| Tuesday August 7, 2007 |
Web Issue # 2 |
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Pulse serial fiction: ‘Crime at the Circus’
By LYDIA HADFIELD
Pulse Correspondent
Chapter One: ‘Mystery at the Circus’ |
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“Ha! It looks like Zelda is homesick for the jungle!”
The crowd rippled with laughter as the elephant swiped the pith helmet from my head. My cheeks flushed cotton-candy pink. My cool melted.
It can be difficult, even for an ace detective, to remain incognito. Animals sense the subtle, penetrating aura emitted by such persons — and are drawn to it. Perhaps that’s why city dogs follow me home from work and whine outside my basement home. As a professional, I was miffed to see my hat on an elephant.
I chose my summer sleuthing uniform carefully. I believed it exuded authority. Plus, it was nice and cool. Pith helmet, white T-shirt, yellow and blue striped vest, black cutoff slacks — I slipped into it every evening after my undercover job. I worked at a canned meat warehouse. A canned meat warehouse seemed like a perfect venue for dastardly doings. For three months I watched for any criminal activity. Unfortunately, I was paid to sweep, not watch. The day the boss fired me, I spent the last of my paycheck on a circus ticket.
“Give it back, Zelda! Aw, that’s nice!”
The crowd cawed approval. The pith helmet returned to my pate.
“That was unkind, and I apologize,” a man sitting next to me on the bleachers put a hand on my shoulder. He wore a checked three-piece suit, threadbare yet immaculately pressed.
The man removed his top hat and balanced it on his cane — a crystal knobbed curtain rod. “I like the looks of you. Perhaps you can help me with a little problem.”
“I hope I can. I am a detective, sir,” I confessed.
“Excellent. I am P. Jaybody, owner of this little circus. I felt this elephant, Zelda, lacked class, and I hoped to ship her to a preserve in Africa.”
I whipped my pen out of my pocket, poised to jot notes on my arm.
P. Jaybody continued. “I withdrew a few million to pay the handler to take care of Zelda’s business. I put the bills in an envelope. I left the envelope in my locked trailer. I admit, I left the window open a few inches. It was locked in place, so it could not be adjusted up or down. The envelope lay on a desk, in the middle of the trailer, feet from the window. I returned from the Port-o-potty and — gone!”
“That’s terrible.”
“It is! We leave town tomorrow. I can’t take that elephant with us!” P. Jaybody waved his top hat in my face. “The money was stolen between 9 and 10 p.m. last night. You must retrieve the money — and fast! Here’s a list of our personnel. Interview them all.”
I studied the list: Zelda and Lou, her trainer; Bill the contortionist; Wanda and Earl, the knife-throwing duo; Davie and His Amazing Trained Cats; ValJohn the Clown.
“All I found at the scene of the crime was a small red bow tie. A sweet scent hung in the air,” Jaybody dropped the bow tie into my palm.
“I’ll find the culprit,” I promised.
“That would be optimal,” P. Jaybody said. “I’m counting on you!” |
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By Brigitte Grewe |
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