in St. Louis and continued working at the same auto shop until he took off again.
On December 15, he was back in Winnemucca, Nevada, but he stayed just one night, at the Overland Hotel. Before leaving the area, he drove out to the desolate spot where he’d left Stefanie Stroh’s body in 1987—reliving hisfond memories of that fatal night. He was back in St. Louis in time to get another traffic ticket on December 29, 1997. That day he left town and Nora never saw the father of her unborn child again.
Sells was not happy when he left St. Louis. Nora would give birth to his progeny in three months’ time. He did not feel equipped or inclined to take care of a wife and a baby. He had hoped his younger brother, Randy, would raise the child. But Randy did not really want any children. He feared, too, that if he took in Tommy’s child, his brother would be hitting him up for cash and favors constantly.
Nina knew that Nora did not have the ability to care for a child on her own, and Tommy was not responsible or stable enough to help. At her age, she did not feel capable of raising any child—not even her own grandchild. With the help of a sister in Jonesboro, Arkansas, she contacted an attorney to arrange for an adoption. He came to her home with a schoolteacher to evaluate Nora and to be certain she did want to give up her baby.
In April 1998, in a hospital in Jonesboro, Nora gave birth to a baby boy by caesarean section. She never saw her child. He was immediately placed with a family in that town, where he lived for the next four years.
Nina was determined not to have to go through this ordeal one more time. “To keep Nora from getting pregnant again, Nina had her get fixed,” Sells said.
Nora returned to St. Louis to live with her mother-in-law. Sells was nowhere near Jonesboro when his son was born. He had pawned his mechanic’s tools in Little Rock, Arkansas, on January 19, 1998, and traveled south.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CARNIVAL season started early every year in South Texas—1998 was not an exception. Sells hooked up with the Heart of America outfit in Aransas Pass. He drove the truck that hauled the Ferris wheel, and also operated the ride. The carnival moved from town to town down Highway 90 as it runs west from San Antonio to the border. On the way, it passed a multitude of small towns like Castro-ville, a community of dramatic hills and valleys founded by immigrants from the Alsace–Lorraine region between Germany and France. Then they rolled through Hondo, a town with an Old West feel and a road sign that read, “Hondo is a little bit of heaven so don’t drive through it like hell.” Farther along they hit Knippa, a tiny town with a welcome sign that reassured all drivers passing through: “You can go ahead and blink. Knippa’s bigger than you think.” The last town they cut through on Route 90 was Uvalde, a quaint county seat with an inviting old-fashioned town square dominated by the no-nonsense architecture of its old courthouse.
After Uvalde, the carnival caravan headed south to La Pryor, then west again before coming to the scruffy border town of Eagle Pass, best known for a history of bizarrely crooked politicians. Across the Rio Grande is Piedras Negras, Mexico. Eagle Pass residents cross this border whenever they want a more elegant night on the town than Pizza Hut can offer. After a two-week stint there, the nomadic troupe moved north to Del Rio, a border town with a bit more polish than its southern neighbor. Del Rio and Ciudad Acunã strut their cultural diversity in unison with joint promotionalmaterials for tourists. Another influence in the shaping of this small city of 34,000 is Laughlin Air Force Base.
THE second week the carnival was in town, on the evening of March 5, 1998, Jessica Levrie brought her children to the bright lights and rides. It was an unusually cool night for March in this part of the country. While the kids rode the Ferris wheel, she stood on the sidelines
On December 15, he was back in Winnemucca, Nevada, but he stayed just one night, at the Overland Hotel. Before leaving the area, he drove out to the desolate spot where he’d left Stefanie Stroh’s body in 1987—reliving hisfond memories of that fatal night. He was back in St. Louis in time to get another traffic ticket on December 29, 1997. That day he left town and Nora never saw the father of her unborn child again.
Sells was not happy when he left St. Louis. Nora would give birth to his progeny in three months’ time. He did not feel equipped or inclined to take care of a wife and a baby. He had hoped his younger brother, Randy, would raise the child. But Randy did not really want any children. He feared, too, that if he took in Tommy’s child, his brother would be hitting him up for cash and favors constantly.
Nina knew that Nora did not have the ability to care for a child on her own, and Tommy was not responsible or stable enough to help. At her age, she did not feel capable of raising any child—not even her own grandchild. With the help of a sister in Jonesboro, Arkansas, she contacted an attorney to arrange for an adoption. He came to her home with a schoolteacher to evaluate Nora and to be certain she did want to give up her baby.
In April 1998, in a hospital in Jonesboro, Nora gave birth to a baby boy by caesarean section. She never saw her child. He was immediately placed with a family in that town, where he lived for the next four years.
Nina was determined not to have to go through this ordeal one more time. “To keep Nora from getting pregnant again, Nina had her get fixed,” Sells said.
Nora returned to St. Louis to live with her mother-in-law. Sells was nowhere near Jonesboro when his son was born. He had pawned his mechanic’s tools in Little Rock, Arkansas, on January 19, 1998, and traveled south.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CARNIVAL season started early every year in South Texas—1998 was not an exception. Sells hooked up with the Heart of America outfit in Aransas Pass. He drove the truck that hauled the Ferris wheel, and also operated the ride. The carnival moved from town to town down Highway 90 as it runs west from San Antonio to the border. On the way, it passed a multitude of small towns like Castro-ville, a community of dramatic hills and valleys founded by immigrants from the Alsace–Lorraine region between Germany and France. Then they rolled through Hondo, a town with an Old West feel and a road sign that read, “Hondo is a little bit of heaven so don’t drive through it like hell.” Farther along they hit Knippa, a tiny town with a welcome sign that reassured all drivers passing through: “You can go ahead and blink. Knippa’s bigger than you think.” The last town they cut through on Route 90 was Uvalde, a quaint county seat with an inviting old-fashioned town square dominated by the no-nonsense architecture of its old courthouse.
After Uvalde, the carnival caravan headed south to La Pryor, then west again before coming to the scruffy border town of Eagle Pass, best known for a history of bizarrely crooked politicians. Across the Rio Grande is Piedras Negras, Mexico. Eagle Pass residents cross this border whenever they want a more elegant night on the town than Pizza Hut can offer. After a two-week stint there, the nomadic troupe moved north to Del Rio, a border town with a bit more polish than its southern neighbor. Del Rio and Ciudad Acunã strut their cultural diversity in unison with joint promotionalmaterials for tourists. Another influence in the shaping of this small city of 34,000 is Laughlin Air Force Base.
THE second week the carnival was in town, on the evening of March 5, 1998, Jessica Levrie brought her children to the bright lights and rides. It was an unusually cool night for March in this part of the country. While the kids rode the Ferris wheel, she stood on the sidelines
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