Catch a Falling Clown: A Toby Peters Mystery (Book Seven) Read Online Free Page B

mean what I say, pretty soon people are going to start testing, taking advantage. Can’t have that happen.”
    “So we’re going for a little ride?” I guessed.
    “Precisely,” he said, pointing to the door. “And at the end of that little ride I’m going to watch with great regret while Alex …”
    “Teaches me that you mean what you say?” I supplied.
    “Thank you,” he said politely. “I rather expect that it will be a singularly instructive lesson, and I cannot vouch for what remains of your nose.”
    “Sheriff, did anyone ever tell you that you sweat like a hog?” I whispered.
    Nelson’s grin dropped for a full half-second and then came back happier than ever.
    “We have chatted long enough,” he said. “Now let us get to it.”
    There were no windows I could go through, just the door. I stepped out into the morning. It was foggy, a gray fog that hid the tents and train and anything else not more than fifteen feet away, but it didn’t hide the sounds. Motors were churning, people calling, animals bellowing. Laughs, shouts. The spots of light that managed to make their way through the fog were like pinholes that showed nothing beyond themselves. Alex was clear and near in his denims and white cowboy hat. He was bulky and dark, not a beer bulky but a natural bulky, and I knew what he could do. There was no smile on his face, no sign of recognition.
    “Good morning, Alex,” I said. “ Como está? ”
    Now that we were outside and within Alex’s reach, Nelson felt safe enough to violate my body. He put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently, as if he were a trainer preparing his fighter before the scheduled four-rounder.
    “Alex isn’t much of a talker, as you may recall,” said Nelson. He fit his hat back on his head and played with it quickly to make it feel snug. “Car’s over there,” he said. “Fog is tempting, but Alex would catch you, and Alex gets mad if he has to run in the morning.”
    “You still doing Alex’s talking for him?” I said. “He’s a big boy. Maybe he can tell me how he feels. Maybe Alex doesn’t want to march on my face.”
    Some figures, I couldn’t tell how many, were moving toward us through the fog as Alex stepped forward to help guide me to the sheriff’s car.
    “Alex will do what he must,” said Nelson piously. “Is that not right, Alex?”
    Alex shrugged. I had no idea what Alex thought about me, whether he liked me, hated me, or didn’t give a damn either way. I did know from looking at him that he’d do what Nelson wanted, that times were still hard and money scarce in Mirador.
    Nelson and Alex flanked me and moved forward two or three feet before two figures in the fog came in range. One of the figures was Emmett Kelly. The other was a sinewy man with a perfect thin, waxed mustache. He was wearing a gray windbreaker and had a serious look on his lined face. His head was totally bald and looked polished.
    “Hold on,” said the bald man with Kelly.
    “I mean to,” said Nelson. “I mean to hold real tight to this rascal. He has committed several crimes and must come to town to deal with his rash acts.”
    “My name is Elder,” said the man with the mustache. “I’m one of the owners of this circus. We hired Mr. Peters last night. He is part of this organization.”
    “And …” grinned Nelson, tightening the grip on my arm.
    “And we expect charges to be stated and the employee to be released in good health when those charges are dealt with,” said the man. Kelly caught my eye and nodded knowingly. I winked. I didn’t know what we were communicating, but it beat being dragged into the fog by the two-man Mirador police force.
    “In fact,” said Elder, stepping forward, “if the charges are not too grave, we would appreciate dealing with them now. Maybe we can settle this without recourse to a trip to town. We are a bit shorthanded. The war and … you understand, I hope.”
    I think Nelson was about to say that he did not