Lucky and the Crushed Clown

by Emmy Grace

  “Scare them?” She nods. “It’ll permanently scar both parent and child. No question.”

  The two older women look at each other and grin. “Told you,” says Miss Haddy.

  I straighten my shoulders. “Unfortunately, now I will be forced to get revenge. You must be taught a lesson. I apologize in advance if I give any of you a heart attack.”

  For whatever reason, that just makes them laugh all the harder.

  6

  “I can’t believe Liam’s going to let you throw knives at him,” Regina muses as I plug in the big blow-up Dracula I bought for the yard. Regina and I strategically placed it to the front left of the porch, because what’s trick-or-treating without having the bejeesus scared out of you at least once?

  Evidently, that’s Mrs. Stephanopoulos and Miss Haddy’s philosophy, too.

  I shake my head. I still can’t get over what old pranksters they are. What is it with the people in this town?

  I don’t know, but I’m loving the heck out of it.

  “He’s a brave one, right?”

  “Brave, probably, but this is more than just bravery.”

  I send Regina a glare. “It’s not a declaration of love, Dr. Ruth. We’re working a case. He does what must be done, just like I do.”

  “Uh huh,” she mutters doubtfully.

  “Okay, let’s give it a test,” I tell her, changing the subject. “You hide first. I’ll be the unsuspecting target. I mean, child.”

  Regina giggles.

  I pretend to be carrying a basket as I skip along the walk. I hear from somewhere behind Dracula, “Do the kids in this town act like Little Red Riding Hood? What’s with the skipping?”

  I shrug, but keep on skipping. “I’m in character. Don’t question my methods.”

  I add some whistling just to annoy her.

  When I near the single small step that leads to my front porch, where the candy will soon await the town’s hopefully gullible children, Regina hops out with a roar, fingers curved into claws, growling expression in place.

  “Oh! Nice,” I say, nodding with appreciation. “Good claws. Scary face.”

  She gives her shoulders a little rap-star brush of pride. “I’m good. I know.”

  “Did you…did you just toss down a gauntlet?”

  “Um, I believe I did.”

  I give a short gunfighter-at-high-noon whistle and narrow my eyes on her. “Challenge accepted.”

  I make Regina go all the way back to her car and turn around and count to ten before she starts toward the door. She doesn’t know about the things I hid in the bushes.

  I slip on the costume piece that I ordered a few weeks ago for just such an occasion as this. It has a mask for my head as well as two extra gruesome heads, one to sit atop each of my shoulders. The body piece has two extra arms that poke out from my back on either side. If I move erratically, it makes it look like several people are coming forward all at once. I know this because I practiced in front of the mirror for most of the day after I got this thing in the mail.

  It’s very creepy. I know this because it gave me nightmares.

  Twice.

  I grab my chainsaw accessory and crouch with my hand on the button of the CD player I stashed out here, too, and I wait.

  It seems to be taking Regina an inordinate amount of time to return, although in all fairness, I can’t hear very well with this crazy mask on. But finally, I hear the clacking of feet on the walk. I wait until I catch a flash of movement from around Dracula’s cape and I spring.

  I hit the play button and loud chainsaw music starts up. I jump out, waving my fake-but-very-convincing chainsaw like the madman (or madmen) that I’m supposed to be. Only Regina isn’t the one I scare half to death.

  There, standing on the walk, staring up at me like her worst dream come to life, is a little girl dressed like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Behind her is her mother, dressed like Auntie Em.

  There is a short pause before the little girl opens up her mouth and screams bloody murder. That jolts her mother into action, and she morphs into angry momma bear mode.

  In slow motion, I see Momma Bear’s hand reach out to tuck Baby Bear behind her back, and then she is launching her body at me like a human torpedo. I hardly get a chance to take a deep breath before she slams into me, much less explain or beg her not to hurt me.

  When she hits me, we go toppling backward into Dracula, who really doesn’t do very much to break our fall. I hit the ground with a thud, chainsaw going one way, my body another.

  I try to push the woman off me, but she has more real arms and legs than I have fake ones. She’s grappling like a Greco Roman wrestling super star and I’m just trying not to get mortally wounded. All I can think is that I really hope she doesn’t have some sort of weapon stashed under Auntie Em’s sensible 1930’s dress.

  I hear the muffled voice of Regina telling the woman to stop, and that it’s okay, it’s just a prank. It takes her about thirty full seconds to stop thrashing around. It’s a long thirty seconds, though. I’ll probably have bruises.

  When the woman gets off me, I manage to haul myself to my feet. After about three seconds, my vision returns to normal. That’s when I notice the little girl. She’s as white as a sheet and I’m pretty sure she’ll need therapy. She might never speak again without it.

  “You two are a menace,” the mother says, taking her daughter’s hand and pulling her back down the walk. She looks back a few times, and I think her expression gets more and more offended with every step. I’m sure that’s the look she’d give a flasher if one happened to drop drawers in front of her in the grocery store parking lot.

  So now I’m on par with a flasher.

  Great.

  Regina comes to stand beside me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well, that was unexpected.”

  “You could’ve warned me.”

  “It was a live test. I thought it would be a good thing.”

  “I hope she doesn’t try to burn my house down,” I muse.

  But really. I hope she doesn’t.

  “Maybe we should leave off the scaring.”

  “I think that’s wise. Salty Springs isn’t ready for Halloween like us.”

  We grin at each other, bump fists, and make our way into the house.

  “Let’s try to leave enough candy for the kids this time, okay?” Regina says as we get set up.

  I’m stuffing the second of three mini Milky Ways into my mouth when I turn around and reply, “I make no promises.”

  7

  I’m still in my pajamas, hair still slicked back from my wig last night, when I hear the heavy thump of a fist on my door.

  Liam.

  Just what I need right now.

  I fling open the door and glare out at him.

  His brows dip into a frown. “What’s with the makeup?” He’s referring to my skull candy face paint.

  The stuff that Regina put on me last night for the trick-or-treaters.

  The stuff that she put on after I applied that primer that I was supposed to test for Consumer Global.

  The stuff that now refuses to come off.

  “Regina did our makeup for the kids.”

  “Why are you still wearing it?”

  “It won’t come off,” I mumble quietly.

  “What was that?”

  “It won’t come off,” I mumble again.

  Liam puts a hand to his ear. “Can you speak up? I can’t quite hear you.”

  Now he’s being mean, plain and simple. He can hear me just fine.

  “It won’t come off,” I fairly yell.

  “So, you’re stuck with your face like that?”

  I glare. “Yes,” I reply through gritted teeth.

  He nods.

  He’s amused. I know him well enough now to be able to tell. One of his brows twitches up and his lips thin the tiniest bit. Those are the only real changes in his expression. Nothing dramatic. But his eyes...they’re what give him away. They sparkle with a light
ness that isn’t always there. In fact, it’s rarely ever there. That’s what makes it stand out so much. I’ve come to recognize it as humor.

  Usually at my expense.

  “I guess it’s a good thing we aren’t going to church today then.”

  “Reverend Sykes would probably tackle me if I tried to get through the front door with a face like I’m going to a Day of the Dead celebration.”

  “How is this going to affect your Natasha disguise?”

  “Who’s Natasha?”

  “You got to name me. I get to name you.”

  “And you picked Natasha?”

  “You picked Uri. You’d better be glad I’m not vindictive.”

  He pushes past me and goes straight to the kitchen.

  “By all means, come on in,” I grumble as I close the door behind him.

  “Coffee?”

  “Yes, that would be great. It’s in the fridge. I’ll take a quick shower while you make some. And oh, by the way, I’ll be Lucky, thank you very much. Natasha can kiss my big fat fatty.”

  I slap my healthy butt for emphasis.

  Liam just shakes his head.

  When I come out thirty minutes later, dressed in my knife thrower costume and still in skull candy face paint, Liam is sitting at the dining room table scrolling through something on his phone. When he glances up, he stops dead.

  His eyes scan me, but his expression doesn’t change. He’s like a piece of granite sometimes. I think most men would be pleased with my attire. Black leather bustier, matching mini skirt, fishnet stockings, and lace-up knee boots—I feel like a dangerous dominatrix. Except for the Day of the Dead head. That throws off the whole look, but what’s a product tester girl to do?

  If only I’d had to test a microderm abrasion kit or something similarly helpful.

  “I hope there’s more to my outfit than there is to yours.”

  “What? You don’t like it?” I hold out my arms and glance down at myself. Granted, I’m a very curvy woman, but I still think I can pull off this look, especially since it’s all black, which is slimming. And the bustier does magical things to my boobs. I guess that’s why they call it a bustier. It gives the girls a boost…yay!

  “I’m sure all the men will love it,” he replies tightly.

  At that, my eyes snap up to his.

  Now I get it.

  The only thing that could stop the grin that curves my lips would be the threat of decapitation via machete. And maybe not even that. I’m too dang pleased.

  “Some-body’s jea-lous,” I sing, swinging my upper body back and forth.

  “I’m not jealous. I just think it’s going to get you a lot of attention. I thought the whole objective was to blend in.”

  “It is, but we’re not blending in with people off the street. We’re blending in with exotic circus folk. Wild makeup and hair and clothes are their everyday attire. Everything at the big top is over the top. Even boobs.”

  I snort at my cleavage cleverness.

  Liam doesn’t look amused.

  “Whatever you say.” He stands and sighs deeply. “Where’s mine?”

  “On my bed. Go get it, Uranus. I mean, Uri.”

  Liam doesn’t respond, just stalks off and shuts the door behind him. Seconds later, it opens again. Wide.

  “Get them out of here,” he says.

  “Who?”

  “Them.” He tips his head toward the bed, and I see that the pig, the dog, and the cat are all sitting near the foot, staring at Liam.

  “They won’t bother you. They’re just not used to me having a man in there.”

  “They’re…they’re watching me. It’s weird.”

  At that, I laugh. “Feeling modest, are we?”

  He just glowers at me, unmoving.

  With a roll of my eyes, I go in and grab the cat under one arm and the pig under the other. I whistle as I start toward the door again, and Mr. Jingles hops off the bed with a bark and follows.

  I put Lucy-fur out front, and Gumbo and Jingles out back. Liam’s still standing in the doorway when I return. “Do you want me to take the parrot and the hamster, too? How about the fish? Are they making googly eyes at you?”

  Liam’s answer is to slam the door in my face.

  I chuckle for a good five minutes.

  Right up until he comes out dressed.

  Now it’s my turn to balk.

  He looks magnificent. Like something out of dragon slayer times.

  He’s in all black, to match me, but that’s where the similarities end. Liam’s leather vest shows off his wide chest, flat belly, and very muscular arms, and the leather pants hug his thick thighs and lovingly cup...other things.

  Sweet Mary.

  I can’t pull my eyes away from him as he walks toward me. He doesn’t stop until he’s so close that I have to crane my neck up just to see his face.

  He stares down at me for a few seconds before one side of his mouth quirks up. “Now we’re even.”

  I gawk at him as he walks off.

  Lawd have mercy!

  I still haven’t moved by the time he gets to the door. He simply opens it and he tosses back over his shoulder, “Coming?” Then he keeps on walking.

  Oh boy.

  It’s gonna be a long day.

  I’m just reaching behind me to close my front door when Regina comes flying into the driveway. She slams on the brakes so hard, she scoots sideways. When she gets out, she looks frazzled.

  “You should be a stunt driver in Fast and Furious.”

  “Hush,” she says, winded from running toward me. She pulls up short and stares at me with a bewildered look on her face.

  “What are you doing here? And what’s the rush? Is that angry mother after you? Because it was all an innocent mistake.”

  “Angry mother?” Liam asks. “Do I even want to know what that’s all about?”

  Regina and I look at him and say simultaneously, “Nope.”

  Regina hands me a bag. I don’t take it. This is far too familiar and I have enough problems with the last test she gave me. Something she now notices, almost like she could hear me thinking about it.

  “Do you really think that makeup goes with your Amazonian queen outfit?” she asks.

  My lips thin and I shoot her a dirty look. “It’s not by choice.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means it won’t come off.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “How many other ways can I say it? My. Makeup. Won’t. Come. Off. That stupid primer works too well.”

  The shift in her expression would be imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know her as well as I do. But I catch it. She’s about to bust a gut.

  She holds it in for an admirable amount of time, so finally I just sigh and tell her, “Good grief. You’re as bad as Mr. Grouchy Pants here. Just let it out.”

  That’s all it takes. She bursts into guffaws of laughter so big, they double her over a time or two.

  “It’s not that funny,” I tell her.

  “Oh, believe me. It is exactly that funny. I almost feel guilty for asking you to do anything else.”

  The “but” is left hanging in the air between us.

  “And yet, you’re going to,” I say, eyeing the bag pointedly.

  She shoves it my way again. “It’s a sweat suit. A literal sweat suit. It’s specifically for women, to define curves and expose muscle without a workout regimen. I figured you’d love this since you hate exercise about as much as you hate kale.”

  I shudder involuntarily. “It’s like eating a clump of cleverly disguised dirt. No one actually likes kale. People are just really good at lying to themselves.”

  “So, you’ll do it?” When I hesitate, she adds, “You can slip it on under your outfit and no one will even see it. It’s like flesh colored plastic wrap. You won’t even know you’re wearing it.”

  I tilt my head, my expression dubious. “When does anything ever work out like that for me?”


  She waves me off. “You’re Lucky Boucher. What could go wrong?”

  To my left, Liam starts laughing.

  After going back inside to strip, put on the sweat suit, and get dressed again, we’re ready to leave. Climbing into Liam’s truck as a warrior princess is even more difficult than doing it in regular person clothes. And I’m sure the fact that I’m still painted up like a skull candy Halloween fatality makes it even more comical to behold. That’s why, when Liam tries to help me, I swat his hand away.

  “I can do it.”

  My face burns as I struggle, but it bursts into flame when I finally get my leg up high enough to haul my butt onto the seat. I’m pretty sure I just flashed Liam.

  The miniskirt might not have been such a great idea.

  When I’m finally settled in the passenger side, Liam tosses up my knife case and slams the door. I make a point not to watch him walk around the hood. I’ve got enough crap going on in my head right now without adding lust to the mix.

  “So,” he begins as he lifts himself effortlessly into the truck and starts the engine, “do we have a cover story? Or are we just going in as two idiots off the street? Because I’m thinking the latter might be more true to life in this case.”

  “Mock if you must,” I sniff, “but I’m taking this seriously. I’ve decided I’m going with something closer to the truth. Just not that close. Less room for error.”

  “You? Make an error? What would make you think that could happen?”

  I shoot daggers over at him. You and your glib tone. “Not all of us have had undercover experience. I’m trying to play it smart.”

  He exhales. “You’re right. I’m just joking. It’s smart to keep it simple,” he acquiesces. “Give me the details of what you’re thinking so I can get on board.”

  “I grew up wanting to be a part of the circus, and I trained as a kid to throw knives. A death in the family prevented me from chasing that dream until recently, when Miss Haddy told me about what happened to the clown. I thought this might be my chance if they needed a new act. And you, my brother, are very protective and won’t let me come without you, but luckily you helped me practice all those years, so you know the routine.”