Read Online Catch a Falling Clown: A Toby Peters Mystery (Book Seven) by Stuart M. Kaminsky - Free Book Online
Authors: Stuart M. Kaminsky
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was divided into three compartments, each a tiny room. We—Elder, I, and the three Tanuccis—crowded into one of the compartments, sitting on the lower of two bunk beds and standing in the corners. The family had changed into costume for the afternoon performance. Each was dressed in blue tights with white fluffy trimming and a white cape. I had the feeling I was questioning the Marvel family. I wanted to know what they thought had happened to Rennata, to the elephant, to Marco. I wanted to let them know I was sorry and that I wanted to help. It would have been easier if they spoke some English or I knew some Italian. Elder was no help.
“Why did she go?” I shouted. Shouting always stimulates those who cannot understand to grope through a foreign language. It forces the words to the center of the being and translates them. Only this time it didn’t work. Actually, it never works.
The older man, Carlo, tilted his chin up and looked at me. His head was heavy with moist, thick black hair that suggested a dye job. His face was thick and brown and lined, a worn face that belonged in a Camel ad in Look magazine. He turned to the other members of his family and said, “ Qui? ”
They gave him some advice. He agreed and shook his head. “No,” he said with great dignity and no relation to my question.
“Rennata or the kid did all the translating,” said Elder. “This isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
“You mean no one else in this circus speaks Italian?” I asked.
“Sure, but these people aren’t exactly full of trust,” he explained. “They’ve been getting some hard talk in some of the towns we’ve hit. A couple of times people have even called Carlo Mussolini during the act. He damned near dropped Tino one time. The way Rennata told it, they had to run from Italy with a small carnival. Carlo’s brother was a secretary or something in the Italian Communist party. The brother was bumped off, and Carlo was afraid for his family and got out. He has more reason to hate the Fascists than the audience does, but go figure out towners.”
Elder and Carlo had been looking at each other in understanding through the explanation, and Carlo had clearly picked up enough words like “Mussolini” and “Communist” to figure out what was happening.
“Does he know that the kid might have been murdered?” I asked Elder.
“He knows,” came a voice, but it wasn’t Elder’s. It was the now youngest Tanucci, Tino.
Carlo said something quickly and earnestly to the boy. The mother put a hand on his arm, and Tino touched her reassuringly.
“My English,” he said, “is not so very good, but is enough. Rennata told us that Marco was maybe morted, murdered.”
He was a short figure, the darkest of the clan, with straight black hair down his neck. He was somewhere in his late teens, but I couldn’t tell where. His forehead was creased with the strain of publicly speaking English, a task he had probably not planned to take on for some time.
“What did she say?”
“She say she saw something, someone, and someone saw her seeing this,” he said. “It was not so clear to me, something to do with our equip … I don’t know how you say this word.”
“Equipment,” I supplied. “She saw someone messing with your equipment before your brother fell. Is that it?”
“ Sí ,” he agreed. “She saw.”
“Who was it?” I pushed.
The young man shook his head. “I no know. She say she would take care. She was a very mad.” He showed mad by shaking his head furiously. “She say she … That’s all.”
One simple conclusion was that Rennata Tanucci had seen whoever cut the harness or whoever had taken it down after the murder. She was now going to find that person and do something to him or her involving an elephant. The number of unpleasant things someone could do with a two-ton elephant did not elude me or Elder.
“She’s crazy enough,” Elder confirmed, touching his lower lip.
“It can’t be
“Why did she go?” I shouted. Shouting always stimulates those who cannot understand to grope through a foreign language. It forces the words to the center of the being and translates them. Only this time it didn’t work. Actually, it never works.
The older man, Carlo, tilted his chin up and looked at me. His head was heavy with moist, thick black hair that suggested a dye job. His face was thick and brown and lined, a worn face that belonged in a Camel ad in Look magazine. He turned to the other members of his family and said, “ Qui? ”
They gave him some advice. He agreed and shook his head. “No,” he said with great dignity and no relation to my question.
“Rennata or the kid did all the translating,” said Elder. “This isn’t going to get us anywhere.”
“You mean no one else in this circus speaks Italian?” I asked.
“Sure, but these people aren’t exactly full of trust,” he explained. “They’ve been getting some hard talk in some of the towns we’ve hit. A couple of times people have even called Carlo Mussolini during the act. He damned near dropped Tino one time. The way Rennata told it, they had to run from Italy with a small carnival. Carlo’s brother was a secretary or something in the Italian Communist party. The brother was bumped off, and Carlo was afraid for his family and got out. He has more reason to hate the Fascists than the audience does, but go figure out towners.”
Elder and Carlo had been looking at each other in understanding through the explanation, and Carlo had clearly picked up enough words like “Mussolini” and “Communist” to figure out what was happening.
“Does he know that the kid might have been murdered?” I asked Elder.
“He knows,” came a voice, but it wasn’t Elder’s. It was the now youngest Tanucci, Tino.
Carlo said something quickly and earnestly to the boy. The mother put a hand on his arm, and Tino touched her reassuringly.
“My English,” he said, “is not so very good, but is enough. Rennata told us that Marco was maybe morted, murdered.”
He was a short figure, the darkest of the clan, with straight black hair down his neck. He was somewhere in his late teens, but I couldn’t tell where. His forehead was creased with the strain of publicly speaking English, a task he had probably not planned to take on for some time.
“What did she say?”
“She say she saw something, someone, and someone saw her seeing this,” he said. “It was not so clear to me, something to do with our equip … I don’t know how you say this word.”
“Equipment,” I supplied. “She saw someone messing with your equipment before your brother fell. Is that it?”
“ Sí ,” he agreed. “She saw.”
“Who was it?” I pushed.
The young man shook his head. “I no know. She say she would take care. She was a very mad.” He showed mad by shaking his head furiously. “She say she … That’s all.”
One simple conclusion was that Rennata Tanucci had seen whoever cut the harness or whoever had taken it down after the murder. She was now going to find that person and do something to him or her involving an elephant. The number of unpleasant things someone could do with a two-ton elephant did not elude me or Elder.
“She’s crazy enough,” Elder confirmed, touching his lower lip.
“It can’t be
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