by Jane Tesh
“But, my dear, I could teach you. All you’d have to do is stand there and hand me rings.”
“What’s up?” I asked.
The magician straightened as if speared from behind. Kary’s eyes sparkled. “David, this man is asking me to be his assistant.”
Uh, oh.
Out of the light, the magician was a plain middle-aged man, his thin features caked with makeup. Even his spiky hair had a deflated look. “I said I’d be glad to teach her everything she needs to know. I can tell she has exceptional stage presence.”
Kary gave me a meaningful glance. “I think it’s a great idea. Not only would it be fun, it could be very useful.”
I spoke to the magician. “If you could excuse us for a minute.”
“Of course.” He kept his gaze on Kary. “Here’s my card. Or you can contact me through this club.”
After he’d gone, Kary held up a hand to forestall my next protest. “I know what you’re going to say. ‘It’s too dangerous.’ But honestly, David, it’s perfect! I could get all the inside scoop on what’s been going on around here.”
“Kary, a man was killed here.”
“Over a Houdini box. Do I have a Houdini box? No one’s likely to pay attention to an assistant.”
Except when the assistant looks like you, I wanted to say, but knew better. The magician’s card was decorated with glittery rings. “Omar the Ring Master” was printed in silver. “But you’re not planning to tour with this guy, are you? What about your classes?”
“I’ll tell him up front I can work with him only in Parkland. I’ll call him tomorrow. It’s decided.”
I needed another drink. At the bar, I ran into the Ring Master.
“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, “but your friend is quite attractive and would be an asset to any magician. Any chance she might take me up on my offer?”
“We’re discussing it.”
“It’s impossible to find a good assistant. You hire a pretty one, she can’t tell a ring from a card. Hire a smart one, and she’s got her own act before you know it, runs off, taking half your supplies, half your tricks.”
“Have you thought about asking Jilly?”
“Who?”
I motioned. “That young lady there, the bartender. I understand she wants to be an assistant.”
“Oh, her.”
“Something wrong?”
“Well, she’s too morose.”
Looking at Jilly slumped listlessly at the bar, again rubbing her shoulder as if she were cold, I had to agree on his choice of words.
“I need someone with sparkle, with personality, and, quite frankly, I’m looking for a blonde.”
Aren’t we all? “Did you know Taft Finch?”
“Sure, we all knew Taft. He was a fine man, always willing to help a fellow magician. I owe him a lot. This was a terrible tragedy.”
“What’s your take on what happened?”
“Well, the Finch boys were good at what they did, but this business with a trunk escape—I don’t know. I think it was beyond them. Even the Amazing Randi had to call for help to get out of a safe one time, and he was one of the best. Things can go wrong.”
Jilly set his glass down, and he picked up his drink, not even glancing at her. “When can I expect an answer from Miss Ingram?”
“She’s taking several classes at PCC. You’d have to work around her schedule.”
“That’s all right. I have a day job here in Parkland and do magic a few nights a week, sometimes less.”
The magician looked harmless, and his act hadn’t included knives or swords or fire. “You just want her to stand there and hand you your rings?”
“And the silks, yes. And occasionally I do a variation on the rabbit in a hat trick, only I use kittens.”
Gah. I gave up. “She’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Excellent!”
***
Miss Ingram had picked up another fan, but this one was about nine years old, and transfixed that his student teacher had come to the Magic Club.
“David, this is one of the students in Mrs. Parker’s class where I’m helping with a reading group, Dana Heit. He’s here with his father.”
In my book, Dana’s a girl’s name. “Hi, Dana.”
He gave me a similar stare. “Are you here with your father, too, Miss Ingram?”
Ouch. Round one to Dana.
“Mister Randall is a friend of mine.”
“This is so cool!” Dana said. “I didn’t know you liked magic.”
“I love it,” Kary said. “Wasn’t the man with the rings amazing?”
“I’m going to be a magician,” he said. “I’ve got a kit and everything. Dad gave it to me for Christmas.”
“You’ll have to show the class some of your tricks.”
He beamed at her and then said, “Well, I gotta go. See you later.”
I sat down. “You made his day.”
“You should see how they react if they see me in McDonald’s.”
“What? Miss Ingram eats food? Miss Ingram likes fries?”
“And Miss Ingram is having a very good time, thank you.” Her eyes narrowed. “I saw you talking with Omar.”
“I wanted to find out if he knew anything about Taft Finch. And I told him you’d give him a call tomorrow. I hope that was okay.”
“Yes, thank you.”
“You know, you don’t have to become a superhero or a magician to help on my cases.”
“I think I do, David. Besides, it’s fun to try new things.”
“If one of my clients drowns, are you going to swim with the sharks? If a murder victim is found in a cave, are you going to bungee jump into a volcano?”
“Okay, now you’re overreacting.”
“I can’t help it.”
Kary gave me the full force of her big brown eyes. “Look, you’re always asking me to marry you. Suppose—just suppose—I say yes. Once I become Mrs. David Randall, are you going to become even more protective? I won’t be able to leave the house without a bodyguard and a pack of Dobermans.”
“Maybe just one Doberman.” She didn’t appreciate my joke. “Once we’re married, we can work this out.”
“No, we’re going to work it out now. I managed to make my way before I met you, remember. You need to back off, take it easy, realize that nothing’s going to happen.”
But things did happen, horrible unexpected things.
“David? Don’t go there.”
I caught her hand and tried to smile. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
Chapter Ten
Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic
The next morning, when I came down to breakfast, Kary had already left for class, and Camden was washing the dishes. I often volunteer for this chore, but he says he doesn’t mind. It was one way he’d supported himself during his vagrant years—gave him time to think, he said. From the way he was scrubbing the pot, there must have been some serious thinking going on this morning.
I went to the coffee maker. “Ellin didn’t drag you along today?”
“She and Reg are meeting here for lunch and battle plans.”
“Well, around ten, I’m meeting Fancy at the Bombay Club. I need to talk to the people there, too.”
“Come back for lunch. The meeting should be interesting.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee. “Speaking of interesting, did Kary tell you what she’s up to?”
“She said something about auditioning for a magician’s assistant. She’s going to call the man today and find out more details.”
“Yes. That way, she can be a mole in the world of illusion. From Wonder Star to Magic Mole.”
Camden paused, a pan halfway out of the water. “This isn’t a magician who likes to put pieces of his assistant in
different boxes and then reassemble her, is it?”
“No, this is Omar the Ring Master. He plays with hoops.”
“You didn’t say anything stupid like, ‘Over my dead body,’ I hope.”
“I like to learn from my mistakes.”
He continued scrubbing. “It’ll be like that superhero group. She’ll have fun, contribute to your case, and then she’s back to a normal life.”
“Until the next screwy thing that intrigues her. But I promised to back off.” And try to keep my dread under control. I sat down at the counter. “She’s planning something else, did she tell you that? She’s taking on the seedy world of black-market babies.”
“She did not mention that little endeavor.”
“Apparently there’s something called Baby Love, which is a branch of Mothers United, and Kary wants to infiltrate their ranks and discover their secrets. She’s going undercover as an unwed mother seeking parents for her unborn child.”
“What is she hoping to find out?”
“If either company is legitimate.”
Camden rinsed the pan and set it aside to dry. “Sounds like a good idea.”
“Yes, but if she finds something illegal, then what?”
“It’s Wonder Star to the rescue.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised. What are we having for lunch?”
He pulled out the stove drawer and reached for a large rectangular glass dish. “Lasagna.”
Lasagna’s one of the two things Camden makes. Not having a father, he’s had to invent himself, and he’s decided the less change the better. He eats the same things, wears the same clothes, and has practically the same routine every day. Maybe he thinks these rituals keep change at bay. He’s told me several times how he hated all the changes in his early life, being shifted from one foster home to another, then out on his own, bumming rides and food in exchange for carpentry work or odd jobs. When he found the house here in Parkland, he decided to stay. He saw something in the owner’s future that saved the man a lot of money, and in return, the man gave him the house. Camden says 302 Grace is his true home. Ellin would just as soon plow it under and salt the ground. I can’t wait to see how they resolve this little problem.
He put the glass dish into the suds and scrubbed it until I had to make a remark. “I think that dish is clean.”
“Ellie and I discussed the Kirks last night while you were at the club. I actually called Phil and tried to talk to him.”
“What did he say?”
“He said I must be joking. His wife would’ve foreseen any medical problems.”
“Okay, so you did your best. Did you ask Ellin about Dirk? I meant to ask Rahnee if a candidate for village idiot auditioned on Saturday.”
He rinsed the dish, set it aside, and let the water out of the sink. “Ellie’s perfectly willing to spy for you. She wants you to discover Dirk’s evil past.”
“Anything new on the ring issue?”
“No, she didn’t stay very long. Her mother called.”
Ellin’s mother is the pint-sized version of Ellin. “How does mom feel about you?”
He looked in the refrigerator for a package of hamburger. “Oh, she likes me, but she doesn’t think I’m very good husband material.”
“A psychic sales clerk whose idea of a square meal is a Pop-Tart? What’s wrong with her?”
“She doesn’t think I can support Ellie in the style to which she is accustomed. She’s right.”
“Ellin listens to her mother?”
He put the meat in a frying pan. “No, they argue all the time.”
I looked through the stack of mail on the counter. “Is this yesterday’s mail? I forgot to check it.”
“That big envelope’s for you.”
There was a large cream-colored envelope addressed to me. “Maybe one of my ex-wives is finally remarrying.” I opened the envelope and took out the sheet of paper, realizing what it was. “It’s an invitation to the Wright Reunion.”
“Is there a wrong one?”
“Wright with a ‘W.’ Barbara’s family. Some of her aunts really like me. They always send me an invitation, but I haven’t seen Barbara or any of her family since the funeral. I don’t want to see any of them.” Thinking of Lindsey’s funeral made me think of the dance recital DVD on the bookshelf. I didn’t want to see that, either—not yet.
Camden gave me his full attention. “I can sense some of it, Randall, but I won’t pretend to know what it’s like.”
“At least you’re not one of those people who tell me time heals, or it was God’s will, or I’ll get over it.”
“Because I don’t believe it was God’s will.”
I hadn’t worked my way through that one. “Or, don’t worry, David, you’ll have another child some day. Or her soul is at peace now. The angels must have wanted another playmate.”
He grimaced. “That one’s particularly gooey.”
We didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he said, “You know how desperately Kary wants a child.”
“I know. It’s that big rock in the middle of the road, the one I can’t see over.”
His eyes were set on high beam. “But I see you with children.”
“Well, I like hanging around the schoolyard with my pockets full of candy.”
He gazed off into another realm. “I’m not sure, but I think they’re mine.”
I sat down at the counter, thinking over what he’d said. It’s easier to say I’ll never have another child. It’s the buffer that keeps back the pain. I’ll never go through something like this again. But I’ll also never go through a child’s delight on Christmas morning again, or the awe of seeing that first snow, the thrill of flying that first homemade kite, the little frilly dresses, the hair ribbons sliding awkwardly through my fingers as I try to tie a bow.
I felt the emotion threatening to choke me. Camden kept his back turned, opening cans of tomato sauce, but I knew, like me, he was seeing the black smoke and twisted metal along the side of the road and feeling my panic as I searched for the one thing I could not find.
After a while, I balled up the invitation and threw it away.
***
The Bombay Club was located in a classier part of town and had its own parking lot. Someone must have found a bargain in fake palm trees because they were everywhere, crowding the door, the foyer, and scattered all around the large room. The stage was about the same size as the stage at the Magic Club, but the curtains were new, the floor shiny, the lights a splash of pink and gold. “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic” by the Police was playing softly. The bartender was a woman built along the same lines as the Deadly Sheila, but a hell of a lot friendlier. She had on black with a necklace of gold stars and gold star earrings.
“What’ll you have?”
“A little conversation.”
“Fine by me.” There was a muffled conversation from somewhere behind her in the kitchen. “Excuse me a moment.” She turned and yelled, “I know what you’re doing back there, and if you don’t quit, you’re gonna be sorrier than a mustard-eatin’ frog on Sunday!” She turned back to me, all smiles. “So what’s up with you?”
I was still trying to get my head around “mustard-eatin’ frog.” Rufus always came up with some strange Southernisms, but this one was bizarre, even by his standards. “My name’s David Randall. I’m investigating the death of Taft Finch.”
“Oh, yeah. Heard about that. Too bad.” The person in the kitchen said something else, and she whipped around. “What did I tell you about sassin’ me? Do you want your butt handed to you in a shoebox? Just fill the damn order like I said.” Then she was back to me. “Sorry about that. That boy’s about as worthless as a tea bag in a coffee maker. Now, what you need to know?”
“Did Taft ever perform here?”
“Not that I know of.”
>
“There seems to be a little friction between your club and the one on Freer Street.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know why. We only added a few magic acts for variety, a hypnotist, a woman who does the Ouija board. Our customers prefer singers and jazz trios.”
“So none of the Magic Club regulars ever played here?”
“I can’t say that. Little scrawny guy came over a few times, Whiz Bang, or something.”
“WizBoy, maybe?”
I had to wait for her to give the kitchen worker a little more hell. “And don’t forget to scrub those trays! I can’t have ‘em lookin’ like last week’s lettuce. Yeah, that’s it, WizBoy.”
The Wiz performed at the hated Bombay Club? Wonder why he didn’t mention it. “I’m also looking for a box Taft was going to use in his act.” I described the box, but the bartender shook her head.
“Nothing like that around here.”
“Are there any other nightclubs in town who hire magicians?”
“Not much call for magic tricks. People want to hear music, drink, dance. That’s about it.” She turned to glare at a man who came through a door at the end of the bar. He was about the same general build as WizBoy, but he wasn’t intimidated by the bartender’s size or her attitude. He marched right up to her.
“I’ll thank you not to yell at me in front of Marlene,” he said.
“Marlene’s back there? Why isn’t she out here cleaning tables like I asked her?”
“’Cause she don’t feel like it. She’s got the flu or something. Looks like death suckin’ a sponge.”
Okay, that was one I had to write down.
The bartender said, “Excuse me, buddy, but I got to go tend to this.”
“No problem.” I enjoyed the show. “Thanks for your help. I’m supposed to meet a magician named Fancy. Do you know her?”
“Make yourself at home. She’ll be late. She’s always late.”
Fancy was twenty minutes late but worth the wait. She walked in like she owned the place, a short, striking young woman in black and red, her platinum blonde hair cut short and ragged, her full lips a luscious shade of magenta. Her narrow ice blue eyes looked me up and down.
