to drug dealers
appears, danger stalks the fair. When Carrie is abducted
by killers following a breakfast at War Eagle Mill,
she's afraid she won't escape because--though her aim in
life has always been to help others out of problems--no
one who can help her knows where she is.
"There is no me out there to help me."
ISBN
978-1610091220
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Order an autographed copy for $16.00, postage free, from the author
Review of A Fair To Die For on Ask David
Click here to read the first chapter
Busy day at the War Eagle
Fair.
REVIEWS:
http://www.examiner.com/article/mystery-author-enjoys-connecting-with-readers
http://www.marywelk.com/2012/06/reviewing-books-old-and-new.html
"A FAIR TO DIE FOR offers
readers an intriguing premise, a surprise a page, and a
delightful protagonist. A fine entry in a series with
charm.
Carolyn Hart, author of WHAT THE CAT SAW (Fall, 2012)
"Carrie McCrite has never been in better form--nor gotten into worse trouble--her relationship with Henry never more endearing. Set during Arkansas's historic War Eagle Fair, the dangers that engulf Carrie are buried in the tangles of family history. Is the lonely Edie really a cousin? Or is her motive for seeking out Carrie much more sinister?
Donna Fletcher Crow, author of A DARKLY HIDDEN TRUTH, The Monastery Murder series.
"Tasty as an apple pie, comforting as a mom's hug, entertaining as a sand-lot baseball game, A FAIR TO DIE FOR pits home-spun sleuth Carrie McCrite against evildoers whose lack of scruples are no match for her abundance of not only scruples but also charm."
Lillian Stewart Carl, author of the Jean Fairbairn/Alasdair Cameron series
THE
SECOND PHONE CALL
Carrie clicked “Play.” Neil Diamond
began singing to her about Sweet Caroline, and she
increased the volume on her CD player to wall-shaking
level. Henry King’s taste in music listening ran to a
volume that, he said, their neighbors a mile away
couldn’t hear, so she waited until her husband wasn’t
home to play her favorite CD’s—whether Brahm’s First
Symphony or their Elvis Gold album—loud enough to be felt. Henry was joking about the neighbors hearing
anything, but she still tried to keep the volume down
when he was home.
She’d been to enough live concerts to
know how loud the music could be there. At the last
Elvis concert she’d attended . . . whoo-ee!
She moved toward the kitchen sink in
dance steps. Oh yes, Neil would get her through potato
peeling in style.
Carrie was only half way around the
first potato when the phone rang.
Henry? Meeting running late again,
I’d bet on it.
She put the potato down, rinsed her
hands, and softened the music before she said “Hello.”
“Hi, Little Love. Our board meeting is
going to run about an hour overtime. A new rural area
wants to join our water district, and there’s a lot to
discuss. Hope that doesn’t complicate supper.”
“Nope. I was just starting on potato
peeling. I can put them in a bowl of water to wait for
you.”
“And then where are they going?”
“Oven. I thought we’d have oven-fried
potatoes with sliced ham and cole slaw. There’s
left-over fruit gelatin, too.”
“Ahhh, I’m in love with a cook.”
They laughed, and, as she walked
around the center island to move one of her prized Delft
canisters back into line, she said, “Me too. Your turn
to cook tomorrow night.”
“Good. Got to go, we’re only taking a
short break before we start to unknot the problems for
this new area. See you in about an hour and a half.
Roger has already called Shirley, so you don’t need to
do that. I’ll phone again when the meeting’s over so you
can put those potatoes in the oven.”
“Okay. Big hug for you, and back to
the kitchen sink for me.”
She heard him laughing as the phone
went dead.
“Cracklin’ Rosie” was the woman of
choice when she turned the sound back up and returned to
potato peeling.
Neil had progressed into “Song Sung
Blue” when the phone rang again.
Oh, for gosh sake.
“Hello.”
“Carrie Culpeper?”
It was a female voice. Using her
maiden name. “Yes, who . . .?
“This is your cousin Edie. Remember
me? It’s been a long time. Edith Embler it was. Still
is, actually. Took my name back after the divorce.”
Edith Embler? Cousin?
Carrie’s thoughts went galloping back through the years.
No, not possible. She had no living cousins. All she
could think of to say was “Edie?”
“We moved away right after your fourth
birthday, so maybe you don’t remember me. Your father’s
sister Edith is my mother. I’m named after her.”
“Sister? But I thought . . .” Carrie
stopped. She knew her dad once had a younger sister, but
all her life she’d understood that girl died as a baby.
Revealing this right now probably wasn’t the best idea.
Edie didn’t seem to notice the
interrupted sentence. “We lived in Tulsa until Dad got a
job in D.C. He died years ago, or at least disappeared
during a business trip to Mexico, and was reported dead.
Mom’s still perking at eighty-nine, and I promised her
I’d look you up when I came this way. Your folks gone? Mom says they were middle-aged when you were
born.”
“Yes, they’re both gone.” Carrie’s
inner caution light was working overtime now, and she
ran a hand through her grey curls. “Uh, did you say your
father disappeared?’
“Yes.”
“Well, I am sorry, it must have been a
tough time for you and your mother.”
Edie ignored the sympathy and said, “I
remember coming to your house for Thanksgiving dinner
when I was about seven. It was a pretty day, and our
folks took us to the park after we ate. I pushed you in
a swing, but pushed it crooked. The swing went sideways
and you fell out. Bloodied your nose. Boy, I got in
trouble for that.”
Swing. She’d hit her nose on the
swing seat when she fell. It bled. Had there been
another girl there?
“I don’t know if I remember falling
off a swing,” she said, unwilling to admit anything yet.
“Do you know why our families didn’t stay in touch, or
travel for visits after you moved away?”
“I guess things just didn’t work out.
Dad had a top secret job with a government agency and
was gone a lot. I suppose he had enough of travel
through work. Besides, I don’t think your dad and mine
got along. Mom and Dad never mentioned family in Tulsa
after we moved away. But now Mom has mentioned you, and
here I am!”
Carrie managed only “Here you are,” as
she dropped into a chair at the kitchen table.
What, I wonder, is the real reason
for this woman’s call? Who is
she?
Edie laughed and repeated, “Yes, here
I am.”
There was a pause filled with
prickles, then Carrie said, “Well, where, exactly, are
you? And how did you find me?”
“Oh, I’m in Tulsa now. Thought I might
locate you here, though goodness knows why, since I knew
you’d probably gotten married and changed your name.
But, Mom insisted I try. Well, of course I didn’t find
you in the phone book, or anyone else named Culpeper.
Mom doesn’t remember your mother’s maiden name, so there
was no way to locate that side of your family. She did
have the address where you used to live, so I drove
there. The woman who answered the door said she didn’t
know of any Culpepers. She and her husband bought the
house from people named Smith, and she never saw
paperwork about previous owners. I tried houses on
either side, but no one was home. A woman across the
street remembered your family but all she could say was
‘Those folks been gone for years.’”
“That would be Mrs. Murphy, and it has
been several years. I sold the house to people named
Smith, but it’s obviously changed hands. So then, how
did you track me down?”
“Went to the Tulsa County Courthouse.
I found records in the county clerk’s office that listed
a Carrie McCrite who inherited the Culpeper house and
sold it. But that was a dead end. Since the library was
handy I walked across the mall to try a computer
search.”
“Ah.” This woman was sure interested
in finding her. But a cousin? How could that be? The
only cousin she knew about, a boy, was on her mother’s
side of the family. Eric had died in Vietnam.
“I was just getting started on
research when the computer did something peculiar and
froze up. Frustrating.”
“Computers can be very frustrating.”
Carrie was trying so hard to think back into the past it
almost made her head hurt. If only she could remember
anything at all about her father’s sister, then maybe
everything about this situation wouldn’t feel so wrong.
It would be nice to have a living cousin.
Be careful, be careful. “Looks like you found me anyway. So, what
happened?”
She could almost guess. The library
Edie had landed in was the one where Carrie had worked
until her marriage to Amos McCrite.
Edie laughed. “The computer problem
turned out to be a piece of good luck. I had to get
help, and when I told the woman who came what I was
looking for, she knew who you were because you’d worked
at that library years ago. She called in another
employee who worked with you back then. That woman knew
you’d moved to Arkansas. She hesitated about giving me
your current address, but finally did give me this phone
number.”
“My goodness, that must have been
Irene. I haven’t seen her for a while. It’s time I
planned a trip to Tulsa to have lunch with her.”
“That’s the name, Irene. Now then, if
you’ll tell me how to find you, I can come for a visit.”
“Yes, well it’s
so nice of you to have taken this trouble to look me up.
My first husband, Amos, was killed several years ago.
I’m re-married now, almost a year. Henry and I will both
be glad to meet you. We can come to Tulsa tomorrow.”
“I’d rather come there, if you don’t
mind. I’ve never been to Arkansas. Could I come see you
tomorrow?”
What in the heck am I supposed to
do about that? I sure wish Henry was here. Could this be
someone from his work in the Kansas City Police
Department? Could it be someone dangerous?
“We’d love to have you visit us, Edie.
Give me your phone number. Henry is away at a meeting
right now and I’d want him to be here to meet you too.
He’ll be home in a couple of hours. Let me check with
him on his schedule and call you back.”
“Instead I’ll call you around
six-thirty if that’s okay.”
“All right. Talk to you then.
“Whew,” Carrie said to no one, and,
giving up on Neal, went back to peeling potatoes.
While she and Henry ate supper, Carrie
told him about the phone call. “So,” she finished, “what
should I do about this supposed cousin I didn’t know
existed? It’s all so strange. I have wondered if she
might even be a danger to you.”
“Anyone coming after me could find me
easily without going to all the trouble of pretending to
be your cousin. And it is strange indeed, if she says
she’s the daughter of your father’s sister, and that
sister died as a baby. Why, I wonder, did that part of
your family vanish?”
“She says it’s because her father had
some kind of job my Dad didn’t approve of. Top secret,
she called it.”
“The plot thickens.” He smiled.
“You’ve got to admit it’s intriguing.”
“Well, maybe, but not in a good way.
Henry, it was almost like Dad’s sister never existed.”
She thought for a minute. “It is possible no one
actually said she was dead, but all my years at home I
don’t remember anyone mentioning her, except somehow I
knew he’d once had a sister. After supper I’ll go
through the box of photos my folks left, and see if
anything there jogs my memory. As a young child I
wouldn’t have been all that interested in a missing aunt
if anyone did talk about her. But now Edie says they ate
Thanksgiving dinner at our house before they moved away.
That’s kind of a major activity, but I guess I was too
young to remember it. Anyway, all this makes me feel
squinchy.”
“Interesting word choice.”
“Squinchy? That’s something I do
remember from childhood. It was a family word.”
“It describes the feeling well, and no
wonder you feel squinchy. After all these years of
silence, the daughter of a woman who supposedly died as
a child, and certainly couldn’t have if her story is
true, has appeared. Would you be glad if she turned out
to really be a cousin?”
“I . . . guess so.
I have almost no family left.”
“Then I think we should go ahead and
invite the woman here tomorrow. We won’t find out more
unless we do that, and maybe the mystery surrounding
your dad’s sister will finally be explained.”
Carrie brought a box of black and
white photos to the kitchen table after they finished
supper clean up. Most of the people were known to her,
and as she laid each picture on the blue and white
checked tablecloth, she identified them for Henry,
pointing out with special pride a faded photo of her
great-great grandfather in his Civil War uniform. “That
blotch on his pants leg came from a bullet wound in the
leg,” she said. “I guess uniforms were hard to come by,
and they didn’t worry about a few holes or bloodstains.
Grandpa had a later picture of the man leaning on a
cane. He was tall for the times, and distinguished
looking.”
“He’s distinguished looking here,
too,” Henry said, tapping a fingernail on the photo,
“but it’s obvious the height didn’t pass down to your
part of the family.”
“Hey . . . “
“Don’t ‘hey’ at me.” He began singing,
“‘Five foot two, eyes of teal blue. . .’”
“Good grief,” she said, as she
continued laying out the box’s contents.
There were photographs of her
grandparents and parents through the years, and two
aunts on her mother’s side. She smiled when Henry
exclaimed over her baby pictures and a progression of
photos marked on the back with captions like “Carrie, 3rd birthday,” and “Carrie’s first day at school.” She
figured his comments about how cute she was were either
prejudice or diplomacy, but, nevertheless, they were
nice to hear. “You looked cuddly and soft, even then,”
he said, reaching over to squeeze her hand.
There was one worn manila envelope
tied up with yellowed seam-binding tape that obviously
hadn’t been disturbed in years. “Gosh,” she said, “this
was in the stuff I packed up after Mom died, and I
obviously never got around to looking inside.”
She untied the tape and spread the
envelope’s contents out on the table. After studying the
assortment, Henry pointed with a finger, and said, “Your
grandparents, right? I assume this must be your dad. He
looks about eight. Then, who’s this little girl? Could
she be the missing sister?”
Carrie said nothing as
she studied the photo, then scanned the remaining
pictures. “Here’s a photo of my dad with his parents.
Maybe he’s late teens here?”
“Um hmm, and this
picture seems to be the latest one in the bunch. No
girl, but that really isn’t definitive.”
“No. We still have no concrete
answers, though if that girl in the one picture is his
sister, she couldn’t have died before she was, what?
Four or five?”
The phone rang and
Carrie looked at the clock. Six-thirty. At least the
woman was punctual. “Good timing,” she said to Henry.
“Lunch tomorrow?”
He nodded.
“Hello.”
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Order an autographed copy, postage free, from the author
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