Almost a hundred years ago, the Ringling Brothers made Sarasota their hometown, so there are all kinds of clown schools and circus performers in the area. It’s completely normal to see clowns in full makeup in the drive-through at the bank or on line at the coffee shop, so stands to reason you might see a circus handler with an exotic animal or two every once in a while.
Esmerelda greeted me at the door and let me know she was happy to see me by fluffing her big tail out like a feather duster and butting her head into my ankles. It can take an hour just to walk her around the block, mainly because everybody that goes by wants to stop and meet her, but also because her favorite thing is to crouch low in the grass and watch the birds and squirrels play in the trees. If you let her she’ll stay there for hours, still as a statue, watching with complete and utter rapture. I always imagine she’s tapped into some deep ancestral memory, which makes me smile, but it also makes me a little sad. She’ll never get to run free in an African savannah, even though that’s where half her genes are telling her she belongs.
On our way back in from the walk, I stopped and checked Julie’s mailbox. It was all junk mail, but it made me think of Guidry’s letter. I still hadn’t opened it, and I was beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t just toss it in the trash.
While Esmerelda ate her breakfast, I did a thorough check of the condo, and I wondered if my fear didn’t have something to do with Ethan. The last time I’d spoken with Guidry, he’d said that he had met someone, so I’d felt free to move on with my life. Did I really think there was something in that letter that could threaten what I had with Ethan? In the master bedroom, I paused in front of the big window and looked out at the ocean. There were two massive rain clouds looming on the horizon like lumbering giants rising out of the sea.
After Esmerelda was done eating, I washed her bowl out with soap and hot water and left it to dry on a wooden dish rack next to the sink. Julie keeps a collection of toys in the junk drawer next to the refrigerator, so while Esmerelda sat nearby and watched with rapt attention, I opened the drawer and went over the choices of the day.
“Well, of course, we always have this little stuffed mouse…”
I held it out for Esmerelda, and she nudged it gently with the tip of her nose.
“Or there’s this catnip-stuffed ball…”
She wrinkled up her nose and backed away a step.
“Okay, definitely not that one. There’s always this old standby…”
I held my hand out and showed her a purple Wiffle ball with holes all around it the diameter of a Magic Marker. She said, “Rowwwk!” and swiped one big paw at it.
“Alright then, we have a winner!”
I cut a couple of slices of cheddar cheese into little strips and pushed them through the holes in the Wiffle ball. Then I gave Esmerelda a squeeze and told her to be a good girl and that I’d be back in a little while. As I went out the door, she was happily chasing the Wiffle ball around the living room, not unlike a lion chasing an antelope around the African savannah.
By the time I made it back down to the south end of the Key and was pulling into my driveway, those giant clouds had moved inland and let loose with a very respectable downpour. People say our little island is semitropical, but sometimes it feels like a full-on jungle, especially when the rain comes down like a banshee, or in the summer when only us hard-core residents hang around for the stifling heat and humidity and most of the snowbirds fly back to their homes up north.
One thing we can always count on, though, is the occasional thunderstorm to come in and cool things off. It usually only lasts long enough to give everything a good rinsing, and then before you know it the sun bursts forth again, all the birds sing in praise of fresh, clean water, and all the leaves shimmer and sparkle in the sunlight like diamonds.
The carport was empty, which meant I’d been right. Michael was at work, and Paco had started a new assignment. I streaked across the courtyard and up the stairs as fast as I could, but by the time I got inside I was soaked to the bone. I didn’t care, though. The rain felt good, and it helped me forget about Guidry and Mr. Hoskins and everything else that had happened.
I stood in the shower and turned the water on full force. For a few blissful moments, I just hung there like a coat on a clothesline, and my mind went blank as the hot water streamed down my back. Once I was sufficiently renewed, I toweled off, padded down the hall to my bedroom, and collapsed stark naked on the bed. I barely had the energy to pull the comforter up around me, but the cool air from the AC felt good gently moving over my body. It wasn’t long before I heard a familiar meep meep.
Ella Fitzgerald hopped up on the bed and pressed her nose to my cheek, purring like a miniature jackhammer. I scooped her up in my arms, and she curled up against me. I had barely closed my eyes when Mr. Hoskins’s kindly face floated into view. I thought to myself, Where in the world have you gone off to?
It’s ridiculous, I know, but every once in a while I get it in my head that I have ESP. My great-aunt Bess always said she knew exactly when a thunderstorm was headed our way, and sometimes she was even right, so I’ve always fantasized that if I just try hard enough I can tap into my own inner psychic.
Once I had a pretty good image of Mr. Hoskins’s face, which wasn’t that easy with those big wraparound sunglasses, I tried to imagine where he was, if there was anything familiar nearby, like a street sign or maybe a building, or anything that might help identify his location. It took a little while, but slowly, his surroundings actually started taking shape. I could even see something behind him, a brick wall, or maybe a bookshelf, and then he was standing next to something metal, gold or brass, and it had little round buttons on it with …
Never mind. It was just the dumb cash register at the front of the bookstore. Clearly I hadn’t inherited my great-aunt Bess’s special powers. I told myself I’d just have to try harder next time and pulled Ella a little closer. Within seconds we were both sound asleep.
I dreamed I was walking down a dark, narrow alley, lined on either side with dusty, abandoned shops. I didn’t know where I was, but it felt exotic and foreign. I wore a tight black dress under a white trench coat, and I was carrying a white sequined evening bag. My hair was pitch-black and straight, with thick bangs that stopped just above my eyebrows. I ran my fingers through it and realized with a start that I was wearing a wig.
My instincts told me I was being followed, and I knew it was important that I look like nothing was wrong, so even though it was completely dark I walked straight ahead with my chin up, as if I’d walked this narrow alley a hundred times.
I paused in front of a particularly sinister-looking shop with a big picture window in front, lit all around with rows of naked lightbulbs painted a garish red. They cast a pool of red light on the street in front of the shop, and it was only then that I realized it was paved with old cobblestones.
As I stood there I heard footsteps echoing through the alley and coming closer. As calmly as possible, I opened my evening bag and pulled out a tiny silver pistol, which I held concealed under the sleeve of my trench coat. The footsteps grew louder but then paused. Now there was a man in a bowler hat and a dark three-piece suit standing next to me. He had a name tag on his lapel with ANTON written on it, and he was holding a white sequined evening bag just like mine. I couldn’t quite see his face, but I noticed his fingernails were painted pitch-black. He smiled pleasantly and then nodded at the picture window.