Kiss an Angel(30)

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.”

Daisy felt doubly chastised: first for keeping a sloppy kitchen, then for tardiness. She wouldn’t add to those sins by being inhospitable. “Would you like a cup of tea? Or perhaps a soft drink.”

“No.” The woman picked up a dish towel and dried her hands. “I’m Sheba Quest, but I guess you already know that.”

On closer inspection, Daisy saw that the circus owner wore her makeup in brighter shades than Daisy would have chosen to use herself. Not that she looked gaudy. Instead, her colorful and somewhat provocative clothing, combined with her rather flamboyant accessories, simply made it apparent that her beauty standards had been influenced by a lifetime as a performer.

“I’m Daisy Devreaux. Or rather Daisy Markov. I haven’t gotten used to the change.”

Some profound emotion flickered across Sheba’s face, a deep revulsion combined with a hostility that was almost palpable. Instantly, Daisy knew she had found no friend in Sheba Quest.

She forced herself to remain still under Sheba’s cold scrutiny. “Alex likes to eat. You hardly have anything in the refrigerator.”

“I know. I’m really not very well organized.” She didn’t have the courage to point out that Sheba shouldn’t be snooping in her kitchen.

“He likes spaghetti and lasagna, and he loves Mexican food. But don’t waste your time making him big desserts. He doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, except at breakfast.”

“Thank you for telling me.” Daisy felt slightly ill.

Sheba flicked her hand over the chipped counter. “This place is terrible. Alex started out with a newer trailer, but last week he got rid of it and picked up this one even though I offered to get him something better.”

Daisy couldn’t quite hide her dismay. Why had Alex insisted they live like this if they didn’t have to? “I’m planning to fix it up,” she said, although until that moment, the idea hadn’t occurred to her.

“Most men want to bring their brides to someplace nice. I’m surprised Alex didn’t take advantage of my offer.”

“I’m sure he had his reasons.”

Sheba surveyed Daisy’s small figure. “You don’t have any idea what you’ve gotten into with him, do you?”

Sheba seemed eager to prod her into a catfight, but since Daisy was fairly certain she’d come out the loser, she tilted her head toward the two costumes draped over the back of the chair. “Am I supposed to try those on?”

Sheba nodded.

Daisy picked up the top one and found that it made little more than a puddle of midnight blue spangles in her hand. “It seems awfully skimpy.”

“That’s the general idea. This is the circus. The audience expects to see a lot of skin.”

“Does it have to be mine?”

“You’re not fat. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“I’m not exactly a hard-body. I’ve never been very good about following an exercise program for more than a few minutes.”

“You just have to learn some self-discipline.”

“Yes, well, I’ve never been very good at that, either.”

Sheba regarded her critically, obviously expecting Alex Markov’s wife to display a little more backbone. But from having lived with her mother, Daisy knew not to engage in gamesmanship with a master player. Honesty was the only defense against experts at guile.