Pru shakes her head. “No, dear. He didn’t say too much. Just that he was following a bad guy. Someone dangerous.”
A thought occurs to Theo: “Necco, you didn’t see anyone else when you were in the mill, did you? You didn’t meet anyone there or anything, right?”
“No! Of course not.”
She’s looking down at the brass elephant in her hand, turning it over and over, making it do tiny elephant somersaults. Now Theo is sure that she’s lying.
“Really?” Theo asks.
“I was alone the whole time. I never saw anyone.”
“Well, maybe the guy the strongman was following is the guy who took my bag! Maybe he went looking for you, found the hiding place, and grabbed the bag.”
Necco is silent a minute, staring down at Priscilla the elephant, who is still now, laid out in the palm of her hand. Then she looks at Pru. “I need to know where your strongman friend got this.”
“Why?” Theo asks.
“Because it’s mine. It was my dad’s. I’m sure of it—see this mark here at the bottom,” she says, turning the elephant over, showing two tiny letters: JK. “I’d given it to Hermes a few days before he was killed. I always wore it around my neck, but the chain broke. He was going to have it fixed or get me another chain. The last I knew, it was in his bag.”
“So how did Mr. Marcelle get it?” Theo asks.
“He said his brother gave it to him. It reminded him of me and the circus, so he brought it to the cafeteria yesterday.”
“You need to call Mr. Marcelle,” Necco says. “Ask him where he got the elephant.”
“I think you should invite him over,” Theo says. “You’ll have better luck getting him to talk in person.”
Pru hesitates, although there’s a new light in her eyes. “I don’t know, Theodora, having him here? Really, I don’t think—”
“He’s obviously really into you, Mrs. Small.” She smiles encouragingly.
“Theodora, he’s just being polite. He’s a gentleman, Mr. Marcelle.”
“He’s more than polite. I’ve seen the way he looks at you—how he hangs on your every word. I know you can get him to talk, to really open up. If you ask him over, you can find out where he got that elephant. And more about this guy he was following today at the mill. I really think there’s a good chance that if we find him, we find my bag, the money, more vitamins, and maybe even Hermes’s killer.”
Pru
Pru carefully punches Mr. Marcelle’s number into the phone, keeping her eye on the business card. She’s committing it to memory; Mr. Marcelle’s number will be the only number other than her own and the school’s that she will be able to recite without looking up.
He answers on the fourth ring, sounding startled and out of breath. Like a man caught doing something he shouldn’t. Maybe he’s off chasing another criminal, getting his shirt even dirtier.
“Mr. Marcelle, it’s Pru Small.”
“Oh, Pru.” She can feel him smiling into the phone. “I’m so happy you called. I was just thinking about you.”
She gets that giddy rush she always gets talking to him. She takes a breath, reminds herself to stay focused. There’s a reason she’s called, and Theo and Necco are beside her, watching expectantly.
“I was hoping we could talk. That maybe you could come to my apartment, I mean, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“I can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Wonderful, Mr. Marcelle. That’s wonderful.” She gives him her address and they say their goodbyes. Then she starts fluttering around the apartment, tidying, setting the circus up just so, while Theo and Necco bombard her with details about the plan.
“Find out everything you can about the elephant,” Necco says. “And about the guy Mr. Marcelle was looking for at the mill.”
“Remember, we’ll be right in your bedroom,” Theo says. “You won’t be alone with him.”
“Mr. Marcelle is a total gentleman.”
“But he’s also working for a private detective,” Theo says. “Which makes him dangerous. If he finds out you’ve got Necco here—”
“I know,” Pru says. “I’m not a complete fool, Theodora. I know when to hold my tongue. I’ll get what I can from him, then ask him, very politely, to leave.” She turns, studies herself in the full-length mirror. She doesn’t have time to change, but she goes into her bedroom to put on powder, a touch of silver eye shadow, and some lipstick. Her circus makeup.
“You look beautiful, Mrs. Small,” Theodora tells her.
“Thank you, dear,” Pru says. She puts donuts out on a plate at the table. Gets a full pot of coffee perking. She takes out the little cut-glass cream pitcher and sugar bowl that belonged to her grandmother.
There’s a knock at the door. Two loud raps followed by three quiet ones. A secret message kind of knock.
“Coming!” Pru calls, gesturing with a sweeping, get-out-of-sight motion at the girls, who tiptoe into her bedroom, close the door most of the way. Emmett is barking.
“Easy, boy,” she says, tidying her hair just before opening the door.
“So wonderful to see you, Pru,” Mr. Marcelle says, giving her a little bow. “You look stunning.”
“Thank you, Mr. Marcelle,” she says, stepping aside. “Please come in.”
“And this handsome fellow must be Emmett,” he says, squatting down to give the little dog a scratch behind the ears, which quiets the dog instantly. “I’ve heard so much about you, little friend,” he says to Emmett, who is wagging his tail, kissing Mr. Marcelle’s hands.
“He likes you,” Pru says.
“Dogs know who the good people are,” Mr. Marcelle says. “They have a sense.”
“Please, have a seat,” Pru says, gesturing at the table. “I’ve made coffee.”
“Wonderful,” Mr. Marcelle says, settling into one of the ladder-back chairs.
Pru brings two mugs of coffee over and sits down opposite him. “Please help yourself to a donut,” she says, her heart pounding. Her strongman is actually here, in her apartment.
“I’m so happy you called,” he says, then suddenly seems a little unsure, a little shy. “Do you think…do you think before I leave you could show me the circus?”
She smiles. She was hoping he would ask. “Absolutely.”
“You said on the phone that you wanted to talk? Did you see anything after I left the mill? Did anything unusual happen?” he asks, his face full of concern and worry. “You didn’t have any trouble, did you?”
“Oh, no, that’s not it at all. The truth is, I asked you here because I was hoping you could tell me about Priscilla,” Pru says.
“Priscilla?”
“The little elephant you gave me.” She pulls the elephant out of the pocket in her dress and sets it on the table. “I’ve been wondering where she came from. She’s so unique, I figured there has to be a story behind her.”
He seems surprised, and maybe a little disappointed, by her question. “My brother gave it to me.”
“I see,” Pru says, taking a sip of coffee. “And did your brother tell you where he got it?”
“Yeah, actually. And you’re right—there is a story behind that little elephant.” He sits up straighter now. “I’ll tell you, but you have to keep it to yourself. It’s business.”
“I will,” Pru said, crossing her fingers under the table like a superstitious schoolgirl.
“And if I tell you this, you have to answer some questions for me,” he adds. “Tit for tat.”
“Of course,” she says, fingers still crossed.
“One of his clients gave it to him.”
“Oh?”
“Not just any client, but the governor himself.”
“The governor?”
“Yeah, apparently that little elephant was connected to some old crime. He asked my brother to look into it. It happened back in the 1970s, over in Braxton. The elephant was once on a bracelet worn by a woman who was murdered.”
Pru starts to ga
sp but then hears a little creaking sound…the bedroom door opening a bit more. Mr. Marcelle hears it, too, looks toward the bedroom.
“Just Emmett,” Pru says. “Please, go on, tell me about this murder.”
“It’s not the most pleasant story.”
“You may not know this about me, Mr. Marcelle, but I like a good crime story.”
He smiles, takes a bite of his donut, getting powdered sugar in his freshly curled mustache. “The victim was the wife of a local musician,” Mr. Marcelle explains. “The musician was arrested; all the evidence pointed to him—bloody clothes and murder weapon found in his car—but he hanged himself before it went to trial. There was one witness—the couple’s ten-year-old son. He saw his mother killed and swore up and down that the guy who did it wasn’t his father.”
“But they didn’t listen to the boy?”
“Well, see, the killer wore a mask. A rubber chicken mask, of all things. They said there was no way the boy knew who was underneath.”
“A chicken mask?”
“I know, strange, isn’t it?”
“But I still don’t understand,” Pru said. “Why did the governor have this dead woman’s elephant?”
“Well, here’s the funny part of the story. The part where my brother comes in. The governor said his son gave it to him. You know, the poor kid who was murdered?”
Mr. Marcelle stops talking to help himself to another donut. Pru smiles approvingly. She likes a man with an appetite. She reaches for a donut herself.
“Well,” Mr. Marcelle continues. “This kid, Matthew, and his dad didn’t have a great relationship. Estranged, I guess you’d call them. The kid left college, dropped out of sight, wanted nothing to do with his parents or their money. The governor actually hired my brother to try to locate the kid, to follow him around, give him reports from time to time. So then this kid shows up at home to visit his dad just a few days ago with some wild story about this old murder. He wanted his dad to pull a few law enforcement strings and have the case reopened. He says he’s discovered proof that the real killer is out there still. He won’t say what this proof is—but he’s got this little elephant that he says his dad can easily confirm is tied to the case. Kind of a token proving that this is all legit.”
“And did the governor reopen the case?”
“No. He didn’t want anything to do with it. He told my brother to get rid of the elephant and forget the whole thing. But maybe he should have pursued it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I was at my brother’s office when you called me, going through all the notes, all the old newspaper articles and such. There were things that didn’t add up.”
He looks down at his donut, finishes it in one more big bite, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“What sorts of things?” Pru asks. “Is this all somehow connected to the man you were following earlier?”
He gives her a sly smile. “I think I’ve answered enough questions for now. Your turn. Tell me about this girl, Theodora.”
“My niece? What would you like to know? She’s visiting. She lives down in Connecticut. She’s out right now, but she should be back anytime.”
“Pru,” he says, leaning forward, elbows on the table. He reaches for her hand, takes it, giving it a gentle squeeze that makes her heart flutter like a small bird. “I know you don’t have a niece.”
“But I do—”
“You don’t have any brothers or sisters. And you’ve never been married.”
“How do you know?” She snatches her hand back. She’s furious that he, of all people, knows just how alone in the world she is.
“Don’t you remember what my brother does?” Mr. Marcelle asks, voice low and apologetic. “What I do after hours? I have access to information. And I didn’t mean to pry or invade your privacy. I really didn’t, Pru. It’s just that when I saw you with those girls at the mill, at the very place where I’d chased a potentially dangerous criminal, I was worried that you might be involved in something you don’t fully understand.”
“You’re assuming a great deal,” Pru says.
Girls, she’s thinking. He said girls, which meant he’d been watching. He’d seen Necco join them. What else did he know? Did he have a clue who Necco truly was?
“Maybe,” Mr. Marcelle says. “But it’s only because I care.”
Does he? Pru looks into his warm brown eyes and thinks that he looks like a man who would never lie to her. But she knows it’s foolish to let herself believe in such fairy tales.
“And what I want to know…what I’m asking you to tell me, is who is Theodora, really? And who is the other girl I saw you pick up?”
Pru doesn’t speak. She doesn’t want to lie, but can’t tell the truth: Theodora isn’t really my niece, she’s a girl from school I buy drugs from. What would he think of her then?
There’s a scuffling sound from the bedroom; the door creaks open further.
“You have to go now,” Pru says, standing up quickly enough that her leg bumps the table, spilling the cream in the cut-glass pitcher.
Mr. Marcelle stands, too. “Pru, please. I’m worried. If either of these girls is mixed up in any of the business I’ve been helping my brother with, it’s very serious. They could put you in danger.”
“I appreciate your concern. But I have to tell you, I don’t appreciate being spied on.”
“Do you know a girl named Eva?” Mr. Marcelle asks.
Pru doesn’t answer.
“That’s the girl who was living in the car,” he continues. “The one everyone thinks killed the governor’s son. If you know Eva, she’s in danger. And I’m not talking about the police, Pru. If you know Eva, you’ve got to tell her not to—”
“I don’t know anyone by that name,” she tells him. “You really need to leave now.”
“But I thought you were going to show me the circus,” he says.
“Another time,” she says, walking to the front door and holding it open.
He walks to the door and stands beside her.
“I hope so,” he says, “I really do, Pru.” He looks like he wants to say something more, but she doesn’t let him.
“Goodbye, Mr. Marcelle,” she says, eyes on the open door. He shuffles out, shoulders slumped in a defeated way. She shuts and latches the door before he has a chance to say anything else. She leans against it, listening to his heavy feet going down the stairs.
Has she just made a terrible mistake, throwing him out like this? But what choice did he give her, asking all those questions, ambushing her, really?
“How does your strongman know so damn much?” Theo asks, hurrying into the kitchen. “And what does he mean, Eva’s in danger?”
“He’s a clever man, Mr. Marcelle,” Pru tells her with a sigh, thinking, a little too clever. “If he says she’s in danger, she must be.”
“Me being in danger is kind of old news,” Necco says.
“So is it true?” Theo asks, turning to Necco. “All that stuff about where the elephant came from? About the murder?”
Necco nods. “Yes. The woman who was murdered, she was my grandmother.”
“Jesus,” Theo says. “And your dad saw it?”
Necco nods. “Apparently. He always told me that his parents died in an accident. But there’s a newspaper clipping about it in the envelope Hermes left. He saw this Chicken Man kill his mom and he knew that this guy wasn’t his dad, but no one would listen. They arrested his dad and he hanged himself in jail.”
“How horrible!” Pru gasps.
“It all makes sense now,” Theo says. “I remember reading about this in your dad’s book. How he saw his mom killed.”
“He wrote about the murder in his book?” Necco asks.
“Wait, you never read your dad’s book?” Theo says.
Necco shakes her head.
“Well, we need to get you a copy! He totally wrote about watching his mom being killed and how the police had the wrong man. He even wrote about the brace
let and the story that went with it. He ended up using it as a kind of metaphor about transformation and the things we carry inside us—how we all have the power to bring our true selves to life. But sometimes, it’s a dark thing, you know? Sometimes there’s something evil hiding there.”
Pru bites her lip, thinking. “It sounds like maybe Hermes discovered something about the killer,” she says. “That’s why he brought the elephant to his dad.”
“Oh my God,” Theodora says. “Do you think that’s what got him killed? He was on to whoever killed your grandmother?”
Pru rubs her head. “Wait a second,” she says. “That was back in the seventies, right? When Necco’s dad was a little kid.”
“So?” Theo says.
“So, if the killer was a grown man, then he’d be what…maybe up in his seventies now?”
“A geezer killer?” Theo says.
“A killer is a killer no matter how old and what shape he might be in,” Pru says.
“What do you think, Necco?” Theo asks.
Necco is still clutching the golden elephant, the showpiece of the circus.
“Hermes and my grandmother aren’t the only murder victims,” she says. “My mother was killed. And it was made to look like a suicide. Hermes was looking into it, trying to figure out what happened. And now, reading about my father throwing himself into the river, I’m thinking maybe that wasn’t suicide either.”
“You think both your parents were murdered?” Pru asks.
Theodora blows out a long breath. “This whole thing just gets crazier and crazier. What are we supposed to do now?”
“I think,” Necco says, pausing, turning the elephant over in her hand to look at the mark on the bottom again. “I think that if I could only remember what really happened on the day of the flood, I’d have some clue about who the killer is. I think I need to go see Miss Abigail.”
“Who on earth is Miss Abigail?” Pru asks.
“Yeah, and how’s she gonna help?” Theodora asks.
“She can give me Devil’s Snuff. The snuff shows you what you need to know.”
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