Lucky and the Crushed Clown

by Emmy Grace

  Jonah spins on Allanda. “You...took a pregnancy test in my trailer? And didn’t tell me? Why would you do that?”

  Allanda’s eyes are glassy with tears. “I didn’t want Rodney to know. I was...I was hoping it would be yours.”

  “What would that have changed?”

  “I...I want to be with you.”

  “You say that now, now that he’s dead.”

  Now I’m back to doubting Jonah’s innocence. He seems genuinely upset, but that could be manufactured. This revelation gives him more motive than probably anyone else.

  Make up your mind, Lucky.

  “It was you, wasn’t it, Jonah?” I can’t keep the sadness from my voice. I think deep down, Jonah is a good kid. He just got caught up in some bad circumstances. And in a self-contained environment like circus life, it’s obvious that things can go very bad very quickly. And there’s really no one to intervene.

  But that’s probably what Jonah was counting on.

  “Wait, you think I killed Rodney?” When no one argues, he adds with a snarl of his lip, “He was my father, for God’s sake.”

  “Your father who was basically living with the girl you wanted for your own.”

  “No, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong. I was the one who wasn’t sure about having a relationship with Allanda, not the other way around. She’d been having sex with my father. How’s a guy supposed to get over that?”

  “You must’ve found a way a few times, at least. I mean...” I point to Allanda’s still-flat belly. “She’s pregnant. And if it could possibly be yours then... We had sex ed in school, too.”

  Jonah hangs his head. “Look, I’m not proud of myself. For any of this. You couldn’t possibly understand what our world is like. It’s nothing unusual for people around here to...to...”

  “Share?”

  Jonah shrugs, redness flushing his cheeks in the firelight. “I know how that sounds, but it’s just life around here. It’s the life I was raised to. I mean my mother had to watch the father of her child sleep with half the camp. He never once went back to her after she had me. He’d hardly have anything to do with me either. But I’d never kill him. I couldn’t do that. It’s not who I am. Not for anybody.”

  He glances over at Allanda as if to say not even for her.

  “Is that why you brought us in, Allanda? Is that why you asked Miss Haddy for our help? You were hoping to spare Jonah from going to jail out in the real world by pinning it on someone else? Someone like Pike or George? Thinking we’d be too incompetent to figure it out?”

  “No, I didn’t think that. I just knew you’d never understand how things work around here. I knew you’d never be able to know for sure what happened. Or who did it. And we could just go on with our lives.”

  “So, you thought the guy you’re in love with—I assume you’re in love with him—and the possible father of your child murdered your live-in boyfriend in cold blood, and you still wanted to protect him?”

  She glances from me to Liam to Jonah and then down at her hands. She nods pitifully. “I love him.”

  “You thought I was a killer?”

  She nods.

  He takes a step back, his expression inscrutable. “Man, that’s messed up.” He glances over at me. “I didn’t kill my father. I don’t know who did, but you’ve got the wrong guy.”

  Guilty people claim their innocence all the time. Death row is full of inmates who’d swear on a stack of Bibles that they didn’t commit the crime they’re being punished for. The thing is, there has to be proof. To convict an innocent person, but also to exonerate a convicted guilty person. If it were easy to tell or if they could be believed, our justice system would be a whole different animal.

  But sometimes…maybe sometimes, a person can tell.

  Like now.

  I mean, I’m not saying I’m a human lie detector or anything, but dang! I really think Jonah is innocent.

  “Do you believe him?” This question comes from someone who has been quiet as a church mouse until right this minute.

  Felonious.

  Tabatha.

  Tabby.

  She’s standing at the edge of our little circle of trust—or confession, in this case—watching. Taking it all in. She doesn’t appear to be upset by this strange turn of events. Not that I know her well enough to be able to tell, but she’s a teenager. I think it’s pretty standard that they wear their emotions on their sleeves. And faces. And social media. But if anything, she just seems to be curious.

  Of course, she could be relieved. I mean if Jonah is guilty, she just dodged a bullet the size of Tokyo.

  I glance from Felonious to Jonah, to Allanda, and back to Jonah. “Yeah, actually, I do believe him.”

  Jonah sighs in relief. “Thank God.”

  “So, what now?”

  “Well, you two have influence around here,” I say to Allanda and Jonah. “Could you help us get to the bottom of this? Find the actual killer?”

  “How?”

  “I was thinking maybe you could make some sort of announcement. Tell the others that Rodney’s killer is hiding in the camp, and that we need their help in finding him. If they’d open their doors, or tent flaps or whatever, and let us look for the evidence, we can find him. Would you do that?”

  “You want me to get them to let you search their homes?”

  “Well, you can’t say it like that,” I say with a light laugh. “You could just say, ‘Do it for Rodney!’ and, like, hold up your fist or something.”

  “Hold up my fist?” He seems even more dubious now.

  “Yeah, like Braveheart. Have you ever seen it?”

  Everyone in the circle just stares at me. The only person to speak is Felonious, snide teenager that she is.

  “Oh, you’re good at this.” She makes a little sniggering sound, and I shoot her a withering glance.

  “If you think you could do better, come on up here, small fry.”

  She bows out. “No, by all means, don’t let them take our freedom.”

  Her lips curve into a tiny grin and I narrow my eyes on her. “You have seen it!”

  “Two words. Mel. Gibson,” she says wryly. “Of course, I’ve seen it.”

  I nod, holding my fist up for her to bump. She does, and we share an itty bitty, teeny tiny moment. Nothing to write home about, but maybe it’s enough that she’ll be less mean to me.

  I doubt it, but a girl can hope.

  I turn back to Jonah. “So? Can you help?”

  “I can try.”

  I squeal and smack my hands together. “Yay! Then let’s do this thing.”

  We all turn toward the heart of the camp. I don’t think we mean to form a line; it just sort of happens. Despite the serious circumstances, it would be so perfect if Regina had made my Day of the Dead makeup blue and white. Then I’d just need a horse.

  And some dreads.

  And a great accent.

  I inhale. I can practically smell the burning battleground.

  “You sure you’re ready to do this?” Liam says from my left.

  “Of course. Why?” My answer is a little dazed and confused.

  Quietly, he stares down at me for a few seconds. “You were picturing that movie just now, weren’t you?”

  “No.” I have to work to smother a smile. “Yes.”

  He shakes his head. “Come on, pop culture girl. Let’s go find us a killer.”

  Battle cry music to my ears.

  19

  Jonah and Allanda depart from our group and step forward toward the fire that marks the center of camp. I see Jonah’s chest inflate with the deep breath he takes before he raises his voice. “Everybody, come out of your tents and trailers. I have an announcement.”

  At first, nothing happens. The folks that were already outside milling around simply stare at us like we’re annoying gnats buzzing around their heads. But then, after probably a full minute, murmuring begins. Then trailer doors start to open and people peek out of their homes like groundhogs
tentatively checking for a shadow.

  One or two at a time, they slowly make their way to the fire, circling it three deep in some places. I recognize many faces, just from the short time Liam and I have spent around the camp, practicing and trying to blend in. But there are some I don’t. I guess even an ecosystem like this has its fair share of hermits and socially awkward folk.

  Of all those present, it’s Shari, Jonah’s mother, who steps toward the front of the crowd. “What’s this about, Jonah?”

  “Mom, someone killed my father. These people can find out who it was, but we all have to be willing to help.”

  “By doing what?”

  “Opening up our doors to let them inside. They’re looking for evidence. Proof of who did it.”

  “What kind of proof?” she asks.

  “I don’t know, but I... I trust them.” He glances over at me and then to the woman just to his left. “So does Allanda.”

  “We don’t welcome outsiders,” Gorin, one of the contortionists, sneers. To be so small, he can pack a lot of disdain into a sentence. I wonder if he could be distantly related to Liam.

  “They’re one of us,” Jonah defends.

  “They don’t fit. We've all seen it,” says someone I don’t recognize.

  “Well, Rodney did. He was one of us. And he was my father. He deserves justice. No matter who it is that gives it to him. If you don’t agree, then I don’t think you’re really part of this family. Maybe it’s you that doesn’t belong here.”

  Ballsy, kid. Very ballsy.

  I gotta give Jonah credit. He’s basically calling for the head of anyone who won’t go along with this. And he’s probably one of the youngest of the bunch. But then again, he was raised here. I’m not sure everyone else can say that. This really is his family.

  That could make him like circus royalty.

  Le Cirque Royale.

  Ooooo, I like it.

  There’s more murmuring and some shifting and stirring before I see a few hands gesture. The voices that start to chime in are filled with tension, but after a good five minutes, George the strong man steps forward. “I’m with the kid. Anyone who won’t help Rodney doesn’t have a place here.”

  Next is Pike. “I hated Rodney for what he did to my bike and my rat, but I don’t want no part of a killer around here.”

  In my opinion, that goes a long way toward exonerating both of them, which shoots my theory all to crap. I figured if it wasn’t Jonah and wasn’t Allanda, it had to be either Pike or George.

  Of course, it could be that one of them did do it and was just able to destroy any and all evidence that could be traced back to him. Maybe that’s where this confidence comes from.

  A few more step forward, which causes even more to agree. When most of the camp has more or less given their permission, Liam takes the stage.

  Even dressed like Kevin Sorbo, surrounded by literal circus people, he has a commanding authority that swirls around him like a mantle.

  He could be the Mean Matador.

  Or the Humorless Hero

  Actually, the possibilities are endless.

  “If everyone will just stay out here, we’ll go into each tent and trailer one by one. You’re welcome to stand in the doorway of your place if that would make you feel better. We won’t take anything or damage anything. We just ask that you don’t interfere with what we’re doing.”

  A few mutter and grumble, but not as many. This is what they agreed to. Duh.

  Liam’s actually being really cool in how he’s handling it, too. If this were happening in my hometown, one of the older men in the community would’ve already called a meeting, brandished a shotgun or two, and dared anyone to argue. There would’ve been at least one black eye and a headlock or two by now.

  We call that hillbilly justice.

  “What are you looking for?” someone asks.

  “A wireless transmitter was used to control the elephant. It was taped on, probably behind her ear, with duct tape. Some of it was crushed after the incident, but one piece was found and retained for evidence. If we find anything suspicious, we’ll be able to tell if it’s a match.”

  “Would any of you like to volunteer to go first?” I ask, looking around.

  Pike raises his hand. “I have nothing to hide. And since it was my elephant...”

  I smile at him. “You’re a good man, Pike.”

  He raises one shoulder in a kind of shy way, and I suddenly feel sorry for him. I think he’s just a guy who wants to work with his animals and live in peace. I’ll be shocked if we find anything damning among his belongings.

  “I knew it would work out,” I hear Allanda say to Jonah. “I just hope you can forgive me.”

  She tries to take his hand, but he moves it away from her. It’s not as harsh as shaking it off, but it definitely gets a point across. If these two end up together, they’re going to have a few things to work through.

  “We’ll talk later,” Jonah says coolly.

  She nods. “I…I think I’m going to go lay down while they conduct the searches.”

  He doesn’t try to follow her as she makes her way across the camp to the tent she must’ve shared with Rodney.

  Pike identifies his home, which we’d already figured out, and Liam and I make our way to it. He stands in the doorway while we respectfully sift through his stuff. It feels invasive to be rifling through a twenty-something guy’s underwear drawer, but this is what I signed up for.

  Well, sorta.

  Personally, I’m just trying not to think about the underwear bit.

  Liam and I pronounce Pike’s place clean. For about four seconds, I consider doing my best Poltergeist “this house is clear” bit, but I know it would be lost on these people.

  Again, I need Regina.

  Felonious might get it, but it’s not the same. She's an attitudinal teenager. I need someone who can really appreciate the beauty and significance of the words from one of the greatest horror movies of the 80’s.

  George volunteers next. We search his trailer. Again. Mainly because neither of us really wants to admit to a brute such as George the Strong Man that we’ve already totally violated his privacy. Without his permission and very illegally I might add. We don’t have a death wish, for Pete’s sake.

  Thankfully, it’s clean, too.

  Still.

  As we’re making our way to the next volunteer’s tent, I see a flash of quick, darting movement from the corner of my eye. It’s a small form with dark hair in a tight top bun.

  It’s Shari.

  She’s ducked down, rounding the corner of one of the tents.

  Why would she be sneaking off like that?

  On a hunch, I tap Liam’s shoulder and motion the other direction. “I’ll be right back.” He frowns in question. I smile very casually. “Bathroom.”

  He nods and I shimmy my way through the crowd. When I get to the back edge, rather than going toward the Salty Springs Port-o-Potty that the town set up for them (I guess it’s for those who just have tents), I shoot off in the opposite direction, making a wide arc back around to where it looked like Shari was headed.

  I catch just a glimpse of her pale arm as she dashes across the back of the dirt lot and disappears into the back of a tent. By the time I reach it and peek under the back edge, I realize it’s Rodney’s tent.

  Figuring I can surprise her, I flip up the canvas and spring forward. “Ah-ha! I caught you red-handed.”

  Shari spins toward me, but it’s not guilt on her face. It’s something else.

  Fury.

  “No, you’re letting her go.”

  “Letting who go?”

  “Allanda.”

  I sweep the room with my gaze, realizing two very important things all at once. One, this is where Allanda was supposed to be lying down. And two, this tent was never searched. I mean, why would anyone think to search the tent of a dead man for the very means of his murder?

  “Where did she go?”

  “I don�
�t know, but my first guess would be the woods. To destroy evidence.”

  “Have you suspected her all along?”

  “Of course I have. I never liked her. Not with Rodney and certainly not with my son.”

  “Shari, go tell Liam that I’m chasing Allanda. He’ll know what to do.”

  “Be careful. She trained to be a flyer when she was younger. She’s agile.”

  I nod my thanks, then, without wasting another second, I pull up the back of the tent and leave the way I came. It’s the quickest way to the woods, and Shari’s probably right about Allanda going there. It’s the one place she could get to without anyone seeing her, and the one place she’d have the best chance of hiding or destroying evidence.

  I race across to the forest. Lucky for me, I’m wearing black from head to toe, and even my face has a lot of black on it thanks to Regina’s Day of the Dead makeup that won’t wash off, so I blend right into the night.

  Or at least I think I do.

  In my head, I’m a ninja, creeping stealthily through the shadows, undetected by my prey. Allanda has no idea I’m back here, and she won’t until I’m ready to spring into action. Bing, bang, boom, criminal caught.

  Only that's not what happens.

  Not at all.

  Maybe it’s my blonde hair glowing in the dark, or maybe it’s the light parts of my skull candy face, but Allanda definitely spotted me coming.

  The moment I step into the woods, some sort of big, solid object slams into my stomach, doubling me over. I cough and sputter and gasp for air as I frantically search for Allanda, who I presume is my attacker. The night is too dark, though. The forest too heavily shadowed. I have no idea what just happened, and, therefore, no way to prevent it happening again.

  I start to straighten when I get hit again, this time in the low back. Right across my kidneys.

  Oh, sweet Mary! It hurts so much worse than it looks like it does in the movies. On a scale of one to ten, it’s a five thousand.

  I think an important organ might be getting ready to fall out of my butt.

  My insides are jelly.

  It takes what little remains of my breath and I just suck, suck, suck wind.