Uma's Undoing

by Dallis Adams

  Uma crossed her arms. “Those papers are not legitimate.”

  “But they are.”

  “They’re not.”

  “I assure you,” the fake doctor insisted, “they are. After the presentation, I’ll take them out of their cases so you — and anybody else who is interested — can feel the raised embossed seal.”

  “If you do not stop with your infernal deceit by peddling those so-called cures, I will hold you down and force your poisonous medicines down your throat. Then we’ll see how you survive.”

  He sighed. “What you need, Mrs. MacKissick, is a regimen for your feminine hysteria. And I have just the treatment, one that will do wonders for your humors.”

  Uma’s jaw dropped. That he would blame his duplicity on the fact she was a female was inconceivable. “Excuse me? My feminine what?”

  Rosia stepped forward. “I can vouch for the doctor’s treatment of feminine hysteria. He gave a treatment to me just yesterday evening, and I’m much better.”

  Uma didn’t know exactly what the regimen entailed, but she could make an educated guess. She turned toward the man who caused all her ire. “What did you do to Rosia?”

  “Only what she needed.” He shrugged and held up his hands as if to ward her off. “Please. Stop by later. We’ll have a friendly chat. At least, it is my hope that you can put away your fiery nature long enough to listen. Although, ironically, it is because of your fiery nature that I was led down the path I took in becoming legitimate in my chosen profession. Now, if you don’t mind, I will continue informing the good citizens of Cryptic Cove about my medical breakthrough this past year.”

  She wasn’t certain what he meant by a treatment, but she was certain she wouldn’t want one from him. What a foul, totally corrupt degenerate.

  Traver, now Hancock, climbed five steps to reach a small stage.

  Uma opened her mouth to retort, but a woman, who might have been four or five years older than Uma, jumped down from the caravan and stepped up to stand beside Hancock. As she walked past, she brushed against Uma, nose in the air.

  The woman’s hay-colored hair was artfully pulled back from her face with pink ribbons and small, silken roses to flow down past her hips. She wore a gauzy white dress that was loose in the bodice and gathered around her waist, almost like a child’s pinafore. Pink ribbons that matched the ones in her hair, interspersed with dainty cloth roses, hung from the foot-wide ruffles at the hem. Her feet were encased in silken slippers dyed a dusky pink that duplicated the ribbons in her hair.

  Hancock gestured toward the woman, his movements sweeping. Grand. “Meet Angela Wicket,” he said in a theatrical tone. “Hear of her cure.”

  “As long as it’s the cure for lies, I’m all for it,” Uma announced.

  Two

  “I lived on a farm in Missouri with my parents,” Angela said in a high, yet sweet and lilting tone that seemed almost musical.

  “One day, when I was fifteen years old, I was caring for the farm animals--the cows and goats as well as the horses — my papa’s gelding whose name was Orion, my mama’s mare — we called her Babel — and my quarter horse, Clover, named as such because she loved eating them. Boys from the neighboring farm grabbed my watering pail and threw the contents all over me.” Angela splayed her fingers wide to seductively mimic the flow of water over her hair, face, and down her dress.

  “Soaking wet, shivering with cold,” she continued, drawing her arms into her body and actually mimicking her quaking reaction to the wintry day, “I continued to care for the beasts by trudging back to the water well to refill my pails, and then replenishing their troughs with grain. Why didn’t I stop? You see, I am dedicated to my parents, but the Bible says the sign of a righteous man … or woman … is when they care for their beasts. And I always try to be a good girl.”

  Uma couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Angela Wicket really laid on the drama thick. Did anybody else think this whole so-called testimony was a farce? She glanced around. Mostly men had stopped to listen, although the women who had gathered around the doctor were still in the audience. Uma was surprised to note their eyes were rapt with wonder as they listened to the woman. What was happening? Most were town folk, but several were from Cojocaru’s, or at least, retired from there. The former performers surprised her.

  Couldn’t they tell a theatrical act when they saw one? If she didn’t know better she would have said Angela Wicket wove a spell around her audience. But Uma didn’t believe in spells, witches, wizards or what have you. Irritated, she continued to listen, if only to better understand who she was starting to view as her nemesis.

  “By the time I finished my chores, I was a trembling so hard that my teeth chattered and I could barely walk. I took a fever that night.

  “For five days, I went in and out of consciousness. My fever soared to blistering heat. My distraught parents called the pastor to my dying bedside so he could guide my soul to the Lord.” She raised her hands and threw back her head, as if beseeching the skies. “Yes, in my fevered dreams, I could see the shimmering, iridescent, pearly gates of heaven, gleaming against the blue sky. I didn’t want to leave my earthly existence. I prayed for a savior, and in the heavens I saw Doctor Hancock’s kind, intelligent face.” Her lips stretched wide as she smiled at the so-called doctor.

  Uma frowned. What a bunch of poppycock.

  “And then he knocked on my family’s front door. He was my miracle, my angel, sent from the heavens. He administered Panacea’s Elixir Salutis to me. Four hours later I was able to sit up. And only after one dose, mind you. Twelve hours later my fever was completely gone. Twenty-four hours later I was walking to the dinner table to dine with my beloved parents once more. Thirty-six hours later, I was back to frolicking with the horses, cows and goats again. I was so blessed to be given another chance at life that I decided to leave my dear family and travel with Doctor Hancock to spread news about my miracle and give hope to others like me.”

  People clapped … actually clapped.

  Doc’s assistant, a young man who wasn’t much older than Uma, joined in on the clapping. “Every time I hear that story, I feel like crying. You are beautiful. The apple of my eye!”

  Angela muttered something under her breath. It sounded like shut it, numskull, and something about strangling him. Then she smiled, patted the assistant’s hand and moved away from him.

  Figures, Uma thought. Angela had been hiding her true nature. Uma had heard the girl’s muttered words because she was closer than the rest of the crowd. Too, Uma knew her hearing was sharper than most.

  Then someone echoed the beautiful compliment. Another male voice called out something like Angela could be his apple because he would like a taste of her. Yet another man even hooted and whistled. Uma glanced over her shoulder and was shocked to see that the ruckus came from Luther Boudreaux.

  “Luther,” Uma exclaimed. “Are you serious? Can’t you see she’s a swindler?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” he responded, his tone defensive as he pressed his full lips together. “Either way, she is the most beautiful, talented storyteller I’ve ever seen and she deserves accolades.” The sun gleamed against his olive coloring. He whistled again, puffing out the hollows below his cheeks which emphasized the exotic, high bone structure.

  Lala harrumphed. “Wait until I tell Orchilo.”

  Uma thought it was strange that Lala called her own mother by her first name. But Lala claimed it had been her mother who insisted upon it. Orchilo didn’t want the circus customers to label her as a parent. She said it aged her, which Uma thought was silly. Orchilo was in her mid forties, but appeared about ten years younger, in Uma’s opinion.

  Orchilo and Luther had been off and on romantically for years. Most of the time the pair slipped around to kiss.

  If anyone caught them kissing, the Cryptic Kissing Law kicked in, a law created by Cryptic Cove’s Founding Fathers. Getting caught kissing meant the couple would have to court for one month. Getting caught kissing in
the consecutive two months would require two more months of courtship which would end in a mandatory wedding.

  Law number thirty, or the Kissing Law, was how Uma and Jack discovered their love for each other and ended up marrying, long before the first week of the first courtship month was finished. Uma smiled at the memory.

  Even though she and Jack hadn’t made it past the first week of the first month of the kissing law before they realized they were in love and married, it sometimes took other couples longer for Cupid to strike.

  During that first month while the Kissing Law began, the pair could kiss as much as they wanted. If, in the following month, they were caught kissing, the couple was required to court again for that second month. If someone caught and reported the duo kissing in the third month, once again the pair would be required to court for a third month, with the courtship ending in an obligatory marriage.

  Several times Luther and Orchilo barely missed the third courtship month by keeping their lips from touching each other’s for thirty days. After the third month of demonstrated celibacy, if caught kissing, the count started all over again, at round one per the Kissing Law.

  Recently, Lala convinced her mother to retire, well, to be partially retired, so that Lala could take over the business of fortunetelling. However, mother and daughter agreed that Orchilo could still perform readings once in a while to give Lala breaks. But Orchilo seemed more restless than usual, more cranky.

  Luther froze, and took his fingers out of his mouth. “What?”

  “You heard me. I’m telling Orchilo,” Lala repeated. “Ooh, you’re in so much trouble.” She gave him an admonishing shake of her finger.

  An uneasy chuckle came out of him. “If she tries to drown me in a puddle of rainwater again, I say bring it on. I’ll just drag her under with me again and kiss her into submission.”

  “Oh, she’ll do more than that,” Lala replied. “She just might put a hex on you.”

  “I don’t believe in hexes.” Even as he scoffed, he rubbed his palms against his trousers, which indicated his nervousness.

  “You will after she gets through with you. Just the other day I heard her practicing the itchy hex.”

  “Which is?” he asked, his voice pitchy.

  “To make a person want to scratch in places that aren’t acceptable in public.”

  “Don’t tell her,” Luther begged, clasping his hands together.

  “Don’t tell me what?” Hands on hips, Orchilo looked Luther up and down with an expression that suggested she didn’t like what she saw. A colorful, gauzy bandanna was wrapped around her head. Pierced earrings lined the shells of her ears. “Oh, I know why you watched the floozy,” she said, waving her arms in a dramatic gesture, the movement causing the rows of bracelets to chime. “You only want to get in the sack with her.”

  “Not true. You are my sunshine,” he declared, motioning to the bright orb in the blue mid-March sky. “You are my heart.” He grabbed the left side of his chest. “You must know by now that I only have eyes for you.”

  The manner in which Luther fluttered his lashes over his onyx eyes made Lala giggle. Uma couldn’t keep from grinning. She had to give credit to the Cojocaru team. They knew how to create real-life drama. And in Uma’s opinion, Luther and Orchilo performed much better theatrics than Angela Wicket and Doctor Hancock.

  Orchilo’s stern expression softened for a brief moment. Then she lifted her chin and sniffed, giving an aloof appearance. “Too bad for you, Luther Boudreaux. Begone.” Orchilo shooed him away.

  “Now, sweetness,” Luther whined. “Don’t be like that.”

  “The point is, I don’t want you.” She turned and motioned to a stranger standing behind her. “Ready, Manfri?”

  The man called Manfri stepped forward and put his hand on Orchilo’s lower back. “Aye, draga mea.”

  He was a strapping man with brown hair and eyes who looked to be several years younger than Orchilo. The tight shirt he wore did everything to emphasize the bulging muscles beneath his sleeves. His bulk strength contrasted with Luther’s lean, more wiry build.

  “Draga mea, my foot,” Luther muttered. “She is not your darling. She’s mine.”

  “I am nobody’s possession, especially not yours.” Orchilo turned her back on him. Instead, she grabbed Manfri. “Uma. Lala. This is Manfri Young, our new strong man for Cojocaru, and my beau,” she added with determination.

  “You’re what?” Luther exclaimed.

  “You heard me,” Orchilo tossed over her shoulder, refusing to face him. Instead, she looked up at Manfri. “I’m ready for our excursion. Oh, and Lala. Don’t wait up for me.” Orchilo accepted Manfri’s arm, like a fine lady accepting escort from a gentleman.

  Luther’s jaw slackened. “What are you doing?”

  Finally Orchilo turned toward him — slowly — her violet eyes flashing. “Not that I have to answer to you, but your brain seems to be having difficulty grasping the context of this simple conversation. And I want you to understand. It’s over between us.” She lifted her chin, as if that would help sever any ties she might, or might not want to keep between her and Luther. “I’m courting Manfri. Reverend Aza caught us kissing. Which means law number thirty applies.”

  Orchilo continued to glare at Luther. “And I’ll tell you now, Luther Boudreaux, this courtship will be no hardship. In fact, it will be the best I’ve ever had.”

  Orchilo pulled Manfri away.

  “B-but Manfri isn’t a Cryptian. So the Kissing Law doesn’t apply,” Luther shouted after her.

  He started to follow, but Lala stepped in front of him. “Not now,” she said in a firm tone. “Let her be.”

  “Don’t be a stranger,” Uma called out to Lala’s mother, hoping Orchilo knew what she was doing. Orchilo and Luther were a fiery, passionate couple. The duo either hid from the pastor to avoid the Kissing Law while kissing like adolescents, or shouting at each other, with Orchilo usually being the one to throw things at Luther’s head.

  But Orchilo held a special place in Uma’s heart and she wanted the older woman to be happy, to not make a mistake she would regret. For what other person would throw her livelihood — that is, her crystal ball — at a murderer’s head to knock him senseless? Uma would never forget that act of selflessness.

  She still burned hot at the thought of the devious mother slayer, even though he’d paid the ultimate price and was now dead. But the killer had stole her mother away, and Uma would never get the opportunity to know her. Nothing could change that.

  Now she must protect the good citizens of Cryptic Cove and their visitors by directing her anger toward slick talking Doctor Hancock and his farce, theatrical cohorts. “I’m going to chase away the charlatan.”

  Lala tugged on her sleeve, obviously to get her attention. “But Uma. You can’t run him off.”

  “Why?”

  Grabbing her by the arm, Lala pulled her away. “Because Doc Elroy and his team are a part of Cojocaru’s. Mr. Smith hired them at the end of last season.”

  “Doc Elroy?”

  “You know, the Camaraderie Rule Number One? Cryptic Cove’s rule that all adults call each other by their first names, except for honorary precursors, like Sheriff Jack, and Mayor Waylon?”

  “But he’s not a Cryptian.”

  “Sorry, but yes, he is, now that he is part of the show.”

  Uma glanced over her shoulder toward the charlatan that caused her blood to boil, half resisting Lala’s grip as she dragged Uma toward Jack’s Sheriff’s Office and Jail.

  Uma sighed. Lala was smart. She knew that Jack was the only person who could calm her down. Even thinking of her new husband caused the brunt of her ire to burn down to a smoldering, yet manageable simmer. “Mr. Smith? I thought your mother was in charge.”

  “She is … sort of. When we’re traveling, she’s in charge of where to set up the equipment for performances, the caravans where members sell trinkets, perform services such as hypnotisms, fortunetelling, and spells. Oh, and s
he makes sure members do their duties. She reports regularly to Mr. Smith. But all hiring decisions is Mr. Smith’s duty.”

  “Exactly who owns Cojocaru’s Carneytown?”

  “Spiridon Smith.”

  What happened to Mr. Cojocaru?”

  “He retired,” Lala replied. “Spiridon is his nephew and he has inherited the circus.”

  “How can I get in touch with this Spiridon Smith?” Uma felt like a dog with a bone that refused to give up. If she had to wrestle out the information, she would. And Lala should realize that by now. After all, Uma was the one who had flushed out the culprit who murdered her mother nineteen years ago. She didn’t give up then. She wouldn’t give up now.

  “Through my mother, who is now gone to spoon with Manfri the Strongman. Best to get Jack to contact Spiridon.”

  “Jack? What does he have to do with it?” She had been trying to handle the problem without involving Jack.

  “Since Cojocaru’s is a big part of Cryptic Cove, he has a lot to do with the Carney Town. In fact, in past years, when his father was still alive, Jack sometimes traveled with us to different towns, acting as law enforcement for us.”

  “Hmm. Well, he’ll just have to do something to get this Traver-Hancock idiot away from Cryptic Cove. Or there’ll be the devil to pay.”

  Three

  “You want me to run off Doc Elroy?” Jack asked, his brows climbing up his forehead.

  “Yup, she does,” Lala replied for Uma before she plopped down on a ladder back chair against the brick wall and thumbed through one of several dime novels stacked on a nearby table, courtesy of Jack, who liked to collect them. “Why do you have all these dime novels stacked up here?”