I held Rose as we stepped out of the car. A breeze pushed up from the Piedmont, the mass of land stretching out far past the barren cornfields to the sea. Normally, the small gusts brought with them faint whiffs of the Atlantic and the wild grasses and flowers that covered the uninhabited stretches of land. But this morning, the wind brought only the ugly reminder of what had happened here. Gone were the sweet smells of cotton candy and popcorn. Gone were the whimsical striped tents shifting and billowing with the activity beneath their pointy tops. Gone were the smiling faces of the carnies, the painted faces of the clowns and performers, the awestruck expressions of little kids holding tightly to their prizes and hot dogs.
The air over the cornfields was stale and sour with lingering smoke and all the other foul, noxious odors that’d come with the rapid and violent destruction of the carnival. But the destruction hadn’t ended with the carnival. We’d lost a family member forever.
Buck glanced up as the four of us walked toward the group hovering over Emma’s lifeless body. My stepfather looked smaller, less robust somehow. His beard was no longer twitching with thoughts of how to make the show better. It hung frazzled and limp below a frown so deep, it seemed he’d never smile again.
I wasn’t completely sure what made me do it. Buck’s bad decisions and greed had caused all of this, and yet, he was still the only true family I had. I hated him for what he’d done, but I felt sorry for him. And there was always that lasting connection between us through my mother. I raced over to him. His eyes widened, as if he wasn’t sure what I would do once I reached him. In truth, I wasn’t completely sure until I was near enough to see that familiar round face peering out from the mass of facial hair. I broke into sobs and landed in his big arms.
“It’s all my fault,” Buck cried as he held me. “I’ve ruined everything. I’m a useless old man who should be taken out and shot like a lame horse.”
I pulled from his arms and looked up at him. “I’m not going to argue with you on that, Buck.”
Hurt splintered across his face.
“You’ll get no sympathy from me on this. I love you because you’re family but all this falls on your shoulders. You’ve lost everything. We’ve lost everything. This carnival wasn’t just yours. It belonged to all of us who put sweat, blood and tears into making it a success.” I looked around at the sorrow-filled, teary eyed faces. Everyone’s attention was on Buck and me. “Look at these people, Buck. Look at poor little Emma.” My voice was leaving me as my throat grew hoarse and dry. “This time there’s no way to dig yourself out. It’s over. This is over.”
Jackson knelt down next to Emma and turned her face to the side to check out the bruising around her neck. He paused for a second and leaned closer almost as if he was planning to whisper in her ear. Then he peered up at his brother. “Gideon, come down here for a second.”
Gideon reluctantly left Rose’s side and walked over to the body. He knelt down next to Jackson.
“Lean down and tell me what you smell.”
Gideon’s big shoulders dropped over Emma, shading her pale white face from the sun. Then he straightened. “Sarsaparilla?”
“Right.” Jackson’s blue eyes glimmered with an idea.
It took me a second to remember where I’d recently smelled the spicy, sweet scent of sarsaparilla. Griggs. He seemed to always being wearing hair grease or tonic that smelled like a soda fountain.
“Buck, how long would you say until the police get here?” Jackson asked.
“Not sure. Dodie and Joey left a half hour ago.”
Jackson and Gideon stood up. “Gid, make sure the police make note of that sarsaparilla odor. Griggs and his men are always expert at making sure nothing can be traced back to them, but this time, they messed up.” He walked over, took hold of my arms and kissed me. “Stay near the others. It’s still not safe. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Going to go find a way to nail Griggs and his men to the wall for good.” He walked back to the car with those same broad, confident shoulders I’d noticed on the first day I met him. It was that same self-assured way of carrying himself that made me think this was no ordinary man. This was a man I could easily spend five hours crying over.
Chapter 23
Jackson
On this trip there was no time to notice the historical architectural details of the mansion. I only hoped that Mr. Albert was at home and willing to speak to a bootlegger who’d arrived without the usual cases of white lightning. His butler, a man whose eyebrows were far thicker than the hair on his head, opened the door. He was obviously practiced at putting on a dignified, stony expression no matter who came to the door. But his bushy brows twitched just a tiny bit at the sight of me. I’d pulled on my coat and fedora, but I knew I looked nothing like one of the stuffed shirts on Capitol Hill.
“Is Mr. Albert in?”
“I’ll check. Who may I say is calling?”
“Tell him J.J. is here to talk business.”
With no invitation to wait in the marble floored entryway, I stayed out on the porch. The butler shut the front door. Moments later, he motioned me in with an expression that bordered on an eye roll. He led me down the hall to a paneled door and knocked.
“Come in,” Mr. Albert called.
I stepped inside. Mr. Albert stood from behind a carved mahogany desk and walked to the front of it. I glanced around the room. The walls were lined with dark cherry wood shelves that held hundreds of volumes of leather bound books. A world map that looked more of an antique than a useful resource covered the wall behind the desk.
Mr. Albert reached back into a box of cigars. “Best in town,” he said as held one up to me.
“No, thank you. I’m sure they’re excellent.”
“What brings you around here, son?” There was always a little something about the man that had reminded me of Ole Roy. It wasn’t in the way he looked but rather in the way he spoke, with that confident, likable tone that easily won the trust of people. Having him refer to me as son brought back a feeling of nostalgia. In times like this, I truly missed my pa.
“Some weeks ago, you mentioned working directly, leaving out the undesirable middleman.”
He grimaced at my mention of the middleman. “Yes, despicable man, that Griggs, I’m afraid I’m planning on cutting off his business. I’ve been advised to break relations with the man.”
“That’s good advice. I don’t know if you heard about the traveling carnival—”
He pulled the cigar from his lips and spoke over the puffs of smoke. “Burnt to the ground. What a shame. I heard everyone made it out safely, and that’s what’s important. Still, those poor people who have lost their livelihoods.” The man had a reputation as a highly-skilled, never take no for an answer lobbyist, but there was something genuine in his character. And I saw it as he expressed his sympathies for the carnival workers.
“Unfortunately, someone was hurt,” I said.
“Oh?”
“One of the girls, a dancer, was killed.”
“Oh dear, I was told everyone survived.”
“She didn’t die in the fire. Griggs killed her.”
His reached up and smoothed down the few thin hairs of his meager moustache. “Then I really must cut my ties with the man. How do you know he killed her? Is there proof?” He walked around and sat in his throne-like chair. “I don’t think we need to pretend here, J.J.. Griggs has some strong ties with the shadier half of law enforcement in this area. That’s part of the reason for his success. It might be difficult to pin this on him.”
“There is proof. That’s why I came here to see you, sir. You and I can continue business. I will bring you that tasty liquor you’ve grown so fond of for a cheaper price. But Griggs has to be out of the way.”
He stared at
me with some confusion.
“Surely, you have big connections. I’ve got the evidence. You find a lawman who’s not on Griggs’s payroll and who’s not afraid to go after him, and our business partnership can continue.”
Mr. Albert took a long, slow draw on his cigar. He squinted at me through the stream of smoke, then pointed at me with the cigar. “You know, I like you, J.J.. You seem like a hardworking, honest kid. I’ve got connections, and we’ve got a deal. I’ll set something up so we can take Griggs out of the picture.”
***
By the time I’d returned to the carnival site, the inspector had already gathered evidence. Emma’s body had been carried off by the coroner. Not much progress had been made in cleaning up or sifting through the mess. A grim mood gripped the place like cold fingers.
Several of the box trucks had been spared from the fire. They were being used for people to take a break from the sun. Clean water and cold sandwiches were being served from the back of a wagon. Mabel had brought fruit and cookies. Some of the other locals had contributed milk and bread.
Gideon was helping a few of the men carry some of the charred lumber out of the debris. Fire would be needed, once the sun dropped behind the mountains.
Gideon walked hunched over with a blackened tent pole on his shoulder. He glanced up. “Where did you go?”
“Went to take care of some business. Did you make sure the inspector made a note about the odor on Emma’s clothing?”
“I did. He thought it was strange. Was asking if she’d worked in a soda shop.”
I picked up the other end of the pole so he wouldn’t have to drag it behind him.
“I told him about Griggs’s special hair tonic. But don’t see how it’ll make a difference, Jacks. Even this guy seemed uninterested in hearing about any possible motives. He’d already convinced himself, given Emma’s career as an exotic dancer, that it was just a jealous lover.”
We reached the pile of other salvageable lumber and dropped the pole on top. “Bunch of shit heels. Burlesque dancer or not,” I said, “they have no fucking right to brush off Emma’s murder. They’re afraid of Griggs. And when he gets slammed behind bars, every dirty cop needs to be locked in with him.”
“Behind bars? How the hell is that going to happen?”
I tapped my temple. “Leave it to the brainy Jarrett brother.”
He laughed.
“Hey, where’s Charli?” I asked.
Gideon motioned back to one of the trucks. “Rose was feeling badly. Charli took her to rest in that first truck.”
“Great.” I walked away.
“Uh, brainy man, are you going to lend us some of your muscle out here too. Or is that beneath a genius like yourself?”
I waved to him but kept walking. I poked my head into the cab of the truck. Rose was fast asleep in the seat.
“Rose,” I called quietly.
She opened her eyes and smiled weakly at me. “Hey, Jackson. Is Charli back?”
I stared at her hoping she was too groggy to know what she was saying. “Back from where?”
“I had this terrible headache and, sweetheart that she is, she volunteered to ride Gypsy into town and—”
I tore away from the truck before she even had a chance to finish. I cranked the car motor, jumped in and pulled out onto the road. My heart was slamming against my ribs. My hands gripped the steering wheel tight enough to break it. She’ll be fine, I told myself a hundred times before I turned to the road that would take me to town.
I hadn’t gone more than a mile before I spotted the gray withers of a horse peeking up over the tall weeds growing along the side of the highway. I stopped the car and closed my eyes, hoping and praying that I’d find Charli standing next to the horse.
Gypsy popped her giant head up just long enough to see who was walking toward her. Then she dropped her muzzle back down into the patch of weeds. The horse was alone. There was no sign of Charli.
Chapter 24
Charli
Gypsy was a trained performer. She could circle around a ring with Sadie doing a handstand on her back while accidentally freed balloons floated past her muzzle and never lose focus. I’d always thought she was the kind of horse a general would want under him when riding into battle. Turned out I was wrong. One shot fired into the air had sent her straight up on two back legs. With no saddle and only a makeshift halter and reins to hang onto, I rolled right onto the hard road. Before I could catch my wind and take off running, Griggs’s man had grabbed me. He dragged me kicking and screaming to the back of a truck and slammed me inside.
We made a sharp right turn. I fell off the bench seat and slammed my tender tailbone, yet again. Tears stung my eyes, but I had to keep my wits about me. I didn’t want to end up like Emma. The box on the truck had no windows and little air to breathe. It was as black inside as out, and the stifling heat inside the small compartment was making me dizzy. Not being able to see the road, the unexpected turns were forcing my stomach into waves of nausea.
Jackson had told me to stay close to everyone, but I’d felt so sorry for Rose. She’d looked miserable and close to fainting. I figured a quick trip to town on Gypsy would not be dangerous. Griggs had already gotten more than his share of revenge on Buck. Hell, Griggs took retribution way past the point of decency. He was a monster. And, it seemed, I was his next victim.
The truck stopped suddenly, and again, I rolled to the floor, managing to smack my shoulder hard on the bench I’d just fallen from. The back panel of the truck flew open. As harsh as the direct sunlight was, I welcomed the fresh air.
The man who’d plucked me off the road, a bland faced man with nothing to set him apart from others aside from the fact that he looked like someone who’d kill you if you looked at him wrong, seized my arm painfully. I barely had time to lower my feet to the ground before he pulled me along behind him. We were behind the speakeasy.
He knocked three times on the back door, and it swung open. Another charmless man in pinstripes, with an equally ugly scowl, let us inside. I took note of the hallway and the doors. We reached the third door on the left. The man holding me shoved it open with his foot. He motioned me inside. It was a cellar. The entire time that Emma was missing, I’d imagined that she was probably being kept in a cellar. It was almost as if I could feel her sitting alone in the dark, surrounded by spiders and tiny animals. Now, I was in the same place that I’d imagined. The second the door swung shut, sinking me into complete darkness, I looked around for a glimmer of daylight.
It took several minutes for the blackness to fade to discernible shadows. Apparently, some shelving and tables had survived the library fire. It seemed anything that had been stored below stairs had been spared. It was still dark enough that I had to stick my hands out in front to make sure I didn’t fall over anything or crown myself on low shelving. If there was a window, it was blocked by the stacks of stored boxes.
After several harrowing battles with heavy strands of cobwebs, I found a table that had a tall tower of old boxes. It was a place to start. I had no intention of standing around in the dark listening for sounds to scare me when I could be digging my way out of the place.
I moved the first box and broke into a coughing fit as a cloud of dust kicked up. The next box sent several small animals, mice I presumed, through that same cloud of dust. Lack of a breeze kept the particles floating around longer than usual. I swept my hand through the chalky mist. It brought some relief to my burning eyes. As I reached for another box, the cellar door flung open. Nothing I could have found digging in the dark, dank cellar could ever have been as frightening as the man coming down the cellar steps. I reached around for something, anything, but dusty cardboard boxes were poor defense.
The light from above flowed into the cellar, illuminating Griggs’s sharp face.
“Looks like I’v
e caught myself an Enchantress,” he sneered. “No snake today, huh, sweetheart?”
“What do you mean? He’s standing right in front of me.”
His lips pulled tight in anger. “Heard there was some trouble out at the carnival site. A fire, or something.” He made a point of looking down at the oversized white shirt I was wearing. “Guess your clothes burned too. I can arrange to get you something to wear.” He paused. “Although, I’d really prefer to see you naked.”
“Can’t think of anything more revolting than standing naked in front of you.”
“We’ll see. Oh, and I heard rumors of a murder out there.”
“You fucking bastard, you will rot in hell for what you did to Emma.”
“Me? Why, I’m disappointed that you’d think me capable of something so horrible.” He reached for me. I backed up, wedging myself against the table. “I’m always a much better lover than I am a killer.” He lunged at me and his cold fingers wrapped around my arm. His mouth slammed against mine. I reached blindly back and grabbed a box. I smacked his head with it. The box had little effect, but the dust storm that came with it sent us both into cough fits.
I tried to shoot out from between him and the table, but, even doubled over from coughing, he managed to grab my arm. I flung my fist at him and hit him hard on the chin. He came back with a slap that sent me flying into the next table. I landed on my hands and knees. The pain brought tears to my eyes and a ringing in my ears. It took me a second to figure out which way was up. I pushed to my feet. As I passed the boxes stacked on the table he’d thrown me against, I felt a rush of cool air. The window was behind the boxes.
“I’ve got some business upstairs,” he growled. “Then I’m coming back for you.” He walked up behind me, and I could smell the sickening sweet hair grease. “Plan on being more cooperative to my advances, or you’ll find yourself inside an old rug just like that other little carnival whore.” He walked back up the stairs and slammed shut the door.