Chapter 1
As the mid-June sky turned from dusk to dark, I smiled, amused to watch the nine-foot-tall clown wander from pine tree to pine tree, switching on the solar lanterns that hung from limbs. A dude on stilts; that answered my question as to how they powered up the lanterns. Some that automatically turned on as the light started to fade would be more practical. This was far more entertaining.
For nearly a month I’d heard about the Whispering Pines circus. Today, I finally got to experience it for myself, alongside my friend Tripp Bennett.
“Do you want to ride the carousel next,” Tripp asked, “or get caramel corn?”
The carousel, with the softly playing calliope music, was the most amazing I’d ever seen. The double-decker beauty had two rows of animals on the bottom, one on top. Like nearly any other merry-go-round there were horses, but this one also had rabbits, reindeer, camels, lions, cats, giraffes, frogs, and goats. For those who couldn’t ride on an animal, there was a swan-shaped bench and a submarine that looked like it had come straight out of a Dr. Seuss undersea fantasy.
“No question, the carousel.” I pointed to the upper deck. “I’ve been eyeing that zebra every time we pass by.”
“Zebra it is.” He pointed out the iridescent animal just behind my intended transport. “I’m going to ride that purple-blue-green seahorse-dragon thing.”
While we waited two cycles until both of our preferred creatures were available at the same time, we watched the sideshow acts scattered along the midway. No one could miss the tall woman, she had to be at least seven feet tall with red hair that hung almost to her knees. She was dressed like a puppeteer, holding strings attached to a one-armed little boy pretending to be her marionette. They were absolutely charming.
A few yards away, a man balanced on a large ball while juggling flaming torches. Wary parents maintained a wide perimeter, encouraging the juggler while holding their children back to avoid any fire mishaps.
“I can’t believe he’s blind,” a teenage girl said as she and her family wandered past.
“The juggler?” I asked.
“The juggler,” the father said. “Isn’t that incredible?”
It was, but no more so than anything else around here.
Across the red-brick-paved midway from the juggler, a woman hung by one leg from a hoop that was suspended between two large pine trees. She spun so fast she was a blur, and then in a blink of an eye, she was spinning by one hand. And then by only the back of her neck. She mesmerized me with all the contortions she put her body through. As her routine came to the end, her spotter lowered her to the ground where she waved and bowed to the crowd. Then her spotter approached her with a wheelchair we hadn’t even noticed.
“Look at her,” I said as she positioned her right leg on the rest. “She can only use her left leg. I couldn’t have done what she just did if I had four superhuman legs.”
“We’re up.” Tripp took my hand and led me up one short staircase to the carousel platform and then to another that led to the top.
We rushed like excited children to our rides. A little girl pouted when she saw me mount the zebra but quickly forgot about it when she spotted a beautiful white unicorn with a flowing mane a few spaces up.
I looked behind me to see Tripp with a grin covering his face, his seahorse-dragon going up and down as the ride went around and around. As the carousel slowed to a stop—I swear, our ride lasted much shorter than the others—Tripp jumped off his seahorse-dragon and helped me down. I patted my zebra on the rump and thanked him for the lovely ride.
“You ready to go home?” Tripp asked once we were back on the ground.
Before I could answer, a woman came up to us. Early thirties, dark-brown hair in a braid hanging halfway down her back, olive skin, dark-brown eyes. Dressed in khaki-green cargo pants, a gray tank top, and hiking sandals, she looked like she had just stepped out of a South American jungle.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the woman said with a slight Spanish accent. “I have a couple questions for you if you don’t mind. My name is Lupe Gomez. I’m a journalist, working on a series of articles about Whispering Pines. I was hoping to get your thoughts on the circus. Who are you two? Do you live here or are you tourists?”
“I’m Jayne O’Shea,” I said, “he’s Tripp Bennett. I guess you could say we’re temporary residents. We’re doing repairs to my grandparents’ house and getting it ready for sale. My thoughts on the circus? What’s not to love? It’s a circus.”
“I agree,” Tripp said. “There are people of all ages here, from tiny babies to older folks. I have yet to see anyone who didn’t have a smile on their face.”
I looked up at him. “Someone paying you to be the circus promo guy?”
“I didn’t know there was such a job,” he said. “Does it really pay?”
Laughing, I turned my attention back to the reporter. “You said your name is Lupe? Who are you writing these articles for?”
“I work for an online Wisconsin travel magazine, Unique Wisconsin. Tell me, what’s been your favorite part?”
“My favorite,” I said, “had to be the big top performance.”
“Oh, yeah,” Tripp agreed, “that was great.”
“Are you staying for the night performance?” Lupe asked.
“I don’t think we need to see it a second time,” Tripp dismissed.
“The second performance is for adults only.” Lupe winked and waggled her eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”
“An X-rated performance?” My face flushed as my proximity to Tripp suddenly felt far too close.
Lupe laughed. “It’s not X-rated. But the costumes are skimpier and the performances are a racier and the atmosphere, well, go see for yourself.”
“I don’t think we should miss that.” Tripp turned to me, suddenly bright-eyed and eager to see skimpiness. “Will Meeka be okay for another hour and a half?”
Meeka, my West Highland White Terrier.
“She should be fine,” I said. “She had a very busy day of standing at the end of the dock and barking at every boat, jet ski, swimmer, and fish that went past. Then she chased some invisible something-or-other around the yard. She was so tired by the time we left, I think she was passed out on her cushion before I even closed the door.”
“Then let’s go watch the racy sword swallowers,” he said.
I paused, wondering exactly what that would entail.
“Before you go.” Lupe held up a professional-looking camera. “Could I get a picture of you two for the website?”
I propped my hand on my hip and leaned against Tripp when he draped an arm over my shoulders. Lupe snapped a few shots, promising to choose the best one. I gave her my email address, and she said she’d send me the pictures.
“You two are really cute together.” She smiled at the images on her camera’s screen and then clamped a hand over her mouth when I scowled at her and shook my head. “Sorry. Have fun. I’m sure I’ll see you around. I’m here all summer.”
We walked the length of the midway, past games and rides for little kids, to the big top, which we entered for the second time that day. For the afternoon performance, we had underestimated the number of people who would be there. We got there too late and had to sit at the far end. Not a problem this time, either we were early or this wasn’t as big a deal as Lupe made it out to be. The bleachers were practically empty.
It was the same tent, but the atmosphere felt very different from two hours earlier. Gone was the traditional circus setup, replaced with what looked like a Cirque du Soleil-style show about to happen. The lighting this afternoon had been bright, animated spotlights. Now the spotlights were filtered to cast a rosy, romantic glow. Long fabric curtains, that served dual-purpose as a backdrop behind the three rings and a staging area for the performers, had also been swapped out. Earlier, they had been alternating stripes of vibrant primary colors—red, yellow, green, and blue. Now, they were black, red, ivory, and gold. Romantic French accordion music played softly in the background. I could hardly wait to see how this performance would differ from the family-friendly one we had already seen.
Tripp placed a hand on my lower back, sending shivers through me despite the hot evening air, and guided me toward seats right across from the center ring. He sat close to me, almost too close. I sure hoped this wasn’t a mistake. The entire village of Whispering Pines was already sure we were dating. Probably a dozen times since we got to the grounds this afternoon, I had to explain that we were only there as friends. Although Tripp had made it clear he would like to be more, I wasn’t ready to take that step yet.
Claiming the need for air flow, I scooted a few inches away and let out a slightly shaky breath. What was I so jittery about? We were two friends having fun at the circus. Maybe my sudden attack of nerves had nothing to do with us. I scanned the tent, searching for anything that could be trouble. Nothing. It had to be all that dating and together talk people kept throwing at us.
I was an ex-cop, though, and always trusted my instincts. I’d stay alert, just in case.
Chapter 2
In addition to the set change, the pre-show entertainment was drastically different as well. Instead of the earlier troupe of funny clowns in bright-colored clothing, the clowns here now were more like sexy jesters. The women wore short dresses or skintight bodysuits in traditional striped or block patterns of red, black, and white. The shirtless men wore striped leggings that looked painted on and left little to the imagination. They greeted people as they entered the tent by flirting shamelessly with them. We got here a few minutes too early. They weren’t here to greet us.
Tripp held his hand over my eyes when he saw me staring. I did the same when a woman in a very short black and red cancan dress, thigh-high black fishnet stockings, and wavy black hair passed us on her way down the bleacher stairs. She carried a large pole with bags of caramel corn clipped all over it. A slowly spinning sign at the top of the pole read $2 Each.
Tripp stood to get the woman’s attention. “Caramel corn!”
She turned, leaving us both momentarily speechless as we took in the long, full beard and thin mustache covering her otherwise feminine face. Then we both burst out laughing.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “You took me totally by surprise.”
“My dear,” the woman said in a very proper tone, “if I got a quarter every time someone gave me that response, I’d have enough razors to last me three lifetimes.” She stroked her beard. “Don’t apologize. I’m a performer. I chose this job because it brings people joy. It seems the perfect profession for someone who has the body of a woman and the face of the man, don’t you think?”
I nodded as Tripp pulled a bill from his pocket and handed it to her. “Two bags, please.”
The bearded vendor gave him a wink and a wiggle as she stuffed the five-dollar bill into her cleavage and sashayed away.
“How embarrassing,” I said as I opened my snack bag.
Tripp’s eyes closed as he enjoyed a mouthful of corn. “You forget where you are. Everyone here is a little different.”
He meant Whispering Pines in general, not just the circus. The Northwoods Wisconsin village had less than one thousand full-time residents, most of whom were followers of the Wiccan religion. During the summer tourist season, the population on any given day easily tripled. With its part-Renaissance faire, part-Medieval England feel, the cozy village next to a pristine deep blue lake was a magnet for tourists.
As we settled back with our caramel corn, I scanned the big top again for trouble, relaxing when I found none. My initial feeling that this performance must not be very popular could not have been more wrong. The seats were filling rapidly.
To keep us entertained before the main event began, there were a few warmup acts in addition to the sexy jesters. Straight ahead of us in the center ring, a woman the size of an eight-year-old performed with lions. Throughout her act, a man stood nearby with a tranquilizer dart gun. That was all well and good, but if one of the animals charged or decided to chomp down as it held the tiny woman in its mouth, it would already be too late by the time the man had fired the dart.
To our right was the same aerial artist who had been performing outside earlier, the one who surprised everyone by getting into the wheelchair. She had changed out of her simple leotard into a red bra, black hot pants, and fishnet stockings. I paid attention this time, noting that she did most of her tricks using primarily her left leg, and if she used her right leg she held her foot to ensure it wouldn’t release. Still, I was amazed at how good she was and wondered why she was only a warm-up act.
“Is anyone sitting here?”
It turned to find a teenage girl with long hair that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be straight or curly. The teenage boy sitting next to her had the brightest white teeth I’d ever seen in my life.
“Hi, Lily Grace. Hey, Oren. Haven’t seen either of you around in a while.”
“This is the first free night I’ve had since the season started,” Lily Grace said.
“I have nights free,” Oren said, “but I’m usually too exhausted to do anything.”
“Lots of business at the marina?” Tripp asked Oren.
“Every boat, wakeboard, and kayak has been rented every day this week,” Oren said, his eyes tired and rimmed with dark circles. “I think there was a canoe and one windboard left today. I’ve never seen it this busy.”
“That’s got to make your dad happy,” Tripp said.
“That’s an understatement,” Oren said. “I don’t know how he can see anything through those dollar signs in his eyes.”
“How about you?” I asked Lily Grace, the village’s youngest fortuneteller. “How goes the readings?”
“Thousands of satisfied customers.” She kept a straight face for about two seconds before breaking. “More like a hundred. Just feels like thousands.” She picked at the hot-pink nail polish chipping off her left thumb. “It’s your fault, you know. I was all ready for a summer of gazing into a crystal ball and spouting all that scripted psychic stuff.”
“I see a journey in your future.” Oren held his hand to his forehead. “I see someone with an R in their name. I see money.”
“But is the money coming or going?” Tripp played along.
“Yes,” Oren said, and the two of them burst out laughing.
Lily Grace gave her boyfriend a blank stare and arched one eyebrow. He clamped his mouth shut and folded his hands in his lap.
The day we met, Lily Grace told me she was a fortuneteller with no ability to tell a fortune. Then she took my hands and was struck by her first ever vision. Or so she claimed. I didn’t believe in a lot of the stuff the Whispering Pines’ villagers claimed was real—like fortune telling and witchcraft—but the residents sure did. In thanks for turning on her granddaughter’s ability, Lily Grace’s grandmother sent me a basket of scones and cookies from Treat Me Sweetly, the local bakery. Whatever had happened, I couldn’t take credit for it, but I was happy to accept the treats.
“Are you as skeptical as your girlfriend, Mr. Bennett?” Lily Grace asked Tripp as she expertly wove her hair into a long braid. “Geez, it’s hot tonight.”
“I like to keep an open mind,” Tripp said. “And don’t call me Mr. Bennett. I’m not that much older than you.”
“You’re twenty-eight, she’s seventeen,” I said. “You’re practically a fossil.”
“Then twenty-six must make you ancient,” he teased back.”
“Speaking of skeptics,” I said, turning my attention back to Lily Grace, “you didn’t believe in the ability either until you did that reading for me.”
Ignoring me, Lily Grace held her hands out to Tripp. “Should I read you?”
“Now? Right here?” Tripp asked. “No, maybe another time.”
“Okay,” Lily Grace said with her characteristic nonchalant shrug. “You know where I am.”
We sat and watched the bleachers continue to fill toward capacity. Lily Grace was right, it was hot tonight. And the number of bodies was raising the temperature in the tent even more. The circus crew turned on large fans around the tent, creating airflow, but I was getting overheated. I’d worn a sweater, not for warmth but because my peasant-style dress had a lowcut neckline that made me a bit self-conscious. I took off the sweater and tucked it beneath my seat.
“Don’t let me forget that,” I said and sat up to see Tripp appreciating my now-exposed cleavage. I point to my face. “My eyes are up here.”
“I know where your eyes are.” His gaze remained in the same place, and I swatted his shoulder to break his trance.
The lights blinked once, and the warmup performers bowed and scattered. Leah, the tiny lion tamer, directed the cats back to their cages. The man with the tranquilizer gun wheeled tall sections of fencing that had kept the animals contained in the ring out of the way for the next acts. The large fans the crew had turned on were loud, so they turned off all but the one to our right. The murmuring of the crowd died down as the lights went dark. And then came a breathy, sexy, man’s voice over the speakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the Whispering Pines Circus is pleased to have you here for our evening show.”
A spotlight snapped on and focused on the ringmaster standing just outside the center ring. Approximately five foot eleven, slender, light-brown skin, late thirties. He was the same ringmaster from earlier, but his traditional black pants and red tuxedo jacket from this afternoon were gone. He now wore red and white striped leggings tucked into knee-high black boots. His body-hugging, red satin jacket with long tails gleamed in the lights. He wore nothing underneath, revealing his toned torso.
“My name is Creed, and I am your ringmaster,” he said with pride. “I will be your guide on a journey we’re sure you’ll not soon forget. Now, please welcome Dallas Brickman, our knife thrower.”
Creed held an arm out to the center ring, firmly tapped his crystal-encrusted walking stick two times on the ground, and then gave a low bow. The spotlight on him went out, and others turned on to highlight the ring.
Dallas was dressed like a pirate and threw knives, swords, and small cutlasses at his victim, a beautiful woman in a wench costume with a heaving bosom. Like the other men, he was shirtless, sporting a six-pack that made it difficult to concentrate on his act. It took until halfway through it for me to realize his peg leg was a real prosthesis. How many Halloween costume contests he had won with that peg leg pirate look?
All the performances blended seamlessly from one into the next. Before we knew it, the final act of the night was starting. Berlin, an aerial artist and the star of the show, appeared through a fog near the top of the tent where she spun slowly on aerial silks. She wore a bodysuit the same color as her skin, giving her the appearance of performing naked. The lights gleamed off a beautiful gold gilt mask that covered the right half of her face, her blonde hair twisted into a bun. Seemingly one with the fabric, she did mid-air twists and contortions, turning and arching her body beautifully before dropping into a splits position that would have ripped me in two. Then she started to spin like a ballerina in a child’s jewelry box, the fabric billowing around her. Finally, Berlin climbed all the way to the top of the tent, easily fifty feet in the air.
“The silks aren’t hanging right,” Lily Grace said behind us. “See how they look like they’re snagged on something?”
Fortunately, Berlin realized this as well. Hanging at the top of the tent, she pointed first at her silks and then at the one fan still turned on. One crew person darted into the shadows and made an adjustment so the fabric hung free again while another turned off the fan. Once safe again, Berlin began wrapping the silks around her waist again and again then she spun downward faster and faster, stopping just inches from colliding with the ground. While still spectacular, the spell of her performance had been broken, the full impact of the blazing freefall ruined by the snagging of her silks.
When she got to the ground, a visibly angry Berlin freed herself from the fabric and dropped into a low curtsy. The other performers came back out and formed a row behind her for a final bow. The lights dimmed on them and shone again on Creed, standing front and center before the audience.
“Thank you for joining us this evening. We hope you will return soon and that you enjoy the rest of your stay in Whispering Pines.”
The lights went black in the tent for a few seconds and then slowly came back up as the audience cheered and started to file out.
“I think,” Tripp said, “the fan blew the fabric and made it snag on something.”
“Probably that animal fencing,” Lily Grace said from behind me. “Gianni is going to get his butt chewed.”
“Who’s Gianni?” I asked.
“The guy with the tranquilizer gun,” she said. “He’s the veterinarian and only person still encouraging me to go to vet school rather than stay here and be a fortune teller.” She shot Oren a look. “Anyway, Berlin has asked him dozens of times to move that fencing further back after Leah’s act. I don’t know if he forgets or if he’s just stubborn.”
“Berlin could’ve been hurt.” I stared down at the offending fencing.
“It had to be an accident,” Lily Grace said. “Gianni wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone.”
“It’s not out of the realm of possibility that someone has a problem with Berlin, though,” Oren added quietly.
My former-cop instincts sent tingles through me. “What kind of problem?”
“I don’t want to say she’s a diva,” Oren began.
“That’s because she’s not a diva,” Lily Grace snapped, cutting him off. “She’s a strong-willed woman who’s excellent at what she does. That doesn’t make her a diva.”
Oren gave Tripp one of those knowing guy-to-guy looks, and my instincts tingled again. Maybe life at the circus here wasn’t all bright lights and smiles like it appeared.
Chapter 3
I pulled my Cherokee to a stop next to Tripp’s old F-350 pickup truck in front of the lake house garage. Since the first day I got here, I’d been staying in the small apartment above the boathouse. It was perfect for me and my little dog Meeka. Tripp had been helping me with house renovations so he had moved his popup trailer to the side yard. Other than using the kitchen and the basement bathroom inside the house, he lived in that popup. He’d be fine over the summer, but if we were still here when winter came to northern Wisconsin, we’d need to make different plans for him.
“Today was a lot of fun,” Tripp said.
A yawn snuck up on me. “It was fun.”
We’d been working so hard on renovations, we both were dead tired at the end of each day, Tripp especially. When I brought up the idea of a Saturday afternoon away from the work, he was all for it.
We stood in the driveway now, him looking down at me, me looking out at the lake. Despite all the teasing today, and his desire for more, Tripp told me he understood my need to keep things platonic. He made me feel safe and cared for like a big brother or best friend. But there were moments, like this one, that filled me with confusion. As we stood there, close enough that our body heat was mingling, I knew if I looked up, the expression on his face would make my breath catch and my thoughts would wander to places friends didn’t go.
I looked up—yep, there it was—and gave him a smile. “Good night, Tripp. See you in the morning.”
“Night, Jayne.”
I went through the backyard, climbed the stairs that ran along the outside of the boathouse, crossed the sundeck to the set of french doors that served as the entrance to my little apartment, and found Meeka sitting there glaring at me. The second I open the door, she burst out, tore down the stairs, and raced over to her preferred pee spot near the trees.
“Sorry,” I called. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”
I leaned against the rail, waiting for her to return, and stared out at the lake. Moonlight glistened off tiny ripples, and a soft breeze blew against my face. I was originally only supposed to be here for a week. My assignment was to come up, go through Gran’s house, and get it ready for sale. It was a big house—seven bedrooms, seven and a half bathrooms—so unless I had hired a team of people, there was no way it would have been ready in one week. When I found that someone had broken in and trashed the place, it took about a minute for me to know I’d be staying much longer.
During my first week here, I met Tripp, Lily Grace, Oren, and a score of other people who had quickly become friends. A few, like Tripp and Morgan Barlow, were more than just friends. The last thing I’d expected was to fall in love with Whispering Pines. Now, I didn’t want to leave.
Meeka trotted up the stairs again and right on past me, a sign she was irritated that I had made her wait so long. Inside, I pulled off my dress and tossed it in the hamper, slipped on an oversized T-shirt, and gave Meeka an apologetic belly rub before climbing into bed. As had become my routine, unless rain was coming in, I left all the windows and the doors open, screens pulled to keep the mosquitoes and other critters out. That meant I could fall asleep listening not only to the soft sloshing of the water in the boat garage below, but also the amazingly soothing sound of the wind whispering through the tall pine trees that surrounded the village like sentinels.
This was where I was meant to be, I had no doubt. I also had no job here, which meant as soon as the renovations were done, my parents were going to put the house on the market. Then, I’d have nowhere to live and no choice but to leave.
***
“It’s looking really good in here,” I said while climbing onto my standard stool at the kitchen bar the next morning.
“You’re just trying to motivate me to remove more wallpaper.” Tripp flipped a piece of cheese to Meeka while putting the finishing touches on a veggie and cheese omelet for me. Before landing in Whispering Pines, he had wandered the country, working miscellaneous jobs. One of them was as a cook making home-style food at a diner. So, in addition to being able to fix just about anything around the house, he had wicked good kitchen skills.
“Is it working? I keep telling you I’ll help.”
“You still have bedrooms to pack up. And you need to call that guy to come and get the furniture that needs refinishing.”
“Damn. I keep forgetting about that.”
I accepted the plate from him, held it out so he could add two pieces of thick rustic toast, and then set it on my placemat while pulling my cell phone out of my back pocket. I added call Guy about FURNITURE to my to-do list. Keeping notes and taking pictures was about the only thing a smartphone was good for in Whispering Pines. There was zero cell reception.
That lack of cell phone service was the initial theory for why the house had been vandalized. The previous sheriff had guessed that a group of teenagers, bored because they were forced to be off-line and out-of-touch, had decided to have a little fun. I agreed with him until I realized that what I thought was graffiti, painted in black ink on every wall downstairs, might really be malicious messages for my family.
Morgan Barlow, my friend and green witch, identified the marks as sigils, magical witch symbols. She thought it was possible that someone had placed a hex on my family, so she was doing a little investigative work for me. I, of course, didn’t believe there was any magic involved, but I did think someone had an issue with my grandparents, or more likely my family in general since Gran and Gramps were both gone now. Whoever had done this was trying to scare us off. Good luck with that.
As we did every morning, Tripp and I chatted while we ate breakfast, making a plan for what to do in the house that day. For the most part, I agreed to whatever he said. He knew a hundred times more about renovation than I did, after all.
“Will you stain the floors next, then?” I asked. He had already stripped the hardwood floors and covered them with heavy paper to protect them from damage.
“No, we’ll do that last. Accidents happen and we won’t have to do touch-ups that way.”
“Works for me. Let me know what I need to do.”
Tripp remained quiet for a few minutes, seemingly focusing on his breakfast, but I knew what was coming next.
“Have you thought about furniture at all?” he asked. “Your grandparents’ antiques are great. Is that the look you want to go with?”
“You know there’s no point in worrying about that right now. We haven’t gotten the go-ahead yet.”
He and I were hoping to turn the house into a bed-and-breakfast and run it together. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. While becoming the caretaker of a B&B had never occurred to me, it was a way for both of us to stay in Whispering Pines. Once the renovations were done, Tripp was out of a job, too. I talked with my mother about the option, but even if she agreed, which she hadn’t yet, we needed my dad’s approval. The house had belonged to his parents and his was the only name on the will.
“When do you think you’ll talk to her again?” Tripp asked.
I let out a hard sigh. Honestly, he was getting a little pushy about this. “I sent her the business plan two weeks ago. The numbers looked good to me, but she hasn’t been able to track down my dad yet. Apparently, he’s working on some dig site in Egypt. Mom says they found another mummy tomb or some such . . . sweater!”
“Excuse me?” Tripp said.
I groaned and let my head fall back. “I forgot Gran’s sweater at the circus last night.”
His forehead furrowed as he processed that. “What sweater?”
“The one I tucked under my seat and told you to not let me forget.”
“What made you think of that?”
“I have no idea. Talking about the house and their furniture. Maybe my brain is thinking about packing up her bedroom. Who knows?”
“Finish your breakfast. At this point, it’s either there or it’s not.”
I wasn’t sure if that was comforting or upsetting. I ate quickly, told him I’d be back soon, then went to get my car keys and Meeka’s leash. She’d love to see the animals up there.
Set deep into Whispering Pines’ two thousand acres, there were two options for getting to the circus grounds. The first was to park in the public lot on the west side of the village and walk through the woods for a good half hour. A nice walk when the sun was shining and the birds singing and all that. Not the most convenient at night or when in a hurry.
I chose the second option, which was to drive around to the far side of the acreage and park in a lot that was about a five-minute walk on a groomed, compacted dirt pathway to the circus’ entrance. As we got close to the grounds, I heard a commotion through the trees.
“Come on, Meeka. Something’s wrong.”
We jogged past the empty ticket booth and kept going straight to the big top where a crowd of carnies had gathered. Some were talking, some stood with their hands over their mouths, some were crying. I squeezed my way through to the tent entrance where Janessa, the circus’ business manager, stood and stopped people from going into the tent.
Five foot five, thirty pounds overweight, medium-brown skin, close-cropped Afro, mid-forties.
The first time I met Janessa was at a village council meeting. She had a big, confident personality in a slightly damaged wrapper. Her arms extended only six or eight inches from her shoulders, both ending with elongated hands, each with three long thin fingers.
“It’s a congenital birth defect called phocomelia,” she’d told me, as though she’d said it a million times before, even though I hadn’t asked. “It’s a known side effect of the anti-nausea drug thalidomide, but was just a genetic luck of the draw in my case.”
That was Janessa’s way, take control of a situation before it could get away from her.
“What’s going on?” I asked her, gesturing at both the crowd and the big top tent. “Why is everybody so upset?”
Meeka had become agitated as well, giving me signs that she scented something coming from inside the tent.
“It’s Berlin,” Janessa said slowly, as though processing her words as she said them.
A pit like a lead weight formed in my gut, and my cop’s instincts kicked into overdrive. “What’s wrong with Berlin?”
She shook her head. “She’s dead.”
Thanks for reading! I promise, I’m finishing the rest as quickly as I can.
Please don’t share this sneak peek with anyone. It’s exclusive for Review Team members only.
Peace and good wishes, Shawn
