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- Herausgeber: Black Cat Weekly
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Serie: Vella
- Sprache: Englisch
Burlesque Queen turned private eye Velda doesn't run away to join a circus, but after investigating a murder, feels like she might want to run away from the circus.
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Seitenzahl: 57
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024
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Table of Contents
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
BIG TOP VELDA, by Ron Miller
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2024 by Ron Miller.
Original publication by Wildside Press, LLC.
wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com
BIG TOP VELDA,by Ron Miller
I hate horses. Generally, I hate any animals bigger than me, but horses I hate especially. They are much too big and strong to be as stupid as they are. I don’t even like being near one of them, let alone ride one of the monsters—they’ve got those sharp-looking feet that remind me too much of cookie cutters and a wild look in their eyes that one usually sees only in dope fiends. So you might have some good reason to ask what in the world I was doing riding around half naked on one of the big brutes in front of about seven hundred cheering men, women and children. For what it’s worth, I was asking myself that very same question.
* * * *
Three days earlier, I’d been sitting around the little ten-by-ten room that I was pleased to call the office of the Bellinghausen Superior Detective Agency, wondering where my next cheeseburger was coming from, when the phone rang, making me jump so I shoved the point of my pencil clear through the crossword I’d been working. I’d almost forgotten I had a phone and, in fact, was more than a little surprised that the telephone company still had it connected. I picked up the receiver and said in my best receptionist, “Bellinghausen Superior Detective Agency, how may I help you?” I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice when it turned out to be one of my old comrades from Slotnik’s Burlesque instead of the client I’d hoped it would be.
“Velda?”
“Yes, this is Miss Bellinghausen.”
“Hey, Velda! Guess who this is?”
I just hate people who do that, so I said, “Bess Truman?”
“No, silly! It’s me, Fizzy Shakewell—you know!”
I knew all right. Fizzy was one of the second-string strippers at Slotnik’s. She’d probably have gone places in burlesque since she actually had some considerable talent, being an accomplished dancer and gymnast, skills—especially the latter—she’d put to good use in her work and how. Like most of the other girls, she had ambitions, and unlike them she had the abilities to really make it, given half a chance and the brains to use it. I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to have seen her on the Keith Orpheum circuit or even on Broadway, for that matter. She’d quit a month or so before I did—that is, about six months ago—headed, I’d assumed, for her Higher Calling.
“So what’ve you been up to, Fizzy?”
“Aw, I ain’t been called that since I quit that dump of Slotnik’s. I go by my real name now.”
I’d had no idea she had one, Fizzy suiting her so well, so I asked what it was.
“Beatrice.”
“Beatrice?”
“Yeah. It’s classical, but it didn’t sound much like a stripper, you know? Beatrice Honeycutt? Besides, I kinda felt funny using my right name, you know? Like, what if someone from back home ever saw me, not that anyone I know would ever be caught dead in a place like Slotnik’s, you never can tell, you know?”
“I know. So, what’ve you been doing, uh, Beatrice?”
“Just wait ’til I tell you! But, gee whiz, nothing like what you been doing, Velda! Can you believe it? A detective! You’re not kidding are you, Velda? You’re a detective for real, honest to God?”
“Honest to God, Beatrice.” It’s what my license says and if that doesn’t make me a detective, I don’t know what would, you know?
“Well, you’ll never guess what I’ve been doing, Velda.”
“Flagpole sitting?”
“Naw! No one does that any more! I’m working in the circus, can you believe it?”
“The circus?”
“Yep! I’m a headliner with Professor Peerpont’s Grand Universal Wonder Show, a real star, Velda, my own trailer and everything. I’m an equestrienne.”
“Well, congratulations, Beatrice, that’s just great.” Whatever the hell an equestrienne was. Some people called strippers ecdysiasts, so who could tell?
“So you’re really a detective, huh, Velda?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, I was wondering, Velda, how does someone go about hiring a detective?”
“Well, generally, you just show them some money and say, ‘You busy right now?’”
“Well, are you?”
“Well am I what?”
“Busy!”
“If I was any less busy I’d stop breathing.”
“Well, that’s just great, Velda, ’cause I told the Professor, Professor Peerpont, that is, that I knew a detective who could help him out.”
“Help him out of what?”
“Well, there’s been some trouble here and no one knows quite what to do.”
“Where’s ‘here’?”
“Oh! Sorry, Velda, I should of told you. We’re set up here in Red Hook for the week.”
“And you say there’s been some trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“Someone’s been killed, Velda, and the cops think Twinkles did it and the Professor just doesn’t know what to do it’s all such an awful mess.”
* * * *
So I took the first train up to Red Hook and found the circus with no problem. It was a bigger outfit than I’d thought, considering that I’d never heard of Professor Peerpont’s Grand Universal Wonder Show, but then I hadn’t been to a circus since I was twelve, my dad being a kind of serious guy. Though the main tent was only big enough for one ring, the circus still was able to boast a modest menagerie and side show, which was something at any rate. I asked the first person I saw where Beatrice’s trailer was, though I probably could have zeroed in on the sound of her voice, which reminded me—as though I’d needed reminding—why Slotnik had never had her sing during her act. Her wet chalk on a blackboard squeal when she saw me made my teeth buzz. She hopped up and down and hugged me as though we were a pair of old Vassar roommates, though I don’t recall ever having said more than two words to her the whole time we worked together. She’s a tall girl, maybe only a couple of inches shy of my six feet, long-legged and sleekly muscled, like a swimmer or gymnast, with a giddy wide-open face topped by taffy-colored hair. A pretty girl but empty as my checkbook.
“Gee, it’s grand to see you, Velda, you’re looking terrific. I guess civilian life suits you okay, huh?”
“I suppose it does. So what’s going on, Beatrice?”
“Come on, the Professor’s waiting to see you. He’ll explain everything.”
She led me to a trailer that was set apart from the others—otherwise being no different.
She knocked on the door and in response to a muffled answer, opened it and went in. I followed her.
“Professor? Velda—I mean, Miss Bellinghausen’s here.”
“Your friend the detective?”
