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"According to this, you just finished working on a circus book. You've been at the Circus World Museum in Baraboo and down in Florida at the Ringling winter quarters." She looked up at him again. "Piss anyone off at the circus?" |
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He laughed at the thought. "It's kind of hard to make circus people angry. They're funny that way. With so much joy and color and happiness around them, I don't think they could be nasty if they tried. Besides, all I did was walk around, take pictures, and ask questions about their work. People love to talk about their work. I've never had a problem until . . ." |
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She ignored the way his sentence floundered and died, continuing to read over the paper in her hand. "The only person who doesn't like you is your brother, Kirk." |
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"He's not my brother," Chris said through clenched teeth. |
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"All right, all right. I forgot. Boy, you're touchy. I could tell you two didn't care for each other, but what possible reason would he have for killing you?" |
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"None. He could have killed me countless times if he'd wanted to. I lived with him for six years. He hates my guts, but not enough to kill me." |
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"Then why did you write down his name?" |
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Chris shrugged. "Kirk is a bit on the edge. I don't know. I guess I could be wrong about him wanting me dead, though I don't know what possible reason he'd have for killing me now." |
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"Hmm. You'd be surprised at how little of a rea- |
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