by Mona Marple
“You always were cowardly,” Violet spat, although she had no specific memory of his cowardice and so it could simply be a generic insult. She was disappointed with her lack of creativity.
“Vera turned up at my door nine months later, fresh from the hospital it seemed, and handed Glory to me. She said you knew nothing about it. I didn’t want the child. I was still fairly young, not even forty, and the last thing I wanted was the commitment of a baby. There didn’t seem to be any other options, though, and I did the best I could with her. I couldn’t accept her as my daughter, I still can’t.”
“My sister told me none of this,” Violet mused.
“No,” Rufus said. “She told me she hadn’t. She was terrified of the child tracking her down. I wondered whether to. I questioned if you might take her in yourself.”
Violet scoffed.
“I decided against it,” he said. “And I’ve kept my distance ever since. Dusty insisted we include Mystic Springs in this year’s tour, to celebrate thirty years since our last visit, but I was against it. There’s only so much you can fight against an idea when you won’t reveal the reason for your reluctance.”
“And yet you didn’t have the grace to sit your daughter down and explain before arriving here?”
“No,” he said simply. “Violet, there’s only so many times a man can apologise.”
“And it seems to me you’re just beginning. The sins you’ve committed, Rufus! The lies you’ve told! I - oh my - I have a niece! You’ve stolen thirty years of her life from me!”
“Violet, this isn’t about you,” he said, and surprisingly that was the comment that made her most furious. Because she realised that as many things as Rufus had done wrong to her, the main one was that he had never allowed anything to be about her. Every single thing had been about him and his grubby little obsession with magic.
“You’ll tell her today or I’ll do it for you!” Violet screeched at him as she pushed open the door of his trailer. She knew without needing a mirror that her cheeks would be as red as if she had a fever. “I can’t believe this mess. When you walked out all those years ago, I… I wanted to kill you! I thought the feeling had passed with time but apparently not! You tell her, or I promise you I will.”
“You’ll tell her? Or you’ll kill me?”
He didn’t deserve an answer. She stormed across the mud-soaked field and spotted a larger-than-life man peering at her from the doorway of the largest trailer on the lot. “And what are you looking at?” She called across. He let out a laugh and retreated indoors.
4
Frances Hampton didn’t move the net curtain a single inch. She knew better than that. Too many people got caught because of easy mistakes - rookie errors - that could be avoided. She didn’t move closer to the window, and she kept her book open and made sure her head was facing down to the page. Her eyes, though? They were so far to the left that a dull ache developed after a few seconds. Her eyes watched the scene unfold outside her trailer, while the rest of her body appeared entirely unaware of the drama.
Only after a full ten minutes had passed did she give in to Zoey’s whining and let the Shih Tzu outside for potty time. Zoey returned in a foul mood and gave her the coldest stare she could muster. Zoey wanted a litter tray. Frances had never known a dog so convinced they were a cat before in her life, and she’d sure loved a lot of dogs. She liked to consider herself sympathetic to Zoey’s cattitude, letting her eat cat food instead of dog food (Frances suspected they were probably made from the same ingredients anyway, but Zoey sure turned her button nose up if she was offered duck instead of salmon). Frances had even installed a cat flap to the trailer door, which of course had made her the laughing stock on site for a while. But a litter tray inside her cramped trailer? That was a step too far.
“I’ll be back later,” she said as she pulled on her thick woollen scarf and wellies. Zoey scowled at her and made as close to a hissing sound as she could get her canine vocal chords to manage.
The cold night meant that the mud had frozen solid, and Frances had learned to be grateful for small mercies like that. It felt at times as if the mud invaded every part of her; attaching itself to the roots of her hair and seeping into her skin. Each time she blew her nose, the tissue was left brown and fusty.
It was no way to live. That was the sensation Frances was having more and more. The early years had been so full of fun and adventure. She hadn’t given the muddy fields a second thought then. She’d escaped, and that was all that mattered.
But her years at the circus had left her jaded. It was better to be in the audience, to believe the magic of the tricks even for a moment.
Plus, Windbanger had introduced a new act - The Three Bearded Brothers - and hairy guys freaked Frances out.
She walked past Windbanger’s trailer, kept her head low and her pace swift because that man couldn’t lay eyes on a person without finding a job for them to do. Glory’s trailer thumped out loud music at all hours and as Frances passed, she recognised the mournful lyrics from some blockbuster movie. Such an unusual choice from Glory that Frances almost knocked on her door to see if she was okay. But something about Glory made her seem unlikely to welcome that intrusion, and Frances continued to walk. She took a long route so she didn’t go near Rufus’ trailer, and finally she left the circus behind and approached the town.
It was late enough for the roads to be quiet, but not so late that the streets were deserted. She passed a young couple, arms linked so tight they could have been conjoined twins on a first glance. And Frances knew better than to give a second glance. If she noticed them too much, they’d notice her, and she needed to go undetected.
Frances wasn’t a sleuth, not really, although she imagined she could do a better job than most of the country’s real detectives. She’d read a lifetime of mystery books and she knew when things weren’t right. She knew that the truly unbelievable things happened in real life, not in novels. And she knew that the poor sap who discovered something being amiss normally ended up being the prime suspect.
Finally, she reached the pay phone and dialled 911.
“What’s your emergency?” The man who answered her call was far too cheery.
She put on her decoy accent, then wondered if it was odd that she had a decoy accent. “Strange goings on. Rufus Wellington. Send help.”
And with that, she hung up the phone.
She’d had no time to consider the next steps. She could return to the trailer and hope to arrive before the emergency services did, which would make it easier for her to say she hadn’t rang the call in but would mean she’d certainly be quizzed about whether she’d seen anything. Or she could busy herself in town and give herself an alibi, which would mean she couldn’t have seen anything but could have made the call.
She decided to leave the decision to chance, since both options seemed problematic. She didn’t want to burst into the coffee house down the street right after the time the call was made. That would be suspicious.
Instead, she turned and took a leisurely walk back towards the site. Her ears were on alert the whole way for sirens, but she heard none. When she made it back to the Big Top, she felt a pang of irritation. The site was exactly as it had been when she’d left. No emergency services in sight.
Could they have treated her call as a prank?
The idea disgusted Frances. As if she would do such a thing! In fact, Frances’ whole life had been looking out for other people. Other people instead of herself. That was the reason she didn’t cry any more. She’d done too much crying over the years.
Well, fine. Let the town of Mystic Springs abandon her in her hour of need. It wasn’t like they’d be the first.
With a scowl on her face that matched Zoey’s, she trudged right up to Rufus’ trailer and hammered on the door. Glory’s music still poured out into the night air, some tune about how illegitimate children are born. Frances pursed her lips. She could worry about Glory next.
“Rufus! Are you in
there? It’s Frances, from ticket sales. You remember me?” She called out. Truth was, she had hardly anything to do with her work colleagues, which would probably have surprised a bystander since she not only worked with them but also lived on site with them. Some of them piled back into one trailer or another at the end of each show, and loud drinks were had. That wasn’t Frances’ scene, and so she’d demurely reject their invitations and return to Zoey and her books. And a cold glass of Dr Pepper, of course.
There was silence from within the trailer and she hammered on the door again. “Now, Rufus, don’t be alarmed but I think the police might be on their way. Why don’t you open up and I’ll help you get ready?”
Her heart thumped in her chest.
What kind of emergency services didn’t respond to a call? That sure wouldn’t happen in East Kentucky. A lot of things wouldn’t happen in East Kentucky, and that was why Frances planned to retire there one day. She’d never been, but she’d seen plenty of pictures.
With a sigh, she walked across the field towards Glory’s trailer. She needed help and everyone else appeared to be asleep already. Certainly, Glory’s van was the only one with any noise coming from it.
Frances climbed the single step and noticed that the door wasn’t quite closed. Glory wouldn’t hear a knock anyway, and so Frances pushed the door open and let herself in.
“Glory?” She hissed into the darkness. After a few minutes her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she saw the outline of a shape on the couch. “Psst! Can you hear me?”
She tiptoed over, didn’t want to leave any dirt on the floor, and as she approached, heard the figure let out a snore. Up close, she could see the translucent lines trailing from Glory’s eyes down her cheeks. Cried herself to sleep, poor girl. An empty bottle of wine stood on the coffee table, not a glass in sight. Frances gave a sad smile and scouted the room, spotted a coat hanging by the door, and retrieved it. She covered Glory with it, because the vans were chilly overnight, and turned the stereo down, then saw herself out of the trailer.
Rufus’ van still stood in darkness and Frances didn’t care what other calls they might have to respond to, she felt sure that if the emergency services were coming, they’d have already arrived. She took a deep breath and trudged back to her own trailer.
Zoey opened one eye halfway and then sprang to life, ran across to Frances and rubbed herself against Frances’ leg like a cat.
“I need to go back out there,” Frances said. Zoey rubbed harder. “I know, girl. I’d like to curl up with you and my book too. I have to do something first.”
Frances had kept a crowbar in the trailer’s bedroom ever since she’d moved in to the place. She hoped never to have to use it, but if the need ever arose, she wanted to be ready. The circus stopped in at some unpalatable places and her tin shack of a home didn’t seem like much to separate her from the bad guys. Perhaps the books she read didn’t help, or perhaps she already had an overactive imagination. Either way, Frances had never had so much as a sniff of trouble, and the crowbar had gathered dust under her bed.
She grabbed it and peered outside her van, satisfied herself that nobody was looking, and then stomped across the frozen mud yet again.
She didn’t bother knocking again, just went straight to work. She was clumsy with the weapon but the trailer door was old and rickety, and she managed to get it open on just the second go. She felt like Johnny Depp in some kind of action movie and allowed herself a moment to bask in her achievement.
Getting the door open had been the easy bit, she realised, as she stood on the step and attempted to make herself enter the trailer.
Frances believed in ghosts, and fairies, and all kinds of magic. She believed that there was more to the world than the physical realm, and she felt an overpowering sense of black energy pour out of Rufus’ trailer with the lock broken. The door was closed, she hadn’t dared open it, but just the breaking of the lock had let something free.
Her body began to shiver and she realised she needed to fetch help. But who could she fetch? And how much time would that waste?
No. It would have to be her, alone. Frances Hampton would save the day, yet again, and would probably not even get a word of thanks. She should have had a last sip of Dr Pepper before setting off on the fool’s errand. She got cranky when the fruit sugar stopped pulsing through her body. She closed her eyes for a moment and pictured herself taking an ice-cold sip, wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.
“Well, here goes nothing,” Frances said, then remembered that not even Zoey was around to listen. She placed her hand on the door handle and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach as soon as she made contact with the metal. She could rationalise it. She was letting that head get away with itself. Rufus would probably be drunk and asleep inside, just like Glory. She’d owe him a new door in the morning.
That thought made her smile, at least, and finally she plucked up the courage to push open the door. As soon as she did, a black cloud flew past her and out into the world. She watched, stunned, and tried to think of a logical explanation - anything that meant she hadn’t just seen Rufus’ soul leave his body.
She stood on the threadbare welcome mat, crowbar in hand, and that was when the police decided to turn up.
5
Taylor Morton was on duty, and that was why his glass had an alcohol-free beer in it. He had to get that thing out of the bottle, away from that label where every sip came with the reminder that there was ZERO ALCOHOL contained within. Who needed that kind of negativity in their life?
To make up for the drink, he’d put a good record on - a new Miles Davis, added to his collection by Connie. He’d already been thinking he had to marry that woman, but her choice of album could have just sealed the deal.
The twins had gone down, the drink wasn’t too bad, and the music spoke to his soul. He lay down on the couch, even put his feet up (he felt brave since Connie was taking a bath), and allowed his eyes to close. Miles trumpeted the way only he could and Taylor allowed his toes to flex to the rhythm.
He heard Connie turn on the tap in the bathroom upstairs and it made him smile. She always filled the tub, got in, then added a splash more hot water. He knew her better than she knew herself, and he found that comforting. A sheriff’s life could be lonely, what with long hours and the constant threat of danger. Some of the young guys at the precinct swore off settling down, but Taylor coached them to find a good partner.
The guys rolled their eyes a little, but Taylor wasn’t being sentimental. Truth was, he was being selfish. His best men and women were the ones who had someone waiting for them at home.
He allowed himself to relax a little more as the record played on. Not quite asleep, or he thought not, but the next thing he knew Connie was back in the room calling his name. His feet were still on the couch. Darn.
“Are you okay?” She asked. Her curls were still damp and her face had that red glow that came from being in a steaming bathroom for as long as she could manage. She was the only person he’d ever known who treated having a bath as some kind of extreme endurance sport.
“Enjoying the new record,” he said, but she looked unconvinced.
“Your phone’s been going,” she said, and he jolted upright, grabbed the cell from the coffee table. Four missed calls.
“Oh no,” he groaned, his index finger already punching in the number for the dispatch team. “I guess I nodded off.”
“You’re exhausted,” Connie sat by him and squeezed his leg. “You need more bodies down there.”
It was an unfortunate turn of phrase, but she was right. The station was so short staffed that Taylor was on duty most nights. And on the nights he was off, the twins woke him.
“Hello?” He burst out as soon as his call was answered. “Sheriff Morton calling in, I’ve missed a few calls.”
He still had the uniform on, hadn’t taken it off after getting in an hour before, and Connie had fetched his boots from the doorway. The love of a good w
oman. It made him feel like he was capable of anything, even as his body told him he was capable of taking a nap and not much else.
“We’ve had a suspicious call to attend to a Rufus Wellington,” the dispatcher explained. “We thought it was a prank at first but made enquiries and there’s a guy by that name in town with the circus.”
“The circus?” Taylor repeated as he slipped his foot into the first boot. He struggled to tie the laces for a moment, then Connie was down on the floor in front of him, doing it for him. He had to buy her flowers. He had to buy her all the flowers in the world, and that would just be the start of what she deserved.
“Rufus Wellington, lives on site, we couldn’t find out which trailer is his.”
“And what was the message?” Taylor asked. “What should I expect to find?”
There was a pause. “I don’t know.”
Taylor felt his adrenaline begin to pump. His shoes were laced and Connie stood before him, already understanding that he’d be leaving and would have no idea when he’d be home. If he’d be home. The vague jobs were the worst. They were the ones where, in a city, a whole unit would be sent. Back up would be nonnegotiable.
In Mystic Springs, there was no back up. He’d been on call the last four nights in a row and the next week would be the same. He was the frontline, the back up and everything in between.
He leaned in and kissed Connie, a kiss that he hoped communicated all of the things he couldn’t say out loud. I hope I come home to you. I miss you already. You’ve been the love of my life.
She gave a little wave as she stood in the doorway. She was there until he’d drove out of sight, and he wanted to turn back and remind her to lock the door. The world was a dangerous place, or at least it felt that way. How could it feel any other way? Every time his phone rang it was to tell him of some emergency or another, one person hurting someone else.