I thought being a carnie was demanding work, constantly setting up and tearing down, and always fixing things, but working my new job at Perrypen Farm took manual labor to a whole other level. Being certified organic meant the farm used no herbicides or insecticides. During the mornings, the boss had me pulling weeds by hand among endless rows of vegetables. After lunch, I harvested and filled bins and delivered the bins to the packing line. Later in the day, we sorted the produce and packed the boxes.
The farm sold some of the boxes to local grocery stores, but most business came from families who purchased a subscription to receive a box or two of fresh produce each week.
I fell into a routine, waking up at six, eating a hearty breakfast prepared by Jill Dunne, arriving at work by eight, and working a twelve-hour shift. By the time I got back to the Dancing Bear around half past eight, my back was screaming, and I hardly had enough energy to climb the stairs to my room.
I paid full price for my dinners off the Dancing Bear's menu, but Jill was kind enough to pack me a little something for lunch each morning, free of charge.
The arrangement worked for me, but the time passed slowly. Never once did I forget about Cozbi and my constant concern about what she must be facing, alone among older criminals in prison.
On Wednesday, during my work break, I called Cozbi's lawyer to make sure nothing would go wrong with my Saturday visitation. I remembered the list submitted for approval was due Thursday.
I entered the number from the card Lincoln Chronister had given me. A receptionist answered and told me Alvin Armstrong was in the office. She transferred me to his extension.
"Armstrong here," the lawyer answered in a business-like tone.
I introduced myself. "I'm calling to find out about Cozbi, uh Ms. Miraslova. Am I on the list of visitors for Saturday?"
"Yes, you've been approved, but I had to convince Ms. Miraslova. At first, she didn't want to see you."
"What?" I couldn't believe what I had just been told. "I mean, why?"
"I don't know and didn't ask."
Cozbi hadn't wanted to see me? I felt gut-punched. Why would she be ashamed or embarrassed to see me, the one person who cared most about her?
"Hello, are you still there?" The impatient lawyer asked.
"Yeah, uh, when on Saturday?"
"Hang on." I heard him put the receiver down and shuffle through some papers. He picked up. "You're scheduled at 10:30. I advise you to arrive a half hour early as you'll need to go through security."
"I'll be there. Can you tell me about her trial? When is it?"
"She's on the docket for October."
"October!" I exclaimed. "That's three months from now."
"The schedule is full, and this county holds criminal court only one week a month."
"Can't you do something to hurry things along? Cozbi's barely an adult. She can't spend three months in prison. It'll kill her."
"What can I say? It is what it is. Ms. Miraslova will just have to tough it out."
Anger filled me. "You're supposed to be on her side. It sure sounds to me like you don't care about her."
"Calm down, Mr. Muir. My only job is to make sure my clients receive a fair trial. It's not my job to be her friend or hold her hand."
Gripping the phone receiver in my fist, I asked, "What about bail? Can you get her out until her trial date?"

YOU ARE READING
A Tale of Two Carnies
Mystery / ThrillerWhen hostile townsfolk imprison a transient teen girl accused of murder, her best friend struggles against a stacked legal system to protect her from being railroaded.--- Local law enforcers eager to solve the case rush to judgment and arrest Cozbi...