Clowns and Cowboys (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 3) (17 page)

The audience applauded.

As if ignoring them, she spun from the waist, unwrapping the fabric that held her and ended in a drop, arms and legs outstretched as if she were suspended by nothing. Only one strand with a single wrap around her waist held her. She wasn’t even holding onto it.

The crowd gasped, then broke out in cheers.

That was it, Miranda thought.

That was the trick Biata Ito had told her about. The part Biata thought was cheating. Miranda had to admit, it looked downright supernatural from her perspective.

But right now, she had bigger fish to fry.

She turned back to Sam. The glazed enthrallment in his forest green eyes told her more than she needed to know.

She spotted a remote on a stained coffee table near the recliner. She marched across the tiny room, snatched it up and shut off the recording.

“Huh?” Sam grunted, coming out of his trance. “Miranda. What are you doing here?”

“No, Sam. What are you doing here? I didn’t realize you were Harvey’s roommate.”

He glowered at her.

Parker strolled over from where he’d been standing in the doorway, taking in the scene. “Isn’t there a rehearsal going on in the tent that you’re missing?” He sounded like a stern father correcting his son.

Sam shot him a surly grimace. “We’re having a technical run-through before the dress rehearsal tonight. I’m not up again for a while.”

Miranda laid the remote back on the table and folded her arms. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

He sat up, ran his hands over his face as if he were trying to wake himself up. “Harvey asked me to bring him some cigarettes. I was rooting around in here and found this DVD. I just wanted to see what was on it.”

“Uh huh.” And why had his tongue been hanging out to the floor? Why had he been so glued to the image?

“I didn’t know Harvey had the hots for her. Not this bad.”

Harvey
had the hots for her? Miranda wasn’t buying any of this crap. She’d had enough sweet talk from this cowboy. “Are you sure it’s not
your
DVD, Sam?”

He glared up at her. “No. What are you sayin’? What the hell are you sayin’, Miranda?”

She thought back to their first night in Dallas. Sam said he’d had a few go-rounds with Tupper over Layla. She just bet he had.

“Do you know where Layla is, Sam?” Parker asked in a low voice that sounded a lot like a growl.

He gaped at him, then at her. Then he shot to his feet and stomped over to the screen. “How in hell should I know? Why would I have been begging you two to look for her if I did?”

Miranda fought back the urge to kick him. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe to set us up? Maybe to make yourself look innocent?”

“Innocent of what? You sayin’ you think
I
killed Tupper?” His voice went up two notches.

Miranda started to pace back and forth like a lioness in a cage. “Guess what we did today, Sam? We went to talk to Harvey at the police station where they’re holding him. Funny thing, he claims he’s innocent, too. And that he doesn’t know where Layla is. Just like you.”

Sam ran a hand through his wavy hair. “I didn’t think he did.”

“And do you know what else he told us?”

“What?”

“That you dated Layla before Tupper. You ‘fell hard’ for her according to ole Harvey. She dumped you for your best friend, didn’t she?”

“She…I…”

“And that made you mad. Real mad. So mad you started plotting how to get rid of him, right?”

His eyes went wide. “How can you say that?”

“Did you kill him, Sam? Did you kill Tupper? Did you kill Layla?”

“What?” He turned a little pale.

“You’re the one who seems so comfortable going inside other people’s trailers. Did you go back to her place and pack up her things so it looked like she left town?”

Sam could only stare at her now.

She lowered her voice and hissed out the next words. “Where did you hide her body, Sam?”

His eyes began to fill with tears. “I can’t believe you’re sayin’ this to me. Don’t you know me anymore, Miranda?”

Suddenly there was a sharp rap on the door and it swung open. “Sam, there you are. What are you doing in Harvey’s trailer?”

A pretty young Asian woman wearing the same electric blue leotard Biata Ito had worn yesterday stepped into the trailer. Her long dark ponytail had the same brassy blue and auburn streaks as Biata’s, as well. She seemed just a bit older. Had to be the sister.

“Tenbrook is pitching a fit,” she said. “You missed your cue.”

“I gotta go.” Sam started for the door.

Miranda shot out an arm to block him. “Not so fast, Sam.”

“What are you gonna do? Arrest me or something?”

The young woman blinked at Sam in surprise, as if she’d just realized she’d walked in on a private conversation. But she took another step toward Miranda. “Are you two the detectives my sister talked to yesterday?”

“Your sister is Biata Ito?” Parker asked, his voice sounding remarkably calm.

“Yes. She told me you spoke to her. I’m Chavi.”

“Wade Parker.” To diffuse the tension clouding the room, he extended a hand. “This is my partner Miranda Steele.”

As Miranda shook hands with the young woman, she caught the glare of resentment in Sam’s eye. No doubt he wanted to give her an earful, but he kept quiet with the trapeze artist present.

“I wanted to speak to you,” The older Ito sister said.

“About what, Ms. Ito?” Parker said smoothly.

Her Asian features, as delicate as her sister’s, grew solemn. “Are the police right? Did Harvey kill Tupper?”

“We’re sorry, Ms. Ito,” Miranda said. “We can’t answer that at this point.”

“Oh.” She brushed away a strand of dark hair with the back of her hand. “They say he might get out on bail. If he does, my father’s talking about leaving the show and going back to Europe. My sister and I don’t want to go. Are we safe if we stay here?”

Miranda didn’t know what to tell her. Now that the news Tupper was murdered was out, the other performers must be getting antsy.

“Again, I’m sorry,” Parker said. “All we can tell you is that we’re doing our best to put the right person behind bars.”

The trapeze artist nodded and drew in a nervous breath. “Biata told me you were asking about Layla.”

Miranda glanced at Parker. “Yes, we were.”

Again she nodded and lowered her gaze to the floor. “Layla and I were friends, sort of. At least I tried to be friendly with her. We talked some but she never opened up much. And then she started spending all her free time with Tupper.”

Miranda tensed. “Did you happen to see her leaving the other night?”

She looked up, her eyes big and anxious. She bit her lip. “Layla came over to my trailer. The one I share with Biata. It’s right across from hers.”

Miranda nodded, feeling a tingle up the back of her neck. “We saw the trailer when we spoke to Biata.”

Chavi Ito’s fingers began to play with her long dark ponytail. “Layla had a bag with her. She asked me to take her to the bus station.”

“And did you?”

“Yes.”

“What time?”

Brows knitted, she thought a moment. “It must have been about ten or so. She was in a hurry. She seemed scared.”

Miranda took a step toward the woman. “Of what? Did she tell you about a boyfriend or a husband she might have been running from?”

Looking surprised by that question, Chavi rubbed the arms of her leotard. “No. She didn’t say much that night.”

“What about other times. Did she say anything then? Anything at all?”

“No. Like I said, we weren’t that close. We just used to chit-chat back stage sometimes. You know, to work off the nerves before going on. She always told me how great I was. She said watching me was a thing of beauty. I never told her anything like that. Now I wish I had. She’s so much better than I am.”

“Which bus station did you take her to?” Parker asked.

“The one on Lamar Street.”

Miranda’s eyes met Parker’s. Did they have a hope of finding her now? “Did Layla say where she was going?” she said to Chavi.

Chavi frowned, looking even more nervous. “No. It might have been California. She talked about going out there once or twice. Am I in trouble? I hope I did the right thing. Do you think Layla’s in danger?”

Without replying, Miranda glowered at Sam who was huddling in the corner. He was off the hook for Layla for now. She still wasn’t sure about Tupper.

“Aren’t you going to go look for her?” he snarled.

Parker fixed him with a stern glare. “We’re just about to do that.”

The bus station was on a busy street in the middle of downtown Dallas. After stashing the rental in a public parking lot, they made their way across Lamar Street and into the tan-colored building.

The place was crowded with travelers.

Men and women of all races and ages stood in lines or sat in uncomfortable looking benches, some half asleep, others reading, others on their phones.

With the heels of Parker’s dress shoes clicking along the faux parquet floor, Miranda fought her way through the crowd and followed blue signs past the rows of waiting passengers, the vending machines dispensing cold drinks and popcorn, and mothers with crying babies playing on the floor.

At last they reached a ticket counter.

By some miracle at the moment, the clerk wasn’t busy.

“Help you?” snarled the rotund, middle-aged man with dark skin and hair and a horseshoe mustache. He had on a short-sleeved blue shirt and tie but looked hot and uncomfortable. Must really enjoy his job.

Parker took the lead. “Good afternoon, sir. We’re private investigators, looking for a missing person.”

He wrinkled his thick nose. “Missing person?”

“Have you seen this woman?” Miranda slid Layla’s picture under the glass to him.

He took it and eyed it appreciatively. “Lovely lady.” She seemed to have that universal effect on men.

“Yes, have you seen her?” Impatience slipped out in her words and made the man’s mustache twitch.

He slid the photo back. “Don’t think so.” He turned away.

“We think she caught a bus three nights ago,” she said. She tried to sound friendly, but it came out more like a bark.

He turned back with an I-don’t-give-a-crap expression in his dark eyes. “Look at this place, lady. I don’t remember the last person I sold a ticket to much less who was here three nights ago.”

“Certainly you’d remember a woman like this,” Parker said, sliding the photo back under the glass. “She was with the circus that’s in town. Under the Big Top. Have you seen one of their shows?”

The pudgy man inhaled and took the photo again in his stubby fingers to study. “Yeah, the wife wants to take the kids, but I don’t have the time.”

Great dad.

“You’ve heard about the incident there, haven’t you?”

His thick curly black brows twisted in time with his mustache. “What incident?”

“One of the clowns in the circus was murdered.”

“Santa Maria! I’m glad I didn’t take the kids, then.” He seemed to suddenly come out of a worker bee stupor and gave Parker and Miranda the once-over. “You two with the police?”

“We’re private,” she told him.

“Is this woman involved?”

“We don’t know. She may know what happened. We need to talk to her.”

“I see.” His mustache moved back and forth as he thought about it. “What time was she here?”

“Shortly after ten, as far as we know,” Parker told him.

“Last Sunday night?”

“Yes.”

He scratched his chin. “I wasn’t working then.” He turned to another guy at the next counter. He was skinny and younger. “Mendez, were you on duty Sunday night?”

“Hell, yeah. Had to fill in for that slacker Peterson.”

“They haven’t canned him yet?”

“Nope.”

“You sell a ticket to her?” He handed Mendez the photo.

The younger guy took it, turned it one way, then the other. “I don’t know. Maybe. Awfully pretty.” He handed the photo back.

“These two gumshoes want to talk to her. About a murder at the circus.”

“Murder at the circus? Oh, that clown? I saw something about that on the news this morning.”

Great. Now they were making headlines. “You would have remembered someone like her, wouldn’t you?” Miranda said to the younger clerk.

“Not really. We serve so many customers.”

“We think she came here shortly after ten.”

“It gets pretty crowded then.” His eyes went hazy. “Wait. Does she have an accent? Like…from Russia?”

Miranda’s heart jumped. “Eastern Europe, yes.”

“I do seem to remember a young woman with an accent like that asking questions. Like she was trying to figure out where to go. How much it would cost and such.”

“And?”

“And that’s it. I don’t think she bought a ticket.”

“Did she leave?”

“I don’t know. Oh, that’s right. I told her if she didn’t know where she was going, she’d have to step out of line until she decided. I told her if she had cash, she could use the automated ticket vendors.” He gestured in the direction of a row of red machines along a wall.

“Okay. Where was she asking about?”

“Everywhere. I told her she should look at our schedule. It’s posted right over there.”

“Did she buy a ticket from a machine?”

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I didn’t pay attention to her after that. Sorry.”

Miranda’s heart fluttered down to the tile floor like a piece of litter someone might pick up on the bottom of their shoe.

“Thank you for your time,” she heard Parker tell the clerks as she turned and sulked away.

“Shit,” she said to him under her breath.

“Let’s take a look at the schedule.” Did he really think that would give them a clue?

They walked to the electronic board against wall that was flashing the arrivals and departures.

Depending on which direction she took, Layla could have headed to Amarillo or Abilene or Houston or Lubbock. Albuquerque or Phoenix or Tucson. Atlantic City, Las Vegas, Connecticut.

Miranda groaned out loud, not caring if anyone heard her. “How are we going to track her down? She could have gone to Missouri or Kansas or Colorado.”