A Circle of Dead Girls Read online

  He climbed out of the grave and took up a position among the circus people. He noticed with a start that those nearest to him shifted away. Although he was aware of the dirt covering his breeches and hands, he did not think that the grime was driving these people away. No, he knew with absolute certainty that they blamed him for Boudreaux’s death. And he should be blamed, shouldn’t he? Rees raised his head and looked around at the other mourners. To an outside observer he no doubt appeared as one of them. He wore the same battered clothing and flat cap Asher had given him. But he knew he didn’t belong here and he wished suddenly he had asked Lydia to accompany him. Just to have a friendly face beside him.

  The priest began speaking, first in Latin and then in a mixture of French and English. Rees could barely understand either. It was as though his mind had lost its ability to focus. Asher uttered a sudden and involuntary moan, his face working. He left Rees’s side to pick up a handful of dirt. ‘Although my name is on the circus,’ he said, ‘Boudreaux was just as big a part of our beginning. Truly, we began the circus together. He was an equestrian of great skill. In between his acts, I performed magical illusions. Gradually, we added a ropedancer, acrobats and other performers.’ He threw his handful of soil on the top of the body. ‘Au revoir, mon frère,’ he said, his words trembling with grief.

  Openly sobbing, Bambola followed him to the side of the grave but she was too choked up to speak. Then Billy and Otto and the other circus folk followed her. When all who wished had paid their final respects two of the men began shoveling dirt into the hole. The crowd began to disperse.

  Swallowing, Rees turned and walked rapidly from the graveyard. He reached his wagon and paused for several seconds, attempting to control his breathing. Then, finally, he grabbed the reins and climbed into the seat.

  ‘Are you leaving?’ Asher asked from the side. Rees turned. The ringmaster, with Bambola just behind him, stood next to the wagon. Billy was approaching as quickly as he could on his short legs.

  ‘Yes.’ He heard Asher inhale.

  ‘That sounds like you’re giving up,’ he said, putting his large hand on the rough wagon side. Rees, who had expected sympathy, gaped at Asher in astonishment. ‘You can’t just wallow in your self-pity. Yes, I think we all know that Boudreaux was shot in your stead. But you can’t just run away.’

  ‘Aren’t you going to find his killers now?’ Bambola asked. ‘You owe him that much.’

  ‘We know who murdered him,’ Rees argued weakly. ‘Those villains. You saw them. And they are probably several leagues away by now.’

  ‘I understand you’re afraid of those brutes,’ Asher said. ‘But please, urge the constable to investigate. There are several questions still outstanding.’

  ‘I’d think you would want to know who wishes to kill you,’ Bambola said, the harsh words sounding odd in her sweet voice. ‘And Boudreaux is more important than your hurt feelings.’

  ‘I won’t ask you to pursue those men yourself,’ Asher said. ‘Although you are not so longstanding a friend as Boudreaux, I count you as one and don’t wish to see any harm befall you.’ Rees, moved by this surprising statement, felt his eyes moisten. ‘It’s true,’ Asher said. ‘Both of us’ – and he darted a glance at Bambola – ‘count you a friend. We don’t have very many. So please, don’t put yourself in jeopardy. But don’t allow the constable to put Boudreaux aside either. Would you do that for us?’

  ‘Of course,’ Rees said immediately. ‘Although Rouge, with the best will in the world, may have little luck. Those assassins are probably miles away by now.’

  ‘No doubt,’ Bambola agreed. ‘So maybe you should stop whining and begin searching for them.’ Both Asher and Rees turned startled glances on her.

  ‘Surely you don’t want Rees to be murdered,’ Asher said, disapproval coloring his voice.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said. She turned a look of such affection on Rees he felt his knees go weak. ‘But Boudreaux is every bit as important as that Shaker girl and you’re looking into her death.’

  ‘I will do what I can,’ Rees promised.

  ‘Without putting yourself in danger,’ Asher said. ‘We don’t want that. And now,’ he clapped Rees on the shoulder, ‘we’re having a little celebration for Boudreaux back at camp. You’re almost a part of our family. Come and have something to eat and drink with us.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Rees asked.

  ‘Of course,’ Asher said.

  At the same time Bambola said, ‘I want you there.’

  ‘Of course, you should come,’ Billy panted as he reached them. Leaning over, he began coughing.

  ‘Come for Billy,’ Asher said, lowering his voice. Both men glanced at the clown. Rees, who’d wanted to come but felt he shouldn’t, knew Billy didn’t have much time left.

  ‘For a few minutes then,’ he said. ‘For Billy.’

  ‘We’ll be leaving town soon after,’ Asher said. ‘And frankly I can’t wait. This place has been unlucky for us.’

  THIRTY-NINE

  Although Rees had agreed to join the circus folk at their camp after the funeral, he did not accompany them as they left the church. Instead, he followed Rouge and Thomas down to the village. He could not have found his way by himself. With some vague notion of preventing idle gossip – he knew Rouge would say something if he went directly to the fairgrounds – he parked his wagon in the tavern yard and handed Hannibal off to the ostler. If Rees could have gone to the fairgrounds from there he would have but Rouge called to him and he could think of no reason to refuse the invitation.

  Therese glared at them when they entered the tavern. Although the traffic had begun to ease, the establishment was still busy. Besides the men waiting for service at the bar, the dirty tables and piles of crockery bore mute witness to the hectic hours that had come before. Both Rouge and Thomas immediately put on their aprons and hurried behind the bar. Rees planned to slip away then but Rouge sent Therese to make coffee. ‘You look like you need it,’ he said to Rees.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t look fine,’ Rouge said. ‘I guess I didn’t understand how attached you were to Boudreaux.’

  ‘I didn’t know him well,’ he said, evading the implied question. ‘You knew him better than I did.’

  ‘Not really,’ Rouge said. ‘I know he barely escaped the Terror in France with his life.’

  ‘He was minor nobility,’ said Thomas. Both Rouge and Rees turned to him in surprise.

  ‘What? He talked, mostly to Therese. He had a tendre for her.’

  ‘Well, go on,’ Rouge said.

  ‘He fled with his younger brother. They literally ran for their lives. But the boy couldn’t keep up and …’ Thomas stopped and swallowed. ‘Boudreaux kept running. He never forgave himself for not saving his brother.’

  ‘Then he died here in Maine because of a shot meant for me.’ Rees took a deep breath and expelled it very slowly. ‘He deserved better.’

  Rouge said nothing for a moment, his brow creased. ‘The problem is,’ he said at last, ‘that although it seems likely you were the intended target, we don’t know that for certain.’ He directed a lopsided smile at the weaver. ‘You’re always the one who tells me not to jump to conclusions but to follow the evidence. Maybe you should examine the murder more closely before you take all the blame.’

  Rees stared at the constable in stunned silence for several seconds. ‘You’re right.’

  Then he had to wait for the coffee and drink it. So, by the time he left the tavern, it was going on five. He parked his wagon behind the circus vehicles and jumped down but then, finding himself suddenly shy, he just stood there. The sun had begun to drop toward the western horizon and the long rays touched the wispy clouds feathering the sky with shades of peach and copper. He could smell cooking food; the circus folk had returned some time ago. Suddenly wishing he hadn’t agreed to come he almost – almost – climbed into his wagon and fled. Surely no one would miss him.

  But just as he beg
an to turn away from the cluster of circus wagons, Bambola walked through one of the alleys made by the vehicles. ‘I hope you aren’t going,’ she said. She had changed from her black gown to a soft gray and looked very feminine and desirable.

  ‘I wasn’t sure I should be here,’ Rees admitted, blushing with awkwardness.

  ‘But no,’ she said, reaching out to grasp his hand. ‘You are part of our family. You must stay.’

  ‘But won’t they’ – he gestured toward the other performers – ‘resent me?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘Besides, I want you here.’ The pleasurable warmth that spread through Rees was quickly followed by shame as he thought of Lydia and his family. But he did not pull away from her grasp. ‘We’ll be leaving soon,’ she continued. ‘Now that Boudreaux …’ She stopped and bit her lip. ‘Anyway, I wanted to give you something to remember me by.’ She held out a brightly colored card. Rees looked at it. He had seen it before. It depicted a man holding a sword and a set of scales. Justice.

  ‘I can’t take this,’ he said. ‘It will leave you one card short.’

  ‘I have several packs,’ she said. ‘I have always been afraid of losing one.’ She smiled. ‘Is there time for a reading, do you think?’ Rees shook his head. She held out the card. ‘Please take it. This card represents justice. That is one of your primary qualities; your passion for justice and your search for the truth. It is why you do what you do.’ She inhaled a sobbing breath. When Rees moved forward as though to comfort her she held up a hand to stop him. She struggled with her emotions for several seconds before saying quickly, ‘Boudreaux should not have died. He was one of us. He was loyal, how you say, to a fault?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rees said. He felt worse than ever. Now she moved forward to lay a hand on his sleeve.

  ‘Find the murderer, Mr Rees,’ she said passionately. Although her eyes were reddened with tears, Rees thought she looked even more beautiful than ever. ‘Find him and bring him to justice. You owe Boudreaux that.’ She spun around in a rustle of skirts and hurried away, leaving just the faintest trace of perfume. Rees stared after her. Of course he could not refuse.

  Whistling, he put the tarot card very carefully in his pocket. Although reluctant to examine his happier mood, he picketed Hannibal with the other horses and followed Bambola toward the campfire. Everyone was gathered there, save for Asher. Some glanced casually at Rees but most paid him no attention. Only Otto regarded him with antipathy from flat, hard eyes.

  ‘Come inside and take a seat,’ Billy said, waving. White and sweaty, he was tightly wrapped in his quilt. Rees couldn’t think of any reason to refuse the dying clown. He made his way to Billy’s side and lowered himself to the grass. ‘Listen,’ Billy said, ‘I’m going to tell you something. I can see you tearing yourself up over Boudreaux’s death, but it wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Rees said doubtfully.

  Billy inhaled and then, as though he were sharing some great secret, he said, ‘He might have been shot anyway, even if you weren’t here.’

  ‘But the shooters knew I was here, with the circus,’ Rees argued. ‘That was why those brutes searched the camp.’

  Billy bit his lip and looked as though he were struggling to keep silent. ‘I like you,’ he said at last. ‘I think I should warn you …’A fit of coughing interrupted him.

  Bambola approached them, her face creased with worry. ‘Don’t make him talk, Mr Rees.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Billy said. ‘I’m fine.’ He chuckled a little breathlessly. ‘We were speaking about my pig. I’ve had her since she was a piglet.’ Rees blinked at the clown in surprise. ‘She’s a smart girl. Everyone loves that bit, where she mocks the magistrate.’

  ‘You mean Hanson?’ Rees grinned, distracted. ‘I saw that the first day.’

  ‘He’s not a popular man. In some towns he’s known as Hanging Hanson. Did you know that?’

  ‘No,’ Rees said, recalling the events of the last summer. He already knew Hanson was a vindictive cuss. ‘But I’m not surprised.’

  ‘Show life is a good life,’ the clown said abruptly. ‘Travel around, see a bit of this new country. See all kinds of people too. Some of these new faiths call us the devil but I see plenty of men sneaking in, even though they’re doing something they’re ashamed of.’

  ‘Here in Maine also?’ Rees said, thinking of Brother Aaron. ‘Shakers? Flat straw hats, white shirts?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen some like that. Couldn’t swear to what they call themselves though.’ Another fit of coughing interrupted him and this one went on so long Rees became anxious.

  ‘Can I fetch you a cup of ale?’ he asked.

  ‘No, no.’ More coughing. ‘I’m fine. Fine.’

  ‘Find Asher,’ Bambola told Rees.

  He nodded and leaped to his feet. As he stared around the fire, trying to spot Asher among the faces, Rees considered Brother Aaron. Like Leah, the lure of the outside world pulled him into it. Did the Shakers’ insular and celibate community inspire such desire in Aaron that he used his travels to satisfy himself on the young girls he met? Rees didn’t entirely believe it.

  ‘Never mind Asher.’ Bambola caught at Rees’s sleeve. ‘There isn’t time. You must help me now.’

  Billy was laying on the straw, quilt drawn up to his chin. Blood spotted his waxy skin and he was too weak to wipe it away. ‘He shouldn’t be lying on the cold ground,’ Bambola said. ‘Help me bring him inside his wagon.’

  Rees picked up the small man and followed the ropedancer to a wagon. As befitted a popular performer, Billy had a better wagon in which to sleep, but he shared it with another man. By the size of the boots lying carelessly by one of the benches, Rees though Billy’s roommate might be Otto.

  ‘Put him here,’ Bambola directed, pointing at the smaller of the two benches.

  Rees carefully laid Billy down.

  ‘Thank you,’ Billy said in a faint voice. ‘I just need to rest …’ His voice trailed away and he closed his eyes, turning his face to the wall.

  ‘You’ll be better soon,’ Bambola said in a hearty voice. But tears poured down her cheeks. ‘Take a good nap, Billy. You’ll be better …’ She stifled her sob with a hand pushed into her mouth.

  Sorrowfully, Rees went to the door and down the steps. He held up a hand to assist Bambola to the ground and she took it. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I know Billy doesn’t have long but …’ She stopped, her mouth trembling. Rees held her hand while she fought her tears. After a few seconds, she added, ‘I don’t think I could bear another death so soon after Boudreaux’s.’ She inhaled and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘I’ll find Otto. He’ll know what to do.’ Forcing a smile, she squared her shoulders and released his hand. Head high, she joined the other performers. Rees twisted around to watch her. And there, standing on the other side of the field was David. He leveled a shocked and accusatory stare at his father before turning and disappearing behind the wagons.

  After a few seconds of frozen dismay, and the realization that David had completely mistaken what he’d seen, Rees burst into a desperate sprint. He caught up to his son at the edge of the fairgrounds as he climbed into Lydia’s cart. The mule was overwhelmed by the activity around her and kept shuffling back and forth. David was trying to calm the animal with soothing noises. Rees put his hand on the mule’s bridle and began stroking the animal’s neck. ‘Look,’ he said to David, ‘I’m not sure what you think you saw but—’

  ‘I know what I saw,’ David said in a harsh voice. ‘How could you?’

  ‘It was nothing,’ Rees said. ‘All I did was—’

  ‘Huh! You came out of that wagon hand in hand! I saw the way you looked at her. And the way she looked at you.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything wrong,’ Rees said, his voice rising. There was enough truth in David’s accusation to sting. ‘Yes, Bambola is a beautiful woman but I am faithful to Lydia.’

  ‘If that’s true, and I’m not persuaded it is,’ David said, ‘how
long is it going to last?’ He straightened up and repeated, ‘I saw you.’

  ‘I carried an ill performer inside and put him to bed,’ Rees said, struggling to control his temper. ‘I would never betray Lydia.’

  ‘Really? Is that why you keep sneaking off to this … this …?’ Unable to find a good word, he gestured around at the wagons. ‘It looks to me like you prefer this to your wife and family.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘So, why are you here, day after day?’ David stared into his father’s eyes. ‘And don’t say you’re investigating a murder. It was a Shaker girl; why aren’t you spending more time in Zion? Or questioning that Shaker Brother? You keep talking about questioning some farmer’s boy again – I know, I’ve heard you – but you don’t. Instead you come to the circus.’

  ‘I am questioning them,’ Rees said.

  ‘Uh huh. Are you thinking of running away to the circus? Little old for it, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course I’m not going to join the circus,’ Rees snapped. ‘I told you; I’m questioning them.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what it looked like when you came out of the wagon,’ David retorted.

  Now really angry, Rees took a furious step toward his son. But before he did something he would later regret, he got a grip on himself and stepped back. He did not trust himself to speak.

  David did not move. After a few seconds he pushed back his hat and wiped his arm across his forehead. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That wasn’t fair.’

  ‘Were you spying on me?’ Rees snarled. ‘What? You and Lydia cooked this up together?’

  David eyed his father in disdain. ‘No. She doesn’t even know I’m here. But she’s worried. I think she suspects something.’ He paused. ‘She expected you home hours ago. She’s a good woman; she doesn’t deserve this. What are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing’

  ‘I know you like to travel but—’

  ‘Is this about my traveling when you were a little boy?’ Rees interrupted.