Death of A Clown

by Heather Haven

  “Everybody stay clear,” I yell. “There’s a possible poisonous snake in here.” My roommates throw on robes and leave. I grab one of the ubiquitous long poles by the entrance, one with a sharp end, and poke at things lying on the ground next to the overturned makeup table. I see the snake, smallish and slow moving, come out from under a magazine.

  “Red and yellow, kill a fellow; red and black, friendly Jack,” I chant. This is a Coral snake, all right. I prepare to strike.

  Just then, Tony barrels into the dressing room. “Jesus Christ! Is there really a snake in here?”

  I nod without speaking and jab at the snake’s head a couple of times with the sharp end of the pole. One jab finds its mark. The impaled snake writhes in a death throe, pierced through. I lift the pole up, snake twisting in the air.

  Tony backs away. “Jesus, it’s a Coral,” he says. “Where the hell did that come from? We’re too far north.”

  “Get me a bucket with a lid.”

  Tony hollers for one of the roustabouts to bring an empty bucket with lid and I unload the snake into it. Tony snaps on the lid and shaking, we both let out trapped air from our lungs in unison.

  He turns to me. “You’re sure no one was bitten?”

  “I’m sure. Margie’s all right, just hysterical. If anyone had been bitten, they’d be dead by now. You know that.” I pull him to one side and lower my voice.

  “Tony, I’m not going to do the rest of the show. You and I are going to pay a visit to one of the sleeper cars while everyone’s busy with the grand finale. Don’t tell anyone. I’ll dress for it but I’ll let Whitey know I’m out at the last minute.” Ever since the cinch business, Whitey hasn’t left Mabel’s side, especially when she’s in harness. I know he’ll be there.

  “Sure, but what do you---?”

  “I’m hoping to find something before it gets thrown away.”

  “Does this have anything to do with the clown’s death?”

  “Maybe. You know, the sheriff was right about one thing. Anybody could have killed Eddie, man or woman. Under the right circumstances, a woman can exhibit amazing strength. I read about a mother lifting up a truck by herself in order to pull her five-year old son out from underneath. Something about adrenalin in the bloodstream.”

  Tony lights a cigarette and pivots to leave. He looks back at me and says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re scaring the hell out of me.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  9:20 p.m., Monday

  Since my senorita costume was destroyed, I’m using my old costume from the year before, the Arabian Nights harem outfit. It’s less cumbersome and when I leave off the noisy bells, unobtrusive and easy to move around in.

  Though still shaky, Margie and the girls dress for the grand finale and head out along with me. I make a detour on my way to Mabel and rendezvous with Tony behind a tent.

  “I’ll tell Whitey to walk Mabel around the ring without me in the howdah,” I say. “You meet me at Rosie’s sleeping car, number fifteen, in about five minutes. Everyone else should be performing but I need you as a witness, in case I find what I’m looking for.”

  He nods and leaves. I find Whitey, briefly tell him I won’t be in the finale, but he is to walk Mabel around the ring, anyway. Before he can ask any questions, I dart off to the train cars. I ignore his startled, concerned expression.

  Tony is waiting for me, pacing and nervously smoking another cigarette.

  “Okay, we’ve got a few minutes,” I say, climbing the stairs and going into the main hallway of the sleeper car. I take the master keys out of my pocket and insert one into the lock of one of the compartments that holds four berths, expecting the door to be locked. It isn’t. I turn the knob and push the door open a crack.

  “Who is it?” cries out a voice in the dark. “Who’s there?”

  A light in one of the lower berths goes on. Struggling to sit up is Florence, a featured performer, and one of the four people sharing this compartment. Her nose is red and her eyes are bleary, making her small, elfish face look almost laughable. She coughs into a hanky and pull the covers up to her neck when she sees Tony standing behind me.

  “Jeri? Mr. Phillips? What do you want?”

  “Shhhh. Sorry, we didn’t know you weren’t performing tonight. Touch of the flu?” I say with sympathy, turning on the overhead lights. She nods. “You go back to sleep. Mr. Phillips and I need to get something from Rosie’s berth. This is it, right?” I point to an upper berth, curtains closed and tucked under the mattress. The remaining two berths have the curtains pulled open for ventilation.

  “Yes, but she’s not going to like it, you going up there, Jeri,” Florence wails, then sneezes. “None of us have ever been up there.” I can hear the fear in her voice.

  “It’s all right,” Tony says, in his best managerial voice, “We need to get…” he hesitates and looks at me questioningly.

  “Yes,” I smile. “Just ignore us, Florence.” I put my foot on the lower bunk and lift up.

  “She won’t like it,” the sick girl repeats. “And she’ll blame me for not keeping you out.”

  “I’ll make it all right, Florence,” Tony assures her. “It will be fine.”

  Higher in the air I get a whiff of an unpleasant ammonia odor, strong and repellent. I pull open the curtains and the odor becomes almost overpowering, near the ceiling in the hot night. I reach for her overhead light and switch it on. Soiled linen and crumpled clothes litter the unmade bed. A small, foot-long rectangular glass tank, topped with a wire mesh cover, sits at the end of the bed. The tank is empty.

  But there’s something else. Right above the tank and pinned to the inside of the curtain, is one of the thousands of

  three and a half inch round buttons people buy for a nickel from the promotional button booth at the front gate.

  They pin them to their lapels or hats using the safety pin backing. The buttons have photos of the clowns, animals, or specialty acts, with the words “I love the Big Top,” encircling the perimeter. This particular button is of Eddie in his clown face, youth and freshness shining through, even slathered with all that makeup. I must have been staring at it, because Tony calls out my name with impatience.

  “What are you doing up there?”

  “Sorry,” I say, jerking back to the here and now. I ease the tank over to the edge and hand it down to Tony. “Here.”

  “Jesus…. what the?” Tony holds it at a distance.

  I don’t say anything, but jump down and take the tank back from him. A whiff of a foul odor is coming from inside, enough to make my eyes water. The tank has not been cleaned in a long time, if ever. Urine and droppings are everywhere. And something else. I look at Tony and Florence.

  “Now, you are both witnesses. I went up there empty-handed and came down with this tank, correct?” Tony nods. Florence stares at me, tears brimming in her already fevered hazel eyes.

  “Please don’t drag me into this,” she begs.

  “Okay, sweetie,” I say. “You don’t have to be a part of this. Why don’t you get up and go out for a little fresh air? Just say you were outside the whole time and you don’t know anything. No one has to know any different.”

  “No, they don’t,” Tony agrees.

  Florence throws back the covers, gets up and puts on a flannel robe. Coughing, she goes outside without saying a word.

  I turn to Tony. “Look at what’s inside this tank.” He leans in, gets a whiff and backs away.

  “Pretty sad conditions,” I say, “even for a deadly snake to have to live in. But look here in the corner, Tony.” He obeys and then looks back at me, his mouth open in shock.

  “That’s right. It’s the shed skin of a Coral snake. This is proof the snake came from this tank belonging to Rosie. Judging by the filth inside and the way the snake moved, I would say the reptile was half dead when it was put into Margie’s drawer. That’s probably what saved her or anyone else from being bitten.”

  I watch Tony’s
face harden as I speak. He grabs the tank from me. “After I fire her, I’m going to have her arrested. I thought Whitey was exaggerating about her but now I see…”

  “Why would you think that?” I ask, surprised at the comment.

  “Never mind. Let’s go. I want to find her before she comes back here and terrorizes anyone else.” He opens the door with his free hand.

  “Tony, I wouldn’t do anything until you get the sheriff. There’s no telling…” Without listening to my final words, he slams the door to Rosie’s compartment on his way out.

  I stand for a moment, looking at the slammed door, hoping Tony will practice a little self-control when he comes across Rosie. I’m not counting on it, though. Underneath all that elegance and refinement can be a hothead, determined to have his own way.

  I decide to leave Tony to his outrage and examine Rosie’s bunk further before I leave. The button with Eddie’s photo really throws me. Maybe they were close, even lovers. I didn’t know it then but I’m about to know it now. I hop up to her bunk and systematically tear the small area apart with determination. I’m looking for love letters, receipts for gifts, photos, something that might show me the state of their relationship.

  What I find is a Mormon Book of Prayers lying under a blue silk scarf. It’s a small white book, a book a parent might give a young child to start them out on the path to religion. As I open this prayer book, I notice it looks almost unused. On the first page and written in the large, unsure block letters of a child are the words ‘Edward Randolph Connors, born February 3, 1923.’

  Cripes, the kid wasn’t even twenty years old. My eyes burn. Whether the tears are from the sadness of knowing his true age, or from the lingering foul odor, I can’t say. But I am now even more resolute. I will find his murderer. And if it’s Rosie, God help her.

  I pocket the book and take off for the dressing room to change clothes. The grand finale has just ended when I return and the girls come trouping in.

  “Where were you, Missy?” Doris demands.

  “What do you mean? I was there. Right in my usual place,” I say, my eyes flashing her a signal. Doris looks surprised, but nods and turns away.

  Margie seems still too stunned to pay attention to either of us. Even though she was told the snake had been killed and was gone, she refuses to go near her table or area. She changes clothes next to the exit.

  “I need a drink,” she growls, smoothing back her golden hair. “Something long and lethal. But not venomous.” She lets out a snort of laughter.

  “I’ve got a jug of my daddy’s moonshine back at the sleeper,” one girl pipes up. “You can have some. It’s pretty good, if it’s cold enough.”

  “I know where we can get some ice,” another one says. “And some lemons. Do lemons go with moonshine?”

  “I never met anything that didn’t go with moonshine, hon,” replies Doris. Everyone giggles.

  “I’ve got enough for everyone,” the first girl says with pride. “Why don’t we have an impromptu party in our car? Fifteen minutes?”

  “Sold,” says Margie, slapping her thigh with her hand. “And then I’m going to hit the sack and never get up.”

  “I know what you mean,” says Doris, brushing platinum blonde curls. “I never thought I’d say this, but Sherman’s March through Georgia is looking pretty tame to me right now.”

  “Amen, sister.” My friend turns to me, the old Margie resurrecting herself. “Dollars to doughnuts that mousy wife put that snake in my drawer to get even. You know, she’s from Florida. She probably brought the little monster with her for just such an occasion. What some women won’t do for a man!”

  The girls laugh and I laugh with them. The atmosphere lightens considerably. Friendly banter and idle chit-chat fill the room until we’re dressed and ready to leave.

  Doris looks over to me. “You coming?”

  I shake my head. “Sorry, I’ve got something to do. But you and Margie go and have a good time.”

  Doris come over to me and whispers. “This got anything to do with Tony and that glass container I saw him with? Not that I’m talking to him.”

  “Something like that.” I smile. “Go on! Have a good time. I’ll join you later.”

  “Well, you be careful, honey lamb,” she says. “Won’t do for you to get bit.”

  “I’m off to find out the truth about something in the past, Doris.”

  “My mama used to say the truth can bite you harder than any snake.”

  “Your mama was a smart woman,” I say, and leave the tent in search of Whitey.

  He’s in the Bull Tent washing down Emma’s back foot with some concoction that looks and smells funny. Emma is one of the older elephants, very docile and sweet. When he sees me, he drops his brush in the bucket, comes over and hugs me.

  “Are you all right?” He releases me, eyes searching my face. “When you ran off like that, after telling me you weren’t doing the spec, I panicked, especially when I heard about Rosie. What’s this all about?”

  “You know about that already?”

  “Sure. Tony came to me, asking if I’d seen her. I hear she took off right after some trouble with a snake. All the men I can spare are out looking for her.” He turned back to Emma and picked up her foot. I came closer and listened to him say, “I suspect they’ll never find her. There are a lot of places to hide in a circus and she’s a crafty girl.”

  I look around me. Handlers nearby are bedding down their assigned elephants for the night. What I want to talk to Whitey about can’t be overheard.

  “Whitey, finish up here and let’s go someplace private.”

  His eyes search mine again. “All right.”

  He checks Emma over, gives her some fresh hay, makes sure her right leg is secured to the stake and comes back to me.

  “What’s that you were doing to Emma’s leg?”

  “She’s got a fungus infection under one of her toenails,” he says. “I wash it in a mixture of Tea Tree Oil and water twice a day. It’s getting better.”

  “Good.” I stroll away and out of the tent.

  Whitey follows, coming by my side. He puts an arm around me, but I shrug it off.

  “Let’s take a walk,” I say.

  “Not a romantic one, I gather. What do you want to talk about, Jeri? You look so serious.”

  I don’t answer. We walk about five minutes out into a clear field on the other side of the parking lot where the light comes from the moon and stars, instead of electricity, and the air is cool and sweet smelling. A mixture of earth and sky fill my lungs, so different from the circus behind us.

  Whitey breaks the silence. “What’s on your mind, Jeri?”

  I turn to him. “What’s between you and Tony?”

  He shoots me a wary look, made more sinister by the half light. “What do you mean?”

  “Listen, there’s a murder to solve and this, whatever it is, is getting in the way. I’m going to find out eventually, Whitey, so why don’t you do us both a favor and just tell me?”

  I can see he’s fighting to make a decision. I leave him to it and wait, turning my face up to a moon that hangs in the black vastness, surrounded by hundreds of blue-white stars. I search for the Big Dipper, aware of Whitey’s breathing in some part of my mind, but trying to imagine myself on one of the Dipper’s stars, any place but here. But here I am, so I can out-wait Whitey if I have to, to find out what I need to know.

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with what’s going on here, Jeri. I swear it,” he finally says.

  I leave the Big Dipper and return to the sound of Whitey’s voice. “Tell me, anyway. I promise it won’t go any further than this field.”

  “Okay,” he says, after a beat. “You’re going to be the first person to know about this, outside of Tony and me. We took an oath to never talk about it, not even to each other.” He exhales and takes a deep breath before speaking again.

  “Tony and I go way back. He was the rich kid in school and I was the poor one, but
we had a few things in common. We were both good students, wanted to make something of ourselves, get out of Grand Rapids, population boring and going nowhere, even got accepted to the same college. We became friends…of a sort.”

  Whitey squats down and pulls at weeds in the ground. “Tony was used to things going his way back then, Jeri. He’d led a pretty privileged life, even though it was the height of the depression. He had an indulgent father and a trust fund, those kinds of things. I didn’t have any future to speak of,

  other than the likelihood of working in a factory and dropping dead from exhaustion, like my father.” He looks up at me. I stare down at him.

  “Hell, I’m not making excuses, Jeri. I’m just telling you how it was.” He continues to rip at the weeds around him. A small frog makes a leap for freedom. Whitey doesn’t notice.

  “One night we were driving in his new roadster together, the one his father had given him for his birthday. Tony had been drinking and was driving too fast. We’d both been having a good time. It was a dark night, no moon, not even stars, blackness all around us in that little car. We were on our way home. It must have been three or four in the morning. There was this hobo, bum, walking down the middle of an unlit road in the middle of the night, dressed in black. It’s almost like this man was looking to get…” His voice peters out.

  When he speaks again, his tone is husky. “Anyway, Tony hit him, killed him instantly. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, really. Neither of us knew he was there until…. but Tony had had his license suspended for drunk driving and shouldn’t have even been behind the wheel.” Whitey pauses and looks down at his hands.

  “God, it was terrible. Even now, my palms get sweaty from talking about it.” He wipes them on his shirt.

  “So he paid you to say you were driving the car,” I say. “That’s how you went to college.”

  “I’m not proud of it. I did it half out of friendship but half for the tuition money. I didn’t realize that I would carry that man’s death with me for the rest of my life, wherever I went, whatever I did. Even though I wasn’t the one who hit him, I profited by his death.”