F. Wilson - Secret Circles

“Oh, yeah. I can see that.” She brightened. “But the pyramid—you think it‟s ours?”

He realized she was changing what he said.

“I said I thought I‟d seen something that might be it. Not even sure it was a pyramid, just looked like—”

“But it could have been.”

“Yeah, but—”

She skidded to a halt. Jack stopped a few feet ahead of her.

“We‟re going back.”

He stared at her. “And do what?”

“Find a way into the Lodge and get my pyramid back. I found it and—” “ We found it.”

“Okay, we found it. It‟s our pyramid. And if our pyramid is in there, we are going to get it back.”

He wished he‟d never mentioned it.

“I can‟t believe I‟m saying this to you of all people, but you‟re not thinking, Weez. Think: steel door, barred windows … even if we got in we‟d be risking more trouble than it‟s worth.”

“Not to me.”

“It‟s worth ending up in jail?”

“It‟s proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That I‟m not crazy.”

“Nobody thinks you‟re crazy.”

Deep hurt peeked through her eyes. “Yeah, they do.”

Jack realized with a pang that she was talking about her folks, probably Eddie too.

“Well, if that‟s true, you‟ll only prove them right by getting caught trying to break into the Lodge.” That seemed to sink in, so he pressed it. “Look, let‟s give it some time, put it on a back burner. Maybe we can come up with something that won‟t land us in the backseat of Tim‟s patrol car.”

She looked away, then sighed. “Okay. For now. But promise me you‟ll find a way in, because if you think I‟m going to drop this, you‟re wrong.”

Jack had no illusions on that count.

10

A little farther north they came upon a scene of furious activity. The circus had chosen a spot halfway between the highway and the tree line that flowed into the Barrens. Seedy-looking roustabouts were rushing around, unloading trucks, assembling amusement rides, and raising tents. The show‟s one elephant trumpeted now and again as it hauled stuff through the mud; shouts and chatter and the clang of sledgehammers on spikes filled the air.

Jack guessed the storm had put them behind schedule. The field was quickly becoming a mud pie.

“They call these little circuses „mud shows,‟” Weezy said. “Now I can see why.”

“More like a mud bath. People better wear boots tomorrow.”

Weezy laughed. “Yeah. Waders.”

They stood in silence awhile, staring at the anthill activity.

Finally Weezy said, “I was thinking about what the deputy said—about Cody and the circus. He called them „shady types.‟ You think they might have anything to do with him disappearing?”

“You mean kidnapping?”

She shrugged. “I don‟t know. These mud shows usually hire their roustabouts from homeless shelters and skid-row hotels. Lots of them are alcoholics and druggies.”

Jack looked at her. “And you know this how?” When Weezy gave him a duh look, Jack said,

“Never mind. Silly question.”

Weezy had read it somewhere, which meant it was carved on her brain. She never seemed to forget anything she read.

At least she wasn‟t talking about the pyramid.

Jack watched the workers. Were they really the lowlifes Weezy had read about? Even if so, would they kidnap a kid? What for?

Jack didn‟t want to think about that.

“Hey, you two,” said a phlegmy voice to their right.

Jack saw a skinny guy walking their way. He wore a blue T-shirt with multiple salt-caked sweat rings, ripped jeans, and mud-crusted sneakers. A hand-rolled cigarette dangled from his lips.

Lank, greasy hair, an unshaven face, tattoos, an earring, and a lot of missing teeth completed the picture.

Weezy took a quick step back as the guy stopped before them. “We‟re just watching.”

“I can see that. How‟d you like to do more‟n watch? I‟m talkin‟ work. I‟m the canvas boss.

We‟re shorthanded and short on time. Give you free passes to the tent show if you help out.”

“No thanks,” Weezy said without a second‟s hesitation.

“I didn‟t mean you.” He focused on Jack. “How about you? Want some passes?”

Jack hesitated, but not because the free passes were tempting—they weren‟t. He was thinking about Cody. A circus, full of seedy types like this guy, rolls into town Friday night and the very next morning Cody goes missing.

Coincidence? Could be. Most likely was. Just like Mr. Collingswood‟s appearance. But there was always the possibility …

If Jack hired on, it would afford him a chance to look around the circus, see things in an unguarded state, before everything was set up and ready for the public eye.

No. Crazy. That was dumb boy-detective stuff. Like the guilty party—if one existed—would let Cody be seen. Besides, if the sheriff‟s department hadn‟t checked out the circus folk already, they soon would.

But it wouldn‟t hurt to mention Cody to this guy and see how he reacted.

“Nah,” Jack said, knocking back his bike‟s kickstand, “I‟ve got to get back and help search for a missing kid.”

The guy stiffened. “Missing kid? What missing kid?”

“A five-year-old boy disappeared this morning.”

He threw his cigarette down and ground it viciously into the wet ground.

“Not again!”

This wasn‟t the reaction Jack had expected.

“Again?”

“Some kid took a powder at one of our stops in Michigan during the summer.

What a mess

that was.”

“Did they find him?”

“Don‟t know. Didn‟t know nothin‟ about that kid.” He glared at Jack. “And I don‟t

know nothin‟ about this one. Don‟t know nothin‟ about nothin‟, okay? None of us do. But sure as hell you townies will think we do, just like the rubes in Michigan. Never fails. Somethin‟

goes wrong in a town while we‟re around, and we automatically get the blame.” He put his hands on his hips and stared around. “A missing kid! As if this Jonah‟s-luck weather ain‟t trouble enough, now this. Damn!

He stormed away without a backward glance.

“Well-well-well,” Weezy said. “That sure set him off.”

Jack thought he‟d looked anything but guilty. But the fact that another kid had

disappeared along their route was disturbing. Maybe that guy didn‟t know anything about it himself, but he couldn‟t very well know everything his hirelings did in their spare time.

One of the circus folk could be some sort of perv. Jack shuddered at the thought of Cody in the clutches of a child molester.

Suddenly he wanted to be home.

“Let‟s get out of here.”

11

Weezy peeled off at Adams Street and Jack continued on alone to Jefferson and home

where he found a strange car parked in the driveway. He stowed his bike in the garage and went in through the back door.

Inside he found the kitchen table set for dinner but no one there. He heard voices from the front of the house and headed that way. In the living room he found three adults and a child: his folks, plus Mr. Vivino and his daughter Sally.

“Hey, Jack,” Mr. Vivino said, rising and holding out his hand. He was heavyset with a round face and longish brown hair. “Long time no see.”

Jack gave his hand a firm shake, just as he‟d been taught to do. His father had told him wimpy men gave wimpy handshakes.

“Hi, Mister Vivino.” He turned to the five-year-old girl. “Hey, Sally. How‟s it going?”

“Okay,” she said, barely making eye contact.

And no smile. Sally used to have one of the biggest, brightest, sweetest smiles. Where had it gone?