“Uh-huh. How about I bring lunch like I was going to last week? Then just hang around and try to talk to people.”
“Perfect.” Lia closed her menu. “I think I’ll have the pork chop that comes with German potato salad. What about you?”
“Not sure yet,” Hayley said, her eyes still scanning. “All I know is . . . whatever I get, it’s gonna have a side of these fried pickles I’m seeing here!”
Chapter 7
The next morning, Lia spoke with a few of the vendors before the doors opened for the Crandalsburg Craft Fair. Most were subdued and as worried as she was about the craft fair’s survival. Lia had hoped to have a few words with Annie Bradburn, whose pottery jug had been the murder weapon, but Annie arrived at the last minute and dashed to her spot without stopping to talk to anyone.
When their security guard, Bill Landry, opened the doors, only a scattering of tourists, all of whom looked like first timers, wandered in, gazing about curiously. Nothing near the eager rush of shoppers they’d seen the previous Saturday.
A handful of browsers stopped at Lia’s knitting booth in the first hour, and she made one small sale—a pair of baby booties Maureen had made. When that customer left, Lia glanced over to her neighbor’s booth to see Olivia looking more downcast than usual. A line of medium-sized cellophane-wrapped baskets sat on her counter, filled with Olivia’s products—what she must have excitedly prepared last week for Mother’s Day.
“My big order never showed,” Olivia said when Lia asked about it, adding, “Of course. I mean, there was no way either of us could find each other Sunday, was there? With the barn totally blocked off by all the police and press vehicles? The whole thing must have scared her away. I wish I’d given her my cell number, but I never thought of it. Who knew there was going to be a murder that night?”
Lia sympathized. “Maybe your other baskets will sell,” she offered. “Even though Mother’s Day is over, they’d be perfect for somebody’s birthday or as a housewarming gift.” She knew the odds were not in Olivia’s favor, especially with the slow turnout, but she wanted to offer a glimmer of hope. A shopper stopped to browse at Olivia’s booth, and Lia moved back to let her wait on the woman.
She gazed across the way and saw Maggie Wood sitting and stitching quietly at one of her quilts in progress. Zach Goodwin caught Lia’s eye as he stood behind his stacked jars of honey. He shrugged as though saying, Things are slow, but what can you do? Or maybe he meant, Wish I’d stayed home today! Lia considered strolling around, but then she got a customer. Or a would-be customer. The woman oohed and aahed over a delicate pink baby sweater and matching bonnet but ultimately decided to think it over.
Belinda had remained holed up in her office after a quick walk-through before opening time. Lia wished she would come out to encourage the vendors. She wished someone would cheer them all up. One of Tom’s favorite quotes came to mind, and she could almost hear him say, If wishes were fishes and cattle were kings, the world would be full of wonderful things.
Though she smiled at that, thinking about Tom turned her wistful, which must have showed, for the next thing she knew, Hayley was asking, “Mom, you okay?”
Lia immediately brightened. “Where did you come from?”
“Um . . . the door over there?” Hayley grinned. “I waved when I came in, but you looked about a million miles away.”
More like thirty, Lia thought—the distance from Crandalsburg to the home they’d all once shared. “Just thinking,” she said. “It’s been quiet.”
“Yeah, I see. Are you ready for lunch yet?”
“Not really. It’s a little early.”
“I know.” Hayley shoved her hands into her tunic top pockets and rocked on her heels. “After I fixed the sandwiches, I ran out of things to do, so I drove over. How about I wander around? Give me a shout when you’re ready.”
“I will.” Lia was pleased to see that Hayley first stopped to say hello to Olivia, whom she’d met before, then bought a bar of herbal soap from her. She watched Hayley browse at a few other booths, chatting as she did so and always leaving the vendors with smiles on their faces even if they hadn’t sold her anything. It was a gift she’d seen in her daughter almost from the moment Hayley learned to talk, and it usually worked very positively. Though once in a while it got her into a bit of trouble. Too much talk with too little thought sometimes worked that way.
After an actual buying customer—who took ages to make up her mind—Lia felt in need of a break. She waved Hayley back.
Checking that Olivia could watch over her booth and leaving her cashbox safely with her, Lia picked up her purse. “I’d love some fresh air,” she said to Hayley. “Why don’t I grab one of the picnic tables while you get the food from the car.”
Outside, Lia saw that several other vendors had the same idea. When she spotted Annie Bradburn sitting alone at one table, Lia made a beeline for it.
“Hi, Annie. Mind if I join you?”
The potter, a woman in her mid-thirties with a mass of curly light brown hair, looked up from the magazine she’d been paging through and smiled. “Sure, Lia, have a seat.”
“Actually, I’ll take two seats. My daughter will be joining me in a minute.” Lia glanced over her shoulder. “Ah, here she comes now.” When Hayley came, Lia introduced them, then helped unpack the insulated bags, asking Annie, “Did you eat yet? We have plenty, including drinks.”
“I had my lunch, but I wouldn’t mind an iced tea if you can spare one. It was great soaking up some sun, but it’s made me thirsty again.” She reached gratefully for the bottle Lia held out to her.
“Not in a hurry to get back, then?” Lia asked.
Annie wrinkled her nose. “To what? I’ve barely sold a thing all morning.” She brushed a blown leaf off of her long printed skirt. “None of us have. Turns out murder isn’t good for business. Who’d’a guessed?”
“We’re all hoping the slump will be temporary.” Lia unwrapped a flaky croissant filled with chicken salad, impressed with Hayley’s lunch making.
“I sure hope so. A lot of us, you know, depend on the craft fair for a big part of our income. Yes, there’s always Etsy, but I’ve been doing well enough here that I’ve neglected that part. It soaks up a lot of time to keep an online presence going, you know. I have only so many hours in a week, and I need to devote the major chunk of them to actually making the pottery. In other words, losing my craft fair income would mean bringing in hardly anything for probably weeks until I could get the online sites back in gear.”
“Aren’t there other fairs you could get into?” Hayley asked. She bit into her brown bread and veggie sandwich.