Clowns and Cowboys (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 3) (16 page)

“So? I’ve had a couple of rough patches in my life. Everybody does.”

“True.” Now Parker’s tone turned compassionate. “I don’t mean to put you on the defensive, Mr. Hackett. I only want to convey, again, that we might be of help to you.”

Parker had used a version of that line on her once upon a time. From this vantage point she could appreciate it.

“Help convict me, you mean.”

Not unlike her own reaction. Or anyone who’d been accused of murder, whether guilty or innocent.

Parker glanced down at his phone as if consulting his facts. “You were treated for depression a number of times. You seem to have a problem with alcohol.”

“I can control it.”

Parker’s sad smile made him seem like a concerned friend. “The primary characteristic of an addict is self-delusion. Exactly how deluded are you, Mr. Hackett?”

Harvey brought a palm down on the table with a sharp slap. “Not too self-deluded not to get a good lawyer,” he growled. “My brother’s one of the best defense attorneys in Dallas. He’ll get me off. He’ll be here any minute and as soon as he works his juice, it’ll be bye-bye hoosegow.” He wiggled his fingers.

Miranda sat as still as she could, fighting the urge to shake the guy.

Brother’s a top attorney and he ends up an alcoholic clown working for the circus? Had to be some family history behind that.

She sensed her cue. “Must have been hard growing up with an over-achiever,” she said in an offhand way.

That got his interest. “Tell me about it. Why can’t you get good grades like Jeremy? Why can’t you make the football team? Why can’t you go to college?”

“Brutal.” She shook her head in sympathy.

“I was a klutzy kid. All I could do was trip over my own feet. But it never failed to get a laugh from the other kids. So when I grew up, I decided to make a living at it.” He folded his arms and sat back as if to say that was that.

“And you were doing just fine at it, too. You were the lead clown act,” Miranda said.

“Until Tupper Magnuson came along,” Parker added grimly.

Hackett gritted his yellow teeth, his dark eyes flaring. “That rat bastard. He took away everything I’d worked for.”

“It’s no wonder you didn’t like him,” Parker said.

“You must have hated him,” Miranda agreed, watching as Harvey rubbed one hand over the other. They were getting into his emotional quicksand and he didn’t like it.

Harvey’s gaze darted back and forth between them. “Yeah, okay. I hated him. So what? Not big news to hate your competition in this business. But I didn’t kill him.”

She jumped up and leaned over the table, close to his face. “But you wanted to, didn’t you? Bet you thought about it all the time. Bet you went over every detail in your head step-by-step. You knew his patterns, his habits. You knew when he’d be alone in his trailer. It wouldn’t be hard to catch him off guard. He was an unassuming kind of guy.”

Now the hand that came down on the table was a fist. Bang. “I didn’t kill him.”

Miranda swooped in closer. “But you wanted to,” she repeated. “Especially after he took up with Layla.”

He pulled away as his eyes went hazy. “Layla.” He said it like he was chewing on a sweet piece of candy. “Okay, I lusted after her like every red-blooded male on the lot. Never did anything about it, though. She was Tupper’s girl. I’m not that kind of man.”

Sure you aren’t, Miranda thought. “So you loved her from afar?”

“Pfft,” Hackett replied, shaking his head. “I’m not that romantic. I wanted to get in her pants. That was it. Me and her could never have hit it off.”

“Why not?”

“In the first place, she’s young enough to be my daughter. In the second.” He waved a hand. “I’ve said enough.”

Miranda got up and strolled around a bit, then began a different tack. “Tell me about your rose garden.”

“What about it?”

“Why do you have one?”

“I like to garden. Is that a crime now?”

“Unusual for a circus performer.”

“When it comes to circus folk, we’re all unusual. Haven’t you ever heard of a freak show?”

She fisted her hand to hold her tongue, waiting for him to say more.

“Okay, my father owned a nursery. I used to help him out. It reminds me of him. We got along. Not like me and my mother. Nothing wrong with having a rose garden,” he added quickly.

“Nothing at all. But there is something wrong with hiding a wine bottle laced with cyanide in it.”

“Pfft,” he said again, rolling his big eyes. “If I were trying to get rid of something I’d kill somebody with, I’d have hidden it better.”

Good point.

“Anybody could have stashed that bottle in my flower bed. I know it. You know it. The cops know it.”

“And why would they do that?”

“How the hell should I know? Isn’t it your job to find that out?”

Miranda just stared at him.

“Maybe Layla did it.”

“Layla?” He let out a nasty laugh. “Yeah, that’s right. Didn’t you say she’s missing? Maybe she killed Tupper and has been sneaking around the lot, watching you detectives chase your tails.”

Or maybe she was locked someplace where Harvey had taken her. The idea made Miranda’s skin crawl. “You think she killed Tupper?”

He shrugged. “Like I told you, they fought all the time.”

“Lover’s spats, you said.”

He folded his arms and shrugged. “Guess they were worse than I thought. I mind my own business.”

“Where’s Layla, Mr. Hackett?

“Hell if I know.”

Miranda brought her fist down on the table hard. She’d had enough of this bullshit. “Are you sure you didn’t grab her and take her somewhere? Do you have her locked up in some room somewhere? Did you kill her?”

Hackett jumped and glared up at her like she was crazy. He hugged himself defensively. “I’m not saying anything else. Jeremy told me not to talk to anybody.”

“What happened to Layla, Mr. Hackett?” Miranda demanded. She wasn’t about to let him off the hook now.

“How the hell should I know? And you two don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that Layla,” he shook his head. “There was something off about her.”

Same thing most everyone said about the aerial silk artist.

“What do you mean by ‘off’?” Parker asked.

Hackett rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. I’ve been around circus folk for thirty years. This one wasn’t circus.”

“Can you clarify that?”

“I don’t know how to explain it to outsiders. She didn’t have the background. The experience. I could tell the first time I saw her perform. She must have been one of those high school prima donnas, you know? Then she probably did a few carnies before she came to us. But Tenbrook didn’t care about her resume. He was mesmerized by her when he saw her act.”

Maybe this clown was jealous of Layla, too. “How close were you to her?”

He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and sniffed. “Not very. Like I said, she wouldn’t have gone for the ‘mature’ type.”

Huh. “Did you ever ask her out?”

“Hell, no.” The anger was back in his eyes. “She started dating Tupper right away. Amend that. She started dating Tupper after she dated Sam.”

Miranda sat down again her body rigid. With all that was in her, she fought not to yelp out in sheer surprise. Had this clown just said what she thought he’d said?

Avoiding Parker’s sudden glare, she cleared her throat. “Layla dated Sam?” Parker’s ways must be rubbing off on her. That came out smooth as silk.

“Sure. Took her out…oh, two or three times. Nutty guy, he fell for her hard. But after she went out with Tupper, that was all she wrote.”

There was more to ask. So much more. She wanted to grab Hackett, turn him upside down and shake the details out of him like a kid shaking coins out of a piggy back. But she couldn’t think of another question.

The knock at the door made her jump.

It opened and a gray-headed officer popped his head in. “Colburn,” he barked at the other officer. “Mr. Hackett’s attorney is here. He’s demanding to see him.”

Harvey turned to his interrogators with the air of a triumphant conqueror. “Detectives, this interview is over.”

Miranda sat in the rental car, her arms tight around her. Her teeth were chattering. She was shivering with cold like the freaking Ice Age had suddenly descended with a whoosh upon all of Texas.

She tried to stay calm, tried to make sense of what she’d just learned.

But her thoughts galloped around in her head like a stampeding herd of angry Angus. No, she was the one who wanted to stampede. She wanted to dig her hooves straight into Sam Keegan’s skull.

Her old beau hadn’t exactly lied to her. But he’d sure left out some pertinent details. “I can’t believe this, Parker,” she muttered at last, gazing out the window at the heavy Dallas traffic. She didn’t dare look him in the eye.

“We need to stay rational,” Parker said. His smooth voice resonant with the tranquility of a deep blue lake.

She spun around and glared at him openmouthed. “Are you sticking up for Sam now?”

“I’m simply pointing out we both need to stay objective.”

Objective. His byword.

But how could she stay objective? “You were right, Parker. Sam could be Tupper’s killer.”

“Circumstantial, Miranda,” he warned.

“He dated Layla. He ‘fell hard’ for her, according to Harvey Hackett. He had motive and opportunity and means.”

“As many others did.”

She didn’t understand why Parker was suddenly defending him. “So he hires us—no, hires me—his old girlfriend he thinks he can wrap around his little finger, and brings me out here to make his case before he’s caught. He says Tupper was his best friend. He wants us to find Layla—” She stopped talking and let out a gasp.

Parker remained silent while she caught her breath.

“Oh my God, Parker. Sam could have killed Layla. He asks us to look for her, we find the body, and then he looks innocent. Nobody would believe the guy who hired us to find her is her killer.”

“Which is why we need a lot more proof before we pass judgment on anyone.”

She sat back and forced herself to inhale. Of course. Parker was right. She was jumping the gun. Going off halfcocked on the word of an old drunken clown who might have killed Layla himself. That wasn’t like her. Sam could push her buttons even when he wasn’t around. The thought made her want to punch something. Like his nose.

They needed more facts. More evidence. More details. She was going to get them. She and Parker would find out exactly what happened to Tupper Magnuson and his fiancé.

She looked up and saw Parker was turning the rental car onto the paved street in front of the UBT tent. She sat up. “What are we doing here?”

The stern look in Parker’s eye was as strong-willed as a bucking bronco. “We’re going to locate Keegan and find out what else he’s been keeping from us. And why.”

He’d read her thoughts.

She smiled. “Corral the steer and get it straight from the horse’s mouth.”

He nodded. “And mixed metaphors be damned.”

As soon as she got out of the car and started marching through the grassy lanes between the RVs and motor homes, Miranda knew something was wrong.

Well, not wrong exactly. Different.

No one was outside practicing jumps or tossing rings or bowling pins. A couple of kids rode miniature bikes a few rows down, somewhere a dog barked once or twice, but otherwise the lot was still.

Then she heard the faint music. Happy circus music. It seemed to be coming from inside the tent in the distance.

“They must be rehearsing in there,” Parker said, shielding his eyes as he peered at the back of the big top.

“Yeah,” she sighed, frustration puffing out of her mouth.

She’d like to get a look at Sam’s place without him in it, but she didn’t want to risk another B&E charge. Besides they didn’t even know which one was his. And wasn’t that funny? He’d shown them Tupper’s trailer, Hackett’s trailer, Layla’s trailer. But not his own.

No, she needed to see him face to face. She waved a hand at the tent. “Let’s head over there and find him.”

“Yes,” Parker agreed.

With him at her side, she went down the lane with long strides, passing the places they’d been yesterday. The Vargas’ RV was vacant, and more laundry hung on a line. The spot where the jugglers had tossed colorful rings back and forth was also bare, as was the area where Yvette Nannette had been practicing with poor little Bobo.

She took two more steps and the happy music from the tent stopped. Maybe someone had missed their cue.

But there was another sound. Also music, but this time slow and sensual. Still circus style, though. And it wasn’t from the tent.

Slowly she turned her head. It was coming from Harvey Hackett’s trailer.

She shot Parker a frown. “What’s up with that?” Hackett couldn’t have made bail and gotten back here this soon.

His face was grim. “Let’s check it out.”

She tromped over to the place, ascended the meager steps and found the door open.

She stepped inside and the music filled her ears. The place smelled faintly of old beer and dirty laundry, but that wasn’t what caught her attention.

Sitting rigid on the edge of a ragged recliner, his eyes fixed on a fifty-two inch flat screen against the wall—was Sam. And what was playing on the TV?

Layla. Performing her act.

Miranda watched the mesmerizing images on the screen.

Under a dramatically lit background, dressed in the glittering blue-and-pink tie-dyed outfit with the matching tights Miranda had found in her trailer, the lovely young woman hung in midair, her long blond hair flowing down her back.

Her body was positioned in a swanlike pose. Two pink stretches of fabric hung from overhead. She had one strand wrapped around her waist, the other around one leg, as she spun gracefully while the music played.

Eyes closed, her face was a study of artist ardor and exotic beauty. Hypnotic.

She uprighted herself, kicked off the silk strand around her leg and climbed up farther with both hands, swiveling her body. When she had ascended several yards, she threw her legs over her head, got the fabric around her waist, and dropped to hang upside down.