Oh Shoot!

Prologue

“Oh, shoot!”

The words made me tense. People who pretend to be disappointed just before they complain are the worst.

“I wanted gluten-free. Is this gluten-free?” a customer asked, even though she’d obviously read the “No gluten-free products available” sign.

Despite the fact a trickle of sweat was rolling down my back, I flashed my best polite smile at the woman. “Afraid not, ma’am.”

She scowled. “How can you not offer gluten-free options?”

Raising a hand to shield my eyes against the sun, I shrugged apologetically. “We’ve got a small table.”

“That’s no excuse!” She flounced off in a huff.

Screams from the nearby high-swing thrill ride provided the soundtrack to her grand exit.

I glanced over at my best friend, Moon, who was handing a young boy a giant chocolate chip cookie. We were working her “booth” at the Pride Falls Fair, trying to drum up business for the little bakery she owned.

“Gluten-free,” Moon muttered indignantly once the customer walked away. “They’re serving corn dogs and fried Oreos. Who looks for gluten-free at a fair?”

“Maybe she has a severe allergy,” I murmured. 

“Maybe she’s a severe pain in the butt.” Moon rearranged the cookie display as she complained. Her ponytail, dyed a bright pink at the end, vibrated like a rattle snake’s tail.

Sometimes I find it amazing that my outspoken friend runs a semi-successful retail establishment. She certainly does not subscribe to the adage, “The customer is always right.”

I fought the urge to flee when I saw the next customers approaching. 

“Is that you, Kiki?”  The woman’s voice sounded like caramel in a candied apple—if that caramel was disguising a razor blade.

I hoped the polite grin I offered masked the fact I was gritting my teeth. “Hi, Tish.”

Tish and her ever-present sidekick, Marsha, sidled up to the Park’s Pastries table with a gleam in her eyes. Tish was a mean girl who’d peaked in high school but still acted like queen bee.

If Moon hadn’t been such an amazing friend over the past ten months, there was no way I would have ever shown my face at the fair, but when her only employee had fallen ill, I couldn’t say no when she’d asked for help.

Anticipating what was coming, I reminded myself not to cry. To half the town, I was persona non-grata. To the other half, I was a curiosity. To almost everyone, I was the subject of gossip.

Not that I could blame anyone. Ten months ago, my husband, Karl, had disappeared in a suspicious hot air balloon “accident”. His body had never been found, but once he was gone, it had been discovered he’d been embezzling money from the town coffers for more than a decade in his job as the town budget officer.

I hadn’t known anything about it, but that didn’t prevent half the town from blaming me for every shortfall and tax dollar paid. 

“Working as a salesgirl, now?” Tish asked, her tone cutting.

“She’s helping out a friend,” Moon interjected on my behalf. “Can we get you something?”

Moon may be brusque and impatient, but she always has my back.

“I’d like—” Marsha began, starting to point toward the rainbow sprinkle cookies.

“Nothing,” Tish interrupted harshly. “We want nothing. Nothing more than the money that was stolen to be returned.” She said the last bit loud enough for people in the area to turn in our direction.

Beside her, Marsha looked almost as embarrassed as I felt. “Tish, maybe…”

Knowing she had me on the ropes, Tish grinned maliciously.

My chest tightened. I’d worn a baseball cap to hide my face in the hopes of flying under the radar, but Tish was intentionally drawing attention to me.

“Your husband bankrupted this town!” Tish accused on an indignant shout.

The crowd moved closer, and I heard someone say, “It’s the Long woman.”

“Thief,” someone else said.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, my face burning. I dug my fingernails into my palms, willing myself to not shed a tear.

“It’s your responsibility to pay us back,” Tish shouted, attempting to whip up the gathering crowd.

“I didn’t know what he was doing,” I said defensively.

“He provided you with a fancy life and you never asked where the money was coming from?” Tish scoffed.

I closed my eyes, suddenly glad that my kids, Paige and Henry, had chosen to stay away at college instead of coming home for the fair. 

“We want restitution,” Tish pushed.

I stared down at a smiley face cookie, trying not to cry. 

“Do you have any oatmeal cookies?” a man asked, pushing his way through the crowd.

I glanced up at Sheriff Jim Rockland as he stepped up beside Tish. A solid and weathered man, with a penchant for cowboy hats, he wore his sixty years with an easy dignity. 

I swallowed hard, now not only embarrassed, but nervous, too.

Thankfully, Moon piped up. “Did you want with or without raisins?”

“You should arrest her, Sheriff,” Tish said, hands on hips.

“Settle down,” Rockland told her. “I agree that putting raisins in cookies is despicable, but technically, it’s not a crime.”

The crowd chuckled.

Tish’s mouth opened and closed like a beached fish.

“Can I have two without raisins, please,” Rockland requested.

Grateful for something to do, I gathered the sweets for him while Moon took his money.

Tish wasn’t giving up though. “Kiki Long should be prosecuted.” 

Rockland turned toward her. “For what?”

“For one thing, theft of public funds.”

Rockland shook his head slowly. “No can do. There’s no evidence that she was involved in her husband’s shenanigans.”

“But is there evidence she murdered him?” Tish asked dramatically.

Someone in the crowd gasped. 

My stomach somersaulted. When the remains of Karl’s hot air balloon had been discovered on an oceanside beach in Georgia three weeks after his disappearance, the sheriff had shown up at my doorstep to tell me there was some evidence of foul play. Apparently, they had evidence that some rope that was important to balloon safety looked like it had been sawed apart. 

By then, I’d already ridden the roller coaster of emotions, believing that Karl had died in an accident and then, ten days later, I’d had to wrestle with the realization that he might have absconded with stolen funds and be off living the good life, having abandoned his family. 

But when the sheriff had shown up saying his death, if he was dead, could have been intentional and that I, as the spouse, was the prime suspect, I’d kind of lost it at the thought of ending up in prison.

“I can’t comment on ongoing investigations,” the sheriff told Tish, his tone steely. “But I can tell you that if you continue to harass Mrs. Long that you can be arrested.”

I don’t know who was more surprised by the threat. Both Tish and I stared at him. 

My antagonist’s gaze narrowed. “Aren’t you up for reelection soon, Sheriff?”

“Next year,” his tone was lazy, amused almost. 

“Then I suggest you do your job.” Tish flounced off, Marsha following behind.

“Nothing to see here, folks,” Rockland told the crowd. “Except great baked goods. If you haven’t been to Park’s Pastries down on Main Street, I strongly recommend the blueberry muffins.” He tipped his hat at Moon, then strolled off.

The crowd dissipated, and I was able to take a breath. 

“I’m sorry about that,” I told my friend.

She waved her hand. “Don’t be. No such thing as bad publicity, right? I’ve got to use the port-a-potties. You’ll be okay here on your own for a few?”

I nodded, even though what I really wanted to do was run home and pull the covers over my head.

Luckily, I only had to sell cookies to a handful of pleasant customers while she was gone.

With no one waiting to be served, I sipped from my water bottle. Even with the overhead canopy shielding us from the worst of the glare, the North Carolina sun was still, as my grandmother used to say, hotter than Hades. 

I listened to the sounds of the roaring rides and their delighted passengers. I inhaled the scent of cotton candy, hot dogs, and funnel cakes. Usually, I loved the fair, but not this year. 

Like everything else in my life, now it was tainted by what Karl had done. Not for the first time, I wished his body had been found. His betrayal was bad enough, but the lack of closure surrounding his disappearance often seemed too much to bear. But I knew I had to stay strong, if not for myself, then for my kids.

At nineteen and eighteen, they were technically adults, but my babies were just as humiliated, hurt, and confused by their father’s actions as I was.

“People like your rainbow shot, Kiki,” a familiar voice announced, interrupting my thoughts.

“What?” Blinking, I focused on my friend Rachel wobbling toward me. 

“She wore heels to the fair,” I murmured in amazement.

Rachel clutched an oversized pink teddy bear, and I wondered if she’d won it for herself or convinced one of the Pride Falls bachelors to play the games of chance for her. 

“The rainbow over the waterfall picture,” she elaborated. “People like it. I think you might have a shot at winning.”

I nodded weakly. I’d had mixed feelings about entering the photo contest. Part of me had felt like I should just hole up and skip the competition, even though I’d entered it every year for the past fifteen, winning a couple of times, but almost always placing in the top three. But then, in a moment of anger at Karl for never supporting my love of photography, I’d entered two shots as an act of defiance against his memory. 

Rachel surveyed the cookie table. “Looks like you’re selling out.”

“That’s the hope,” I replied. 

“Where’s Moon?” 

“Bathroom break.”

Rachel shuddered. “Tell me she’s not in one of those rentals.”

I swallowed a smile. “You know Moon, the adventurous one.” In the past year, Moon had dragged us both to a self-defense workshop, a kickboxing class, and an evening of ax throwing.

Rachel shook her head. “Everything going okay?”

I nodded, choosing not to mention the scene Tish had caused. 

“I saw the sheriff wandering around,” Rachel said.

“He’s not a fan of raisins in his oatmeal cookies,” I said quickly, knowing that Rachel wanted to follow up by asking if Rockland had any new information on Karl’s case. 

“They moved the schedule up,” Moon complained, returning to the table. “Pie judging is at 2 and the eating contest will be at 2:30.”

She’d entered her blueberry crumb pie in the pie contest. She was obsessed with winning the blue ribbon, just so that she could tell Nico Andino, owner of the Roadside Diner, that his “Best Pie in the Town” advertising was false.

“That’s because Adele Robertson has a tee time she has to get to,” Rachel revealed with undisguised animosity. “Old Man Bankman told her the other volunteers couldn’t be there that early, but Adele insisted, saying she’d help out. Nothing comes between that woman and her golf game.”

“Can you cover the table at two, Kiki?” Moon asked hopefully.

“Sure,” I told her.

“Why don’t you take a break for an hour,” she suggested. “Rachel can help me now.”

Rachel blinked, surprised to be drafted. While the three of us were neighbors, she and Moon hadn’t been particularly friendly. But when Karl had disappeared, they’d closed ranks around me and now we’re now closer than ever before.

“Go!” Moon ordered, making a shooing motion at me.

“I’m going, I’m going.” I snagged my camera from where I’d stashed it under the table and put the strap around my neck. As I strolled away, I fervently hoped I wouldn’t run into any other irate townspeople. After all, the livestock show was on the other side of the fair. Livestock means hay. And hay means pitchforks. I didn’t want anyone coming after me with one of those.