Free September Fair by Jess Lourey

you’re not going to help by getting in our way. The police department knows what it’s doing. Let us find out who killed Ms. Pederson, and I promise we’ll contact your paper when we know anything for sure. Deal?”
    He could have made life difficult for me, but instead was letting me off the hook. Strangely, his kindness made my eyes go blurry with unshed tears. It must be the stress of the last twenty-four hours. I pretended to brush hair from my face to cover the fact that I was wiping my eyes. “Sure. Thanks. Can I go?”
    He nodded and pointed toward the front door. I tromped outside, past the memorial of flowers and stuffed toys, past at least three television crews sharing the news of the tragic “Princess Poisoning” (Ashley would not be happy with the demotion, but alliteration is its own force), and across the street to the Cattle Barn to check out the dormitories. I owed Ron a story, and I still didn’t have much. I was hoping to flesh it out by interviewing Lana.
    Inside the barn, the cows looked as happy as ever. Maybe “unconcerned” was a better word. Or “regal.” Was I getting obsessed with cows now? I usually saved that type of focus for Chief Wenonga, the hot, twenty-three-foot fiberglass statue I’d left behind in Battle Lake. That man, well, that fake giant with a six-pack as tall and wide as a refrigerator, was a hottie. He’d kept me mental company since I’d arrived in Battle Lake. Strong and silent, just like I liked ’em. Probably, someone needed to stage an intervention for me.
    But back to the cows. They lowed and ate and pooped, and I walked past them on my way to the dormitory to see if the remaining princesses were around. When I spotted the police officers at the base of the dorm stairs, however, my plan and I did an about face. One run-in with an officer a day was my quota. I wasn’t ready to return to the stinky steambath of the trailer to write my article, so I decided to stroll the fair to organize my thoughts.
    My favorite place so far was the International Bazaar, a huge tented area that was laid out like a world market. Food booths rimmed the outside of the Bazaar, and inside tiny shops were arranged in rows, separated by narrow aisles with musicians sprinkled here and there. I could hear easy Jamaican reggae played live near the hot sauce booth and walk ten feet to sample spicy olives from Greece while listening to dizzying Egyptian drumbeats coming from the booth one over with the mummy out front. The air was redolent with curries, vinegars, and the smell of sweet rice, and people bargained and hollered for my dollars and rearranged their shiny silks and cheap Austrian crystal jewelry to catch my attention when I strode by. It was anonymous chaos, and I loved it.
    By nature, I am a bulimic shopper. I like to buy stuff on impulse, confident that it will fill that hole in my life. Within twenty-four hours, however, I realize I’ve wasted my money, and so I return whatever bauble had grabbed my attention. It was a bad habit, one I was going to break as soon as I bought the diamond-shaped prism throwing sunny rainbows across the walkway. Twenty dollars later, a prism in my pocket and a vegetarian gyro in my hand, I ambled through the wall of fair smells and sounds back to the Silver Suppository, which is what I had affectionately nicknamed the Airstream. Mrs. Berns and Kennie were both gone, and I took my laptop out on the front steps to write the article. At least there would be a breeze.
    Carlotta’s face was in my mind the entire time I wrote.
    battle lake loses beloved ambassador
    Ashley Kirsten Pederson, 18 years old and recent Battle Lake High School graduate, died on the opening day of the Minnesota State Fair. Ms. Pederson was beginning her duties as Milkfed Mary, Queen of the Dairy when the tragedy occurred, posing for the traditional butter-sculpting of her likeness. Police believe she was poisoned, and that she unknowingly ingested the poison shortly before