Killing at the Carnival

by L. A. Nisula

I waited until Davy and I were near the ticket booth by the show tents, but then I couldn’t put it off any longer. “Davy, I have to talk to you about Cowboy Nick.”

  “You were talking to that inspector, weren’t you? You and Art?”

  “That’s right, I was. And he has some very compelling evidence against Mr. Culpepper.”

  “He didn’t do it.”

  “Davy, I know you don’t want to believe it, but—”

  “But he didn’t do it.”

  I tried another tactic. “I know you don’t want to believe that a cowboy could do something like that, but he isn’t a real cowboy, just an actor.”

  “I know that. And Redbird isn’t a real Indian. But he still didn’t do it.”

  I pulled out the money for his ticket, four pence instead of two and halfpence since I hadn’t used the ticket machine out front. “Why are you so sure?”

  “You heard him scream, right?”

  “Now Davy, we all like to think—”

  “No, I mean it. You heard him scream.”

  I paused and thought back to that moment in the show. “You’re right. That wasn’t the scream of someone intending to kill someone else. He was as shocked as the rest of us. Maybe more so.”

  The ticket seller waved Davy’s ticket in front of my nose, and I realized I’d become distracted by this new idea. I took the ticket from him.

  “How long is the show?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  I handed Davy his ticket. “You meet me by that sign as soon as the show’s over, all right?” I pointed to the poster for the Mysterious Cobra.

  He took the ticket. “All right.”

  That gave me fifteen minutes at most to find Mrs. Albright.

  “Where did you last see your aunt?”

  Davy scratched the toe of his boot in the dirt.

  I pinched the corner of his ticket between my thumb and forefinger, giving the impression I’d take it back if I wasn’t answered.

  “We were by the milk bottle toss, going to look at games.”

  “All right, by the sign, twenty minutes.” I let go of the ticket.

  “Right.” Davy ran for the entrance to the tent.

  I waited until I saw him enter the tent then started for the midway games.

  As I walked past the show tents, I kept half my mind on spotting Mrs. Albright and let the other half wander around the idea Davy had just put there. He was right; that had not been the scream of someone who’d just committed murder. And Cowboy Nick, for all his talents, really wasn’t much of an actor. He had been genuinely upset about the shooting, even though Inspector Burrows had interesting evidence suggesting he was involved.

  Inspector Burrows was a fair man, but as a policeman, he did have to follow the evidence and only the evidence. So I just had to find him some evidence that pointed to someone other than Nick. I just had no idea how to go about doing it.

  I spotted the shooting gallery up ahead. That meant the rest of the games were nearby. It was also the first place I would go to look for Davy, so it was a good place to start looking for Mrs. Albright. As I sped up to reach it, I heard my name called.

  Mrs. Albright was three booths down from the shooting gallery when she spotted me and hurried in my direction. “Cassie, just who I needed. It’s Davy.”

  “He’s in the snake tent.”

  Mrs. Albright collapsed against the fish bowl stall. “Oh, I was so worried. He wandered off near the ring toss. I was hoping he’d come here to try the shooting gallery. I suppose even snakes have their uses.”

  “Come on. He’s supposed to meet us when the show ends.”

  I led Mrs. Albright back to the area near the snake tent. We were just getting settled in to wait for Davy when Art came running down the midway to meet me. “I found someone for you.” He was out of breath when he reached me, and I had to wait while he panted.

  “Do you have a name?”

  Art nodded. “Cheerful Chatsworth. He’s a clown. He’s been with every outfit from here to Dublin.”

  “That does sound promising.”

  Art perked up. “Come on then.”

  Mrs. Albright nodded. “Go on, Cassie. I’ll wait here for Davy then get some of Inspector Burrows’s handcuffs and chain him to me.”

  Chapter Seven

  Art brought me back to the area set aside for the performers and led me down the row of tents and trailers to a small, nondescript wagon. Art pounded on the door. “I brought her.”

  The door was opened by a small man as nondescript as the wagon except for the lime-green leggings he was wearing. “You’re the one trying to help Nick?”

  It was easiest to just say, “That’s right.”

  “I told her you know everyone in this trade.”

  Chatsworth smiled, a broad, slightly ironic smile. “I wouldn’t say everyone, lad. But I’ve known most of the outfits, and I know carnival people. That’s why I’m surprised by Nick. Such a careful, conscientious fellow. He’s one of the ones who cares about the craft of a show like this. Well now, miss, come inside and tell me what you want to know.”

  As I followed him up into the wagon, I asked, “Have you ever played Newcastle?”

  “It’s been a while since I was up that way. At least five years.”

  “Was it with Lyndvale Brothers?”

  “No, I was with Westham and Sons. It was playing the same route as Lyndvale, though.”

  “Do you remember anyone else from Kingston’s who was up there at the time?”

  “Lucinda was there with me, but she was going by another stage name then. The Paragon Pauline. And Nick played a few shows there a few years ago, I think, but I didn’t know him then; that’s just from things he said.”

  “What did Lucinda do when she was up there?”

  “Magician’s assistant when I knew her.”

  “And you all came to Kingston’s together?”

  “No, there was another magician I knew who was looking for an assistant, so I suggested she meet up with him. The Amazing Archimedes, the Wizard of Northumberland. He did rope tricks. I always thought he should do something with water, but apparently he was afraid of it. Couldn’t swim, I suppose. Actually, I think he was with Lyndvale at the time.”

  It could be something. “What did he look like? Was he tall?”

  “I didn’t think so, but then what do you consider tall?”

  The question was what did Art consider tall. “Did he have a beard or a mustache?”

  “Always clean shaven when I knew him.”

  “Hair color?”

  “He died it black for his show. I don’t know what it was naturally. You seem very interested in him.”

  “It’s a lead, which is better than what I had before. Have you seen him since?”

  “Not a hair. Not for years. He might even be out of the game. Not much help, I’m afraid.”

  Well, I hadn’t really expected him to point me to the robber on the first try. “Have you heard the name Martha?”

  Cheerful Chatsworth shook his head. “But then most people don’t know my name is actually Charlie.”

  “Is there anyone else here who might know?”

  “Most of the people here are new to the trade. It’s not a well-paying gig. I would have sent you to Flyingcrow if he were still around. He’s been in a few outfits, and people talk to him; he’s just the sort you trust. In fact, I met him when he was working up north. Come to think of it, I think he was with Lyndvale then. Otherwise, I think Lucinda’s knocked around a good bit, at least I’ve met her at other circuses, although she keeps to herself. And Nick has been here a while. He may have heard something.”

  I’d tried Lucinda, and she would only tell me what she wanted me to know. And if Nick knew anything, surely he would have told me already.

  “And does the name Spalding sound familiar?”

  “Sorry, no. Wasn’t that the victim?”

  I nodded. “He was a banker. How did you know?”

  “It’s all anyo
ne is talking about. I think Art told me. Or maybe it was Lucinda. Could have been one of the roustabouts at breakfast. Word travels fast here.”

  “How is Lucinda doing today?” I’d thought she seemed all right, but I didn’t know her well.

  “She was next to the victim when he was shot, wasn’t she? How terrible for her. She’s very much the performer—show must go on and all that—but she’s been on edge all morning. She says she’s worried about the job, but then she would.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “If you don’t mind, my make-up does take some time to put on.”

  I stood up. “Of course. I didn’t mean to be in the way. If you think of anything else, please let me know.” I handed him one of my cards and left the wagon.

  Outside, I could tell that Art was disappointed his contribution hadn’t solved the case. I put on my most hopeful smile. “Well, it seems Mr. Chatsworth gave me my next lead. Was Mr. Flyingcrow friendly with Nick?”

  Art seemed cheered by the idea that Cheerful Chatsworth had put me onto a new lead. “I’d say so. They didn’t room together like him and Redbird, but they did seem to practice together, and they were both American, so I think they had things to talk about.”

  “Then I’ll go and see if I can have a word with him. Would you find Mrs. Albright and Davy and tell them I’ve gone? They’re probably still near the snake tent.” I was counting on Davy to distract him.

  Chapter Eight

  I took the underground to Earls Court and walked the rest of the way to the exhibition grounds. When I got there, the ticket booth looked deserted, and I realized I should have checked when the show actually opened. There was no real barrier to entering, though, just a fence with a few ropes to funnel paying guests inside, but they were only closed off with a chain, easy enough to climb under and get inside. I hesitated for a second, but I had come this far, and how much trouble could I realistically get into? I gathered up my skirts and crab walked under the chain before I could change my mind.

  I hadn’t even straightened up when I saw a wagon wheel pull to a stop in front of me. I looked up and found a full Conestoga wagon just beside me, the driver grinning down at me. “Howdy, little lady. Couldn’t wait to see your first cowboy, eh?”

  I stood up and dusted off my skirt. “I needed to discuss something with one of the performers here.”

  “Hey, you’re from back home.” His accent became less penny novelette and more what I’d been used to hearing. “Let me see, Midwest. Not quite Chicago. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, maybe.”

  “Ohio.”

  “Ah. My sister lives in Philadelphia.” He was grinning at me like he’d seen a long-lost cousin.

  “We’re practically neighbors, then.”

  “So you are. Who were you trying to see?”

  “George Flyingcrow.”

  “That’s the Indian village. I’m taking this to the settlers’ encampment. It’s in the same direction. Climb on up.”

  I used the wagon wheel to climb into the seat beside him. He gave me a chance to get settled then set the steam levers and drove off. “What do you think? Genuine wagon refitted for steam. We take the engine off if we need to use it in the show so the horses can pull it, and then it looks like the real thing.”

  “Fascinating.” I wasn’t sure that it was, but he seemed so enthusiastic that I had to say something nice.

  “Wish we’d had one when I traveled to St. Joe. But the sand would probably have gummed up the engine. And the water for the steam would have been a problem. Do you know where to buy socks here?”

  “What?” That had come out of nowhere.

  “Socks. They gave us all kinds of ideas for places to buy a pint, and tea, and little statues of the Tower, but no one tells you where to buy a nice pair of socks that isn’t plastered with pictures of Big Ben.”

  I smiled. “You could try one of the department stores on Oxford Street. Or maybe one of the markets. Even Portobello Road could have someone selling knitwear.”

  We talked about places to buy normal necessities with occasional breaks for my driver to point out the sights: a group of dignitaries getting a preview, a target that had been shot at by Annie Oakley, and the highlight, a pen of actual buffalo—something I’d never seen before—until we arrived at the Indian village. “George is in one of the wagons. Second blue one, I think.”

  I climbed down. “Thanks for the ride.” I waved as he rode off. With all the animals and the hum of western accents, it felt as if he was preparing to cross the Dakota Territory . When he was out of sight, I went in search of the second blue wagon.

  The wagons were all lined up along the edge of the village. I located the second blue one and knocked on the door. It was opened by a tall, thin man with black hair. Even though he was wearing a suit that had clearly come from Oxford Street, he looked more like a real Indian than anyone at Kingston’s. He seemed confused to have a guest and was trying to place me. “Princess wishes a powwow?”

  “I’m here about a murder.”

  “A murder?” He dropped the act at once. “Then I take it you’re not part of Mr. Gladstone’s party. You’d better come inside.”

  I followed him into the wagon. Inside was neat but small, with a bed folded up against the wall and a table that had been unfolded into the room. He gestured for me to sit on the bench by the window. “I could offer you some coffee. I haven’t developed a taste for English tea, but I could borrow some from Sybil Astra behind us. Tea leaf reading optional.”

  I smiled. “Coffee is fine.”

  As he poured out, Mr. Flyingcrow asked, “When did this murder take place?”

  “Just after one o’clock yesterday.”

  “Then I have an alibi. I was on horseback, ready to charge a wagon train for the fourth time. Twenty Lakota will vouch for it. Some of the Pawnee might, too. So who died?”

  “A Mr. Spalding at the Kingston circus.”

  “Spalding? Must have been after my time.” He handed over my cup. “Since when did Scotland Yard start hiring women? But I suppose you wanted to ask some of the questions.”

  I smiled again. “I’m not with Scotland Yard.”

  “Then should I be expecting another visitor?”

  “No, they think they have their man. Nicodemus Culpepper.”

  “Nick? I wouldn’t have believed it. What happened?”

  “Mr. Spalding was shot during Nick’s show. On stage. By Nick, it appears.”

  Mr. Flyingcrow offered me a sugar bowl. “That makes it even harder to believe.”

  “That’s what my landlady’s ten-year-old nephew says.”

  “Maybe the witnesses were wrong?”

  “I was there.”

  He sighed. “It’s still hard to believe. Nick was always so careful in his shows. He was one of the few performers who really understood the danger of his act. His family was with the police in Boston.”

  “Did you know of anyone he had trouble with?”

  “No, Nick was a nice guy. He kept to himself most of the time. We were friends, but we were both a bit homesick, so we liked to talk about the old days.”

  “So you’ve been in other shows?”

  “Not as many as some, but yes, a few.”

  “What about the Lyndvale Brothers?”

  “That was a long time ago. At least five years.”

  “Were you there during the troubles with the police?”

  “You mean the robbery? I was. But they ruled out the main acts there. We were all in the main tent for an encore when they think it happened.”

  “Why did you leave?”

  “I was lonely there, and the police poking around spooked me. I stayed around until they were satisfied; then I left.”

  “And how did you end up at Kingston’s?”

  “I knew a clown named Charlie. He usually goes by Cheerful Chatsworth. The show he was with was folding, and he knew Kingston was hiring, so he suggested we go down together.”

  “Go down together? So he was with Lyndvale, too?”
<
br />   “No, the Weston and Sons Carnival in Backworth. I was playing in Goston when it folded, which was nearby. They’re both up north, near Newcastle.”

  “Why did it fold? The robbery?”

  “The owner died, and his heirs weren’t interested in keeping it open. None of whom were named Weston, as it turned out.”

  “So you came here with Chatsworth?”

  “No, the police were still investigating us when he left, and I knew it would look suspicious if I left then. Charlie went down, and I followed a few weeks later.”

  An idea was forming in the back of my mind. “Did anyone else go to Kingston’s with Charlie?”

  “I think so, but I’m not sure who. Kingston doesn’t pay well, so he wasn’t the first choice. I went because it was far from Goston and Newcastle and all of that trouble, and it isn’t easy to find an outfit who’s interested in an act like mine, or it wasn’t. Now that this show is popular, I’d have more options if I wanted to leave.”

  “Did you have any trouble with Kingston when you left?”

  “No, he begged a little, but he didn’t try anything underhanded.”

  “Why did you leave him?”

  “Money mostly. Cody offered me more and a signing bonus that was enough to buy out my contract with Kingston. Besides, I like it better here. It was lonely at Kingston’s. Nick was the only one who had been west of the Mississippi, or of the Atlantic. Here, there’s a whole village who remembers the same places I do.”

  “Nick really had been out west?”

  “For a whole two weeks before his parents found out and had him sent back home.”

  “I’ll have to tell Davy that. It might be enough to make him a real cowboy in his eyes. If he isn’t found guilty, of course. Was there a reason you needed the money?”

  “Grandfather always said you win a war by knowing the enemies’ weapons. My brother took that to mean law school. He got into Boston University. That was one of the things Nick and I talked about, the places my brother would be seeing. He’s got scholarships, but food and rent still cost money. Not much hunting up there. Do you have any leads to help Nick?”