The pre-dawn mist clung to the ornate headstones of St. Jude’s Cemetery like a shroud, perfectly complementing the overall gloom. Five AM. Just the kind of glamorous setting one expects when investigating the embezzlement of a circus’s entire retirement fund. And, of course, Officer Kyson Hunter, renowned for his “excellent history of solving cases in good time,” was knee-deep in it, literally. His partner, a magnificent Black Lab/German Shepherd named Sisko, sniffed delicately at a particularly ornate tombstone, her tail thumping a low, rhythmic beat against the damp grass. The only other living thing present was the suspect: Kyson Hunter’s primary lead, a man whose past life as a flamboyant, wealthy circus clown now manifested as a deflated balloon animal, both in spirit and appearance.
Bubbles’ Butterfield, I presume
“Charming,” Kyson muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He gestured with a tired hand towards the aging clown, whose face paint was smudged into a grotesque parody of his former profession. “Mr. Bartholomew ‘Bubbles’ Butterfield, I presume? A rather… subdued appearance for a man accused of robbing his fellow clowns of their hard-earned savings.”
Bubbles, whose real name was Reginald, who insisted on being called Bubbles even in his current state of disrepair, wheezed a response. “The dampness, officer. It’s terribly unkind to one’s makeup. And my savings? A misunderstanding, purely a misunderstanding!” He clutched a slightly damp, slightly tattered handkerchief to his chest, his eyes darting nervously.
Sisko, the black lab, had stopped sniffing. She stared intently at Bubbles’s shoes – specifically, the mud clinging to the soles. Mud that was distinctly *not* from the cemetery grounds. Kyson raised an eyebrow. “Ah, Sisko’s found something. I’m sure this adds to the ‘misunderstanding,’ Mr. Bubbles.” His sarcasm dripped like morning dew.
“It’s the… uh… the exquisite craftsmanship of these tombstones, officer! They’re quite inspirational!” Bubbles stammered, his voice cracking. The irony was so thick Kyson could practically spread it on toast.
“Inspirational enough to lead you on a mud-caked escape route across three different counties, I presume? Because the mud on your shoes, Mr. Bubbles, clearly indicates a jaunt through the old quarry, not a stroll amongst the dearly departed. Sisko agrees with me, by the way.” Kyson gestured towards the dog, who was now actively digging at the base of a particularly imposing headstone. The glint in Sisko’s eye hinted at something truly delicious being uncovered.
That’s terribly embarrassing
“Oh, dear. That’s… that’s terribly embarrassing,” Bubbles mumbled, suddenly looking very deflated. “It was the badger. It was all the badger’s fault! He made me do it! He forced me to take the money, said it was for badger-related charities…”
Kyson sighed, the dawn finally breaking through the fog. He knew he was dealing with a particularly inept criminal, even by five AM cemetery crime standards. He knelt to examine what Sisko had unearthed – a small, somewhat damp, and distinctly non-badger-related bag of cash. “Right. Because badgers are notorious for their sophisticated financial schemes,” Kyson deadpanned. He looked at Bubbles, whose face paint was now streaked with tears and mud. “The badger’s alibi better be airtight. And it better involves an extraordinary amount of woodland bribery.” Sisko thumped her tail happily against the muddy ground, seemingly content with the day’s work already. However, the situation’s absurdity had just begun to dawn on Kyson. This was shaping into a genuinely memorable case for all the wrong reasons.
Want to read another one? Sisko at a family Dinner, Squirrels!
