I didn’t see Annika. Perhaps she was in the audience.
Mayor Bellington raised a hand for silence and then spoke. “Thank you all for coming, I know the late notice was a surprise. I’m going to read a short statement that my wife and I have prepared. We won’t be taking any questions tonight. You can contact my office, or the police department, in the morning for further information.”
He cleared his throat and I watched as Ellen gave his hand a squeeze. She wore a navy suit that made her pale hair and skin look ghostly. In contrast, the mayor wore dark slacks and a light blue V-neck sweater, with a pastel tie. Somehow it all worked.
“As many of you know, the body of a young man was found Monday afternoon at the fairgrounds. The victim was a clown, an employee of the Fellini Brothers’ Circus. What began as a routine murder investigation took a surprising turn when it was discovered that the young man is none other than our son, Nicholas Patrick Bellington.”
The mayor raised his hands again at the chatter that burst forth from the audience, waiting until the room was quiet again before speaking.
“Three years ago, the good citizens of Cedar Valley granted my family privacy and respect as we grieved for our son, Nicky. I ask you now, not as your mayor, but as your neighbor, and I hope your friend, for that same courtesy once again,” he said.
The mayor stepped back from the microphone and without another word, walked off the stage with Ellen in tow. The room erupted and Chavez took the podium.
“Chief! Chief Chavez! Do you have any leads?” a squeaky voice rang out above the others. I recognized it as that of our local news anchor, Missy Matherson, a bottle blonde with a little too much ambition and not nearly enough empathy.
“Missy, you heard the mayor. We’ll be taking all questions in the morning,” Chavez said. He was comfortable at the podium and his genuine manner seemed to settle the room down. For the first time, I realized that he could easily run for office someday and likely win, and I wondered if the same thought had ever crossed his mind.
He said, “Y’all come down to the station about nine, we’ll have coffee and doughnuts and I’ll tell you everything I can.”
The mayor’s chief of staff, still on stage, leaned over and whispered something in Chavez’s ear. He listened and then nodded.
“The mayor’s office will be available for questions, as well, in the afternoon,” he added.
“Chief! Is the mayor still planning a rumored run on the Senate office in next year’s elections?” Missy Matherson shouted. “What about his cancer, is such traumatic news going to affect his recovery?”
I put down my fork in disgust. The woman was colder than a steak in the freezer.
Chavez had been in the process of stepping away from the podium, but now he came back and leaned into the microphone. If I knew him, he’d have a zinger.
“Folks, it’s been a long couple of days. We’ve got a dead man-a kid, really-and tonight, a good family grieves. I can’t speak for the mayor, but I’d guess politics is the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.”
I turned the TV off and felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. It was a shitty, shitty world at times and here we were, bringing a baby into it. By the time the Peanut was my age, was there going to be a world worth enjoying? What if something happened to me, or Brody? I knew what it was like to grow up loved, protected, cherished, only to have that security ripped away in a few seconds of screeching tires and screaming engines.
I’d had a few of these panic attacks early in the pregnancy and Brody’s response had never wavered. “We’re bringing a baby into this world not with fear, but with love. We can’t be afraid of life.”
I wasn’t afraid of life. I was just terrified of how different life might look for my daughter.
I brushed my teeth and used the restroom and put my nightgown on. I climbed into bed; my body was exhausted but my mind refused to rest. Next to the bed, my cell phone buzzed on top of the nightstand. I checked the caller ID; it was my grandmother.
“Julia? Are you all right? It’s late,” I said.
Silence.
“Julia?”
“We just watched the news. Gemma, listen to me. You’ve got to be careful now, stay away from him. He’s got a sickness. He’s a virus,” my grandmother whispered. She spoke quickly, her words tumbling over one another.
“Stay away from who, Mayor Bellington? What on earth are you talking about?”
Julia sighed. “Think, you little idiot. What do viruses do? They seep in and infect and spread. Oh no, oh no, your grandfather’s done in the can. I’ve got to go, he can’t know I called you. Did you hear me? Stay the hell away from that man.”
She hung up and I slowly set the phone down, chilled to my core. She’d never spoken to me that way, and I was rattled. What man did she mean?
I lay back in bed and pulled the covers up as high as they could go before they’d smother me. Slightly over forty-eight hours had passed since we’d discovered Nicky Bellington, aka Reed Tolliver’s, body. The people in both boys’ lives circled in my thoughts like pieces in a chess game; like vultures in the sky.
There was Joseph Fatone, Fellini’s general manager. He seemed harmless enough, but there was something off about him, his answers had come too easy during our conversation. There was more to the man than met the eye. Reed’s girlfriend, Tessa, was feisty, driven, and beautiful… and complicated. Was it compassionate to live with someone you didn’t love-Lisey-who was in love with you? Or was it a cruel power play, an illusion like the ones Tessa created as she flew through the air on the trapeze bars?
At the circus, surrounding Reed, and Joe, and Tessa and Lisey, were the dozens of supporting characters I’d yet to meet: the glitter and the gassers, and the grunts and peddies. They were a motley crew of nomads, making their way from city to city, anonymous, living under the shadows of the big top and the bright lights.
Not for the first time, I thought what a perfect cesspool a traveling circus could be. I’m sure there were good people in there, honest, decent hard workers, but the very nature of the beast dictated that the players were those who liked living on the fringe of society.
And there was Nicholas, sweet, good-natured Nicky. His father was a decent and ambitious man with aspirations for Washington. His mother, Ellen-beautiful and as cold as an arctic queen in a fairy tale. And like any good fairy tale, there was a princess. Only this princess was as smart as her father and as beautiful as her mother and as sweet as her twin brother.
In real life, perfection like that doesn’t exist, and when you see it, you know there’s something else behind the facade.
Finally, there was Nicky himself. What was he doing three years ago, spending all his free time looking into a thirty-year-old murder mystery? And what, if anything, did that have to do with his death two days ago?
Like actors on a stage, the major players in the case paraded back and forth across my mind, each playing their roles. At my feet, Seamus snored, twitching every few minutes from his doggy dreamland. He shifted and I shifted with him, his body and my legs repositioning themselves until we were both comfortable again.
I must have fallen asleep around midnight, but the Woodsman again haunted my dreams.
I stand in a meadow in the middle of a dense forest. The air is cool and silent and still. I’m in a nightgown, an old-fashioned dress with long sleeves and delicate lace trim at the wrists and hem. When I raise my arms to look at what I’m wearing, the white fabric glows in the moonlight. The lacework is so fragile it looks as though I’ve dipped my wrists in cobwebs.
I’m a beacon in the dark woods.
The children creep toward me, emerging from the black forest like wraiths.
They fall to their knees around me, their hands together in supplication as though to pray. We are the dead, they whisper. Do not forget us, they chant. Tommy is closest and I put my hand on his head in a gesture of comfort, but my hand passes through his face and I stumble, losing my balance.