Claire’s friend didn’t arrive. Not that first morning or the next. He tried the number Claire left and got an answering machine. Afraid to leave a message, he had hung up, a ball of uneasiness in the pit of his gut.Something had gone wrong.Luckily, the storm had lasted a full twenty-four hours and did a fair amount of damage to the show, the worst being to the generator truck when lightning struck nearby. Since then, everyone had been scrambling around, making repairs, too busy to worry about whether Madame Claire and her daughter had returned.Until a private investigator showed up, anyway, looking for them, asking questions and giving his card to everyone he spoke to. Eventually he was directed to Marvel, who brought him by the trailer.Chance faced the two men, his heart thundering, his mouth dry. He pealed off exactly what Claire had asked him to, speaking mostly to Marvel, only reluctantly agreeing to answer the investigator’s questions.As he responded to the man’s questions, he kept telling himself to go slow and not to fuck up.
