Chapter 15
Lottie
Goosebumps rise on my arms and a chill runs down my spine as I make my way over to my very next suspect, right here in the big top where the air is cool and the scent of sawdust mixes with the sugary sweetness of cotton candy drifting in from the midway.
Somewhere in the distance I can hear Noah and Bear hooting and hollering.
Noah’s voice rises in what sounds like either triumph or panic, and honestly, with those two it’s usually both.
They’ve taken to juggling bowling pins, and I give it ten minutes before one of them needs an ice pack and an alibi.
The girls are with Keelie near the practice mats, and their ribbons swirl through the air like candy-striped tornadoes.
I’m about three steps away from Celeste when a spray of light pink stars bursts in front of me, and Peanut appears looking slightly disheveled.
“Oh thank goodness,” she says. Her tiny trunk droops with relief. “I barely escaped Lyla Nell’s clutches.”
I gasp. “She can’t actually hold you hostage, can she? You’re dead. I’m fairly certain that comes with some sort of immunity to being held against your will.”
Peanut shifts her weight from one invisible foot to the other. “Technically, yes. But she was sharing a candy apple with me, and I’m a sucker for a sweet treat. Literally. I don’t even know where the food goes anymore, but I can’t say no to caramel.”
“Neither can I.” True as gospel. Caramel and I have a long and codependent history.
I make a face at the thought of Lyla Nell getting all sugared up on candy apples and whatever else Mom is shoving at her on the midway.
But then I guess that’s what Glam Glam is for.
She spoils the grandchildren rotten and then returns them in a state of hyperactive chaos, like a rental car she gassed up with pure adrenaline.
Thank goodness the boys are too young for that yet. They are, aren’t they?
Up ahead, Celeste is a vision of ethereal elegance near the back wall of the tent. Her long jet-black hair falls in glossy vintage waves over her shoulders, and her pale porcelain skin glows even in the dim circus lighting, as if she’s been airbrushed by professionals.
She’s wearing a glittering midnight-blue costume that catches every sliver of light, all sequins and silk, and she looks as if she just stepped out of a 1940s Hollywood film.
Her cool silver-gray eyes are focused intently on a rack of costumes she’s adjusting.
Her movements are graceful and deliberate.
She glides from one garment to the next like she’s auditioning to haunt the place.
I take a breath and approach her. “Hi,” I say, with a friendly wave.
She turns, and her eyes widen in recognition. “Oh! You’re the baker who found his body!”
Well. That’s one way to be remembered. I’m thinking of having it printed on my business cards.
“That’s right,” I say, trying my best not to frown at the thought. “I’m Lottie. I believe we met the other night, briefly.”
“Celeste,” she says, extending a graceful hand, and I shake it. “I’m so sorry you had to see that. It must have been awful.”
“It was. And I’m sorry for your loss,” I say as someone starts up the music, and soon the entire place is pumping and jumping.
She sniffs, and her eyes go a little glassy. “It’s been really tough around here. Jump was...well, he was Jump. Larger than life. Hard to replace.” She pauses, then brightens. “But hey, I love your cookies. The animal crackers? They’re amazing.”
“Thank you,” I say. “And what do you do around here? I think you mentioned you work with the illusionist?”
“Oh, it’s so much more than that,” Celeste says, and her face lights up like a Christmas tree.
“I’m Victor Milo’s assistant. I perform all the levitations, the vanishing cabinet routines, the dramatic reveals during his act.
And of course, offstage, I manage the administrative side.
I order the props, maintain the equipment inventories, file the expense paperwork with circus management.
Basically, I keep the magic running smoothly. ” She bites down on a smile and winks.
“That is impressive,” I’m quick to tell her, and I mean it. By the sound of it, she’s running the show, at least where Milo the Magnificent is concerned. “I guess what they say is true. Behind every great man is an even greater woman.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” she says, and we share a quick laugh.
Peanut floats beside me, peering at Celeste with interest. “She’s got that whole mysterious assistant thing down pat. Very polished. Very poised. I bet she knows where all the bodies are buried. Metaphorically speaking. Mostly.”
I resist the urge to ask where the bodies are buried. It’s a small miracle, considering my hobbies.
“That sounds like a lot of work,” I say to Celeste.
“It is,” she admits. “But I love it. Milo is brilliant, and working with him is a dream. You know how it goes. The whole circus runs on illusion. People see exactly what we want them to see, and they pay extra for the privilege.”
I file that one away too. In my experience, people who brag about controlling what others see usually have a thing or two worth hiding.
I ease into the conversation gently. “How did you know Jump? Did you get along?”
Celeste’s expression softens. “Oh, I adored Jump. He was, well, that man had a lot going on. He could be a total jerk sometimes, but he was also kind and generous when you least expected it. An adorable jerk, I guess you could say.”
Peanut snorts. “That’s one way to describe a man who cheated on half the circus.”
“He was quite the ladies’ man,” Celeste continues, echoing Peanut’s thoughts so neatly I half wonder if she’s supersensual herself. “He was hot and heavy with Lavinia for a while, but he always had a few side pieces too. I think he just couldn’t help himself.”
“Sounds like a real charmer,” I say dryly.
“He was,” Celeste says, and a tear actually slides down her cheek. “I miss him. We all do.”
I let that sit for a moment, then shift gears. “What about Milo? How did he and Jump get along?”
Celeste’s face closes off just a fraction. “They were fine.”
Peanut leans in. “That’s the sound of a woman not telling the whole truth.”
I make a mental note. My brain is starting to resemble a detective’s bulletin board.
“Milo seems very talented,” I say.
Celeste’s entire demeanor changes, and her face lights up as if someone just plugged her into an outlet. “Oh, he is! He’s the love of my life. He’s so smart, so crafty. I’ve never met another performer like him. And his routine? It’s pure magic.”
“You really seem smitten,” I say, smiling.
She glances around, then leans in. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course.” I live for secrets. Mostly because they keep landing me at crime scenes, but that’s beside the point.
“We’re thinking about getting married,” she whispers. “He hasn’t officially proposed yet, but I think it’s coming soon. Maybe after this tour wraps up.”
“That’s wonderful,” I say, and I mean it. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you!” She beams. “Hey, did you sign up for the Local Legends performance?”
“I sure did.”
“Would you mind performing with me and Milo on the night of the big finale? Just a little something. We don’t even need to practice. You can still do another performance if you want. We love to include a little local color.”
I blink. “You want me to be part of your act?”
“Absolutely! It’ll be fun. And you’ll just love Milo. He’s incredible.”
“I’d love to,” I say, because how often do you get invited to be part of a magic act? Also, it might give me a chance to observe Milo up close. Two birds, one vanishing cabinet.
Peanut giggles. “Oh, this is going to be good. I can already tell.”
I ignore her. “Can I ask you something else?”
“Sure,” Celeste says.
“Do you know who Jump might have been having an affair with? You know, behind Lavinia’s back?”
Celeste hesitates, and her fingers twist the edge of a sequined cape. “I mean, there were a lot of people. Jump didn’t exactly keep his private life private. But—”
A scream cuts through the tent.
I whip around just in time to see Carlotta dangling from a trapeze bar. One leg is hooked around the metal, and her arms are windmilling as if she’s trying to invent a brand new form of flight. An ineffective one.
Oh good gravy. My shoulders sag at the sight of her.
“I’M FINE!” she shouts. “THIS IS FINE!”
“Oh, it is not fine. It’s never fine where Carlotta is concerned,” I hiss. “In fact, she belongs in one of those oversized cages out back, not the animals.”
Celeste gasps at my soliloquy. “You know her?”
“Unfortunately.”
Noah and Bear are already scrambling up the ladder to the platform, moving fast. Bear reaches the top first and launches himself toward Carlotta with all the confidence of a seasoned aerialist. Bear is not a seasoned aerialist. He belly-flops onto the safety net below with a resounding thwump, then bounces ten times fast.
He shouts something about his back cracking in half.
Oh, Keelie is not going to be happy.
The entire tent gasps.
Noah doesn’t hesitate. He swings out on the second trapeze, catches Carlotta midair as she loses her grip, and swings her back toward the platform in one smooth, dramatic arc.
The tent erupts in applause.
I’m already running, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat, and I reach the base of the platform just as Noah and Carlotta land on solid ground.
Carlotta immediately drops to her knees and starts kissing the sawdust. “I love you, planet Earth,” she says. “I will never leave you again.”
Ava, Olivia, and Evie are cheering, their ribbons long forgotten. “Cray Cray! That was freaking amazing!”
Keelie jogs over, looking equal parts impressed and horrified. “Carlotta, what were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I could do it,” Carlotta says, still on her knees. “Turns out, I was right.”
Noah offers her a hand and pulls her to her feet. “You’re lucky I was here.”
“Foxy, you’re my hot hero,” Carlotta says, throwing her arms around him. “I’ll do anything for you. Any request is already a yes. There’s nothing so raunchy that I won’t—”
“And that’s enough,” I say, quick to interrupt. Some sentences deserve to die midair, too.
I glance back at Celeste, who’s now standing a few feet away with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth.
“Your family is very lively,” she says.
“You have no idea,” I mutter.
Peanut floats beside me, shaking her head. “And people say the circus is full of drama.”
If catching a killer doesn’t kill me first, Carlotta’s antics definitely will.