by L. A. Nisula
“There might be one. Do you know someone named Martha?”
“Yes, in fact, she was at Weston and Sons.”
“How can I find her?”
“If it’s the same person, you might know her as the Graceful Griselda, or the Paragon Pauline, or the Lovely Lucinda. Lucinda it seems. She changes names whenever she changes acts. Her real name is Martha Higgins. I only know that because I happened to be in the office getting a telegram from home when Kingston interviewed her for the job, and she had to tell him the name to put on her paycheck. She was Graceful Griselda, assistant to the Captivating Cobra, at the time, but Jim, that’s Cobra’s real name, was always talking about doing a solo act. With snakes, I think. She used to have a poster on her wall from Lyndvale Brothers if you’re interested.”
“Thank you. That’s the best lead we’ve got.”
“Then I wish I knew more about her. She’s not one for sharing, though. Is there anything else?”
“I wish there was.”
“Well, if you think of anything to help Nick, let me know.”
“I will.”
Mr. Flyingcrow saw me to the door, which really only involved standing up. He poked around the shelf above the door. “Give these to your young friend, the one who believes in Nick.”
I looked at the papers he handed me. “Tickets to the show? He’ll be thrilled.”
“The last is a backstage pass. He can meet the horses, see the tents, maybe shoot a bow. All the things boys like.”
“You’ve just made his summer. Thank you.”
“Do you want me to find a wagon to bring you back to the gate?”
“That’s all right. I can find it. Thanks again.”
Mr. Flyingcrow watched from his wagon until I’d made it to the main path and was walking in the direction of the entrance. When I turned back, he waved and went inside.
Chapter Nine
When I left Buffalo Bill’s, I went directly back to the Kingston Carnival. As I walked from the Underground stop to the carnival, I planned my next move. This time I was going to go looking for Inspector Burrows. Mr. Flyingcrow had put a new idea into my head, and Inspector Burrows had the resources to check it out. It was most likely he’d be wherever Nick was. Maybe the practice grounds. Or the crime scene. I decided that would be my first stop. If he wasn’t there, there would be a constable, or maybe Art lurking around. Someone there would know where he was.
I was not expecting to run into Inspector Burrows just beyond the entrance, but there he was. I was disappointed to see he had Constable Lipson with him, leading Nick away in handcuffs. Davy and Art were running after them. Davy spotted me first and came running. “Miss Pengear! Miss Pengear! They’re arresting Nick!”
Art ran after him. “She can see that.” He looked up at me. “But you’re going to prove he didn’t do it, right?”
I avoided the question by asking Davy, “Does your aunt know where you are?”
He hesitated and was saved from answering by Inspector Burrows catching up with us.
“Miss Pengear, I did wonder why you weren’t chasing after me to object along with the boys.”
“Well, I’m objecting now. And I have some new information for you.”
“I thought you weren’t investigating.” But he turned to Constable Lipson. “Take him in and start processing him. I’ll be along soon.”
Constable Lipson nodded and pushed Cowboy Nick towards the exit.
Cowboy Nick turned to me.
“I didn’t do it. Miss Pengear, you believe me, don’t you? I didn’t do it. I didn’t shoot at him.”
As Constable Lipson led Cowboy Nick away, Davy grabbed my skirt. I patted his arm and stared at Art until he caught on. “Come on. Let’s let her deal with the coppers.”
I gave Davy a little push, and he followed Art back into the carnival.
Inspector Burrows watched them leave then turned to me. “So what is this new information?”
“There was another carnival near Goston five years ago. And Lucinda worked there.”
Inspector Burrows was not as impressed as I’d hoped he’d be.
“Don’t you see, she was near Goston when the robbery happened.”
“Miss Pengear, have you ever known me to ignore a clue?”
“Not you, the original detective. Think about it. There’s a robbery, so the carnival in town is the first suspect.”
“Right, but there was no proof so no arrests.”
“But there was another carnival nearby. Were they ever looked at?”
“If there was a connection, I’m sure—”
“What if there wasn’t a connection, at least not one they could see, until several former members turned up here, with a dead banker and money from the robbery turning up?”
“Miss Pengear, there are two very important words in that last sentence. Dead banker. Stay out of this.”
“I’m going. I’m going.” No need to tell him where I was going.
Inspector Burrows sighed in a way that told me he didn’t believe me, but he had a prisoner to process. I waited until I saw him walk out through the exit ropes then went back towards the midway.
The arrest was wrong. I just didn’t know why. On the one hand, Inspector Burrows was right; if Nick’s shot hadn’t gone through the card, it was because he didn’t want it to. But Davy was right, too; there was no way Inspector Burrows would convince me that Nick’s reaction had been anything but shock and horror. So how could both obviously true facts be true at the same time? The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like asking why a raven was like a writing desk.
Well, if I couldn’t solve it from that end, I’d just have to start at another. Maybe if I found another suspect, I’d be able to see how the trick had been done. I had the name of the second carnival; maybe that was a way to start. I was considering the best way to discreetly ask if anyone had been there when I felt two short presences following me.
“Hello, boys.”
“You noticed us?” Davy asked.
I nodded and slowed so they were walking beside me.
“I guess we’re not that good at tailing.”
Art shrugged. “You just need more practice. So what are we investigating?”
I grabbed both their arms. “The mystery of the missing aunt.”
“How is that going to help Nick?”
“By giving me one less thing to worry about. Now come along. Where did you see her last?”
Davy hung his head. “By the food stalls, but I told her I was with Art.”
“Then come on.”
They both glared at me, but they followed without protest and stayed silent as we walked.
As we passed Mr. Cardinal’s tent, I noticed that there was no one outside and nothing stopping us from entering. I had thought I should go back to the beginning…
“Art, is the stage in Mr. Cardinal’s tent the same setup as Mr. Culpepper’s?”
“That’s right. Nick’s tent used to be Cobra’s when he had a magic act, and Redbird’s was for a knife thrower.”
“What happened?” Davy asked.
“You don’t want to know.” Art said with so much drama I decided the knife thrower must have quietly retired.
I turned to Davy. “Your aunt really knows where you are?”
“Promise.”
“I heard him tell her.”
“Please can we help?”
They looked so eager, I couldn’t say anything but, “All right. Come along.”
Inside, Inspector Burrows had taken away the tables and chairs he’d used for his headquarters, so the tent looked very similar to Nick’s.
“They’re done with the crime scene.” Davy sounded disappointed.
“It never was a crime scene,” Art pointed out.
“And that means we can poke around.” I led the way to the stage.
“What are we looking for?” Art asked.
“Some new idea about what happened.”
“No matchbooks? Fo
otprints? Fingerprints?”
“Inspector Burrows would already have found all of those. And as you just said, this wasn’t a crime scene.” I stood on the stage and looked around. “All right. Would you two like to help me recreate it?”
“We’re your men.” Art stood at attention.
Davy saluted.
“All right. You both remember how the trick is set up? Good. Then Davy, go stand there. You’ll be Mr. Spalding.”
“Why do I have to be the victim?”
Art started laughing, but Davy took the card I held out and went to stand on the stage.
“Art, go stand next to him. You get to be Lucinda.”
Art stopped laughing just as Davy started. I glared at Art until he got into position. When they were set up, I went to the other end of the stage to see things from Cowboy Nick’s vantage point, but no inspiration struck. Someone had shot Mr. Spalding. If it wasn’t Nick, then there had to be someone else with a gun in the tent. I did notice there were only a few feet of space behind the curtain, not the full backstage area of a theater, but that didn’t help.
I jumped down and walked around the audience area, stopping to look at the stage from different locations.
“Do you think someone from the audience shot him?” Art asked.
“Inspector Burrows would have noticed if the angle of the shot was wrong.”
“And he fell back,” Davy added, “not to the side like he’d been shot from out there.”
“Good thinking.” I climbed back on stage and made another circuit. “All right, boys. Thanks for your help.”
“You mean you’re done with us?” Davy looked disappointed.
“Come on. There’s got to be something the coppers missed.”
While Art and Davy searched the ground, I took another look at the area behind where Cowboy Nick would have stood, even leaning back to get a better look at the top of the tent, but no one could have been hiding in the ropes holding it up. And even if there had been someone hiding in the wings, it still looked bad for Nick. I didn’t think there was anyplace in the tent where a second gunman could have hidden and gotten the right angle except behind Nick. And while he would have been hidden from the audience there, I didn’t see how someone could have been back there without Nick at least sensing something, not unless he was pressed all the way against the back of the tent. And even then, Nick had been facing away from Lucinda and Mr. Spalding just before he shot.
I crossed the stage and stood in Lucinda’s spot to look at the scene from her perspective. As I looked around, I realized the second shooter theory was even worse for her. While there was a tiny chance Nick might not have known about someone behind him, there was no way Lucinda hadn’t seen him.
“All right, boys. Let’s go find Davy’s aunt.”
Both boys got up reluctantly and followed me out of the tent.
When I was sure they wouldn’t sneak off, I asked Art, “Do you remember anything else about the man you saw? What he looked like? What he was wearing?”
Art shook his head. “The inspector asked me the same thing, but all I could remember was that he had big mutton-chop whiskers. I didn’t think it was important then.”
“And there was no reason that you would.”
Davy perked up now that he felt he was investigating again. “Maybe Malvolio could hypnotize you. Or Madame Sybil. Is she any good?”
“I think they’re both frauds.”
“Oh. Maybe I could get a book on it or something.”
“Hey, isn’t that your aunt?”
“Where?” Davy was looking right at her.
I grabbed his arm. “There she is.” I steered him towards Mrs. Albright.
Mrs. Albright spotted us as we approached. “Davy, I thought you said you were going to say hi to your friend, not go wandering off. What if Miss Pengear wasn’t here to find you? Thank you again, Cassie. Now you two realize you’re interfering with her investigation, don’t you? What do you have to say for yourselves?”
“I've decided to change my name. I want to be Sinbad Hercules Featherworth,” Davy answered.
Mrs. Albright looked horrified. “Davy, what will your mother say? She wasn’t fond of the idea of you spending so much time at that carnival to begin with. Now what’s wrong with your name?”
“He should be allowed to be called whatever he wants to be,” Art spoke up. “I changed my name as soon as I joined the circus. Sinbad here should start early if that’s his intention.”
I pretended to be very busy with my gloves. “Maybe you should have started a little later.”
Art glared at me. “Should’ve known you’d take her side.”
“Well, Artemis is a girl’s name.”
“What?”
“Artemis, Greek goddess of the hunt. Her Roman equivalent is Diana. Davy, if you’re going to change your name, I’d be sure to do enough research first. You wouldn’t want to be stuck with something worse.”
Art had completely abandoned Davy’s name change. “What am I going to do? They all call me Art here. I can’t change that without explaining...”
Davy patted Art’s hand. “I know. Say it’s short for Arthur. That’s a boy’s name.”
Art looked up. “Arthur. Yeah, that’ll work. He was a king, so that’s good.”
“And I could be Hawk. That’s a good name, and it’s short for Hawkin, so I wouldn’t really have to change anything, Auntie.”
Mrs. Albright sighed. “It’s certainly better than the alternatives. Come along. You need to have some kind of lunch.”
“And Miss Pengear needs to prove Cowboy Nick’s innocent.” He ignored the hand Mrs. Albright held out but did start following her towards the food tents.
“See you later, Hawk.”
Davy turned back. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Nah, I think Miss Pengear needs a guide. I’m going to help her prove Nick’s innocent.”
“I’ll come help when I’ve gotten ri—when I’ve had lunch with Auntie Agnes.”
I smiled at Mrs. Albright and led Art off in the direction of the performers’ tents, giving Mrs. Albright a chance to get Davy away.
Art stayed quiet as we walked together down the midway, letting me think. The mysterious man was the best clue we had. It was too bad Art’s description was so vague. Of course, I wouldn’t tell him that. Davy had suggested a hypnotist, and I was starting to think that was my best chance.
“That’s where it happened.” Art broke into my thoughts.
“Where what happened?”
“The argument, of course.”
I stopped and looked up and down the midway where we were standing. “I suppose Inspector Burrows already spoke to all of the sellers around here.”
Art nodded. “He had constables at it all morning. Scared away a good number of customers.”
So I didn’t need to worry about that kind of boring, routine work. But this was Art’s clue, and he was proud of it. “Can you show me exactly where it happened?”
“Sure, I was standing right there.” Art pointed to a tent near the games. “And they were right here.” He led me to a tent set up for a ball toss. It was being run by a young man who was clearly more interested in watching the girl running the photography booth across the way than in listening to customer conversations.
“So Spalding was standing here?” Art was so enthusiastic, I figured I may as well try to recreate it.
At least Art was pleased. “That’s right. And the other man was leaning on the tent pole there.”
I took the other pose and looked around. Three people wandered away from the ball toss when the barker wouldn’t take their money—he didn’t notice them—only to be accosted by the girl at the photography booth.
“Come back anytime before closing tomorrow if you’d like a personalized souvenir,” she called after them.
“Come on, Art. I have an idea.” I led the way to the photographer’s booth.
The photographer looked up when we approached, but I
started speaking before she could begin her patter. “Were you here yesterday?”
“That’s right, miss. Since we opened for the day.”
“Could I take a look at your pictures from around eleven yesterday morning?”
“Sorry, miss. Only the people in the picture get to see the picture.”
So much for that idea. Art looked crushed too.
“I think you could make an exception.” Inspector Burrows was standing behind us, holding out his warrant card.
“Course, sir. Right away, Inspector.” The photographer poked around her boxes until she found the right set of photos. She handed the box to Inspector Burrows, who handed it to me with an amused look. I handed it to Art. “Look through these and see if you can find the man you saw Spalding arguing with, even somewhere in the background.”
Art took the box and flipped through the pictures, studying them with all the intensity of a trained investigator. “That’s him.” He pulled out a picture and held it out to me, pointing to a man in a suit that was too big for him, with mutton-chop whiskers and a large moustache.
Inspector Burrows leaned over to look at the picture over my shoulder. “That’s what you wanted to know?”
“That’s right. That’s the man who was arguing with Spalding hours before he was killed.”
“Very interesting.” His tone told me he did not find it the least bit interesting. He looked at the photographer. “Thank you for your help, miss.” He tipped his hat and walked down the midway towards Nick’s tent.
I handed back the photograph. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. There’s someone else I want to show these pictures to.”
“The inspector didn’t say...”
“I’ll just be a minute.”
The photographer still looked doubtful, but she put the box of prints near the camera and watched us walk away.
“Art, run and find Cheerful Chatsworth fast, before she changes her mind.”
“Right, miss.” He saluted and ran down the midway.
Chapter Ten
Art was back dragging Chatsworth behind him before I’d had a chance to decide whether or not to go after Inspector Burrows.
