Read Online Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos by Donna Andrews - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna Andrews
Tags: Fiction, Humorous fiction, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Women Detectives, Virginia, Langslow; Meg (Fictitious character), Yorktown (Va.), Women detectives - Virginia - Yorktown, Craft Festivals, Yorktown
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Rob lead him a few steps toward the entrance of the booth, Faulk following behind, as if to make sure they really left.
But just as Benson reached the entrance, Spike, seeing his prey on the move, suddenly leaped up to bark again. He knocked over an andiron right into Faulk's path, and Faulk stumbled forward. Unfortunately,, just as this was happening, Benson apparently decided he needed to say a few parting words. He began to turn around, open his mouth, and step back into the booth.
"Another thing – " he began, then he squawked as Faulk's fist met his nose. Then they both lost their balance and fell in a heap, banging various bits of iron on the way down.
Amazing, how much blood a simple nosebleed can produce. And how much panic. A few onlookers fled – I like to think they were going in search of help. A few people waded in to separate the combatants, which wasn't really necessary, as Faulk had the wind knocked out of him and couldn't move, and Benson was less interested in fighting man in flailing about dramatically, yelling that he couldn't breathe, and alternately demanding a doctor and a lawyer.
Wesley appeared, like a vulture scenting carrion, and hovered around in everyone's way, taking notes and snapping photos with his little camera. Mrs. Fenniman and the sheriff both showed up and tried to give Benson conflicting forms of first aid, simultaneously. When it looked as if they were about to come to blows over whether to apply cold or heat to his nose, I ordered them to take Benson over to Dad's first-aid tent, and sent Rob after them to try calming Benson down.
Faulk recovered his breath, stood up, dismissed the departing patient with a look, then went out through the back of his booth and began walking very fast, away from the center of the fair.
"Should someone go after him?" Michael asked.
I shook my head.
"He needs to walk his temper off. He'll be fine if we just leave him alone. Although that does leave the problem of what to do about his booth."
"I can watch it until either he or Tad gets back," Michael offered. "I've helped out with yours occasionally, and he's got all the prices marked and everything."
"That'd be great," I said.
"What about the dog?" the stout woman said. Now that things had calmed down, the crowd was breaking up, but she still stood just outside the booth, watching Spike, who had tottered over to the railing that marked the outside of the booth and was growling half-heartedly at her. I sighed. I had forgotten that in sending Rob off to deal with Benson I'd saddled myself with Spike.
"You were going to take him to the vet," the woman reminded me.
"I'll do better than that," I said, giving Spike's leash a tug to get him moving. "I'll take him to a doctor."
"Oh, I'm sure your Dad will love that," Michael commented, taking a proprietary pose at the back of Faulk's booth.
I helped Michael pick up the booth before I took off – I wasn't anxious to arrive before Dad had finished with Benson. Then I made my way across the town square and over to Dad's booth – actually a large tent at the opposite edge of the green, with a sign over the entrance that said, PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON.
Things looked a little different from when I'd last seen his tent on my way into the fair that morning. Dad had recruited two bedraggled-looking reenactors to lie outside, pretending to be patients and adding atmosphere. The patient to the left of the tent's entrance had a bloody bandage over both eyes. The one on the right appeared to be an amputee until one noticed that there were bits of straw poking out of his truncated leg and that the real leg disappeared into a hole in the ground.
"Very impressive," I said, as I approached the tent.
"If that miserable beast tries to pee on my leg again, I'll use this," the faux amputee said, waving an authentically crude wooden crutch.
"Oh, lord," said the other man, peeking out from under his bandage. "Hang on to the leash this time, will you?"
So they'd
But just as Benson reached the entrance, Spike, seeing his prey on the move, suddenly leaped up to bark again. He knocked over an andiron right into Faulk's path, and Faulk stumbled forward. Unfortunately,, just as this was happening, Benson apparently decided he needed to say a few parting words. He began to turn around, open his mouth, and step back into the booth.
"Another thing – " he began, then he squawked as Faulk's fist met his nose. Then they both lost their balance and fell in a heap, banging various bits of iron on the way down.
Amazing, how much blood a simple nosebleed can produce. And how much panic. A few onlookers fled – I like to think they were going in search of help. A few people waded in to separate the combatants, which wasn't really necessary, as Faulk had the wind knocked out of him and couldn't move, and Benson was less interested in fighting man in flailing about dramatically, yelling that he couldn't breathe, and alternately demanding a doctor and a lawyer.
Wesley appeared, like a vulture scenting carrion, and hovered around in everyone's way, taking notes and snapping photos with his little camera. Mrs. Fenniman and the sheriff both showed up and tried to give Benson conflicting forms of first aid, simultaneously. When it looked as if they were about to come to blows over whether to apply cold or heat to his nose, I ordered them to take Benson over to Dad's first-aid tent, and sent Rob after them to try calming Benson down.
Faulk recovered his breath, stood up, dismissed the departing patient with a look, then went out through the back of his booth and began walking very fast, away from the center of the fair.
"Should someone go after him?" Michael asked.
I shook my head.
"He needs to walk his temper off. He'll be fine if we just leave him alone. Although that does leave the problem of what to do about his booth."
"I can watch it until either he or Tad gets back," Michael offered. "I've helped out with yours occasionally, and he's got all the prices marked and everything."
"That'd be great," I said.
"What about the dog?" the stout woman said. Now that things had calmed down, the crowd was breaking up, but she still stood just outside the booth, watching Spike, who had tottered over to the railing that marked the outside of the booth and was growling half-heartedly at her. I sighed. I had forgotten that in sending Rob off to deal with Benson I'd saddled myself with Spike.
"You were going to take him to the vet," the woman reminded me.
"I'll do better than that," I said, giving Spike's leash a tug to get him moving. "I'll take him to a doctor."
"Oh, I'm sure your Dad will love that," Michael commented, taking a proprietary pose at the back of Faulk's booth.
I helped Michael pick up the booth before I took off – I wasn't anxious to arrive before Dad had finished with Benson. Then I made my way across the town square and over to Dad's booth – actually a large tent at the opposite edge of the green, with a sign over the entrance that said, PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON.
Things looked a little different from when I'd last seen his tent on my way into the fair that morning. Dad had recruited two bedraggled-looking reenactors to lie outside, pretending to be patients and adding atmosphere. The patient to the left of the tent's entrance had a bloody bandage over both eyes. The one on the right appeared to be an amputee until one noticed that there were bits of straw poking out of his truncated leg and that the real leg disappeared into a hole in the ground.
"Very impressive," I said, as I approached the tent.
"If that miserable beast tries to pee on my leg again, I'll use this," the faux amputee said, waving an authentically crude wooden crutch.
"Oh, lord," said the other man, peeking out from under his bandage. "Hang on to the leash this time, will you?"
So they'd
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