High Wire Page 4

  In a while, I’d walk the wire. For a warm-up, I clomped around on stilts. Using the stilts toughened my leg muscles at the same time as I worked on balance.

  Whitney was practicing on the balance beam. I strode over. By pressing my heels down on the stilt footholds, I was able to stand without falling.

  I watched Whitney chalk the soles of her feet and palms of her hands. The beam was leather-covered. In the old days, it would have been polished wood, which is much more slippery. The leather cover made it easier for gymnasts.

  The beam was still a tough act though, not unlike the wire. The beam was four inches wide, not much more than the wire’s half-inch width. As with the wire, you had to concentrate to stay on the beam. With every leap, turn and somersault, you had to end up straight.

  Whitney leaped. She did the splits, in a perfect parallel to the beam. Landing neatly, she spun without missing a beat into three midair somersaults.

  She was good. No wonder Sorelli rarely found fault with her in postmortems.

  She straightened out of the somersaults, landing feet together on the mat. She raised her arms in a graceful arc so that her palms met over her head.

  “Perfect,” I said.

  She gave a wan smile. “Hey, Zack. I’m getting one last practice in—for old time’s sake, I guess. Mom’s coming to get me this afternoon.”

  I couldn’t help thinking it: And all because of Cubby Donnell.

  I blurted, “What if the police caught the thief? Would she let you stay?”

  “What?!” Whitney stared at me, then laughed. “The air up there is making you light-headed, Zack.”

  I dismounted from the stilts so I could speak in a low voice. “I think I know who did it. I’m going to share my suspicions with Sorelli.”

  Whitney’s dark eyes searched my face. She still looked disbelieving. “Well…she might let me stay. Gosh, Zack, that would be amazing.”

  I propped the stilts at ringside. I started walking away.

  She called, “Wait! I have good news about Pooch. Mom agreed to take him till your aunt comes home.”

  I waved to show I’d heard. I was in too much of a hurry to answer.

  I had to get hold of that DVD and watch it to make sure I was right.

  Chapter Ten

  The ringmaster smiled down at Pooch. Not a warm smile, but a smile. “I understand this little guy has a home. Whitney told me. Come on in.”

  He held open his trailer door.

  “Not a home. A place to stay for a few days,” I corrected. The idea of Pooch—and his chewing habits—at Betty Boothroyd’s house was already making me uneasy.

  Sorelli sighed. “I’m sorry to lose Whitney. On the other hand, I know she wants to try out for the Olympics. Well, she’s got her wish now!” He gave a bark of bitter laughter.

  Thinking the ringmaster was playing, Pooch barked back.

  Sorelli scowled at him. “Is that dog being funny?”

  “No, sir,” I said quickly. “Uh, I was wondering if I could borrow—”

  But Sorelli was busy pointing to the sparkly red uniforms hanging in his closet. “The kid wants the Olympics? She can have them! My life is that ringmaster’s uniform. I got seven of ’em, one for each day of the week. Know why?”

  “Er, no, sir.”

  “Because during every show, I sweat that uniform right through. When I take one of those babies off, it’s dripping, Zachary. Dripping!”

  “Sir, I—”

  Sorelli was shaking his fist and yelling now. “I put my all into every show. I love the circus.”

  He let out a long breath and sank into a chair. He went on, “Every ringmaster is a showman through and through. We have to be larger and louder than anyone else. It’s a tradition that goes back to George Claude Lockhart in Blackpool, England. It was the First World War, and people weren’t going to the circus. Lockhart realized that, to attract people, you had to distract ’em. Make ’em forget reality. Give ’em sparkle, magic.”

  I knew Sorelli was thinking about how his own circus was threatened. Letting him talk might make him feel better. I listened.

  Sorelli said, “It’s a circus legend that old George Lockhart watches over us. Like a friendly ghost, he lingers among the shadows in his red duck-tail jacket…”

  Just then, in the closet, Sorelli’s red jackets started rustling.

  Sorelli blanched, but I had a pretty good idea who our ghost was.

  I walked over to the closet and pulled Pooch out by the scruff of his neck.

  His teeth were clamped deeply into one of the ringmaster’s shiny black patent-leather shoes. I gently pried it loose. “Sorry, sir.”

  Sorelli frowned at me. “What was it you wanted to borrow, Zachary? Money?”

  “No, sir. I was wondering if I could have a look at last night’s DVD.”

  “What? Ah.” He smiled knowingly. “You want to admire yourself.”

  “That’s not exactly it, sir…”

  The ringmaster fished the DVD out of a bookcase. “I understand performers. You’re all the same,” he said. “Massive egos.”

  I let it go and headed back to my trailer.

  When I got there, Cubby was opening the trailer door. He was going out. Good. I preferred not having him around while I watched the DVD.

  As I walked up the trailer steps, I knew I was scowling, but I didn’t change my expression. I couldn’t be bothered.

  Cubby swung the door so wide, it hit me.

  I grabbed him by the wrist. “I know what you are, Jacob. A thief. You stole Mrs. Boothroyd’s necklace. You just had to mess things up for Sorelli—for everyone.”

  Cubby pulled away from me. He looked surprised, but he quickly covered it with a smirk. “Can’t prove it though, can you?”

  He sauntered off.

  Cracking open a Coke can, I slumped down on my bunk and slid the DVD into my laptop.

  When the knock at the door came, it startled me.

  “Hey, Zack.”

  Whitney shaded her eyes and peered through the screen. “I thought maybe I should take Pooch to my trailer. Mom will be here soon.”

  Pooch was up on his hind legs, front paws flat against the door. He liked Whitney. As opposed to Cubby, whom he couldn’t stand.

  As judges of character, Pooch and I were pretty much on par.

  I stared stupidly at Whitney. My mind was still on the DVD. I’d watched Cubby perform his clown act after Betty Boothroyd’s scream. I’d been right. He hadn’t missed a beat—not like other performers. They’d had flub after flub.

  I thought of my run-in with Cubby earlier. It bothered me. I shouldn’t have lost it like that. I shouldn’t have let Cubby get to me, no matter what.

  I shut the laptop. “Sorry—you were talking about Pooch. Yeah, of course. I’ll get his stuff together for you.”

  Still, I didn’t move. I’d been waiting to be free of Pooch. But now that the moment was here, I felt almost…lonely.

  That was dumb, I reminded myself. Pooch couldn’t stay here.

  Besides, I didn’t need anyone. I was Zack Freedman. I could get by on my own.

  Whitney stepped inside and began fussing over Pooch. She scratched his ears and head and cooed at him. The little guy lapped it up.

  She’d be good to him, I knew that. Then, in a few days, Aunt Ellie would find another home for Pooch.

  I fished my Circus Sorelli bag out of a drawer. Every performer and crew member got one. They were cloth bags decorated with—you guessed it—Sorelli’s beaming face.

  I put the dog-food tins inside. I added a nylon rope that Pooch liked to chew on.

  I didn’t look at him. Handing the bag to Whitney, I explained, “I give him half a tin in the morning, half in the evening. He finished off a tin this morning.”

  Whitney took the bag. She looked at me doubtfully. She could see I didn’t feel good about this.

  What I didn’t feel good about was the DVD. I wanted to talk to her about what I’d seen on it. But I knew I should go
to Sorelli first.

  So all I said was, “Please thank your mom for taking Pooch.”

  Pooch didn’t want to go with Whitney. He hung back, head tipped to one side, watching me. In the end, I had to fasten the nylon rope around him so Whitney could lead him away.

  I listened to Pooch’s claws scrabble on the trailer steps. I watched him and Whitney walk to her trailer. I had that lonely feeling again.

  Then I had a different feeling, a sense that I’d forgotten something when I packed up the bag.

  That couldn’t be. All Pooch had were those dog-food tins I’d bought him.

  Wait. That wasn’t all Pooch had.

  Draped over the end of my bunk was Cubby’s gift to Pooch, the pink leash. And its matching collar with that clunky medallion.

  There was no point in sending them with Whitney. They were useless to Pooch. What an idiot Cubby had been, thinking any owner would put that stuff on a dog.

  Not that I was Pooch’s owner, I corrected myself—

  And then there were more knocks on the door, this time louder and heavier.

  “Open up. This is the police.”

  Chapter Eleven

  There were two police officers. One of them asked me to step outside and gave me a pat-down while the other stomped inside the trailer. I heard him going through Cubby’s and my stuff. I heard lots of crashes.

  “Uh—I left my laptop in there,” I began uneasily.

  The first officer ignored that. He asked me for my name and the name of the guy I roomed with. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen Cubby for a while. He was conveniently missing this body search.

  “I’m Zack Freedman. The other guy is Cubby Donnell.”

  The officer glanced at me. He’d noticed how my tone changed, grew hostile, when I said Cubby’s name. I hadn’t intended it.

  “We’ve already seen Cubby,” the officer said.

  He took a list of performers and crew out of his pocket. He ticked my name off. I saw a checkmark beside Cubby’s name too.

  The other cop came out. They headed to the next trailer.

  I went back inside. Bedsheets were bundled up and dumped on top of dressers. Clothes lay all over the floor. Entwined in them were the pink leash and collar.

  I started cleaning up my side of the trailer. Let Cubby clean up his own side.

  Loud barking interrupted me.

  Pooch was sounding the alarm. The cops must be going through Whitney’s trailer.

  I ran outside. Whitney was standing with her roommates.

  She explained, “I’m not allowed to leave till they search my stuff.”

  I walked up the steps and peered in.

  Pooch was lying beside the Circus Sorelli cloth bag. One of the cops tried to reach for the bag to check inside. Pooch growled.

  I whistled to Pooch. With a resentful glance at the cop, he trotted outside with me. The cop glanced into the bag, snorted and tossed it aside. One dog’s treasure was another man’s garbage.

  Whitney told me, “You’ll have to come visit Pooch.”

  Then she smiled, and I knew she meant visit Pooch and me.

  Any other day, I would have felt like I could walk on air—without the help of a wire.

  But this wasn’t any day.

  I recalled what I’d seen on the DVD. I needed to talk to Sorelli before it was too late.

  I’d thought I wouldn’t have to. I’d hoped the cops’ search of our trailers would turn up the necklace—and reveal the thief’s identity.

  I looked around. Other performers and crew stood waiting for the police to finish their search. Everybody was sullen and silent. The whole procedure was pretty insulting.

  So where was Cubby?

  He couldn’t have left the grounds. Joel would have stopped him. And even if he had snuck out, it would be like putting a large neon question mark over his head. Sorelli would find out he was missing. The cops would zero in on him.

  I was sure Cubby didn’t want that.

  The two officers bounded out of Whitney’s trailer. They pushed on to the next one.

  I took Whitney’s hand in mine. I couldn’t think of any girl I’d ever liked more. All I wanted to do was stay beside her.

  But I had a thief to catch.

  “I have to go talk to Sorelli,” I said.

  I played the DVD for Sorelli. I showed him the part that bothered me—the puzzle piece that didn’t fit.

  “You crazy, Zachary? That proves nothing!”

  Still, he grabbed a handful of tissues and mopped at his forehead. He kept staring at the laptop.

  He let out a huge sigh. “Under the circumstances, the behavior is a little weird, I’ll give you that. But we need more than that to bring charges. We need proof, Zachary!”

  Outside, Pooch heard Sorelli yelling. He started to bark. I bit back a smile. Pooch assumed Sorelli wanted to play.

  “That mongrel is still here?”

  “Whitney’s about to take him away,” I assured Sorelli.

  But not yet, I thought. She can’t leave yet. Not before I tell her that I—

  Care about her?

  I wondered if I could get the words out. Me, a simple ranch kid from Alberta.

  The cops were barging into another trailer. Meanwhile, Whitney emerged from hers with her suitcase and the cloth bag. Pooch trotted after her. I watched him through the window, sniffing at the bag.

  Every once in a while, Pooch forgot his stomach and glanced around. I guessed he was wondering about me. He couldn’t understand why I’d abruptly vanished from his life.

  Whitney saw me in the window. She hesitated, unsure whether to wait. Then, with an apologetic shrug, she started walking to the big top. She’d arranged to meet her mom inside.

  Just then, Cubby came out of the big top. He put his thumbs in his ears and waggled his fingers at Pooch.

  Pooch just stared at him, astonished.

  From here, I could read Cubby’s lips. Wait, he told Whitney.

  Cubby sprinted to our trailer. A moment later he ran out, brandishing the pink leash and collar. He dangled it above Pooch, just a little too high.

  Pooch had been sniffing at the cloth bag again. Now he started jumping, trying to clamp his teeth around the collar.

  Quite the sense of humor Cubby had.

  But I wasn’t so concerned with Cubby’s personality at the moment. I was more interested in the collar that he was waving around.

  Behind me, Sorelli slammed his palm down on his desk. “You’re not listening to me, Zachary. Maybe your ears need de-waxing? I’m telling you that your theory isn’t enough. We need proof.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed absently.

  As Cubby waved the collar above Pooch, I watched how the sun caught on the big, round metal medallion.

  The big, round, hollow metal medallion.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cubby could have stolen the necklace—and stashed it inside the medallion. The perfect hiding place.

  When the cops searched our trailer, they wouldn’t have paid attention to a dog’s leash and collar.

  That would explain why Cubby was so calm about the search. He was a hundred percent sure no one would crack open the medallion and check inside.

  Images spooled through my mind. All of them starred Cubby, and none of them were pleasant.

  Cubby resenting the ringmaster and vowing revenge. Cubby being hostile to me from day one.

  Cubby shoving his clown face with its garish paint up close to Pooch. Scaring Pooch.

  I smiled at that. Pooch had scared Cubby right back with his angry barking. Pooch sure didn’t like Cubby.

  At that thought, a light switch flicked on in my mind. I saw Cubby through Pooch’s eyes, and I understood.

  Outside, Whitney started walking toward the big top again. Pooch followed, still sniffing the cloth bag.

  Cubby stuffed the leash and collar back into his sweatpants pocket. He headed for the gate that led to the public area.

  I had to act quickly. If I didn’t
, the thief would escape the circus grounds with the diamond necklace.

  I charged out the door.

  I ran toward Cubby. The other performers and crew members, standing around while the police did their searches, watched me in astonishment. Their heads swiveled as I ran, as if they were following a ball in a tennis game.

  The cops, who were exiting another trailer, saw me too. Instantly they were suspicious. “Hold on there, sonny,” one of them called.

  I knocked against Cubby. He leaped back, rubbing his arm.

  “Hey, what’s the big idea?” he demanded.

  I didn’t reply. I kept going.

  “Whitney.” I grabbed her by the elbow. I pulled her behind the big top, out of everyone’s view. If I could just have a minute alone with her. A half-minute.

  “What are you doing, Zack?”

  She didn’t get that I’d figured it out. She set her suitcase down and smiled at me. Her dark eyes were warm and trusting.

  I urged, “You still have a chance. Go to Sorelli, now. Give him the necklace. We’ll work something out with him. Somehow we’ll manage it. No one will know.”

  Shocked, she hesitated. I saw the doubt in her face.

  Then the warmth went out of her eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  I heard footsteps pounding the grass behind us. The cops were almost here.

  “Please, Whitney. I know you stole your mom’s necklace. You said it yourself: if there was no Circus Sorelli, your dad would find a way to get you to Olympic training.”

  Pooch was sitting, looking happily up at me. His tail wagged.

  Whitney wrenched her arm free. “Don’t be stupid. It’s Cubby who has the grudge against Sorelli.”

  The two police officers bounded up behind us, followed by Sorelli. Performers and crew crowded up behind.

  Talk about a circus.

  “That doesn’t prove I took my mom’s necklace,” Whitney insisted.

  “Maybe not,” I agreed. “But I have other proof.”

  Sorelli flapped his hands at the performers and crew. “Show’s over, everyone. Get out or you’re all fired.”

  They trickled away reluctantly.