butterflies had curling antenna with hearts on the ends, but, whatever. Artistic license.
She held up a hand mirror to the girl, who beamed, then looked at her grandmother for approval.
Mrs. Locklear nodded. “Very nice. Very, very nice, Katie,” she said as the little girl hopped down from the stool. “Go show your mom.”
“Thanks,” Katie said as she began cleaning her brushes.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” Mrs. Locklear said, touching her chest. “My
granddaughter's name is Katie, too.”
Oh. Oops.
“But you did do a very nice job, too,” she said, passing over a five-dollar bill.
“Thanks,” Kate said.
Mrs. Locklear leaned close, giving Kate a squeeze on the shoulder. “So nice
to see you again, Kate.”
“You too.” In that moment, she felt like she'd known this woman all her life.
Carol bustled up. “I see you had your first customer.”
Kate saw her namesake over by the duck pond, showing off her cheek to three of her little friends, pointing back at her.
“Yeah. Looks like I might get some referral business, too.” She felt a small
surge of pride.
About an hour, eight butterflies, three kitties, five flowers, and a customized
zombie head (no blood, please) later, she needed a break.
“Carol? Mind if I take a look around?” She'd noticed a cotton candy booth
over by the concessions area near Peter's balloon dart booth. It was her one weakness. The cotton candy.
Carol waved her off. “Go. Have some fun. Maybe play some of the games. I
hear the balloon booth is paying out pretty well.”
“I'm sure it is.” She took her wallet out of her purse and extracted a couple
of twenties, stuffing them in her pocket. “Can you watch my purse?”
“Certainly.”
Kate set her purse on the floor under the table. She'd never do that in Chicago, but Golden Grove? Please. She could probably leave it open on the table with twenties hanging out of it and some Golden Grove good Samaritan would come along and hide it for her.
She moved off to her right, taking in the booths there that she hadn't seen yet. Guess the M&M's in the jar. Ping-pong-ball toss into the plastic cup. Photo booth with goofy props.
So far, she'd escaped recognition, except for Mrs. Locklear and another
teacher, Mr. Harms, her eighth-grade science teacher. And Dale Schwartz, the Community Center director (high school). And Denny Anderson (grade school,
middle school, high school), who was now a cop, which she could believe. And
you could also count his wife Jenna, who sat in the desk in front of her in Mrs. Turlowski's fourth-grade class.
Okay, so her mission to remain stealthy wasn't going so well, but it hadn't been that bad. Almost fun, really, seeing people you hadn't seen for a while, knowing how they turned out, what they were doing. Some even had kids, which
is how she'd met Megan Burns, a girl she was in art club with.
Okay, no need to get too sappy. At most, she'd probably only need to make a
few more visits here. She needed to remember that.
A crew of high school students were topping off the water in a dunk tank. An
idea teased her brain. “Who's getting in?” she asked the girl with the hose.
“Bunch of teachers, Sheriff Anderson, Mayor Watts.”
Bunch of teachers? Interesting. “Mr. Clark getting in?”
The girl checked with her friends, then turned back. “Not that I know of.”
