A Tale of Two Carnies

18 - Raya and Shelly

I paced the office while Alvin Armstrong continued to sit in his bean bag chair. "You've discussed the case with Cozbi. What does she have to say about this bloody nightshirt?"

"Everything you have there came to me two days ago in the discovery package. I've reviewed it, but I haven't had a chance to discuss it yet with Cozbi."

I ran a hand through my hair. "I just came from visiting her. It would've been nice to have a heads up for me to ask her about this."

The lawyer looked me in the eye. "I will ask her about it."

"Make damn sure you do that." I started for the door.

"Wait," Alvin stood.

Seeing the skeletal man standing erect with his ridiculous ear gauges and bald head made me realize how off-putting he would be to the conservative country folk who lived in this rural county. Could he seriously defend Cozbi? "What?"

"One way to exonerate a client is to cast sunshine in a different direction. If that's done effectively, it raises doubt with the jury."

"What do you mean?"

"If Cozbi didn't kill Marlin Cleveland, who did? You worked with those carnival people. Who would have a reason to go to such extreme?"

I thought about it. "Nobody. Marlin Cleveland could be short with people, and he had a quiet, mysterious side, but in my experience he was harmless."

He raised an eyebrow. "Quiet and mysterious, like someone with something to hide?"

The man was putting words in my mouth. "I didn't say that."

Alvin wore a sad smile. "If I were a high-priced lawyer with a staff of investigators, that would be one angle I'd be sure to check out."

"Are you asking me to be your investigator?"

"I can't stop you from talking to people on your own."

"The carnies have dispersed. They're all over the country by now."

"That's too bad."

"I could talk to those witnesses who heard Cozbi threaten him."

Alvin scoffed. "I already told you. No chance."

"Can't blame me for trying."

By the time I returned to the Dancing Bear, it was late afternoon, and I was spent. Not so much physically tired, but I was emotionally exhausted. It had been a trying day, and I couldn't get it out of my head about the bloody nightshirt in Cozbi's trailer. Somebody had to have planted it there to implicate her. Would Alvin Armstrong be able to convince a jury of that?

I shuffled up the stairs and down the hall to my room intending to take a nap before buying dinner.

When I got to my room, the door was open, and a girl was in the process of wiping down the dresser. She was just a kid, maybe twelve years old. "Hello."

"Hello," she said back.

"I told the managers of this place I didn't need housekeeping except for maybe once a week."

She rested a hand on her hip. "The managers are my mom and dad and it's been a week. That's why I'm here."

"I stand corrected."

"You're also standing in my way. I was just leaving."

Her sass made me smile. She was around the same age as Cozbi was when I first met her. I pulled my wallet and took out a couple dollars for a tip. While handing her the cash, I asked, "What's your name?"