Chapter 19
Lottie
The circus just wrapped up, and the tent is still buzzing with energy, families streaming toward the exits, kids clutching light-up wands and stuffed animals, vendors calling out last-minute deals on popcorn and cotton candy.
The air smells like sawdust and sugar and that particular mix of excitement and exhaustion that comes after a good show.
Everett and I are making our way toward Milo the Magnificent, who’s standing near his equipment in the corner, when Carlotta materializes beside us like a leopard-print apparition.
“You’re not talking to the man of intrigue without me,” she announces, falling into step.
“He’s a man of mystery. A man of magic. A man with a handlebar mustache that could talk a nun out of her habit and a banker out of his vault.
Plus, he’s got that whole dark-and-brooding thing going on, which is my kryptonite.
That and men who own boats. Or cabins. Or power tools.
Honestly, if a man has assets and decent bone structure, I’m willing to hear his opening statement. ”
Everett shoots her a look. “Carlotta.”
“What? I’m just saying, a man who can make a woman disappear? That’s either a magician or a serial killer, and no matter which, I’m intrigued.”
“That’s disturbing,” I mutter.
“That’s romance,” she corrects.
Everett sighs. “Please don’t embarrass us.”
I shrug. “At this point, that’s essentially her job.”
Carlotta scoffs. “Don’t be jealous, Sexy. You know you and Foxy still reign supreme in my heart. Well, you and the mayor. And that one fella from the farmers market with the heirloom tomatoes. But you’re definitely in my top ten.”
Before Everett can respond, a spray of pink stars erupts beside me, and Peanut appears, floating along as happy as can be.
“Oh good, you’re interrogating suspects!
” she says with her tiny trunk swinging.
“I’m practically a professional at this now, you know.
The trick is you bat your lashes, you ask the nosy questions, and somebody confesses just to make you stop.
That’s how I’d do it. Well, that’s how I’d do most things.
Now, who’s the shifty one, and more importantly, which of them has snacks? ”
Carlotta grins and cracks her knuckles. “Peanut! Perfect timing. You sweat the magician, I’ll go check out his equipment.
Somewhere in this tent there’s a box that conjures a man out of thin air, and I intend to find it.
I’ve been doing it the hard way for decades, and my method involves a lot more alcohol and regret. ”
Peanut’s ears perk up. “Ooh, Milo. He’s very secretive. Keeps to himself. But Celeste adores him, which is either very sweet or deeply incriminating. The jury’s still out, and frankly, so am I.”
Sweet and deeply incriminating, is basically his whole persona in a nutshell.
We weave through the thinning crowd—a group of teenagers posing for selfies near the ring, a family arguing over whether to buy one more bag of popcorn, a clown still in full makeup blowing up balloons.
The overhead lights are brighter now that the show is over, which makes everything feel less magical and more like organized chaos with a glitter problem.
We reach Milo, who’s standing near a rack of equipment—cabinets, boxes, props, and what looks like enough velvet to outfit an entire theater. He’s still in his black suit, the red silk lining catching the light every time he moves.
“Hello,” I say, forcing a smile. “How are you? You did such a great job tonight. That levitation act was incredible.”
Milo turns, and his face lights up with recognition. “Lottie! Of course. I never forget a beautiful woman.”
Carlotta clears her throat loudly enough to dislodge a chandelier.
Milo chuckles and takes her hand, kissing the back of it with a theatrical flourish. “And I certainly haven’t forgotten you, Carlotta. How could I?”
Carlotta fans herself. “Oh, you charmer. Keep talking and I might just volunteer to be sawed in half.”
“That can be arranged,” Milo says with a wink.
“Not soon enough,” I mutter.
Everett steps forward, extending a hand. “Everett Baxter. That was quite an act. Very impressive.”
Milo shakes his hand. “Thank you. It’s always a pleasure to perform for an appreciative audience.”
I take a breath, shifting gears. “I’m so sorry about Jump. I know it must be hard for everyone here.”
Milo’s expression darkens with something flickering across his face—grief, maybe, or something harder to read.
“Yes. It’s been difficult. Jump was the heart of this circus.
He had such a big personality. Irreplaceable, really.
He had his flaws, but don’t we all? He kept things running, kept morale up. It’s not the same without him.”
Peanut floats closer, peering at Milo with one beady eye. “He’s sad. But not sad enough to skip lunch over it. Noted.”
I press gently. “How long did you know him?”
“Years,” Milo says. “I joined the circus five years ago, and Jump was already established as ringmaster. We got along well enough. He appreciated my work, and I appreciated his showmanship.”
“Did the two of you ever have any disagreements?” I ask, keeping my tone light and conversational, like we’re swapping casserole recipes instead of discussing a homicide.
Milo hesitates, then shrugs. “Everyone argued with Jump at some point. He was opinionated. Strong-willed. But we never had anything serious. Just the usual creative differences.”
“What about anyone else?” I ask. “Did Jump have arguments with other performers?”
Milo glances around, then lowers his voice. “You want the truth? Jump had a gift for making enemies. Lethal Lavinia, for one. They dated years ago, and it didn’t end well. She’s still bitter about it. And lately, they’d been fighting more than usual.”
Somewhere behind us, a stagehand drops a metal pole with a resounding clang, and a child immediately starts crying.
The tent is slowly emptying out, but there’s still the steady hum of conversation, the rustle of programs being tossed, the squeak of wheels as vendors push their carts toward the exits.
“About what?” Everett asks.
“They were still involved, actually. On and off for years, but recently it got more serious again. Or at least Lavinia thought it did. Jump had other ideas. When she found out he was seeing other people, again, there were threats made. Serious ones. Nothing I took to heart at the time, but now?” He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
Peanut nods sagely. “Lavinia was very angry. I told you so, and I’d like that on the record.”
I remember something. “You know, on opening night, I saw Lavinia and Poppy arguing. It looked pretty heated. Do you know what that was about?”
Milo’s expression darkens. “Poppy? Yes. She and Jump had an affair. Recent, too. Very recent.”
Carlotta perks up. “An affair? Do tell—and I mean don’t leave out a single dirty deet. I’m always up for learning new tricks.”
Please. She could write the book.
“Jump and Poppy,” Milo says. “It was a sordid tale, one might say. But there was something going on between them, more than just an affair. Jump wasn’t really her type if you know what I mean. But for some reason, whenever he called, she had to jump. No pun intended.”
I frown. “What do you think was going on?”
Milo shrugs. “I don’t know for certain. But I think he had something on her. Blackmail, maybe? Leverage? Poppy doesn’t take orders from anyone, but with Jump? She did whatever he said.”
Peanut gasps so hard she nearly loses altitude. “Blackmail! I knew it! Jump hoarded secrets the way Carlotta hoards men.”
She so has Carlotta’s naughty number.
“That’s awful,” I say.
“It is,” Milo agrees. “But that was Jump. He collected secrets the way other people collect stamps, except they appreciated in value.”
I give a nod to Peanut because she called Jump out first.
Carlotta, who’s been poking around the equipment this whole time, climbs onto a box and starts examining a cabinet like she’s appraising it for resale.
“Carlotta, get down from there,” I hiss.
“Don’t worry about her,” Milo says, amused. “She can’t hurt anything. Most of this is just props. Mirrors, false panels, that sort of thing.”
Carlotta peers into a box. “This is fascinating. How do you keep track of it all?”
“Celeste handles most of the inventory,” Milo says. “She orders all the equipment, keeps everything organized. We’re actually due for another shipment soon—new props, replacement parts. She’s very thorough.”
The smell of fried dough drifts over from the midway outside, mingling with the lingering scent of popcorn. Somewhere in the distance, carnival music plays, fast and cheerful and completely at odds with the conversation we’re having about blackmail and murder.
Peanut suddenly perks up, her trunk swinging toward the other side of the tent. “Oh! Oh! Is that—yes! Lyla Nell has caramel popcorn! And a caramel apple! And is that cotton candy? Blue and pink? And, oh my goodness, is that a funnel cake?”
And within two seconds flat she’s already flying off in a shower of pink stars, heading straight for the junk-food bonanza that Noah has apparently unleashed upon my unsuspecting daughter.
I spot Noah across the tent and make a mental note to have a very detailed conversation with him later about the wisdom of feeding a two-year-old enough sugar to fuel a small rocket ship at nine o’clock at night. Good luck putting her to bed, Daddy.
Milo smiles. “Are you both participating in the Local Legends benefit on Saturday?”
“I am,” I say. “Though I’m not quite sure what my act will be yet. Celeste offered to let me participate with you two, which is very kind.”
“Oh, well, then I can’t wait,” Milo says with a dark laugh that does absolutely nothing to reassure me. “I promise you this, it will be memorable. And you, sir?”
Everett clears his throat. “I’m afraid I haven’t signed up. I won’t be able to participate.”
Milo waves a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. You’ll be in the act with your wife on Saturday night. I promise, no rehearsals necessary. Just show up, dress your best, and leave the rest to me.”
Everett nods slowly. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Someone calls Milo’s name from across the tent, one of the stagehands, gesturing urgently.
“Excuse me,” Milo says, offering a small bow. “It seems I’m needed elsewhere. But I’ll see you both on Saturday.”
He walks off, and I turn to Everett. “Well, that was—”
“HELP!” Carlotta’s voice cuts through the tent, high-pitched and panicked.
We both spin around.
Carlotta is inside one of the magic boxes, the kind used for the sawing-in-half trick, and half of her body is missing.
Just gone. Her top half is sticking out of one end, one hand waving frantically, the other still gripping the saw she apparently decided to operate on herself with, because of course she did.
Her legs are, well, somewhere else. Or nowhere. I honestly can’t tell.
“Carlotta!” I shout, running over.
Everett is right behind me, already reaching for the box. “What did you do?”
“I don’t know!” Carlotta wails. “I just climbed in to see how it worked, and now I’m in two places at once! Or one place! Or no places! I don’t know! Just get me out!”
I stare at the box, then at Carlotta’s panicked face, then back at the box.
Magic tricks are one thing. But there’s no recipe in the world for putting Carlotta back together once she’s been sawed in half.
All’s well that ends well.
And if it isn’t ending well—Carlotta probably has something to do with it.