by Jamie Blair
"Our authority was written into the town charter in 1868, under section twelve, The Founder's Counsel, which states, and I quote--"
Mom cut in. "Are you or are you not a founder of this town?"
"I am a Daughter of Historical--"
"Yes or no, Mrs. Hayman?"
"She has her on the ropes," Roy said, elbowing me in the side.
Irene cleared her throat. "Madame Sergeant At Arms, the defendant's counsel will be treated as hostile from here on out."
Fiona stood. "Mrs. Zaborowski-Cripps, you are hereby silenced by this tribunal. Please sit and observe. Any farther outbursts and you'll be ejected."
Roy bolted up out of his chair. "That means I'm in charge now. Listen up ladies, this here is a witch hunt. We all know bones were found and The Steins are digging up their backyard."
Irene banged her gavel, but it was ineffective coming from the laptop screen. Roy was on a roll.
"I ask you," Roy said, "given that bones are typically buried in the ground, and these ones suddenly show up out of nowhere, where would your mind logically go? The woman who holds her reputation in such high regard that she'd do anything to keep it from being smudged by mud and a bunch of old bones?" He paced in front of the jury of Daughters. "Nobody ever said Fiona did it, it's only a theory. When we get rid of theories, how do we find the truth?
"That's enough!" Fiona shouted at the top of her lungs. She shot out of her chair, banging against the table. "I will not stand her listening to these accusations against me!" She banged her fist behind the laptop and made it jump.
"What's going on?" Irene shrieked.
"If it weren't true, would she be so upset?" Roy asked the jury, pointing to Fiona.
"I said, that's enough!" Fiona shoved her way out from behind the table, sending the laptop lurching to the floor.
"Hello? What's going on?" Irene shouted from the laptop on the ground. "Pick me up, Fiona! I must have order! Hello?"
"We won't stand for stopping progress in the search for truth!" Roy raised a fist in the air. "We must have justice!"
Cass started clapping. Elaina followed suit, and added a loud whistle using her fingers. Judy and Betty gathered their handbags and got ready to leave. Johnna stood up, giving Roy a round of applause to which he bowed.
Fiona grabbed the laptop off the floor and slammed it shut in a huff. As she stormed for the door she called, "Meeting adjourned!"
Soapy pulled the door open for her to stride through, and closed it shut behind her. "Well," he said, turning toward us. "That was fun. We should do this more often. Coffee's on the house!"
13
We sat at a bar table in the Cornerstone. I bought Roy a drink and Mom said she had his next one. Johnna offered to give him a ride home when he got done celebrating. Cass joined us and so did Monica.
"That was like nothing I've ever seen before," Mom said. "You went in with no plan, no strategy and pulled out a win."
"That's what I do," Roy said, leaning back in his chair. "I save the day. Call me Superman."
"More like super lucky," Johnna said. "That stunt could've gone either way."
"I fixed what you screwed up, no luck about it."
Johnna wrapped her yarn around her needles double time. "You just pushed Fiona over the edge. First Cam starts saying it was her who dumped those bones, then I asked her and got her wound up, and when you did it in front of all her friends she went cuckoo. It was good timing, that's all."
I jumped in before the two of them started lobbing cocktail peanuts at each other. "Who knows what went on inside Fiona's head? All I know is that by luck, talent, or a bit of both Roy got her to flip out and end the tribunal."
"Your mother-in-law was having a breakdown," Mom said, smiling around the edge of her wine glass.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Her screaming, 'What happened? Fiona?' from the floor almost had me in tears. I held it in though. I knew cracking up would only get me in more trouble."
"I wish I would've been there to see it," Monica said, picking paint from her fingernails. "I like Irene, but she and her cronies deserve what they get sometimes."
"Oh, we all like Irene," Mom said. "When she's not bullying everyone in town she's even fun to be around."
Cass held up her right hand. "I swear when the older generation are no longer a part of the Daughters, it'll be a dinner club only. We'll still do charity work, but no more ruling over the town."
"Too bad we can't do that now," Johnna said. "I don't want to die and miss the fun stuff."
"We can do fun things now," Cass said. "We don't have to do it as a Daughters activity."
"Good," Monica said, "then we can all go."
"I told Steve I'd help him with the carnival this afternoon," Cass said. "There's a bus coming in for dinner at the Briar Bird and Steve's giving them a tour of his tent and all the wonders it holds." She spread her fingers wide and waved them, mystically, through the air. "Come with me and we can watch fire eaters. What could be more fun than that?"
"I can think of several things," Carl said, coming up behind Mom and kissing her on the ear.
"Monica and I already went through once," I said, "but I didn't get to see any fire eaters."
"I need to get back to putting another coat of paint on the kitchen," Monica said, so I have to skip this outing.
"Cam," Roy said, poking me in the arm. "There are the trash men. I told you they come in after their shift."
"I think the correct term is sanitation collectors," Cass said.
Roy smirked. "Trash is trash no matter what you call it. Now, I'm going to go talk to them about the can in the park."
"Wait," I said, grasping him by the arm. "Can you ask them about something else?" I leaned over to whisper, not wanting everyone at the table to hear about my suspicions of Soapy. "Can you ask about the dumpster behind the Soapy Savant, too? Maybe they can see if there's anything, umm... well, any bones in it now? I'll pay them under the table if they can go through it and see what they find."
Wide-eyed, Roy looked struck by my words. "You're not saying what I think you're saying. I know you aren't thinking that the most honorable among us is dirty rotten."
"Shh!" I tried to quiet him. "Ben and I saw something the other night. It probably has to do with the raccoons, but we need to see if there's anything in that dumpster."
"And you can't just ask him?"
"I don't want him to think we're pointing the finger his direction, especially with Ben being a cop. I don't want to make a big deal of it and this is the easiest way."
"I don't like this." He shook his head. "I want it on the record that I don't like this. I'll give the trash men your offer, but I want my name off the record."
"It is. The Action Agency needs to cover all bases though, right? We can't leave a lead unchecked because it's a friend. That wouldn't be right."
He took a deep drink of his booze. "I don't like it. You're right, but I don't like it."
He left his stool taking his glass with him and made his way over to the guys in the sanitation crew.
"What was that about?" Monica asked.
"He's going to ask if they saw anything when they picked up the trash in the park the other day."
"Why would that get him all in a tizzy?" Johnna asked.
"Oh, you know Roy," I said. "Sometimes it's better not to wonder what's in his head."
"Amen to that," she said.
Monica and Mom shot me shrewed, knowing glances. They knew me too well to think I was being one hundred percent honest. When nothing came from searching the dumpster, I'd feel better about lying. Until then, I'd suffer through it, because I wouldn't drag Soapy's name into this mess.
That evening after dinner, I left Ben helping Mia with her math homework and met Cass at her Fiddle Dee Doo Inn. When I got home from the Cornerstone I read more of Estelle Brooks's journal. There was a big gap of about three years missing, the pages torn right out at the seam. When the story left off, Estelle and Dalton were embroiled in
a passionate love affair. He was stuck in Metamora working at the circus until he paid off his debt to Joseph Longo, but the pair were planning to run away together. Estelle would leave her husband, Paul, high and dry, and Dalton would leave Joseph responsible for his monetary debt to society.
When the story picked back up about three years later, Estelle had a little boy and was living her old life of the Founder's wife like nothing had ever happened. I'd flipped through and scanned the remaining pages of the journal, but didn't see Dalton's name mentioned again.
Tonight, I'd scour that tent for information about Dalton and Estelle. There had to be something about him if he'd worked for Joseph Longo at the circus.
Cass popped out the front door when she saw me coming. Her hair was threaded with pink, green, and blue hair dye, and her face was painted with elaborate makeup, like she was part of the show. She wore a deep emerald satin dress with black netting underneath that came above the knee. "Wow!" I said, taking it all in. "What's this about?"
"One of the fire eaters canceled," she said. "Steve asked me to fill in. He promised I wouldn't have to do anything but stand there and look pretty."
"I hope not. You don't know anything about fire eating, do you?"
"Not even a lick."
We trotted across the lawn to the lane. Old Dan and his son Frank Gardner sat out on the porch of the grist mill. "How are the bees?" Old Dan asked. "Tell them I'll be around directly to visit."
"They're buzzing," I said. "I'll let them know. They'll be glad to hear it."
Last fall, Old Dan transferred the huge population of bees that had a hive encompassing the entire interior of one of my porch columns into a bee box he built. We had so much honey we were swamped with it. He told me I had to talk to them or they'd swarm. In all honesty, I hadn't been out to see them since the ice thawed. When I got back home tonight, I'd check in on them.
"Tell Monica we've got more of that corn meal ground that she likes for her dog treats," Frank said.
"I'll tell her. I know that's a crowd favorite." My dogs loved her Dog Bark that was made with the grist mill's corn meal.
The carnival tent was fairly empty when we arrived. It was a Monday night after all, and the bus wasn't due to bring the crowd from dinner for another half hour. Steve sat inside on a red and gold throne-like chair that sat atop a thread-bare oriental rug. Beside him sat an antique cash register and he counted out a stack of money. He'd brought more items out into the tent than what I'd seen the other day.
"We're here," Cass said, swinging her dress around. "How's business today?"
"Doing okay," he said, tucking the cash back into the register and slamming it shut. "I don't suppose either of you know how to paint faces, or maybe make balloon animals?"
Cass and I looked at each other. "I guess I could paint faces," I said. "As long as it's something easy like a rainbow or a flower."
"I'm not sure I can make balloon animals," Cass said. "I did take a juggling class once. I'm not great, but I could give it a shot."
"That's great. Thank you both. With only one fire eater, I'm in an entertainment lurch, and what's a carnival without entertainment?"
"Honestly," I said, "I think Roy can make balloon animals. I saw him making dogs at Canal Days."
"I wouldn't have guessed it. I'll ring him up."
Roy would be three sheets to the wind right now, and hopefully he wouldn't be angry at me for volunteering him. If anything, maybe the alcohol would make balloon animals sound like a good old time.
Anna and Logan strolled in holding hands. "Hey, you two," I said, greeting them. "How was school today?"
"Rumor filled," Anna said.
Logan nodded in agreement. "Everyone's talking."
"About the bones?" I asked.
"About your tribunal," Anna said. "What happened? I heard Roy pushed Irene on the floor or something."
"No! Irene was on video. Fiona had her on a laptop that fell on the floor. Roy didn't touch anything. Well, he did mop the floor with Fiona in a figurative way, of course. He got me out of the whole thing."
"Roy did?" Logan was shocked.
"He told me he'd always wanted to be a lawyer and today he proved himself. It was something to see."
Anna and Logan shared astonished glances.
"He's on his way here," I said. "I'm sure he'll tell you all about it."
Cass went outside with the fire eater, and Steve gave me some face paints. Logan helped him set up a card table and chairs not too far from Cass where I could do my painting.
Roy showed up before too long, marching and singing an army cadence. Johnna followed along behind him with her dog, Charlie the greyhound, and his dog Ginger, the Chow Chow. Charlie wore a hand knitted sweater with a big C on the back and Ginger wore a flouncy knit skirt with a matching headband. A great big pink rosette sat between her ears. Johnna definitely kept the dogs in town stylish.
Roy's singing attracted Metamora Mike who flapped his way up the bank of the canal and started quacking and honking like a one man band, or one duck band, rather. Ginger and Charlie began barking and howling. Johnna shouted "No!" as both dogs gave chase to Mike, pulling her along after them. She tried to dig her heels in, but only dug up mud and stumbled along trying to stay upright.
"Johnna!" I called, running after them around the tent. "I'm coming!"
Who knew how far those dogs would chase Mike if Johnna let go. They might end up over in Brookville at my in-laws house if left to chase that duck!
Back around to the front of the tent, Mike darted inside. Steve shouted, "Out! Get out of here!" The dogs put on the breaks before they made it inside, turning and heading right into the side of the tent flap, knocking down the sign and an old framed photo.
"Come with me you rotten hounds," Johnna said, leading the dogs away. A second later, I heard her sweet talking them and saw her wiping mud from their paws with an embroidered hanky.
Roy helped Steve lift the hand-painted wooden circus sign. I knelt and picked up the framed photo--and there he was. Dalton Stokes, the Pharaoh's Cursed Mummy. I wanted to take the picture out of the frame to see if there was a date on the back. Did he end up running away with Estelle?
Roy came up to my table and sat down. "You're going to paint faces?" he asked. "I hope you paint better than you bake."
"I should probably be offended by that, but I'm not. I hope I paint better than I bake, too."
"Whatcha got under there?" He leaned to the side, angling his head to see what I had on my lap.
I pushed the framed photo of the mummy and the rest of the circus cast further under the table. "Nothing."
"Your poker face is about as good as your baking, too, which is to say, not good at all." He reached for the photo frame and caught the end of it.
I pulled it and he yanked it back. We played tug of war with the photo under the table, glaring at each other. "Let go, Roy," I said between gritted teeth.
"What trouble are you into now, Cameron Cripps Hayman? As your lawyer I have a right to know."
"You aren't my lawyer, and you have a right to know absolutely nothing."
"Well, missy, that goes both ways then, don't it?"
I stopped tugging on my end of the photo. "What do you know?"
"If you want to know about a certain dumpster and some bones, then tell me what I've got ahold of under the table."
Working with Roy was like negotiating with a terrorist. "It's just a photo," I said. "I want to see if there's a date on the back, but need to take it out of the frame to find out."
"Why didn't ya just say so? Let me handle this." He gave a quick tug and the frame jerked right out of my fingers. "BRB as the kids say." He winked and shot up out of his chair, singing the army cadence again like he was soused. He was, but not that soused.
Heading for the tent, he stumbled and weaved, then tripped and dropped the frame, breaking the glass.
"What did you do?" I asked, rushing up to him. I got close enough to whisper in his ear, "Nice
fake trip."
I plucked the photo from the broken glass shaking the shards from it and flipping it to the back before Steve came running out of the tent to see what the shattering glass was about. There were a series of names and an R to L, indicating the names matched the people pictured from right to left. Then it said Longo Circus 1938.
"1938?" If the journal was dated 1929, that meant Dalton was still in town nearly a decade later. He and Estelle hadn't run away together after all.
"1938," Steve said, reaching out for the photo. I hadn't noticed him come out of the tent and walk up to me. I hadn't notice Roy wander over to the fire eater either, but where there's a lady in a bikini with a stick lit on fire, there was Roy - moth to a flame I supposed.
"It was a good year for the circus," Steve said. He took the photo and gazed at it, longingly, as if he wished he'd been around for the heydays his great-grandfather lived through.
"How do you know it was a good year?" I asked.
"It was the biggest year and the last year," he said. He pointed to the people in the photo. "The Living Tree Man. He had a condition that made his skin look like bark. Here's Martian Mary, see how she's blue? It had something to do with her genes. My mom used to tell me stories about them all the time."
"What about this guy?" I asked, pointing to the man in the front. "The mummy?"
"My family didn't talk about him," he said.
"Why not? He was part of the circus."
"I don't know. I was always told not to ask about him, it made my dad angry."
"That's strange. Don't you think?"
"It's odd and strange," Steve said, then smiled and waved an arm out toward the sign above the tent. "It's where it all started."
Good gravy, I'd almost had him and there he went, back to the propaganda for making money. If I wanted to know what happened during the three years torn out of Estelle Brooks's journal, I wasn't going to find it here.
"I better go find a box or a bag to put this broken glass in," Steve said. "I don't think Roy's going to be much help tonight."
"No, I guess not. He can barely stand, let alone make balloon animals. I'll ask Johnna to take him home."