Chapter 23
Lottie
Evie promised that everything would be fine, famous last words if I’ve ever heard them, and I shake my head as I drive out to the fairgrounds feeling like I just escaped from a maximum-security prison run by teenage girls.
The late afternoon sun is warm on my arms as I pull into the parking lot, and the circus is in full swing.
Families are everywhere, kids running around with balloons tied to their wrists, parents juggling strollers and diaper bags, teenagers taking selfies in front of the big top.
The air smells like fried dough and cotton candy and popcorn, that perfect carnival scent that makes you hungry even if you just ate a full meal twenty minutes ago.
I get out of the van and immediately spot my sister Charlie up ahead, working the Honey Pot Diner booth right next to the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery booth where Lily and Effie are stationed.
Suze is working the bakery booth next door, glaring at the middle distance like Jump’s ghost might wander by so she can glare at him too. Effie waves at me. Suze does not.
Charlie has the same caramel-colored waves I do, the same hazel eyes, except she’s one year younger and about ten times spunkier.
Also, she’s single, which means she doesn’t have to deal with teenage twins who catfish detectives or toddlers who chat up the ghosts of elephants.
Lucky her. No husbands, no toddler ghost-whisperer, no teenage twins running a small criminal enterprise out of my guest room. Just funnel cakes and freedom.
I head over, and she spots me immediately, her face lighting up. “Lottie!” She wraps me in a hug. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be knee-deep in kids all week.”
“I needed a break,” I say. “Desperately.”
She gives a little laugh. “That bad, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
Charlie gestures to her booth, which is loaded with comfort food that smells so good my stomach growls on command.
“Want something? I’ve got fresh funnel cakes, deep-fried Oreos, loaded nachos with jalapenos and cheese, bacon-wrapped hot dogs, and—” she holds up a golden-brown masterpiece on a stick—corn dogs. The good kind.
I snap up a corn dog without hesitation. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I know.” She leans against the counter. “So. Who’s next up on your suspect list?”
I blink. “How did you—”
“Don’t tell me for one minute you’re not investigating,” Charlie says, giving me a knowing look. “I know you. You’re my sister. You couldn’t stay out of a murder investigation if a killer paid you to.”
“You got me,” I admit. “It’s Poppy. The aerialist. I’m hoping to talk to her today.”
“Poppy Wingate. She’s a sweetheart and also a devoted fan of my deep-fried butter. What’d she do?”
“She was arguing with Lavinia the first night we were here.” I crane my neck past her. “Where’s the deep-fried butter?”
“Sold out.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Anyway, I want to know what that argument was about. But I think I already know. Turns out Poppy was the side piece in an equation she apparently didn’t want to get caught up in.
At least from what I’ve heard. Or so Milo implied, and that man knows where every skeleton at this circus is buried. Possibly literally.”
Charlie nods thoughtfully. “Side pieces never end well.”
“Nope.”
Charlie suddenly cranes her neck past me, her expression shifting. “Uh-oh. Here comes trouble. And coincidentally, the side piece who birthed us.”
I turn around and see Carlotta running toward us like she’s being chased by something invisible and terrifying, like an entire herd of teenage clowns. Honestly, that would be terrifying.
“You left me back there!” Carlotta shouts, breathless. “With Creepy One and Creepy Two!”
I sigh. “Carlotta—”
“Crazy Pants,” Charlie snips at her. “What happened?”
“Be glad you don’t know,” Carlotta says, clutching her chest dramatically. “Those two little devils are something else. You know I can’t be alone with them. They looked at me, Cha-Cha. They looked at me like they were measuring me for a casket.”
Charlie raises an eyebrow. “They can’t be that bad.”
I make a face.
Charlie’s eyes widen. “No.”
“I hate to say it,” I start, then pause to take a bite of my corn dog because I need the strength.
“But those girls have caused more chaos in three days than most criminals manage in a lifetime. They made a spreadsheet comparing Noah and Everett. Like, an actual spreadsheet. With categories and ratings. Hotness, cooking skills, dad jokes, fashion sense, likelihood of winning in a fight—”
“Don’t forget most likely to survive a zombie apocalypse,” Carlotta adds. “Everett won that one.”
“And best hair,” I say. “That was a tie.”
Charlie grins. “Who won overall?”
“It was close,” I admit. “But I think Noah somehow edged ahead on dad jokes and cooking.”
Carlotta nods. “It was thorough. Very professional. Color-coded. They even had footnotes.”
“Then,” I continue, “they signed Noah up for a bunch of dating sites using his real photos and phone number. He’s been getting propositioned all day. Some of the messages were—” I trail off, searching for the word.
“Spicy,” Carlotta supplies. “Deliciously spicy. A few were downright X-rated.”
Charlie’s mouth drops open.
“And that’s not all,” I say. “They manipulated me into taking them to Serenity Luxe Activewear, you know, that place where a single sports bra costs more than a tank of gas, and they bought three thousand dollars’ worth of clothes.”
Charlie chokes on her next words. “Three thousand dollars?”
“Three. Thousand. Dollars.” I emphasize each word like I’m reading my own ransom note.
Honestly, I should be far more embarrassed than I am.
“Leggings, sports bras, jackets, tank tops, enough underwear to last them through college and a gap year. And they convinced me it was all fine because their mom approved it. Spoiler alert, I have no idea whether their mom would approve, but I’m starting to lean toward not. ”
“Oh my goodness,” Charlie says, with a laugh that sounds a lot like a choo-choo train picking up speed.
“And before that,” I add, “they conned me at Merman’s in Fallbrook. You know, the grocery store where strawberries cost twenty bucks each? I spent twelve hundred dollars on groceries because one of them is a vegan who doesn’t like vegetables.”
“Wow, this is turning out to be quite an expensive week for you.” Charlie is laughing so hard she’s doubled over, clutching the counter for support. “A vegan who doesn’t like vegetables? How does that even work?”
“It doesn’t!” I say. “That’s the point! They’re chaos incarnate with a credit card—my credit card!”
Carlotta wastes no time loading up on Charlie’s treats. She’s got a funnel cake in one hand and a deep-fried Oreo in the other, and she looks like she’s mourning the fact that the good Lord only saw fit to give her two hands.
“Cha-Cha, you’ve really outdone yourself,” Carlotta starts. “This is delicious. Also, I’m never going back to that house, Lot. You can’t make me.”
“You live there,” I point out.
“Not anymore,” Carlotta says through a mouthful of funnel cake. “I’m moving into the circus. I’ll live in one of those trailers. I’ll become a carny. Anything is better than being stared at by the double trouble duo of doom.”
Charlie wipes tears from her eyes. “I can’t believe this. Everett’s daughters are wreaking havoc on Honey Hollow.”
“They’re wreaking havoc on my sanity,” I correct. “Honey Hollow is just along for the ride.”
I’m about to elaborate and really get into the red raspberry jelly incident and the way they didn’t bat an eye when customers ran out screaming, when I spot a redheaded beauty in a sparkling pink leotard walking toward the tent, her curls bouncing with each step.
She’s got the kind of posture that comes from dangling twenty feet in the air for a living, and the kind of face that gets a girl named the side piece in someone else’s love triangle.
Well, well, if it isn’t Poppy Wingate.
I gobble down the rest of my corn dog in haste. “Charlie, I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got someone I need to talk to.”
Charlie belts out a dark laugh. “Go catch a killer, sis.”
Carlotta looks up from her deep-fried Oreo. “Wait, you’re going after the woman who spins by her hair near the ceiling? The one who flies through the air? Lot, what if she tries to toss you off a trapeze?”
“Then I guess Ava and Olivia will finally get what they’re after,” I say.
Carlotta gasps. “Don’t joke about that. If you bite the big one, who’s going to protect me from them?”
I head toward the tent, leaving Carlotta to stress-eat her way through Charlie’s entire menu. Because if I’m going to survive this week, I need to solve this murder. And maybe, just maybe, figure out how to outlast two thirteen-year-olds in the process.