“Where’s Phoebe?” she said.
“Still sleeping,” Glory whispered. “Don’t worry, she’s fine. Penelope is with her.”
Cole blinked and sat up, his face puffy with sleep. “What’s going on?”
“What are you doing in here?” Lilly asked Glory. “And why are you whispering?”
Glory edged closer and knelt in the straw. “I came to warn you,” she said. “Alana said a group of local officials paid a visit to Mr. Barlow last night. Seems the town leaders of the next eight stops on our route threatened to cancel if we have Pepper with us.”
“But Mr. Barlow assured the sheriff she wasn’t part of the show anymore,” Lilly said. “He said she’s a work animal now.”
“That doesn’t mean they believe him,” Cole said.
“Cole’s right,” Glory said. “The rubes can’t tell one bull from another. Mr. Barlow could put Pepper back in the ring and they’d never know the difference.”
“Then that’s what he should do,” Lilly said. “She’s not dangerous. She was protecting JoJo.”
“You and I know that,” Cole said. “But no one else will believe it.”
“Mr. Barlow will never put Pepper back in the ring,” Glory said. “It’s too big a risk. If word got out, it’d mean certain ruin.”
“Then what are you saying?” Lilly said. “What did you come to warn us about?”
“Penelope overheard Mr. Barlow and Viktor talking outside Mr. Barlow’s car. Viktor wants Pepper to pay for killing Merrick, and Mr. Barlow said no one will book us with a rogue bull in the troupe, even if she’s not in the show.”
“And?” Lilly said. Her legs and arms started to vibrate.
Glory’s eyes grew glassy. “Mr. Barlow said there’s only one way to prove Pepper is no longer part of The Barlow Brothers’ Circus.”
Lilly’s breath grew shallow and fast. “How?”
“They’re going to . . .” Glory’s chin trembled and she took Lilly’s hand with cold, shaking fingers.
Lilly thought she would scream before Glory told her the rest. “They’re going to what? Tell me!”
“They’re going to kill her, Lilly. They’re going to kill her, and they’re going to do it in public.”
“Oh my God. No!” Lilly cried. She put her hands over her mouth, certain she was going to be sick. Cole put an arm around her and she stared at Glory, tears burning her eyes. “How?”
“I don’t know,” Glory said.
“When?”
“As soon as they can get the word out. Probably tomorrow, after the afternoon performance.”
Lilly shook her head. “No.” She looked at Pepper lying on her side and watching them with sad, wet eyes. “No, I won’t let them.” She crawled over to Pepper and leaned against her, one arm around her front leg. Pepper let out a long, shuddering sigh, lifted her trunk, and draped it across Lilly’s shoulder.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do,” Cole said softly. “Mr. Barlow will have you arrested, or worse, if you try to stop him. I’m so sorry.”
Lilly turned her head to look at him, her face soaked with tears. “Of course there’s something I can do. I can get her out of here. And you can help me.”
CHAPTER 28
JULIA In the shadow-filled attic of Blackwood Manor, Julia stood frozen, shining her flashlight at the third door on the other side of the second section of the vast space. At first glance, the door looked set in an outside wall, as if it might lead out to a balcony. But there were no balconies on that side of the house, or any other part of Blackwood Manor for that matter. Besides, unlike the rest of the walls, this wall was made of brick, not wood. She directed the flashlight at the nearest dormer. It looked like all the rest, with a moldy, watermarked window. But the placement seemed odd. It was too close to the brick wall. Which meant the wall might have been added later, and there could be more space on the other side of the door.
“My God,” she said to herself. “How big is this attic?”
Shivering with anticipation, she started across the second section. Then she suddenly stopped, shoulders hunched, every sense on high alert. Maybe this part of the attic was walled off and empty because the floor was rotten. She cast the flashlight over the floorboards, looking for cracks or signs of decay. There were none. She pressed one foot into the plank in front of her. It felt firm. She took a deep breath, then carefully crept across the attic, testing each step until she reached the third door.
The door was padlocked “Shit,” she whispered.
She swept the flashlight along the floor and wall to look for the key, scanning the brick and mortar for a hook or hiding place. She searched above the doorframe, her fingers blindly feeling the narrow lip, and came back with nothing but dust. She sighed heavily and tried to think. If she couldn’t find the key, maybe she could break the door down. After all, it was her house, she could do whatever she wanted. She rammed her shoulder into it several times. The hasp and padlock rattled, but the door didn’t budge. It was like trying to move the brick wall.
“Damn it all to hell and back!” she said.
She rubbed her shoulder and frowned at the door. Maybe she could bust it open with an ax. Maybe Fletcher could do it. Or maybe he was strong enough to break the lock. With that thought, she grabbed the padlock to examine it closer. It had been put back in the flange, but the shank had not been pushed into the body. The door had been unlocked the entire time.
Berating herself for not checking the padlock sooner, she removed it from the hasp and opened the door. Then she shined the flashlight inside and nearly sank to the floor in astonishment.
Her light revealed a cramped, narrow bedroom, complete with a dresser, armoire, and a rusted iron bed beneath a wallpapered nook. Paper flowers hung from the walls and ceilings, their faded petals droopy and gray. The bed looked recently slept in, with a head-shaped indent in the pillow and the red, dust-covered duvet pushed to one side. Across from the bed, cobwebs shrouded a white wicker table, a rocking chair, and a short bookcase. Next to the rocking chair, a dollhouse filled with dead bugs and miniature furniture sat on a wooden chest near three porcelain dolls in a wicker pram, their grimy faces cracked, their hair tangled beneath hoary nets of dirt and spider webs. One looked back at Julia with a drooping eyelid, frozen mid-wink.
Julia stood there, staring and too stunned to move. Why was there a bedroom hidden behind three locked doors in the attic of Blackwood Manor? Who in the world had slept there? And why?
Judging by the toys, it was a child. A little girl.
Icy shivers crawled up the back of Julia’s neck. How could anyone do this? How could anyone lock a child in an attic bedroom? And why? It was unimaginable and creepy as hell. Then she noticed the cloth-bound Bible on the nightstand and the cross on the wall, and she knew. Mother had something to do with this.
“Dear God,” she whispered.
The words in her father’s journal flashed in her mind:
We have buried our firstborn. May she rest in peace. God speed her soul to heaven. And may God help us for what we have done.