To Dry the Tears of a Clown

By Catharina Shields

For two weeks, and as a favor to close friends, clown-for-hire and child-friend, Chloe van Doren, reluctantly agrees to masquerade as a child psychiatrist. She's asked to visit and cheer up a sad little rich girl, Jeanie Larraby, who had recently lost her mother.

When she meets and instantly falls for Jeanie's father, Ethan Larraby, a man with "a face Michelangelo would kill to sculpt," she learns of his past, and things get painfully complicated.

What only her closest friends, Cynthia and Clara, know is, behind Chloe's bubbly smiles and clown's make-up, she hides a traumatic and terrifying past...a past that's triggered when she discovers who Jeanie's late mother is...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catharina Shields
• Release date: Aug 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311583666

Catharina Shields

{PLEASE SCROLL DOWN FOR THE LIST OF MY AVAILABLE E-BOOKS} I've always enjoyed storytelling, ever since I was a child. My love for storytelling has evolved from hand-drawn comic strips, to creating hand-puppets - "Meemies and Fluffies" - for my younger brother and sisters' morning puppet show, to writing stories in longhand in spirals armed with only a Penmate pen while battling a stiff hand and dreaming of a day when I'd finally own a typewriter. Today, in my peaceful Southern California home near the mountains, I can't go a day without my computer and I now enjoy storytelling via my e-books, specializing in mystery, drama, Young Adult and paranormal romance. If you've read one of my books and like them, please leave a review, good or bad, and add me as a favorite author {a single click on a button to your left is all it takes}. Remember . . . reviews are tips for Authors.

Book preview

Foreword & Dedications

First and foremost, people always say that writers must write what they know. Although this book is purely fiction, it is inspired by my own personal experiences with those I’ve known, and continue to know, throughout my personal life.

I dedicate this book to my beautiful daughter, Megan. Without your undying support and relentless perseverance it would have forever remained in my private library of stories.

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Special Acknowledgement

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Many thanks to D. Devereaux for helping me with The Concept of Positive Thinking & Joy.

It helped me create the plausible explanation for my heroine’s ever-happy disposition throughout this story. Your help was invaluable, and I can’t thank you enough.

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Contents

Chapter One: Send in a Clown

Chapter Two: Chloe the Entertainer

Chapter Three: Blast from the Past

Chapter Four: A Circus of Events

Chapter Five: Uncomfortable Situations

Chapter Six: Eventually, Everybody Loves a Clown

Chapter Seven: A Date with Fate and a Clown

Chapter Eight: Not a Happy Clown

Chapter Nine: To Catch a Clown

Chapter Ten: Trick, Tricky, Tricked!

Chapter Eleven: Dark Delusions

Chapter Twelve: VanDark

Chapter Thirteen: A New Quest

Chapter Fourteen: To Catch a Clown

Chapter Fifteen: Caught Clown

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About the Author

Connecting with Catharina Shields

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Chapter 1

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Send In a Clown

Cynthia paused her pacing to look at the raven-haired young woman sitting on her sofa. That young woman’s colorful and unconventional outfit was clashing horribly with her pink and gold interior. She nearly winced as painful as it was to look at, but she was able to catch herself on time. She needed her flamboyant friend’s help, so she hid her discomfort and smiled.

Thanks so much for coming, Chloe. It wasn’t easy tracking you down, but I’m happy you got the message.

No prob, Doctor Cyn.

She gave Chloe a mocking look and got a bright smile in return. Still, even the brightest smile her pretty friend could muster—and would easily bedazzle anyone bearing witness to one—couldn’t drown out her worry about this meeting.

Cynthia Radford, doctor of Pediatric Psychiatry, had called this meeting at her home because she believed it was a less sterile environment than her office. She was desperately in need of the help from the one person who had already rejected her request before. She hoped today, though, she could change her mind. It was vitally important she did.

Usually a very calm, cool, and composed person by nature, she was anything but at that moment. She was pacing in obvious state of distress, wringing her slender hands while trying to find the right words and demeanor to see this difficult task through. Although the setting was casual and less intimidating for the one who had agreed to come see her—and who was flighty as heck!—she suddenly realized she was the anxious and nervous one.

A week after she had initially rejected her offer, the eclectically dressed young Chloe van Doren was now parked on her dusty-rose sofa. She didn’t look a day over eighteen, if that, and with big and rare colored eyes moving side to side, she was following her anxious pacing as if she were watching a tennis match.

Well, it was now or never!

Okay, Chloe, she finally began, Here’s the deal. I’m really in a bind and it’s really stressing me out. I just don’t know what to do anymore! she cried as dramatically as possible, realizing she didn’t need to act. Much.

Stressed? Really? You don’t say, Chloe drawled. For her part, she had a pretty good idea why her friend was stressed and why she was asked to come see her. She was just waiting for Doctor Cyn to spill the beans.

Sitting in Cynthia’s posh apartment and, as always, dressed in an outrageously colorful ensemble, her exasperation was replaced with fascination for her doctor friend’s anxious behavior. She watched her ordinarily composed friend pace while she calmly sat with her arms crossed and eyebrow arched. After her initial outcry, doctor Cyn paced a little more before she finally stopped and turned to face her.

Cynthia was ready to launch into her sales pitch…but then she got distracted. Again.

She found herself studying the playful childhood freckles dotting Chloe’s pert nose and cheeks. They, along with her pretty heart-shaped face, gave her a youthful look, hiding her true age successfully. Her choice of daily attire wasn’t helping to disabuse that, either.

Chloe had an odd penchant for the brightest and zaniest clothing anyone has ever seen. She’d often wondered where her friend bought her clothing since she had yet to find a boutique that carried that eclectic style—the style that was clashing horribly with her perfect pink interior of the apartment she rarely used but what she kept for appearance purposes—and for meetings with an elusive Chloe van Doren.

Today, being faithful to her perpetual partiality of choosing the loudest colors for her outfits, Chloe sat in a rough knit bright red sweater and extra-relaxed blue jeans. Her long raven-black curls were set in her usual twin braids down her front, and her big blue-green amber-specked eyes looked curiously back from long sooty lashes. The whole Chloe package made her appear… clownesque. She concluded that that’s exactly the affect her young friend was after since, well, she a professional clown.

For her part, Chloe had gone from exasperation to curious to astonishment by Cyn’s prolonged anxious behavior. It was wholly out of character for her well-trained, ever focused child psychiatrist friend. In their close sisterhood trio of best friends, Cynthia was the calm, cool, and collected one; Clara the most serious of the three; and Chloe, the FEPO and clown. FEPO, consequently, was the acronym for for entertainment purposes only and that description fit her to a t. Now, she believed, Cynthia was upsetting the balance with her nervous behavior. This was not a good omen.

Can you help me Chloe, please? Cynthia finally pled, her perfectly made up blue eyes looking desperate.

But of course! Name it!

Will you please reconsider your earlier decision?

Silence.

Uh...you’re kidding right? Chloe popped eyebrows. "Reconsider? There’s nothing to reconsider, Cyn! I thought I’d already explained to you that magic’s just an illusion and that’s all I do. Magic. You know, sleight of hand, attention diversion... really skilled, fancy finger-work? She narrowed eyes. I don’t see how I can make that any clearer. I mean, if I could help you out, Cyn, you know I would, but this, she sighed as she shook her head, what you’re askin’ of me is just too delicate for me to mess up."

It’ll only be for two weeks, three weeks tops, Cynthia reasoned desperately. I wouldn’t ask you to take Clara’s place were it not a dire situation. I mean, you don’t say no to a Larraby and I’ve already postponed the appointment to meet the child for nearly a month now. Just the other day I received a very upset phone call from none other than Ethan Larraby himself—

"—Ethan? Eeeethan?? Cheeze-wizz, Cynthia! People only give a stuffy name like that to kids they don’t like. This guy must be as stuck up as his name suggests. Chloe threw up her hands and looked up to the ceiling. Tell me this is a sign? The omen I’m lookin’ for... and then tell Cynthia, please? she whined. If not, then be merciful and strike me down where I sit so I don’t have to listen to her nagging anymore?"

Be serious and pay attention Chloe, will you?

Chloe looked wryly at her, dropping her hands in her lap.

At any rate, Ethan Larraby’s not the person who’s reserved psychological evaluation for Jeanie. Richard Larraby is. He’s also the one who’s reserved private in-home sessions for his granddaughter.

Jeanie huh? Chloe thought that was a fun name.

Jeanette, actually, but she’s fondly referred to as Jeanie.

Yeah. I like Jeanie better than Jeanette, Chloe said with a nod. More spunk. And I’ve always liked that old Barbara Eden teevee series, ‘I Dream of Jeannie’. And then I like that campy song, and she promptly began singing, "I dream of Jeannie with the light brown—"

—Chloe?

Hm?

Pay attention.

Oh. Right. Okay, she said nodding and shaking her head interchangeably.

Cynthia looked briefly doubtful, but then she looked hopeful before she quickly seated herself across her. Chloe looked wary, but she knew it made it damned hard for her colorful friend to refuse her anything once she put up that desperate look.

So will you do it? Will you fill in for Clara for two weeks? Three weeks tops? Cynthia asked pleadingly.

Chloe looked flabbergasted. Let me get this straight, she began, you want me to go to the Larraby Estate and offer private psychological help to a traumatized five-year-old who’s lost her mother just over a year ago? She blinked big eyes. "Cyn? Be reasonable! If I had Clara’s creds, maybe, but come on!"

Did I mention it pays one thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars a week?

Cynthia, are you—pardon the pun—CRAZY?! Chloe shot to her feet in ridiculously large blue snow boots, throwing arms widely. "What on God’s greenest Earth gave you the idea to call ME to take Clara’s place for three weeks? I’m not even a psychologist, let alone a psychiatrist for heaven’s sake! I’m a professional clown."

It’s only for a few short weeks, Chloe! Cynthia shot to her feet in desperation. In the initial first two weeks, all you have to do is try to win the child’s trust. Try to see where her strengths and weaknesses are. Try to win her over enough to allow her to be receptive to help. All in a loose, playful kind of way, of course. Besides, everyone knows that when it comes to pulling children out of their shell, no one’s better at it than Clucky the Clown.

"Shy children, Cynthia, not mentally traumatized children! For all you know I could be doing her more harm than good and really screw up the poor little thing, maybe for the rest of her life. I don’t know if I can handle that. I don’t know squat about... psychi... analysis... stuff like that, let alone with kids!" Chloe was desperate to have her friend see reason. It didn’t look as if she was being anywhere near successful.

All you have to do is befriend the child. Talk to her. Play with her. You’re good at that. I mean, if I had half the talent you do my work would be so much easier. Please, Chloe. I’m really in a bind. I’d do it myself if I didn’t have to go to Hawaii to check up on Rachael Weil.

Chloe looked wryly with lidded eyes. Riiight, she drawled, and the fact that her father is the champion surf GOD of the west and hotter than Hades has nothing to do with that trip to Hawaii, huh?

Cynthia blushed a little. I won’t deny he’s good looking—

—Good. Chloe nodded confidently. Because everyone with a pulse knows he is.

But no. Wayne being gorgeous has got nothing to do with my work with his daughter. I’m really breaking through with Rachael and she’s making progress by leaps and bounds. It’s crucial she continues with her sessions without delay.

Uh-huh. Chloe pressed tongue in cheek, eyes limp. Wayne? What happened to Mr. Okura?

She got a glower from her friend, but Chloe answered with a big fat teasing grin before she launched into a schoolyard teasing song, bopping her head. "I think she likes him. I think she wants him. Cuz he’s a Sun God. He’s got a hot bod—"

"—Anyway... Cynthia looked tersely at her impishly grinning friend, did I mention it pays one thousand seven hundred and fifty—"

—Yeah you did.

Think about it, Cynthia continued, "ONE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED FIFTY real dollars a week, plus expenses. You don’t even make that in a month, Chloe."

You know, Cyn? As much as I wanna help, and as much as I’m hurtin’ for money, I really don’t think this is a good idea—

—Wait! Cynthia had no choice. She had to pull out the big guns; her ace. She shot out of her seat and went to a roll top desk and took out a manila file and something out of that before she slipped the file back and returned with a small photograph of the girl. Before you give me your answer—

"—I thought I already had—twice."

Have a look first. Here, Cynthia said as she handed her reluctant friend the photo.

"Oh no, no, NO, Cynthia! That’s not fair!" Chloe cried as she shook her head with palms out at a persistent Doctor Cyn.

Just look at those beautiful, big but sad baby-blues, Chloe. She looks like an angel, doesn’t she? But angels aren’t supposed to look sad. She misses her mother so much and she’s in such pain. She really needs someone to teach her how to smile again, someone who can make her laugh again. She’s suffering inside and who better than the greatest clown in whole of Boston to help her leave that sad place behind?

Cynthia smiled with those goddamn blue, puppy-dog eyes for extra effect.

Chloe narrowed eyes on her friend. "Only in the whole of Boston? she asked before her freckle-face burst brightly with tease as she gave a toothy grin, trying to veer the conversation elsewhere. I’d think at least the western hemisphere."

Didn’t work.

Look at that little sad face. Cynthia pouted as she held the photo in front of her friend whose grin was fading.

It was a school portrait of a pretty little girl with smooth golden locks down an angelic face with big, hauntingly sad baby-blue eyes.

Chloe sighed and pressed lips for a moment. She was stuck between a rock and a Cynthia Radford. Good money would be on Cynthia. Then again, she was struggling with her finances that expensive month of January right after Christmas, and she still had a payment to make on her brand-spanking new, hot pink, tiny car.

It was getting real boring eating macaroni and cheese every night. The only upside was, she’d learned over twenty different ways to make a good mac & cheese dinner…occasional snack…breakfast.

Fine! Chloe finally conceded. We’re all going to get sued to the next of never when they find out what a sham I am. I see jail time a-comin’ my way. She snatched the photo from her friend’s perfectly manicured fingers.

Cynthia smiled happily.

But all I’m going to do is befriend her. Nothing. Else. Then she tapped the small photograph to her chin as she rolled eyes up in thought. Maybe they’ll give me leniency? Or I can get an insanity defense! Yeah...most people think I’m insane anyway. Being a professional clown at my age kind of tells ya I could be one can short of a six pack—

—Chloe?

"Hm?’

Pay attention, please, because there’s more.

Chloe saw her friend look uncomfortable again, and seeing this, she got wary again. More? What do you mean there’s more? She narrowed suspicious eyes.

Uh...this, uh, more is... Cynthia cleared her throat, you have to go as Clara.

Silence.

"Excuse me?!" Chloe cried, seeing her insanity defense grow wings and fly right out the door.

Well, see, it’s Ethan Larraby, Cynthia rushed to explain. He’s a stickler for references and he insisted that if I couldn’t go I’d send my fellow psychiatrist instead, and that’s Clara. He didn’t...uh...want me to send in an assistant.

Bachelors in Pediatric Psychiatry Clara Jones, you mean? Chloe rose eyebrows, emphasizing Clara’s credentials—credentials she didn’t have.

It’s okay. I mean, you and Clara look the same age, height, and almost have the same voice—

"—Different education Cynthia! Chloe cried with palms up off her shoulders. Then she frowned as she dropped hands to her sides. Wait. Same voice? Then her eyes went round in shock. He’s already spoken to Clara? He knows her voice?? Her jaw briefly dropped. Cheez-wizz, Cynthia! He’s already heard her voice!"

It was only a couple of calls and you know how the telephone can change your voice. He won’t know the difference.

Or so you hope! Then Chloe shook her head and made to hand back the photo. No. I—

—Think of the little girl, Chloe, Cynthia keenly injected. You can’t abandon her, can you? She needs to smile. She needs someone to help her learn how to smile again. Just think what a dark scary place she’s been trapped in since her mother passed away. You’ll be like a ray of sunshine in her life.

Chloe sighed as she looked down at the photograph. She thumped the heel of her hand against her forehead. Why did I have to look at the photograph... she groaned.

That was when Cynthia knew she won over her reluctant but always kind-hearted, professional clown friend. You’re a great friend to us and to all the children in the western hemisphere—in all of the world, Chloe. Honest. Cynthia smiled and watched Chloe make a face in return. She laughed as she turned to get the file on the little girl and after returning with it, stopped when she noticed Chloe’s sparkling and coy eyes.

What?

When you say expenses... she cleared her throat, um... does that include this month’s car payment? she asked oh, so innocently and Cynthia sighed as she handed her the file.

Send me the bill. she conceded, and back was Chloe’s big bright smile!

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Chloe drove according to MapQuest directions, but she was already frowning in doubt. She glanced suspiciously down at the crumpled piece of paper on the passenger’s seat among some crumbs and empty cookie wrappers as she carefully drove her brand-new hot pink little car up winding, snow-cleared roads in one of Boston’s prestigious neighborhoods. She was wondering if she’d taken a wrong turn somewhere.

This couldn’t be the neighborhood, could it?

From under her bright rainbow colored wool cap, her big blue-green eyes blinked in utter surprise at the many mansions dotting the landscape. Mansions, one bigger than the other, loomed in the distance behind tall brick walls surrounded by wrought iron security gates. At that moment she was feeling less and less confident about this two week stunt—translate: SHAM—than she had been when she left her small studio apartment in the city earlier that morning.

She finally saw the numbers 4450 in stone on a brick post in front of wrought iron gates. They were left open for her, she surmised. No. She didn’t make a mistake. This had to be the neighborhood she was supposed to be.

She sighed, but steered her Mini up onto the long winding drive, heading toward the huge brick mansion. It stood prominently atop a hill surrounded by snow covered trees and bushes. She was certain this property had stables, a tennis court, and other unnecessary decadent luxuries—perhaps even a courtyard if those four pointy arches were any indication.

Like a fish out of water, she muttered.

She drove up to the front of the big brick house and parked her Mini before she took up the file. Surprised and staring in utmost shock at how huge that mansion was up-close, she slowly got out of her hot pink car. One thing was certain: this place reeked of old money—lots of old money.

Wow, she gushed in awe. It’s even got gargoyles. She was simply stupefied, and in that transfixed state, she was also totally unaware of her surroundings as a pair of narrowed blue eyes watched her from a distance behind her.

The owner of those blue eyes observed the strange creature standing beside her tiny hot pink car seemingly fascinated by the exterior of his home. She was wearing a long bright red overcoat and an even brighter rainbow shawl wrapped around her neck with a matching wool cap on her head. She seemed mesmerized, standing there as motionless as a bright red statue in mid-January snow.

There was no missing this one in the snowy white backdrop.

As he neared, he noticed she had long black hair set in two braids down her front, secured with equally colorful hair elastics around curly ends. Everything about her breathed crazy and teenage prankster. Was she there on a dare perhaps? Apparently Isaac, the head groundsman, had forgotten to shut the gates again.

Can I help you?

AH! she cried out, and promptly dropped the file she held. It landed by her bright blue snow boots. Now look what you’ve made me do!

Excuse me?

"Oh, diggity!" she said in dismay and quickly bent and snatched up the file. After having retrieved it, she sprang up straight like a colorful jack-in-a-box—and promptly bumped her head on the car frame, briefly seeing stars.

His full lips twitched when he saw this play out, but he restored his stoic look as he watched as she began rubbing her colorfully capped head and winced. She was still standing with her back to him, probably trying to gather some courage to face him after her embarrassing move.

He was wrong, though. She wasn’t stealing time in order to gather courage to face him. She was genuinely dazed by that hit on the head. She winced twice and blinked her long eyelashes to hopefully and quickly clear her suddenly dizzy head as a brief look of pain flashed across her freckled features. Then it slowly dawned on her that she wasn’t alone anymore, and she turned with braid-tips dusted with snow, to face the owner of the voice who had startled her.

Oops! she said with a chuckle that had a bit of a snort.

But then her laughter abruptly stopped.

She blinked big eyes when she found herself staring straight at a white knit sweater peeking through unzipped folds of fine black leather. Her gaze slowly rose, going up... and up... and... up... and just when she thought she’d never get to the face of the man in front of her, her eyes widened and her jaw dropped when she looked upon the most beautiful male face—complete with chin dimple!—that she’s ever seen in her entire life.

Again, can I help you? This beautiful male face repeated with a sensual, deep voice. Deep-set blue eyes peered at her from under a prominent brow and through long dark eyelashes in a face Michelangelo would kill to sculpt.

Suddenly those same blue eyes went totally cool. I’m flattered. Really, he drawled, his words belying his cool expression.

Wh-What? she asked stupidly.

Now he looked unfriendly. But as flattered as I am that Michelangelo would kill to sculpt my face, I’d rather know who you are and what you’re doing here on my property.

She went promptly neon-red in the face. I...uh...I thought out loud again, didn’t I?

He frowned when he realized she was sheepishly smiling. Sheeplishly! Not embarrassed or cutesy or even in feigned shyness but sheepishly. Strange. She also had a nice voice, he thought to himself. A soft voice that was very pleasant to the ear. And contrary to his earlier assessment, she wasn’t a wayward teen. She looked at least twenty. This eased his irritation a little…but only a little.

When this Michelangelo-worthy hunk remained silent and merely continued to look cool down at her, she decided to make the first move. Clearing her throat, she promptly tugged off one of her colorful gloves before sticking out her hand to him in greeting.

Hi, she said. This bumbling idiot addressing you is Chl-Chl, er, Clara Jones. She rolled up big eyes in thought for a brief moment. Then she smiled brightly. "Doctor Clara Jones."

And so it began…

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Chapter 2

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Chloe the Entertainer

He popped an arrogant eyebrow, one that was consequently darker than the blond hair on his head. He ran his critical gaze down then up her bright and colorful length before he raised his gaze and looked straight and unwavering at her freckled elfin face that was blotched bright red, embedded with