Morgan James - Promise McNeal 02 - Quiet Killing (23 page)

“Daddy! Stop treating me like a twelve year-old.”

“Well, sometimes you act like a twelve-year-old. Thinking you’re invincible. Going off halfcocked.”

It was after ten o’clock. Susan and Daniel had been bickering from the second she returned from Hiawassee. “Are you going to sit down and stop yelling at me so I can tell y’all what happened, or not?”

End of March, or not, I hadn’t been able to get warm all day and sat on the hearth with my back to a crackling fire. Let the two of them wear themselves out. I’d wait for the story I knew Susan would have to tell, in detail. She’s like that. Not in a bad way. It’s just her enthusiasm for life.

Daniel finally stopped fussing but wouldn’t sit. He leaned against the oak timber mantle and propped one booted-foot up on the hearthstones. “I’m not yelling. Go ahead, tell us what happened.”

Susan crossed her legs, Indian style, on the sofa and winked at me. I looked down at my lap to keep from laughing.

“I mean, it isn’t like I didn’t know where I was going,” she said, looking up at her dad. “Remember we went over there to the Georgia Fiddler’s Convention last year. The Georgia Mountains Fairground is right on Highway 76, not hard to find. The music hall is just inside the grounds entrance. Where else would they have a circus in Hiawassee, Georgia, population eight hundred and ten?”

Daniel must have been anxious for her to cut to the chase, because he interrupted her. “Okay, okay. So was the circus still there?”

“Well, of course not. Do you think I’d get that lucky? I drove over to the music hall and the parking lot was deserted, so I got out and went to the front entrance. It was locked, but I did see this cardboard poster stapled to the events board beside the door.” Susan held up the eight-by-eleven brightly colored advertisement announcing The Circus Fantell, showing a man and woman, dressed like dancers from the Nutcracker Ballet, leading a fancy decked out horse into a circus ring. Standing atop the horse was a young girl, costumed in silver sequins, a tall white feather plume in her pale hair and a huge smile on her face. The child could be our Missy, maybe.

She handed her dad the poster so he could get a closer look. He looked doubtful. “Then, as I was sitting in the parking lot, thinking what to do next, you will never guess what, or who, I saw.”

Daniel made a rolling circle gesture with his right hand. I think that’s musician speak for speed it up, get on with it. “Okay, okay. A compact white sedan, just like the one MaMa described, drove slowly past me. I
got a pretty good look at the driver, and she had yellow hair. Just like the girl who dropped Missy on MaMa’s porch. So, naturally I followed her.”

“Naturally,” Daniel echoed, and rolled his eyes.

“The sedan drove deeper into the Fairgrounds, going slow like she was looking for someone, or something. When she got to the RV camping area, she turned into a campsite. There was one of those thirty-foot Winnebago bus things parked there. Must have been parked awhile cause the roll out awning was out with a couple of folding lawn chairs underneath, and a charcoal barbecue. I saw the yellow haired girl get out and go inside, so I pulled in the lot on the lakeside across the street. Thought I’d wait and see who came out. Not a good idea. As soon as I parked, I could tell the Winnebago had a perfect view of me, and my red Jeep. I pulled back out, went down to where the road forked back to the highway, and circled back past the music hall. I met the little white sedan headed out of the Fairgrounds. I guess I could have followed her, but I decided to go back to the Winnebago instead.”

Alfie yawned and turned his other side to the fire. I think Daniel wanted to do the same, but he nudged Susan instead. “Okay, we get the picture. Did you find out anything or not?”

“
Daddy
. I’m trying to tell you. As soon as I stopped in front of the Winnebago, this tall, lanky, sort of young dude comes swaggering out. The guy is shirtless. I mean it’s probably fifty degrees, and he wearing
no
shirt. I cannot tell you how gross he was. Greasy hair back in a ponytail. Whole upper body, arms, chest,
everything, covered in tattoos. Don’t know why, but I said.
Cool, Is that Wild Bill Hickok on the horse
? He grins like he’d just won the Miss America contest, and raises his arms to flex his skinny muscles. That’s when the smell of weed and no shower for three days drifted my way. I really did want to puke.

“‘Absolutely,’ the guy says. ‘Got Hickok in Florida year I was eighteen.’ Then, oh my God, he turned around, and there was Sitting Bull tattooed across his back. Feathered headdress and all. Now wouldn’t you just know this guy had to be with the circus?
Wow. Some artwork
, I said to him.

“When he sees the poster in my hand, he stops grinning, and asks me—sort of mean like—if I’m lost. Sounded to me like he was trying to sound tough and not just mega stoned. I ignored his question.
You with the circus
? I ask him, like I already know the answer to my question. He snarks back at me, what’s it to you? I’m trying to sound cool and collected so I say,
I’m just looking for someone with the circus, that’s all
?

“He starts back peddling and tells me they weren’t with the circus anymore. He puffed himself up, all important like and said, ‘we’re selling this piece of crap RV tonight to some rich guy in town, and we’re moving on. Buying a carwash, on account of the Old Man says that’s about the only damn thing can’t be farmed out to the freaking Chinese.’ I’m thinking this is a long speech for a stoner. I took it the Old Man was his father. I nodded like I agreed with him about the Chinese. Then I asked him where the circus had moved.

“Before he could answer, or tell me a lie, the Winnebago door opened and this really, really, short
guy jumps down the stairs and hurries over to us. I mean he’s way shorter than you, Miz P. and he looks madder than hell. Had to be a dwarf. Kind of bowed legs and short fingers. Maybe forty years old, or so. It was hard to tell. Mad, or not, I can tell you he was a lot cleaner than the tattooed guy. Dressed in nice gray slacks and a white button down dress shirt.

“Now I begin to think I’m trapped in the Twilight Zone, or something—a tattooed guy and a dwarf— but I figured I was already there so might as well go with it.
Good evening, Sir
, I say to the little person.
I’m with the Allied Insurance Company out of Denver, and I’d like to ask you a few questions
. I think I was pretty convincing.”

Daniel crossed his arms over his chest and boomed out, “Allied Insurance? Is that what you told them? You impersonated an insurance agent?”

Susan continued, “Yeah, well, I don’t think that’s like against the law or anything. Is it? Anyway, as soon as I said it, the little person calmed down—no angry look—and reached out his hand to me.

“I’m Dick Jest, and this is my son, Tempi, he says to me all friendly like.

“I told him I was pleased to meet him, and shook his hand.
Tempi? Interesting name
, I say to the little guy. Then he points to the Tempi guy and says to me: his mother was Basque, what can I say? Basque like to fight. You here about the Knoxville fire?

“I have no idea what the Basque remark meant. But I said yes to the fire question. He gave his son with the interesting name a nod and the son walked off and sat in one of the folding chairs under the awning—close
enough to hear us, but too far away to be part of the conversation.

“‘Listen lady,’ Jest says to me in sort of a condescending voice, ‘I’m real sorry, but we don’t know anything more about the fire than what we told the police. You can go get a police report. Nothing says we have to talk to a private cop. Know what I mean?’ Course he was smiling the whole time. Then he says I will have to excuse them because they have an appointment.

“I smiled back at him and said,
Sure. No problem
. Then I tore off a corner of the poster, wrote my cell phone number on it, and handed it over to Mr. Dick Jest, the soon-to-be car wash owner.
In case you think of something
, I said to him, and got back in the Jeep and left. Now really, you guys, can you believe it? A tattooed doper and a dwarf? Is this not too weird?”

Susan blew out a deep breath and leaned her head back against the sofa. As she was telling her story, I thought at first she was frightened by the encounter with the Jest family. Then I realized she was so pumped with adrenaline, fear wasn’t a factor. Susan loved her adventure, much like a skydiver loves the plunge. I stood up and stretched my back, not knowing what to say.

Daniel was not at a loss for words. “Sweetheart. What you did was reckless and could have been dangerous. Sometimes you scare the crap out of me.”

“Are you going to start yelling again?”

“No, I’m not,” Daniel replied, as he flexed his long fingers and shoved his hands into his back jeans pockets. “So what did you find out? Doesn’t sound like much to me.”

Sitting upright again, Susan shot back at Daniel, “Daddy you are just too mad at me to think straight. Those Jest guys know something. I can feel it. And also, the important connection is that I saw the girl with the yellow hair driving a little white car. She went inside the Winnebago and must have talked to them. If she’s the woman who brought Missy over here to MaMa’s house— and I believe she is—then there is a good chance Missy is the child in the poster, and they know who she is.”

Daniel dropped his head, semi-defeated. “Well, maybe. That’s possible. But don’t you think there are probably a lot of young women with yellow hair who drive little white sedans?”

“Sure, but you have to admit, we have several huge coincidences working here.”

I had to agree with Susan.

21

Susan and Daniel left around midnight. I believe she would have talked on and on about her adventure with the Jest men, but Daniel insisted they go home. It was just as well. I was tired, and he was driving over to Charlotte bright and early the next morning to inspect some used restaurant equipment scheduled to go on the auction block later in the day. A trip all the way to Charlotte must mean he was serious about Granny’s Store becoming a restaurant. I meant to ask if they’d chosen a name for the new restaurant, but with all the excitement, I forgot.

When they were leaving and Susan was well out of earshot, Daniel hugged me and asked, “No hard feelings about me teasing you so bad on old January?”

I shook my head no, and he added, “I was thinking though, about what you said. Technically, I think a grave robber is someone who digs up bodies for some nefarious purpose, to sell them for research or something like that. Don’t think a man wanting to move his wife and child closer to home is exactly grave robbery.
It’s strange, I’ll admit, but I’m not sure it’s grave robbery.”

“Umm,” was about all I could say. A fleeting question did run through my mind. How did Daniel know a word like nefarious? Another surprise from my cowboy, fiddle playing, mail carrier lover. And would January’s reasons for taking Reba and the baby home fall under the nefarious category?

After they left, I took a long hot bath and tried to relax. Even so, when I finally slept, I drifted into fitful dreams. Too many thoughts of abandoned little girls, fires, and dry bones made flesh in the book of Ezekiel. I dreamt I was inside a shrinking room with January. I was using all my strength to push back the walls with my hands. No matter which way I turned, cold plaster walls closed in on me, the space between my great grandfather and me smaller and smaller, until he was standing at my back, whispering in my ear—something about the mighty power of the Holy Spirit. I strained to make sense of his words, but his voice trailed away, far into the distance. I looked down. January and I were barefoot—his feet sheet- white, long and boney—mine were covered with bilge-green foam. I smelled the brine of the ocean at low tide.