Clowns and Cowboys (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 3) (21 page)

She folded her arms, gritting her teeth. Why wasn’t he listening? “I don’t do that to clients.”

“I’ve seen you put down a client,” he snapped back darkly.

Okay. That was true. But Sam was different. “He’s a friend. I don’t know what to do with him. I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Friend? That man is a player. Not the type to care too much that you’re married. I don’t understand why you don’t see that.”

She stared at him. Is that what he thought of Sam? What he’d thought all along? Suddenly she felt drained. And angry. And most of all…disappointed.

Tears began to well up in her eyes. Where the hell were they coming from?

Okay, maybe she hadn’t handled things right. Maybe she’d let things go too far. Maybe that was because she’d had some feelings left for Sam. But tonight she’d dealt with them. They were over and done with. So why was it all her fault? Why had Parker let her go off to dinner with Sam? Why had he stood by as if waiting for her to screw up?

She bared her teeth at him. If she were a wild animal, she might tear him apart. “If you feel so certain of that, Parker, why don’t you do something about it?”

Parker stared at her, shoved his hands in his pockets as if taken aback. A rare experience for him. “I’m trying to be civil.”

He was making her insane. “Is that what you think? You think I want you to be civil?”

He turned around slowly, deliberately, his dark gray eyes smoldering.

Parker gritted his teeth against the pain and rage he’d been holding back since they’d arrived in this town. Suddenly a wall of emotion broke forth like a bursting damn.

Miranda was right.

Why should he hold back? Why should he force himself to be a gentleman, to be courteous and well-bred when the woman he loved beyond all reason was at stake?

Why the hell should he be civil?

He turned and marched back toward the ring, his fury mounting with each stride.

When he reached the spot where the cage from the last act still stood, he fixed his gaze on the focus of his ire. The cowboy was bent over, attending to his damned motorcycle. How dare that carnival performer think Miranda was so fickle she could be swayed by a mere toy?

“Keegan,” he said. And his voice was so dark and thunderous, it surprised him. But it matched what was burning inside him.

“What?” The man in the cowboy hat turned to face him, a defensive look on his face.

Parker didn’t answer. Didn’t give the man a chance to say another word. He took two quick steps, drew back a fist, and with all his might cold-cocked him square on the jaw.

Keegan flew back like a roped steer, just missing the cycle, and landed in the dirt on his ass.

He sat up, rubbing his jaw and glared at Parker.

“If you don’t want more of that, from now on keep your hands off my wife.”

Heart racing Miranda trotted over to the two men, shock rolling over her.

What the hell had Parker done? She wanted to be furious with him. She wanted to scream and yell and have a hissy fit right here in front of the crew.

But she couldn’t.

Not with this quivering thrill titillating her insides. Not with this wild sensation that felt like some sort of victory racing around in her heart faster than those motorcycles in the cage. And besides, she was grinning so hard, she thought any minute her face might split.

But the moment didn’t last long.

The sound of pounding footsteps pulled her out of the giddiness.

Someone was running toward them. One of the motorcycle riders still dressed in his purple fringed vest and cowboy hat. Miranda recognized the frame and youthful face.

It was Danny Ackerman. Sam’s friend.

“Keegan!” he shouted, then he frowned down at Sam went he spotted him on the floor. “Get up. You’ve got to come quick.”

Sam drug himself to his feet, cradling his jaw. “What’s the matter?”

Danny glared at his friend, his chest heaving. There was terror on his face as he struggled to sputter out the words.

He batted a hand toward the exit. “I was just down the lane. Over near Harvey’s place. I thought I’d stop by and tell him he did good tonight. And I…but I…oh, God.” He put his hands over his eyes.

Sam reached out for him. “What’s wrong, Danny? What’s the matter?”

“It’s Harvey. Oh, God.”

“What about Harvey?”

Miranda’s stomach began to twitch as she watched the man start to cry in earnest.

His chest heaving, Danny shook his head. “You’ve got to come. All of you. You’ve all got to get over there now. Harvey is…oh, God, Sam…Harvey’s dead.”

Miranda ran out of the tent and down the lane to Harvey Hackett’s trailer as fast as she could go. She was vaguely aware Sam and Danny were just behind her, but all she cared about was getting there. And that Parker was at her side.

She reached the place in a few minutes and found all the lights on. Several performers, still in costume, stood around as if they didn’t know what to do.

“Has anyone gone inside?” Miranda barked at them when she reached the lane where she’d first met the old clown, despairing that the crime scene evidence would be impossible to get now.

The group looked at each other and shook their heads.

“I called 911 as soon as I found him,” Danny offered. “Then I ran to tell you.”

“Okay.” She lowered her voice and turned to Parker. “You got any more of those—”

But Parker had already retrieved two pairs of gloves from his secret stash and was holding one out to her.

She took it, eyeing his handsome face. His expression was set and grim. He seemed stronger, bolder, wiser than she’d ever seen him. Her heart filled with emotion for him. This wasn’t the time or place to get mushy, and yet, a situation like this was when she felt most connected to him.

Now more than ever.

Turning her attention to the work, she slipped on the gloves, pushed through the crowd and stepped inside the trailer.

The first thing that hit her was the smell of booze. Wine, in particular.

Next was the soft circus music coming from the TV speakers. Once again Layla’s imagine flickered on the big screen. And finally the pungent odor that mingled in the air with the wine.

The nasty smell of recent death.

Harvey sat stretched out in his ratty recliner, an open bottle at his side.

She crossed the room and put two gloved fingers to his neck. “No pulse.”

“Look at the label on the bottle.” Parker sounded even grimmer than he looked.

She cocked her head to view the side of the wine bottle. “Barefoot Merlot. Awfully convenient.”

“Awfully coincidental.”

“I’ll bet my paycheck Underwood’s lab is going to find cyanide in that wine bottle.”

“And in Harvey.”

“Yeah.” She let out a sigh. “Poor old clown.”

She turned to the TV and stared at the beautiful aerialist wrapping herself in her silken strands. Everything looked like Harvey had been overpowered with guilt over killing Tupper. That he’d done it because of his uncontrollable crush on Layla.

Sam and Danny were going to get the third degree from the police, but the cops would most likely rule this a suicide.

Her gut told her they’d be wrong. Harvey hadn’t seemed like he was contemplating killing himself when they talked to him at the police station that morning.

To her the scene screamed, “Set up!”

“Miranda?”

She nearly jumped at the sound of Sam’s voice. Glaring over her shoulder she found him standing in the trailer’s doorway.

“Get out of here, Sam,” she snapped.

He ignored her and took a step inside. “Danny told me there was a bottle—there it is. Oh, my God. Harvey.” His voice broke with emotion.

His eyes filled, making his face even more intense than his makeup. He was still in his sparkly cowboy costume from his act.

“Don’t come in here, Sam. Don’t touch anything.”

He held up his hands defensively. “No, I won’t. I wasn’t going to. It’s just that…” He took a minute to steady himself. “It’s just that I saw Harvey right before the show. He told me after what he’d been through, he was through drinkin’. He was takin’ his wine bottles out to the dumpster.”

That was interesting. “You need to tell that to the police when they get here.”

“Okay.”

In the meantime, she had a suspect in mind.

She glanced over at Parker, watched his jaw tighten with anger. He gave her a brief nod. They had to keep their client busy.

“Sam,” she said, her voice softer now. “Do you think you and Danny can keep everyone out of the trailer until the police get here?”

He blinked at her, bewildered. “Sure. What are you gonna do?”

“Run a quick errand.”

And without any further explanation she brushed past him, Parker at her side, and out the door.

They took the back way, wending through the trucks and cars and smaller trailers scattered along the neighboring row, and Miranda could see how easy it would be to sneak around this lot unnoticed, even when a lot of people were out.

The killer must know every nook and cranny of the layout.

After a few minutes they reached the Vargas’ place.

Miranda hurried around the corner and found the picnic table under the awning just as it had been the other day, except with no laundry on the line, no kids and no parents.

“Their truck is gone,” she observed.

Parker strode over to one of the windows. “The lights in the RV are off.”

Miranda stared down the grassy lane they’d traversed their first day here. “Yuri could have taken the family out for dinner.” Not that she believed that.

She turned back at the sharp rap of Parker’s knock and saw him at the top of the steps to the door.

When there was no answer, he turned the knob. Good thing they both still had their gloves on.

“It’s open,” he told her.

No time for manners or police protocol. “Let’s see if somebody’s inside.”

She scaled the front stoop and stepped inside as he flipped on a light switch.

This was definitely a family dwelling. Kids’ drawings on the fridge, big worn couch against the wall of the living room with the cushions awry, toys strewn on the carpet.

Without a word Parker disappeared behind a small opening in the back. Miranda followed him and found a tight, narrow bedroom decorated in an adult style. The parents slept here.

Parker was already in the closet. “Only a few things in here beside costumes.”

“Any suitcases?” She asked.

“None.”

Miranda spotted some tissue covered with makeup on a small desk-like dressing table built into the wall. “Looks like they took off their makeup and got out of here.”

She took a quick glance in the compartment under the bed, but it was empty.

“This looks a lot like Layla’s place. Like they packed their bags and vamoosed.”

Parker nodded his face a study of unease.

Miranda went back into the living room, scratching at her hair. “Where could they have gone?”

“And why?”

She frowned at him. Wasn’t it obvious why? They’d set up Harvey to take the fall for Tupper’s death—by killing him, too. But escaping now made them seem guilty. Maybe they panicked.

She plodded into the kitchen, glanced around. The dishes were put away, the dish towel hanging from a knob was dry. A cheery blue bowl of white daises sat in the middle of a tiny table.

She hunted through the cabinets and found baking flour, cookies, chips, lots of boxes of sugary breakfast cereals. She shut the last door, ready to give up when she spied something on the counter.

She stared down at it.

It was a yellow sticky pad, hardly used. But there was an impression on the top paper. “Hey, look at this, Parker.”

He came around the counter and saw the same thing she had.

“What was that trick I saw you do once?”

“With the pencil?”

“Yeah.”

He hunted through a few drawers and found a pencil nestled in with kitchen utensils and a couple of screwdrivers. “Lightly shade the paper with the side of the lead.”

She grabbed the pencil out of his hand. “Let me try.”

“Don’t press too hard or you’ll lose the impression.”

“Got it.”

She steadied the pad with one hand and gently ran the pencil over the paper. It took a while. Too long for her taste, but at last vague letters began to appear.

She picked up the pad and held it under the kitchen light, squinting at it. “Looks like an address. A hotel. And a room number? One twenty four. Green Valley Inn. Norman, Oklahoma?”

Parker was already busy Googling it on his phone. “It’s a hotel outside Oklahoma City. About a three-hour drive from here.”

The Vargas were making a run for it all right. The whole family.

She looked at her watch. “Yuri’s act was in the middle part of the show. If they left right after that, they’ve got at least an hour’s a head start.”

“Then there’s no time to lose.”

They hurried out the door and rushed to the rental car, barely dodging the police, who had just arrived at Harvey’s trailer.

They hopped inside, and the engine growled as Parker pulled out and headed for the main road.

Miranda twisted around to peer out the back. “No cops,” she told him with a deep sigh of relief.

But as they raced through a light and swung out onto the ramp to the four-lane, she had a sinking feeling they were already too late.

They sped past the brightly lit downtown area of Dallas, past their hotel and the ball-shaped observation deck in the sky, and spun around to I-35, heading west and northward.

As he raced alongside a big eighteen wheeler, Parker dug in his pocket. He handed Miranda his cell. “Have a look.”

“At what?” she said, taking it. He’d already told what he’d Googled about their destination.

“The photos.”

She sat up straight. “From your little side trip to Tenbrook’s office earlier?”

He nodded.

They hadn’t even had time for him to tell her the results. Maybe they would have if she hadn’t let Sam…She didn’t want to think about that now.