“Pittman Incorporated,” Frannie said.
“Melly invested in the faire.” An ominous picture was becoming clearer. “Frannie, I think she might have killed—”
A cloaked figure skittered from a nearby tent.
I sucked in a breath, held deathly still, then scanned the perimeter.
Someone was out here. “Call the police to the faire ground,” I whispered into the phone, then slipped it into my pocket. “Hello?” I yelled, my voice a lonely sound amongst the darkened tents and blinking stars. “I’m sorry, but the faire is closed. Hello?”
Footsteps neared, leaves crunched.
I spun toward the noise.
And saw Melly Pittman run past me like an angry spook haunting the valley.
Lifting my tarp of a skirt, adrenaline a roar in my ears, I took off after her, calling her name. “Stop!” I yelled, my brain not accepting the obvious reality that Melly was not going to just flop herself onto the ground and surrender. “I just want to talk!”
My boots sank into the wet ground, hindering my speed, but I caught sight of a blur in a red dress turning a corner at the coffee hut and followed suit. “The police are coming!” I shouted. “Give it up!”
But Rebecca’s sister kept running.
When Melly zigged, I zigged. When she zagged, I leaned in and zagged. I kept her in my sights as I closed the distance between us. She was an arm’s reach away when she took an abrupt right at a stack of hay bales, shoving them over as she passed.
“Ooomph!”
One bale caught me in the shins, and I stumbled. My body tipped forward, and I reached out to catch my fall. Sharp rocks pierced my palms before I rolled to my side, hitting my head on the hard ground. Pain erupted in my temple and vibrated to every nerve in my body. Gingerly rising with all the balance of a drunk sprinter, I watched Melly steal into a blue and white striped tent.
With a heave, I hustled to my feet, landing a dismount I would’ve been proud of if I’d had time to reflect. Instead, I lunged into a sprint and raced to the tent, my hands slapping at the flaps until I found an opening. “The police are coming, Melly. It’s time to stop running.” Please stop running. For my sake, if for no other reason—I was seriously sucking air.
The tent was large, with slats at the top that let in wisps of retreating light, making the outline of objects almost visible.
And what I saw filled my body with dread.
I was in the knife-throwing tent.
“I’ve been looking for you, Paisley.” Melly sauntered from a darkened corner. “We really need to talk.”
“Okay.” I gawked about, hoping all the knives had been locked up. “We can chat until the police get here.”
She stepped closer. “Do you know where I was raised?”
I was currently wondering about a mental hospital.
“On the carnival circuit.” Her ghost of a smile unnerved my every cautious cell. “I learned a lot. By the time I was twelve, I could fix a broken roller coaster chain, lift wallets from men visiting the house of mirrors, and run every game on the midway.” She jerked her head toward the target wall. “Like this one. See, the weekdays were slow. Gave me lots of downtime to practice.” She produced a knife from behind her back, slapping the flat side of the blade against her palm. “You could say I’m quite good. A near perfect throw.”
If Melly had to have a hidden talent, why couldn’t it be yodeling?
I backed up a step as she advanced. “Put the knife down,” I said in my calmest, I’m-talking-to-a-lunatic voice.
“If you say so.” Her elbow lifted and she flung that knife with slayer-like precision.
Diving for the floor, I landed against a target. The blade thunked into a bale of hay inches from my head. Dear God, if you get me out of this I will never make fun of grown men in capes and armor again.
“It’s not like I want to do this,” Melly said, her voice suddenly cracking.
“Then don’t.” I frantically looked for anything to use as a weapon.
She gripped another knife in her hand. “You could’ve just left things alone. What business was it of yours?”
“Because the police suspected Beau. I’m guessing you had something to do with that.” I thought of the note he’d gotten from Trace—that his uncle had never sent. The sink overflowing in Trace’s cabin. Small things to spark Beau’s ire. “You wanted him to take the fall.”
“I figured Beau probably wasn’t much different than his uncle.”
“You couldn’t be more wrong.” I covered my head as knife number two whizzed by— a centimeter from my nose. I began to recite a pleading prayer in earnest as I looked around for something to throw. Inching along the floor, I forced myself to steady my breathing, to keep my face composed. “If you hated Trace, why invest in his faire?”
“To keep my sister in Sugar Creek. He promised me they’d move here.”
“But then Trace got the offer from Heartland Amusements.”
“Yeah.” Her eyes gleamed wild, as if desperation was her drug. “He took my money, then started plotting to resell the whole faire after he closed the final property deal. He thought I wouldn’t find out, but that franchise fellow called me. Called me in hopes he could sweet talk me into rezoning that farm just so Trace could get a tidy profit, skip town, and take my sister with him.”
The tent let in little air, and sweat trickled down my chest as I took a slow step to the right. “But Rebecca’s seeing Nathan.”
“She tore up her divorce papers.”
“Because she wanted more money—a fairer settlement. She said she was planning on leaving him.” I couldn’t believe I was having this demented argument. Where were the police? Hadn’t Cam obeyed my instructions? Surely Frannie had summoned a brigade to search for my still-breathing body.
“If I had a dollar for every time my sister and Trace filed for divorce, I’d be able to buy a small country,” Melly said. “I knew she’d never leave him, but if the faire was here, at least I could see her a few weeks out of the year. That man controlled her every move for years. His tight leash rarely included a family visit.”
“Melly, come on.” I was ready to beg for my life. “This isn’t who you are.”
“No, who I am is a loving sister who couldn’t keep turning her head to the abuse Rebecca suffered at the hands of her husband. Trace was a cult, and she couldn’t break away. She wouldn’t see how much she’d lost and how toxic he was. Do you know I’ve only seen Rebecca three times since she moved to Oklahoma?” She held the knife up in one hand and three fingers in the other. A macabre visual aid. “When our mother got sick, did Rebecca come help me? Did she even come see her?” She shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “No, he wouldn’t let her.”
I wondered how much of that was all Trace. But it certainly didn’t matter right now. “I’m sorry. I know that must’ve been hard.”
“Hard was watching my mother call for my sister, wondering where her other daughter was—then dying without seeing her.” She glanced away for a mere second, as if the memory was too much. “But don’t you know Trace brought Rebecca round for the funeral.”
She trained another knife on me, and I wondered if she even truly saw me—or if she envisioned Trace in my place. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Quit saying you’re sorry!” Melly flung the knife.
I cried out in pain as the point nicked my calf. Blood slid down my leg.
“Trace knew I’d inherited my mother’s estate. And why shouldn’t I have? In the end, she only had one daughter. But did that stop him from coming back and asking me for money? Of course not.”
My leg on fire, I held the wound and searched for something to use as a weapon. “He wanted money for the faire property,” I said.
Her knuckles whitened as her grip tightened on another knife. “My husband told me not to loan him the money. Trace had borrowed from us years before and lost it. And I should’ve listened.”
“But you thought if the festiv
al set up shop in Sugar Creek, you’d see Rebecca.”
“He promised me I would. And I believed him—again. I gave him the money without my husband knowing. That inheritance was for our daughter’s wedding.”
Could I make a break for any of the exits? “I’m sure Trace was a convincing liar. A commanding actor.”
“That liar told me the income on the mineral rights was my guaranteed monthly payment.” Melly’s face flushed with anger and the oppressive heat of the tent. “Said he’d pay me back with interest in no time. We drew up a contract.”
“But you didn’t consider him selling.”
“My husband can’t know what I’ve done,” Melly said desperately. “I’ve charged everything for the wedding. Taken out loans. And I’ll never see that money again.”
“Couldn’t you have just confronted Rebecca with the truth?”
“She’d never hold Trace accountable. She’d follow him anywhere. And I tried talking to him. He refused to meet me, wouldn’t take my calls. He knew I hadn’t told my husband about the money. He had me over a barrel and was getting away with robbery.”
“Then you created your own meeting—and killed him.”
An anguished wail escaped her trembling lips. “It wasn’t like that! I never meant to hurt Trace. It wasn’t my fault.”
“No, of course it wasn’t.” Whatever would make me think you’d be crazy enough to kill someone with a knife?
“I snuck backstage,” Melly said. “I confronted Trace. For the first time ever, I told him off. I told him I knew all about Heartland Amusements. He just laughed. Said it was business—something I wouldn’t understand. That man had the nerve to tell me the money was Rebecca’s inheritance too, something they were entitled to. And when he sold all 150 acres, he’d be taking the cash with him.”
I was running out of consoling rejoinders. “So you stabbed him.”
Melly’s volume escalated with every word. “He told me after the sale, he’d never come back to Sugar Creek. He was going to work for that Goldberg man.” She rubbed a hand across her dripping nose. “Said he was moving to Missouri and taking Rebecca with him.”
“But she’s seeing Nathan. And you’re here—”
“I’m never enough! Nathan would find he wasn’t enough. She will always chase Trace—always. I knew my sister was gone for good when Trace said he was taking that job. I was crying and numb. And when he had the nerve to demand I hand him his dagger, I picked it up.” Pained eyes met mine. “And I threw it.” She sniffled and dashed away tears. “I hadn’t thrown a knife in decades, and in one shot I hit my mark.”
She killed him. I would never get over the ease at which someone could take a life. “You were just looking out for Rebecca though.” I watched her nod as she fought back a sob. “The important thing is your sister is here now, right?”
“I didn’t want to kill him.” Her voice pleaded.
“Of course not.” I leapt from my spot, my body propelled by adrenaline and a savage desire to live another day. “Help! Someone help me!”
“Shut up!” With ninja precision, Melly flicked another knife, the handle hitting my knee like a bullet. “Don’t take another step.”
Pain rolled through my body and I tried to breathe it away. “Use your brain, Melly.” And not your assassin’s hands. “They’re on to you. The authorities are coming, and it’s over. If you kill me, you won’t get to watch your daughter get married. Your sister won’t visit you in jail. Think of the scandal.”
“I am thinking of the scandal,” she said. “And there can’t be one. I can’t have you telling everyone what I’ve done. Rebecca would never forgive me. She’d never see me again.”
Hope swelled faster than my wound as I spied a basket of apples on the opposite side. With a savage roar and nothing to lose, I dove to the floor, rolling once to grab the prize. Another knife lodged in the wood over my head. Perspiration slid down my neck as I lobbed a red apple at Melly, missing her by a foot.
“I really am sorry,” she said. “I have to protect my family.”
Calling on my dandelion-picking softball days, I lobbed another apple, gratified to hear an oomph as it hit her neck. I just needed to distract her long enough to find another exit.
Melly advanced, and I pummeled her with four more apples, one popping her in the nose and spurting blood. Three steps closer, and I’d dive for her ankles and take my chances on overpowering her to the ground.
Her knife collection seemed endless, as if she conjured them behind her back. She dashed the damp hair from her eyes, then produced another steel blade and sliced the air as she threw. The knife grazed my bicep, and I bit back a scream as pain spiked my body. I lifted my arm only to find my sleeve pinned to the wall.
Melly advanced, a resolute tiger about to seize her prey.
I tugged frantically, but the heavy brocade didn’t give an inch. Thrashing against the dress, I yanked and tugged, hoping to tear the sleeve.
But it was too late.
Melly stood over me, weeping as she reached into the deep pocket of her cape.
And extracted a pistol.
With palsied hands, she lifted the gun and pointed it right at my heart. “Please forgive me.”
“Drop thy weapon!”
Melly and I both turned at that voice.
Hair disheveled and chest heaving, Cam Paxton stood in the doorway with all the fury of a king done wrong. “I said drop thy weapon, councilwoman.”
Melly set her sights on me again. And shook her head.
Cam bellowed a warrior’s cry then launched his own shiny dagger.
Right into the shoulder of Melly Pittman.
“No!” Her gun dropped to the ground with a thud as she wailed in pain and clutched her impaled arm.
“Oh, yes.” Cam advanced, a knight in shining armor if I’d ever seen one. “You killed Trace. He brought joy to thousands. He entertained those in need. He should’ve lived to see his dream of the Sugar Creek faire.”
Tears flowed down her dirty cheeks. “He never even liked you!”
“Trace only liked himself,” Cam said, “so I guess I was in pretty good company.” He looked at my shaking form. “Are you okay, Paisley?”
I had no idea. It was all a psychotic blur. “I . . .I think am.”
“You’re bleeding quite a bit.”
My sleeve was soaked like a wet sponge and my stomach rebelled at the sight. “Flesh wounds.”
“I’ll just hold Melly here until the police come.”
I blinked back stars and a dizzy head. “You saved me, Cam.”
His grin was simply beatific. “I’ve waited my whole life to be useful to the faire.”
“I’d say it happened at just the right time.” My eyes rolled back, my head lolled, and I let the darkness pull me down into its sleepy depths.
* * *
“Paisley!”
I heard my name called from far away.
Go away. So sleepy. Sleepy time now.
“Paisley.”
Hands lightly roamed my arm, my shoulder, my face, and I groaned against the intrusion. “Leave me alone.”
“Paisley, can you hear me?”
I peeled open one eye to see Beau standing over me like my own protective soldier. “Hi. Welcome to the game tent. We throw knives here.”
“Talk to me. Are you okay?” The wall behind me wobbled as Beau wrenched the knife free, and my arm fell to my side.
“Ow.” His hand cupped my face as I curled my arm to my stomach. “Arm hurts.”
“You’ve been hit. Tell me about your leg.” He lifted my skirt.
“Hey!” The cobwebs cleared from my foggy brain, and I slapped at his hands. “I am a lady.”
“You’re a bleeding lady.” Sparing as much of my dignity as he could, he proceeded to hoist the material again, stopping at my knee. “We need a medic!” he called.
“I think I’m okay.” I watched a police woman cuff Melly Pittman and guide her out. “Did I pass out?”
> “Yep.” Beau inspected my calf, then his piercing blue eyes found mine. “When I ran in here all I saw was you in a heap.” He waved toward the floor. “And blood. Too much blood.” He pulled me to him and hugged me close. “I thought the worst.”
My face pressed into his shoulder. “You’re getting blood on your clothes.”
“I don’t care.” Beau just held me, his heart beating against mine.
Air was sparse in the tent, and the dress began to suffocate. “Beau?”
“Yes?”
“You can let go of me now.”
“Give me a minute,” he said. “I’m trying to ride out this heart attack.”
Sirens wailed anew in the distance. Funny how such an alarming sound had turned into a cheerful, happy noise to my ears.
Beau released me from his hold, only to frame my face with his hands. “Melly tried to kill you.” It wasn’t a question, but a savage charge.
“Yeah.”
His eyes were unblinking. “If Cam had only been a few seconds late—”
“He wasn’t. Plus, I still had a few moves up my bloody sleeve.”
“Are you lying to me right now?”
“Little bit.”
Beau pressed his sweaty forehead to mine. “You can’t keep running after killers by yourself.”
“I’m like this city’s Batman.”
“You’re really not.”
“The Super Woman of Sugar Creek.”
“Not even close.”
I smiled and tapped his nose. “Help me up before I start humming my own theme song.”
Before I could test my wounded leg, Beau swung me into his manly arms and cradled me close. “Let’s go find that ambulance.”
“I think I can walk.”
“Paisley?” He glanced down, finding a small smile. “I’m not letting you go.”
45
Heaven was a beautiful man waiting for you on your front porch. Granted, after a near-death experience, just breathing air and not lying stiff on a morgue slab was more than delightful. But, still, it was grand to be home.
Five hours later, Sylvie and Frannie drove me home from the emergency room. Wounds cleaned and stitched, I stepped out of the backseat of Frannie’s van while “Islands in the Stream” crooned from her speakers. Beau sat in the glider, holding his ball cap in his hands.
Royally In Trouble Page 29
