From the other side of the Dozer tent came the entrancing odor of fried dough sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. I was ready to follow my nose when Tally returned. Someone else immediately claimed her attention, though.

“Hey, Tal?”

A rough-looking man, late forties probably, with bloodshot eyes, full tattoos on both arms, and a day’s growth of whiskers leaned wearily against the end of the Dozer.

“Sam? When did you get in?” Tally said. “Did you get them?”

“Yeah, Arnie’s there. You seen Polly? How come she didn’t open up tonight?”

Dwight and I followed their eyes across the crowd to where Polly’s Plate Pitch was still dark and shuttered.

“She ain’t in the trailer and the girls say they ain’t seen her all day, neither.”

Tally shook her head. “I don’t know, Sam. It’s been so crazy here. You want to go ahead and open it up for me?”

“I’ll open it, but I can’t work it. I missed some of the road markers coming in and got turned around, wasted an hour. I gotta go get some sleep, Tal. I nearly run off the road just before I got here.”

“That’s okay, I’ll find somebody. Here, Deborah,” she said, untying her money apron and handing it to me. “Mind the Dozer for me a minute? Make change? If anybody wants to cash in for a prize, ask them to wait or come back later, okay?”

“Hey, wait!” I called. “I don’t think—”

Too late. She had disappeared into the crowd, leaving me holding the bag in the shape of a money apron.

“I don’t think this is something appropriate for a judge to be doing,” I told Dwight, who just shook his head in amusement.

“Don’t look at me, shug. If it’s bad for a judge, think about a deputy sheriff.”

“Oh, well. She’ll probably be back before anybody wants anything.”

We stood there by the Dozer and watched as the man went over, pulled some keys from his pocket, and began unlocking the flaps. One part folded down to reveal the words POLLY’S PLATE PITCH in bright red letters. The other part folded up and locked into place. It was lined with small multicolored lights that began chasing themselves as soon as he flipped a switch. Stacks of shiny plates in all colors and sizes gleamed beneath the lights. The game is a simple one: You just toss a quarter onto any plate. If it stays in the plate, then you could win one of the large stuffed animals dangling from a rod in the back. After surfing some of the carnival sites on the web yesterday morning, I had learned that the harder it is to win, the bigger and nicer the prizes.

Skee Matusik’s Lucky Ducky next door was a play-till-you-win with every player a winner. His prizes probably cost him a dime at the most. Same with the balloon race across from him. But the Bowler Roller, Polly’s Plate Pitch, and the rope climb next to it all had big prizes, so I knew they had to be a lot harder than they looked.