Puzzled, he accepts the paper, studies it and reads aloud in a halting voice, “’There is a conspiracy of her prophets in the midst thereof, like a roaring lion ravening the prey; they have devoured souls; they have taken the treasure and precious things; they have made her many widows in the midst thereof.’” He looks at me. “This is a quote from the Bible.”
“Yes. Thank you, Mr. Patrescu, for your help.” I take the note from his hand and stand. “I should go now. I’m meeting friends.”
“I will be here tomorrow, if you need me. I will bring my glasses, so I can read better.”
“I don’t think it will be necessary but I’ll remember that. You’ve been a big help, sir.” Instead of leaving, I stare at the diary in my hand.
“Now you are the one who looks troubled,” he observes. “You know something you do not share.”
“Possibly.” I look at him, smile and offer my hand. “Thank you, Mr. Patrescu.”
He rises awkwardly, the leather of the chair creaking and straining under his movements, and grasps my hand. Mr. Patrescu shakes it with a firmer grip than I expect. My eyes find his and I can tell that he is a man who has seen much of life. He, in turn, stares into my eyes, holding onto my hand.
“You are an old soul, Jeri-with-a-boy-or-girl’s-name. You are young but you have been by yourself most of your life. It has made you strong, but it has made you lonely. Do
not become too comfortable in this loneliness.” He smiles at what must be a surprised look on my face.
“My mother, she was a fortune teller in the old country. She had what they call The Sight. Sometimes I think I have it, too. But maybe not.” He releases my hand with a shrug and a smile.
“You’ve been very kind, sir. I hope we meet again.”
“I am always here,” the old man says and sits back down heavily in his chair. He picks up a magazine and begins to thumb through it.
I turn away, going out the door, down the steps, and toward my waiting friends, wondering just how comfortable I’ve become in my loneliness. It’s a scary thought. I push it out of my mind.
We stop off at a local five and dime store and Margie and Doris stock up on make-up. I buy Tootsie Rolls, two for a penny. We wait for the bus to shuttle us home. I’m silent most of the time, thinking random thoughts, but both girls are so taken with the movie and telling me all about it, they don’t notice. Apparently, Greer Garson can cry better than any actress on stage or screen.
On the drive back, I gnaw on a Tootsie Roll, my one big vice, and speculate on how I can get out of returning the master keys to Tony. I probably can’t, so I’ll have to figure out another way of getting into the compartment Rosie shares with three other girls.
Chapter Nineteen
3:00 p.m., Monday
We arrive back at the lot and Vince is waiting for the bus. He steps up as I got off and signals to me.
“I been waiting for you, Jeri.” He’s angry and doesn’t bother to hide it. “Tony wants to talk to you. His trailer.”
“I don’t have the keys on me, Vince,” I say, thinking that’s what Tony wanted. “I left them in my locker. I’ll have to go get them first.”
“Never mind the keys, Jeri. Tony wants to see you right away. Something’s come up.”
I wave to Doris and Margie, who are watching this exchange. “I’ll bet you this is about the graffitied poster, girls. I’ll be at the car in a minute. I--”
“She’s got to see a man about a dog, girls,” Vince interrupts, grabbing on to my arm. “Let’s go.” He pulls me along with him.
“What’s with the strong arm, Vince? I can walk on my own,” I say, breaking free.
He grabs me again, talking the whole time. “I’m told to haul you over to see Tony and that’s what I aim to do. Thanks to you, I’m leaving in a few minutes to join Advance. Locked out of my own trailer. Thrown out of my own circus. All because of you. You did this.” He holds on so tightly to my upper arm, it hurts.
I twist and look into his face. “Let go of my arm, Vince. Right now. Let go or I’ll make you.” I know jujitsu and have no qualms about using it when necessary.
He senses I mean what I say, releases me, and looks away. His voice takes on a whining tinge. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t kill Eddie. I didn’t kill anybody.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” I say, the anger over my bruised arm showing in my voice. “And this way, should anything else happen everyone will know it isn’t you, because you’re in the next town.” I can see him thinking, his expression changing from anger to confusion to resignation.
“Maybe so.” He looks at me. “I didn’t kill anybody,” he repeats.
“You said that.”
“I’ve done a lot of things in my life I’m not proud of, but murder isn’t one of them.”
“If that’s true, we’re going to find out who did and then you’ll be back.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears, sister.” He gives me a fleeting smile and becomes grim again. “Yeah, but being with Advance. Putting up posters and handing out flyers and all that. It’s humiliating.”
“Try to look on it as an important job. Otherwise, how would anybody know about us and come to see the show?” He seems unconvinced. “Never mind, Vince. Tell me about the key to Old Kirby’s cage. Do you have it on you?”
“Why would I carry the key to that old lion’s cage on me?”
“Then where is it?”
He stares at me. “What do you mean, where it is? It’s hanging on a nail on the wall in back of my desk.”
I don’t say anything and start walking toward his office trailer. He falls in step with me, like an old dog learning to heel. “Isn’t it?”
“It wasn’t there yesterday,” I say. “I noticed the keys when I was having dinner with Tony. The one marked Old Kirby was missing. You’re responsible for them. Who else could have it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been inside that trailer since Tony threw me out yesterday,” he sputters. “I slept in Coke’s
bunk. I spend most times in the supply tent. Tony’s only going
to let me go back in the trailer to pack. Then he’s going to watch me like a hawk. That key was there the last time I checked.”
“When was that?”
“I check them every night before I go to bed, around ten, ten-thirty. All the keys were there, I swear. Turned out of my own office.” Now he grumbles.
“And yet when I was there the afternoon of the murder, the key was missing.” I stop walking and turn to Vince. “Who has access to your trailer?”
“Nobody but Tony comes in when I’m not there. Otherwise, it’s locked. A lot of people come in and out when they have business, but I’m always there. I would have seen it if somebody lifted that key.” He pauses. “Wait a minute.”
“What?”
“You know that sick orangutan named Ollie, the one the vet’s been isolating in the cage next door to me?”
“Go on.”
“Well, it must have been eleven or eleven-thirty the night before last and I hear this squawking come from Ollie. I just flew out in my pajamas to see what was going on and I saw that somebody had put a balloon in his cage. The vet was close on my tail, too, wondering what all the noise was about. Anyway, we grabbed the balloon by the string and pulled it out. Ollie quieted down after a minute or two. When I went back to the trailer, the door was wide open. I couldn’t believe I’d left it open like that, I never did it before, but after I looked around and saw nothing was bothered, I figured I must have.” He muses for a moment. So do I.
“Funny about that balloon,” he says. “I thought it was one of the townies that did it but they’re usually cleared out by that time.” He looks at me, waiting for a response. I give none.
We continue past Vince’s trailer to Tony’s Silver Airstream, a shining and beautiful piece of aluminum and steel, twice the size of Vince’s beat up and dented one. Vince grabs the door handle and yanks it open, standing to one s
ide of the steps. His face is dark with anger and insult at not being allowed to go inside.
I go up the steps and into the expensively decorated but functional office. Tony sits behind his mahogany carved desk, tapping on the surface with rapid fingers, either so deep in thought he doesn’t see me or purposefully ignoring me. Either way, I don’t like it.
I’ve been in his office many times before, both professionally and socially. The opulence doesn’t impress me but I still give the room a once over as if I’ve never been in it before. Nothing looks out of place or different save for a three- by five- foot partially unwrapped painting, peeking out of its brown paper from a corner of the room.
My eyes land back on Tony. This time there are no filet mignons or radio, only the strong smell of stale cigarette smoke and an even stronger smell of anxiety.
“What do you want, Tony?” I remain in the doorway, ready to leave. I cross my arms over my chest in annoyance. “I think you’ve said everything you needed to say to me earlier.”
He looks up but doesn’t answer my question as he reaches for a dead cigarette from the overflowing ashtray.
“What is it, Tony?” I ask. My voice has an unconcealed edge of exasperation to it. “I don’t have the keys on me. I’ll have to give them to you--”
“The sheriff was here again,” he interrupts, further stubbing out the already bent and crushed cigarette butt.
“So?”
“Jeri, we’ve got a problem, a huge problem.” He tugs at that infernal mustache. “Please come in, sit down, and hear me out.”
I don’t move.
His face tries a half-way smile. “I want to apologize for being so rude to you earlier today. Look, I was trying to make things go back to normal for everyone on the lot.”
“You must be kidding,” I say. “With one murder and one suicide? You’re either living in a fool’s paradise or you’re an idiot. Maybe both.”
He doesn’t respond at first, but swivels back and forth in his chair. Then he says,
“You’ve got every right to be mad at me, even Doris --” He stops moving and looks down. “But let’s put that aside for a moment, can we? This is serious.”
I lose some of my anger to curiosity and sit down across from him. When I study his face, it doesn’t look so good. Strain and lack of sleep are not conducive to looking good.
“What is it?”
“Eddie’s mother placed a long distance call to the sheriff today to read him a letter she received this morning from her son.”
“That must have been hard for her, receiving a letter from him right after his death.”
“I guess.” Tony fidgets and goes on. “According to the letter dated three days ago, Eddie was bringing home a girl, a girl named Catalena, and he wanted his family to accept her as one of their own. He was going to marry her; they were going to have a baby and start a new life back in the folds of his family.” I watch Tony’s eyes well up. He brushes at them. “It was all rather sad, really. Even the sheriff was touched.”
“I told you I found that ticket to Salt Lake City in her diary. They were going away together.” My voice is quiet. “She had no reason to kill him.”
“I know, I know.” He holds up his hands as if to ward off a physical blow. “One of the bad things about me, Jeri, is I tend to take the easy way out. I’ve done it all my life. Just ask my father.” He tries to smile winningly at me. It doesn’t work.
“You can’t do that this time.”
“Doesn’t seem like it.” He sighs, pulls out a pack of Camels from his breast pocket, and lights a cigarette. I glance down at an overflowing ashtray.
“I thought you gave up smoking.”
“I did. Doris doesn’t like the smell,” he says, after he exhaled. He picks a piece of tobacco off his tongue. “The letter convinced Sheriff Draeger and the town council that even though Catalena took her own life, she probably didn’t kill Eddie. Somebody else did.”
“So back to square one.”
“The clock is still ticking. We’ve got little more than thirty-six hours before they keep their promise to close us down. If you’ll go back on the job for double the money --”
I interrupt, standing up. “It’s not about the money. I told you that the first time.”
“All right. Never mind the money. What do you want?” he persists. “I’m desperate. The Brothers are angry I took you off the job. They feel I’ve been wasting precious time.”
“Well, if it’s any consolation to you, I was never really off the job, Tony. I’ve been clearing up a few things in town. But as for what I want, I want you to stay with it even when things get rough.”
“I promise,” he says. “And thank you. I can’t tell you how much I --”
“Never mind the sweet talk, Tony.”
“I promise to do whatever you say, Jeri. The entire Big Top is at your disposal.”
“Let’s make it more than rhetoric this time.” I glance over at the package leaning against the wall in the corner and got up.
“What is this?” I ask, reaching out and touching a corner of the painting.
“Oh, that? That’s a portrait I commissioned of Emmett Kelly with the Brothers, a commemoration of his first year with the circus. I thought I’d hang it somewhere in here when I get a chance.”
“Have you noticed the wire that was used to bind the packaging?” I turn back to him and watch his reaction.
“The wire? No, I’ve barely looked at it since it arrived, with all that’s been going on. What’s wrong with the wire?”
“It’s flat and wide,” I say, but his face reveals nothing.
He gets up and walks toward me, wearing the same boots I saw on him yesterday. “Oh, that. They must use that so that it doesn’t bite through the paper into the wood in handling. That’s a pure mahogany frame. I wouldn’t want it to get scratched. I paid over a hundred dollars for it.”
I turn away from Tony, take hold of the top of the heavy painting, lean it forward and examine the rear. “Some of the wire’s been cut away in the back.”
“Oh, yes. I was fiddling around with it yesterday morning about the time I heard the ruckus over the murder. I stopped what I was doing and haven’t been back to it since.”
“When did it arrive?”
“Day before yesterday. Now listen, Jeri. What is all this? Who gives a damn about a portrait painting?”
I stare at him but don’t answer. Is it possible he doesn’t know what type of wire was used to strangle Eddie? Or is he a much better actor than I give him credit for?
“Never mind, Tony, I’ll go get Tin. Do you have keys for that file cabinet or is that the set you gave me? Those are in my berth.”
“I gave you Vince’s set,” he says. “Speaking of Vince, I should tell you that in going through his file, which I keep here, I was reminded that he was in Juvenile Hall for about sixteen months when he was a teenager. That’s probably why he’s so good to those kids that travel with us. I don’t think it has anything to do with anything but I’m telling you.”
“He was a Juvie? What for?”
“The file is sealed but I asked Vince about it before we hired him. He said he was in a street gang for a year or two, right after his parents parked him with an uncle. He did some petty crimes, nothing serious. Got hauled in for stealing some records from a record store. Right after that, he broke free from the gang and joined the circus in Detroit.”
“And you hired him knowing this?”
Tony shrugs. “Sure. He started out as a roustabout. He’d been here about five years when the general manager had a heart attack and had to retire. Vince was a pretty sharp guy and interested in doing the job. That was ten years ago. Other than not being very good in a crisis, he does an okay job. Pays a lot of attention to detail. Maybe too much. Wait until you see how he keeps his files.” He lets out a small laugh.
“So where are your keys?” I ask.
“Right here.” He taps his pocket. “I’ve got my own.”
After a moment’s hesitation, he reaches into his pocket and hands them over. If he knows I don’t want him around when I go through the files, he doesn’t say anything.
“I understand you won’t let Vince into his own trailer without you being there. You better go watch him pack up and leave all this to me,” I say and leave, slamming the door behind me. A tinny sound mixes with an echo and follows me down the stairs. With the latest development, I’d neglected to mention the defamation of Doris on the circus poster. He’ll find out soon enough. Not much gets by Boss Man.
Vince is waiting outside, once again like the old, family dog not allowed inside the house. I almost feel sorry for him.
“Jeri, I know how this looks, Eddie owing me all that money, but I want you to know I didn’t kill him.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, noncommittally.
“If you only got thirty-six hours then you’re wasting time looking at me,” he says, assuming an inflated pose before deflating again when I narrow my eyes at him.
“Sounds like you were listening at the door.”
He gulps. “Well, it’s kind of hard not to hear things through that piece of tin. I sometimes wonder if people don’t hear me in the john.”
“Boss Man’s waiting for you. You have a bus to catch.”
He nods and slinks away.
Chapter Twenty
3:30 p.m., Monday
Tin Foot is in his usual place checking over the rigging. I sit down beside him. I tell him we’re officially back on the job and to come help me search through the files in Vince’s office. He takes it like he takes everything else, with a shrug and a smile.
“How’s your whittling coming, Tin? I don’t see it anywhere around you.”
He has a quizzical look on his face. “I can’t seem to find my knife at the moment. I got to stop leaving it lying around like that.” Tin looks behind him on the ground. “I thought I left it right here.”
Death of A Clown Page 15
