Cirque De Slay Read online

  Cirque de Slay

  CeeCee James

  Copyright © 2018 by CeeCee James

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For all those crazy kids I get to call my family. Love you bunches and bunches! ~333~

  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Preface

  Concello Circus is crowded with unforgettable characters- trapeze artists, sword swallowers, clowns, not to mention the famed Ringmaster.

  Working at the circus is exactly what Trixie expected. What she didn’t expect is to find a dead body…with a dark apparition rising up from it.

  Claudette Barbarosa, the beautiful bearded lady and rumored girlfriend of the Ringmaster, has been murdered and suspects are everywhere.

  Trixie is desperate to catch the killer before she is caught herself. Even more, she wants an explanation for what she saw the spooky, rainy night that Claudette died.

  Were her eyes lying to her…or was everyone else lying?

  1

  I’m small. I’m so small most people never even notice me. That’s how I got my start here at the circus just over a year ago. No, I'm not officially a small person. Nature stole that from me by making me two inches too tall. But just one look at me showed I’m much too short for an average woman.

  Everything about me was odd. I have a big nose and big ears, little eyes. A very round bottom, lumpy in some ways. It matched my thighs.

  But my hair, my hair was my shining glory.

  It was long and hung in a dark brown—nearly black—sheet past my waist to my bottom.

  The Ringmaster liked to parade me around during the middle of the show. I rode the circle of the arena in the tent, standing on top of one of the ponies. “Ladies and gentlemen! The world’s smallest Lady Godiva!” he’d shout.

  Luckily, unlike the real Lady Godiva, I didn’t ride in the nude, although the Ringmaster probably would have loved that. Mothers of small children, however, would not. Instead, I wore a flesh-colored bathing suit with a wreath of flowers that hung over my shoulder like a sash, and my nose covered with a silver mask.

  It was the strap of my bathing suit that was giving me some trouble now, and here I was due to perform in five minutes. I couldn’t very well go out there and flash the audience.

  Backstage was unbelievable crazy at this time of night, with shouting clowns, lost props, and feathers floating in the air. Everyone was bustling to get to their places. There was no one I could really ask for help. I looked up as this person ran by, and then that one, but no one dropped their eyes low enough to see me.

  Desperation was starting to become my middle name. Finally, I was able to stop Bill, one of the backstage roadies and the one who helped me up on my horse. Bill was my least-favorite worker, and I was always on pins-and-needles around him.

  “I’m going to be a few minutes. I need to fix this.” I pointed to my strap.

  He sneered as he looked down at me. “Little mouse having a wardrobe problem? It’s not like you have enough up there for anyone to notice.”

  I shivered and tried to hide it. “I’ll be right back,” I whispered and ran.

  Time was ticking down, and I wasn’t sure where I could get this fixed before my act was announced. Then I remembered, I’d once heard about a dressing room nearby, unused for ages. Still, I expected it would have the traditional sewing repair kit.

  I hurried behind a curtain fold and entered a dark tunnel that edged the tent. Immediately, the noise of the audience became muted.

  It’s back here somewhere. I walked with one hand trailing the side of the thick canvas. It was nearly pitch black in here. Eyelets in the canvas gave me a tiny peek inside the big tent.

  There was a muffled roar of applause. My heart sped up. Great, my act’s coming up soon. I need to hurry.

  I was a little surprised at how long the tunnel wrapped around. The air felt stifling.

  I paused. Was that scuffling behind me? I spun around.

  The light was thick and dark as my eyes strained to see.

  Nothing.

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled. Something was off. I could feel it. I was one second from deciding it was worth the chance that I might accidentally flash someone just to get out of here.

  Strobe-light flickered through the eyelets. Just go get it sewed. You can’t risk losing this job. Where are you going to go? Who would want you?

  Swallowing hard, I hurried forward. I have to be almost there. Finally, I saw the flap that I thought led to the changing area. I pushed it open.

  My eyes clapped onto a body on the floor, and my blood froze.

  Although there was only a tiny bit of light filtering through grommets into the dark room, I could still see the lump on the woman’s head and the unnatural pose of her body. She was dead, I was sure.

  Someone had killed Madamoiselle Barbarosa, the world’s most beautiful bearded woman.

  I wanted to scream, I really did. But who would hear me? Not the shrieking children or the applauding parents. Not over the roars of lions and the screams as the acrobatic fell into the net below. Not over the cat caller, the Ringmaster, and the pounding calliope music.

  Back here, in this dark room that no one ever used, not a soul would hear me. And if they did, what would come next would be endless questions from men in uniforms, sharp hand grabs, and maybe shaking. They wouldn’t believe me. No one would listen.

  I saw something on the floor and mindlessly scooped it up. Gasping, I covered my mouth. There before me was something worse than a dead woman. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I stared at the body.

  It couldn’t be real…could it?

  A dark apparition rose over her and disappeared into the black bowels of the ceiling.

  I shrieked and suppressed it with my hand. Turning, I ran from the room as fast as I could.

  Was the black thing behind me? I didn’t know, didn’t dare check. I just wanted out of the tunnel.

  I burst into the big tent as another act ended. The crowd roared with cheering. Trembling, I crouched against the wall. I had never felt so alone, even amidst all this laughter and clapping.

  Think, Trixie, think! What do I do?

  I was new here, at least by carnie standards. Circus people could be clannish and I would immediately be suspected. Besides, what if I caused a panic? What’s worse was that I wasn’t sure when Claudette would be noticed as missing. Her act had already come and gone. It might not be until the end of the show when we all took our bow.

  Someone was running towards me. I flew around to look.

  It was our backstage coordinator, Becca, who made sure that all the acts were on time. Her eyes were wide. She beckoned me frantically.

  I felt the blood pool to my belly. She knows! My head felt woozy. I grabbed the side of the tent for balance.

  “Trixie! Where have you been? Come on! You're up next. Bill’s furious!” she hissed.

  I shivered at the sound of Bill's name and ran for the curtained area where my horse was kept hidden and waiting for me.

  There’s nothin
g I can do for Claudette, now, I thought. When had I last seen her alive? Yesterday after dinner. Meals were served at odd times around here, and dinner was no different, often served at eleven or midnight. No one ate until everything was ready for the next day.

  Last night, everyone had already been eating when I got there. It wasn’t unusual that I was late to dinner once again. I’d scooped up a small bit of chicken pasta and carried my bowl outside to the maze.

  The maze was made of stacked hay bales, decorated with corn husks and pumpkins. I’d climbed it to nearly the top. It was here that I’d made a little cubby, a secret place where I could crawl into and hide.

  Why did I want to retreat? Because there were more than a few unsavory characters around these parts. It wasn’t just sexual harassment that I feared, but physical abuse as well. One great truth about being short was that people loved to pick me up and try to dump me in things—especially wet, mucky things—or spin me around until I was too dizzy to walk.

  Once I was in the air and in their arms, there wasn’t much I could do to help myself. Pleading only seemed to egg them on. I’d learned to grit my teeth and endure the harassment until they lost interest.

  Which brings me back to my hidey-hole. That’s where I was, eating my pasta hidden among the pumpkins and hay bales, when I saw Claudette leaving the chow tent.

  It’s true that Claudette was our bearded woman, but she was also gorgeous. Somehow, the long wisp of hair on her chin only added to the intrigue that men had for her.

  And she played it up to perfection, wearing the sexiest dresses, push-up bras and highest heels. Honestly, I hardly knew how she walked in those heels on the dirt and straw paths. But that night, I noticed she had on a new pair.

  Claudette also wore a necklace. I noticed it because she ran her thumb under it a few times, allowing the diamonds to sparkle under the many overhead lights as she picked her way across the circus grounds. I leaned over to see where she was going.

  She stopped just out of sight. I heard a man talking low, probably what had stopped her.

  “Someone came to me saying you were skimming money.” The words were so low I couldn’t recognize the person speaking, but it was apparent she knew who he was.

  “Money? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered sassily.

  “I don’t chase rumors. You better check yourself and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Come on. Let’s go talk privately.” Her voice was more serious this time.

  “I don’t want to be seen with you. Just keep your nose clean, and I’ll stay out of your hair.”

  “Of course. Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she answered.

  And that was the last I’d heard of her until tonight when I saw that she was very much dead.

  Bill was up ahead holding my horse, Prancer, by his halter. He glared at me, but there wasn’t any time for him to speak. Grunting, he hauled me up onto Prancer’s back. I carefully stood, my bare toes against the animal’s warm coat.

  It was then that I realized I still had something in my hand. I glanced at it, confused.

  It was a pink ribbon. The sight of it sent an electric shock through me as I remembered how I picked it up when I found the body.

  Okay. Breathe. It’s time to focus. This is Providence, maybe. I used it to tie my strap up and tried to calm down.

  And then it was showtime. Over the loud speakers, the Ringmaster announced my name.

  “Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Now watch as the world’s smallest Lady Godiva cheats death by riding bareback on a stallion that has never been tamed by man! Gaze in awe and pray for this woman who dares this incredible feat.”

  The curtains opened. Bill gave the command to my horse. With a tap on the horse’s backside, Prancer and I ran through.

  Spotlights blinded me, but Prancer knew his routine. I flung my arms in the air and stood, if only for this moment, like a queen.

  But despite my smile, I was worried. This queen had seen something that could easily get her beheaded, or worse.

  2

  After my performance was over, I guiding my loping horse to the side of the ring. Prancer shook his head as we rode back through the curtain.

  “Good boy. You did good,” I said, patting his neck. Carefully, I sat down.

  Bill grabbed the horse’s halter, and Prancer stopped with a jolt. Bill reached up and grabbed me by the waist to help me down. I hated this part.

  “You were a little slow on the last loop,” he said. His eyes flicked toward me in the way that normally made me feel undressed, but tonight caused my stomach to tremble from fear of his anger.

  “Sorry. He wouldn’t listen to me,” I murmured. “Must have gotten distracted by the balloon animals in the second row.”

  “Prancer is a professional. He’s seen more balloon animals than a month of kid birthdays at the pizzeria. It was you. You were off tonight.”

  They still didn’t know about Claudette! I definitely couldn’t tell him, so I shrugged, being careful to avoid his gaze. “I have a headache. Maybe that’s it.”

  “Maybe? Maybe I should let the ringleader know that his little Lady Godiva needs replacing.”

  I heard his threat, but my mind was still spinning about Claudette. I bit my lip and began to unbraid the many flowers that were woven in Prancer’s mane.

  The air was dusty with hay particles, and a tickle started in my nose. Bill tapped the horse’s flank and the horse lifted its foot. Bill untied the fancy gold hoof coverings, having all four of them off while I still worked on a tiresome knot.

  “Slow. You’re slow,” he muttered as he passed me. His thick scent of sweat made my nose wrinkle.

  I just wanted him to go away.

  “This is tangled,” I said. I struggled to undo it, stretching my arms achingly high to reach. Prancer snorted and bobbed his head.

  “Get out of the way,” Bill said, pushing me. “The sword swallowers will be out here soon. This horse should already be done and back in his stable by now.”

  I watched as his large fingers worked on the knot. He quickly undid it and slid the garland free. It dropped to the dirty floor.

  “Get it.” He pointed at me.

  I watched him warily, afraid to lean down to pick up the flowers.

  Bill knew it. He stood with his hands on his hips and a smirk on his face as he watched my unease. When I didn’t move, he cracked his knuckles with an ugly popping sound. I winced, thinking of poor Claudette. Bill was so nasty. Was a disgusting personality enough of a motive to suspect someone?

  “Well, give me some room, and I’ll get it,” I said.

  “You don’t need much room.” He laughed and walked away, obviously bored with me. I scooped up the banner. He was scary, but I’d seen something far more terrifying that night.

  That black apparition.

  I shivered. “Come on, Prancer.” The horse dipped his velvety nose and nuzzled me. His prickly muzzle whiskers tickled my bare shoulder. I scratched his chin, being aware of his teeth that sometimes nipped at my fingers, and then kissed his cheek.

  I reached for his halter, but I hardly needed to. The horse followed me willingly to his stable where he knew oats and hay awaited him.

  The chilliness of the stable enveloped me like the hug from an old friend. One might not think of coolness and dim lighting as friendly, but for me, it was a reality I’d known since childhood. Though I was hardly more than a child when I joined the circus—seventeen—but at the age of legal emancipation in the state of California, and that’s all that mattered. Honestly, my emancipation wasn’t examined too closely. Once the circus adopted me, I was shuffled into the depths of their canvas tents and trains. Most of us run-aways were never heard of again.

  In some ways, I truly had disappeared. They even called me something different. I was originally named Sue, given to me by my grandmother. When I first joined the circus, they’d changed it to Susie. I wanted it to be Susanna, bu
t the Ringmaster had said that wasn’t quite right for someone my size.

  Susie reminded me of a horse, the type with the big feet and the thick bodies that drove the beer wagons through frosty scenes on commercials.

  But Susie is what he said my name was, and so that's what they called me.

  At least for a few days. It wasn’t long before I received a carnie nickname, Trixie, which was definitely a change for the worse.

  Trixie sounded cute and petite, like an adorable pixie, and for my size, it seemed perfect.

  But instead, it made me blush and want to hide. The reason they called me this was because they thought I was some type of trickster, a mouse.

  It came about from a hot day when a group of clowns stumbled upon me behind one of their barrels. I was just tying my shoe, but my presence was so unexpected to them that several of the clowns gasped. A second later, I’d found myself in the center of a circle made up of honking, garish smiles, and wide painted eyes. They thought I was a hoot, a fun toy to tease, and they wouldn’t stop laughing and beeping their horns. They chanted, “Look at our little mouse! What a trickster!”

  So Trixie came to stay.

  I opened Prancer’s stall and led him in. There was a basket of apples on one of the benches, a staple here in the horse barn. I grabbed one and bit off a hunk, then offered it to him. He gently took it from me with an airy exhale.

  “You did such a good job out there, boy,” I whispered.

  I loved being back here, safe, quiet, hidden. I grabbed the curry brush and a stool. I needed the stool to reach his tall back. He stood patiently. He loved his grooming time more than I did. I brushed his tail, his flanks, and his mane. Then, I gave him another chunk of the apple. He took it with curious lips and crunched. I patted his nose goodbye and walked back into the big top.