by L. A. Nisula
Contents
copyright
titlepage
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Also by L. A. Nisula
About the Author
copyright 2014 L. A. Nisula
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to actual places or persons is purely coincidental.
Cassie Pengear thought a visit to the carnival would be fun: see some shows, eat some sweets, help her landlady’s nephew decide if the cowboy was real or an actor. But then the cowboy shot the volunteer, and he didn’t get up. Now Cassie has a ten-year-old boy insisting the cowboy isn’t a killer and a landlady insisting she help solve the killing at the carnival.
Chapter One
That day started off normally enough. I had just found a new client, a small Regent Street dress shop that wanted me to type up the new inventory from their buying trip to Paris, and I was hoping to impress them with my speed and accuracy. It was one of the more interesting clients I’d found, although compared to the normal run of business letters and interrogations from Scotland Yard that seemed to consist of subjects who couldn’t remember where they’d been or who they’d been with, it didn’t take much. I was halfway through the first list of the latest fabrics and trims when there was a tapping on my door. I considered ignoring it until I recognized the hand. My landlady. I pulled myself away from the typewriter and went to answer.
“Hello, Mrs. Albright.”
“Cassie, how would you like to go to the circus?”
The circus? I wondered why she would be going to the circus. The last thing I wanted to do right then was go out to a dusty arena under the sun and watch cheap shows. “I’ve got stacks of typing to do.”
“But my nephew is so looking forward to it. He wants to see the cowboys. And since you’re American, he’s convinced you’ll be able to tell him if it’s a real western show.”
I’d forgotten her nephew was staying with her for a few weeks during the school holidays. That explained the circus but didn’t make it any more interesting to me. I kept trying to get out of it. “But I’ve never been west of the Mississippi. I’ve never even been to the Mississippi.”
“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. There are some lovely rides, and there’s always fair food. I’ll get you some fish and chips or whatever dough they’re frying there. My treat.”
I sighed. Mrs. Albright had been one of my first friends in London, and she gave me an excellent deal on the flat thanks to some help I had given her soon after I’d ended up in England. I always hated saying no to her. And fried dough did sound good. “All right. When are we leaving?”
Mrs. Albright gestured to the stairs, and a boy of about ten came running up from the landing. “Now Davy, this is Miss Pengear.”
He grinned at me. “The American. I’m Davy Hawkin. Have you seen real cowboys?” He had blond hair and brown eyes and looked ready for a growth spurt.
So much for getting any work done. “I’m afraid I’ve never been out west.”
“Oh. But I suppose you can tell from the accents.” He wandered into my flat and looked around my main room as I covered my typewriter and decided on a hat.
“Is that steam powered?” He poked at the cover on my typewriter.
“No, just a plain manual one.”
“Oh. I suppose it doesn’t break as often.”
I pinned my hat on and adjusted the veil to keep the sun off my neck. “That’s right.”
But he’d already lost interest. He was looking at my steam vent with the kettle attachment. “Why is the kettle clear?”
“So I can watch it boil.” I saw him eyeing the door to my bedroom, so I grabbed the first pair of gloves I spotted and started for the landing before he could get too curious. “All set?”
The promise of the circus made him forget about mysterious treasures behind closed doors. He hurried past both of us and started down the stairs. “Can we take a steam cab?”
“If we can find one,” Mrs. Albright called after him.
~*~*~
The Kingston Carnival was being held at the old fairgrounds in Smithfield. It was a small affair, slightly shabby around the edges, but with a big, bright sign pointing the way in and shiny brass pipes pumping steam to attractions and rides. I could smell whatever they were frying on the midway, which made the whole outing seem more worthwhile.
Davy lost no time being interested in everything around us. He started with the banner over the entrance, then the turnstile, then the empty ticket booth. By the time we got to the machine dispensing the tickets, he was ready to be impressed by anything, but even I found it interesting. It was similar to the machine I got my payments from when I did typing for Scotland Yard, but this one was in a clear box, so we could watch the wheels and cogs turn as Mrs. Albright put in her coins and the machine dispensed the tickets. She pulled them out and counted automatically, then paused and counted a second time more carefully.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“Tickets at ha’penny each, and I gave it six shillings, so I should have how many?”
I still wasn’t used to the odd monetary increments here, but I did my best to calculate. “Seventy-two, I think.”
“So do I. Then why do I have sixty-seven?”
“There’s the missing ones.” Davy pointed to a small string of tickets caught between two gears.
Mrs. Albright leaned in to look. “So how do we get them out?”
Davy and Mrs. Albright started poking at the slot the tickets came out of while I scanned the area for someone who worked for the carnival.
“Machine’s broken.” We all turned to see a boy about Davy’s age come out of the nearby tent. He was wearing a mix of brightly colored costume bits and plain homespun boy’s clothes, so I assumed he was with the carnival. “It always snatches the last five tickets.”
“We figured that out,” I said. “Now is it broken or broken?”
He laughed. “Genuinely broken. Boss says he can fix it, but he just patches it up, and it breaks again two hours later. You can set your watch by it. I’ll get ‘em out for you.” He kicked the leg of the machine, knocked on the glass, shook the whole thing, then kicked it again, with Davy watching every move. When the boy turned the crank on the side after all that, the tickets dropped down into the chute. “There you are. Should come out right now.”
“Thank you, dear. What a nice boy you are.” Mrs. Albright tore off three of the tickets.
I kept staring at him. “If it takes five tickets every time, why didn’t I see any other tickets caught inside when I was watching it?”
The boy grinned at me again. “You’re a sharp one. I like you a lot. They let us that work here see the shows for free, but I got to pay for any food and games, same as anyone. Does that seem fair to you?”
Mrs. Albright slipped the three tickets into her handbag with the rest. “It was still kind of you to help us. Thank you. Come along, Davy, let’s find the midway.”
Davy looked torn between the lure of the midway and the slightly dangerous air around his new friend. I could tell Mrs. Albright did not want her nephew running away to join the circus on her watch. She looked vaguely in the direc
tion of the tents. “I wonder if they have a shooting gallery.”
That got his attention. “Shooting gallery?”
“For Miss Pengear. You’re not quite old enough.” She started walking towards the smell of frying food. Davy was hovering around her legs.
“They’re perfectly safe, you know. They shoot blanks. I wouldn’t aim it at anyone.”
I followed the pair, wondering how Mrs. Albright was going to get out of that.
~*~*~
It turned out Mrs. Albright had a very good plan. She didn’t take Davy to the midway games but to the row of small tents that housed the lesser shows. At first I thought Davy was going to be stubborn, but Mrs. Albright led him past the free acts meant to tempt people inside, and it turned out a snake charmer in front of him was worth more than a shooting gallery somewhere else. I stayed well back with Mrs. Albright, just in case the snakes weren’t as well trained as the sign implied.
When the snake charmer packed up, Mrs. Albright collected Davy from the crowd of boys hoping to get another look at the snakes. “I have all these tickets. Which show do you want to see first?”
Davy looked around at the posters and placards. “Let’s start with the cowboy. Then Miss Pengear can tell me if he’s the real thing.”
We followed Davy to the tent with the poster of an anonymous cowboy riding a bucking bronco. Davy stopped to study every detail of the poster while Mrs. Albright counted out the five tickets each for entry and handed them over to the boy in cheap red satin. Mrs. Albright distracted Davy by pointing to the cowboy posters inside before he realized the boy collecting tickets was also about the same age as he was and got any new career ideas.
We got seats in the center of the fourth row, Davy between us, sitting on Mrs. Albright’s handbag so he could see the stage clearly. He bounced up every few minutes to make certain he wasn’t missing anything. Mrs. Albright didn’t look concerned, so I assumed there was nothing breakable in her bag.
“Do you think the Indian show costs the same?” Mrs. Albright counted the remaining tickets hanging out the side of her bag.
“I would think so.”
“And we’ll need food. And probably a few games.” She went through the tickets again. “We should be fine with these.”
“Do you think he’ll have a horse?” Davy asked.
“The stage doesn’t look big enough,” I told him.
He looked disappointed. “What about roping?”
“I would think so.”
“That’s good. That’s how they catch cattle. That’s like cows.”
We hadn’t been there more than ten minutes when the small shaft of light that had been coming through the tent flap disappeared, plunging us into semidarkness. “It’s starting,” Davy whispered to no one in particular.
“Sh, don’t disturb your neighbors,” Mrs. Albright whispered back, but as our neighbors were mainly boys about Davy’s age or governesses and uncles who looked about as interested as I was, I didn’t think there was much danger of that.
The performance started with the pipe organ playing something that sounded vaguely like “Clementine” while sending clouds of green and purple steam across the stage. I could see the boy from the entrance pushing levers on the side of the pipes, and then a scratchy voice seemed to come from nowhere. “Presenting the Lovely Lucinda!”
“How do you think they do that?” Davy whispered as the Lovely Lucinda came out on stage wearing a white bodice encrusted with glass beads and a skirt with ruffles and feathers that was just a bit too short in front.
“Probably a phonograph in the organ,” I whispered back.
The Lovely Lucinda made a circuit of the stage, lighting the lamps along the edge then posing at each one so we could all admire the beading on her costume. When she’d finished lighting the stage lamps, she went to center stage and twirled around, making her streamers and ribbons fan out from her skirt and the gaslights sparkle off the sequins. When she had finished showing off, she swept her arm out with another flourish of ribbons and ruffles and gestured to the wings stage left. “I am pleased to present to you, directly from the United States of America, the legendary cowboy Nick Culpepper!” Her voice swelled dramatically at the end, giving the audience the overwhelming desire to applaud even though none of us had heard of the legendary Nick Culpepper outside of the poster by the tent flap.
The legendary Nick Culpepper who appeared out of the steam was wiry and a bit above average height. He was wearing a circus rendition of a cowboy outfit, which meant everything from the hat to the chaps to the spurs was not only fringed but also studded with paste gemstones and beads. Well, maybe the spurs weren’t fringed. He swaggered across the stage, hanging back a little so he reached the Lovely Lucinda just as the steam was clearing.
“Howdy, folks!” He tipped his hat. “Right pleased to see y’all.”
Lovely Lucinda gestured for the crowd to answer, and all the boys yelled, “Howdy, Cowboy Nick!”
I leaned in to listen to the accent, but while the legendary Nick Culpepper was clearly American, he was also clearly from Boston. I didn’t think there were many cowboys there. I wondered how I was going to tell Davy if he asked for my opinion on his genuineness. I supposed I could just say he was really American.
“Would y’all like to see a bit of ropin’? If the Lovely Lucinda would assist me.”
Lucinda brought him a rope, and Legendary Nick caught a chair and a candle — unlit, of course.
“Let’s make it exciting. Lovely Lucinda, if you would rustle up a volunteer for me.”
The Lovely Lucinda swept out into the audience. I glanced at Davy and was surprised to see he hadn’t put up his hand. He caught me looking at him.
“Do you think cowboys really say ‘y’all’ so often?”
“Only in stage shows. Part of the patter, I expect.”
He nodded. “But the roping’s good.”
At least he wasn’t disappointed in the show. “It is.”
The Lovely Lucinda brought a skinny young man who looked like a clerk from the row behind us up on stage. I could hear his friends yelling encouragement as she had him sit in a chair and hold up a carved wooden steer head. The legendary Nick caught it on the first try. The same with the hat she put on his head and again with a candle he held, unlit again, of course. Then Lovely Lucinda had the man stand behind the chair holding a needle. Legendary Nick played around with his rope, making bigger and bigger circles around himself, then tossed the lasso and caught the young clerk . I could hear the man’s friends laughing and cheering him on as Legendary Nick tied the young man up by wrapping the rope around him again and again.
While Legendary Nick took his bows, Lovely Lucinda released the volunteer and kissed him on the cheek, which made his friends even louder.
Legendary Nick shook the volunteer’s hand as he left the stage, then turned to the crowd. “How would y’all like some shootin’ next?”
Lovely Lucinda brought him a pair of pistols, and Cowboy Nick proceeded to twirl them around his fingers, holstering and unholstering them, tossing one in the air while catching the other. While he was showing off, Lovely Lucinda went back into the audience for another volunteer. This time she came back with a middle-aged man wearing a suit that was a little too neatly creased for a circus. He tried to pull back, as if he wanted to be done with this nonsense, but Lovely Lucinda steered him into position. She gave him a playing card to hold, guiding his hand to the bottom corner. “Just like that, that’s right.” She turned him towards Nick.
The volunteer's hand dropped out of position.
“You’re a little nervous? Oh, don’t be. Here, I’ll hold it too.” She had the man straighten his arm, then grabbed the other corner of the card and stood slightly sideways, showing off the ruching and beading on the side of her skirt and a bit more leg than was strictly proper, making a nice picture of the two of them standing with their arms outstretched, the playing card held between them.
Legendary Nick was standin
g with his back to the pair. He finished an elaborate series of spins and twirls with his gun then spun around and shot in one motion.
The gunshot rang out, sounding as though it came from everywhere in the tent at once. Then there was silence and the smell of cordite. We all waited for the trick, but the only movement was from the volunteer, who fell backwards off stage, badly concealed by the great puffs of steam being produced by the pipe organ. We all waited for the patter that would make the trick seem clever, or at least part of the act, but Cowboy Nick just stood there, staring at the steam swirling around his target, as if he couldn’t remember his next line.
“I think he fainted,” Mrs. Albright whispered to me over Davy’s head, “unless that was part of the act.”
“I don’t think it was.”
Lovely Lucinda knelt in the smoke. She didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t see her face through the colored steam. I could hear feet shuffling around me. Even Davy was starting to fidget when Cowboy Nick made a sound that could only be described as squealing like a schoolgirl, dropped his gun, and ran off stage, disappearing into the wings. The tent was so small, we could all see the fabric on the side sway as he pushed the side of the tent up. It didn’t pleat very high up, so he must have crawled out under the edge. We all sat there, staring at the curtain where he had disappeared. Some of the audience started to look around the tent as if they were expecting him to reappear behind some tent pole in a triumphant climax to the trick. He didn’t.
Chapter Two
Nothing happened until the boy from the entrance came up on stage and tapped Lovely Lucinda on the elbow. There was a whispered conversation, with lots of pointing towards the fallen volunteer, then the boy ran down the aisle and out of the tent. Lucinda came to the front of the stage and flourished her arms. “I am sorry for the technical difficulty with the performance.” Her voice echoed through the room even though it didn’t sound as though she was yelling. “We will return your five tickets and offer you three more for the inconvenience. Please give us a moment to organize, then proceed to the back exit to get your tickets. First five rows may begin to line up now.” Lovely Lucinda leapt off the stage and tripped up the aisle to the exit. We gathered up our things and steered Davy towards the line.
