September Fair Read Online Free PDF Page B

words, we stepped out of the Airstream and put our feet onto the most dangerous path the two of us would ever walk. We wouldn’t come out of it together.

The line wasn’t long. Unless you’re an addict. “What’s the hold up? How long do they take to make? How do you think they fry it without it melting?”
    “Would you relax? For $5 a pop, let’s assume they’re using space technology.”
    When it was finally our turn, Mrs. Berns traded the clerk an Abe Lincoln for what looked like a palsied funnel cake. “Where’s the Nut Goodie?” I asked.
    The man behind the counter smiled. “We freeze it, bread it, fry it, and sprinkle powdered sugar over the top. Trust me. It’s in there.”
    Not convinced, I turned away and sniffed at it. It smelled like a donut.
    Mrs. Berns nudged me. “Shit or get off the pot.”
    “Fine.” I bit in, expecting molten lava to sear my tongue to my teeth. Instead, my mouth was filled with warm, chocolatey, nutty, maple goodness. I moaned. “I might need some time alone with this.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “No, seriously. Try this.” As she ducked her head in for a taste, I pulled the fried Nut Goodie back. “On second thought, I don’t think I can share. Maybe you should get your own.”
    Mrs. Berns shook her head in disgust and took off toward the Dairy building. I followed, whispering endearments to the fried candy bar as I nibbled at it. Nut Goodies have been a part of my life for over a decade, ever since I’d bought my first green-and-red-wrapped one on a whim at a gas station. Out of the wrapper, the candy is round, brown, bumpy, and looks about as appetizing as a hairball. One bite, though, and you’ll be hooked. The first sensation you encounter when biting in is decadent chocolate, which is quickly countered by a satisfying peanut crunch, and finally, complete immersion in a blissful wave of maple candy center. I’d eaten them quick, like a naughty habit, and slow out of the freezer, but never deep fried before. The holy trinity was complete.
    My private ecstasy was cut short by the horde of rubberneckers and camera crews lining Underwood Street in front of the Dairy building and curving around Judson Avenue. The chocolate that had just brought me so much joy abruptly grew leaden in my stomach as the reality I’d been trying to avoid ever since the Dairy building went black hit home. A young woman in the prime of her life had just died in front of a crowd of hundreds, and I had known her parents. The death was new, but already the front of the building was lined with teddy bears, pom-poms in Battle Lake’s signature red and blue, and small bouquets of flowers.
    I swallowed the starchy taste in my mouth, chucked my licked-clean Nut Goodie stick, clipped on my press badge, and took out my pad and pen. Mrs. Berns, who was nowhere in sight, had been right: I had a duty as the only Battle Lake reporter at the fair to cover Ashley’s death.
    Near me, KSTP television out of St. Paul had cleared an area around a thick and towering teenager in a letter jacket. Behind him, two young, golden-haired women were laying white flowers near the door to the Dairy building, which was cordoned off with police tape. The KSTP interviewer was speaking to her camera man. “OK. We’re on in ten.” After a countdown and a signal, the light on the camera snapped on. “Hello! I’m Angela Klein, reporting live from the Minnesota State Fair. Today, in a tragic turn of events, Ashley Pederson, Battle Lake native and recently crowned 54th Milkfed Mary, Queen of the Dairy, died.
    “In a time-honored State Fair tradition, Ms. Pederson was inaugurating the fair by posing as her head was carved from butter. She and the sculptor, Glenda Haines, were sitting in the rotating, refrigerated booth supplied by the Midwest Milk Organization when the lights temporarily went out in the building. When power returned, Ms. Pederson was discovered dead in the booth. At this time, police have not ruled out