Page 35 of Her Cruel Dahlias
As she grabbed her satchel from the caravan, Wilder and Arthur carried buckets of water, pouring them over where the remaining blood stained the dirt until it was as if a body had never been there at all.
Zephyr met Cricket outside her home, wearing a white shirt that hugged his arms perfectly. He left a few buttons at his chest undone, the collar at his throat on display.
Together they walked into the city, the sun shining brightly above. Thick, puffy clouds that she could easily make animal shapes out of floated slowly across the blue sky.
The shops bustled with life, and a woman carrying a large stack of tomes hurried past them. They approached a white-bricked pub called the Garland that she and Anika used to frequent. Zephyr opened the door, and the smell of tobacco smoke clung to the air. A few men and women sat at tables smoking cigars or pipes. Old, faded maps hung across the wooden walls, and thick green velvet curtains cloaked the windows. At the bar, a familiar face was wiping the counters with a wet rag, her frilly green dress rustling as she scrubbed harder. The young blonde-haired woman, Leslie, turned when they sat at the counter. She halted as she studied Cricket with her pale blue eyes. A chill ran up her spine that Leslie would be a perfect fit for the murderer.
“Hello, Leslie,” Cricket said, remembering how when she used to come in here, the young woman would laugh and tell jokes to her and Anika.
“You’re back,” she stuttered.
From the dead? Why yes, yes I am, she wanted to say, but she held her tongue.
“Gossip spread about a month ago that the carnival necromancer had brought you back from the grave. I’m just relieved they caught that awful bastard.” Leslie huffed, no longer surprised by Cricket’s visit. “What can I get for you? It’s on me.”
“A bowl of lamb soup and a whiskey,” Cricket said.
“I’ll have the same.” Zephyr passed Leslie a few silver coins, but she batted his hand away before leaving them alone to go into the kitchen.
Zephyr inched closer to Cricket, whispering in her ear, his breath warm against her neck. “I have a confession. A little secret I’ve been keeping.”
“Color me intrigued. What is it?” she drawled.
“I remember seeing you when you would visit the carnival.”
She rolled her eyes. “I doubt it. There are so many faces in each crowd and too many performances to remember someone.”
“That’s usually true,” he purred. “But not someone who comes to almost every performance and sits front and center. Your blue eyes were always wide in amazement as you watched each act.”
Heat rose up Cricket’s neck. She averted her gaze from his and peered down at her hands. “I mean, I suppose I liked the carnival.”
“I would’ve asked you back to my caravan if you’d approached me after the performance, but I’m certain I would’ve received a slap across the face.” He smirked.
“I’m certain.” She laughed softly just as Leslie returned with two bowls of steaming soup, the savory aroma delicious.
“You hear about the murdered girl this morning?” Leslie asked as she poured them both a glass of whiskey.
“Only that her name’s Joanna, and she worked at the meat shop.”
Leslie nodded. “Joanna was here last night and drank so much she could barely walk. When the authorities came in here earlier, I told them that she’d gone to the inn across the road. She’d been staying there a while since it was all she could afford. I always watched her go into it, made sure she was safe. But someone must’ve been waiting for her inside her room. One of the inn’s servants told me she found blood when she came in to make up the room this morning. How Joanna ended up at the carnival, though, is beyond me?”
“She was murdered at the inn?” Zephyr scrunched his face, seeming to mull it over.
“Someone must’ve brought her to the carnival after...” Cricket trailed off.
“The question is, why do that, though?” Leslie’s gaze held Cricket’s, and her chest tightened, thinking about the note she’d given to Bram. “Something to think about.” She stepped away, grabbed her wet rag, and cleaned an empty table.
“That is quite the conundrum,” Zephyr muttered, bringing a spoonful of soup to his lips.
“Quite.” Cricket sighed. The body was brought for her to see and retrieve the note. A sick and twisted gift of sorts.
She forced down the soup, even though she’d lost her appetite. Taking the glass, she polished the whiskey off. She wanted another drink, but she needed her head to be clear.
“Watch over yourself,” Cricket called to Leslie before they left, and as the woman’s blue eyes met her own, she hoped she remained safe.
“Can’t help not to. Just wish I knew if there was another reason they’re chosen,” Leslie said, turning the cloth over and scrubbing a new table.
As Cricket and Zephyr stepped outside, Charles passed them on his horse and stopped in front of the inn across the street.