by Jenna Coburn
Then again, maybe she only played one, too.
It was time to go back to the circus. She had an actual idea or two. Maybe she wasn’t a licensed PI, but she still had her methods. One of those involved taking the bus to actually get around town.
Chapter IV
Once she stepped through the gate and onto the circus grounds, Alethea felt like a weight fell from her shoulders and she could breathe freely again. It wasn’t like she never liked to leave, or that the outside world was somehow bad, it was just the difference of being somewhere unfamiliar and then coming home again, where everything felt as comfortable as an old glove, and things made sense—in a strange, colorful circus nonsense way.
There was a bit of relaxation in order after the big evening and the following festivities, so the day was slow and everyone had made themselves scarce. If her brother hadn’t been arrested, he could be one of the guys lying about lazily and wondering if they had made some bad decisions. The answer was always yes.
Alethea felt like going home and maybe relaxing herself for a bit, but that just wasn’t in the cards. She told the FBI she couldn’t just rest, after all, and it was true. So she went on to a different destination, one of the smaller trailers on the corner. It was very old, but as old things sometimes seem to have been made to last half an eternity, it stubbornly held together.
She knocked on the door, and a second later was asked to come inside. Like the outside suggested, the inside was stacked full. It was the sort of chaos that was only explicable to the person living inside. Nothing was filthy, and everything had its place, but there was just no apparent system to it. That drove some people mad, but others felt the spirit of the small old woman who lived there echoing in these surroundings. It was a home.
Alethea wasn’t sure how things didn’t fall all over the place whenever this thing was on the road.
“Hey, America.” Her name was America Baker. It wasn’t a surprise that for reasons of artistic integrity, she was usually went by the name Madame Lécuyer—few people would connect the mystical world of spirits and magic with such a name as America Baker. Not many called her America, but Alethea liked it.
“Hello, hello, Letha. I heard about Braden. It’s such a shame. A real shame. You know, it’s like the old days, whenever something happened they’d just come and round up anyone who didn’t belong—whoever they could pin it on. They still don’t trust people like us. They look at us and think, ‘Who lives like that? No home and hearth?’ And we’re under suspicion. Always suspect.”
The speaker was not in her costume, but she always retained the airs she put on. She was old and wizened, a woman of secret knowledge and hidden tricks. Of course, to those who actually knew her, these things were only an aura which could be pierced by those who knew her as the warm and kind old lady that she was. If Virgil had to be the father of the circus, she’d be the mother. Not that they ever had soft feelings for each other.
There were only rumors of some wife or otherwise lost love in the distant past for old Virgil, and America always had some old romantic or other, and would live in a way that would have been quite scandalous if she had been a young woman still. As it was, nobody cared much for it; few young people ever even considered the love life of older people.
“Do you really think that’s it? They’re suspecting him because they see him as some sort of circus outsider?” The thought had crossed Alethea’s mind for a short moment, but she didn’t grow up when America did; in her mind, this was a more enlightened time, when nobody cared much for negative stereotypes about wandering folk. It wasn’t like they bothered anyone, and their circus was a business like any other, if a bit old-fashioned.
America shrugged. “It just looks to me like how things always were. If something goes wrong, you first blame someone who’s easy to blame.” Alethea nodded slowly, but still didn’t want to join that line of thinking. She had come here to gain some insight into what she should be doing, but now that she had gotten advice, she found it too uncomfortable. It wasn’t that she couldn’t believe it, she just didn’t want to. Not yet.
“I’m going to tell you what I know about this case,” Alethea finally said while trying to smile. “I’m an investigator now, too, you see.” America gave a profound nod and then listened to the passionate young detective retell what she knew—how her brother had been drunk and blacked out, that someone poisoned the victim, possibly while he was still there, and that he stumbled home sometime in the morning.
“Larry Patrick’s his name? And he was poisoned.” America stood up, looking around her trailer, among the implements both magical and profane, helping her think. “There’s only one sort of poison I can think of.” She turned around to Alethea again, who looked back with questioning eyes.
“Snake poison,” she gave the answer to her own silent question before America could say anything. The old woman nodded; Alethea inclined her head to the side.
In a twisted way, it only made sense. Since before she could remember, they had cobras in the circus, and even though using animals in most capacities had become massively unpopular, Virgil still kept snakes. These Indian cobras were not too dangerous, but if someone intentionally used their venom, it could well have killed a man.
“Larry Patrick was sleeping while drunk out of his mind. If someone injected him, he probably just stopped breathing sometime in the morning. And the only reason they would go through such an effort would be if they planned to blame someone from our circus,” Alethea summarized. A sleeping drunk man would be an easy victim for any number of ways to murder him, but by using such an outlandish method of giving him venom, there’d be few leads to follow that didn’t bring them to Virgil’s circus.
“Now you just have to find out who hates our circus so much that they’d want to hurt us at any cost,” America said. Alethea stared at her. It still wasn’t enough. She didn’t believe that someone would kill a person just for the chance to pin it on someone else. It was a roundabout way of hurting one while accepting the death of someone unrelated—an innocent bystander, so to say. There had to be more to it.
“There has to be more to it,” Alethea stated confidently.
“Of course,” the old woman sighed. “There always has to be something more to everything.”
Alethea raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, here you are, wanting to free your brother so he doesn’t get indicted of a murder he didn’t commit, and you think about how there’s more to it and how you can get to the bottom of the conspiracy,” America said in a very banter-like tone while she started to do some random work in her kitchen. Probably making tea—she usually made tea.
“I’m sorry, I just…I mean…how can I just…I want to know, okay?” Hearing herself talk, Alethea felt that she sounded like a sullen child. But maybe it was just America’s talent to make everyone around her feel like they were still just a child. Alethea frowned for a second, while the old woman grinned at her. For a long moment, a silence descended between them, only broken by the clatter of kitchen utensils.
“Here you go, sweetie.”
A cup of herbal tea was placed in front of Alethea. The smell was peculiar and somehow intoxicating. Madame Lécuyer was well-known for her knowledge of herbal remedies. Her patient sighed deeply and took a probing sip. The cup was empty soon after, and it felt like a heavy weight had fallen off Alethea’s shoulders. This renewal of purpose would carry her for the rest of the day.
“Thank you, Madame.” It seemed proper to address her that way now. For many of them, the lines between their persona and their real selves blurred, and more so the older that they got. Much as young people liked to think of their future in the bright and strange colors of fantasy, the old performers had their past glories, that half-dreamed version of a life that was never as real as their nostalgic fancy made it to be.
But that’s how America Baker looked now, standing there in her kitchen-laboratory, wearing that old-fashioned but colorful
dress that seemed to possess infinite layers and intricacies, much like the individual beneath, knowing of witchcraft and herbalism and the plight of generations of circus folk that waxed and waned under her watchful, warm eyes.
“I’ll go now, see you soon,” Alethea emphasized as she stood up. A smile had crept on both their faces, and they hugged. They had shared something profound, or that’s how it felt; it was not in the words or even in a silent look, but perhaps in that tea and that fanciful consideration of dreaming of another self, the same dreams anyone had, and the same dreams that made wave after wave of visitors rush into the big top where they took part in the realest of imaginations.
The air outside smelled different, and not just because it lacked that distinct note of herbs and incense that America’s trailer had. It was as if it had just rained—the colors of heaven and earth were fuller, enhanced, and everything felt refreshed and renewed. Alethea licked her lips. She couldn’t tell what went on, but her mind and body wanted to move—she was like a coiled spring, ready to pounce.
In her mind, she followed the path of the victim. There were some things that seemed mysterious—the circumstances had played out in favor of the killer, but how could they have planned it all? Or perhaps it was different—the circumstances were favorable, and the killer lay in wait for some time.
For now, it was time to pay a visit to Virgil and ask him if he missed some snake poison. Alethea walked over to him with light steps, and vigorously knocked on his door until he bid her to come in. He put away some paperwork, adjusted his reading glasses—they didn’t quite suit him, somehow—and leaned back in his seat.
“Alethea! I assume it’s related to this business with your brother. Here I was, assuming the days when they’d round up some ‘undesirable’ and pin the rap on him were over…excuse me. What can I do for you?” He put his flat hands together for a second, and then put them down on the table, looking at her expectantly; it was obvious that when he asked, he meant it.
“Hey, Virgil. I’ve just got a question for you. Could it be that you’re missing some snake poison?” Alethea sat down across from him, smiling slightly; her tone was reminiscent of someone reminding another of a minor oversight, perhaps as if he had forgotten to bring out the garbage.
That one made him raise his eyebrow.
“Snake venom, my dear…but you know, actually, I’ve misplaced some and wasn’t sure where it went, but I ascribed it all to being an old fool, forgetting the smallest things, thinking I’d probably find it in some unlikely location sooner or later. But you saying this makes me worry. What’s going on?”
Alethea raised an eyebrow herself. “You just kind of forget it and then think that it’ll turn up? It’s actual…venom, you know, it can be dangerous.” She shook her head at him, and all he could do was look apologetic. “Anyway, apparently someone helped themselves to your cobra venom and poisoned the victim with it.”
Virgil immediately frowned. “That’s….” His hands curled to fists. “That’s just….” He looked around, as if he could find the words somewhere in the room. “How could they get in here?” he asked. It sounded like a honest question. Alethea could only shrug her shoulders. She would have considered his trailer to be the safest one, even if it looked so anachronistic.
“Are you sure about this? Because we have to tell the police what they’re dealing with.” He scratched his head. “Ah, this will all turn sour on me too, won’t it? My snake venom used to kill a man…they’ll ask me why I didn’t put it away safely, why I didn’t notice it earlier.” After looking away for a second, he looked at Alethea intently. “I hope this helps your brother, at least. They just can’t think he’s stupid enough to use something like this.”
“I’m not sure what they will think, Virgil.” She smiled politely, as if someone had made a joke that just wasn’t funny enough. Perhaps that was the case, even. “I wanted to talk to you before I talk to the police, to make sure that this part of my theory checks out. It’s not much of a breakthrough, but it’s something.”
“It sure is something.” Old man Virgiliu was still chewing on the facts. “So do you think they were—or are, I suppose—trying to attack this circus? Blame Braden, blame me, blame the whole lot of us, and make us seem like some sort of murderous collection of traveling madmen? These things, they’re bad enough just through blame and suspicion, it doesn’t even matter if nothing’s ever proven.”
It was a whole other facet she hadn’t thought about. Business. It certainly wasn’t good if their circus was connected with violent crime, and no matter if her brother went free, these things could stick. Especially if it was true that the venom of the director’s cobra had been used to murder someone.
For Alethea, this started with being about family, and then somewhere in the process came the need to satisfy her aching curiosity. But now it had become more than that. It was like a blemish, something that people could keep seeing whenever they looked at any of them. The implication of guilt that came even from a mere accusation. She had to find the real killer.
“I have to find the real killer,” she told Virgil, while nodding to lend more weight to the words. He mirrored the gesture. “I’m going to call Agent Westley. I’m sure they’ll want to talk to you, too. I need to be going, though. Let’s catch up later.”
“You can visit me. I’ll be in the cell with Braden,” Virgil grinned despite the seriousness of the situation. Alethea just shook her head at him, leaving the trailer without a good-bye. They both had too much on their minds. Somehow, this case had grown, like a strangling plant now engulfing all of the circus grounds.
Alethea heard a small voice at the back of her mind telling her that she should go talk to her family. Or her mother, at least. But it felt like a bother. She wanted to present results, not problems. She could imagine some great alliance of all the circus people, working together, exculpating Braden and bringing the real killer to justice, but it was too fanciful. This was her case.
“Hello, this is Holden Westley speaking.”
He sounded so formal. That was the weird thing about him. He mixed being formal with being informal like nobody else she had ever known.
“Hello, Agent Westley, it’s Alethea. I think I’ve got a pretty good guess what killed Larry Patrick. Snake p…venom. Specifically, that of an Indian cobra, Naja naja. I even know the cobra it comes from and the owner, our circus director, Virgiliu Ardelean. He’s missing a container of venom—the one you found in Braden’s trailer.”
“That’s very useful to us. Thank you, Miss Thwaite. I’ll forward this new information. But it also casts Mr. Ardelean in a rather bad light. Someone might think him either dangerously careless or somehow involved.” There was a short pause. “A unit will come over to question him.”
“They’ll find him in his trailer,” she said in a low voice. She took a deep breath, only to follow it with a sigh. “Is there anything new you’re able to tell me, Agent Westley?” She could always try that one.
“Well, I’m not sure. Your brother reacted like one would expect him to react. Since you left, we have not picked up any exciting new leads. But I had an excellent lunch. Whenever you are in the city center, you should try going to the diner that is located directly across from the small cinema. They’re offering a very fair deal on their lunch menus, and it’s the best I’ve ever had in that price class. It’s certainly something–”
“Thanks, Agent Westley.”
“No, I have to thank you, Miss Thwaite. And if you eat there, you should try their coffee. It’s damn good coffee.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“By the way, if you’re interested in my recommendation, we have a witness report that besides your brother and Mr. Patrick, there was another individual they had been drinking with at Spoony’s Bar. Their identity is unconfirmed, as of yet; they left earlier than the other two, so perhaps there’s nothing worthwhile there. Still, worth a try.”
Alethea made a face, only to regret that he c
ouldn’t see it. FBI agent or not…. She finally managed to say, “Thanks again. We will talk if I find anything important. Bye for now.” She hung up fast. Otherwise, he might’ve continued Westley’s Weekly Restaurant Recommendations.
After she hung up, there was a small pang of regret. Perhaps he had something else; the way he considered that intel less important than a good lunch made her believe there might have been even more coming. For now, she would go to Spoony’s, which was, as far as she knew, the only important location she hadn’t visited yet.
Sure, the police had been there, and they hadn’t found anything. But that didn’t deter her. In the fiber of her being, a singular chord resonated, repeating the mantra that would make her keep on keepin’ on until this thing was through. This was her case. She’d solve it.
“Back to the city it is,” she sighed.
Chapter V
Spoony’s Bar was about as spectacular as the name implied. Not exactly overwhelming from the outside, the impression found its terrible confirmation on the inside. Even during the day—or perhaps especially during the day—it smelled faintly of desperation and alcohol, of shattered dreams, noses and marriages. Alethea was unsure why her little brother would wander into such a place, but the answer came easily enough.
He had wanted to drink, and Spoony’s doors were always open. Stale beer, stale jokes, the same old faces every time; it was a home away from home, she could see that in the faces of the few who were already there, in the same seats they were always sitting in. Nobody reacted to her coming in, not even the person behind the bar.
Alethea decided to not breathe in too deeply and walked up to the girl idly cleaning beer glasses and putting them back where they belonged. The barmaid looked very young; she had short blond hair and the kind of world-weary look in her blue eyes that only young adults managed—they were just barely young enough to still believe they knew everything.
