Absolutely, Positively

why?”

Harry slanted her an unreadable glance. “He was awaiting trial on charges resulting from a dispute he had with a county sheriff.”

    “I see.” Molly digested that news. “What sort of dispute?”

    “Uncle Leon was screwing the sheriff's wife. He and the lady were discovered by her husband in a motel room. The sheriff was understandably pissed.”

    “Oh.” Molly hesitated. “I can see why the sheriff was angry, but an affair doesn't constitute grounds for arrest.”

    “The sheriff nailed him for auto theft, not for messing around with another man's wife.”

    “Auto theft?” Molly repeated weakly.

    “Uncle Leon and the lady used the sheriff's car to drive to the motel.”

    “Good grief. That wasn't very smart.”

    “No, it wasn't. But then, as far as I'm concerned, Josh is the first member of that branch of the family to show any brains in three generations.” Harry's hand flexed on the steering wheel. “I'll be damned if I'll let Leon pressure him into leaving college.”

    “Why would Leon want to do that in the first place?”

    “Leon used to make his living driving race cars at county fairs. His son—my cousin Willy and Josh's father—was a motorcycle stuntman. He was killed doing a stunt. Every few years Leon gets the harebrained notion of encouraging Josh to follow in the family footsteps.”

    “Whew. I can see why you're concerned. Doesn't sound like a career path loaded with potential.”

    “It's a dead end.” Harry moved his right hand to the gearshift as he prepared to turn off the highway. “Literally, in Willy's case. I'm not going to let Josh get sucked into that lifestyle.”

    “How will you convince your uncle to leave him alone?”

    “The same way I did the last time.” Harry's mouth was a grim line. “Sweet reason.”

    Molly did not press the matter. It was Trevelyan family business, after all. But she could not resist one last question. “What happened to Leon when he went to trial for auto theft?”

    “The charges were dropped.”

    “He must have had a good lawyer.”

    “He did. I hired him myself.”

    The Ferris wheel came into view first. It rose majestically above the midway, a venerable, graceful, glittering contraption that still had the power to enthrall young and old alike. The engineers who designed exotic rides for the new high-tech theme parks had invented far more elaborate thrill machines over the years, but nothing would ever replace the Ferris wheel on a carnival midway.

    Harry did not enjoy Ferris wheels, or any of the other rides, for that matter. He told himself that it was because he'd come from a carny family. Although his father had sold his amusement show before his son was born, Harry had spent several summer vacations traveling with his Trevelyan relatives. He had learned to set up, operate, and tear down the rides. No one who worked the midway got a kick out of the machines. It was a business, after all.

    But Harry had always suspected that his personal dislike of the whirling, churning, stomach-wrenching devices went deeper in him than it did in other people involved in the world of the carnival. The real truth was that he hated the lack of control he experienced when he was trapped inside one of the small, spinning carriages.

    He had struggled too long to develop a sense of self-mastery. He could not willingly surrender that control to anyone or anything else, not even for a three-minute amusement park ride.

    Molly twisted in her seat to get a better view of the fair-grounds. “Where are we going?” she asked as Harry drove past the main parking lots.

    “Around back to where the carnies and the fair people park their vehicles. Uncle Leon will be there somewhere.”

    The motley collection of trucks, vans, trailers, and motor homes stood on the far side of the fairgrounds. They were shielded from the view of the fairgoers by a fence lined with the colorful booths and tents of the midway.

    Harry parked near a stand of trees and got out. A light wind blew toward him across the fairgrounds. The combined scent of grease, popcorn, and corn dogs hit him, as it always did, with a tidal wave of memory.

    Molly came to stand beside him. “Something wrong?”

    “No.” Harry pulled his thoughts back to the present. “That smell always reminds me of the summers I spent with my Trevelyan relatives.”

    Molly held a wisp of hair out of her eyes and regarded him with an intently curious expression. “I'll bet