“Dead?” Koffer asked shrewdly.

Dwight nodded.

“Who?”

“We don’t know yet.”

Koffer nodded almost imperceptibly toward the door flap and lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

Dwight nodded again.

“Want me to take a look?”

“Maybe in a few minutes, after my people get here.”

By now, Portland and Avery had begun to realize that something was wrong and had come around with their fish and teddy bear to join the group. Sylvia trailed them with a happy smile on her face and both hands so full of quarters and prize tokens that she could hardly keep from dropping some. She hadn’t been bragging. She really was good at this game.

Abruptly, she realized that the fun and games were over. “Dwight?”

“Someone’s been hurt,” he said. “Looks like I’m going to be tied up for a while. Reid? You mind driving her home? I’ll call you tomorrow, Sylvia.”

Reid nodded and Sylvia said, “Sure thing, honey.”

I was surprised and, okay, yes, a little impressed that she didn’t fuss or exclaim or make a big deal of it. Of course, this couldn’t have been the first time one of their evenings was cut short. Goes with the territory when you’re seeing a sheriff’s deputy.

“We’ll head on out, too,” said Avery. “Deborah?”

I glanced at Dwight, thinking he’d want to question me about what, if anything, I’d noticed, but he’d turned back to Dennis Koffer and was conferring in low tones.

“Thanks, Avery,” I said, “but my car’s here and I’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?” asked Por. “You know you’re welcome to crash with us tonight.”

It wouldn’t have been the first time. We each know where the other’s house key’s hidden and we run in and out as freely as sisters. Now I patted her arm and said I’d be fine. “You need a good night’s sleep and Avery needs to get that fish in your pond before it dies.”

Several squad cars arrived, followed by the county’s crime-scene van and an EMS truck. They drove straight down the midway. The crowd had been thinning, but all the people still there now surged toward the flashing blue, red, and orange lights, ready to gawk at this new attraction. I hung off to the side, hoping none of my family was still around, or, if any were, that they wouldn’t connect this with me.

Around the lot, flaps were being closed and secured on the various games, lights were turned off, and several of the concessionaires, including the man called Skee, the woman we’d met earlier at the guessing booth, two younger women from the cotton candy wagon, and presumably the Polly of Polly’s Plate Pitch, opposite the Dozer, gathered in a protective clump around Tally Ames. I’d heard that carnival people form a tight-knit community and now I was seeing it in action.

Someone pulled the plug on the upbeat country-western music that had pounded through the loud speakers all evening just as Tally’s teenage son from the Cover the Spot game came running up and the boy’s question was audible to everyone. “Mom? What’s wrong? What’s Braz done now?”