April's Fool

by Robbie Cox

  The ride jerked into motion, the car doing a slight swing as the wheel started to climb into the air. Wyatt chuckled as he draped an arm on the side of the seat, glancing down at Arthur who stared back at him, a smirk pushing up his cheeks. “I don’t usually take people on rides,” Wyatt replied with a shake of his head at the man below. He then turned to April and shrugged. “I’m more the loner type, focusing on the business side of the circus, rather than getting to know the people who visit.” He glanced up into the night, his smile shifting into a frown. “To be honest, I’ve never really seen the point. I’m never in any one town long enough to get to know anyone, and a love like my parents had comes along once, maybe twice in a lifetime.” He turned back around, his smile back in place. “Tonight just seemed different,” he said. “It was time to enjoy the circus, instead of just work it.”

  She smiled back at him, and he could see the blush color her pale cheeks. “I’m glad I was here to join you.”

  “Me, too.”

  Arthur allowed them to go around a few extra times, and each time, Wyatt couldn’t believe how gorgeous the night looked. Stars twinkled above them as birds dipped in and out of the trees, flitting from branch to branch, chasing each other in the spring dance of love. Wyatt thought it fitting, considering he felt like doing his own dance, something he hadn’t felt like doing in ages. Whether it was due to the way she helped him, or the intensity of trying to find his father’s killer and whoever wanted to kill his grandfather drawing them together, but Wyatt couldn’t deny the way April made him feel when she was around.

  After several turns of the wheel, Arthur finally let them off the ride, and Wyatt ushered April over to a pretzel stand close to the big top. As she stood there, pulling apart a small chunk of pretzel and dunking it into the small mustard cup, she gestured to the giant tent. “You’re not in any of the shows tonight?” she asked.

  Wyatt shook his head. “I took the night off hoping to poke around some and watch what others are doing. Since Grandfather agreed to pass the ringmaster job off to someone else for a bit, I have some time to investigate.”

  April nodded, her red hair swishing around her shoulders. “And have you discovered anything?”

  Wyatt sighed, anxiety gripping him as he chewed a piece of the pretzel. “No, unfortunately. I’m not sure where to even begin, to be honest. As much as I rack my brain, I can’t think of one person greedy enough to kill my grandfather. He’s done so much for everyone. The only one I’ve ever even heard him get into a real argument with was my uncle, and he left the circus before my father’s death. It just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Perhaps...”

  April never had a chance to finish her suggestion as screams went up inside the big top, and the top of the tent started to collapse. Wyatt jerked into motion, dropping his pretzel as he raced to the tent opening where the trolls stood guard. They had already jerked the flaps back and darted inside by the time Wyatt and April arrived. People screamed as they shot from their seats in the bleachers, covering their heads with raised arms as they rushed toward the exits, tripping over each other as everyone shoved others out of their way in their crazed attempt to escape the crumbling tent.

  Wyatt shot furtive glances around looking for the cause of the accident as Randall shot from the side, flying across the tent to where a pile of twisted and broken poles heaped in the middle of the tent, his eagle’s beak screaming as his lion’s tail whipped behind him in the wind he kicked up. Canvas dipped down as the supports no longer held them in place while the poles around the big top kept the tent from collapsing in on itself completely.

  “Oh, my god,” April said beside him as she sucked in a breath, her hand over her mouth.

  Wyatt spun in the direction she stared, a sinking feeling twisting his gut. On the edge of the pile of poles he saw his grandfather’s prone body, blood trickling down his forehead and into his gray hair. His eyes just stared, lifeless, up at the ceiling.

  Fifteen

  April stared at the body under the broken beams, the blood trickling into Chester’s gray hair, the top hat lying upside down just a few feet away. She jerked her attention to Wyatt, but he was already sprinting across the ground, shoving his way past the audience rushing to get out of the collapsing tent. Without thought, she followed, wanting to be by his side when he reached his grandfather, even though she couldn’t explain the need.

  “Get it off him!” a voice screamed from behind them.

  April glanced up as they neared the debris, noticing the tall, thin man from the other day when the circus first arrived in Black Hollow, both hands gripping his dark hair. Panic stretched his narrow features as he stared with wide eyes at the body of Chester.

  The phantoms whirled around the collapsing tent, moaning as they stirred up the air, whipping the drooping canvas into a fluttering mass.

  “Oh, my god,” the man wailed, frozen in place as he stared. “Oh, my god.”

  “What happened?” Wyatt demanded to know as soon as he reached the griffin’s side. Reaching down to pull the closest piece of scrap timber away from his grandfather. “I thought it was your job to keep this from happening?”

  Then April saw the other pair of feet, or rather, paws, lion’s paws. She gripped Wyatt’s shoulder, forcing him to turn around and face her before she pointed to the other body in the rubble. “I think they tried,” she whispered, her heart aching for the griffin helping them pull the others out of the disaster.

  She saw Wyatt swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, and then he nodded once as he reached for the next piece of wood on top of his grandfather.

  “What the hell happened?”

  The new voice jerked everyone’s attention around as Chester Compton rushed to where the catastrophe piled in the center ring. April felt her brows furrow as she stared, wide-eyed, at the man, then she jerked her gaze back to the body under the broken poles.

  “Grandpa!” Wyatt leaped to his feet, racing to his grandfather and throwing his arms around the older man’s neck. “Oh, my god, you’re alive.” He held his grandfather out at arms’ length, staring at him through puzzled eyes. “But how is that even possible?” he asked as he glanced back at the body on the ground. “If you’re here, then who is that down there?”

  Chester pried himself from Wyatt’s grip as he walked over to the rubble where the others worked quickly to remove those trapped underneath. “Because that’s not me,” he snapped. “Obviously.”

  “You’re not…there…” the skinny man said as he stared, confused, at Chester who walked over to the griffin moving the giant beam of the tent pole from the body who wasn’t Chester. “I don’t…um…understand.”

  “Shut up, Hodges,” Chester snapped as he stared up at the drooping canvas, ropes dangling from the center. “Patrick! Patrick, where are you?”

  “Grandfather, what the hell is going on?” Wyatt asked, hands on his hips.

  Several of the other circus people had arrived, joining in the rescue. The trolls from the entrance worked together, their strength making light of the work. Korrigans shrunk or grew as needed to fit into tight spaces or move heavy lumber. Some even turned into the tools the others needed to move the timber and unwrap the ropes. The griffins flew to the top of the pile, pulling pieces off the rest and flying them off to the side. Everyone pitched in to get to the others underneath.

  “I’m here, Chester,” the thick man said as he came up from behind them, another man tagging along.

  April stared, not sure what the hell was happening or who was on the ground if Chester was alive, walking around. Nothing made sense. Yet, then again, working with paranormals, things tended not to make sense more often than they made sense.

  Chester turned to the thicker man, his red eyes sparking with his anger. “Did you find anything?”

  Patrick sighed as he shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “No. No one’s been in or out that I could tell since the last show.” He shrugged. “Perhaps this was just an accide
nt?”

  The man beside Patrick cocked his head at the taller man. “You had the place monitored?”

  Patrick nodded. “Chester’s idea. If someone attempted to set up an accident, we’d catch them and stop it from happening.” He shrugged. “It was a good idea. It just didn’t work.”

  “That still doesn’t tell me who’s under there if you’re here,” Wyatt said, his tone clipped, slightly higher than normal.

  “When did you slip in a substitute?” Hodges asked, scratching his head as he darted his gaze between Chester and his impersonator. “I’ve followed you all day. I never saw you switch places with anyone. This doesn’t make sense.”

  “Randall,” Chester said, moving over to the griffin. “What did you see?”

  The giant griffin shook his eagle head. “I saw nothing. Everything was fine one moment, and then the ropes seemed simply to unhook and the main pole started to twist free of its grommet. There was no sound, no warning. It was like something just let go of it.”

  Chester nodded as he knelt down at the head of his lookalike, stroking the man’s thick gray hair out of his dark red eyes. As he did, the body shifted, the gray hair darkening, the body stretching, the face shifting to one of a younger man’s. The bright red eyes, however, remained lifeless. The phantoms howled even louder.

  “Spence?” Wyatt said, and April saw the bunch of his eyebrows as he stared at the other man on the ground. He then turned to his grandfather. “You had Spence fill in for you?”

  Chester just nodded as he continued to stare down at the younger man. “He always wanted a shot at the center ring. He’d been doing it all day, but the people were used to seeing me out there. So, this last time, he asked to impersonate me and give the people what they wanted. Patrick and Randall figured it was a great time to set a trap of sorts.”

  When the debris was cleared, there were two bodies—Spence and Maver, the griffin who tried to rescue Spence before the tent poles came tumbling down on top of them. April stared at the bodies, two more people dead in someone’s greedy quest to convince Chester to sell the circus. At first, she wondered if Spence was the one in her vision, but then, she wouldn’t have been sent to Wyatt, but rather whoever Spence’s family member was. No, Chester was still fated to die, and they still had no clue as to how or when or by who.

  Chester turned to the man who came with Patrick, taking a deep breath. “Sedwick, I’m sure by now the police chief’s been told about our mishap. You and Hodges get out there and meet him. Bring him back here, but do it slowly. We take care of our own here.”

  Sedwick nodded as he started to make his way through the leftover trash from the escaping guests for the front of the tent. Hodges went with him, but April could tell by his face, he wasn’t happy about it.

  “Another accident?” a voice said, drawing everyone’s attention to the other side of the rubble. A tall man with dark hair, wearing a three-piece suit walked over to them, shaking his head, his hands in his front pockets. “I keep telling you, Chester, this circus has issues. Why not sell it and be done with it?”

  “You fucking…” Patrick stormed over to where the newcomer approached. “Have you no respect for the dead?”

  Chester put an arm out, stopping Patrick from moving any further. “Samuel, you’re not welcome here, especially now. Leave.”

  The other man stopped as everyone ignored him; everyone except Patrick, that is. He stood there, fists clenched, seething as he stared at the other man through narrowed eyes.

  Wyatt, however, moved toward the other man, his head cocked to the side. “How did you know there was an accident?” he asked. “Why are you here? For that matter, how did you get here so fast?”

  Samuel shrugged. “People fleeing a collapsing tent is kind of a loud ruckus. It draws a crowd. Or at least, it does from a safe distance. The circus has kind of cleared out. Seems people are afraid if a tent can fall, what could happen to the rides that have them either high in the air or spinning at ridiculous speeds. Good news is, the funnel cake line is still long.”

  Chester sighed. “Patrick, help Samuel find his way out of here.”

  “Gladly,” Patrick growled as he stomped toward the thin man.

  April watched as Patrick grabbed the man by the collar and ass, lifted him screaming into the air, and stormed to the back of the tent, feet kicking. She walked over to Wyatt, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. All she could think about was that if she hadn’t warned him when he first arrived in Black Hollow, his grandfather would be the one dead on the ground, instead of Spence. Still, someone died. In the end, tragedy struck, and the threat to Chester was still real. They still had a killer to find, and time was running out.

  Sixteen

  None of it made sense. Wyatt ran his hand through his dark hair as he stared up into the night sky. The police chief, Sebastian Thayer, had arrived, asking all kinds of questions, none of which any of them could answer. They knew what happened, but not the how or the why. Then, the mortician from Raven’s Call Mortuary, a Deron Turner, arrived shortly after that to retrieve the bodies of Spence and Maver, and take them to the mortuary to prepare them for transport. By the time they answered the questions they could answer and the corpses had been carted off, the circus was as silent as a graveyard. It didn’t matter that the lights still flashed, that the organ music still piped through the speakers, or that it was still too early to call it a night. The phantoms howled around the edge of the circus, keeping the residents of Black Hollow from entering their own roundabout, the circus grounds. This was the time for the circus people to be alone to mourn their own. No outsiders allowed.

  A hand slid up Wyatt’s back, caressing him, lending him her strength. “How are you holding up?”

  All right, no outsiders allowed except one.

  April remained at his side, lending him her sympathy, her strength and calm in the midst of the storm whirling around him as his grandfather retired to his trailer, surrounded by Patrick and Hodges as Sedwick escorted Samuel from the grounds. Even when the rest of the performers arrived to pay their respects to Spence and Maver as the mortician and his people carried the bodies from the accident site, April never left Wyatt’s side. She wasn’t intrusive; she didn’t keep asking him if he was all right every five minutes, or try to keep his attention. She remained in the background, almost invisible, as she offered him whatever he needed to get through the tragedy.

  Wyatt took a deep breath as he turned his gaze to her. “I’m fine,” he assured her. “Promise.” He took another deep breath as he stared up into the night sky. “I know this sounds...wrong...on so many levels, but when I saw my grandfather behind me, standing there, furious something had happened during the show, I felt relieved. I never even thought about those other two men until my attention was snatched back to what had happened.” He shook his head. “Those men were a part of our family, the circus, and all I could think right then was thank god it wasn’t my grandfather.” Guilt filled him as he stood there, twisting the contradiction of emotions in his stomach. “How wrong is that?”

  He felt her hand slide from his back, down his arm until she took his hand and squeezed. “Sounds more like a normal reaction to me,” she assured him. “Who wouldn’t react like that? It doesn’t mean you’re glad those other men are dead. It just means your grandfather’s alive. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  Wyatt squeezed her hand back, smiling at her. “I can’t dare hope tonight means my grandfather lives, right?” he asked. “That Spence was the one in your vision?”

  April shook her head, her red hair swishing slightly across her shoulders. “I wish that were the case. However, if Spence had been the one in my vision, regardless of how he looked at the time, I would have appeared to someone else, instead of you. I’m sorry.”

  Wyatt nodded as he turned his gaze back to the circus grounds in front of him. “Then we still need to keep an eye on my grandfather.” He ran a hand through his thick dark hair. Somehow, he had to figure out how t
o protect his grandfather and find out who was trying to kill him at the same time. Neither task seemed easy. He glanced back over at April. “Do you think your detective discovered anything yet?”

  April shook her head, and he felt his hopes dash even further. “They’ve only had a day, not even that. I doubt they’ve had time to even get a list of names. They’ll need more time, I’m sure.”

  Wyatt sighed. “Time my grandfather may not have.” What was he to do now? He wished he knew. “You really think whoever set that trap earlier will try again?” he asked, as he felt his brows pinch over his nose in disbelief. “I mean, now everyone knows something isn’t right. Sebastian’s looking into it, the detectives, and whoever set that accident up has to know your grandfather is on to them, or at least on to their plan. Surely, they’d give up, wouldn’t they?”

  April shook her head, and he could see the regret in her eyes. “It may not happen the way I saw, but it’s still destined to occur. I’m sorry.”

  Wyatt nodded. “I feared you’d say that.” He turned to April and smiled. “Look, I appreciate you telling me about your vision and what you tried to warn me about Friday night.” He chuckled softly. “Although, I much preferred the way you told me Saturday as opposed to Friday night.”

  April laughed as she dipped her head, a blush of embarrassment warming her cheeks.

  Wyatt felt himself smiling at how the blush darkened her freckles along her neck, fading along her shoulders as her flesh disappeared under her top. His attraction to the woman felt a little weird in the middle of his current crisis. Still, he couldn’t deny that there was something about April McCray that drew his attention.

  He smiled over at her, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. “Ever been to the camp of circus performers?” he asked. He gave a slight shrug. “We usually meet up at the end of the night, gathered around firepits with drinks and cigars, telling stories of the day and unwinding. I could introduce you to some of the others, if you’re interested. You know, without all the drama surrounding things.”