Extra Sensory Deception (16 page)

Marty pushed himself away from the gate. “Me? I was born out west. Mesa, Arizona. It’s a suburb of Phoenix.”

“How long have you been with the rodeo?”

“Since I was old enough to sit on a horse. My daddy was a rodeo champ, and I wanted desperately to be just like him. He didn’t fight the bulls—he rode ’em.”

Clara tried to imagine Marty astride an irate, twisting, writhing bull and failed. “So what made you decide to be a clown?”

Marty made a harsh sound of disgust. “It was the only thing I was good enough at to survive the circuit. It’s a tough world, and the competition is fierce. I soon gave up trying to keep up with the riders. I took too many falls. I knew I’d end up maimed or worse if I didn’t let it go. So I took to bullfighting, and you know the rest.”

“But you’re a great clown. It must be so rewarding to know you can make people laugh like that.”

He didn’t answer at first, and when he did, his voice was thick with emotion. “I’d give it all up to be a wrangler like Wes. Clowns get no respect out there. People think that because I’m a clown they can laugh at anything and everything I say or do. They don’t think I have feelings just like everybody else.”

He sounded so miserable Clara felt an urge to hug him. “Oh, I’m sure they do. They just—”

“Hey, look at me, getting all sentimental.” Marty chuckled, though it sounded forced. “I can’t think what’s keeping Wes. I’d better go and look for him. You should wait here ’til I get back, in case I miss him in the dark.”

“Oh, I don’t think . . . Wait! I don’t . . .” She broke off as Marty scuttled off into the shadows, leaving her alone.

Her uneasiness plummeted into full-blown panic.
Where was Rick?
Had he seen her message? She pulled the phone from her pocket and held it up to see her contacts list. All she could see was a blank screen.

Frantically, she swiped the screen again and again. The phone was dead. Out of battery power. She cursed her forgetfulness. She’d meant to recharge it last night, but after her interview with Diane she’d gone to bed later than usual, and charging her cell had been the last thing on her mind.

She leaned her back against the gate again, trying to control the rapid beating of her heart. There was nothing to worry about. Marty would come back with Wes. He’d tell her what it was he’d found out, and then she could go to Dan and tell him and everything would turn out all right. Wes’s name would be cleared, Rick would be happy for his friend and they could all celebrate.

She was picturing the celebration, perhaps at the fancy restaurant in the Hill Top Resort, when she thought she heard a sound. She straightened, one hand gripping the top slat of the gate. “Hello? Is anyone there?” She stared into the shifting shadows, trying to distinguish a movement. “Marty?” Then, even more hopefully, “Rick?”

No one answered her. She leaned back, and in the next instant, bright light dazzled her. She blinked, her mind grappling with this sudden change. It was daylight, the sun full in her eyes. She was back outside the Raven’s Nest, staring at the window.

No, not the window. The poster in the window. Sparky the clown grinned back at her. What was the Sense trying to tell her? She stared at the poster, trying to understand the significance. And then it hit her. The black and white suit. The flash of red. Marty Pearce was wearing a red shirt under his suit.

The window melted away and grew dark, and she was back in the arena, the hard slats of the gate at her back. Heart thumping, she closed her eyes, visualizing the video she’d seen of the first night’s performance. She was positive he wasn’t wearing a yellow shirt that night. She would have noticed it on the video. Which meant he could have been wearing the red shirt.

She frowned, remembering something else about the video—Marty racing around the ring, turning cartwheels, tumbling over a giant ball.

She closed her eyes, visualizing the performance. Yes, she was certain. That night, Sparky the clown
had no limp
. She hadn’t noticed Marty had a limp until she’d met him in the field the day after the performance.

Her mind working furiously, Clara started pacing back and forth. Had someone else played the clown that night? Was that why Wes had said the clown was off his game?

Something clicked into place. Seth Ferguson had once been a rodeo clown. What was it Grace had said? She thought back to the morning she had spent in Grace’s living room, hearing again the widow’s faltering words.
He smelled of the rodeo. Like he did when I first met him.

At the time Clara had thought Seth had smelled of horses and sawdust. There was another possibility, however. The smell of greasepaint. She’d smelled it herself when she was talking to Marty the night she’d toured the rodeo backstage with Rick.

She paused, hearing again a sound from the other side of the arena. “Marty?” Her voice echoed around the empty stands, followed by an eerie silence.

More of Grace’s words jumped into Clara’s mind. The widow had found a wad of money in Seth’s pocket. Had he been paid to play the clown?

Nerves jumping now, Clara began walking alongside the railings toward the exit of the arena. It all fit. Only one person would have paid Seth to take Marty’s place that night.

It was Marty who had killed Lisa. He’d needed an alibi, and what better than thousands of noisy rodeo fans watching him? He’d hired Seth and given him a bundle of cash to play the clown that night.

Seth must have heard about Lisa’s death and gotten suspicious. Maybe that’s why he’d gone to the pub. Perhaps he’d had too much to drink and had confronted Marty. It had to be Marty who had killed Lisa. Marty who had run down Seth in the parking lot.

She shivered, hearing again the screech of brakes. A cold flash of fear shook her as she realized something else—the truck heading toward her on the coast road earlier that night. There had been no screech of brakes until
long after the truck had passed. Marty had intended to run her down.
He was going to kill her.

She started racing across the arena to the exit. She had no car, no phone. Her only hope was to outrun the crippled clown. She prayed he didn’t have a gun, though she wouldn’t be an easy target in the dark. She had almost reached the exit when she heard a sound that zapped all the strength from her legs.

The ominous thudding of hooves.

She didn’t need lights to know what it meant. Stumbling, she looked over her shoulder. Sheer terror gripped her when she saw the shadowy outline of the bull, hooves pounding on the ground, charging straight at her.

Wes’s words came back to her, clear and horrifying.
We’ve got one of his offspring. Ferocious. Just as mean. Make sure you keep out of his way.

There was no doubt in her mind that this was Ferocious, the descendant of Bodacious, the world’s most dangerous bull. And it was coming for her.

“I’m going to call Rick,” Stephanie announced, as George turned off the TV. “Clara hasn’t answered, and I’m worried about her.”

“Do whatever it takes to help you quit worrying.” George stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “But don’t be surprised if your cousin yells at you for interrupting something intensely personal.”

Stephanie raised her eyebrows. “Like what?”

George grinned. “Has it really been that long since we dated?”

“Oh!” Stephanie stared at her phone. “No. If Clara had gone on a date with Rick, she would have called me first. Something’s wrong. I just know it.”

George uttered a sigh of resignation. “So call him. You have his number?”

“Clara asked me to call him once. I added him to my contacts.” She was dialing as she spoke. Rick’s deep voice answered her and she spoke quickly, stumbling over the words in her anxiety. “Rick, it’s Stephanie. Is Clara with you? If so, I’m so sorry to disturb you, but she didn’t call me tonight and she always does and I’m just worried something might have happened to her and—”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down a minute.” Rick sounded amused. “Clara’s not here. She’s probably out with Tatters.”

“That’s what I thought at first.” Stephanie met her husband’s questioning gaze and shook her head. “But I’ve been calling all evening and she’s not answering her phone. She calls me every night when she gets home from the store. She never misses. She hasn’t called tonight, and I just know something’s wrong.”

“I’m sure she’s okay. What about her mom? Have you called her?”

“No, I didn’t want to worry her. I guess I’ll just wait to hear from Clara. Thanks, Rick. Sorry I disturbed you.”

“Hey, no problem.” He sounded concerned now, deepening Stephanie’s anxiety. “Let me know when you hear from her, okay?”

“Sure.” Stephanie hung up and sank onto the couch. “He hasn’t heard from her. I hate to call Aunt Jessie. She could be in bed by now. If Clara’s okay, I’ll be waking up Aunt Jessie and getting her all worried over nothing.”

George pulled her close. “You’re probably worrying over nothing too, but I know you. You won’t go to sleep until you know your cousin is safe and well. So go ahead and call your aunt.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Reluctantly she picked up the phone. As she did so, it jingled its call tone. Snatching it to her ear she asked breathlessly, “Clara?”

Her spirits sank when Rick’s voice answered. “No, it’s me. I thought I’d better let you know. Clara sent me a text. She must have called earlier while I was in the garage. I was using a buzz saw and didn’t hear the phone.”

“So what did the message say?”

“She said she was meeting Wes Carlton in the fairgrounds arena and wanted me to join them.”

Stephanie uttered a little squeak. “She’s meeting a murderer in the fairgrounds in the middle of the night?”

“Calm down. Wes didn’t kill that woman. I’m sure of it.” His voice tightened. “Though why Clara would want to meet Wes in an empty fairgrounds at night is something I don’t understand. I’m going to call him. Hold on, and I’ll get back to you.”

Stephanie clicked off her phone and stared at George. “Clara’s doing it again. She’s gone to the fairgrounds to meet a murderer.”

George rolled his eyes. “What?”

Stephanie repeated what Rick had told her. “Oh, George, why didn’t she tell me where she was going? I could have stopped her—or at least done something to help her.”

“You know Clara. No one can stop her once she’s made up her mind about something.”

“But why didn’t she take me along? Why did she have to go by herself? Why did she have to go there at all?”

“All questions that will be answered when you hear from her. I’m sure—” He broke off as Stephanie’s phone sang out again.

She slapped it to her ear. “Hello? Clara?”

“No, it’s me again.”

Stephanie gripped the phone harder and grabbed hold of George’s hand. Rick’s voice held a grim note that frightened her. “What’s happened?”

“I don’t know yet. I talked to Wes. He knows nothing about a meeting at the fairgrounds. I’m on my way there now. Wes is meeting me there. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

Stephanie held back a groan. “Thank you, Rick. Please call me as soon as you can.”

“I will.” He hung up, and she flung her arms around George, tears coursing down her cheeks. “I knew it,” she wailed. “Wes didn’t know anything about a meeting. I knew she was in trouble. Why would she say she was meeting Wes if he knows nothing about it? I have to go there.”

George’s voice rose in alarm. “Go where?”

“To the fairgrounds. Maybe I can help.” She pulled out of George’s arms. “I have to go!”

“No, you don’t.” George gently but firmly pushed her down on the couch. “This time I’m not letting you go.”

Stephanie looked up at her husband. His face looked blurred through her tears, and she blinked them away. “Maybe we should call the police.”

George took the phone from her hand. “I’ll have a word with Dan. If anything bad is going on, he’ll want to know about it.”

Stephanie watched anxiously as George talked to the dispatcher, then hung up. “What did he say?”

“Harry’s going to relay the message to Dan, then it will be up to him what he does.”

Stephanie sighed. “I guess we can’t do anything else now but wait.”

George sat down next to her and took her hand. “We’ll wait together.”

It was small comfort, but Stephanie was glad he was beside her. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

—

Changing direction, Clara sprinted for the fence. If she could just climb over it, she’d be safe. The pounding hooves were close behind her—so close she could hear the heavy panting of the bull. She reached the fence, got one foot on the bottom slat and grabbed the top one. Before she could haul herself over, Ferocious was on her.

By a miracle, his horn missed her, but as he thundered past he bumped her, brushing her off the fence as if she were a fly.

She sprawled in the sawdust, sending up a cloud of dust that burned her eyes and choked her throat. Coughing, she thought she heard a shout in the distance, but all her attention was on the bull.

Ferocious stood just a few feet away, his head lowered. His eyes mirrored the glow from a streetlamp and gleamed at her like devil eyes. She knew he was waiting for her to move. She also knew if she did so, the bull would be on her before she could climb the fence.

Her stomach heaved, and she closed her eyes, praying as she’d never prayed before.

As if in answer to her prayers, a quiet voice spoke out of the darkness. “Don’t move a muscle.”

Recognizing Wes’s voice, she almost cried out. Biting back the sound, she froze, hardly daring to breathe.

At the sound of the voice, the bull had turned his head. He snorted, and pawed the ground with his forefoot.

Clara knew what that meant. He was getting ready to charge. She closed her eyes again.

In the next instant, all hell broke loose. Shouts, lights, the pounding of hooves, hollering and the sudden shock of being grabbed by two strong arms took all the breath from her body.

Dimly she was aware of being dragged over the fence, while the uproar inside the arena continued.

She was in Rick’s arms, his hand cradling her head. “Are you hurt? Did he get you?”

Choking back tears, she shook her head. “Just a bruise or two. His horn missed me by inches.”

“Thank God.” Rick pulled her even closer. “If that beast had hurt you I would have killed it with my bare hands.”

Clara thought that was pretty unlikely, but it was very satisfying to hear. “Thank heavens you got my message. I thought I was going to die.”

“You can thank Stephanie. She was worried that you hadn’t called her so she called me. That’s when I found your message. We couldn’t get you on your cell so I called Wes. He didn’t know anything about meeting you here, so we came out to see what was going on.” He shuddered. “That’s when we saw Ferocious in the arena. We didn’t see you until the bull starting charging at you.” He tightened his arms around her. “When I saw him get that close to you on the fence and you fell . . .” He buried his face in her hair.

She hugged him, and after a moment he lifted his head. “Promise me you will never do anything like that again.”

“Not if I can help it.” Realizing the noise in the arena had subsided, she looked over the fence. Someone had switched on the arena lights. Wes was standing over by the chutes talking to a couple of guys. They must have been alerted by the noise. Behind them, a very unhappy bull stood corralled behind a gate.

“Wes saved my life,” she said breathlessly. “I don’t know how I’m going to thank him.”

“Well, I like to think I had a hand in it, too. It wasn’t easy going in there with that monster standing over you.”

“Oh, I know.” She looked up at him. “But I figured I’d thank you in a way I couldn’t possibly manage with Wes.”

Rick’s eyes lit up. “Is that a promise?”

“You bet it is.” She looked back at Wes. “You were right about him. He didn’t kill Lisa.”

“You sound very sure of that. Do you know who did?”

“I think so.”

“So who was it?”

She was about to answer when another voice spoke from a few feet away. “That’s something I’d like to know.”

Swinging around, Clara looked into the disgruntled face of Dan Petersen. Tim hovered behind him, looking worried.

She looked back at Rick. “You called the police?”

“No,” Dan said. “Your cousin’s husband called me. He said you were in danger out here.” He looked at Rick. “It doesn’t look to me like you’re in danger.”

“Well, I was,” Clara said, feeling guilty. Stephanie and George must have been really worried to call Dan. She quickly told the police chief everything that had happened to her that evening, emphasizing how Marty had tried to run her down on the coast road. “He killed Lisa Warren,” she said when she was done. “I’m sure of it. He knew I was onto him and tried to kill me.”

Dan shook his head. “Marty Pearce has a cast-iron alibi for that night. Just because the guy didn’t see you in the dark doesn’t make him a murderer. He could have been so shocked he froze on the brake. It’s happened plenty of times before. I’ve done it myself.” He stared across the arena at the men beside the chutes. “Is that Carlton over there?”

“He saved my life,” Clara said quickly. “I would have been killed by that bull if Wes hadn’t gotten here in time.”

“He got the bull’s attention and somehow got him in the chutes,” Rick added. “He deserves a medal, if you ask me.”

“He deserves more than that,” Clara added fervently.

Dan stuck a hand in his pants pocket. “Didn’t you tell me that he was the one who got you here in the first place? That he sent Marty Pearce to find you and bring you here?”

“But he didn’t.” She glanced up at Rick. “He didn’t know anything about me coming here. That’s why he and Rick came, to find out what was going on.” She looked back at Dan. “Marty made all that up to get me out here. He left me alone in there with that bull, and if Wes and Rick hadn’t turned up when they did, I wouldn’t be standing here talking to you now.”

Dan still looked unconvinced. “How do you know Carlton isn’t lying about sending Pearce to find you?”

“Why would Wes risk his life to save me, if he wanted me dead?”

Dan pursed his lips. Before he could answer, Clara added, “What’s more, I believe that Marty killed Seth Ferguson. It wasn’t Marty in the arena that night Lisa was killed. He paid Seth to take his place. If you don’t believe me, look at the video of that night on the
Chronicle
’s website. Sparky the clown is running around without a trace of a limp. Ask Marty to explain that.”

Dan raised his eyebrows, while Rick murmured, “Nice work, detective.”

Dan turned to Tim. “Find Marty Pearce and bring him to the station.” He looked back at Clara. “We’ll get all this sorted out tomorrow. Be in my office at nine a.m. sharp.”

Clara let out her breath. “I’ll be there.”

“Meanwhile,” Dan said, “I’ll have a chat with Carlton.” He started to walk off, then looked back at Clara over his shoulder. “If you’re right about this, I’ll take back everything I said about you interfering.”

Clara smiled. “I can’t wait.”

—

“So are you going to tell us what happened at the police station, Clara?” Jessie demanded, as she handed a dish of roasted potatoes to Rick.

Clara piled some asparagus on her plate and passed the dish to her mother. “There’s not a lot to tell.”

Jessie sighed and shook her head at Rick. “She keeps saying that. I was hoping she’d tell us more when you got here.”

“I told you, Dan didn’t tell me much. He was too busy asking me questions.” Clara heaped potatoes on her plate.

“Actually, Wes told me some of it.” Rick helped himself from the plate of salmon Jessie handed him. “He said Tim told him he found Marty soon after we left the arena. He was hooking up his trailer, getting ready to take off.”

“Oh, my.” Jessie offered Rick the wine bottle. “Good thing Tim caught up with him. He could have gone into hiding, and they never would have found him.”

“Dan said Marty confessed to everything,” Clara said, “once they showed him the video of the rodeo that night.”