Page 31 of Kiss an Angel

“The families were so poor, Alex.”

“And you took it upon yourself to comp them?”

“I could hardly take their money.”

“Yes, you could, Daisy. And from now on you will. In most towns the circus is sponsored by a local organization. They handle comps unless something special comes up, in which case I handle it. But you don’t. Understand?”

“But—”

“Understand?”

She gave him a grudging nod.

“Good. If you think someone needs comping, you come to me, and I’ll take care of it.”

“All right.”

He stood and frowned. “Sheba’ll be back today, and she’ll see that you get a costume for spec. When she’s ready to fit you, I’ll send someone to take over the ticket window.”

“But I’m not a performer.”

“This is the circus, angel face. Everybody’s a performer.”

Her curiosity had grown about the mysterious Sheba whose name made her husband’s face cloud. “Brady said she was a famous trapeze artist.”

“Sheba’s the last of the Cardozas. Her family used to be to trapeze what the Wallendas are to high-wire acts.”

“But she doesn’t perform anymore?”

“She could. She’s only thirty-nine, and she keeps herself in top shape. But she’s no longer the best, so she retired.”

“She obviously takes it seriously.”

“Too seriously. Stay out of her way as much as you can.” He walked to the door. “Remember what I told you about the cash box. Keep your eye on it.”

“I remember.”

With a brusque nod, he disappeared.

She handled the ticket sales for the first performance without difficulty. Things quieted down after the show was under way, and she sat down on the trailer step to enjoy the evening breeze.

Her gaze fell on the menagerie tent, and she remembered that Sinjun, the tiger, was inside. Today, while she’d been trying to scrub the worst of the stains from the carpet, she’d thought about him, maybe because thinking about the tiger was simpler than trying to sort out her troubled feelings about Alex. She felt a disturbing urge to take another look at the ferocious animal, but only from a safe distance.

A late-model Cadillac pulled into the lot accompanied by a rooster tail of dust. An exotic-looking woman with a mane of bright auburn hair stepped out. She wore a figure-hugging chartreuse tank top tucked into a printed sarong skirt that revealed long bare legs and a pair of jeweled sandals. Big gold hoops glimmered through her tousled hair, and a set of matching bangles decorated her slender wrists.

As the woman headed toward the entrance to the big top, Daisy caught a glimpse of her face: pale skin, sharp features, full lips emphasized with crimson lipstick. She had a proprietary air about her that set her apart from a casual visitor, and Daisy decided this could only be Bathsheba Quest.

A customer approached to buy tickets to the second show. Daisy chatted with him for a few minutes and by the time he left, Sheba had disappeared. When no one was at the window, she began reading through the contents of an accordion envelope stuffed with old newspaper clippings taken from a variety of local papers.

Alex’s performances with the bullwhip were mentioned in several articles dated two years ago, but not again until last month. She knew that circuses rotated their acts from one show to another, and she wondered where he’d been performing when he wasn’t traveling with Quest Brothers.

As the first show ended, one of the barkers appeared, a wizened-looking old man with a large mole on his cheek. “I’m Pete. Alex told me to take over for a while. You’re supposed to go back to your trailer for a costume fitting.”

Daisy thanked him and made her way to the trailer. As she entered, she was startled to see Sheba Quest standing at her sink washing up the dishes from the quick snacks Alex and Daisy had grabbed that afternoon.

“You don’t have to do that.”

Sheba turned and shrugged. “I don’t like sitting around waiting.”

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