by R. L. King
“You’re gonna like that one, Mister,” said a piping voice from behind him.
He turned to see one of the Girl Scouts who’d dropped back a little from the rest of her group. “Is that right?”
“Oh, yeah.” Her eyes shone. “I wish I coulda seen him do magic. I love magic.”
Stone smiled at her. “I love magic too.”
“Do you know any?”
“I do.”
“Oh, wow. Will you show me a trick?”
“Rachel! Come along!”
The Scouts’ chaperone had looked back and spotted them. She shot Stone a suspicious glare.
“But he was gonna show me some magic!” Rachel protested.
Her glare intensified, taking on a protective “I’ll just bet he was” aspect. “Now, Rachel.” She caught the little girl by the shoulders and chivvied her back to the group, and they all hurried off. Rachel, looking disappointed, glanced back over her shoulder at Stone before they disappeared down the hall toward one of the bedrooms.
Stone continued up to the McGrath exhibit.
This was more like it.
The attic encompassed the entire top floor of the house, and every inch of it was taken up with various displays behind velvet ropes, arranged to take the visitor in a circular path around them all. A flat-screen television displayed a grainy, black-and-white recording of one of McGrath the Magnificent’s performances, obviously in a large hall in front of a sizable audience. There was no sound, but it was easy to follow what he was doing. He was clearly a talented magician, and even more clearly—if you knew what to look for—he’d been “enhancing” his performance with some of the real thing. Stone stood there for several minutes watching, until the recording looped and started at the beginning. Then he moved on.
He didn’t have to feign interest in these exhibits. He’d always enjoyed both stage magic and its history, so he paused to read each of the placards in front of the different sections. The displays started with Leander McGrath’s early days in Tilley, then progressed through his magical career as he moved from small local shows to traveling all over the Midwest. He’d even performed for the state governor at one point. The displays included framed, black-and-white photos, various bits of gear from some of his magic shows, costumes he and his wife (who was also his assistant) had worn, and ephemera like programs and clippings of reviews from area newspapers. Each section was separated from the others by jewel-hued drapes decorated with golden stars and moons.
By the time Stone reached the end of the circular path, he had a much better idea of what Leander McGrath must have been like: a born showman who delighted in entertaining crowds, and a devoted family man who loved his wife and son. The second-to-last display included clippings describing how, despondent at the death of his beloved son in World War I in 1918, he’d lost all his motivation to perform and retired. He’d been only thirty-eight years old at the time. After that, he’d dropped out of public life for many years, traveling all over the world with his wife to collect magic- and occult-related items. He eventually returned to Tilley in 1955 to live out the rest of his days following her death. He himself had died in 1964 at the age of eighty-five.
Stone moved to the final display, which included a few photos of the white-haired, bearded McGrath in his later years, several obituaries from different regional papers, and a report describing how, after his death, it had been discovered that he maintained a storage facility where most of his odd collection had been archived. Since he had no heirs, the bulk of the items had been sold at auction with the proceeds used for various local and veterans’ charities as his will stipulated. The remainder had been donated to the museum, where they’d been on perpetual display since.
It didn’t take long to find what Stone was looking for: the catalog from the 1964 auction. It was in a glass case along with several black-and-white photos from the collection. The cover had a photo of an elaborately-decorated magician’s disappearing cabinet, flanked by a collection of what looked like African and Egyptian artifacts. The images were blurry and faded and the text hard to read, which wasn’t surprising given the catalog’s age and the state of printing techniques at the time. It had never been meant to be retained, like a book.
But there it was. So close.
Stone resisted the temptation to use magic to pop the flimsy lock holding the case closed and simply take the catalog right now. Two things stopped him: first, the room was so cluttered he couldn’t tell for sure there weren’t cameras trained on the area, and second, he had no way to ensure nobody else would come up and catch him in the act. If Rachel or one of the other Girl Scouts decided to ditch their troop for another look at McGrath’s finery, he’d be in trouble. He could use illusion or invisibility to make things easier, but it would be safer all around to simply come back later when everyone else was gone. It was four p.m. now—the place would close in an hour. He could grab an early dinner and a drink, wait for it to get dark, and come back then.
On a whim, because he had time to kill, he returned to the beginning of the McGrath exhibit and switched on magical sight. There wasn’t much chance of anything magical here, but it was never wise to take that for granted. He walked slowly forward, scanning the items in each of the displays, looking for any faint sign of arcane energy.
He found none, as expected. All the photos, posters, and stage-magic paraphernalia were every bit as mundane as he’d expected them to be. If McGrath had truly been a mage and owned anything with power, he’d either gotten rid of it before or it had been sold as part of the auction.
Stone was about to switch off the sight and head out when a faint glow caught his eye. He turned, surprised to see it was coming from the last display—the one with the catalog. That was odd, since that part of the exhibit had been nothing but posters, news clippings, and the catalog itself. What could be magical over there?
He hurried back, but before he even reached the display, he knew what it was.
The catalog was glowing with a hint of magical energy.
“What’s going on with you…?” he muttered, leaning in for a closer look, sharpening his sight.
When he realized what he was looking at, he nearly slammed his fist down on the top of the display case. “Bugger!”
“Are you okay, mister?”
He whirled to find two of the Girl Scouts staring at him, wide-eyed, from the other end of the display.
“Oh. Uh…yes. I’m fine. Sorry.” His heart was beating fast, his nerves jangling, but he forced himself to release his balled fists and unclench his jaw. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Are you upset about something?” They didn’t look scared, but they didn’t come any closer, either.
“Er…yes, that’s it. I just got a…er…mean text from someone.”
“Melissa! Hannah! We’re leaving!” came a voice from below. “Hurry up!”
“Oh! Sorry, mister, we gotta go. You sure you’re okay?”
No. I am most certainly not sure I’m okay, Stone thought. But he plastered a smile on his face and nodded. “I’m fine. You’d better go, though—don’t want to be late.”
They exchanged glances. “Yeah. Bye!” And then they were gone, dashing back down the stairs.
Leaving Stone to glare impotently at the glass case, which contained a credible illusion of the auction catalog.
Someone had beaten him to it.
20
Stone stormed down the stairs, still fuming. He wasn’t sure whether he was angrier at himself for waiting too long and missing his opportunity, or the unknown thief who’d reached the same conclusion he had, only faster.
Whoever this person was, they were no minor-league mage. That had been some fancy illusion work, and most people, even other mages, wouldn’t have spotted it. It would likely fade away over the next week or so since there was no ley line to sustain it, but by then the thief would be long gone.
It was four-forty. The museum closed in twenty minutes. The Girl Scouts were already leav
ing, laughing and shoving each other as their leader nudged them out the door.
Think, he told himself angrily. But no matter how hard he tried to come up with a way around this, nothing was presenting itself. He had no idea who might have stolen the catalog. He paused at the foot of the stairs and stared into nothingness.
“Did you enjoy the museum, dear?”
He jerked his head up. The old woman behind the table was watching him curiously, so he did his best to pull himself together and look cheerful. “Oh. Yes, it was very interesting. Especially the McGrath exhibit.”
She smiled. “Oh, yes, that’s the one everyone loves.” With a giggle, she added, “I know people don’t come here to look at a bunch of stuffy old politicians and dusty photos of cornfields. McGrath the Magnificent was quite a character.”
He looked at her in a new light. She appeared to be in her late sixties to early seventies—probably a retiree doing volunteer work to keep her spry and get her out of the house. “You…didn’t know him, did you?”
“Leander McGrath? I did, actually.”
“Is that right?” He didn’t have to fake the interest in his tone.
“Oh, yes. It was a long time ago, of course—he died more than fifty years ago. But he used to come into the little market I worked at when I was just out of high school, before I got married. We’d chat sometimes, when it was slow. He’d tell me stories about his time doing the traveling shows. He was a sweet, kind man, but I don’t think he ever got over losing his boy in the War. Not even after all those years.”
“That’s fascinating. I do a little stage magic myself, which is why I’m interested in him. I’m doing a paper on him for one of my college classes.” Grateful he’d chosen a young man as his illusionary disguise, Stone spun out the lie with ease, turning on the charm. It was harder when he was using a fake American accent, but he seemed to be getting through to her.
“Oh, I wish you’d mentioned that before! I could have taken you through the exhibit and given you some more of the history. Perhaps you could come back again?” She looked at her watch. “We’re closing soon, but I’d be happy to do it some other day.”
“Thank you. I wish I’d said something too, but I’m just passing through.” Another ruse popped into his head and he went with it. “Could you answer a question for me, though?”
“Of course, dear.”
“I’ve got a friend—they’re interested in magic too. They said they might stop by here, but we didn’t connect. You mentioned that you recognize almost everybody who comes through.”
“I do. I’ve lived in Tilley all my life, and it’s not exactly a big town. I know pretty much everybody, and we’re not really a tourist attraction, so I notice new folks.”
“That’s good. So…did anyone new come in here in the last few days?”
“Hmm. Let me think.” Her gaze went fuzzy for a moment, and then she gave a brisk nod. “Oh! Yes. Just this morning, in fact. A man came in shortly after we opened. He was very pleasant. Kind of distant, though.” She frowned, her brow furrowing. “I…think he might have been the only one. It’s been really quiet this week except for the kids’ tours. You know—school groups, Scouts, a few kids doing reports on local history. That’s the bulk of our visitors, honestly.”
“What did he look like?”
“Hmm. Older than you—maybe middle thirties. Definitely too old to be a college student. Clean-cut fellow, dark hair, thin, wearing a sweater and nice slacks.”
The description wasn’t enough to give Stone any ideas, but he played along. “That sounds like him. Did he stay a while?”
“Not too long. He went straight upstairs—that makes sense now, since he was probably interested in the McGrath exhibit too.”
“He didn’t happen to say where he was going after he left, did he?”
“No. As I said, he didn’t really have much to say to me. Pleasant but standoffish. I’m sorry, dear. Perhaps you should give him a call.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. But I was serious—if you’re ever in town again, come back and I’ll give you a real tour. I can tell you lots of stories about Leander McGrath.”
“Thank you, I’d like that. Have a good evening.”
Stone headed outside, his thoughts still spinning in frustration. That had to have been the man who’d stolen the catalog. But if he was here this morning, several hours had already passed. Stone was certain he wasn’t in the area any longer. He wondered if the man had come alone, or if he’d had one or more accomplices.
It didn’t matter, though. He was gone, and Stone was out of luck. Damn it, he’d been so close. There he’d been, looking through the cluttered room packed full of McGrath’s old junk, and all that time, the thief had been—
Stone stopped.
Cluttered room packed with junk.
Could it be possible?
He reversed direction and hurried back inside. “Excuse me…”
The woman had put aside her magazine and was counting the small amount of money in the cashbox, probably preparing to close the place. “Yes? Did you forget something, dear?”
“No, but I just had a thought. Something I wanted to ask you.”
“Of course. I hope you don’t mind if I keep doing this. I know it’s not much money, but I feel better when it’s safely put away.”
“That’s fine. The McGrath exhibit—it looked fairly crowded up there. Lots of things packed into the space.”
She beamed. “That’s right. I helped set it up. It’s not easy arranging everything in a pleasing manner that still makes sense.”
“You did a beautiful job. But what I was wondering was—do you rotate the collection periodically? I read somewhere that it’s been here since shortly after Mr. McGrath died. I’d imagine the local people might get tired of looking at the same things.”
“Oh! You’re a smart young man. Yes, of course we rotate it. Usually around once a year. We’ve got enough items to do around three complete exhibits. Mr. McGrath had a lot of stuff in his house and storeroom, and quite a lot of it wasn’t suitable for auctioning.”
“Where is it kept? The items that are currently out of rotation, I mean.”
She pointed down. “In the basement. Everything’s all boxed up and carefully arranged on shelves down there. Why?”
Stone swallowed, hardly daring to believe he might get lucky this time. “Well…I know this is asking a lot, but one of things I was really interested in for my paper was the items related to his magic show—the ones that got auctioned.”
“Oh, but they aren’t down there, dear. They’ve been gone for fifty years.” She tilted her head, confused. “I already told you—”
“Yes. I know the actual items aren’t here. But I noticed a catalog in the display upstairs, from the auction. I’m guessing it listed all the items that were sold?”
“Well, of course it did.”
“I would love to get a look at that catalog. I’m sure there are a lot of things in there that could make my paper really amazing.”
She frowned. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it? But I’m afraid I can’t open the display case. That catalog is like an old magazine—it’s brittle and requires special handling.”
“I wouldn’t ask you do to that. I understand. But I thought maybe there might have been another one in the collection, stored away in a box somewhere?”
“Hmm.” She pondered. “It’s possible, of course. Now that you mention it, I think I might remember seeing another copy in one of the boxes. We rotated the collection only last month, so I was down there with Candice, sorting through things.”
Here goes… “Ms…”
“Mrs., it is. Mrs. Hodges.”
“Mrs. Hodges…” he said carefully, “would it be possible for me to take a look at that catalog, if it’s down there? I know it’s late, but it would mean so much to me.”
Her frown deepened. “You mean now? Oh, no. I’m sorry, but
that wouldn’t be possible. We’re closing in a few minutes, and I’ve got to—”
Stone held up a hand. “The thing is, Mrs. Hodges, I need to get a good grade on this paper, and I think this will do it. What if I…made a generous donation to the museum fund? Would that convince you?”
He could almost see the wheels turning in Mrs. Hodges’s head. On the one hand, she was seventy-year-old woman and he was proposing a trip down to the basement with a young man she didn’t know. On the other, she’d clearly seen a kindred spirit in him, someone who shared her interest in Leander McGrath. “Well…what sort of donation did you have in mind? I won’t lie—we can always use money. But you’re a college boy.”
Stone smiled. “I’m a college boy, yes. But my family’s got money.” He pulled two hundred dollars from his pocket and offered it to her. “Suppose I give you that for a half-hour of your time. If you’re worried about being down there alone with me—”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that,” she assured him. “I’ve got two boys of my own, and I can tell a bad one when I see one. But…” She still looked hesitant, then brightened as she reached a decision. “Oh, why not? I haven’t got anything else to do tonight except go home, feed my cats, and watch TV. I suppose Muffin and Blueberry can wait an extra half-hour. They’ll hardly starve.” She stood. “Thank you very much for your kind donation, Mr.—”
“Michael Townes. You can call me Mike.” Stone struggled to keep his voice calm as his insides thrummed with anticipation. He wouldn’t let himself get excited yet, but if he could get hold of the catalog without having to steal it, the thief might have done him a favor.
Except, of course, that the thief already had it, which meant he was hours ahead on finding anything useful in it.
First things first, though. He gave her the money, and she tucked it away in her box and locked it, then locked that in another cabinet.
