Wes grinned. “That’s what puts the thrill in it. It’s a spectator sport, and you gotta give the public something for their money. Trust me, those racers are a lot tougher than they look. They’re good at what they do.”
Clara was about to answer him when another voice spoke from behind her. “Don’t listen to him, hon. He’s full of BS.”
Clara turned, and felt a chill chase all the way down her back. She was looking into the painted face of the clown in the poster. Seen in real life, he looked even more formidable. Dark eyes stared out at her from the red circles and the web of lines drawn inside them. His yellow lips looked huge and deformed, and his red nose gleamed against the mask of white paint that covered the rest of his face. He wore the same outfit he wore in the poster, with his black cowboy hat pushed to the back of his head. “Didn’t mean to give you a start, little lady.”
Realizing that she was staring at him with something like horror on her face, Clara quickly transformed her expression. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Meet Marty Pearce,” Wes said. “Also known as Sparky the clown. He entertains the crowd while they wait for the next event.” He looked at the clown. “This is Clara and Rick. They’re good friends of mine, so be nice.”
“I’m always nice.” Marty held out a white-gloved hand to Clara and bowed. “I’m privileged to make your acquaintance, ma’am.”
Clara tried not to shiver as she hastily shook the hand and let it go.
Wes rolled his eyes. “He never does anything half-assed.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The dark eyes seemed to penetrate right through Clara’s skull. “I hope you’re staying for the performance?”
“Yes, I’m looking forward to it.” Clara gulped. A vision of the clown’s body flying through the air had flashed through her mind. Was she about to watch Sparky the clown being gored by a bull? Desperately she sought for words to warn him, yet could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t make her sound like a raving lunatic.
As if reading her mind, Wes said, “Don’t expect him to chase after a bull. He gave that up a while ago. He just keeps the kids entertained now.”
Clara thought she saw a spark of resentment in the dark eyes, but it was gone so fast she figured she’d imagined it. Still, she felt obliged to say something nice. “Well, I’ll enjoy being entertained.”
Marty’s whole face broke into a grin. “Thank you, kind lady. I’ll be sure and wave to you when I’m out there entertaining the crowd.” He nodded at Rick. “Nice to have met you, sir. I hope you enjoy the show.”
“I’m sure we will.” Rick looked amused as Marty wandered off. “He seems like a nice guy.”
“Yeah.” Wes tipped the brim of his hat back with his thumb. “He used to be a bullfighter—it’s what we call the clowns who distract the bulls when the riders come off them. But Marty got in the way of a bull’s horns once too often. He was in a hospital for weeks. Now he just fills in the gaps in between events. The crowds love him. He’s a great entertainer.”
“He misses performing with the bulls,” Clara said.
Wes looked surprised. “Yeah, I guess he does.”
Rick gave her an odd look, but said nothing as Wes added, “I gotta go and get stuff ready for the show. See you later?”
“Sure.” Rick clapped a hand on the cowboy’s shoulder. “Good to see you, buddy. Thanks for the tour.”
“Yes, thanks,” Clara added hastily. “I really enjoyed it.”
Wes grinned. “A pleasure, ma’am.” With a wave at them both, he hurried off, leaving them to find their way back to the arena.
Rick took Clara’s hand and tucked it under his arm. “How do you do that?”
She looked at him, immediately on guard. “Do what?”
“Know what people are feeling or thinking.”
She managed a fairly convincing laugh. “I don’t. It’s just guesswork.”
“Pretty good guesswork if you ask me. No wonder you’re so good at detecting.”
They were on dangerous ground, and she quickly changed the subject. “I’m starving. Can we eat?”
Rick grinned. “There you go again, reading my mind.”
Fortunately they’d reached the entrance to the tent, and she was saved from answering.
The smell of hot dogs and hamburgers filled the warm, sticky air inside. Rick headed for a stand near the back of the tent, where a couple of young women were serving chicken wraps.
“Look good to you?” he asked, and she nodded. Right then she would have eaten anything he put in her hand.
They found a vacant table and Clara sat down with the wraps while Rick wandered off in search of the beer booth. He came back moments later with two cups brimming with ice-cold beer. “Now this,” he said, as he sat down opposite her, “is what I call dining in style.”
She gave him a lopsided smile. “Obviously, you don’t get out much.”
“I have my moments.” He reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “And this is one of them.”
She squeezed back, feeling a rush of pleasure at the warmth in his eyes. “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Of course!” She wished she could be more enthusiastic, but the dread lurking in the back of her mind dampened her spirits. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was going to witness something bad happening to Sparky the clown.
The feeling stayed with her throughout the performance. The pageantry of the opening parade impressed her. Women in glittering vests and chaps cantered into the arena bearing flags and were followed by cowboys on horseback twirling lassos. She couldn’t contain a shiver, however, at the sight of the clowns tumbling alongside.
Sparky brought up the rear of the parade, juggling bright yellow and red clubs that he constantly dropped, sometimes on his head, which brought shouts of laughter from the younger members of the audience.
As time went by, Clara sat on the edge of her seat as one competitor after another hit the sawdust hard. It amazed her that they all scrambled to their feet, apparently unhurt by the violent contact with the ground. She enjoyed the barrel racing, but watching the clowns being chased by the hefty bulls made her mouth go dry. Between each event Sparky appeared in the arena, telling jokes or turning clumsy cartwheels, bursting balloons and making the audience giggle.
During the intermission, he performed a lengthy routine, which involved pretending to be chased by someone dressed up as a two-legged bull. Sparky ended up in the stands, hiding behind various children, amid shrieks and screams of laughter.
Apparently the clown’s antics didn’t impress Rick, as he took off to get more drinks, leaving Clara alone to watch the show. She was surprised when she saw Wes loping up the steps toward her, his bright red shirt a splash of color among the crowd. “Rick’s gone to get a beer,” she explained as Wes took the empty seat next to her. She checked her watch. “He should be back any minute.”
Wes nodded. “I just came up to see how you’re both enjoying the show.”
“It’s great!” Clara tried to sound genuinely excited rather than nervous and preoccupied. “I loved the barrel racing. Those women really know how to ride.”
“They sure do.” Wes stretched his long legs out in front of him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with Marty tonight, though. He seems off his game.”
Clara stared at him. “He is? But the audience seems to love him.”
“Yeah, but he’s not putting a hundred percent into it like he usually does. I tried to talk to him earlier, but he took off before I could say anything. Guess he’s feeling under the weather tonight. Happens to the best of us.”
Uneasiness rippled through Clara’s body. If Sparky was sick, maybe that’s why she kept seeing him in trouble. “I’m sorry to hear that. It must be hard to act funny when you’re not feeling good.”
/> “Yeah.” Wes rose to his feet as Rick appeared on the steps. “Well, enjoy the rest of the show.”
“Thanks. I know we will.” She watched him pause to speak to Rick, then he disappeared into the group of people below.
Rick handed her a cup of beer and sat down. “Wes is in the next-to-last event. Calf roping. You’ll enjoy that.”
Clara took a sip of the cold beer. “I’m looking forward to seeing your friend compete.” She actually did enjoy it, once Rick assured her that the calves were not hurt. It was easy to pick out Wes in his red shirt, and she applauded with enthusiasm when he won the event.
When Marty’s last turn in the arena ended without mishap she finally relaxed. Maybe her visions were simply about him not feeling well—like he was coming down with a cold or something. It didn’t seem as if he was in actual danger, though she found it impossible to totally let go of her anxiety until the final parade wound its way around the ring amid tumultuous applause from the crowd.
“You can unclench your teeth now,” Rick said, as they filed down the steps behind a group of chattering kids.
“Thanks.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Was I that obvious?”
He grabbed her hand as they reached the walkway. “No, not really. I could tell you weren’t exactly lapping it up, though.”
“Sorry. I did enjoy parts of it, but I guess I was afraid someone would get hurt.”
“Nothing wrong with having a soft heart. I like that.”
She gave his fingers a grateful squeeze. They had reached the ground now. Their seats had been on the opposite side of the arena, near the concert stage. Clara gazed at it as they passed, remembering how it looked with a glowing backdrop and lights, lasers flashing and musicians writhing in front of the microphones.
Without warning her thoughts were shattered as a piercing scream rang out above the chatter of the crowd.
Rick halted, pulling her to a stop. “What the heck was that?”
More screams erupted, and now the people in front of them were turning toward the stage, muttering to one another.
Clara was closest to the corner of the stage. Staring into the darkness she saw a teenage couple rush out from behind the structure. The girl was crying, waving her arms, sobbing out words that Clara couldn’t understand.
Her boyfriend shouted, “Somebody call 911! There’s a dead body back there!”
Rick muttered something unintelligible, and Clara stood rooted to the spot, once more seeing the body of Sparky the clown tumbling headfirst down the steep rows of the stands. It was her fault. She should have warned him. Now Marty Pearce was dead and it was too late to save him.
Clara slept badly that night and woke up to find Tatters pawing her arm. “Sorry, boy,” she muttered, as she clambered out of bed and reached for her robe. “I guess you need to go out.”
Tatters grunted and trotted over to the door. Clara opened it for him and followed him down the hallway to the kitchen.
Seated at the table with a newspaper spread out in front of her, Jessie looked up. “Oh, there you are. I was just about to bring you a cup of coffee.” She narrowed her eyes. “You look miserable. You must have had a bad night.”
“I did.” Clara opened the back door, and Tatters rushed outside. “Have you seen any news about the murder?”
“Murder?” Jessie picked up the newspaper. “What murder?”
“At the rodeo last night. I don’t know too much about it, but from what we heard, someone found a dead body behind the concert stage.”
“No kidding!” Jessie turned the pages. “Oh, here it is! I’m surprised it didn’t make the front page.” She began reading aloud. “The opening performance of Finn’s Harbor’s fledgling rodeo was marred by the discovery of a dead body. Lisa Warren, assistant to production manager Paul Eastcott, was found strangled to death. The police are investigating, and so far there are no suspects. This is the first time the Hometown Rodeo Company has visited Finn’s Harbor, and Mr. Eastcott has expressed his deep regret to the patrons for the unfortunate beginning to the six-day event.”
Clara walked over to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup. Before the security guards had ushered them out last night, she’d overheard rumors that the victim was a young woman. It had been a relief of sorts to know it wasn’t Marty Pearce.
Carrying her coffee, Clara walked over to the table and sat down. The Sense had been trying to tell her something, however. Since Lisa Warren hadn’t appeared in any of her visions, the young woman couldn’t have been the one being warned. Clara had a bad feeling that Marty was still in danger. Maybe from the same person who had killed the production assistant. Somehow she had to find a way to warn him.
“So how was your date with Rick?” Jessie picked up the newspaper again and tried to look indifferent.
Clara wasn’t fooled. Her mother avidly waited for details after every date. “It was great. I didn’t think I would enjoy the rodeo, but it turned out to be a lot more fun than I’d expected. Though I have to admit, watching the clowns being chased by an angry bull was a little unsettling.”
Jessie smiled. “You’ve always hated clowns. I remember one birthday party when your father insisted on hiring one. You and Stephanie hid in your bedroom closet and refused to come out until the clown left.”
Clara shivered. “There was something weird about that clown.”
“All clowns are weird, darling. That’s part of their getup. Did Rick enjoy the show?”
“Yes, he did. I think rodeos are more a guy thing, anyway.”
Jessie laughed. “You may be right.” She glanced up at the cuckoo clock on the wall. The clock had belonged to Clara’s great grandmother, and the cuckoo had been silenced with age, much to Clara’s relief. “Oh, goodness. Is that the time?” Jessie folded the newspaper and stood. “I suppose you’ll be working late, as usual?”
“I’ll be home soon after eight.”
“I’ll make a salad.” Jessie reached the door and looked back at her. “Try not to worry about the murder, darling. Let the police handle it. I can’t for the life of me imagine what you find so fascinating about solving murders, but you do tend to run into trouble when you get involved.”
Clara nodded. If only it were that simple. She couldn’t ignore her visions, especially if they could help find a killer. “Have a good day, Mom.”
Jessie sighed. “You, too.”
On her way to the Raven’s Nest later, Clara tried to put the conversation out of her mind, but the memory of Sparky the clown tumbling through the air refused to go away. Stephanie pounced on her the moment she entered the bookstore, which didn’t help matters.
“So what happened last night?” Stephanie demanded. “Did you hear about the murder? Did you see anything?”
Clara dumped her purse behind the counter and smiled at a customer waving at her from one of the aisles. “No, I didn’t see anything. All I know is what’s in the Chronicle.”
Her cousin looked disappointed. “Oh, I thought you would have at least tried to get a peek at the body.”
“Nope. The security guards were there in seconds. Besides, I’ve sworn off chasing after killers.”
“Since when?”
“Since I nearly got killed by one.”
Stephanie pulled a face. “I just thought you’d want to know what was going on.”
“I’ll watch the news.”
Giving up, Stephanie switched subjects. “So what did you think of the rodeo? Did you get to meet the cowboys?”
“I met Wes, Rick’s pal.” Clara picked up an invoice and studied it. “And I met Sparky the clown.”
Stephanie raised her eyebrows. “Really? The one on the poster?”
“Yep.” Clara tried to ignore the little flutter of apprehension.
“You didn’t run away from him?”
“No, I didn’t. I’ve grown up
since that birthday party.”
“You still don’t like clowns.”
“Neither do you.”
“So what’s he like?”
“Nice. Harmless. Friendly.” Clara waved the invoice at her. “So Jane Rancher’s next fantasy book is in. We’ve got four customers waiting for that one.”
“I know.” Stephanie took the invoice from her. “I was going to pull the copies from one of the boxes but haven’t had time. Can you take care of it?”
“Sure.” Clara glanced at the clock. “Don’t you have a dentist appointment?”
“Crap. I’m already late!” Stephanie rummaged under the counter for her purse. “Call me tonight?”
“Don’t I always?”
Grinning, Stephanie rushed to the door and opened it. “You haven’t said anything about your date with Rick.”
Clara sighed. “I’ll tell you everything tonight.”
Apparently satisfied, Stephanie left.
Moments later, just as Clara was on her way to the stockroom, the door opened again and Rick walked in. His usual cheery grin was absent, and he greeted her with a heavy tone that boded trouble.
She walked over to him, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was nearby. “What’s wrong?”
He moved closer to her, muttering in a low voice, “Wes has been taken in for questioning. They think he killed that woman last night.”
Clara let out her breath in a rush of dismay. “Oh no. I’m sorry, Rick.”
He shook his head. “He didn’t do it. Wes is like a brother to me. I know him. He’d never hurt anyone intentionally, much less kill someone.”
Clara struggled to find words to reassure him. “Well, if he’s innocent, Dan will know it and let him go. He’s a good police chief.”
“I hope so. Even good cops make mistakes. I know that for a fact.”
Seeing the pain in his eyes, she laid a hand on his arm. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d been under suspicion of murder, and questioned by the police himself. He’d gone through untold misery until his name had been cleared.
“Try not to worry. I’m sure things will work out all right. How did you find out about Wes?”
Extra Sensory Deception Page 4
