by CeeCee James
Big Top Treachery
CeeCee James
Copyright © 2018 by CeeCee James
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For my Family
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Introduction
When Trixie, billed by the Concello circus as the world’s smallest Lady Godiva, finds a large ruby on the circus grounds, she thinks she’s one of the luckiest people on earth. Until she learns the stone’s past is stained as holly-red as the jewel itself.
The police get involved and suspicion is cast not just on Trixie, but on her other friends at the circus.
The pressure is on with Trixie getting threats from an anonymous source. When the calliope player is murdered, Trixie knows the threats she has been receiving aren't just to scare her... she'll be the next to die if she can't find out the truth about the stone and unmask the murderer.
Chapter 1
The red Christmas lights twinkled outside my cabin window, decorations that the circus had sent up a few nights earlier. White clouds formed on the glass from my breath. I wiped it with my sleeve, deep in thought.
My grandmother had red hair. Not fire engine red, nor the sassy color on the picture of a hair dye box that advertised deep undertones. No, it was what she used to tell me was a strawberry blonde.
I was about five when she first told me this, and I can remember staring hard at her hair in search of the strawberries. It was an age when I thought dogs could purr, a fat man with a big beard filled my stocking, and little fairies swept away my teeth from under my pillow during the middle of the night.
So, I was confused when I didn’t find any strawberries. But I do remember that when the sun hit it, her hair appeared threaded with copper wire. It had made me wonder back then if maybe grandma wasn’t mistaken and rather than strawberries, there were pennies hidden in her bouffant curls.
Grandma liked her makeup. Every morning I’d sit on her special stool and watch her put on her mascara. Her eyes would open wide, with her mouth imitating. She’d dab the brush on near nonexistent eyelashes, making them appear like magic. After that, she’d open a pot and apply rouge to her cheeks. “Never touch your face with your pointer finger, Susannah,” she’d say. “Always use your middle finger.”
“How come, Grandma?” I’d ask.
“Your index finger is too strong,” she’d declare. And then she’d lean in close to her mirror with it miniature movie-star-looking lights on the side, and color a mark on her face. I’d look at my index finger and wonder at its strength. Then I’d stare at her black mark.
“What’s that, Grandma?”
“It’s my beauty mark,” she’d say. She’d tip her head and show me so I could see. “It’s pink before I color it in.”
“You don’t like pink?” I’d asked.
“No. Pink is ugly, but black is beautiful.”
Fifteen years later, I turned until I could see my own face in the mirror shoe-horned under the window of the cabin. I’d been disappointed as a child that I hadn’t had a pink bump on my face to color in black. But as I grew older, it became obvious that I wouldn’t have a mark for beauty, colored in or otherwise.
You see, I was no looker. My ears were too big, my nose like a lump of clay. My eyes, although brown and thickly lined with eyelashes, were a tad too close together.
Everything about me was a bit off, which matched my short stature—so short that I wasn’t supposed to ride the roller coaster according to the sign that was at the circus front gate. It didn’t matter though. Freddy, the roller coaster attendant, always let me on.
“You be careful there, Trixie,” he’d say, and double back to check my lap belt. I’d glared at him once when it looked like he was trying to cop a feel. Being a small woman, I couldn’t afford to take any chances and was always on the alert to keep myself protected.
One thing I had in common with my grandma was that my shining glory was also my hair. Not strawberry-blonde like grandmother’s; it was black and hung like a silky curtain halfway to my knees. It was bewitching like hers, and I kept it in a braid when I wasn’t working in the circus ring. People told me that they saw copper strands in it that were brought out by the sunlight. I’d looked hard and never seen them myself. It made me smile every time I heard it, though.
Coughing erupted from the other bunk. I glanced over to see if Sally was okay. She was a sword swallower who shared the little cabin with me.
She was cross-legged, lying back on a pillow with a book propped up against her knees. When there was time to relax around here, we grabbed it with both hands.
I was lucky to have Sally as my roommate. I’d been with the Concello Circus going on two years so far, and was still getting to know the other workers. I have to admit, I’m the shyest person in the world. Sally was so easy going and caring that I was warming up. Even though previously, my life had been shaped with the feeling that I was the odd person out—someone to be stared at and mocked—things were changing. Here, at the circus, I was starting to feel that I fit in. Like the puzzle shape of who I was, wasn’t so strange and accidental after all.
Sally’s sword swallowing act was something I could never get accustomed to, even though I should be used to it since I’d seen it nearly every night since I started work here. She collaborated with her partner, Vincent, and together they swallowed sabers and fiery swords to the gasps and astonishment of the audience.
I knew some of the show was pomp and ceremony. Still, there was real danger, as her face showed right now. It was red on one side from where her hair had briefly caught fire last night, giving her first degree burns across one cheek. Always the professionals, Vince had quickly doused the fire, and Sally had continued her act as though nothing had happened.
“How on earth were you able to do that?” I’d asked later that night as she held ice to her face.
“Sweetie, don’t you know? The show must always go on.”
At nearly midnight, the Ringmaster himself had come to check on her. He’d stayed less than a minute, his blue eyes searching her injuries while asking in a deep clipped tone if she was okay.
She’d blushed so hard that her other cheek had matched her burnt one. “I’m sorry. The fuel splashed on my skin when I lifted the torch. It won’t happen again.”
His long, white fingers had straightened his tuxedo jacket as he listened. Then he’d given her a curt nod and left without even looking my way.
He was scary. You didn’t cross the Ringmaster.
There was rustling from her bunk now as she set down the book and reached for a jar. She unscrewed the lid and gently patted cold cream against the burn. Her thin blonde hair appeared a little frizzy on one side but otherwise it was twined up in its usual braided bun. She got up to see herself in the mirror.
“How’s that burn feeling?” I asked, scooting over a bit on the bench so that she had room.
“It’s okay.” She sat down with a sigh and arranged her makeup o
n the tray before her. Seizing another pot, she began to dab on her performance foundation, a thicker paste than what she wore usually. Her nose wrinkled slightly from what I assumed was the sting. Sally would never admit to it though. In her eyes, pain was weakness, and she never showed any weakness.
“Did I tell you, my son is about to be set free?” She reached for a triangle sponge and then patted it across her cheeks and neck.
“No. Really?” I asked. I was surprised. She rarely brought up her son, as if he was off limits. All I knew about him was that her husband had taken the boy away when he was young in an ugly custody battle, and that her son later went to jail for stealing a car.
“Mmhmm,” she said. Her mouth opened into an O as she worked the makeup into all the smoker’s wrinkles that fanned from her lips. She stopped primping and peered at herself. Satisfied, she grabbed her red lipstick and spun it up, then pursed her mouth. After drawing it on, she pressed her lips together on a piece of tissue, and then checked her teeth. The grimace was scary, and I sucked in my breath.
She glanced at me in the mirror. “I can tell you now, trouble is coming. I can feel it in my bones.”
Chapter 2
Startled at her statement, I automatically leaned away. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to hear the explanation of why Sally thought trouble was coming. Our door rattled with pounding, and the little cabin shook. Both of us turned to stare.
“Sally? You in there?” yelled the gruff voice of Carl, one of the motorcycle performers in the Cage of Death.
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” She set down her tissue. The door was only a half a step away, but she still stretched her back before opening it. We had a show soon, and I was a little concerned about how worn-out she was acting.
The door swung open on squeaky hinges. Dressed in leathers, Carl stared wide-eyed with a slightly panicked expression creasing his forehead.
“What’s going on?” Sally snapped into action at his expression.
“It’s Bernie. He’s missing.”
Bernie was our calliope player. He was big and burly and hardly the person you’d expect to find behind an organ. Soft-spoken, but well-liked, he oozed musical talent. Every night, he played the introduction to all of our acts, his fingers dancing lightly across the keys to build up the suspense until the crowds could scarcely breathe with wonder at what was about to happen next.
This was not good news. The evening show was due to start in an hour. With Bernie missing, we were in big trouble.
“What do you mean, missing?” Sally asked to clarify. She grabbed her sweater off the back of the chair and slipped it on. Even in Florida, it was a chilly evening on this December night.
Carl rubbed his jaw as though his whiskers itched. “I mean, Bernie said he was going to use the loo and then he never came back.”
“Oh,” she relaxed, crossing her thin arms before her. “He’s probably still in there. You can’t rush art.” She smirked.
“Sally, do you really think I’d come all the way out here to get you if he was still in there? Of course, I checked. Not only was he not there, HopJack said he saw Bernie heading out toward the admissions tent.”
“With the show about to start? Well, that’s just crazy. Makes no sense why he’d go way out there.” Sally’s brow furrowed.
I agreed with her confusion, though I didn’t say anything. Carl kind of scared me, especially the way his thick eyebrows seemed to be permanently wrinkled together into a frown.
Still, there was no logical reason for Bernie to head that way this time of night. The only thing in that direction was the parking lot. He should be in the Big Top warming up.
“All right, well, keep your eyes peeled,” Carl said. “I’m knocking on everyone’s door trying to track him down.”
I shivered at the metaphor. I never understood what that horrid statement meant, only that in school I’d associated it with the children’s rhyme that said to cross your heart, hope to die, stick a needle in your eye. The kids chanted it back and forth to each other as they swung on the playground. It always gave me the willies.
My shivering must have caught Carl’s attention, and his eyes zoomed in on me. “You too, little mouse.,” he said.
I shrank behind Sally. She clucked her tongue.
“Knock it off, you neanderthal. You’re scaring her,” Sally scolded
He ignored her, still addressing me, “You keep a sharp eye out. You always seem to get where most people don’t go.” With that, he left, slamming the door behind him. I breathed heavily in relief at the sound of him stomping down the stairs.
“Gah! Men.” Sally rolled her eyes as if that were enough of an explanation. She bent to check herself one more time in the mirror and then turned to me. “All right, Trixie. I’m going to go find Vincent. I’m hoping there’s enough time to get a bite to eat before the show. You better hurry and get dressed. You have your clothes?”
I nodded. I’d already retrieved my costume from the wardrobe, and it was lying on my bed. The outfit was only a skimpy, nude-colored bathing suit, and in these chilly winter temperatures, I always delayed putting it on for as long as I could.
She glanced at the clock. “Well, you better get a cracka-lacking then. Maybe I’ll try to see if I can hunt down Bernie, first. Show’s about to start.”
Sally left the cabin, and I locked the door behind her. With a grimace, I picked up my costume and reluctantly changed.
The circus billed me as the World’s Smallest Lady Godiva. Every night I rode atop my horse as the Ringmaster described my act as a “death-defying ride on a stallion that no man has ever been able to tame.”
The horse in question was named Prancer. He was the sweetest love that ever walked on this planet and my one true friend. I’d been nervous the first time I rode him, but he’d proven sure-footed and intuitive. I’m sure it was an impressive sight, with tiny me standing on top of his broad back as he cantered around the ring. Performing with him was my happy place, and I liked to think it was for him, as well.
Carefully, I brushed out my long hair, and then slipped the flower sash over my head. Goosebumps rose along my arms. Cursing the lack of fabric coverage, I shivered and rubbed them, and then pulled a cardigan on. A glance at the time showed that I couldn’t delay any longer. I hurried out for the big top.
The sun had long set, and the Christmas trees lining the path twinkled with colorful flashes. It reminded me of a time long ago. Back as a child when winters meant bundling up in every clothing item I had owned. I laughed now, remembering how I’d even put bread bags on my feet before sliding them into my boots to protect them from the water.
Winter down here so far hadn’t been too bad. But I still hated to feel even the slightest bit cold, maybe from those memories of childhood.
I didn’t head straight for the big top. Instead, I ran into the stable to see if Prancer needed to be groomed. Generally, I gave him a brush over and wove ribbons in his hair before the show, as well as checked that the stable guide had fastened the sparkly golden covers over his feet.
I was nearly there when I ran into Jerry. He was my favorite circus worker by far, at just a few years my senior and a few inches over my own height. He ran the dog kennels and helped keep the horse stables clean.
“Susannah,” he said, dipping his head in his shy way of his. He was also the only person who called me by my real name. Then he caught my gaze and smiled.
“Hi, Jerry.” Butterflies flew around in my stomach and darn near choked me. I realized I was staring and tried to recover. “Uh, Prancer…”
“He’s already in the big tent with Bill.”
“Oh, right. Okay, then.” I felt like a dork with this inane babbling.
“You know, after the show…maybe we could get a coffee.” He grinned.
A coffee? The show would end late, and the final clean-up wouldn’t be over until closer to midnight.
My hesitation made him wince as though he was feeling like a jerk himself.
; Oh no! I hurriedly tried to smooth it over. “Sure, that sounds great.”
“Yeah?” His face relaxed into a big smile, but his tone held a note of doubt.
“Yes, absolutely.” I nodded to reassure him. “I’d love that.”
“All right, then. Well, you go knock them dead, Lady Godiva.” He waved as he walked backwards into the stable. Without realizing where he was going, he bumped into a pillar. It made me giggle.
“Okay. See you then.” I trotted off to the big tent.
Susannah.
It melted my heart every time Jerry said it. It was given to me by my grandmother, and something I cherished about myself almost as much as my hair.
Quickly, I entered through the back of the tent into an area hidden from the audience. The first thing I noticed was how quiet it was. Too quiet. There was no music. Which meant Bernie was still missing.
Chapter 3
Bill was a bald man wearing faded overalls. His stubby fingers held Prancer’s halter rope while he stared glumly out into the big ring. He was another worker I didn’t like too much. His cold, nasty temper and biting words were quick to ignite whenever things didn’t go exactly as he planned.
Right now, I could see by the way his lips turned down into a slight snarl that this was one of those times.
I quickly returned to the back of the tent, trying to stay out of his sight. I glanced into the big tent to see who was performing. One of the three rings was illuminated with swooping spotlights. Marvin, the magician, stood in the center while his skimpily dressed assistant waved a red silk scarf. Off to one side, I caught a glimpse of one of the clowns with a drum set, hitting the one-two-three reveal beat.
