Chapter 6
Noah
Ihelp Lottie and Everett load the kids into the van. Lyla Nell bounces in her car seat as if she just won the lottery, the twins are somehow still asleep despite the chaos, and Everett looks like a man who just volunteered to defuse a bomb.
“We’ll be watching Ava and Olivia for the week,” Lottie tells me, and there’s a note in her voice that says she’s already calculating how many hours of sleep she’s about to lose—as if she’s got any to spare.
Everett looks genuinely terrified. And honestly? I don’t blame him. Teenage girls. Two of them. On top of three kids under three, a college student home for the summer, a bakery to run, and whatever chaos Carlotta plans to unleash this week.
But I’m secretly glad about it. The busier Lottie is for the next week, the more time I have to solve this case myself.
I wave as they take off, then help Mom to her car. She’s still not talking, still shooting me looks as if I’m supposed to read her mind and figure out what went down between her and Jump. Whatever it was, it rattled her, and it landed her square in the center of a crime scene.
Suze Fox doesn’t rattle easy.
“Mom, you know you can talk to me, right?”
She slams the car door. “I said I’m fine, Noah.”
She’s not fine. But she’s also not budging, so I let her go. Stubborn runs in the family. I’d know. I inherited a controlling share.
I head back toward the tent, watching as the last of the crowd filters out into the night. The fairgrounds are quieter now, the carnival music shut off, the rides dark. Just the hum of generators and the low murmur of deputies processing the scene.
Ivy steps up beside me, her arms crossed and her expression sharp.
“So,” she says, her voice dripping with skepticism. “You think we’ll actually solve this case before Lottie Lemon steps in to save the day once again?”
She says Lottie’s name as if it were a curse word.
I somehow manage to keep my face neutral.
“Lottie and Everett will be watching his twin girls this week. Teenagers. On top of everything else going on in that house?” I shake my head.
“I doubt she’ll have time to juggle a homicide investigation on top of diapers, feedings, and whatever disaster two thirteen-year-olds are capable of. ”
Ivy snorts. “We’ll see about that.”
She’s right to be skeptical. Lottie has found bodies in places most people couldn’t find their car keys. Betting against her is statistically unwise. I’m doing it anyway.
We both look over toward the midway, where a man in a Sterling and Sons Circus shirt is setting up a folding table. A hand-painted sign leans against the leg: Sign Up for the Local Legends Circus Benefit!
The coroner’s office wheels a gurney out of the tent, the body draped with a blanket, and Ivy straightens.
“I’d better go have a word with the coroner,” she says, already heading toward his vehicle.
I nod, watching her go. Then I turn back toward the sign-up table and walk over with my hands in my pockets.
I glance at the clipboard. It’s still blank. Not a single name.
There’s one surefire way to make sure someone in this circus talks to me this week, and it has the added bonus of making me look less like a threat while I’m at it. Nobody clams up around the guy in the show. They clam up around the badge.
If I want to solve this case before Lottie does, I know exactly what I need to do.
I print my name, first on the list.
The big top looms against the night sky, its pink-and-white stripes ghostly in the dim light. Somewhere out here, a murderer is walking free.
And it’s up to me to beat Lottie Lemon to the killer finish line.
It looks like Lottie won’t be the only one juggling things next week.