Free September Fair by Jess Lourey Page A

entering the butter-carving booth. They don’t yet have a suspect.
    Kate Lewis, president of the Minnesota State Fair Corporation, broke the news at a press conference the day following Ashley’s death. According to St. Paul Police Chief William Kramer, they’re “considering all avenues open.” The chief said that he believed Ms. Pederson’s murder was an isolated incident and that none of the other contestants are in danger. He sent his condolences to the Pederson family and the town of Battle Lake.
    Ms. Pederson was enrolled at Alexandria Technical College, where she planned to attend the Sales and Marketing program in the fall. She is survived by both parents, Carlotta and Gary Pederson, as well as her paternal grandparents, Ivy and Steggard Pederson. Funeral arrangements are pending.
    I searched for wireless networks, found a free one, and sent the article hurtling through cyberspace to Ron’s desk. As it flew, I thought, that’s not enough. I haven’t done enough for Carlotta.

The State Fair opens its front gates to the public at six a.m. every morning, but most of the buildings inside don’t follow suit until eight o’clock or so. The Dairy building’s normal hours were nine a.m. to nine p.m., but it had not been officially reopened since Ashley’s murder. I hadn’t expected the situation to be any different this morning and so was not surprised when I found the building still cordoned off. The security detail out front had all the warmth of palace guards of London, standing stiffly with an angry set to their jaw. It wasn’t entirely their fault. The crowd of well-wishers and memorial stockers had grown impossibly larger, and a wall of teddy bears threatened to collapse on the guards. Three young women were lighting a white candle, which they placed next to a handwritten sign that read, “We lost you too soon. Let the angels guide you.” The candle was outshone a million times by the sun, already promising heat even though it was just pinking the horizon. Today would be a scorcher.
    I turned toward the Cattle Barns, considering the oddness of humans. No way had all these people met Ashley, and if they had, by all accounts, they wouldn’t like her nearly as much as they thought they did. But she represented something to them, maybe lost youth or a rip in the bonds of community that they wanted to repair with the flowers and their tears. Whatever it was, I was grateful for the appearance of it, at least for the surviving Pedersons’ sake.
    Inside the Cattle Barn, my heart gave a little skip as I saw the door to the dormitory was unguarded. I hurried toward it just as Janice Opatz came down, followed by a compact, well-dressed man who looked closer in age to me than to her. I tried to disappear, but too late. Janice had caught sight of me.
    “Mira.” She covered the ten feet between us as her companion stayed back to speak with the police officer who had followed them down the stairs.
    “Hi, Janice. Are the girls up there?”
    She looked behind her absentmindedly. The movement of her hair released her signature scent, a combination of disinfectant soap and Aqua Net. “No. They’re not staying on the grounds. They’ll return soon, we hope. What can I do for you?”
    “Um, nothing.” The fib came quickly. “I’m here to cover some Battle Lake dairy farmers for the paper.”
    “I see. Where are their stalls?” She stared at me archly, but I wasn’t biting.
    “Over there,” I said, indicating the entire barn. “Can I ask you something?” When she didn’t respond, I continued, scratching an itch that I’d had since I’d first laid eyes on her. “Did you used to be a Milkfed Mary?”
    Her hands went immediately to her hair, which she fluffed despite its resistance to movement. It was a perfect shell of black. “First runner-up, 1977.”
    “How long have you been a chaperone?”
    “Three years after I wo— …” She caught herself and continued. “Three years after I ran. I’ve been