Stay At Home Dad 03-Father Knows Death Read Online Free Page B

I’d gotten roped into helping with 4-H that I’d learned any of their names.
    “And you didn’t hear it from me, but there have been lots of whispers about all of them,” Pete said.
    “Whispers?”
    He leaned forward. “None of them have real jobs. All they do is the fair.” He raised an eyebrow. “And the board positions are all volunteer.”
    “None of them are paid?”
    “Think Mama might get some sort of nominal stipend for being the chairwoman, but other than that?” Pete shook his head. “They’re all unpaid volunteer positions.”
    I leaned back and watched a stream of people walk by on their way to the free stage and wondered what show might be drawing such a crowd.
    “So where are they getting their money?” Pete sighed. “Midway. Food stands. Ticket booths. You name it.” He winked at me. “But, remember. That’s just whispers.”
    Skimming from a county fair was probably more common than I knew. But I didn’t like the idea that they might be stealing from local organizations that depended on fair revenue to survive. Like Carly’s 4-H group.
    “No one’s called them on it?” I asked. “Checked out their financials?”
    Pete smiled. “You should really come to a fair board meeting. I think you’d enjoy it.”
    “Why’s that?”
    The smile stayed on his face. “There’s one tomorrow night. They always have one during the week of the fair. Just come and see for yourself.”
    I made a mental note to try and check it out.
    “And if you wondered why the sun just disappeared,” Pete said, his smile changing from mischievous to amused, “here comes Woody.”

7
    As a former football player, I had been around lots of large men, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anyone the size of Woody.
    As he ambled over to us, I put him at about six foot eight and 350 pounds. He just seemed to take up space, swallowing up the air around him. A black baseball cap sat on his boulder-size head, an unruly Fu Manchu beard encircled his mouth. A green tank top exposed long, muscled arms and denim shorts hung to his knees. Dirty sandals attempted to corral feet, which looked more like small pontoon boats.
    “Hey, Pete,” he said in a gravelly voice. “Takin’ a break?”
    “Nope, we’re done,” Pete said, standing. “You know Deuce?”
    Woody fixed me with a massive grin. “Can’t say that I do.” He extended a massive hand. “Woody Norvold.”
    I stood and we shook hands, his grip surprisingly dainty considering he looked like he could lift the earth. “Deuce Winters.”
    “Oh, sure, sure,” he said, nodding. “Football player extraordinaire. Dead-body finder.”
    Everywhere I went, people gave me new suggestions for business card slogans.
    “Excuse me a sec, will you, boys?” he said, sliding past us. “I’m starving and I need a quick snack. Be right back.” He strode over to the stand.
    “Told you you couldn’t miss him,” Pete whispered. “He’s like an eclipse.”
    “How have I never seen that guy in Rose Petal?”
    “He lives over in Brecker.”
    “Still.”
    Woody lumbered back out, a bratwurst in each hand. No buns. Just brats, held like hammers.
    “So. Lotta excitement out here today, I guess,” he said in between bites.
    Pete and I both nodded.
    “Good to see they didn’t shut us down,” he said, polishing off one brat and starting on the other. “No food would be a tragedy.”
    I wasn’t sure if he meant no food for the fair or for himself. The 4-H stand was the only one that served anything substantial, but there was still the popcorn place, the cotton candy cart, the ice cream “shoppe,” and the corn dog vendor. You could get anything battered and fried there: Oreos, Snickers, whole pickles, bacon, probably even bubble gum.
    “Board still meeting tomorrow night, Woody?” Pete asked.
    “Oh, yeah. Sure. It’s a tradition.”
    “Like Bruce’s wig,” I said.
    They both looked at me, confused.
    “Never mind,” I said.
    Woody finished the second sausage