Big Top Treachery

by CeeCee James

  But there was no calliope music. Oh, this was bad. In the far corner, hidden in the dark, was the Ringmaster. His face was lined with an ugly frown. Honestly, if I were Bernie, I’d be afraid to come back. I’d heard tales of the Ringmaster horsewhipping some thieves who worked for the circus, and he looked like he was capable of that act now.

  My nerves were shot and I caught myself picking at my cuticles. I had to admit, I was worried. Bernie was an older guy, and big, like I said earlier. There were times that I’d seen him get out of breath when he walked from the chow tent to his cabin. Another time, I’d watched him stop and dig his fingers into his neck to feel his pulse.

  What if something had happened to him? Like a heart attack or even a stroke? Time was of essence! HopJack had said he’d gone toward the admission tent, but I remember Carl saying Bernie had gone to the loo. There was a portable bathroom out there at the admission tent as well. I don’t understand why Bernie would have gone to that one, but anything was possible.

  The drum did its double beat. I could tell that the magician was about half-way through his show. Next up would be the clown and dog parade. Then I would be up. I had about fifteen more minutes.

  I picked my cuticle some more as I considered my options. Another quick glance at Bill showed his jaw jumping under the skin like he was ferociously chewing on the inside of his cheek. He still hadn’t seen me, and I wanted to keep it that way.

  I finally decided. I’d just sneak out, not hard for someone my size to do, and run down to that bathroom at the admissions tent that Bernie might have visited.

  The decision set my feet into motion. I slipped back outside through the heavy canvas flap and hurried along the path toward the parking lot.

  I never had a reason to go in this direction. As I drew closer, the odor of car exhaust rose from the paved parking area, brought in by the evening humidity. I was amazed at how every state had its own scent, and this one was no different. For instance, just this morning I caught a distinctive salty whiff of the ocean that had been carried in through the night winds to settle as dew.

  There were still a few customers meandering through admissions—a frantic mom dragging her kids while hissing they were late, and a drunk couple laughing with their arms around one another. There was a third person. But the man had turned around and was walking back toward the parking lot. I wondered if he’d forgotten something in his car.

  I went up to the bathrooms, two porta-potties, one extra large to accommodate those with disabilities. The first had the green vacant sign, but I still knocked on the door before opening it.

  It was empty inside.

  I wrinkled my nose at the disgusting smell and then tried the second porta-potty’s door which also said it was vacant. It was empty, too.

  A pop can rolled out just before the plastic door clapped shut. I gingerly picked it up and carried it to the string of trash cans behind the bathrooms.

  Something made me stop dead in my tracks. The garbage cans were overflowing with paper and food, but that’s not what made me freeze.

  It was the sight of a shoe poking out from behind the cans. A shoe very firmly attached to a foot.

  Please, oh, please. Oh, please. I stared at it hard, drawn as if by a magnetic charge.

  Hurry! Maybe it’s not too late.

  The thought caused me to spring around the trash can…where I saw it was very much too late. A large sword stuck straight out of Bernie’s chest.

  I shoved my fist into my mouth, choking out the scream. It just wasn’t my nature to make noise, even if I needed help. My nature was to hide, to be quiet. I spun about to see if there was anyone around. Seeing no one, I ran over to the admissions tent.

  Granny Matilda was working. Her mouth dropped, almost losing her dentures, when she saw my face.

  “Trixie! What on earth is the matter? Where’s the emergency?”

  “Call— call,” I gasped, heart pounding.

  “Call who, hun? What’s the matter?”

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. I just had to get the words out. “Call someone. Anyone. I just found Bernie. He’s behind the trash cans.”

  She tipped her head back to squint through her glasses that had slipped to the end of her nose. “Found him? Is he okay?”

  The vision of the sword choked out my words. I couldn’t answer, instead rapidly shaking my head.

  “Oh, dear.” She pursed her lips together before picking up her walkie-talkie. She clicked it and called out, “Trixie’s here. She says she’s found Bernie. Behind the trash cans. She says he’s not okay.” She let go of the mic. “You’re certain about this, hun?”

  I nodded, my eyes wide.

  “How not okay is he?” she asked.

  I shivered. “He’s dead,” I whispered. My hand felt dirty, and I wiped it against my swim suit.

  She sucked hard as if she realized she’d almost lost her denture plate. “Come quick,” she rattled into the mic.

  “On our way,” a man answered back. She set down the walkie-talkie, her lips pursed as she stared toward the porta-potties.

  “Who’s coming?” I asked.

  She rattled off the names of a few of our security who also helped set up tents. Then she added, “Why don’t you go out there and guard the… guard Bernie.”

  “I don’t think so.” I shook my head and crossed my arms. I felt more vulnerable than I ever had, and standing there in my skimpy costume wasn’t helping.

  “Well, honey. Someone has to watch.” She pushed her glasses up and gave me the same expression that my grandma used to give when she was trying to get me to brush my teeth.

  “What for?”

  “We need to make sure that no little kids find him first.”

  I shook my head even harder, my hand flying up in protest. “There’s no way. I’m sorry, but we’ll have to take that chance.”

  She raised her thin brows like I’d surprised her. I guess she’d never seen this side of me, the part that actually said no to something.

  “And anyway, I don’t know who did it,” I said. “They could still be out there.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that. It was probably Holly.”

  Holly? Holly who?

  Chapter 4

  Two of the circus’s security team came straight away, soon joined by the rest of the construction crew. They found Bernie and stood guarding over him. The crowd around Bernie grew more prominent as the clowns that weren’t in the show arrived, and finally the magician. I waited on the outskirts, happy to be shoved aside.

  Unfortunately, an unexpected group of people mingled through the crowd as well—the police. Everyone at the Concello circus knew that circus business stayed circus business—no outsiders allowed. Yet, here they were. No one knew who called them, but I saw the Ringmaster fuming as he strode across the lot to the admissions tent, where two policemen waited for him.

  The construction crew had the area around the trash bins tented off. That was one thing with having a portable show; there was always extra canvas to use.

  I had missed my act and wondered how they covered for me. As the show ended, more performers came out. They didn’t congregate around the body, instead they stood in a long line, like a screen, waving goodbye to the customers and escorting them out. I caught a few curious glances, although no one asked what was going on. For the most part, the parents were tired and the kids cranky. People were more than ready to get in their cars and go home to waiting soft beds.

  Sally wove through the crowd, her eyes lighting up when she spotted me. She hurried over and gripped my arm, her face tight with worry.

  “How are you?” she asked, studying my face.

  I appreciated that she even cared. “I’m okay.”

  She lit a cigarette and cast an anxious glance behind the trash cans. The stretcher was on its way over to there, being pushed by two paramedics at a leisurely pace.

  “They’re in no rush,” I noted.

  “No reason to hurry. The
sword in Bernie’s chest kind of ended any need for that,” she said grimly.

  I glanced up at her. The weapon had to make her nervous. “Did you recognize the sword?”

  She exhaled a stream of smoke and shook her head. But the worried line between her eyebrows didn’t fade.

  “Miss Trixie!” Stanley called out, on his tiptoes to look over the crowd. He spun around, searching for me. He was one of the clowns, my friend, and the only one who called me Miss anything.

  “Over here!” I yelled back.

  His purple triangle eyebrows jumped when he saw me. A fat gloved hand waved in the air. “Come here! They want to talk with you.”

  They? I glanced at Sally. A cold flush drained down my spine.

  She nodded her head encouragingly. “Go on. It’ll be all right.”

  I swallowed hard. The feeling of wanting to hide gripped me so strongly I actually glanced behind me to see if there was a way out.

  “Miss Trixie! Hurry up!” Stanley yelled.

  I whimpered. There was no escaping this. Tugging my cardigan a little tighter around my skimpy bathing suit, I walked over in his direction.

  Behind the clown was a policeman. The officer’s shirt was drawn tight across his chest in the boxy stiff way that suggested a bullet-proof vest. His mouth drooped in a bored way as he watched me walk over, making him look surly and suspicious.

  I quickly gained he was feeling the last when the first words out of his mouth were, “You planning on telling me the truth? Because I know about you riffraff.”

  “Sir?” I asked. Then I flushed, frustrated that I hadn’t responded more defensively. My first reaction was always to please a person, and make sure they weren’t angry with me. I looked to Stanley for help.

  The clown came right to my defense. “Hey, now. There’s no need for that. Trixie’s a good girl. Of course, she’ll be honest.” He rested his gloved hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

  “You can keep your trap shut,” the officer warned Stanley, scowling.

  “What’s this?” Stanley said. I was nudged aside as he took a step forward.

  “You coming at me?” the officer said.

  “No, I’m not coming at you. What, are you afraid of a clown?”

  “You’re a clown alright. You’re about to be one behind bars.”

  Despite his face paint, Stanley’s anger was terrifying. I tugged at his colorful sleeve to remind him I was there.

  The two men stared at each other.

  “Stanley,” I whispered urgently.

  Finally, he took a step back and glanced down at me.

  “I’m okay, I promise.” I said to reassure him. And then I faced the officer. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  Just then, I caught a glimpse of the Ringmaster. My last words must have caught his attention, and his icy-blue eyes burned in my direction. Inside, I shivered, feeling like I was caught between two lions. The Ringmaster would be listening to every word I said.

  “Exactly what time did you find the body?” the officer asked as he pulled out a pad of paper with its hooked-on pen.

  I told him in detail how I’d found Bernie, repeating the same story I’d already shared what felt like fifty times already.

  “And no one was around?” the officer asked, his eyes narrowing.

  I shook my head. “No one I recognized. There was a man who was leaving.”

  “Did you recognize him?”

  I shook my head again. “No. He was just some customer. I thought he forgot something out at his car.”

  “And there was no one else besides him?”

  I thought hard. “There was a mom with two kids and another couple. The couple had been drinking and had a hard time walking. They all were late and were heading for the big top so they wouldn’t miss the show.”

  “No one you’d seen before,” he asked again.

  I shook my head. The wind was cold and bit my skin. I folded my arms to try and keep warm.

  “Yes or no?” he asked. “Say it verbally.”

  “No,” I said, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.

  “You sure?” He gave me a doubtful look.

  “Dude, she’s said it about as plain as you can,” Stanley exclaimed.

  “I’m not talking to you. Didn’t I tell you to back off? Go over there.” The officer pointed with his pen to an empty area on the dirt path.

  Stanley snorted and didn’t budge.

  I was terrified my friend was about to get arrested. “Go,” I said, lightly pushing him. It felt like pushing a grizzly bear. “I’ll be all right. I promise.”

  Stanley glanced at the ground and spat, but he meandered over to where the officer pointed.

  “Now, where were we?” the officer asked with a heavy sigh.

  I wasn’t about to volunteer and waited to see what he’d say. I could wait all day. I was used to being quiet.

  The Ringmaster slowly walked over. His shoes were black and shiny despite the dusty path. He stood next to me and leaned on his cane. A cane he didn’t need by the way, a sole prop that appeared it could be used as a weapon at any moment. Especially the way he held it in his hand. His muscles tensed underneath his tuxedo jacket. He might be older, but he was built.

  “Officer,” he drawled out in a deep voice. His icy stare caught the cop’s. “Has our little Trixie helped you enough, already?”

  The officer returned the stare. I took a step back. I couldn’t help myself.

  “Yeah, that will be all,” the officer said, finally.

  I breathed a sigh of relief and turned to go.

  A hand clapped hard on my shoulder, and the officer turned me back. “For now,” he warned.

  Chapter 5

  They took Bernie away and slowly we all dispersed. I wandered back to my cabin but it was cold and empty. I hated it. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I wanted to be around people.

  And the chow tent was definitely the place to find them. But there was no peace that I craved here. Nervous faces darted worried looks to one another. No one was immune. Not the stunt drivers, the aerialists, or the tumblers and clowns. Bernie’s murder shook all of us to our core. We each were asking the same thing. Who on earth could have done it? Bernie was a big guy, not easily overpowered. What could have made him leave his position at the calliope when he knew the show was about to start?

  The gossip burned through our troupe like a wildfire across a drought-affected plain. Everyone was desperate to come up with a reason why. Some said it was a townie, some said it was the brothers, who were part of a loan company that was in every state.

  I even heard whispers of a gambling debt. Then there was a strange rumor about a spurned lover. In fact, I heard the name Holly, over and over. I needed to get to the bottom of who she was.

  I accepted my mug of hot chocolate from the chow attendant and carried it over to a table. As I sipped—letting the sweet chocolatiness roll over my tongue—I tried to imagine Bernie with a lover. He was so big, with a forehead that jutted a tad too far over his deep-set eyes. But who was I to call someone strange looking? I remember once asking Grandma if I’d ever find someone. She’d snorted and said there was always a worm for every hook.

  Considering how Bernie looked, I guess that was the case.

  Still, that meant some poor girl was the murderer. I couldn’t help but think poor girl, when I thought of someone with Bernie. Not to mention, it seemed so unlikely that a woman would have been able to have the strength to do it with a sword.

  Besides, what poor girl (see, I said it again) would be hauling around a sword, for crying out loud, to shish-ka-bob our calliope player?

  Things were quieting down as everyone headed back to their cabins for bed. I left my mug in the dirty dish tub and found my way to the stables. The warm heat of the animals and aroma of the hay comforted me. I grabbed an apple from the basket at the door and polished it against my sweater.

  A whicker welcomed me. Prancer must have heard me come in.
He peeked out of his stall and was watching, his ears pointed in my direction.

  “Hi, sweetie,” I said. I opened his door. Carefully, he stepped to the side to let me in.

  He was a beautiful boy, and I swear he knew when I needed him. I leaned against his flank and shut my eyes. Breathing in deeply, I let the sounds of the horses moving in their stalls—soft sounds of breathing, shifting in the straw, and chuffs of air—comfort me.

  Prancer was such a good boy. I moved away and took a bite from the apple. The tart juice burst in my mouth. Prancer huffed. I bit off another piece and dropped it in my hand and then offered it to him.

  His lips nudged it for a moment before gently taking it. Prickly whiskers tickled my palm. I scratched his chin and stroked his warm neck.

  “You’re the best boy ever, aren’t you?” I whispered.

  “Why, thank you!” a voice answered me back.

  To say I jumped would have been an understatement. I nearly flew in the air as I spun around. Peering over the stall door was Jerry, grinning at me.

  Jerry’s brown hair always looked like it needed a trim and it hung in his eyes now. I was surprised to see him here, rather than at the dog kennel. Those dogs adored him. Likewise, Prancer was nudging me aside to say hi to Jerry.

  “Fickle, aren’t you,” I scolded my horse in a teasing voice. And then, “Hi, Jerry. Don’t be sneaking up on me like that, again. How are you?”

  “Aw sorry. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Anyway, I’m okay. But, more importantly, how are you?”

  “I’m okay.” The lie came easily to my lips. In my life, I’d learned to always be okay. Most people don’t want to hear about your problems, and those that do, all to often, would use them against you.

  Jerry snorted. “I’m not stupid you know. I do work with dogs. That should clearly demonstrate my incredible intelligence right there.”

  I smiled, my hand running down Prancer’s side. “How so?”