by Leigh Perry
What I did not expect was to find Dr. Charles Peyton ensconced in the center of a small ring of tables and chairs next to a trailer from which wafted tantalizing smells. He was sitting with a woman with short, silver hair and eyes the same blue as Brownie’s and a man with wispy gray hair escaping from his Red Sox cap. Both were wearing the purple polo shirts that identified carnival employees.
Charles saw the two of us approaching and beamed. “Georgia, College Boy, please come join us.”
Brownie sighed, but bowed to the inevitable. “Georgia, you may remember my parents. Mom, Dad, this is Georgia Thackery, one of my colleagues from McQuaid.”
“Glad to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton.”
Mrs. Fenton smiled, but Brownie’s father said, “It’s Mannix, but just call me Treasure Hunt.” He eyed me. “How do I know you?”
Brownie said, “Georgia came to the lot about a year ago, checking on the provenance of a specimen.”
“Right. How’s the skeleton?”
“Still dead.”
“Did you ever lick it?”
It was Treasure Hunt who’d shared the tried-and-true way of determining whether or not a skeleton was a reproduction. A real skeleton is porous, so if you lick it, your tongue sticks. At least he said so—I’d never tested it myself. “A lady never licks and tells.”
Treasure Hunt made a noise which I can only describe as a guffaw. “Sit down, Georgia. College Boy, are you going to let this gal starve to death? Go get her something to eat.”
Brownie made the exact same sound I made when my parents embarrassed me in front of friends and said, “One plate of Stewpot’s chicken and dumplings coming right up.”
While he was gone, Charles said, “Treasure Hunt and the Boss have been educating me on the use of carnival lingo.”
“Not me,” Mrs. Fenton said. “I usually find English is good enough.”
“I use English,” Treasure Hunt protested. “I just think that only a comic book idiot wouldn’t bother to learn the right way to talk to people.”
“Comic book idiot,” Charles repeated, rolling the words around in his mouth. “What does that mean?”
“That’s a carny so lazy and stupid that he’d rather read a comic book than tend to paying customers.”
“Or we could just call him lazy,” Mrs. Fenton said.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Treasure Hunt protested.
I could tell this was an old argument between them.
“Nice to see you again, Georgia,” she said, “but I should get going. Somebody has to work today—not all of us are comic book idiots.” She gave Treasure Hunt a quick kiss on the cheek that took the sting out of her remark.
Treasure Hunt watched her go with a grin. “That’s my girl!”
Brownie arrived with a tray holding two canned Cokes and two plates of food. He put one of each in front of me, along with paper napkins and plastic cutlery. “Bon appétit.”
“It smells wonderful, but there’s no way I can eat all of this.” The dumplings were piled high and wide on the oversized plastic plate.
“Just try a bite.”
I did so, and immediately started thinking about seconds. “This is amazing.”
“Family recipe,” Treasure Hunt said. “Stewpot said his grandmother was the meanest woman he ever met, and his grandfather left her more times than he could count, but he’d always come back for those dumplings.”
Charles patted his stomach. “I’ve never eaten so well in my life as I have during my days on the lot. Treasure Hunt, are you sure I can’t pay for my board?”
The older man waved. “Your money’s no good here, Britannica.”
“Britannica?” I asked.
“My new nickname,” Charles said proudly. “It’s because I mentioned to Treasure Hunt that I specialize in the Pax Britannica period.”
“No, it’s because he talks like he swallowed an encyclopedia.”
“I like it.” I noticed Treasure Hunt eyeing me speculatively, and I was worried that either he was going to bring up Sid again or bestow a nickname on me, so I said, “What other words have you been learning, Charles? I mean, Britannica.”
“A clem is a gullible local, particularly in a rural area. Other terms for those not with it—meaning people who are not part of the show—are towner, townie, chump, or rube. As in, ‘Hey, rube!’”
“Don’t say that too loud,” Treasure Hunt warned.
“My apologies.” Charles lowered his voice and said, “‘Hey, rube,’ is the traditional call when a carny finds himself in dire need of aid. All showmen within hearing range are honor-bound to drop whatever they’re doing to come to his assistance. Though I understand some shows now use the phrase, ‘It’s a clem!’”
“Or they just use their walkie-talkies,” Brownie said.
“What do you know?” Treasure Hunt said dismissively. “You screw the carnival and then come eat for free.”
“He isn’t saying that Brownie was dishonest,” Charles assured me. “‘Screw the carnival’ means that he left the show before the season was over.”
“Which I haven’t,” Brownie said. “Was I screwing the carnival when I took over as talker for the merchandise wheel, or spent an hour finding a short in the popper?”
Treasure Hunt shrugged. “Maybe working at the egghead farm hasn’t completely ruined you. Yet.”
Brownie shook his head ruefully—obviously this was another old argument. While Charles asked for an explanation of the new terms, I was happy to finish emptying my plate.
“So I hear they arrested one of your students yesterday,” Treasure Hunt said.
Brownie looked chagrined. He’d rescued me from Sara only to have his father get onto the same topic.
“They did,” I said, “but I think they’ve got the wrong person.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me none. Cops always go for the easy answer, whether or not it makes sense. Our patch has been working overtime squaring things so they don’t try to blame one of us. Cops love blaming carnies.”
“A patch is like an ombudsman for the show,” Brownie explained. “She takes care of customer complaints, and liaises with the police for permits and so forth.”
“We should never have come to Pennycross anyway.” Treasure Hunt looked disgusted. “Hockey Puck Wilson usually takes this stand, but he burned the lot last year.”
“I don’t remember a fire,” I said, “so I’m guessing that means he made the lot too hot somehow.”
“Got it in one. Hockey Puck’s show was infested with grifters, short-change artists, and pickpockets, which added up to unhappy towners. So the sponsors found us, and the Boss accepted without asking me. I never did like this town—no offense. Besides, we should have canceled after what happened at our last stand.”
“What happened?” I didn’t really think a murderer had been stalking the carnival, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
What Treasure Hunt described was considerably less fatal. “I caught a first-of-May eating peanuts at the duck pond, and when he saw me coming, he tossed the shells right on the ground! After that, I knew we’d never make our nut here.”
Charles and I looked to Brownie for a translation.
“For a carny to eat peanuts in his tent is supposed to be bad luck, especially if he throws the debris on the ground. And ‘making our nut’ means covering expenses, which we’ve been doing nicely, no matter what my father says.”
“The stand isn’t over yet,” Treasure Hunt said. He stood and stretched. “Well, maybe you academic types don’t mind spending all day sitting and talking, but I’m a working man. I’m going to take a visit to the donniker, then go get busy.”
“That’s the restroom,” Charles explained, though I’d kind of figured.
“So now you’ve had a chance to see the glory that is my family,” Brownie said afte
r his father left. “Eccentricity defined.”
“Are you kidding? My parents are English professors, my sister is a locksmith who runs a haunted house for fun, and my daughter is an otaku slash science fiction geek. Eccentricity is my life.” And that was leaving out Sid.
“Nonsense,” Charles said. “Both of your families are perfectly charming. But what is an otaku?”
That moved the conversation away from carny to the equally confusing vernacular of nerd culture, and I think that by the time we headed back to campus for afternoon classes, we could all agree that my family was just as weird as Brownie’s.
18
My plan for the rest of the day was simple. I’d teach until three thirty, then spend an hour at my mother’s office, fortunately unoccupied for the day, to grade papers or meet with any students who came by. After that I’d head home in a leisurely fashion to pick up Madison and Sid to bring them back to McQuaid for the meeting at McHades Hall. Given the amount of food I’d had for lunch, I wasn’t worried about eating, but if I did get hungry I’d have plenty of time for a snack.
Unfortunately, my plan didn’t allow for a student who came running up after I’d already locked Mom’s office and was on my way out. It was vitally important that we talk right away so he could explain why I shouldn’t lower his grade even though his weekly essay was going to be late. It took fifteen minutes to convince him that I disagreed. Then when I got to my car, I remembered I needed to stop at the gas station, where there was a line.
With all that, it was already five thirty-five when I burst in the back door, calling out, “Sid, Madison, are you ready?”
Then I stopped. Roxanne and my mother were at the dining room table, again surrounded by papers and books.
“Excuse me. I didn’t realize we had company.”
“We’re doing what we can while we wait for the police to do the right thing about Linda.” Mom’s voice was strained, and I could see the entreaty in her eyes, but all I could do was give a little shrug since I’d neither found the real killer nor broken Linda out of jail.
Madison came downstairs, carrying her old backpack. “I’m ready. Here’s your bag.”
I automatically reached out for it, but was about to ask why when I noticed it had a skull-sized lump in it. “Okay then. We better get going.”
“What about Sid?” Roxanne said, though up until that moment she’d seemed so intent on a printout that I’d have thought Sid could have walked into the room in all his bony glory and performed a solo from Swan Lake without her noticing.
“Excuse me?”
“You were calling for somebody named Sid.”
“Oh, it’s a nickname. For the dog. And I was kidding because I’m not taking the dog.” I was ready to kick myself as soon as I said it, but Roxanne just nodded as if it made perfect sense for me to give a dog a nickname, and went back to her printout.
Mom said, “Will you be back for dinner?”
“We’ll grab something on the way home.” It wasn’t an unreasonable question, but I wasn’t used to having to run my schedule past anybody else other than Madison. I knew I should probably have a talk with Mom about boundaries, but I’d rather have had a root canal without anesthesia.
The police guard and crime-scene tape were gone from McQuaid Hall, but the door was locked and we had to wait for Deborah to let us in.
“We’re meeting in the greenroom,” she said.
Madison and I started up the stairs, but Deborah said, “You sure you’re all right to come inside, Georgia?”
“I’ve been in here before.”
“Yeah, but it’s nighttime.” Then she smirked.
I held up three fingers. “Dancing in public. The feel of rubber bands. Inflatable arm-flailing tube men. Let she who has no phobias cast the first fear.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Fine. Go on up.”
From inside the backpack, I heard Sid whisper, “I didn’t know about the tube men thing.”
“Shhh.”
The greenroom was already well filled, and at about ten after six, Deborah came up and the crowd quieted.
She said, “First off, I want to thank you for coming. What happened last week was bad, and I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d quit the haunt.”
Somebody said, “The show must go on!” and there were general sounds of approval.
“That’s the way I see it, too,” Deborah said. “As you’ve probably heard, the police have a suspect in custody that they’re satisfied is the right one. So we’re reopening tomorrow night.”
There was a cheer.
“But!” Deborah interjected. “I’m not assuming anything about our safety from here on out. First off, I’ve already begun installing security cameras, which I will be monitoring personally.” She looked around sternly. “Camera footage will be for security only. We will not be putting embarrassing videos of our customers up on YouTube. Is that clear?”
Heads nodded vigorously.
“I’m also going to station more room monitors, in more places. That’s going to mean longer shifts.”
She paused to allow for the inevitable groans.
“It also means more pay. The McQuaid Scholars Committee has agreed to double your hourly rate, and it’ll come out of their budget, so we’ll still make the same amount of money for funding scholarships.”
The reaction switched back to cheers, though I suspect it was for the extra pay and not the size of the scholarship fund. As for me, I was applauding Deborah for getting the McQuaid Quintet to pony up the bucks. Knowing that they were worried about the missing heir must have given her the edge, even if she couldn’t allude to it directly.
After that, she broke the meeting into groups to deal with details like scheduling, costume repairs, and shuffling the scare actors to make up for the cast members who’d been frightened off by the murder.
That’s when I felt a nudge from the backpack, telling me that Sid wanted to consult. So I went to the bathroom, made sure nobody else was in any of the stalls, then unzipped the backpack to pull out his skull.
“Phew!” he gasped. “I wasn’t sure I was going to make it! What rotted in there?”
I took a whiff, and remembered why the backpack had been retired. “Madison left a carton of milk in there over a long weekend, and it spilled. And spoiled. We thought it would air out eventually.”
“And you used me to test the theory?”
“How often do I have to remind you that you don’t breathe?”
“It’s the principle of the thing. So where are we?”
“The ladies’ room.”
“I can’t be in the ladies’ room!”
“Well I’m not going into the men’s room, and you don’t use any bathroom, so what difference does it make?”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” he said again. “You’re disrespecting my manhood.”
I thought about pointing out that he was lacking that portion of anatomy that bestowed “manhood,” but decided it would be too cheap a shot. “I figured you were enlightened enough not be bothered by what is, in fact, a gender-neutral bathroom.”
He radiated suspicion, but nodded. Well, without a neck it wasn’t really a nod, but he did kind of bob his skull.
“Now what did you want?”
“I think we should tour the building.”
“You went through the haunt the night of the murder.”
“Those were just the public spaces. I want to see the rest, including the scene of the murder.”
“I saw enough of that already.”
“I know it’s upsetting, Georgia, but—”
“No, you’re right. We should look around now that we’ve got a chance. I don’t know that we’ll see anything the cops didn’t—”
“Ahem!”
“Sorry, sorry.” I would have apologized further, but th
e bathroom door started to open and I shoved Sid back into the backpack just as one of the scare actors came in.
“I thought I heard voices,” she said, looking around.
“I was on the phone,” I lied. Then I washed my hands and went back into the main room.
Deborah was talking to the costume crew, so I found Madison and said, “Since your aunt is going to be busy for a while, I thought you could show us around.”
She looked at the backpack and nodded. “Got it. What do you want to see first?”
“How about the control room or whatever you call it.”
“We call it the control room.” She led the way down to the first floor and into the curtained enclosure Deborah and I had gone through in such a rush on the night of the murder. “That’s the—”
“I can’t see anything,” Sid said from the backpack.
“Sorry.” I unzipped it and held it in front of me, so he was hidden but could still look out. “How’s that?”
“That’ll do. Now start over.”
“Sound board, light board, and since I haven’t seen those screens before, they must go with the new security cameras.”
“It’s a shame they weren’t there before, or that the room monitors didn’t see anything,” Sid said.
“Come on, dude, you were there. You know how dark it is, and confusing.”
“No, no, I get it. I just wish we had more to go on.”
Madison looked only partly mollified. “What next?”
I said, “Sid? This was your idea.”
“Can you walk us through the haunt as if we were customers? I want Georgia to get a feel for the flow, and I’ve got some questions about the setup.”
“Do you want me to see if I can turn on the special lighting and effects?”
“Thank you, no,” I said firmly.
“Okay, then.” We went back to the entrance hall. “Here’s where the tour starts. Each group is met by a guide who shows them through the house.”
“That’s what you do, right?” I said.
She nodded. “The group is supposed to stay together for the whole tour, but it doesn’t always work out that way. People get scared and run ahead, or sometimes they freeze in place. Plus we’re trying to keep people moving, so we can’t always keep track of every single person.”