Catch a Falling Clown: A Toby Peters Mystery (Book Seven) by Stuart M. Kaminsky Page A
Authors: Stuart M. Kaminsky
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little chesterfield coat.
Jeremy Butler pulled out one of the chairs at the table with a lobster hand and sat carefully. The chair didn’t break. He unbuttoned his flannel jacket and looked at me.
“Been brushing your teeth?” asked Shelly.
“Shel, what are you doing here? I called Jeremy and Gunther.”
“I ran into Jeremy, and he told me you needed help,” said Shelly, removing his cigar to examine the end. His glasses slipped down his nose, and he almost poked himself in the eye with the cigar stub to keep them from dropping. “Besides, they needed a car.”
Shelly’s 1937 Ford was as filthy as his 1914 office, but it ran and defied reason by never causing him trouble in spite of his neglect.
“I’m sorry, Toby,” Jeremy began.
“OK,” I said with my hand up. “Shelly can help. We’ve got a murder or two here, animals, people, and maybe more to come. The local police think I did it, and if they get their hands on me, I will probably lose my hands. So we’ve got to find the killer and protect the circus, and we’ve got to do it fast before there are no more performers to protect. Oh, yes, we’ve also got a runaway elephant.”
“Proceed,” said Gunther calmly, and I proceeded. I told them the whole story. Jeremy and Gunther sat quietly, listening. Shelly was soon floating somewhere, thinking of cavities.
“So,” said Gunther, “it seems an easy process. We list everyone who stood in the tent when the unfortunate Mr. Tanucci died. We then make that list smaller if we can.”
“The killer already has made it smaller,” Shelly said with a satisfied grin.
“How did you get Mildred to let you go?”
“I told her you needed my help.”
“Mildred would gladly see me turned over to the Japanese,” I told him.
“You wrong my Mildred,” countered Shelly.
“Toby,” said Gunther softly. “May I continue?”
I apologized, and he continued. “We may, for the moment, assume that the Tanuccis are not responsible for the murder of their own clan. This may turn out to be a false assumption, but given our group size …”
“Reasonable,” agreed Jeremy.
“We eliminate Toby,” Gunther went on. “May we eliminate the doctor? He is quite old, yes?”
“Probably,” I said. “It would take a quick hand to cut that harness and someone with a steady hand to gun down Rennata so neatly on the beach.”
“Good,” continued Gunther. “We then have Mr. Elder, who you were talking to, which eliminates him….”
“From stealing the harness,” Jeremy said quickly. “He might have an accomplice.”
My chest thumped. Peg might be such an accomplice. “Maybe,” I agreed.
“Now, we eliminate you,” added Gunther, “and may I assume we eliminate Alfred Hitchcock?”
“No,” shouted Shelly, leaping to his feet and pointing his cigar at me. “Movie directors can be killers.”
“Shelly,” I said in exasperation, “why would Alfred Hitchcock be killing people and elephants in the circus?”
“Material for movies,” he said triumphantly. He began to pace the small floor while presenting his theory. “Movie director goes crazy. Can’t think of stories for his movies. Maybe he was scared by a clown or a wombat when he was a kid.”
“What the hell is a wombat?” I said.
“Marsupial,” explained Gunther, “large, rodent appearance. Native, I believe, to Tasmania.”
“What the hell has a wombat got to do with this case?” I said.
“Hitchcock may have …”
“Hitchcock, hell. Shel, just stand still and let Gunther finish.”
Shelly went back to his chair, folded his arms, and pouted while Gunther continued. “Therefore, our most likely suspects are Henry, the animal keeper; Agnes Sudds, the serpent lady, and Thomas Paul, the curious double-faced man for whom you have no affection.”
It sounded reasonable to me.
“Therefore, if we also eliminate Emmett Kelly,” continued Gunther, “it would be best to use our resources in watching the three prime suspects
Jeremy Butler pulled out one of the chairs at the table with a lobster hand and sat carefully. The chair didn’t break. He unbuttoned his flannel jacket and looked at me.
“Been brushing your teeth?” asked Shelly.
“Shel, what are you doing here? I called Jeremy and Gunther.”
“I ran into Jeremy, and he told me you needed help,” said Shelly, removing his cigar to examine the end. His glasses slipped down his nose, and he almost poked himself in the eye with the cigar stub to keep them from dropping. “Besides, they needed a car.”
Shelly’s 1937 Ford was as filthy as his 1914 office, but it ran and defied reason by never causing him trouble in spite of his neglect.
“I’m sorry, Toby,” Jeremy began.
“OK,” I said with my hand up. “Shelly can help. We’ve got a murder or two here, animals, people, and maybe more to come. The local police think I did it, and if they get their hands on me, I will probably lose my hands. So we’ve got to find the killer and protect the circus, and we’ve got to do it fast before there are no more performers to protect. Oh, yes, we’ve also got a runaway elephant.”
“Proceed,” said Gunther calmly, and I proceeded. I told them the whole story. Jeremy and Gunther sat quietly, listening. Shelly was soon floating somewhere, thinking of cavities.
“So,” said Gunther, “it seems an easy process. We list everyone who stood in the tent when the unfortunate Mr. Tanucci died. We then make that list smaller if we can.”
“The killer already has made it smaller,” Shelly said with a satisfied grin.
“How did you get Mildred to let you go?”
“I told her you needed my help.”
“Mildred would gladly see me turned over to the Japanese,” I told him.
“You wrong my Mildred,” countered Shelly.
“Toby,” said Gunther softly. “May I continue?”
I apologized, and he continued. “We may, for the moment, assume that the Tanuccis are not responsible for the murder of their own clan. This may turn out to be a false assumption, but given our group size …”
“Reasonable,” agreed Jeremy.
“We eliminate Toby,” Gunther went on. “May we eliminate the doctor? He is quite old, yes?”
“Probably,” I said. “It would take a quick hand to cut that harness and someone with a steady hand to gun down Rennata so neatly on the beach.”
“Good,” continued Gunther. “We then have Mr. Elder, who you were talking to, which eliminates him….”
“From stealing the harness,” Jeremy said quickly. “He might have an accomplice.”
My chest thumped. Peg might be such an accomplice. “Maybe,” I agreed.
“Now, we eliminate you,” added Gunther, “and may I assume we eliminate Alfred Hitchcock?”
“No,” shouted Shelly, leaping to his feet and pointing his cigar at me. “Movie directors can be killers.”
“Shelly,” I said in exasperation, “why would Alfred Hitchcock be killing people and elephants in the circus?”
“Material for movies,” he said triumphantly. He began to pace the small floor while presenting his theory. “Movie director goes crazy. Can’t think of stories for his movies. Maybe he was scared by a clown or a wombat when he was a kid.”
“What the hell is a wombat?” I said.
“Marsupial,” explained Gunther, “large, rodent appearance. Native, I believe, to Tasmania.”
“What the hell has a wombat got to do with this case?” I said.
“Hitchcock may have …”
“Hitchcock, hell. Shel, just stand still and let Gunther finish.”
Shelly went back to his chair, folded his arms, and pouted while Gunther continued. “Therefore, our most likely suspects are Henry, the animal keeper; Agnes Sudds, the serpent lady, and Thomas Paul, the curious double-faced man for whom you have no affection.”
It sounded reasonable to me.
“Therefore, if we also eliminate Emmett Kelly,” continued Gunther, “it would be best to use our resources in watching the three prime suspects
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