The Man Who Hated Ned O'Leary (Dig Two Graves 2)

“Let’s inform Jan,” Cole said with a sigh, looking away from the stage and at the two corpses. The circus owner wouldn’t be happy about this, but those were hardly the first dead men he’d had to handle.

When Terje left, Cole kneeled by Roger’s side and offered Parita his handkerchief.

“Where are those bastards?” Roger mumbled, squeezing Parita’s hand.

She dabbed the blood off his head right after she dried her own cheeks. “It’s all right, my love, they’re gone now. You took care of them.”

An overstatement, but Cole wasn’t about to argue his claim over dead men.

“What did they do to him?” Ned asked, kneeling by Roger’s head.

Roger chuckled despite the blood staining his lips. “That’s just my face,” he said, but Parita’s brown gaze was cold as ice.

Roger had a cleft palate, so the inside of his mouth was exposed on one side all the way to the nose, showing a clear split in his gums and teeth growing in opposite directions. If it hadn’t been for the birth defect, Roger could have been quite the catch in any town with his dark stubble and strong, if somewhat chunky, body. He’d joined Jan’s show on a whim, tired of being around folks who had nothing but mocking words for him, and was now married to a lady most men from his hometown could only dream of, and who fussed over him endlessly. He hadn’t done too badly for himself, even if it sometimes cost him a concussion.

“We need to put ice on that,” Parita said, turning Roger’s face toward her to see if his eyes were working properly after the brief time he’d been knocked out.

“What happened?” Cole asked, examining the shallow cut on the side of Roger’s head.

Parita gave a shuddery breath and reached for a large shawl, as if she only now realized she was close to naked. Her locks were black and so dense they formed a thick bundle at the back of her head when pulled back, but without the rich jewelry, the heavy kohl around the eyes, the rouge, and lip stain, she looked young and vulnerable.

“I was rehearsing my new routine when those two just walked in here. I remember them being particularly lewd during last night’s show,” she mumbled, hugging her husband, who rested in her arms with his eyes shut. “Roger came to help, but one of them surprised him from the back.”

“Bastards,” Cole said, already hearing unfamiliar language outside. Jan claimed sticking to English would make him into a true American, but he still relegated to his native Polish when anger left him at a loss for words.

“You came here less than two hours ago!” he roared, entering the tent with a deep flush blooming on his face.

Roger waved at him without opening his eyes. “And yet, he saved my life.”

“Two dead men and a podium flooded with blood!” Jan bellowed, though “flooded” was an exaggeration.

Parita scowled. “Then I’ll put a carpet over it tonight! Is that really what matters to you? My husband could have died!”

Jan’s neck stiffened, revealing tendons and veins. “There are corpses in my circus, woman! Who do you think will pay the price if the police find out?”

Ned got up, and it frustrated Cole to no end that he couldn’t read the expression of this man, whom he knew so well. “I’m sorry. We had no choice.”

“Don’t ever apologize for saving a life,” Cole said, rising to his feet to meet Ned’s gaze once more. “That bastard would have gutted me like a pig if it could have saved him.”

Ned looked to Jan and spread his arms. “There you have it. Do you need help with the bodies, or would you rather we leave?”

Terje groaned, scooting by one of the dead men. “Making them leave won’t help anyone,” he said to Jan, who pulled on his thinning hair, which left his hands blackened from the shoeshine used to obscure his gray strands.

“Nobody say anything about this to anyone. We have a show to run tonight. Roger, are you well enough to stand?”

“Leave him be!” Parita roared with so much anger Jan ended up raising his stained hands in defeat.

“Fine. I’ll deal with this myself. Cole, make yourself scarce, because for now, the sight of you’s really getting on my nerves.”

Terje cleared his throat. “We are in Denver. Could we use that place where you used to do séances…?”

Cole exhaled and pulled on Ned’s arm, dragging him out of the tent. “They’ll probably keep them on ice for now.”

“What?” Ned looked back with a scowl, but let Cole lead. “I didn’t mean to get in trouble. I heard the lady yelling and just wanted to help.”

“Nobody wants dead men in their own home, but it was right of you to act. Who knows what could have happened otherwise,” Cole said once they were far enough from the scene of the crime, between colorful wagons, which currently seemed deserted.