by Jenna Coburn
“Here’s my card with my personal number. Call me anytime.” He handed her a small, professional-looking business card. “For now, we’d be thankful if you told anyone in your family and his employer that your brother is being questioned regarding the death of Larry Patrick as a witness, not a suspect.” He exhaled deeply. “That about wraps it up. Unless you have any questions?”
Alethea inclined her head to the side and considered for a long moment. “I don’t think so. I mean, not a question where the answer isn’t sorry or something.”
“Alright then,” the agent said. “It was nice to meet you, Miss Thwaite.”
“Good-bye, Agent Westley.”
He nodded, and walked away. Alethea sighed. The police had come to investigate a murder, and she was the only one who had been really involved in it besides her brother. She’d have a lot of curious circus folk to relate the thrilling events to. Of course, the most fun would be her mother. Her father, not so much; he dwelt in some enlightened plane where things always worked out. Maybe it was from him that Alethea inherited being so annoyingly “sunny-side up” all the time.
Chapter II
The big show had faded into the background. Virgil was concerned but understanding, and Caryn, or “mother bear,” did not actually overreact. She kept it in, perhaps distracting herself in order to not think about how her son was mysteriously a murder witness without saying anything. Since nobody could imagine Braden having done anything seriously wrong, it was easy to believe the police really took him in just to look into all potential leads.
That’s why Elyse acted all dismissive, saying that they were just worrying for nothing, and the police would never think a guy like Braden could accomplish anything like a murder. Creighton joined her assessment, as was expected, in saying that he would probably be back in time for the show’s finale. That left the oldest daughter with the role of the worrywart, and that’s what she became.
Larry Patrick, Alethea had been told. The news outlets that she had checked quickly didn’t tell her much detail, as the man had been found dead just two days ago. There were obviously no big leads or great insights to cover yet, and other details were kept under wraps. The article concentrated on the murder victim as a person—the town wasn’t so large that they had no human interest in him.
But Mr. Patrick wasn’t that interesting. He had done nothing particularly remarkable; he was not a well-known criminal, drug dealer or otherwise involved with the wrong people. There were no heirs that stood to inherit his fortune, no dirt was available on him, and even the fantasy of the article’s writer couldn’t conjure up some scandalous hidden motive or context. Yet, the police were calling it a homicide, no doubt about it; someone must’ve had a reason.
The small part that Alethea had to play in the show—some announcements, providing assistance, simply filling the tent with more life and entertainment—she did tensely and robotically. The routine helped her, and Virgil knew, so he arranged for it. It was sooner than usual that Alethea retired backstage, simply smiling at the others and wishing them the best as they prepared and went out.
Even for lack of some Thwaites, the show was magnificent—the kind of thing that Virgil put on early in their stay in a town in order to make people talk. He was old-fashioned, some could say, in the way that he fervently believed in the power of word of mouth; and then again, he was right on the pulse of the times, because in no other age could word have travelled so fast.
Alethea always liked watching the show. She knew all the acts and the people, and the mystery was all gone, but that didn’t take her interest away; she would notice the small things, the differences and the changes, what went wrong and what went right, and how every performance was, in fact, in some way unique.
The ring was a swirl of colors, a breathless arena where skill decided between death and life, a musical stage and a comedy club, the tent of a shaman; all the world came together there. Everything was permitted but the ordinary. Alethea was sure that nobody had any choice but to love it—it was a reflection of the human spirit, in its profanity and its grace, trying to speak to whatever part of one’s soul did not yet lose all sense of wonder.
Braden should’ve been there, been part of it. His smile was always genuine. He was made for this. Alethea often thought that she was too cerebral in some ways, that she was always a step removed from any given situation, looking down on herself. But her brother was inside it all—in the moment, not even putting on a show, but living it.
Perhaps if that weird FBI man had not been there, that feeling of unease would’ve been less persistent. But it held on to Alethea until she finally fell asleep that night, long after the show and after they’d all become convinced that Braden would find his way back on his own.
It was in the wee hours of morning that Alethea’s cell phone rang. She rolled around blinking, blindly tapping her hand around, until she finally found it and squinted at the painfully bright display. The caller’s number was unknown. She picked up anyway.
It was Braden.
“Hey, uh…sis? It looks like…I’m in trouble.”
That was, of course, an understatement.
“Dammit, Braden,” Alethea greeted him exasperatedly. “What am I supposed to do now?”
She could practically hear him shrug. After a few seconds, he finally spoke. “I’m not sure, I just…need help. I mean, I didn’t do anything…I think.”
Alethea frowned. “You think?!”
“I just don’t really remember the night they’ve been asking me about. But now they’ve said that they have some reasons to suspect me and…I mean, I don’t know anything about this, and it’s not like I have a lawyer or money for a lawyer so…you were the only one I could think of.”
“Oh man,” Alethea voiced her initial thought in response to that. She wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Yeah,” Braden agreed.
The seconds slowed down to a crawl as they went by. Both of them, thinking about how the other must feel, wanted to find the perfect line to make it all seem not so bad. This accusation was preposterous, after all, wasn’t it? Only the thing was too fresh. They could laugh afterwards, not now.
“I think I have to go now,” Braden said. “I’m sorry for putting this on you. I just…didn’t know what else to do.”
“It’s okay, Braden. It’s alright,” she reassured him. There was always something, after all. If life didn’t have its potholes and problems, it also wouldn’t have any of its color. Surely this would be just a fun story to tell, at some point…only, probably not. It was still suspicion of murder. “You know we love you. And nobody who knows you would ever think you’d do something like that. I’m sure they’ll realize you’re innocent and release you soon enough.”
She smiled, but nobody was there to see it; it was good, because she couldn’t do it very well right now, and her eyes told a different story. “Good night, little brother,” she said.
“Good night,” he replied in a downtrodden voice. She had the sense he wanted to say something more, but couldn’t, and then the call ended. Lying back down, she mulled things over. Doubtlessly, Braden felt like he was being a burden, making everyone worry, as if this was somehow his fault.
Alethea sighed deeply. She was tired and wanted to sleep, but there was too much to think about. She’d have to tell everyone about what was going on. They’d have to visit the police station, and if, for some reason, they insisted on accusing Braden to be a killer, they’d have to get a lawyer and this could all escalate. She bit her lip, and a plan grew inside her head.
If she helped the investigation along, they’d find the real killer and let her brother go. It was in their best interests that the police made quick progress, and she’d read enough books about crime investigation and private detectives to do something. How hard could it be? She didn’t really know the town, but she was quick on her feet.
While that didn’t really solve the part about having to relate this mess to the family and Virgil
, it made her feel hopeful. Maybe she was a busybody, but she couldn’t just sit idly by while this went on. Also, she couldn’t really sleep anymore; she was wide awake now, contemplating what the next day would bring, and more than that, what she could bring the next day.
She didn’t sleep very much that night. After the sun was already up, she found a few short hours of sleep; but she woke up very suddenly, her heart beating fast, and she straightened herself up in her bed, jumping out a moment later. Maybe she was a bit too hasty, but she scrambled to get her clothes on and left the trailer, going over to her parents’ place and knocking on the door.
Of course, Caryn was already up, a cup of coffee in her hand. She pulled her daughter inside, because she instantly realized that Alethea knew something.
“Tell me,” Caryn Thwaite said breathlessly while they sat down. Looking at her mother’s wide eyes made Alethea feel somewhat flustered, and she took some additional seconds to search her head for how to best phrase the bad news.
“So…Braden has been arrested. They…I mean…apparently he was a suspect, not a witness, after all.” She exhaled deeply and looked at her mom. Caryn had once been an acrobat and a dancer, but she’d given up on it a long time ago, once her family took all of her time, as she said.
When Alethea looked at her, she often liked to imagine her as the dancer still, even if Caryn had found her true calling in doing the same things that Alethea was doing, for the most part—taking care of things. That morning, her mother looked like she had gotten about as much sleep as she herself; there were dark circles under her green eyes and her long brown hair looked disheveled. In that moment, she looked so much older than she was.
“I thought so,” Caryn answered. She pressed her lips together, and then both women just looked at each other. There was silent communication between them; they were both always taking care of the Thwaite men. After all, they couldn’t do it themselves. This was another such time.
“I’m gonna take care of it, boss.” Alethea put on her best gangster voice and nodded gravely. Caryn sighed.
“You’re my best operative,” she conceded. Leaning back, she took a deep gulp of coffee. “You know, I always like to think that Braden’s going to do his share of stupid things, but I never thought that he’d somehow manage to get involved in a murder case. What are the chances of that?”
“Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” Alethea bit her lip. “Braden inherited a gift for finding trouble that’s only equaled by my gift to get Braden out of trouble. That way, it all evens out at the end of the day. That’s what I like to think.” They both sighed in tune.
“How about a coffee, Letha?” Caryn had already stood up and taken out a cup before Alethea could say anything. They often had breakfast together, and she never refused a coffee, especially not on a day like this. “If you ever find a man, you better watch out he’s not as useless as a Thwaite,” Caryn advised with a half-serious look.
Alethea chuckled. “I think it’d be harder to find someone who actually rivals them.”
Caryn raised an eyebrow. “Never underestimate a man’s gift for getting in trouble.” She put the cup of coffee down in front of her daughter. “God knows I don’t anymore.” After these profound insights, they drank their cups of coffee in silence.
Alethea was enjoying this coffee much more than she initially thought possible, so she was content with a bit of silence. There was a short moment of meditation in that cup, a tiny refuge from the day, and then the strength to go out and tackle it. Every day that her brother would be in jail would also be a drain on their family. And even if there would be bail, they couldn’t possibly afford it.
“I’m going to get a quick breakfast, and then I’m going to the police station,” she said to her mother, who nodded in agreement.
“I’m coming with you. That is, we’re all coming with you. It’s not like Braden should get the impression he doesn’t have his whole family behind him.” Caryn nodded some more, and then went on to wake up her husband and her younger daughter. Both of them probably wouldn’t be too keen on waking up already, but that didn’t matter now.
In the meanwhile, Alethea went back to her own place in order to get some food and spend some time in the bathroom to get ready for the day. By taking care of herself and making sure to look good, she’d gather the resolve she’d need to step on people’s toes. She didn’t have any misconceptions about that; it was what she was going to do.
That FBI agent Holden Westley was on the top of her list of people to annoy. She wanted to know what he was doing there, and if anyone could answer why her brother had to be arrested, he’d be the one. In addition to that, she was angry at him. He had been so vocal in his reassurances that Braden was just a witness, not a suspect, and then she had received that phone call from her brother. It would do her good to unload some frustration on him.
Soon enough, the four of them were packed into the family car and on their way to the station. There was a bit of tension in the air; that is, for some of them.
“He’s probably just playing a prank on us all. He called you from some payphone and now he’s sitting there waiting for us to show up with our long faces and be all oh no, our dear son and then he jumps out and laughs,” Creighton theorized from the front passenger’s seat. They weren’t sure if he really believed that or if he wanted to make them feel better. It was really hard to tell with him.
“Or maybe he’s been abducted by aliens and now one of them is a stand-in for the real Braden, the government of police, of course, already being infested with alien sleepers,” Elyse gave the theory her own sarcastic extension. She sat with her arms crossed in the back, and acting like this was probably the only way she could deal with the situation.
It was how she usually dealt with situations, after all.
“Maybe I should have left you both at the circus,” Caryn grumbled as they turned into the parking lot. After they had stopped and the car was turned off, she turned around. “I expect you to be on your best behavior, alright? He’s not going to get out any faster just because they believe his family is crazy.”
“The opposite is also true, Mom,” Elyse couldn’t resist saying. She smiled her bright smile of childlike innocence, the one that had stopped working on her mother years ago, but was still horribly effective on her father. Only he wasn’t in charge right then.
“Maybe he can plead temporary insanity,” Creighton tried to be useful, only to have all three girls look at him as if they doubted his. He smiled his dumbest smile.
“I’m going to knock some heads together soon.” Caryn put her head back, took a deep breath, and exited the car. The others followed her, and so they went into the police station. The building was not very impressive, and they could probably count the number of employees on both hands.
Behind the counter sat the same middle-aged policeman that had picked up Braden the day before, and they exchanged respectful greetings even as Alethea suppressed the urge to give him the evil eye.
“So I suppose we’ll let you in to visit him,” he quickly concluded. The family nodded in unison; normally, they’d have to go through some paperwork, but since he recognized Alethea and seemed to understand the situation, the officer just waved them through, although they’d still have to go through some security measures.
Another policeman took them to the cells, and there was Braden. Like his mother and older sister, he looked a little bit worse for wear. His night must’ve been the least enjoyable of the three, after all. Still, he jumped up instantly, going to the bars and smiling at them.
“Hey guys!” he said happily, but it took only a second until his face took on a more worried expression. “I’m sorry.” Anyone sitting in jail unjustly would’ve been angry or frustrated, but Braden just seemed distraught that he was inconveniencing his folks by making them come down there.
“Oh, son. Why’d you have to kill that guy? And why didn’t you ask me first, I could’ve helped you,” Creighton attempted
what he understood as humor. His wife pulled on his arm and shot him a death glare. “Don’t do it, honey. You see what it gets you,” he whispered intently.
The three Thwaite women rolled their eyes in perfect synchronicity. “So what happened?” Elyse impatiently asked the question that was on all their minds.
“So…” Braden started, but took at least ten seconds to continue. It was obvious he was feeling very stupid, and had thought he’d never have to tell his family what he was going to tell them now. “The day after we arrived in town, I went out to a bar in order to have a drink or two and maybe meet some people. And one of the guys I talked to there was this guy Larry, you know, the murder victim, and I suppose that’s why they came to me, because they saw us talking there. Only…I actually don’t remember most of the night.”
He showed his teeth in some sort of contrite fake grin.
“So you were blackout drunk and the last person this guy was seen alive with,” Creighton summed it up. “Doesn’t seem like that’s much to go on! How could they arrest you just because of that?” They all wrinkled their foreheads. There’d have to be more than that, something he hadn’t told them yet.
“Yeah, well…I mean, just because I don’t remember it doesn’t mean nothing happened, so apparently something happened, and that’s why they think I did it. They also already told me that they’re going to search my trailer for evidence and such, even though I wouldn’t know what evidence they’d be looking for.”
Braden let his shoulders sink and walked around inside his small cell. “Apparently people saw me partying with this guy until some morning hour, like, going back to the hotel where he stayed and drinking in his room or something. I just don’t remember anything. I just remember that I woke up with a giant headache sometime the next day and thought I was going to die.”
Elyse nodded. “I remember making fun of you a lot,” she supported his testimony. Only two seconds later, she added, “Although, I think I usually make fun of you anyway.”
