Falafel Jones - The Kewpie Killer Read Online Free PDF Page B

you’ve got to tell the police that man was your father. If they find out on their own, it’ll look bad for you.” As I said it, I wondered, did Brenda kill her father or was she simply a kid with a sad story?
    She stood and stared at me with wide tear filled eyes. “No. No. I can’t.” Then she turned and ran off, crying. “I can’t. I can’t.”
    I didn’t know what else I could do so I got up and left. I tried to follow my route here to get back to Kara’s car and found myself back in the circle with the knife thrower. This time the woman and the man were kissing in a tight embrace. The woman pushed the man away and started towards me. The man called after her, “Zena!” but she ignored him and advanced on me.
    “You,” she said to me. “You people see things and you don’t understand.
    She was right. I had no idea what she was talking about.
    “You see us yelling and you think we don’t love each other.”
    “I’m sorry I intruded. I was lost.”
    “Hmmph. Do you know the level of trust needed to stand still and smile while someone throws knives at you? Have you ever loved or trusted anyone enough to do that?”
    “Uh, no.”
    “That’s the kind of love and trust that Federico and I have. And do you know why we have that trust? Do you?”
    “Uh, no.”
    “Because we hold nothing back. Nothing! We speak to each other always what is in our minds and hearts. No matter what it is. There are no secrets between us, and once spoken, all is forgiven and forgotten. That is how we have that trust. That is how I can stand there while he throws knives at me. Hmmph.” She snorted and stomped away.
    I turned to go but didn’t get ten feet before hearing that “Pfffhht” sound again. This time, a “thunk” noise followed it as a knife stuck into the trailer next to my head.

Chapter Four – Phone Princess
    Too scared and angry to think clearly, I pulled the knife from the trailer and ran back into the circle where Zena and Federico practiced. They were gone but left the knife-covered board with protruding handles outlining the shape of a body. I stabbed the knife into the body’s center, swore and left.
    Back in the office, sitting at my desk, out of harm’s way, I started to tremble. The connection between the deaths and the dolls eluded me and I didn’t think I’d be safe again until I found it. I reread the articles we printed about the bookie’s murder but found nothing to tie in with the farmer. Well, except both men had carnival prizes. Heck, they probably both had cotton candy and funnel cakes too.
    Since my best source of information… and safety might be the police, I phoned Robby Carlyle. He was out on patrol but Dispatch promised to tell him I called.
    Deep in thought, plotting my next move, I was startled when my phone rang and fumbled to pick it up.
    “Ah, Raquel Flanagan. Chronicle.”
    “I know who you are and I damn well know the name of my newspaper.”
    “Oh, hello, Mother.”
    “At home, it’s Mother. Here’s it’s ‘Yes, Chief’ or ‘Yes, Boss’. Come to my office. I want to know why our newest probationary reporter is covering our biggest story… and don’t try to blame your Uncle Bill. You know he can’t refuse you.”
    “Yes, Ma’am. Be right there.”
    I took a moment to check my face in my desk mirror. When meeting Mom, it would be good to look composed and not have lipstick on my teeth.
    She used Dad’s old office on the third floor. All of the administrative offices were up there in what the Bulldogs called the “Penthouse.”
    Mom kept Dad’s bookcases, desk and chairs but did the walls, windows and carpet in her own taste. She also added her photos including one of her and Dad the year they met working at the Observer. When I started working here, she took down my childhood photos. The office struck me as an odd mix of Mom and Dad, as if they both occupied the same space at the same time. Maybe that’s why she did it that way.
    When she saw me come