by Mona Marple
“Think she had a reason to hurt Rufus?”
Frances shook her head. “They always got on really well. She was a magic nut just like him. They both loved these hokey old tricks. He hired her right out of college, she was a summer girl who actually stayed. She’s probably more cut up about his death than Glory is.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Glory argued with him that day he died, too.”
“Wow,” Ellie said. “He was a busy guy that day. You said there was someone else?”
“Old Man River,” Frances said. “He’s only here because he has nowhere else to go. They give him errands to do but he’s not up to much. He’s got his eye on my job and thinks I don’t know it.”
“What’s your job?”
“Ticket sales,” Frances puffed her chest out. “I guarantee the warmest greeting for every single customer. And I remember faces, too. Not that it matters here, but the towns we go to year after year, I can greet people by name, ask after their pets, remember what kind of seat they prefer.”
“That’s impressive,” Ellie said. The comment sounded a little barbed, but she was being sincere. She knew herself that that kind of skill was valuable when working with the public. “In fact, you ever leave the circus, I could probably hire you myself.”
Frances narrowed her eyes a little. “I can assure you, if I ever leave the circus, I’ll be headed to East Kentucky.”
“Home?” Ellie asked.
“I’ve already told you,” Frances said. “My van’s my home.”
Ellie looked at each van in turn, lost in her thoughts. “You think these people will talk to us?”
“Sure,” Frances said. “They’re all talkative folk. You think your… Violet… will talk to me?”
“No chance,” Ellie said.
Frances laughed. “Good! I like a challenge!”
The door of one caravan opened and a woman with bright green hair split into two high bunches appeared. She still had the clown make-up on her face and Ellie saw that the customary exaggerated smile had been drawn on as a frown. Oversized tears dripped down her cheek in bright face paint. “Cordelia?”
“The one and only,” Frances muttered. “Hey! Cordelia! You got a minute?”
Ellie quickly fell into step as the two of them marched across the field towards the clown. Cordelia watched them but said nothing until they were right beside her.
“Cordelia doesn’t feel like playing tonight!” She exclaimed in a baby voice. Ellie assessed her as being around her own age, although she was tiny in stature. She wore dungarees with long striped socks pulled up over the legs. In her arms was a huge, battered teddy bear. She clung to it and met Ellie’s gaze. “Mr Tubbs doesn’t feel like meeting people! Say bye-bye to Mr Tubbs!”
Ellie stood in silence.
Frances side-eyed her and whispered. “You need to play along.”
“Oh!” Ellie exclaimed. The whole thing was surreal. “But Mr Tubbs, I really wanted to get to know you and Cordelia! Could I come inside for a minute?”
“No!” Cordelia exclaimed. “Cordelia is grieving! Cordelia says if you’re from the newspaper, come back tomorrow!”
And with that, the rickety old door slammed shut and the clown - and her teddy - were gone. Ellie looked towards Frances for reassurance.
“What can I say?” Frances asked. “I told you she’s a weird one.”
12
Taylor Morton would have liked to lock up Frances Hampton and throw away the key. She was playing him with every answer she gave, he knew that and she probably knew that he knew it. But sadly the law still required solid evidence before sending a person to the clink.
All Taylor had was circumstantial evidence. Frances had been at the van, clearly, and with a weapon, but until forensics came back with something linking her to the murder, it wasn’t enough. But she knew something. He was sure of that.
It was just a matter of biding his time until he could make her talk.
“Hey,” Shauna rapped at his door and flashed him a grin. “I come with news!”
“Is this gossip or police work?” Taylor asked. Officer Tumulty was a great colleague, and a great officer, but she treated the latest developments on reality TV shows with the same encouragement and urgency as she did when they had a breakthrough on a case.
She laughed and swatted in his direction with her hand. He’d have to talk to her about those painted fingernails.
“Go on,” Taylor said. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the swivel chair.
“There’s a guy here to see you,” Shauna said. “I took him to interview 3.”
Taylor opened his eyes. “Who is it?”
“Says his name is Dusty Windbanger?”
Taylor jumped up. “Interesting. This guy is our victim’s business partner. Let’s see what he has to say.”
“Right,” Shauna sang out. She followed him down the stairs and into interview 3.
Dusty Windbanger had craggy skin, full of pits and pockmarks. His face looked like it had a swashbuckling story to tell. He was a big man, wide and imposing, and the bottom of his gut had escaped from the faded denim shirt he wore. Taylor spotted it then looked away. There was something shameful about seeing the thin stripe of pale flesh.
“Mr Windbanger,” Taylor shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sheriff Morton, this is Officer Tumulty. I understand you want to speak with me?”
“I sure do, and call me Dusty. Everyone does,” the man said. That wasn’t what Taylor had heard, but he let it go.
“You want a drink?” Taylor offered.
“Your girl here’s already offered me one, haven’t you sweetheart?”
Taylor saw Shauna clench her fist. She had a black belt in Taekwondo and a healthy ability to spot a chauvinist.
“How can we help, sir?” Taylor asked.
“I’m here about my good friend, Rufus. I know y’all are investigating, but it’s already been a day and I haven’t heard of any arrests.”
“It’s early days,” Taylor said. Was the man for real? He charged people to see clowns and gymnasts and bearded ladies for a living, and had felt the need to come in to criticise Taylor for not solving a murder within a single day?
“I sure understand that,” Dusty said. He stroked his moustache. “Now, perhaps you can tell me something. I’ve heard that the first 24 hours are vital after a crime like this. Is that true?”
Taylor and Shauna exchanged a glance. “Mr Windbanger, you’re right and that’s why we do have to limit the conversations we can have while we investigate. Now, did you have any information you want to share that might help us?”
“Well,” Dusty cleared his throat. “It’s a little sensitive, but if I was wondering if I might be allowed access to the van? Just to pay my respects, you understand.”
“You want to enter the crime scene?” Sheriff Morton asked. “Absolutely not.”
“There are things in there that are mine,” Dusty said. “Contracts and the like. Vital business documents. All I’d need is a few minutes.”
“It’s out of the question,” Officer Tumulty confirmed. She had no time for the pompous man.
“Alright!” Dusty exclaimed. “No need to get your panties in a bunch!”
“Will that be all?” Sheriff Morton asked.
Dusty exhaled. “I was brought up not to be a snitch. But I do know right from wrong, Sheriff. I guess I need to tell you and the little lady something after all. I saw a female leaving Rufus’ van that night.”
“You did?” Taylor asked. “Can you describe her?”
“Why, sure, I think I can do that. Anything to help. She was,” Dusty leaned forward and leered at Shauna, “how can I put this delicately? She was a more mature woman. Looked kind of zany to me. I know where she lives.”
“You know where she lives?” Shauna asked.
“I was posting flyers and I saw her,” Dusty said. He pulled out a scrap of paper with an address scrawled on and placed it on t
he desk.
“This is it?” Taylor eyed the paper.
“That’s where she lives,” Dusty cleared his throat. “I’m sure you will, Sheriff, but I’d sure appreciate it if you could be sensitive with this information. I’d hate to be seen to be accusing an innocent woman.”
Taylor allowed a smirk to cross his face. “You can leave it with us now.”
“It’s just…” Dusty dropped his voice. “I think it sounded like a domestic argument. It even got me to open the door of my own van, you know? People don’t always realise that the travelling community, which we are in a way, we’re very close knit. We look out for each other.”
“So, they were arguing?”
Dusty’s jowls wobbled as he nodded his head. “I’ll tell you something else, Sheriff, and then I’ll be on my way. This may be a complete coincidence, but Rufus never wanted to come here. We came years and years ago and he got me to agree that we wouldn’t include it on the tour again.”
“So, what changed?” Shauna asked.
“I beg your pardon, missy?”
“You’re here. What changed,” she explained. She was glamorous as heck, but bright as a button. Dusty Windbanger wasn’t the first man to underestimate Officer Tumulty, and he wouldn’t be the last.
“Oh, right,” Dusty said. He looked down at his big, meaty hands. “I made him. I’ll never forgive myself. To me, it was just another town to visit, another stop on the show. Why shouldn’t the good folk of Mystic Springs get to enjoy the show? That’s what I thought.”
“And you ignored his concerns?”
“I did, I did,” Dusty nodded. “I’ll have to live with that for the rest of my days.”
“I hear you raised your ticket prices,” Shauna said. Taylor withheld a laugh. Sometimes her appreciation of a good rumour came in handy.
“Had to,” Dusty said. “We had to add security, bag checks, it all added up. We would never take a risk with the safety of the public.”
“Very good of you,” Taylor said. He rose and Dusty did the same. “I appreciate you coming here. I’ll follow up on this lead, and if you think of anything else, do let us know.”
“Sure, sure, I just hope to God we can get justice for dear old Rufus,” Dusty said. The three of them walked across the empty corridor towards the main door, and then Dusty reached back into his pocket. “Here, here you go.”
“What’s this?” Taylor asked.
“Come as my guests, if you can spare the time. It would be an honour,” Dusty said. Taylor looked down to the four tickets for the closing night show.
“Thank you,” Taylor said. He accepted the tickets, knew he’d toss them in the trash as soon as he got back into his office, and bid farewell to Dusty.
**
“You want me to look into that address?” Shauna asked as they locked the front door and returned to the interview room. Taylor had pocketed the slip of paper.
“Nah, you get home,” Taylor said. “Hey, you want your circus ticket?”
Shauna rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t give him the pleasure of my company if he was paying me. He just wants the draw of law enforcement in the audience to add some suspense. I’m surprised he didn’t tell us to go in uniform.”
“You think?”
Shauna nodded. “And that line about paying for extra security is rubbish. They had Bert from the supermarket down there for one show. Probably paid him with a few free tickets too.”
“So the guy’s out to make an extra dollar where he can,” Taylor grumbled. “Isn’t everyone nowadays?”
Shauna laughed. “Wow, grouchy! You sure you don’t want me to finish up here?”
“Nah, I’m better off alone when I’m in this mood,” Taylor said. Shauna raised her eyebrows and said goodbye, and Taylor returned to his office. He closed the door and sat back in the recliner and allowed his eyes to close. He’d never been a fan of napping, but then he’d never needed sleep so badly. He tried to quiet his mind, to find just a few minutes of silence, but it was pointless. A man was dead and it was down to Taylor to find out why.
He braced himself and pulled the scrap of paper from his pocket, read the address written out in awkward lettering. He didn’t need to check who lived there.
13
Frances Hampton heard the following noises that evening:
The engine of a car burst into life. The laughter of the Three Bearded Brothers as they climbed into the car. The car roared off site. Someone in a caravan not only played, but also sang along to, the soundtrack from CATS. The clink of wine bottles carried across to the bin on site. The hoot of an owl in the tree behind her van. Old Man River’s TV set on until well past midnight. Zoey’s snoring.
It was no wonder she didn’t sleep well.
Eventually, she began to draft a complaint letter but since she wasn’t sure which noise was most annoying, she would have to complain to the whole circus, and Windbanger would hate that. He was the only one allowed to make grand sweeping statements.
Hours later, she woke too late and dressed in a hurry. An enraged knock on her door was followed by Glory’s voice.
“He’s sent me over. You’re late,” she hissed through the door.
“Well, I know that!” Frances opened the door with her boots in her hand. Glory stood on the step and watched as she pulled on thick socks, then the shoes.
“Bad night?” Glory asked.
Frances groaned. “This place is so darn noisy. I can’t sleep through all that racket.”
“But you can sleep through your alarm,” Glory teased. The truth was, Frances hadn’t set one. She hadn’t seen the need since she never overslept.
“Is he spitting feathers?”
“Nah,” Glory said. “You’re not the only one who hasn’t turned up yet, luckily for you.”
“Who else?” Frances narrowed her eyes as she slid her arms into her jacket.
“Old Man River,” Glory said with raised eyebrows.
“Since when does he attend team meetings?”
“Since today, apparently. Come on.”
The two walked across to the Big Top, where the staff sat on bales of hay facing Dusty Windbanger, whose skin appeared a shade more orange than it had the day before. Frances cleared her throat and prepared to apologise.
“What the heck are you doing missing the briefing?” Dusty snapped before she had a chance to speak. He was the only one who insisted on giving the irregular team meetings that ridiculous name.
“I overslept, I’m sorry,” Frances murmured.
“You think your time’s more important than ours? Think you’re the only one who needs sleep?”
“Not at all,” she said. There was nothing to do but placate him when he got in such a mood, but Frances was sick of placating the man. “It was incredibly noisy on site last night and I struggled to sleep.”
“Oh!” Dusty gave her a cruel grin. “You guys all hear that? Princess Frances needs silence to get to sleep now. I guess we all should apologise to her.”
The summer hands eyed each other nervously and several opened their mouths. A few begin to say sorry.
“Shut up!” Dusty exclaimed, just as Old Man River toddled across. He gave Frances a gummy smile and sat on one of the metal chairs. “And you can move. We don’t sit on the patrons’ chairs.”
“Ah, enough of your natter,” Old Man River said. “I’m not sitting on no hay. What’s this about, anyways?”
“Frances here was telling us all how we’re too noisy for her at night,” Dusty said. Old Man River cast a curious glance in her direction, then shrugged. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk about some more pressing matters.”
Frances watched the Three Bearded Brothers gaze up at Dusty, their faces a perfect mirror reflection of each other. It was strange how any three men could look so similar. Their beards were identical. And even when they weren’t performing, they dressed the same. Frances looked away.
“We’ll be packing up and leaving town tomorrow,” Dusty announ
ced. A murmur of surprise passed among the group.
“We can’t,” Glory was the one to break the silence. She sat next to Frances with her arms crossed.
“Last time I checked, I was in charge. It’s my name on the posters.”
“We got a week left here,” Old Man River murmured. “Ain’t never moved on early before.”
“And we haven’t ever been targeted and had to leave to protect ourselves,” Dusty said. “I have a duty to you all. I can’t keep you somewhere so dangerous.”
“Last night you were increasing the ticket prices, not worrying about the danger,” Frances quipped under her breath. Dusty eyed her in a way that suggested he’d heard. “I can’t leave, anyway.”
“And I won’t,” Glory said. “My uncle’s just been killed. I’ll stay here until they’ve found out who did it.”
Dusty poked at the corner of one of his eyes, retrieved a tiny bit of sleep or who knew what, and slipped it into his mouth. “I accept your resignation.”
“You accept my what?”
Dusty groaned. “The circus can’t wait for you, Glory. I understand you wanting to stay here. Frances? You too?”
Frances pursed her lips. She was hardly about to reveal to her boss that she had police restrictions on her movements. “We should see the week out. People have booked tickets. It’s bad for our reputation if we just head off early.”
“She’s right,” one of the bearded trio called out. He flashed a smile in Frances’ direction, although his mouth was barely visible behind his face whiskers. She shuddered. “You’ll lose money and the brand will be damaged. Word spreads fast, boss.”
“Hmm,” Dusty began to pace across the sawdust floor.
“Has everyone here been spoken to by the police?” Glory asked. A few people murmured and shook their heads. “You’ll all have to give statements. You can’t leave until you have. You owe Rufus that much at least, don’t you?”
Even the summer hands had to agree with that. It was Rufus who came out and helped carry materials when it rained so as to make the job quicker. Dusty would just peek out from behind the net curtain of his van, claiming to be busy with paperwork if asked for a hand.
