Loud thunder rumbled above them. The lights flickered for a moment but stayed on. Marco side?stepped a growing wet spot on the floor. It was obvious to everyone the castle was crumbling. His heart sank. Nobody cared about this place. He hated living in El Stucco.

  People suck.

  A chunk of plaster popped loose somewhere above. Marco flinched and covered his head.

  Carly proudly continued with her nostalgic tour. “The industrious clowns built the two big barns out back, plus a stable for Mother’s beautiful white horses. They even dug our water well.”

  Marbles mouthed “clowns?” at Marco like she needed immediate clarification.

  Concerned, Anton looked up at some of the ceiling cracks and asked, “Are you sure this place is sound?”

  She smiled, her voice steady. “My parents lived here their whole lives, and so have I. It may not be textbook engineering, but it’s lasted.”

  “I was born in ’42, right at the start of the war. By then, all the clowns—and my father—had left the farm to go fight.”

  She picked up a photo of a little girl balancing in a handstand on the back of a trotting zebra, and another of her swinging upside down from a trapeze, clutching a monkey in a baby bonnet.

  “These are of me,” she added, brushing dust from the frame.

  I wonder how long monkeys live? When it died, did they have a funeral? Did they bury it?

  Here? Yikes… all the animals must be buried here!

  He shuddered out loud before he could stop himself.

  Marco gazed out the rain?splattered window and wondered where the bones were.

  “Mother and I had to develop our own act to sustain us during the war. Then afterwards not many of those brave young clowns made it back. So, we stuck with the animal show all the way into the fifties.”

  Whew. Okay, they still had the animals later…

  She set the photos gently back on the table. “That’s enough circus for now. Come—It’s time for lunch.”

  He rolled his eyes. Shit. Monkey?butt sandwiches.

  A lantern chain creaked sharply overhead. Lemon jumped.

  The air shifted slightly as she turned toward the stone spiral stairs.

  The walls along the staircase were lined with oil portraits in large, gilded frames: regal men with monocles and mustaches, and women adorned in tiaras and pearls.

  Lemon stopped and gasped. “She IS a queen!”

  Marbles tapped Marco on the shoulder and pointed to a small brass plaque beneath one of the portraits. The name read simply: Giggles. Another nearby was titled: Loopy Louise.

  “They’re clowns!” she squealed with surprise.

  It was still raining hard outside. The glass windows in the stairwell were splattered with windblown raindrops that shimmered beneath a chandelier of old railroad lanterns swaying on long chains.

  The Water Witch stood silent, strangely distracted. Marco glanced over just in time to see him lift his hand slowly, as if feeling for something invisible in the air… then pause to smell his fingers.

  The group followed Carly. She told them, “No need to go upstairs. Those are just our bedrooms and way to the bell tower. But we won’t go up there during a storm like this on account of the lightning rod—It works!”

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  “Welcome,” she said, gesturing grandly, “to what I like to call the Dining Room.”

  A round table was set with beautiful antique china and marvelous silverware. In the center, a soup tureen steamed gently. The air was rich with the scent of freshly baked bread. A platter of sliced cheese sat nearby, alongside a bowl of Ritz crackers.

  Olivia stood near the table in her apron, fingers stretched apprehensively over her mouth. After everyone settled into their seats she dashed back into the kitchen.

  “Are you sure that cutie’s doing all right?” asked Old Lady Marbles.

  Carly looked a little embarrassed. “She copes.”

  Ginger’s voice was gentle. “What’s the matter, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Here, Marco, would you please?” Carly handed him a cold, unopened can of Spam. “These old hands don’t work as well as they used to.”

  Marco peeled back the lid and stared uncertainly at the glistening pink cube inside. He handed the can back.

  Carly sighed. “Well... it’s kind of a sad story.”

  Marco froze mid?reach for a cracker, sensing the tone shift.

  Everyone leaned in.

  “My son was still studying oceanography in Santa Barbara and wasn’t around much back then,” Carly began. “Olivia’s stepmother—cruel and selfish—didn’t want anything to do with her. So I promised I would raise her like my own while he finished school.”

  Carly spooned the Spam onto slices of homemade bread, laying out little sandwiches on a plate as she spoke.

  “She was an outgoing and inquisitive little girl. Never any trouble. But one day, Mrs. Neel caught her inside the Golden Rays’ clubhouse. All she was doing was helping in the kitchen. She loves to cook.

  “Olivia made the mistake of standing up for herself. And for that, Mrs. Neel punished her—banished her from Golden Rays for life.

  “We’re surrounded by Golden Rays, and I don’t have a car. Olivia only gets out for school and even then, it’s a long walk or a borrowed ride.

  “She’s been trapped here in Sunshine Castle like a prisoner.”

  Ginger’s hand drifted to her chest.

  Scraping the inside of the can, Carly spooned the last bit of Spam onto the heel of the loaf and placed it gently on her own plate.

  “One day, many years ago,” she continued, “I was way up in the bell tower, polishing the bell, when I saw Olivia on the other side of the Golden Rays wall, walking in the sand dunes.

  “Somehow, she’d managed to sneak out without being seen.”

  Carly offered the Spam sandwiches to Ginger, who politely took the smallest one before passing the plate around.

  Taking a big bite of her sandwich, Carly spoke as she chewed.

  “When she came home that day, she told me the most remarkable story—’bout a boy she met. A strange little boy, living out in the desert. He never went to school, never came into town.

  “We nicknamed him her dune boy, on account of the fact that she was the only one who ever saw him.”

  The plate of sandwiches made its way to Marco. He was hungry, so he picked one up and gave it a cautious sniff.

  “She charmed everyone she met,” Carly said with a faint smile, “with her fantastic stories about her dune boy.”

  Marco had never actually tried Spam before. He stared at the pink glob of meat, uncertain.

  “I suppose she must have craved the attention,” Carly continued, “because her stories got more ridiculous and impossible as time went on. But when she blossomed into a teenager, she just couldn’t let the stories go.”

  Oddly soft, the moist Spam meat glistened in the light. Marco felt reluctant, but took a bite anyway, not wanting to offend.

  Carly explained, “The other kids thought she was too childish. They pushed her away for lying. They wanted to see her dune boy, and when she couldn’t prove he was real, she became a pariah.”

  The sandwich was squishy, and to Marco’s surprise… kind of good.

  “Over the years, I’ve questioned her.” Carly’s tone was weary. “I told her there was no chance a boy could live alone in the sand dunes without food or shelter. I said she was delusional.

  “Oh... but she still insisted he was there. That he came out of the dunes to be with her only when no one else was around.”

  Marco took a few more bites and quickly finished it off.

  Shaking her head, Carly said, “She even told me they were in love, and that one day they hoped to be married.”

  “At first, she seemed happy—regardless of what everyone else thought,” Carly went on.

  “She was satisfied being alone in her make?believe world. Until one day, she came home hysterical. Apparently, her dune boy had disappeared. Gone. Just like that.”

  Marbles, unnoticed, slipped her sandwich onto Marco’s plate.

  “She cried for days. To my son and me, it felt like a relief, a sign of maturity. That maybe she’d finally stop acting like a child with all her ridiculous tall tales.”

  “But we were wrong. Something happened to her that day. Something that’s… stayed.”

  The room went quiet, everyone stunned by the lonesome tale.

  Plink. Plink. Plink.

  The sound of drips landing rapidly in buckets increased the tension.

  Carly let out a long breath as she looked upward, voice softening. “I still find her sometimes, up in the bell tower… just staring out into the desert, with that sad, lonely face of hers.”

  She paused, then lowered her voice to a whisper.

  “Shush. Here she comes.”