A FATAL FESTIVAL (Alethea, The Circus Sleuth Book 3) Read online

  Holden and Letha sat down together at the table, as it had largely been cleaned of debris, and began checking the contents. Like the old mathematical adage about repeating patterns, the small lockbox mimicked the chaos of the trailer and vice versa; most of the papers inside seemed little more than the scribblings and doodling of a man who needed to get out more. But the lockbox was small, and inevitably, they got to the meaty part.

  “Most of these I can’t wrap my head around, but this…it’s a plan that fits one of the acts of sabotage. This details the performance of the trapeze artist who was injured. Everything from timing to rigging to several methods of ensuring that there would be a breaking point.” Alethea held the piece of paper out for Holden to have a look at it. After a passing glance, he nodded.

  “Look at this,” he said and gave her the note he had been holding. It was the same, only for a different case that had been realized—one of Bruce’s weights breaking. They looked at the paper, looked at each other, and their eyes told each other one thing.

  “We’ve got our saboteur,” they said at the same time. The second time made it a bit spooky. They started looking through the documents with renewed resolve, and found more plans for sabotaging different acts, only most of them had never been realized. Alethea was frantically looking for one thing only—notes on her Wheel of Death performance. She had found the crimson glyph here, in a book that Obed had possessed. Was it so far-fetched to think it was him who had put it under that seat?

  There was no proof of that sort, but that didn’t mean that there was nothing more of interest. Towards the bottom of the lockbox, they found a photograph. If the plans for sabotage had been unexpected, then this photo was even more of a headscratcher. It depicted Obed Selby with America Baker, both of them standing together in front of his trailer and smiling at the camera. The photo must have been a few years old, from the looks of them. It was one of those connections again. The spider’s web.

  “I haven’t spoken to America since just shortly after Selby had been found,” Alethea said in a low voice. “And we didn’t actually talk about the murder at all.” Holden took the photograph from her hand and had his own look, turning it over to look at the back.

  “There is something written here. ‘We make our own luck. Take care of yourself!’ In absence of a signature, I would assume it was written by America Baker.” He gave the photo back to Alethea for her to check the writing, and it definitely looked like it could be America’s. “In all probability, she was simply uninformed of what took place when the two of you last spoke. I would see no reason why she should deliberately conceal Obed being an acquaintance of hers, especially with the circus world being a small world.”

  Alethea nodded slowly, but she didn’t completely believe the words. There was more to this than them being passing acquaintances, more than them knowing each other because circus folk knew each other. Obed had been sabotaging performances, had, in all likelihood, drawn that crimson glyph under Elias’ seat, and he knew America, who spoke of magic as if it were completely real. There was something major to break open. Now she only had to fit Kaley into that picture, and find out why Obed was murdered, because that was one thing he certainly didn’t do himself.

  “We can ask her about all of that later. What’s more is that Obed’s death clearly isn’t related to the sabotage, but it must’ve been someone else, maybe in retaliation for him endangering others, and we might find something more still…maybe a connection to Kaley.” Perhaps she had become obsessed with the woman, but something with her just didn’t feel right. The lockbox had been mostly emptied, yet as she stood up and looked around the trailer, her impression had changed.

  This was a treasure trove. They could find all kinds of things inside here, and maybe they would. It was time to turn the thing upside down in a more effective manner. “Agent Westley, do you remember those colleagues of yours who you said might be laughing behind your back?” She turned back towards Holden with a broad smile. “And are you thinking what I am thinking?”

  “I believe I am.” He smiled back.

  Less than fifteen minutes later, Operation Cleanup was in full force. Several officers helped with sifting through everything, separating garbage from anything potentially valuable, loading it in boxes and bags and storing it outside the trailer. As the piles grew, it seemed unfathomable how they had ever fit into the limited space of the trailer just hours earlier. After they had emptied everything but the cupboards and closets, they sifted through those, too. It took them a few hours, but in the end, they had a complete picture of what was inside the trailer and what wasn’t. No more secret compartments were discovered.

  “It doesn’t look like there was anything left to find, after all.” Alethea smiled apologetically as a few heads turned. She absentmindedly looked over the stuff they had collected, until her eyes actually became stuck on something. “Hey, tell me…when was the last time it rained around here?”

  The police officers looked at each other and scratched their heads and chins, until one of them had an answer: “I think it hasn’t rained for weeks now. Is that important?” Alethea grabbed a heavy boot encrusted with mud. It was dried up, but had not been dry for long.

  “The festival began only a short while ago, but everyone from Circus Pandemonium was here before that, to prepare everything. Obed found a way to get his boots this dirty without any rainfall. So that leaves a pretty simple conclusion.”

  “Swamp,” proposed one policeman.

  “Swamp,” agreed Alethea.

  “That’s an excellent find, Alethea.” Holden took the boot from Alethea, picked up the other one, and pressed them into the police officer’s hands. “Officer Seymour, I want you to find out the complete life story of this mud ASAP.” He glanced sideways to Alethea. “We may have a fleeing suspect on our hands, after all.”

  Officer Seymour raised an eyebrow. “That suspect’s not going far in those boots.” He grinned. Holden chose to ignore that, cleared his throat, and turned to Alethea.

  “I trust you to talk to America while I hold down the fort. You know each other, and my presence there may only complicate matters and make her less likely to be candid. I will call you as soon as we have anything substantial.” He nodded with determination. “Meanwhile, you should be prepared to take a trip into the swamp.”

  Chapter IX

  America was not at home. She was instead in her tent, fully decked out as the mystical Madame Lécuyer, only that she still had tea. She always needed to have tea, after all. There she sat, waiting for Alethea, and giving the young woman a knowing smile once she entered the twilight underneath the dark violet canvas.

  “Letha. I’ve been waiting for you. A little longer than I thought, but that’s no matter. I knew that you would want to talk to me. I just didn’t know when exactly.”

  Alethea sat down and promptly had a tea in front of her, too. She looked at the old woman with some doubt, wondering what exactly went on inside her head. If she was at all touched by what happened to Obed, it was all packed up inside of her. America sat there as she always sat there, fleeing into a role that she played, embodying someone instead of being herself, maybe to lessen the impact that the events outside that tent had.

  “Hello, America. So you know why I’m here? We looked through Obed’s things and found something interesting.” She handed America the photograph, who looked at it with an inscrutable expression before giving it back. “How do you know each other? Did you know what he was doing?” Alethea bit her lip. “I feel like you know a lot more about this case than I do right now, you know.”

  “Oh, Letha. The things I know…I know some things, yes, but I didn’t know that I would come to this, that things would go so far. Maybe it was my naïve hopes that left me unable to believe that they would.” America held the teacup in her hands, taking a small sip now and then. “I knew Obed very well, that’s true. I knew him much better than most anyone, even at Circus Pandemonium. He was doing the sabotage, wasn’t h
e?”

  Alethea nodded. “We don’t have direct proof, but we found notes and drawings in a hidden lockbox in his trailer.” She pointed at the photograph that was now lying on the table. “That’s also where we found this. The police confirmed he had the tools and the means to perform the sabotage, so it looks like we have that covered. We can’t be sure he worked alone, but…we’ll see about that.”

  “Yes, yes.” America looked into Alethea’s eyes, gauging, wondering, trying to find something there before she said anything more. “Obed had this strange idea of creating that rivalry. He was the beginning of that rumor, the start of it all. I think maybe he did it out of revenge against me, or perhaps against Virgil, or against the both of us. Maybe he did it because he truly believed that it would be a good story, another chapter of circus life, a thing that the audience might tell each other and that might make everything a tiny bit more real. I wish I could have convinced him otherwise, but he went ahead. It was him. And I believe it was only him.”

  America suddenly looked a lot older, as if saying these things came at a great cost for her. Alethea looked at her with wrinkles on her forehead, but slowly, a picture was beginning to complete itself. “He was your student, wasn’t he? An apprentice of some sort? He learned from you, and then he left, for whatever reason.”

  “Things don’t always turn out the way we want them to.” America smiled weakly. “Old people like to have a lot of ideas. We feel that we’ve seen so much that we are wise now, that we know what the world is and how it works. And then things surprise us, and our plans still fall apart, and everything becomes like we never wanted it.”

  Her words were cryptic, deliberately so, as if there were some sort of hidden conspiracy of pensioners that tried to take over the world. “I later met a woman named Kaley. It was after I talked to you. She showed me a photograph and helped me to find Elias, the man who yelled out during the Wheel of Death. You know her, too, don’t you?”

  America nodded repeatedly. “Kaley. Yes, of course I know her. How could I not know Kaley? She’s been around. And then she stuck around, somehow, like something that attaches to the bottom of your shoe and you can’t scratch it off.” It was a weird thing for the kind old lady to say, so uncharacteristically mean, as if the words had come from someone else and she was just repeating them.

  After staring at her for a few long moments, Alethea went on, “I also found this crimson glyph in Obed’s house. It was in a book he possessed about the Celts.” So far, none of that seemed to ring any bells with America. “I believe it was him who painted the glyph under Elias’ seat. And…I think Elias stood under some influence, some outside magical influence, which is what made him do what he did. Was that Obed, too?”

  America shook her head. “No, Alethea. Obed did not want to hurt you. It wasn’t him, don’t you see? The real answer is right in front of your eyes. Right in front of you.” Alethea pursed her lips, and sifted through her memory. Right in front of her eyes….

  “So it was Kaley! And…and Obed….” She inclined her head to the side, watching America. “Obed tried to help me, didn’t he? Help us, that is? He painted that glyph because it would lessen the…the curse.” She started chewing on her lip. It all made sense when she accepted these ideas and the concept of magic—when she opened her eyes to it, like America had wanted her to. “So he and Kaley were enemies. Mortal enemies, maybe.”

  “Alethea, my child. You are very close. I just want you to believe. Think the way that your reason tells you to think, once you accept that simple idea that I have been dying for you to accept.” She emptied her tea, and filled up both their cups again. Supporting herself with her hands, America leaned forward over the table, speaking softly, “That Obed has been dying for.”

  Alethea looked back at her with large eyes, taking quick breaths. She blinked, and looked around, and for the longest time she searched for something unknown, something that made her feel different, allowed her to take a step back and follow another line of thinking. She had started talking about curses, about glyphs and apprentices and magic….

  “Kaley wanted to kill me, and she wanted to use my brother…the original target girl got sick, and I took her place. What a coincidence, hm? And then, Obed knew that, because he and Kaley worked together. The sabotage was their plan. So he stopped her. It went too far for him, but the other things were already in place. And she…took revenge on him, turned against him, in the most extreme way possible.”

  “But if that’s true, why did she seek you out? Why did she come to you with that photo?”

  Alethea furrowed her brow. She chewed on her lip as she started rattling her brain, trying to think how that fit into the picture. “Maybe…she wanted me to find her. She wanted me to notice her, because…she wanted to kill me, didn’t she? So she must hate me, for some reason…know me while I don’t know her. Maybe it made her so mad that she had to seek me out.” Her eyes searched America’s face for approval.

  The old woman nodded. “I think you’re close to it all. But then the question is…why does she hate you? How does she know you? What do you have that she does not have?”

  Alethea shook her head. “I don’t know, America. I really don’t know. I don’t feel like I have anything much…anything that someone would have to be so jealous for that they’d want to kill me.” She drove her hand through her hair and scratched the back of her head with one finger, keeping her eyes on America, as if she could glean the answer that way. “After Obed was gone, she sought me out.”

  “There’s something in front of your eyes, but you don’t see. What do you know about this circus? Two things, two parts….” America seemed happy to keep playing this game for some time, but Alethea narrowed her eyes at her. While she liked riddles, she did not enjoy this willful play—the idea that America already knew everything, but still made her guess.

  “Look, America, if….” She exhaled deeply. “It’s always either you or Virgil, is that what you want me to say?” Alethea nodded slowly. “America or Virgil.” She frowned. “So what are you telling me, exactly?”

  “I am telling you that I want you to go see Virgil, and tell him what you told me. Tell him what you know, that you know, and ask him about Kaley. Even if you asked him before, ask him again.” The old woman’s voice became very authoritative, and it sounded like their talk was over. “Go now, Alethea. We’re going to talk to each other again, after all of this is over.”

  There was still doubt in Letha’s eyes, but it was not like she had a reason to rebel against America’s advice, or her orders, so she quickly stood up. “I’m not sure I like your tone, old lady.” She stuck out her tongue for a moment. “Bye.” With that she left, half running in the direction of Virgil’s trailer.

  He had been expecting her, of course, except he didn’t have any tea.

  “Alethea. I knew you would come.”

  “Virgil. Do you also know why I’m here?”

  The old man nodded, sitting there with serious eyes, leaning his chin on his hand. He had a crumpled sheet of paper that he handed over to Alethea, who unfolded and read an interesting, if simple, message: Find me in the swamp. K. She sighed and put the note back in Virgil’s hand. “So, what do you have to say to that?”

  He nodded slowly, and then looked away to nowhere in particular. “I’m sorry, Alethea. I don’t know if it is my fault. Maybe I was just blind to not see how everything comes together. I assume you’ve spoken to America already?” Alethea nodded, and he mirrored it. “Then you know about Obed. Obed and Kaley, they are both from our past, in different ways, and we lost them both for different reasons. But they’re still connected to us—desperately, perhaps.”

  “What do you mean, Virgil? I want you to be clear on this. I already got the runaround from America, and I still can’t be fully sure my vague theories are more than that.”

  “I’m going to be very direct with you, then. Kaley was my apprentice, like Obed was America’s. We parted ways with them long ago, for differe
nt reasons. Kaley’s path led her here, and if I had been a better man, I would have stood in her way. Some part of me thought that the hurt would fade within her some day, but it obviously did not.” He looked into Alethea’s eyes with a worried expression. “Don’t misunderstand me. I didn’t even know she was here until you said her name. And then you walked away, and I stood there, thunderstruck.”

  He stood up, as if the story made him unable to sit still, and leaned against his seat. “Her presence here explained everything. The sabotage, the rivalry, the accidents, even Obed’s death.” He shook his head. “The proof will be with her, in the swamp. And I took the time to ask other people. They knew she was here. She was all over the place. It feels like I had a blindfold across my eyes. But what I mean is that someone will have seen her, perhaps thought nothing of it, because that is…what we do.” Turning to her with sudden intensity, he added, “You know what I mean, do you not? You realize it all.”

  She took a heavy breath and nodded, standing up again. It felt weird for her to sit while he stood. “And now I know why she wanted to hurt me. Virgil…we have to go to the swamp to where she’s hiding. Do you know the place?”

  He shook his head. “No. She was relying on the fact that I could find her still. Perhaps I could, given the time. Don’t you have any leads?” His eyes were hopeful, even if it was mixed with deep regret.

  “We do. But I don’t know how the police will handle…a supernatural case.”

  “They do not need to. They will handle the very pragmatic aspects of it. When you look at it, was there anything necessary except human weakness and emotion? Obed and Kaley will have walked and talked together, maybe more—much more than that. Sabotage, jealousy, poison—maybe they will call me and America to the stand, and maybe we will have to say what old people have to say. Who needs magic?” He sighed deeply. “Who needs it?” He looked her in the eye. “Let us find that agent friend of yours, Letha.”