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

  It was too late.

  “If it ain’t our young Madame Thwaite, just so giddy for tonight’s show she already put on her fancy clothes,” Antony began in some sort of broad—and fake—accent. Then Robby joined in.

  “What a concatenation of events that we all should foregather in this esplanade! Howbeit your rompers are inflicting quite the mulligrubs upon poor Anton, who is not familiar with the finer points of muliebrity.” He adjusted a set of invisible glasses and nodded sagely.

  She inclined her head to the side. Both of them were like two sides of a coin—one of them played dumb in an endearing way, while the other did in a smart-sounding way. Only recently had Robby discovered the things he could salvage from an old dictionary, and now he liked to put in random British words as long as they sounded like something. Alethea wanted to speak, but with her mouth half-opened, she realized her mistake.

  They were going off on their own, with her just being the accidental audience.

  “I’m going to inflict something on you, Professor!” Antony sent her a sidelong glance. “He’s been like this all day now,” he explained.

  “I’ll put a wampum up your grummet, you stripling,” Robby gave back and raised his fists in some sort of old-fashioned boxing stance, and then he also looked sidelong at Alethea. “He’s been on my case all week, I say!”

  She laughed. “Good to see that you’re experimenting,” she said diplomatically. Robby’s shoulders sunk. She cleared her throat. “Very good!” There was a clap and some hasty nods from her, too, but it seemed a bit too late to demonstrate more enthusiasm.

  Patting Rob’s back a bit more forcefully than necessary, Antony finally looked at Alethea like a real person. “It’s such a nice day out here! Looking around as usual?” She nodded, needing a minute before actually answering.

  These two were always hard to pinpoint. You never knew which side of them would come out. Even the way they were looking now, wearing blue jeans and band shirts like anyone might, there was a mad gleam in both of their eyes. Perhaps because the circus life always implied a family connection, they were often mistaken for brothers—an impression they actually liked to give.

  It made their rivalries seem that much more interesting, and it was also one of the staples of their act. Even though Antony was a bit more on the swarthy side—dark eyes, thick hair, bushy mustache, stocky build—and Robby was blond, a bit taller and thinner, with an equally bushy (but much lighter) mustache, they found a way to wield their differences to an advantage.

  Alethea knew they’d been friends for a long time. Since they had grown up together, they’d picked up on each other’s quirks and mannerisms, and in many ways, they were more similar than actual brothers would ever dare to be.

  “It’s good to see you doing well. Did–”

  She was interrupted by Robby. “Shillelagh or swizzle-stick, got shingles right down to my–”

  Robby, in turn, was interrupted by Antony’s hand over his mouth.

  “Sorry, ma’am, we gotta keep this one here for now and the spare parts not gonna be here for ‘nother two weeks at least, so g’day, and, well, I think they’re all busy doing something that isn’t hanging out with us. Strange, huh?”

  Antony slowly dragged Robby away, who robotically struggled against the treatment. They kept it up all the way until they disappeared behind one of the trailers, and Alethea couldn’t help but just stand there and look at them. “Good talk,” she said to herself in a low voice.

  It was time to turn in. While she hadn’t exactly checked in on anybody yet—what just happened couldn’t really be counted as anything—she felt a humble desire to relax a bit by talking to normal people, or at least familiarly weird people. She went on to the Thwaite family trailer—inhabited by Elyse and their parents.

  After knocking on the door twice, Alethea stepped inside and sent a lively greeting ahead. Even though it technically wasn’t her home anymore, it still felt like it. She couldn’t recall how many miles it had wandered since, but it didn’t matter; wherever they camped, it still was home. She left a piece of her heart there, and found it every time she came back through the same old door.

  “I don’t know how you can always be so sunny-side up,” Elyse greeted her back. Alethea’s little sister looked up from her homework, somewhat annoyed, as if she had just endured a personal slight. It was during these moments that Alethea couldn’t help but be glad that she, herself, wasn’t a teenager anymore.

  Elyse was bright beyond her years—that’s what everyone could see, but it didn’t help with making her less miserable. As she sat there behind the table, leaning on her arm and looking so disapprovingly out of her blue eyes, with just a little too much black eyeliner, Alethea had to suppress a grin. It wasn’t wise to antagonize, but it was still fun.

  “I cannot, for now that I entered Queen Elyse’s realm of perpetual darkness, my sun’s light is extinguished, and I must languish with her in disquieting melancholy,” she declared theatrically. Elyse rolled her eyes.

  “Thanks for channeling Mary Shelley,” she replied sardonically and sighed. “You’re behind the times, sis.” Nervously tapping her pen on the table, Elyse finally sat back. “Are you coming from Dad’s show?” Her tone told Alethea that, for now, they’d made peace again.

  “I made a little detour to talk to Virgil and then I ran into Rob and Anton outside, and that gave me enough to want to turn in for a bit.” She smiled weakly as she moved to sit down across from her sister. “Mom’s out?” The trailer was well-organized and surprisingly spacious, but unless someone was actively hiding, you could tell the number of people the moment you came in.

  Elyse nodded, brushing back her hair. “Yup. She’s vicariously nervous about tonight and so had to go out and do something.” Smiling for a second, she continued, “It’s so funny to see her like that. You’d understand, though. You’re both busybodies.”

  Alethea narrowed her eyes, and her mouth was half-open before she bit her lip. It wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last time someone called her that. She was supposed to take care of things! People should appreciate that someone kept the ball rolling, whether it was their mother, the director, or Alethea.

  “Braden can take care of himself. He’s not a kid,” Elyse added. There was a silent and neither am I in there. She always complained about her role in life, being the youngest of three, but Alethea saw how it really was. Elyse had it easy. As the oldest—and surely also because of being a girl—Alethea had to watch how her younger siblings gained more freedom at much younger ages. Things she had to fight tooth and nail for were just handed to them.

  If the founding fathers had still been alive that day, they’d have felt what Alethea felt. These young ones just didn’t appreciate what was handed to them.

  “You look like you drifted off to some fantasy realm,” Elyse asserted suddenly.

  “We hold these truths to be self-evident,” Alethea mumbled.

  Elyse coughed, wrinkling her brow and sighing a short “yeah” before she turned her attention back to her studies. Alethea bit her tongue and put her palms together in front of herself, leaning on the table with her elbows.

  “What do you have there?” she asked in a neutral voice.

  “It’s math, and…that’s that.”

  Alethea nodded profoundly in the way that a parent would nod when they have nothing to say but want to make their child feel good about themselves. There weren’t quite enough years between them, though, so she shook that right out of her head again. The same head-shaking helped her to not awkwardly ruffle Elyse’s hair.

  “Well, I guess I’ll go then.”

  “I suppose you will.”

  “That’s that then.”

  “Mhm.”

  “Bye, Elyse.”

  “You live like 20 feet from here.”

  “Still.” Alethea wanted to ruffle her hair so badly that it made her question her own sanity. Jumping up from the chair and turning on her heels, she left the trailer
and ran for her own. Surely, there’d be nothing to ruffle there. Except her own hair, and that was all right.

  In many ways, it was good to live so close to work. Of course, none of them ever could make outrageous claims in order to dodge anything. Then again, none of them understood this gig to be that way; they were all in it together, after all. The more success their shows had, the more everyone had. Virgil always made sure of that.

  Alethea’s home was her oasis. She valued having her own space; it was nothing like Virgil’s spacious and luxurious 19th century interior—or even like her parent’s—but it was hers. Also, it was better than Braden’s. She had learned how to appreciate simple comforts in her life on the road. She didn’t mind that it was small and sometimes cramped; that just made it feel more comfy.

  The showers were warm and relaxing, the bed was soft, and everything had its place. She took off her costume and stripped off her makeup while preparing a small snack, and when she went under the water, the world felt all right.

  There was nothing like a shower and a good nap to recharge one’s batteries for an evening extravaganza of death-defying stunts and rampant buffoonery. Only they’d have to remind Tony and Rob that there were children present.

  Still, Alethea’s meditations were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door, something that was not altogether uncommon with so many people, but it still gave her that same feeling she must’ve given Elyse when showing up so suddenly. Only Elyse had been deeply involved with numbers. There was mounting evidence she actually liked that, and the Thwaite women always had a knack for numbers—someone had to take care of those things if the men were magicians and acrobats and always thought about how many more knives they could simultaneously keep in the air.

  “Yes, one second!” she politely answered to the rapping sound. It took her several seconds, in fact, to open the door. She still only wore her bathrobe, which was too fuzzy, comfy, and silky smooth to just discard; it was half the pleasure of showering.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, is this where we might find one Mr. Braden Thwaite?”

  It was a policeman asking the question—a young, somehow earnest-looking man, who seemed to oscillate between bearing the authority of the law and just trying not to inconvenience anyone.

  “No, umm…it’s…what’s the problem?” Alethea probably looked even more surprised than she felt. She stepped outside of her trailer, closing the door behind herself.

  “Nothing to worry, it’s just an ongoing police investigation in which Mr. Thwaite might be a witness, Miss…?”

  “I’m Alethea Thwaite. I‘m his sister.” There wasn’t anyone from the circus with the police, probably because they were actually busy with work, so they must’ve sent them off with a rough description. She nodded politely at the second policeman standing outside the trailer; only on the third man did her gaze linger.

  The man was wearing a formal, if somewhat loose-fitting grey suit, standing just far away from the policemen to signify he wasn’t one of them, but just close enough to make it clear he was with them. His hands were behind his back, but his brown eyes focused on Alethea, giving her a look she could only have described as profiling. She looked back at him, still a bit overwhelmed, but now also somewhat indignant.

  “Could you tell us where his trailer is, or otherwise where he is right now?”

  She sent the officer a sidelong glance. “It’s over there,” she said and pointed. “He’s probably there preparing for tonight’s show.”

  “Thank you for your cooperation, Miss Thwaite.” The two policemen started walking over there, basically just two trailers down. Alethea looked at them with a raised eyebrow. Cooperation sounded like…well, it was just weird.

  “Good evening, Miss Thwaite. I’m Special Agent Holden Westley, with the FBI.” The man in the suit held out his hand for her to shake. He had put on his friendly-neighborhood-federal-agent smile. Alethea shook.

  Holden Westley was a man who looked like his job description. If someone had put a photo of him in an encyclopedia entry about federal agents, Alethea wouldn’t have batted an eye. He may have been a bit young, but he fit the stereotype perfectly.

  He was well-groomed, with his dark hair neatly brushed back and his face cleanly shaven. His the suit looked like it came straight from the cleaner’s. Not a single thing was out of place.

  “Nice to meet you, I guess?” She wasn’t sure what to say in this situation. The thought of her brother as a witness to something the FBI was interested in didn’t bode very well, so she actually felt a lot more nervous after that introduction.

  Holden chuckled politely. “It’s okay. Obviously it’s usually not such nice circumstances that I meet people while on the job, but today, I believe, is quite the pleasant, sunny day. Also, there should be nothing to worry about, just as the officer said. After all, we’re just following up on some leads that, by mere coincidence, took us here. I assume you heard what happened, so you’re worried, but that’s all dandy–”

  “Heard what happened?” she suddenly said. “What happened?” she asked with genuine concern. Alethea was sure it wasn’t nice to interrupt the FBI, but his speech might’ve went on for another minute or two if she hadn’t. Agent Westley had a weird way of trying to make her feel at ease. He seemed nice enough, but it was all a bit much.

  “Ah, you haven’t heard?” He grimaced slightly and scratched the back of his head. His eyes evaded her for a moment while he was obviously trying to put together what he was going to say. She raised an eyebrow again, because this man quickly started looking not like his job description would have one assume.

  “There was a murder in the Sparta City Hotel. It was all over the newspapers, actually.” He raised his hand preventively. “Now your brother is just a possible witness, that’s all, nothing to be worried about. The investigation simply has to reconstruct the night’s events from all potential angles.”

  Alethea crossed her arms, feeling a mixture of worry and indignation. He said Braden was just a witness, so that was alright, but on some level she felt her protective instincts for her little brother flaring up. “So how does he come in as a witness?”

  Holden politely smiled—an apologetic expression that people all over the world used when they said no but acted like they wanted to say yes. “I’m sorry, Miss Thwaite, but we can’t just openly discuss these matters. This is an ongoing investigation, after all, and we don’t want to jump the gun, as they say. It’s simply bad practice to present things as known and true before they are.”

  She gave him a doubtful look, because that answer didn’t exactly make her feel better. There was a lot more she wanted to ask him, but she’d certainly be deflected with the same or a similar formulaic response, so she stayed silent. Looking over to Braden’s home, she saw him talking to the police at the entrance. As if he instantly had felt his sister’s eyes on him, he looked over at her. He looked even more worried than she was. And then he went with the policemen.

  “Are they taking him? But he’s on tonight! He’s been preparing for this show for months!” Her protests made Holden give her the same apologetic look he gave her before. It made her unsure about the actual role he played in this, because while he was an FBI agent, he didn’t seem like he really was in charge of anything.

  “I’m very sorry about that, but surely you’ll understand. A person has died, so this isn’t anything to take lightly. I’m sure your brother realized that and put his own matters aside for the moment.”

  It actually made more sense than she would’ve liked to admit. She realized how selfishly she’d been thinking about this. Whoever the victim was, he probably had a family and everything, too, and whoever killed him needed to be stopped. For the moment, Alethea swallowed her misgivings and hoped that Braden would not be too down about missing this big night. The next one would come, after all.

  “Excuse me for a second, Agent Westley.” Before the man answered, Alethea ran after the police and her brother, while still wearing her white bath
robe and slippers.

  “Wait a second, please!” she called out to them. “I just want to talk to my brother.”

  The three of them stopped and turned around, with Braden putting on a fake grin. She half expected him to give her a thumbs-up, too.

  “Hey, can you do me a favor and tell Virgil that I’m damn sorry?” he asked her before Alethea could say anything. She nodded. “And don’t worry about me, I’m just…answering some questions, as they say, and it’s important, so….” He rubbed his lower left arm, clearly uncomfortable. He probably just thought he was inconveniencing everyone else, not thinking a second about himself.

  She sighed at him and ruffled his hair. She had kept that one in for long enough. “You take care of yourself instead of saying sorry, Braden. Also, Mom’s going to explode, not Virgil. You’re lucky whatever she’s doing kept her from seeing this.” His eyes widened and he bit his lip, like he had never entertained the idea that he actually had parents, too. It made Alethea smile.

  “Oh man. Just tell her I’m helping the police in an important investigation.” He took a half step back, like he actually wanted to get out of there faster now.

  She nodded and then gave him a quick hug. “Okay. See you later tonight, I guess. Be good.” She looked at the policemen. “If you keep him too long, mother bear will come looking for him.”

  They both laughed. “It’s just routine. Send Mrs. Thwaite our regards,” the older policeman sat with a polite nod. “The next time we’re visiting the circus, we’ll hopefully be off duty,” the younger one said, actually sounding hopeful. Alethea suddenly became quite aware she was still wearing the bathrobe, and blushed a little. She waved awkwardly.

  “See you later, sis.”

  With that, they went, and Holden Westley came up next to her. They turned towards each other, and she brushed a strand of half-dry hair out of her face.