A KILLER BLACKOUT (Alethea, The Circus Sleuth Book 1) Read online

  A KILLER BLACKOUT

  Alethea, The Circus Sleuth 1

  JENNA COBURN

  Copyright © 2015

  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. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter I

  Chapter II

  Chapter III

  Chapter IV

  Chapter V

  Chapter VI

  Chapter VII

  Chapter VIII

  Chapter IX

  Chapter I

  It was on a long afternoon when the autumn sun burned down its last, perhaps as a good-bye before the inevitable winter, that in the town of Sparta, North Carolina, a man was found murdered. Even before anyone really knew anything, it was a tale of terror. The rumors spread instantly about all kinds of small details regarding poor Larry Patrick, who had never hurt a fly—that’s what they always liked to say. Nobody could think right on that late sunny afternoon. All that was clear was that a man died unjustly, and balance had to be restored.

  At that time, Alethea Thwaite knew nothing of this tragedy. She wasn’t one to spend time in front of a TV or go to the diner to pick up on the latest news. The last one, perhaps, was because she didn’t really belong—they’d been in town for less than a week. But it had been a good week up until then.

  Even if she had known of it, then she probably would’ve paid it some tiny bit of attention and then moved on with her life, thinking it didn’t concern her. Only before the end of that same day, she’d be in the middle of it—she and her family.

  Still, it had been a good week.

  “Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls! What a treat we have in store for you today! Don’t dare to blink during this next performance, or you might miss the mercurial mastery of Melchiorre the Magnificent, Megacephalic Magister of Mysteries!” Alethea proclaimed with a bright smile as she brimmed with excitement, taking a few dancing steps and finally bowing deeply with her arm spread out and her fingers gracefully steering the attention towards the side of the stage.

  In the same moment, Melchiorre the Magnificent entered, also known as Creighton Thwaite—her father. He used to be known under a different name, but some of the more dangerous stunts were better left to the young ones by now, and since he knew “every trick in the book,” he might as well be a magician. Creighton’s father used to say that he wrote “the book,” but was usually rebuffed by Grandmother, who inferred he never even read a book.

  Stepping off stage, Alethea kept the smile on her face, even if it grew a little smaller. Her grandparents were far away—retired, so to say. She couldn’t imagine how it must feel for them, to settle down like that after a lifetime of traveling. Lightly hopping down a few steps and landing with her feet on the downtrodden grass, she stretched herself pleasantly and squinted at the sun above.

  The schoolchildren inside the small side stage screeched. Melchiorre had pulled something masterfully magnificent. Alethea sat down on a bench backstage; she had seen everything a thousand times—the time had come and gone when it was cool to have a magician as a dad. Usually she still let him think he was cool, though; it gave him such a blissful self-contended smile.

  “Looks like you’re having fun, sis,” remarked Braden, who had just stepped out from behind a stand and proceeded to light himself a cigarette. Alethea’s narrowed eyes still needed a minute in the sunlight before she saw him clearly.

  People usually said that they must be twins. They shared the same brown-sprinkled turquoise hue of their eyes and the ink-black, flowing hair, an expressive face made for broad smiles, and a bit of a lanky form. Each of them were a bit taller than the average. They dressed and behaved quite differently, but anyone who didn’t know them might’ve actually thought of them as live examples of sexual dimorphism—like their only difference was their gender.

  Their parents thought it had brought them closer; reality was a tad more complicated. It wasn’t easy always being compared, and with Alethea being the older sister, separated by three years, Braden had gotten himself a bit of a reputation as the local “rebel without a cause.” He was usually looking the part, too, and the audience liked it—tattoos and leather. Alethea always considered it a bit infantile, but things like that came with the territory.

  “It’s just a nice day,” she answered her brother. Biting her lip for a second, she still couldn’t resist saying, “How many smoke breaks are you taking these days, lil’ brother?” She raised her eyebrows. It was a challenge. He lowered his.

  “Depends on how annoying my no-fun-allowed sister is,” he replied with a dry smile. She laughed. He put on a real fierce scowl—he was supposed to, after all—but she knew that underneath, he was enjoying the old routine as much as her.

  Alethea steered her gaze up to the sky, following the cigarette smoke until it vanished into thin air, and looked at the white clouds far above them. They had made their camp on a beautiful piece of land now, that’s what she liked about these smaller places—the circus could be at the edge of town, between fields and green, not cramped up on some lot of mud and asphalt.

  Then again, it was more work to get the people in. They had a large show, with a big top and sideshows, with wagons and shops and what else; half a fairground went with them. The director always said every day was a festival, and they could swallow a whole city on a good day. He always managed for them, and Alethea looked over his shoulder.

  She wasn’t really one of the performers, after all—not like her father or her brother, or even her younger sister, Elyse, who had more talent than all the men of their family put together. She just took the stage as an announcer, and was someone who was content organizing, orchestrating, and doing everything that allowed the show to go on.

  Which reminded her.

  “Braden, are you ready for tonight, then? You had two days off, plenty of time to get everything together.”

  He nodded and smiled, and for a moment she expected him to start dancing, that’s how excited he looked. “You know it, Thea. I will rock the tent tonight.” He put the back of his hand on his forehead and closed his eyes for a second. “The ladies will faint!” He followed up with raising one of his fists upwards. “The fellows will cheer!” Finally, a wide gesture and a turn until he faced her again, all the while coming closer. “And the whole town will know the name of the man who amazed them!”

  Alethea watched him and giggled. “Save some of that enthusiasm, you’ll need it when you start sweating and jittering and asking me to give you a pat on the back.” That made him narrow his eyes at her, which only increased her amusement once again.

  “You’ll be the most amazed of them all, old naysayer, that’s a promise. I’m not a kid anymore, y’know.” He put out his cigarette and demonstratively cracked his knuckles. “See you later tonight, then.” They nodded at each other, and he went back into the stand he was helping out with. Business was slow, but there’d still have to be someone there.

  As for Alethea, she decided that it was time to pay a visit to the director. Standing up, she peered back into the tent where Melchiorre was continuing to show off, and then sauntered off towards the boss’ wagon. More than anyone else in the circus, the man lived and breathed that faux 19th century flair that gave them new life and novelty value.

  Most visitors didn’t really know what a circus of the 1800s was like, and they didn’t need to, because lik
e everything else there, it was all about the show.

  Virgiliu Ardelean, the circus director and sole owner of Virgil’s Spectacular Circus of Unforgettable Attractions—he had a weakness for titles like that and was always urging his performers to adopt a similar vernacular for their shows—was usually found in his luxurious trailer decked out in that very same antique style. He was an odd man, even for circus folks, and Alethea found it perpetually impossible to predict what he’d do next.

  His mobile home was parked prominently near the entrance, well-placed to draw people in with its ornately fashioned decorations, the colorful writing and deep crimson color; it had lanterns, carvings and even a fake seat for a carriage driver. All it was missing was the equipment to harness horses in front of it. She half believed he’d add that soon enough.

  A few wooden steps up and she knocked on the door before stepping inside. Curiously, the inside of the trailer kept up the same masquerade, masking even the conveniences of modern life with the veneer of some Victorian implement. And every time one stepped in there, something else was new and different, at least that was how it felt. Virgiliu granted her that minute—he thoroughly enjoyed it, in fact—and waited patiently for his guest to speak up before him.

  Alethea smiled at him. She liked his home—it felt like one, and the peace she saw on his face was always infectious. Perhaps because it seemed so weird, it offered a sanctuary from the outside world, playing much the same role that the circus played for its visitors—a reprieve from that ordinary world without magic and wonder. She sat across from him, reclining comfortably on the cushioned seat. “Hey, Virgil. How is it?”

  He cleared his throat. Nobody really knew how old he was, but everyone remembered him as always having been old; yet no matter how his coughs rattled sometimes or his back creaked, he was too tough, and, as he said, too attached to the circus to just close his eyes and say good-bye. He was a mystery man, someone who had played a part so long that the lines between reality and fiction had become blurred.

  “Alethea.” He smiled back. “The sun just drifted in through my door. I feel excellent.” She inclined her head to the right. He was a charmer like that. If only he was about a century younger. “I hear Braden has perfected his performance for tonight?”

  She nodded. “He’s plenty excited, too. It’s good to see him like that. God knows it hasn’t always been so.” Her fingers tapped a rhythm on the table in front of her, but Virgiliu politely pretended not to notice. If she had something on her mind, she could take the time she needed to actually come out with it. “That’s also, well, kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, Virgil.”

  He nodded deeply one time, three times, and finally put his old, wrinkly hand on hers. Her nervous fingers silenced, and she looked him straight in the eye. His palm was very leathery and warm; his eyes were dark and deep, faintly reflecting her face with the lips pressed together and the silky dark hair in a straight bun. She could’ve been a businesswoman (if not for the glitter on her suit), looking so prim that it contrasted perfectly with the eccentric old man she sat across from.

  Old Virgil looked at her from under bushy black brows, like great hairy caterpillars swung above those mysterious pools that reflected a rich inner life, a hidden vibrancy beneath mottled old skin. Neither the hair on his head nor his beard had retained their color—only those industrious eyebrows. Perhaps, for some strange reason, the old man colored them. It was yet another mystery to ponder about him, after all.

  With the polished top of his head lacking any hair, the surrounding half circle of it seemed to compensate by forming a wild and disheveled grey crown. Again, in a measure of yet more contrast, his beard was groomed minutely, with each of the innumerable small hairs seeming to know its exact place; it was as equally pointy as the ends of his mustache. Something about him made him look as if he had sprung alive straight from an old picture book.

  Alethea had become silent for long moments. She looked at the old man’s tanned hand on her pale fingers, and then looked back at him, and somehow felt foolish for her nervousness, even in the face of someone whom she had admired for what he had done and what he kept doing.

  “I think he’s still a bit…unsure…disoriented, maybe…and after all, he’s younger than me, and I don’t know how it was before the Civil War, but you must’ve been young sometime, too.”

  It was routine to make fun of his age, and he always seemed a little disappointed if someone didn’t do it. So she kept at it, and it was all good fun. He chuckled a little, and pressed her hand once to tell her that she could stop talking; he had already gotten her point.

  “You know me, Alethea. I’ve seen more than one generation grow and prosper, and I’ll do what I can.” He smiled at her. “And you know, it’s always a problem with the young boys, they’re full of fire they don’t know where to aim, unlike you. You’ve always been a perfect young lady, yourself. That is, I like to think I’ve never seen someone so beautiful as well as so smart…and I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather teach all I know.”

  She smiled. It was something he had been repeating for some time now—that he wanted to take her under his wing as his proper apprentice, to take over all of this circus business once his inevitable end would come. For all the jokes about his high age, they served merely to hide the fear of that fact, which perhaps was why Virgiliu loved them more than anyone else.

  “You’re just an old flatterer, that’s it,” she gave back, pulled her hand out from under his and then gave his leathery skin several pats. He narrowed his eyes.

  “Don’t make it sound like I’m senile,” Virgil said slowly but with great emphasis. If it had been anyone but her, they’d probably have been scared by now, because the ancient circus director knew how to play the part of the sinister villain. In his youth, he’d been in over a dozen movies, actually.

  In the right circumstance, anyone could easily imagine him putting some damsel in distress bound with rope on the train tracks and cackling manically. Considering how old he was, Alethea always thought that maybe he had actually witnessed the overdrawn, Vaudeville antics that went from stage right to early reels of film. And even in his old age, he wasn’t afraid to put on more makeup than Alethea had ever seen on anyone outside a historical film about the French Revolution.

  “You know that anyone would think your offer is more than just intriguing.” She said that kind of thing before, and some part of her wasn’t even sure why she stayed so noncommittal.

  Virgiliu raised one bushy eyebrow. “I’ve had enough of this,” he confirmed. A smile showed on her lips, but the old man continued. “I’ll give you another week, and if you’re going to be like that at the end of it, then I’ll need to find someone else. You may have all the time in the world, but I don’t.”

  She bit her lip. Then she nodded. “It’s a deal,” she said. They shook on it, and after a long moment of silence between them, Alethea stood up, and Virgil—remembering how to be a gentleman—stood up with her.

  “I’m already doing most of your job, anyway,” she teased. She smiled, but her eyes widened for a second. Sometimes she couldn’t believe the things she said. On some level, this still was her boss. Her employer. In fact, not only hers, but the employer of most of her close family members.

  Virgil chuckled lightly. Alethea mentally patted her own shoulder. “Go on, young lady, while I’m still in a good mood,” he said and made a show of turning his attention on some paper or other that was scattered before him. Nobody who saw the old showman, especially on stage, would have thought him to take care of finances down to the last digit.

  Alethea lightly waved at him, thinking he might see it from the corner of his eye. “See you in the big top,” she said before jumping out of the carriage. There wasn’t much to do for her, but she wanted to check on some of the acts, perhaps to calm her mind that everything was going to go well.

  The fresh air and the warm rays of the sun put a spring in her step again, and she walked around to the temp
orary path made out of mulch, laid out as a precaution against rain, so that visitors would not have to wade through a swamp—an experience usually not too popular among them. Except for that one time they had the Horrible Swamp Monster Experience as a guest act. Taking out the “Swamp Monster” part didn’t leave much to enjoy, though.

  It was only Virgil’s mobile home that was placed straight in the way of anyone entering the grounds through the front entrance; the other circus folks’ trailers built a small improvised village, complete with a meeting ground in their middle, where on a warm day like this, they’d hang out during their free time and perhaps put on a late-night gathering after a successful show.

  For now, that roughly rectangular opening was her first destination, as usual when she wanted to check in on everyone. There were some among the circus folk that were recent additions, others that went through a lot of wandering and soul-searching and what else, but most of them, much like Alethea, just lived the only life she’d known since she was a child. Sometimes she had wondered if someone like her, with no extraordinary tricks to show off on stage—even if old Virgil told her how smart or good-looking she was—really had a place here. She’d dabbled here and there, done this and that, but always her interests had been academic, curiosity ripping her from one thing to the next.

  No stage shows had settled in her heart until she had already slipped into a different role. But even the greatest artists needed someone behind them, or sometimes in front of them, and that was something she excelled in. In a way that even the director didn’t realize, the circus was as close to her heart as any family was.

  Alethea finally peeked around the corner and found the “town square” largely abandoned, except for two clowns. Clowns in more than one sense.

  “Hey guys. How’s it going?” Unlike her, they weren’t dressed up, and that’s how they looked at her. She sighed as they grinned. They were Robby and Antony—those even were their real names, and they liked to stay in character. For a moment, she considered just quickly walking backwards again, pretending she never went there in the first place.