Fireworks, Freedom, & Felonies

Excerpt

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Chapter One

“Mae?”

I heard Mayor Courtney Mackenzie calling my name.

I turned around and looked up at her. She was calling Bingo numbers from the amphitheater stage. Her long red hair framed her face, her brows cocked.

Right behind her, Dottie Swaggert, another redhead, stood glaring at the mayor, of whom she wasn’t too fond. She said Mayor Mackenzie was so crooked you couldn’t tell from her tracks if she was coming or going. Whatever that meant. I’d given up trying to figure out some of the things Dottie said.

“Over there.” Mayor Mackenzie’s response was crisp and to the point, almost on edge. Her slender finger pointed at Carol Wise, a local.

“Bingo!” Carol declared.

Her jubilant cry inspired more groans than cheers from the other players.

Bingo was serious around these parts. Well, around these ladies who were playing.

The sparkly blue stars on Carol’s headband wobbled back and forth, giving the springs they were attached to a good run for their money, and her eyes twinkled like the stringy lights dangling from the big oak tree above her bingo table.

“I said,” Carol said, making exaggerated motions with her mouth, “B-I-N-G-O! Full card!”

Her beady black eyes matched her dark hair. They were all short and snappy.

“I hate to bother you”—Mayor Mackenzie’s pinched smile covered up her words—“but you said you’d help, and that means going to check Carol’s card and taking her a basket.”

I nodded and pushed back a strand of my natural brown curly hair, which was in much need of a cut and color. Usually, that color was honey, but with the all-busy summer season, I had little to no time to worry about my hair.

I continued to smile and bite back any smart-aleck remarks, since I was really there to help Betts Hager, whose Bible Thumper Jesus group had sponsored this little bingo game before the star of the show appeared.

The fireworks.

Tonight was the Fourth of July and the last night of the big celebration here in the downtown area of Normal, Kentucky.

“Well, what are you waiting for? An invitation? Go on.” Mayor Mackenzie flung her finger.

Dottie inched closer, words teetering on the edge of her lips, but with a subtle shake of my head, I told her I didn’t want her to say anything. It was best to keep your mouth shut sometimes, and this was one of those times that I really didn’t mind helping out, even though I was on water duty, because the last thing we wanted was someone fainting from the heat. And by the looks of the bingo players, they were the demographic that would get heat exhaustion quickly.

The Fourth of July was a hot one this year. And that we were able to have fireworks right here in the middle of the Daniel Boone National Forest to celebrate the fourth was a treat.

Off to the side of the amphitheater was the gift table, which was laden with baskets donated by area businesses and full of really great things. The gift table was sponsored by the Normal Public Library, and Abby Fawn Bonds, the local librarian my sister-in-law, was standing behind the table.

“What about this one?” Abby pointed at one of the several baskets holding different items donated from various local businesses. “She will love this one.”

“You’re right,” I said after looking inside and noticing most of the items were fresh produce and eggs along with some milk from the Milkery.

Carol was a baker, and from what Mary Elizabeth, my foster-adoptive mother who owned the dairy farm, told me, this basket contained some of the weekly items Carol would pop over and purchase from her.

“Wait,” Abby said, stopping me. “Say ‘Happy Fourth of July’!” She squealed from behind her phone to snap a photo.

“Happy Fourth,” I said and held the basket a little to my side so she could get a nice photo of my shirt. The design showed a bedazzled vintage camper and the arched words Happy Trails Campground. “Be sure to hashtag Happy Trails.”

“You know it,” Abby muttered. Her voice was lit up by the phone’s blue light as it glowed in the dusk that started to lie over the Daniel Boone National Forest. “Hashtag Bingo, hashtag winner, hashtag the Milkery dairy farm, hashtag fourth of July, hashtag Happy Trails Campground,” she said out loud as she typed.

Abby was so good at social media and at being a sister-in-law. I was lucky my foster brother, Bobby Ray, fell in love with her. He was downright smitten with her, and it was so cute to watch them solidify their romance. They were both still happy.

Moving in and out of the tables, I wormed my way over to Carol and took in my surroundings, careful not to get hit by one of the many sparklers the little children were waving around.

“Watch out!” one of the kids shrieked when I almost stepped on a rock with one of those smelly, ugly snakes that crept along as it burnt down.

I stood there for a second to watch it expand in the place where the black disc would be tattooed on the rock.

Ribbons of orange and pink entwined in the sky and over the mountains in the backdrop of downtown Normal. The towering oak trees were hugged with red, blue, and white twinkle lights, only adding to the festive celebration.

A breeze skittered across the park, causing the American-flag-inspired plastic triangle garlands strewn from carriage light to carriage light on either side of the grassy median to snap, sending a chill down my spine.

“Get on over here, girly!” Carol clapped, bouncing up and down, her eyes fixed on the basket. “See?” She pointed at the white bingo card with a red star border. “See right there.”

She held up the card, on which she had pressed the blue dauber so hard that the ink was too thick to even see if the numbers on it were the winners, but who was I to burst her bubble?

“This is a good bingo!” My voice carried across all the tables between us and the stage of the amphitheater.

The dislike from the rest of the players ran like a wave through the room. Then Otis Gullett dragged his bow across the strings of his fiddle to lead the celebration song, signaling his fellow band members of Blue Ethel and the Adolescent Farm Boys to join in on the bluegrass tunes while everyone reset their bingo cards.

Resetting the cards really meant just getting a new one from the middle of the table. Queenie and Betts were walking around with trash bags so everyone could throw away their used bingo cards instead of leaving them for us to clean up later.

Betts was the one who had gotten us all caught up in working on the Fourth of July fireworks, since the Normal Baptist Church was sponsoring the event and she was the leader.

I wasn’t sure why the members were playing bingo rather than helping, but it gave me something to do until the real show started.

“Okay, this is the last bingo game of the night,” Mayor Mackenzie said, her voice carrying through the microphone from the stage. She looked around with a large smile on her face, flipping her hair behind her shoulder. “Then we will turn our attention to the sky and watch the fireworks safely.”

She made sure she exaggerated safely.

National forests had so many laws about fireworks displays. The heat of the summer meant the brush was dry, so the season was not a good time for the willy-nilly use of firecrackers or any kind of fire. This year, the region had been drier than normal, which led to bans on burning in most areas of the forest.

Since we were on such high alert, local Rangers, including my husband, Hank Sharp, had been on extra horse and foot patrol along the deep trails to make sure the hikers, campers, and other tourists abided by the no-fire rules.

Even though we provided many fire rings around the park, some people just didn’t obey the rules, so the only way to keep the forest safe was having many Rangers on patrol, making the days long for them and requiring me to wait even longer to see my husband.

I was a member of the National Parks Committee, and we took deep, deep dives into the state of the ecological system with various mandates that kept our forests alive and well. Of course, we couldn’t stop natural fires caused by lightning, but we sure could have one designated place for tourists and other people to gather to watch and partake in fireworks. This year, our cozy little town of Normal was that place, and Mayor Mackenzie had a week-long blowout for it.

Tonight was her night—the last night and the big fireworks display that tourists came from all over to view.

I had to admit, I’d been excited to see them myself. I loved fireworks, and watching them with Hank was going to be so romantic.

In my head, anyway.

When Betts had mentioned the Bible Thumpers wanted to do something during the last night of the festival, Mayor Mackenzie had come up with the grand idea of a bingo game in which all ages could participate.

You’d think everyone would be on their best behavior and only the children would fight and fuss… Guess what?

That wasn’t the case.

“And the last prize is the best of all.”

At Mayor Mackenzie’s words, the table of women I was walking by oohed and ahhed over the knitted blanket she was holding up for all to see.

“Our very own Cheryl Paisley from the Stitchin’ Post has made this,” Mayor Mackenzie said, “and y’all want to win it so you can keep cozy on our chilly forest nights around the campfire or just inside your camper or home.”

“She’s really selling it, ain’t she?” Dottie had found her way off the stage and over to me. “It’s been hotter than doughnut grease all month, and no one wants to snuggle up at night with a blanket.”

The air was electric and hummed with anticipation, all eyes fixed on the soft patchwork creation that held more than just threads.

“No, but it’s really pretty,” I said, keeping my eyes on the ladies at the table. I recognized a couple of them.

Marla Mitchell and Nancy Newberry, both Bible Thumpers as well as members of our knitting group at the Stitchin’ Post.

The two women were known to have some competition between them.

Tonight, they sat elbow to elbow. Their eyes gleamed, reflecting the warm glow of community pride… and the spark of competition, but their hands were busy crafting the women’s own knitting projects.

Rarely did I ever see either of them without a needle in her hands. Even though they engaged in friendly competition when they were together, it was rare to see either woman separately without her knitting needles.

Many times, I’d have to listen to Mary Elizabeth complain about them, saying it was rude to God that they couldn’t stop knitting long enough to hear the good word. You had to take those grievances with a grain of salt because of who said them. After all, my nose was itchin’ every Sunday because Mary Elizabeth talked about me like a dog to anyone who would listen, since I didn’t even show up to church. At least Nancy and Marla were there.

Dottie and I walked past them on our way back to the front of the amphitheater while Mayor Mackenzie started to call out the numbers.

“And don’t forget to head over to Trails Coffee tomorrow and use the coupon in this week’s Normal Gazette.” Mayor Mackenzie was making all the announcements between calling the numbers.

I saw Gert Hobson on the sidewalk, leaning against the carriage light in front of Trails Coffee. I was sure she was waiting to be certain that her coffee shop got a shout-out in exchange for her donation to the fireworks fund before she turned to enter her establishment.

“And you can grab a sweet treat from Christine Watson at the Cookie Crumble to go with that coffee.” Mayor Mackenzie was trying to get in all the donations, which were what paid for the fireworks.

Dottie Swaggert leaned close enough that I caught the scent of her drugstore perfume, mixed with mischief. Her cigarette, wedged at the corner of her mouth, bobbed up and down as she spoke, a dance of defiance against the laws of gravity.

“That Mayor.” Dottie’s light cigarette wobbled with each syllable, ash threatening to tumble with the laughter I could feel bubbling in her. “She’s as full of wind as a corn-eating horse.”

I bit back a laugh, a sound that threatened to break the silence of the intense last bingo game. Only Dottie could conjure up such a vivid image with her words, a gift that made her sayings as much a staple of Normal as the blue plate special at the Normal Diner.

“That’s twice you’ve said something about her tonight.” My eyes narrowed as I wondered what got caught in Dottie’s craw.

She wasn’t telling me, but the mayor had made Dottie mad, and I wasn’t sure why.

“She just thinks she’s fancy and all, and she ain’t.” Dottie took the cigarette out of her mouth. Her fingers waved in the air, leaving a trail of smoke from the cigarette between them.

“Lord help you, Dottie,” I chuckled, shaking my head at her colorful expression, when a triumphant holler cut through the twangy serenade of Blue Ethel and the Adolescent Farm Boys.

“Bingo!”

The word ricocheted off the wooden stage of the amphitheater and through the grassy median. I started to hurry over, but Dottie stopped me, saying she’d take care of it and couldn’t be in the mayor’s presence any more than she had to.

I watched as Dottie weaved through the picnic blankets and lawn chairs and tables dotted with townsfolk, all craning their necks to see the commotion.

Nancy Newberry stood, holding her bingo card high like a trophy, a look of giddy conquest lighting up her face. Opposite her, Marla’s expression curdled like milk left out on a hot Southern day—a look of pure, unadulterated disgust.

“Dottie, don’t you forget my blanket!” Nancy’s voice cut through the hum of the crowd and the now-muted music, her demand loaded with the sort of imperious certainty that came from years of undisputed bake-off wins and garden club triumphs.

“I did it! I beat you!” Nancy jabbed her finger toward Marla, whose lips were pursed in a tight line, her gaze fixed on Nancy with the intensity of a hawk eyeing its next meal. “I beat you!”

The band, sensing the shift in the crowd’s focus, picked up their instruments. The fiddle cried out, quick and sharp, trying to reel back the night’s festivities. But all eyes remained on Nancy, a woman who suddenly seemed to wear her victory like a crown that was just a tad too tight.

She basked in the attention, her earlier jolly demeanor giving way to something that bordered on triumph. It was as if winning the quilt was a strategic move on a chessboard between her and Marla, and the look in Nancy’s eye said she was always two moves ahead.

Marla jumped up from the table, her silhouette etched against the soft glow of twinkle lights strung across the grassy median. Knitting needles clicked at her side, a subtle rhythm barely audible over the murmur of the gathering. She made a brief stop by Cheryl Paisley, exchanging words that, judging by the tightening of Marla’s jaw, didn’t sit well with her. That was obvious by the sight of her grasping her needles and pointing them at Cheryl’s face, saying God knew what to her.

Cheryl got up without appearing to say anything. She went one way, and Marla went the other.

“Where ya going?” Nancy’s voice, tinged with a mix of curiosity and a note of challenge, carried over the crowd. “Oh, Marla!”

A whisper passed between Nancy and Dottie, their heads bent close. Then, with the abruptness of a startled rabbit, Nancy scooped up her belongings and scuttled after Marla, weaving through families and friends as if dodging unseen obstacles.

“Look at those two.” Betts shook her head, her bangs brushed to the side. “They are always trying to one-up each other. Even at church.” She tsked.

“And now for the show!” Mayor Mackenzie, blissfully unaware of the undercurrents of tension, bellowed with the enthusiasm of a carnival barker.

Her call yanked Waldo Willy from his pursuit of the perfect photo opportunity with Nancy and her winning blanket, rerouting his attention to the preparations at hand.

The first firework burst into the sky, a peony of brilliant colors unfurling against the canvas of the night. The sound reverberated through the field, a drumbeat that quickened the pulse of the town. One after another, the fireworks painted the dark with splashes of reds, blues, and whites—dazzling chrysanthemums and willows that lingered like spirits of patriots past.

Blue Ethel and the Adolescent Farm Boys struck up a medley of patriotic tunes, their music the beat under the pyrotechnic symphony. Banjos twanged, and fiddles sang out while hoots, hollers, oohs, and ahhs accompanied them.

Children darted through the crowd, their sparklers casting a web of golden stars around them, laughter trailing in their wake like the comet tails above. The scents of grilled hot dogs and sweet apple pie mingled with the sulfuric perfume of the fireworks.

I nestled into the blanket alongside Mary Elizabeth, Dawn Gentry, Queenie French, and Betts with her boyfriend, Ryan Rivera. We were all nestled down on the grass, our eyes skyward as the fireworks painted the night with bursts of color.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Hank’s voice, warm and familiar, flowed over me as he sat down and wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“It sure is,” I whispered back, allowing myself a moment of contentment.

“I mean you,” he murmured close to my ear, sparking laughter that bubbled up from within me.

“Stop it,” I playfully chided, bumping him with my shoulder. “I bet Fifi and Chester are scared.”

Our pets were no fans of fireworks; their four-legged anxiety was a worry every year.

“Actually, I turned on Animal Television for them, turned the volume way up. They’re probably lounging and watching TV.” Hank’s silhouette was etched against the pyrotechnics, his smile wide, the rugged lines of his jaw stretching up and cradling the sparkle in his green eyes.

The night was indeed magical—friends and family together, the air thrumming with celebration, and the promise of the busy summer months ahead.

At Happy Trails Campground, the natural beauty was as breathtaking as it was perilous. We were always mindful of our guests, ensuring they stayed on marked trails and respected the powerful currents when kayaking. Safety was paramount; the wilderness demanded respect, its beauty masking the threats lurking off the beaten paths.

As I mused over the coming months and all the adventures our guests would embark upon, another firework burst above, its thunderous boom a stark contrast to the lighthearted laughter around me.

And then, shattering the night’s peace, a scream sliced through the evening’s revelry, curdling the blood of everyone within earshot.

The noise came from the direction of the Stitchin’ Post. As our heads turned, another firework illuminated the sidewalk with horrific clarity.

There lay Marla, sprawled on the ground, her knitting needles protruding grotesquely from her neck.

“Hank?” I asked, but he’d already jumped up and run halfway there.

Nancy and Cheryl stood over her, their figures cast in a gruesome picture by the fleeting light.

The joy of the evening was snuffed out as quickly as Marla’s life had seemingly been, replaced by a chilling realization that among us walked a killer, and our tranquil corner of the world had just become the scene of what appeared to be… murder.

end of excerpt