Peggy Dulle - Liza Wilcox 01 - Death Is Clowning Around Page 3

  “Kids like consistency. If they know your face, they’re more likely to buy from you.”

  “That familiarity might have made Jessie trust that clown.”

  “Did the witness say the man was dressed as a clown then, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s all so sad.” I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The kidnapping destroyed her family.”

  “That’s not unusual. When something that violent happens to a family, they’re never the same.”

  “You’d think it would bring them closer together?”

  “No, it usually rips them apart. In the McGowan’s case, I think Jessie was the glue that held that family together.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She had such a bubbly personality and she loved everything. The year before she went to kindergarten she spent a lot of time at my office.”

  “Why?”

  He smiled. “I went into their store and bought food for the dogs in our K-9 patrol cars. She was sitting there on the counter when I checked out. You should have seen her face. It lit right up and she asked if I had any puppies. I told her yes and that day and everyday until she went to school, she’d come over and help me feed the dogs and then play with them. The older dogs were getting so attached to her that sometimes they wouldn’t go out on patrol until she had come over and played with them.” He laughed quietly to himself, not seeming to really want to share those memories with anyone.

  “It sounds like she was really important to you, too.”

  “Yeah.” His face broadened with a huge smile. “She called me Sheriff D because I was the one who let her play with the dogs.”

  “It was nice of her mom to let her come over.”

  “She was a good mom to Jessie and Todd, especially with their dad working out of town. But she had her own demons, especially alcohol.”

  “Was alcohol involved in her mom’s accident?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he shook his head. “She was drunk as a skunk when she plowed into that ditch.”

  “Do you think she did it on purpose?”

  “Yes.” He said somberly, his voice was low.

  I ignored his obvious somber mood and pushed forward. “Was the accident right after Jessie was taken?”

  “No it was only a few years ago.”

  “That’s weird, too. Why wait that long?”

  “I don’t know. People do strange things sometimes.”

  He started fiddling with his fork, moving what was left of his piecrust from one side to the other. Our conversation about Jessie was over. It sure hadn’t helped Tom’s mood. When we’d first arrived he was nervous but excited; now he was sullen and withdrawn. I drained the last of my soda.

  “Would you like another?” he asked.

  “Not really. The caffeine will keep me up if I drink it too late.”

  “I’ll walk you back to the inn.” He stood. His manner, though still polite, was brusque.

  “Thanks.” I swallowed hard against the tightness in my throat. I was responsible for the downturn in his mood and it had spoiled our evening. As a teacher I always worked hard to make my students feel better not worse. Maybe coming to Gainsville hadn’t been such a good idea.

  Tom paid the cashier and we walked back to my room. I wasn’t sure what to say or do. I hadn’t been on a date in a long time. And was this actually a date or just part of my investigation? Neither of us spoke. I kept shifting my weight, trying to quiet the butterflies in my stomach and my racing pulse.

  “This is weird.” He smiled and his eyes glistened. His tone was warm and gentle again.

  “Yeah, I agree. Thanks for the pie and soda.” I gave him a quirky smile.

  He reached over and stroked the side of my face. “You are most welcome, Liza. Will I see you tomorrow at the egg hunt?”

  It took all my strength not to react to his touch and to answer his question with an even tone. “Yes, I plan to be there.”

  “Okay.” He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I closed the door behind him and leaned my back against it. My body had reacted to that little kiss like a volcano erupting. After several deep breaths my pulse finally settled down. I shook my head. What was happening to me? It wasn’t like he was the first handsome man I’d had pie and diet Coke with. Why couldn’t I keep my body under control? It seemed like every time he got near me, I had an overwhelming desire to rip his clothes off.

  At thirty-two years old, I certainly wasn’t a prude, but the feelings I had around him scared me. I didn’t feel in control. And it wasn’t like I hadn’t had other relationships that went to the physical level before. Of course, John and I had dated several years before we’d slept together. Actually, I think we only did then because we felt like it was the next step rather than an actual need. A year ago I’d ended the relationship because it just wasn’t going anywhere. I enjoyed John’s company but there wasn’t any spark there. There was too much spark around Tom.

  Shelby was standing right in front of me. Her tail wagged a hundred miles an hour and she was dancing on her front feet. “Need to go out?”

  Shelby barked. I walked her out to a grassy area by the inn, and spotted Tom talking to Sarah. She was giggling and laughing. They seem to be having a much better time than he and I just had. Maybe she was more his type. Besides, I wasn’t there to find a boyfriend, just a missing child.

  Chapter 5

  In the morning the air was cool and crisp, so I dressed in my jeans and long-sleeve shirt. I added another layer, just in case the weather got even cooler. The Inn had a continental breakfast set up in the lobby, so I had some low-fat yogurt and a chocolate donut. I always like to balance my food intake as much as I can.

  Afterwards I walked up to the front desk where Sarah was working. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she kept yawning. “Late night?” I asked.

  She giggled. “Yeah.”

  I was starting to hate the sound of her voice. “What time does the egg hunt start?”

  “At ten, in the park right in the middle of town.”

  I got directions and Shelby and I piled into my car. A few minutes later I spotted the park. There were several hundred people wandering around. Everyone in the entire town must be there, plus outsiders like myself. The perimeter of the park was lined with booths. There were craft stands, food places, and both local and out-of-town businesses and organizations, such as the 4-H club, FFA, and even some for the local chiropractic and dental offices. I stopped counting at fifty.

  In the center of the park was a bandstand where a man was directing people and talking through a microphone. “Everyone that’s here for the egg hunt needs to register in front of this stage.”

  A massive crowd started to form in front of him. Kids were running around and yelling everywhere. You could see enthusiasm and glee all over their smiling faces. I see that same face when one of my students blends their first word all by themselves or masters the bars on the playground.

  I fought the urge to go up and organize them. As a teacher I try to avoid places with lots of kids. I always slip into my teacher-mode. It’s instinct. Once I yelled at a couple of kids that were jumping on and off the railings at one of the rides in Disneyland. The words just came right out of my mouth. The parents gave me a dirty look but the kids got back in line. My sister, who’d gone with me, was mortified that I’d yelled at the kids. I couldn’t help it. I was afraid one of them was going to get hurt, so I stopped them. Everywhere I go I seem to always be on yard duty.

  I turned my head away from the chaos and started toward the booth closest to me. It was the local 4H club. Todd was sitting there.

  I nodded my head and smiled. “Hello.”

  “Well, hello. I’m glad you made it to the hunt.” His smile was inviting.

  I glanced over at the stage. “It’s seems the place to be today.”

  He snickered. “If you like bedlam.”

  “Oh yeah.” I noticed he had one of
his sister’s posters on the front of his booth. “Still hoping for a tip to find her?”

  “Absolutely. She’s out there and someday I’m going to find her.” His tone held not the slightest lack of conviction. He would never give up.

  “I hope so, Todd.” I thought about what Tom and the clerk at the boutique had said about Todd’s mom. What would Todd’s take be on her appearance and then death? I couldn’t think of a subtle way to ask except straight out. “So Todd, do your parents still live in Gainsville?”

  “No. My dad moved out after Jessie was taken. He lives down south some place.”

  “And your mom?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry Todd. I shouldn’t be so nosy. It’s just the teacher in me. I always want to know about people’s families.”

  “It’s okay.” He lifted his head. “I like talking with you.”

  “What happened to your mom?”

  “She was in a car accident. She went through a pretty rough time after Jessie was taken.” He shook his head. “We all did. But then she really straightened herself up. She re-opened the store. We’d closed it after Jessie was taken and Dad left. I kind of straightened myself out too. So we were helping each other and the store started doing well.”

  “It sounds like you two were finally happy again.”

  “Yeah, we were.”

  “What happened?”

  “She went on a get-a-way with a group of her quilting friends. When she called me a few days later, she was so excited and said she had great news. But she was killed driving home from a friend’s house the night she got home.”

  “Did you ever find out what her news was?”

  “No. Her friend, Chris, said that she’d met someone in a restaurant and got really excited. She didn’t tell her what it was all about. My mom just kept saying, ‘I can’t wait to get home and tell Todd.’”

  I wondered if Chris knew more than she’d told Todd. The quilting club probably had a spot at the festival. I looked around at the booths. “Is this festival always this popular?”

  “Yes. It started out small about fifteen years ago and it’s grown ever since.”

  “Is it always the same time?”

  “Yeah, always starts on Easter weekend and then goes for a week. The kids have Spring Break and that way they get to enjoy the carnival for the entire week. Plus it gives the parents something for the kids to do instead of sitting home and driving them crazy.”

  “Did your sister go the year she disappeared?”

  “Of course, the entire town always goes.” His tone lowered. “She was taken a few weeks after the festival in 1998.”

  Just then someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and a clown handed me a balloon dog. I thanked him and turned back to Todd. He was frowning.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I hate clowns.” His jaw was tight and his tone low and angry.

  I patted him on the arm. “I can understand why.”

  “I used to really like them but not any more. I tried to get them banned from the festival, but I was outvoted by the town council.”

  “Most clowns aren’t kidnappers.”

  He shook his head. “Yeah, I guess not.”

  I waved goodbye and went to the next booth. At the fifth one I saw Tom trying to organize the kids at the stage. The kids were running around him and he was waving his arms around, trying to get them under control. He wasn’t having any luck, at all. I kept trying to focus on the booths but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Kids!” I bellowed in my best “teacher voice.” They all turned their heads. “If you want to go on the egg hunt, you’d better form a straight line or it will be over before you even get to sign up.”

  The kids immediately made a straight line. The two young girls at the registration desk looked up and smiled.

  Tom came over. He sighed deeply, his face full of frustration. “Thanks, Liza, you’re a life saver.”

  “It’s just what I do.” I smiled, winked at the kids, then turned and walked back toward the booths.

  “Wait,” he called after me. “What do I do if they get out of line again?”

  “Got a whistle?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Blow it, loud.”

  I heard the whistle several times as I walked from booth to booth. At exactly ten o’clock the egg hunt began. I stopped and watched – hundred of children running wild with their baskets, picking up and dropping eggs, screaming and yelling. It was more than I could take. I went back to my hotel room and took a nap. When I woke up, I went back to the diner where Tom and I’d had pie and soda. The place was packed. There was a clown sitting at the counter. I took the seat next to him.

  He looked over, smiled, and handed me a balloon giraffe.

  I laughed. “I already got a dog this morning at the festival.”

  “Can’t have too many balloon animals.”

  “Probably not.” I set the balloon on the counter. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He went back to eating his hamburger.

  “So what’s it like to be a clown?”

  He raised his bright red eyebrows. “Everyone always asks me that.” I nodded and he continued, “I like being a clown. I make kids smile.”

  “Have you always been a clown?”

  “Yep, I come from a long line of clowns. My grandfather was a clown, my father was a clown, and I’m just following in their footsteps.”

  “Is that the way it usually happens?”

  “No, I’m the exception. Most people just do it as a filler job. For me, it’s a lifelong ambition.”

  The waitress came and I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a diet Coke. When she left, I turned my attention back to the clown. “I thought most clowns worked in circuses.”

  “That’s a different category of clowns.”

  “Clowns specialize in categories?”

  “Of course. There are circus clowns, entertainment clowns, festival clowns, rodeo clowns, and even stupid clowns.”

  “Stupid clowns?”

  “Yeah, there are a few that think they’re better than the rest of us.” He gave a sarcastic laugh. “I call them the stupid clowns.”

  “Is there a clown union?”

  “Yes. We all belong except, of course, the stupid clowns.”

  “Are there guidelines as to who can be a clown and who can’t?”

  “Not really. All you have to have is the desire and you can become a clown.”

  “Even the stupid clowns?”

  “Well,” he shook his head. “There’s an exception to every rule, isn’t there?”

  “Who are the stupid clowns? I want to make sure I avoid them.”

  “The biggest group belongs to an organization called the Uptown Clowns.”

  A man covered in makeup, wearing a red rubber nose and flamboyant costume three sizes too large has just verified my own opinion. Was this good or bad? I grimaced at him and replied, “Uptown – it sounds so uppity.”

  “They are.”

  “Do they come to festivals?”

  “Of course. If you ask them, they are everywhere.” He waved his arms around as he spoke.

  I chuckled quietly. “Oh, that sounds ominous.”

  “They like it that way.”

  “How do I tell the difference between the good clowns and the bad clowns?”

  “Our clothes.” I gave him a puzzled look and he continued, “Each type of clown wears a particular costume.” He pointed to his red scalloped collar. “My group all wears some colored scalloped collar.”

  “And the stupid clowns?”

  “They all have rounded collars.” His voice dropped. “Stay away from them.”

  The clown and bobble-head that Todd described all had rounded collars. “Well, I didn’t know that being a clown was so complicated.” I took a bite of my cheeseburger. “Have you always worked here at the Spring Festival?”

  “Usually. There were a few years when we weren’t inv
ited.”

  “Why?”

  “A child was kidnapped a few weeks after the festival, one year. Someone dressed in a clown suit took her. We were banned for a couple of years. But then we were invited back, so I guess they decided that not all clowns are bad.”

  “Wow.” It was the only thing I could think of to say. The world of clowns was much more multifaceted than I’d ever thought. I needed to get back to my room and do some more research on the Uptown Clowns.

  I put the money for my lunch on the counter, picked up my new balloon animal, and got up to leave. “Thanks for the giraffe.”

  “No problem. If you come for dinner, I’ll be here.” He smiled and winked at me. “I’ll bring you another balloon pet.”

  “Thanks.” When I got back to my room, I took Shelby for a walk. Then set up my laptop on the small table near the window. A few strokes later and I was back on the Uptown Clowns website. Since I had my own ID and password, I wandered through the site. There was a lot of propaganda about how their clowns were the best. A few sites required a second ID and password. Interesting.

  I dialed a number on my cell phone. Justin was one of my previous students. Even when he was a kindergartener he could fix my computer. And he’d only gotten smarter with age.

  He answered on the first ring. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Justin.”

  “Hey, Teach. How’s it going?”

  “Just fine, Justin. How are you?”

  “Sitting here bored,” he groaned. “I hate Spring Break. I’d rather be in school.”

  “You’re probably the only student at Union High School that thinks that.” I smiled.

  “Well, until my mom invests in a faster Internet connection, I’d much rather be in school.”

  “That’s why I called. I have a job for you.”

  “What do you need?”

  “There’s an Internet site I’m looking into for a friend.” I hated lying to him but didn’t want to get him involved in my escapade. “It seems his son is on it all of the time and he wants to know what it’s all about. I can only get so far and then I’m stuck. Can you get further into the site?”