After my initial surprise, holding his hand and acting like his date was almost comfortable. We found the Friday the Thirteenth tent and bought our tickets near a sign that said FIRST, THE GOOD LUCK . . .
Inside, we knocked on wood, stroked an obviously fake and rather large rabbit’s foot that was still attached to an obviously fake and rather large rabbit, touched a horseshoe mounted with its ends pointing upward to keep the good luck trapped inside its curve, and hunted for plastic four-leaf clovers in a tray of mostly three-leaf clovers. Another tray was full of pennies. The ones lying faceup were the lucky ones, and people who found one got to keep it. Finally, we had a chance to throw coins into a fountain and make a wish. I kept my lucky penny in my shorts pocket and threw a nickel into the fountain. Grinning, Brent flicked his lucky penny into the fountain.
“I’ll have good luck all day,” I teased. “You won’t.”
He took my hand again. “Maybe lucky pennies grant bigger wishes when they’re thrown into fountains. Do we dare go into the next section of the tent?” It was labeled: AND NOW, THE BAD LUCK.
I pulled him toward it. “Definitely.”
Brent investigated a ladder leaning against a wall inside the tent. “It’s securely fastened, top and bottom.”
I looked up. “And there’s no bucket of paint on top about to spill. It’s perfectly safe.” We let go of each other’s hands. Bravely, I walked underneath the ladder first.
We knocked over saltshakers, spilling salt. We opened umbrellas inside. We touched horseshoes mounted with the ends pointing down, letting good luck dribble out. On a track above our heads, a motorized toy black cat puttered back and forth, crossing our path again and again.
Someone had rigged up a way we could break mirrors without cutting anyone. I peered through thick glass into a box. A tiny mirror slid into view. I could see most of my nose in it but couldn’t make out the freckles. I pressed a lever. A hammer inside the box slammed into the mirror. The broken pieces fell out of sight, and then Brent got a turn. Shouting with excitement, kids pressed the lever and ran to the back of the line to smash more mirrors.
Rocking empty rocking chairs was popular with smaller kids. Laughing parents told them not to sit in the rocking chairs. A father explained, “They have to be empty when they’re rocked to bring us all bad luck.”
Brent deadpanned, “And that’s what we came for.”
The father grinned at us. “Or not.”
A sign at the tent’s exit suggested going around the tent to the good luck section and starting over to erase the bad luck we’d brought upon ourselves. “Paying admission again?” I asked. “That would be bad luck.”
Laughing, Brent squeezed my hand. “Do you have time to check out the rides?”
“I should go back to our tent so Jocelyn can leave to help Tom at Deputy Donut.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“You don’t have to.” I didn’t want Jocelyn and Nina to see us holding hands. They’d be certain they’d succeeded in their matchmaking.
I didn’t have to worry. Brent let go of my hand before we were in sight of the tent. And then I missed the comfort of that strong hand. He said goodbye and headed toward the rides.
Jocelyn left. Nina and I were busy but not overwhelmed until midafternoon, when some of our regulars from Deputy Donut showed up. The women who called themselves the Knitpickers joined the back of the line. We waved at them and served the people in front of them.
A magician in a black top hat and a black coat with tails walked along the line of waiting customers. He touched each Knitpicker’s hair and handed the surprised ladies green plastic four-leaf clovers he appeared to have pulled from their ears. The Knitpickers laughed, obviously enjoying the attention and the carnival.
I was standing near a deep fryer, which might have been why I thought the magician’s black top hat, white wig with its attached beard, and black leather gloves were too hot for the day. Also, his fleshy cheeks and bulbous nose were flushed and shiny with perspiration. It was the first time I’d ever seen a magician carry a briefcase, but I guessed he had to keep his magic paraphernalia handy, and a briefcase went better with the coat and tails than a backpack would have. Besides, the briefcase was black, matching his suit.
Walking like a proud mama, the mime approached the other side of the lineup and mimicked an actual mother who was pushing a baby carriage nearby. The Knitpickers were now in the front of the line, straggled out and no longer standing two-by-two. They turned and watched the mime.
Her orange puffy wig was crooked. She exaggerated a fake tremble as if afraid of the invisible baby in the invisible carriage. Her knees knocked together in a comical way that made her long skinny legs look almost rubbery. The Knitpickers laughed.
The magician handed the Knitpicker closest to our counter a plastic clover. He reached across the counter. His arms were long. He gave me a clover he had supposedly pulled from my ear.
He set his briefcase on the counter. Reaching over it, he extended one black-gloved hand toward Nina’s hair.
His other hand was behind his briefcase where I couldn’t see it.
Nina yelped and slammed the cash drawer.
Chapter 3
Nina caught the tips of the magician’s gloved fingers in the cash drawer.
The magician yanked his hand out. Clasping his briefcase in one hand and a fistful of brand-new five-dollar bills in the other, he sprinted toward the carnival exit.
I shouted, “Stop!”
The mime followed the magician. Nina ducked underneath the tent’s rolled-up wall and ran outside. Dodging carnival attendees, she chased the mime and the magician up the pathway between tents and booths.
Cheryl, the Knitpicker in the back of the line, shouted, “I stuck out my foot, but I didn’t manage to trip that mime!” About a year before, she had experimented with dating sites and blond-streaked brown hair. Her curls were now almost pure white. She still wore the saucy purple-framed glasses, though, and a brilliantly turquoise shirt printed with red hibiscus flowers and green palm trees. She resembled a slimmed-down Mrs. Claus on a tropical vacation.
She and the other Knitpickers clustered at the counter. Virginia urged me, “You can go after them, Emily. We’ll stay here while you’re gone.”
I leaned forward, but our counter was in my way and I wasn’t tall enough to see much beyond our tent. “I don’t think I could catch them. Can you still see them?”
Virginia backed a few steps. “Just the top of Nina’s hat. Oops! She disappeared around the far side of that waffle truck.”
I phoned Brent. “We’ve been robbed.” I sounded surprisingly unflustered. “A magician took money from our cash drawer. But he also took four-leaf clovers out of our ears, so maybe the robbery was a prank.” I answered the question I was certain Brent was about to ask. “It didn’t seem like one. He gave us the clovers.” Maybe I wasn’t as unflustered as I thought. “But he didn’t give us back the money. He ran away.”
“I’m at the horseshoe pitch, beyond the House of Mirrors.” Brent’s voice was calm and even. “I’ll be right there unless I find him first, and he and I have a little chat.”
The “little chat” remark was typical of Brent’s cop humor and his way of defusing a situation. I couldn’t help feeling better.
Disposable food-handling gloves made it possible for me to cook and serve fritters and also take money and make change. I gave the Knitpickers their fritters. “My detective friend Brent is at the carnival, and he’s on his way. Can you stick around and tell him what you saw?”
Cheryl’s curls bobbed with her vigorous nod. “We sure can!”
Virginia stared at the spot where the mime had been entertaining the lineup of people waiting for fritters. “That mime was distracting everyone with her antics so the thieving magician could reach into your till.”
Cheryl patted her purse. “At least he didn’t get my wallet.” She showed us the clip attaching her wallet to a strap inside the purse.
>
Priscilla clutched at her chest. “I’m having palpitations! He was so close! He could have robbed us all!”
Imitating one of the mime’s most despondent grimaces, Virginia groaned. “Or worse.”
Cheryl bit into her fritter. “These are worth being almost robbed.”
The other Knitpickers agreed. They were some of my very favorite Deputy Donut customers. I asked them, “Why are you here? I thought you spent your afternoons knitting.”
Cheryl shook her head, causing those curls to bob in a new direction. “Not every afternoon! We sometimes go on outings. This morning in Deputy Donut, Jocelyn told us you were here today, so we decided to check out the carnival. We always enjoy your donuts and fritters, and besides, we missed talking to you and Nina this morning.”
“And here’s Nina, back already!” Virginia wasn’t usually so animated. The robbery must have disturbed the Knitpickers at least as much as it had disturbed me.
Cheryl patted Nina’s arm. “Are you okay?”
Between breaths, Nina gasped, “I thought the magician was heading for the parking lot, but he veered toward the Friday the Thirteenth tent. He’d gotten a head start and he was a fast runner for an old guy. I lost track of him. I started to come back here because I didn’t want to leave you alone for long, Emily. I was so angry I wasn’t exactly thinking straight, but I finally realized that if the magician and mime were working together, I should try to beat the mime to her car and question her there, but before I got to Marsha Fitchelder and her turnstiles, the pink car was already at the top of the hill. It sped toward the entry gates and went out of sight.” Nina’s face was bright red. She turned toward the Knitpickers. “I’m sorry I left and made you wait longer for your fritters.”
Cheryl tossed me a mischievous glance. “We got our fritters, but we have to wait, anyway, for Emily’s boyfriend.”
I had to protest. “He’s not my—”
Cheryl’s smile became so large that her rosy cheeks nearly hid her eyes. “My niece is around here somewhere today. She told me she saw you holding hands with him, Emily. Maybe that wasn’t you.”
Nina’s smile was even more mischievous than Cheryl’s. “What?”
Priscilla looked to her right and smiled. “Oooh. Here he comes!” She leaned toward me and whispered, “He’s gorgeous! He should be your boyfriend.”
I just shook my head.
As always watchful, Brent said quietly to Nina and me, “I’ve called for more officers. Who got the best look at the magician?”
Nina’s breathing had slowed, but her face was still red. “I might have. I chased them but didn’t catch them.”
“Them?” Brent asked.
“There was a mime, too,” I told him. I waved my hand to encompass the Knitpickers. “These people saw what happened. They’re the knitters who spend nearly every weekday morning in Deputy Donut.”
Brent faced them and said in kind tones, “I’ll talk to you six first so you can enjoy the rest of the carnival.” He turned back toward me and Nina. “Don’t go anywhere.” He removed a notebook from a jacket pocket and questioned the Knitpickers, one at a time. I made fritters and bagged them. Nina collected money and gave out change.
Brent let the Knitpickers leave. He asked Nina, “Can you take a walk with me and tell me about the magician and the mime? I’d also like you to point out where you last saw them.”
Nina left her Deputy Donut hat and apron behind, and she and Brent went off in the direction the magician and the mime had taken. Even without her Deputy Donut hat, Nina was almost as tall as Brent.
The tourist and the woman in the hot pink shorts outfit and floppy sunhat showed up together. Apparently, my accidental matchmaking had already lasted a few hours. The tourist turned to the woman and offered, “Would you like a fritter, Connie?”
“No, thanks, Alf. I’ve eaten too much today.”
Alf bought a turbo-charged spicy corny fritter, tasted it, gave me a thumbs-up, and told me, “I’ll definitely see you at Deputy Donut before my vacation’s over.”
Connie corrected him. “If he has time. There’s so much to see and do around here.”
Tucking one of our brochures into his shirt pocket, Alf winked at me. “I’ll make time.”
They walked away. Alf was dressed more like Brent when Brent was working, while Brent was dressed more like a tourist. I wondered what Alf’s profession was. I’d pictured him in an office. Maybe it was an office full of detectives. If Brent was here looking for someone or something, a detective from another town might be, also. That detective probably hadn’t expected one of the women attending the carnival to attach herself to him. Maybe, like Brent, Alf was content to look less like a police officer and more like someone on a date.
I kept up with the demand for fritters but was glad we’d brought boxes of donuts. Nina returned, smiling and no longer red-faced.
Brent was right behind her. “Can you spare a few minutes to look around with me, Em, and let me know if you see the magician or the mime? Nina and I didn’t spot them.”
I left my apron and hat behind, and Brent and I started toward the Friday the Thirteenth tent. I was ready to tuck my hand into his, but he didn’t reach for my hand. I shoved both of my hands into the front pockets of my shorts. “If I see the mime and the magician, should I tell you about them and then dive for cover?”
He smiled down at me. “You got it.”
We walked up and down the pathways between tents, food trucks, and games. We checked the outsides of the Friday the Thirteenth tent and the House of Mirrors. We met up with a pair of uniformed Fallingbrook police officers, and I described the mime and the magician. The officers went off toward the rides, and Brent and I headed toward the carnival exit. Earning a glower from Marsha, we went out through the turnstiles.
The area reserved for dignitaries was entirely bare of vehicles, but Brent remembered having seen the Mime Mobile there when he arrived. We climbed the hill. Brent had driven his powerful dark gray sports car, not a police car, to the carnival. We sat inside it with the windows open while Brent wrote down my descriptions of the mime and the magician and the way the mime had distracted everyone while the magician snaked his hand into the cash drawer. Knowing I was probably repeating some of Nina’s statement, I told him, “A black van was parked on one side of the donut car for a while, and the mime’s car was parked on the other side. I didn’t find it creepy at the time, but maybe the drivers of those two vehicles blocked my car in order to keep anyone from seeing what they were doing. I’m not sure if the black van belonged to the magician or to someone else, but whoever it was might have stolen a bucket of confectioners’ sugar.”
Brent looked up from his notebook. “Someone stole a bucket of sugar?”
“I know it sounds strange. We packed a large white plastic bucket of it in the car, but we might not have locked the car every time we took a load to the tent. The sugar disappeared. Nothing else was taken.”
“When did this happen?”
“Between nine and about nine thirty this morning.”
“You didn’t tell me about the possible theft when I showed up at your tent or while we were walking around together.” He said it in a mild, nonjudgmental tone.
“It didn’t seem like a police matter, let alone a detective matter. It’s possible that we misplaced the bucket of sugar, or it was stolen from our tent, not from our car. I suspect it went into the mime’s car or the black van, but other people could have taken it.” I showed Brent my photos of the van with the veterans’ health website on the door. “This could be the black van I saw beside the donut car. See the way the lettering seems to be crooked as if someone carelessly stuck a magnetic sign on the door? It could have been a handy way of changing the van from plain black to black with advertising, which I guess someone might do if they wanted a quick disguise.”
“Could be. Thanks for getting the plate number. I’d like a look at that van.”
We walked through the entire parking are
a. There were no windowless black vans, with or without advertising on their doors.
Brent asked me to send him my photos of the black van.
I tilted my head back and looked up at his face. “You’re going to a lot of trouble for a small theft. I mean the money we lost, not the sugar, which we’re not certain was stolen.”
He was silent for a beat, and I remembered the way he’d wanted me to act like holding hands with him was normal, as if he’d come to the carnival as part of his job but didn’t want to appear to be an on-duty police officer.
As I often did when he didn’t respond to something I said, I leaped in to fill the silence. “Did you come to the carnival to look for someone specific?”
He gave me a rueful nod. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. We had reports of a magician picking pockets at fairs in the area. I didn’t expect him to be here, but I wasn’t busy, so I thought I’d check. The last report of him was north of Duluth. Apparently, he travels in a black van with no windows except in front.”
“It sounds like we nearly caught him.” I thought for a second and then clapped one hand over my mouth.
Brent grinned. “What did you just remember?”
“It’s not much, only amusing in a twisted way. I realized why the magician was wearing black leather gloves instead of more normal white cotton gloves on a hot day. Ink or dirt could have rubbed off from money he stole and left marks on white gloves.”
Nodding, Brent wrote in his notebook. “Thanks, Em. Of all the descriptions we’ve had of him, no one else has mentioned black leather gloves.”
“Maybe they’re a recent addition to his costume. Maybe he gave his white cotton gloves to the mime, and she painted red fingernails on them. Were you looking for the mime, too?”
“This is the first I’ve heard of the magician working with anyone, but I’ll report it to other jurisdictions.”
“You didn’t expect the pickpocketing magician to be here, but you came anyway?”
“I couldn’t resist the Faker’s Dozen Carnival and trying my hand at bad luck.” His warm smile was contagious.
Beyond a Reasonable Donut Page 3
