“Keep the story short. We have to get somewhere.”
Derek nods silently and I remove my hand from his face.
“Can I please see the coin?” he asks.
I hand him the gold piece.
“I knew it. This coin is from Sweden. It’s a rare coin, distributed only a couple of years ago. A small box of these was given to Dr. Von Thurston as a gift when he traveled to perform for Swedish dignitaries,” Derek says. “There were five coins in the leather box. One of them went missing.”
“Missing?”
“He won’t admit this publicly, but he has always employed assistants. He likes to call them ‘mentees.’ They’re magicians he wants to help with their careers,” Derek says. “However, he never shares the limelight with any of them. They’re tasked to do what he says, when he says it, and in return he teaches them tricks.”
Absentmindedly, Derek starts to manipulate the coin so that it travels across his knuckles. It’s mesmerizing. I can’t stop staring at the coin, moving effortlessly as if it has a mind of its own.
Derek lets out a long, pensive sigh.
“Sometimes Dr. Von Thurston treats these mentees like they’re his children,” he says quietly.
For the first time ever, I notice how painful it must be for him to have to compete for his father’s attention.
The coin still slowly goes over his knuckles.
“One of his last mentees was a young guy with a military-style buzz cut, very short,” Derek says.
Sigh. Evan doesn’t have short hair at all. His hair is wild and shaggy. It practically covers his eyes.
“What was his name?” I ask.
“Evan.”
My heart plunges. Shaggy hair be gone! It was Evan!
“Whatever happened to him?”
“What happens to every assistant he ever employs. He grows weary of their presence and starts to accuse them of wanting to take his place,” he says. “Evan traveled with us to Sweden, where Dr. Von Thurston was going to be celebrated. Evan insisted Dr. Von Thurston allow him to perform alongside him. He felt he had learned all there was to learn about magic and should be allowed to prove it at the coin-giving occasion, Mynt Ceremony, that night. Dr. Von Thurston refused and told him he would never amount to anything. Once an assistant, always an assistant. The next day, Evan was gone.”
“And so was the coin,” I add.
“And so was the coin,” he repeats.
“Derek, I’ve got news for you: Evan works at the Crossed Palms now.”
Derek’s jaw drops. All he can muster is, “Oh.”
Talk about a plot twist. I can’t believe it. Evan was always so nice to me, making me the perfect Shirley Temple, fitting right in with the rest of the hotel staff by mastering the “look.” He even got me with his signature greeting of “What’s the word from the bird?” It was all a front. His nice-guy qualities were masking his strong opinions about the magicians. He never liked one magic trick, not even the innocent woven finger trap. Imagine spending all this time sabotaging the magic acts and planting these clues while serving drinks, just to get back at Dr. Von Thurston. Talk about misdirection!
“Derek, what’s your father famous for? What’s his gimmick?” I ask.
“He’s a Renaissance man, renowned for being great in many things. But when it comes to illusions, he is untouchable,” he says. “Dr. Von Thurston is famous for walking on water.”
“Walking on water?!”
“Yes. To perform it, everything must go exactly as planned, which means his set must not be tinkered with. Evan, of all people, would know that. One false step can mean my father plunging into a deep pool of water.”
“Waterworks instead of a magic show!” I exclaim. “We need to find Evan.”
Derek hands me the coin, and I stash it with the other tokens I’ve accumulated. We head out to the lobby, where people are milling around. Some are about to take the remaining seats at the Great Bradinski’s show. I feel a tinge of sadness. Diane is probably wondering what in the world happened to me. No one should be in the bathroom this long, but I can’t risk going back to explain. We have to press on. I’ll just have to make it up to her.
“Derek, I think the best thing for you would be to go back to the magic show,” I say. “If Evan sees you, he will know the jig is up.”
Derek refuses to listen to me. I should have known.
“I found the coin. I’m going to see this thing through.”
This is what Walt would call being too close to the problem. Derek is heavily invested in making sure Evan is the guilty party. I need to do my job. And right now my job is to find out whether Evan is missing his coin. I can’t ask him that with Derek tagging along.
“He won’t talk if you’re around. Let’s compromise.”
I take a slight detour to the gift shop and grab a baseball cap with the words Crossed Palms on it. It doesn’t go with Derek’s full yellow outfit, but it’ll have to do.
“Keep this on. At least we can sort of obscure your face,” I say. “The minute Evan is within our sights, you’ll have to blend in, which seems impossible with your sunshine getup.”
“I will have you know this outfit was tailor-made for me by the finest Italian designer.”
If Derek were a full-time detective, he would know camouflaging is key to sleuthing. That’s just basic Detective 101.
Now I have to think. Where would Evan be at this very moment? He’s definitely working because earlier today he was filling the pitchers at the drink stations. I need to speak to someone who knows the servers’ schedules. Think, Goldie, think!
A server holding a tray of drinks walks with purpose across the lobby. It’s Arnold! I quickly catch up to him.
“Arnold, have you seen Evan? Do you know where he’s working?”
“Evan’s been popping up here and there. He’s scheduled right now to work at the Palms Palace. It’s where I’m heading,” Arnold says. “Want me to relay a message to him?”
“No thanks. I’ll see you later.” Arnold heads to the bar, only a few steps away, while I’m left to ponder our current predicament.
The Palms Palace is one of a few bars in the Crossed Palms Resort. It’s very beautiful, with mahogany paneling throughout and wall upon wall filled with the finest wines and liquors. There are cozy little nooks where guests can sit and drink their elixirs, while others can sidle up to the long wooden bar and watch the bartenders work their magic.
I know all this because I’ve seen photos of the fancy bar in the hotel’s brochure, enticing guests to visit. The one big caveat is that kids are not allowed inside.
“What are we waiting for?” Derek says. “Let’s go.”
“We can’t.” I point to the big ADULTS ONLY sign. “If we try, one of our security guards will kick us out in less than five minutes.”
“Well, this is an emergency!”
Derek doesn’t want to take my word for it, so he decides to try his luck. The minute his foot takes one step across the entrance, the doorman places his hand on Derek’s chest, points to the sign, and very, very gently nudges Derek away. He walks over to me with a dejected face.
“We can’t go in,” he says.
I shake my head. “Tell me something I don’t know!”
“What do we do now?”
We stand a little away from the bar. I don’t want Evan to get even the tiniest glimpse of Derek. This is going to be tricky. Do I take up Arnold’s suggestion and try to lure Evan out with a message? No, he would become too suspicious if I did that. Sneaking in is out of the question. There has to be another way.
Across the lobby I see the one person who might be willing to help our cause: The lovely Miss Dupart is heading toward the elevators. The night may be over for her. I just hope she has enough energy for one more thing.
“Stay right here and make sure our man Evan doesn’t leave the bar,” I say to Derek. “I’ll be right back!”
I run over to Miss Dupart. I slow my steps as I draw nearer.
I don’t want to startle her in any way.
“Miss Dupart! Do you have a quick moment?”
She flashes her great big smile. The bracelets weighing down her wrists make clinking and clanking sounds.
“Aw, Goldie. I was just about to end my magical day a bit early,” she whisper-talks. “Sometimes you must leave the party early to allow for a bit of mystery to linger.”
“What would you say if I have a bit more mystery for you?” I ask. “Just a tiny bit. I’m working on a case, and I need your help.”
Miss Dupart pulls in closer. “A case, you say? I do love me a thriller. It adds a little kick to the heart rate, if you know what I mean.”
More jingling from her wrists. “Come with me, then.”
I walk her over to Derek, who is not quite successful in blending in. The closer we get to him, the bigger Miss Dupart’s eyes open.
“Now, this is quite something,” she says, admiring Derek’s yellow ensemble. “I live for bold sartorial choices, and this young man’s stylish suit is one for the pages of Bazaar.”
Derek turns bright red. Go figure! Who knew a compliment from Miss Dupart would stun Derek? He doesn’t even pull out one of his cards!
“Miss Dupart, this is Derek Von Thurston, part-time magician, part-time detective.”
“You must be the brilliant son of Dr. Von Thurston, correct? You do not have his features, but you do have his strong handshake.”
If Derek turns any redder, I think he might go up in flames.
“Miss Dupart, we’re in a serious bind. Because of our age, we’re unable to walk into the Palms Palace,” I say. “But we have to verify a particular someone.”
Miss Dupart’s wrinkly forehead becomes even more wrinkly.
“You two are much too young to begin imbibing. I insist you let go of this pursuit and instead focus on other, healthier endeavors.”
Derek’s nervous laugh is unlike his loud cackle, which makes me think it’s definitely genuine.
“We don’t want to drink. We just want to see if Evan is working.”
“The barman with shaggy blond hair?” Miss Dupart asks.
“Yes! That’s the one,” I exclaim. “The mission is this: Go inside the bar and see if Evan is there.”
Miss Dupart repeats my request, just to make sure we are absolutely clear in our ask. I do need to add one more thing. I just hope Miss Dupart is up for the challenge.
“If you do see him, can you ask him about his coin?” I say. “The gold coin he’s always tossing up in the air? You know the one. What do you say, Miss Dupart?”
Derek and I look at Miss Dupart with serious puppy dog eyes, the same ones she gets from her poodle, Clementine.
Puppy dog eyes, shine on!
Chapter Seventeen
MISS DUPART LOOKS TO THE PALMS PALACE AND THEN back to us. Her eyes squint a bit as if she’s trying to use some sort of superpower eyesight to penetrate the walls of the bar.
If only, Miss Dupart, if only.
“I have seen Evan playing with his coin on more than one occasion,” she says. “It’s his signature style.”
“Correct!” I exclaim, and produce the coin for her to see.
“What a rare-looking coin,” she says. “Is Evan missing his coin?”
“No, he stole it,” Derek says. “From my father.”
Miss Dupart inhales sharply.
“Thievery. How very tacky. I don’t condone it in any form or manner,” she whisper-talks. “A coin, no less? Material possessions are worthless unless given as a gift.”
Every piece of jewelry Miss Dupart wears has a story behind it about the person who gave it to her. She cherishes each item like it’s family.
“It is very tacky,” Derek says.
“To bring you up to speed, I have a feeling Evan had something to do with the magic acts failing this weekend,” I say. “I found this coin at the most recent act. Derek told me how Evan was his father’s assistant and how the coin was given to his father, so it can’t possibly be a coincidence. If the coin I found is Evan’s coin, then he’ll be my number one suspect.”
Everything is riding on this being Evan’s stolen coin. Evan’s a gambling man, so I’m guessing he would be up for a little wager.
“Do you think you can find a way of asking Evan to show you his coin?” I ask. “Maybe a heads or tails bet? Get him to talk about it. What do you say, Miss Dupart?”
“A thriller it is! I would have you know, young Derek Von Thurston, that I am an accomplished thespian. From the bright lights of Broadway shows to the London West End theaters, I have embodied many, many roles,” Miss Dupart says. “I will gladly embark on the role of the unsuspecting hotel guest turned spy.”
Miss Dupart walks over to the doorman, who opens the door wide enough for both Derek and me to take a quick peek in. We still can’t see very well. I have to follow Miss Dupart’s interactions with Evan.
“We need a better view,” I say.
The Palms Palace has big glass windows that are perfect to observe through. Unfortunately, large planters overflowing with giant palm leaves practically engulf the windows, so we’ll have to climb through the foliage to snoop.
I lead Derek to the potted plants and trees. Thankfully, no one is around, including the groundskeeper, who would no doubt be completely devastated if he knew what I was thinking of doing.
“We need to get in there,” I say, ready to climb into the shrubbery as best I can without destroying the plant life.
“That’s impossible,” Derek says. “My yellow suit. It will be destroyed!”
I can’t believe he’s worried about his yellow suit getting dirty. Who cares about stains? When it’s time to dig in the dirt to uncover the truth, you never hesitate. You simply jump right in. Derek is constantly declaring his detective prowess, yet here he is afraid.
“Derek! Don’t you want to follow the action?” I ask. “I sure don’t want to miss a thing.”
He looks down at his yellow shoes.
“Dr. Von Thurston doesn’t approve of messy appearances. Truth be told, he barely approved of my yellow suit.”
I’m really starting to understand what it must be like for Derek to be a Von Thurston. Mom and Dad have never told me what I should wear. When I settled on my yellow headbands, Dad made sure to keep my drawer fully stocked. And Mom is always on the lookout for the perfect capris with deep pockets. To my parents, what matters isn’t what you wear—it’s how you treat others. I’m sure Dr. Von Thurston’s opinion of the yellow suit is just the tip of the iceberg for Derek.
“Say no more, Derek. I’ll be our eyes,” I say. “You just be on the lookout. If the groundskeeper sees me in here, he’ll toss me out like a pesky weed!”
I head right into the growth, placing one foot in a planter and pulling myself in. The first step is a doozy. Apparently, our fine Crossed Palms Resort staff just watered these things, so my penny loafer immediately sinks into mud.
“What do you see?” Derek asks.
I push over a couple of palm leaves until I’m able to take a clear look inside. Miss Dupart has found the perfect position, a seat directly at the center of the bar. Only one pair of guests sits with her, enjoying their drinks, so the view is pretty unobstructed. It doesn’t seem as if anyone is tending to the bar. Mr. Maple would not be happy about that. Where is Evan?
Lately, I’ve been trying to perfect my lip-reading technique by making Cheryl and Rob have conversations far away from me while I attempt to decipher what they’re saying. The first couple of times, I kept thinking Rob was asking Cheryl out on a date when he was actually asking about her birthday. It’s not an exact science. Mistakes are bound to be made. But right now I’m willing to try my best.
I see Miss Dupart raise her hand, lean slightly over the bar, and say something that looks like either “toodles” or “poodles.” It can go either way. As soon as she does this, Evan pops up. He must have been kneeling down behind the bar for some reason.
Miss Dupart laughs
very gaily at something Evan has said. Evan is in the dim, moody lighting of the bar, so I can’t read his lips—I just have to guess. He probably said, “What’s the word from the bird?” and Miss Dupart probably laughed as if Evan were the wittiest person around.
“Nothing much is going on,” I say. “Greetings and salutations. Something about a poodle, I think.”
“Huh?” Derek says.
I continue to narrate. “Evan is saying something something something while he fills a long tumbler with ice. I think Miss Dupart is telling an interesting story, something about missions.”
“Come again?” Derek says.
I’m not doing a great job. I’ve watched a couple of episodes of that new animal show Wild Kingdom. Live narration is way harder than I expected. Never underestimate the skill needed to follow the actions of a cheetah.
Evan’s face suddenly turns sour, as if he’s just sucked on a lemon. “Oh! She must be talking about magicians! Evan just got so angry.”
Evan hands Miss Dupart her drink. As is his custom, he drops several umbrellas onto the rim of the glass. The umbrellas are definitely a cute touch. Sadly, Miss Dupart is unable to truly sip her drink with so many of them obscuring the way.
“What’s going on now?”
“Not much. Evan is tending to other guests. Miss Dupart is adjusting her rings and probably wondering how to take a sip of her drink with so many umbrellas.”
“Umbrellas?”
I wonder how Miss Dupart will get him to talk about the coin. If only my detective skills included telepathy. I would beam my thoughts right into Miss Dupart’s head, and she would know exactly what to do.
Evan returns. Miss Dupart says something to him. I can’t make out what she’s said! Darn it!
Uh-oh.
“Evan’s raising his hands. He looks as if he’s annoyed with Miss Dupart.” He tries to hide his annoyance with a sweet smile, but his body language is a dead giveaway. He shakes his head, not once or twice but three times. Then he digs into his pocket and shows Miss Dupart something small.
Goldie Vance--The Hocus-Pocus Hoax Page 11
