Free Murder at the Art & Craft Fair by Steve Demaree Page B

of booths, I told about the books, the photographs, and the
puzzle I’d purchased. My list was followed by a comment of “Men” from her,
which she followed up by saying, “I think you bought more than I did.” I
remembered each trip to Lou’s car to deliver each row of purchases, and
responded by saying, “No, Dear, I think your stuff weighed three more pounds
than mine.”
     
    +++
     
    Darkness arrived, and after a dissertation from the
movie screen on all the delicacies that the concession stand had to offer, and
previews of movies to come during the rest of the month, House on Haunted
Hill burst upon the screen, complete with an introduction from William
Castle, who was trying to imitate Alfred Hitchcock, minus his distinctive
voice. House on Haunted Hill starred one of the best actors at being
campy, Vincent Price, whose character paid people $50,000 to spend a night in a
house where murders had taken place. The movie had all the elements of a
classic haunted house tale, but never took itself too seriously. Homicidal was
Castle’s tribute to Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho, only it contained more
than one disturbed person. I found one elderly woman to be quite a hoot with
all of her knocking. Well, she couldn’t talk, and she had to express her
opinions some way.
    While both movies were campy, the four of us found
them quite entertaining, and ended up watching the movies a lot more than we
had expected. And Lou and I dashed back to the concession stand between movies
to pick up four ice cream bars. And yes, Jennifer and I did take care of any stray
ice cream that might have taken up residence on each other’s mouths. At least
it was dark enough that we were no longer being spied on by any little boys who
thought our practice gross. Who knows? Maybe those boys were scared away by
some of the movie’s content, or their parents had found out where they were.
But then, their parents could have been there, too, twelve trees down, or in a
steamed up car.
    Both movies were short by today’s standards. Short
compared to some of the movies back then, too. That allowed us to exit the
drive-in the same day we entered it, which isn’t always the case. When Homicidal ended in time for us to get Cinderella home before her coach turned into a
pumpkin, we joined in the procession of headlights beating a hasty retreat from
the drive-in. No one had fallen asleep. At least no one in Lou’s car. And so we
talked all the way home about the two movies and the fun time we had had that
day. Morning would arrive far too soon, and church not long after that. As I
looked ahead to Sunday, I anticipated a shorter version of Saturday’s jaunt
through the art and craft fair, stopping only at the booths that fascinated us
and only long enough to purchase a few items and take in the festivities. If I
had time before church, I planned to put together a few of the pieces of my
Empire State Building puzzle to see if I wanted to purchase a second puzzle on
Sunday, or if I would borrow Lou’s if one puzzle wasn’t enough to frustrate me.
    As I thought ahead to Sunday, I figured that by
mid-afternoon we would leave Hilldale City Park and go to Thelma Lou’s and hang
out for a while. Thelma Lou had already offered to cook for all of us on Sunday
night. Jennifer wasn’t leaving to go home until Monday morning. I figured the
two of us would have a more leisurely time together on Sunday. I figured wrong.

Chapter
Twelve
     
     
    The look on Lou’s face when he picked me up for church
on Sunday morning told me that he had either gotten frustrated trying to put
his 3-D puzzle together or that something was wrong with Jennifer or Thelma
Lou.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Cy, I got a message.”
    I had known Lou long enough to know that he hadn’t
gotten a text or an e-mail, or that Thelma Lou had told him that she didn’t
want to date him anymore. When Lou said he got a message, it meant that a
thought had entered his mind, and not just any thought.