The Magician's Daughter: A Valentine Hill Mystery

by Judith Janeway

  “That’s what I need to make sure about. The free part.”

  “Free and no strings. Wait, I take that back. There’s one thing. No drugs. And that’s a deal-breaker. So if you’re using, I can’t help you.”

  “I’m not and never have.”

  “And you don’t lie.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You look like hell.”

  My hand went automatically to my hair. As if patting the tangled curls could ever improve the overall ragtag effect. “It’s been a rough day. All I need is a good night’s sleep.”

  “If you say so.” He put the car in gear and pulled into traffic. “It’s not far.”

  Chapter Five

  “Not far” is relative when you’re the passenger and you don’t know where you’re going. I pretty much zoned out during the ride. Rico didn’t have much to say either. At least, not to me. He lit another cigarette, told me to put my seat belt on, and took on the city streets like a kid playing Indy 500 in a video game arcade. He produced a cell phone from his shirt pocket, drove and held the phone with one hand and punched in a number with the other.

  “Hi, Mom,” he said into the phone. “Yeah, it’s me, Rico. You know that loft apartment that Fred lets me use sometimes? Yeah, that one. Would you do me a favor and call him for me? The number’s on the fridge. Just let him know I’m coming. No, not me. A girl I picked up needs a place for one night. Not in a bar. Picked up in my cab. Right. Love you, too.”

  “Does your mother live with you?” I asked.

  “No. I have my own place.”

  “But you leave phone numbers on her refrigerator?”

  “Yeah. What of it?” An edge to his voice. The New Jersey creeping in.

  “Nothing.”

  We rode in silence for a bit. “Valentine your real name?” he asked.

  Here we went with the reality versus illusion thing again. I opted for the short version this time. “Yes.”

  “Thought maybe it was your stage name.”

  “I haven’t decided on that one yet. Right now I go by The Great Valentina, but I’m not sure it’s quite right.”

  He turned into an alley. People had parked on both sides, which left just enough room for one car and a couple of inches to spare. I caught myself holding my breath as we rocketed along between two blocks of tall new buildings that were mostly under construction interspersed with small old buildings that were under deconstruction. Rico drove up over a curb onto a patch of gravel behind one of the old buildings, a three-story brick affair that looked like it had barely survived the 1906 earthquake.

  I got out of the cab and looked around. “Is this the place?”

  “Don’t let the exterior fool you. It’s nicer on the inside.”

  A homeless person appeared around the corner of the building and shambled at an angle toward us. When he came near, I got a whiff of rank stench. “Spare change?”

  Rico pulled a bill out of his pocket and handed it to him.

  “God bless you.” The man shambled away.

  “I thought you said not to give them anything.”

  “It’s okay. I know that guy.” He headed toward the building. I followed slowly. “Look,” he said over his shoulder, “if you don’t want to stay here, it’s okay by me. My other offer still stands—I’ll take you wherever you say.”

  The problem was that I didn’t have anywhere else to go. My day so far ranked up there with my top-ten worst ever. I’d always been pretty good at blocking out physical pain, but the run-in with Mr. Bozo had pushed things too far even for me. I really needed to lie down somewhere safe.

  Before we reached the battered back door, it opened and a sturdy woman with gray hair in a Dutch boy haircut stepped out. She had an unlit cigarette in her mouth and the lighter in her hands already fired up and halfway to her cigarette when she saw us. “Hey, Rico.” The cigarette bobbed in synch with the words. She finished lighting up and took a long drag. She wore black jeans and a black knit polo shirt. When we came near, I saw that the shirt had an embroidered logo in bright blue that said “i-systems.”

  “Hey, Nancy,” Rico said. “How’s business?”

  “Business is too good. I’m pulling down overtime and can’t even get out of the office for a smoke break. Who’s this?” She squinted at me through the cigarette smoke.

  “This is Valentine. She’s going to use the loft tonight.”

  “If you’re going to smoke,” a man’s voice came through the open door behind Nancy, “then close the goddamned door.” This order was followed by a screeching sound of some kind of machinery.

  Nancy waved us toward the door. “Go on. I’ll catch you later. Nice to meet you, Valentine.”

  We passed through the back door and immediately into a large high-ceilinged room that housed a whole carpenter’s shop. I counted five different machines. A redheaded man stood next to one of them, using a notched stick to push a flat board lengthwise toward a spinning saw blade. The machine screamed its way along until the board fell neatly in two pieces. The man picked up the pieces of wood and added them to a stack he’d apparently already cut. He wore the same black pants and black shirt as Nancy. He looked up and saw us.

  “How’s it going, Mike?” Rico said.

  “This oak’s a real bitch to rip. It’s so old it’s like iron.” Mike’s gaze landed on me. “Hi.”

  “I think it’d be impossible to rip any kind of wood,” I said, but I immediately pictured a magic act featuring the illusion of ripping wood like a piece of paper. It would make a great trick.

  Mike blinked and smiled. “What have we here, Rico? A real blonde? Honey, a ripcut means you saw the wood with the grain.”

  I’d heard more blonde jokes in my life than almost any other kind of humor. Usually I let it go, but pain and fatigue made me grouchy. “And manners mean you don’t speak condescendingly to people even if they don’t understand something you think is basic knowledge.”

  “Ouch.” Mike grinned. “She’s pretty, but she bites. You should’ve warned me, Rico.”

  “We’re going upstairs, so you have to turn off the machinery for now,” Rico said.

  “Sure. No problem. Have to get back to work anyway.” He brushed at his clothes with his hands. “This damn sawdust. It’s hell on the computers.”

  “Computers? This isn’t a carpentry business?”

  “No,” Rico said. “The former owner left that machinery behind. I think they used it for the remodel they were doing. Mike’s hobby is woodworking, so he spends all his free time in there.” Rico led the way across the workshop to another door.

  The doorway we passed through was the back entrance to the building’s foyer. The low lighting dimly illuminated tarnished brass fixtures, a marble floor, and wood wainscoting.

  “I see what you mean about it being nicer inside. It’s amazing. It’s like walking into another time.”

  “Yes. It’s a damn shame that they’re going to tear it down. Here we go.” He stopped next to an old-fashioned elevator. He grabbed the handle of the folding metal gate and slid it open. The light inside the wood paneled elevator came on.

  I shook my head. “I don’t do elevators,” I said. “I’ll take the stairs.”

  “Not possible,” Mike said, as he came up behind me. “No stairs anymore.”

  “What do you mean ‘no stairs?’ They’re right there.” I pointed to the oak banister supported by fancy wrought iron at the front end of the foyer.

  “That’s the staircase to nowhere,” Mike said. “The treads and risers to the upper floors are in the process of becoming a beautiful set of oak dining room chairs. For my dining room.”

  I stared at Rico, who nodded and said, “The building’s going to come down anyway, eventually.”

  “And the owner doesn’t care?”

  Mike gave a short laugh. “Owners
hip is—shall we say—unclear, at this point. Which is the only reason they haven’t done the old wrecking ball thing on her already. Too bad for the building, but you can’t beat the rent. Hey, Rico, you going to make a food run for us?”

  “Sure. I’ll be down in a couple of minutes. Decide what you want, though. I can’t stand around waiting for you guys to make up your minds. Come on, Valentine.” Rico gestured toward the elevator. “It’s just one floor. And the elevator’s perfectly safe.”

  It wasn’t that I couldn’t ride in an elevator. I’d done it many times when the stairs weren’t an option. But never when I was in such bad physical shape and so uncertain of what lay ahead. Why couldn’t Rico’s friend have had an apartment on the first floor?

  “Go on,” Mike urged. “You’re going to love the loft. It’s really nice. Not like downstairs at all.”

  I stepped into the elevator. Rico pulled the folding metal gate across the opening with a clang. He pushed a button and the elevator gave a jerk and began to rise slowly. Very slowly. In fact, the motion was barely perceptible. I felt the familiar cold sweat begin to form on my forehead and forced myself to breathe slowly while staring at the metal grill opposite. The doorway opening gradually disappeared as the car began to rise. The between-floors wall passed in slow motion. Someone had scrawled graffiti. Why bother with a just brief obscenity? You’d have enough time to write a whole novel by the time you reached the second floor.

  At last the car jolted to a stop. Rico pulled the metal gate open, and I nearly fell in my rush to get out. It was dark in the hallway. The only light came from the elevator car. “Just open the door there. It’s unlocked.”

  I crossed the few steps to the door and opened it. The early evening light came through tall windows at one end of the room.

  “Light switch to your right.”

  I found it, flipped it on and instantly illuminated a large modern loft. Unadorned brick walls. Everything open in one huge space. Kitchen in the middle like a small island, but with a view to the surrounding room. The bedroom area to the far right, and living space to the left, with a wall of tall windows. All of it minimalist modern.

  “It’s wonderful. I thought it was going to be old-fashioned like downstairs. Thank you for letting me stay here. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem.” He waved off my thanks and moved into the kitchen area. “Help yourself to anything here.” He opened the doors of the empty refrigerator and a couple of equally bare cupboards. “Which, I guess, would be nothing.”

  “That’s okay.” I crossed into the kitchen and pulled a glass from one of the open shelves. “Water’s all I want.” I filled the glass at the sink and took a long drink.

  “I’m going to get some takeout for the guys downstairs. I could get some for you, too.”

  I wasn’t hungry, but I should eat something. It would help me deal with the profound fatigue I felt seeping through me. “Sure, that would be great.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a ten. “Here.”

  “No, that’s okay.” He waved a hand at me and backed toward the doorway.

  “Take it, or I don’t share the food.”

  He took the money with a shrug. “You’ll get change, though. I know a place that’s real cheap, if Chinese is okay with you.”

  “It’s great. Thanks.” I leaned against the kitchen counter.

  “You okay?”

  “Just tired.”

  “Okay. Be right back.” He walked out the door with a wave of his hand.

  When I’d reached for my money in my pocket, my hand had briefly touched the small manila envelope of pain pills Phil had given me in case I felt rotten later. She must’ve had ESP or something, because I felt really rotten now. I pulled out the envelope and extracted two pills. I’d just lifted my hand to put the pills in my mouth when the door opened and Rico reappeared leaning inward on the door handle. “You have a thing about MSG? Because this place…” He stopped in midsentence. “What the hell?”

  “What’s the problem?” I popped the pills into my mouth and downed them with the rest of the water in the glass.

  He strode over to me, grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a hard shake.

  “Ow!” I cried out. “Stop it.” He dropped his hands, and I backed away from him.

  “Didn’t I tell you no drugs? What’ve you got there?” He snatched up the envelope I’d put down on the counter.

  “They’re just pain pills. That’s all.”

  He tilted the envelope and spilled one of the pills into the palm of his hand. “Shit. Just pain pills. There’s no ‘just’ about it. This is oxy. Good for pain, sure. What’ve you got? Junkie pain?”

  “What’s oxy?”

  “Don’t try to play me, okay? Those blue eyes aren’t going to cut it now. I said no drugs, and I meant it.”

  I shook my head. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “My mistake was falling for your sob story. A guy stole your money, but was going to give it back. I must be getting old.”

  It was humiliating to be accused of using drugs. If he only knew me, he’d know I’d never do it. No matter what. “Just listen to me. I’m telling the truth. I don’t know what oxy is. I thought the pills were like aspirin.”

  “You expect me to believe that you’ve never heard of oxycontin? No one’s that naïve.”

  I turned and headed for the door.

  “Hey, where’re you going?”

  “I’m leaving, because you are so full of it. You know what? Not knowing the current slang for some drug isn’t naïve. Naïve is a thirty-something man thinking he’s an adult living on his own when he doesn’t even have to keep track of his own phone numbers or make his own phone calls, for that matter, because he can have his mother do it for him.” I stopped to catch my breath.

  Rico stared at me. “What?”

  “And if she picks out your clothes, too, you’re really in trouble, because that has to be the ugliest shirt I’ve ever seen.”

  He looked down at his monkey-coconut tree-patterned shirt, as if noticing for the first time what he was wearing. He lifted his head and frowned. “How did this get to be about me?”

  “It was always about you. That’s the problem. You had a good impulse, to help me when I asked for help. But that’s all it was—an impulse.”

  “Look, I told you the rules. No drugs.”

  “Rules are good. I have my own rules, and I live by them. But you don’t. You don’t even have good rules. You say not to give one man any money, then you turn around and give money to this other man. Because you know him. If you took a minute to talk to that man who stood in traffic asking for money, you’d know him, too. Your rule is flawed, because you have to make exceptions. And that makes you fall back on your impulses to guide you. That’s why it’s all about you.”

  He gave me the sidelong stare people use when they’re not sure whether you’re sane or not. That was okay. I’d said what I had to say. Maybe he’d think about it later and realize I was right. I turned to leave.

  “Wait. You can stay. Just no more oxy.”

  I turned back. “Agreed. No more oxy. But I’m going anyway.” I turned again to leave and a funny thing happened to my feet. They staggered and threw me off balance. I tried to right myself, and instead ended up crashing backwards against the refrigerator. The broken rib really hated that. “Ahhh!” I cried out before I could stop myself.

  “What the hell?” Rico said.

  I stood with my eyes closed until the lights stopped flashing in my brain. When I opened them, Rico stood in front of me, frowning. “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know. My feet wouldn’t work right somehow, and I stumbled.” I pressed my hand against my side.

  “What’s wrong with your side. Are you hurt?”

  “Of course I’m hurt. Why else would I take pain pills?”

 
“I know that fat guy got rough, but I didn’t realize…”

  “No, it was before the bozo.” I stayed with my back leaning against the refrigerator. Somehow, it seemed easier than trying to stand upright on my own. My eyes wanted to rest a minute, too. I let my eyelids fall. Just for a few moments, what would that hurt?

  I heard Rico calling my name over and over again, and saying, “Stay with me now.” Why would he say that when I’d broken his rule?

  Chapter Six

  Daylight forced my eyes open, even though all I really wanted was to keep them closed and stay in the soft darkness of sleep. It took a few seconds to focus. I lay on my side, and I wasn’t alone.

  Rico.

  Asleep next to me.

  With his hand between my breasts.

  “Argh!” I tried to scream, but my vocal cords didn’t work very well. I tried to roll away, but got tangled up in the blankets and ended up sliding slowly to the floor in a blanket cocoon.

  “What the hell?” Rico was off the bed and on his feet before I could get upright. “You okay?” he asked and started to come around the bed.

  I managed to get on my feet. I was wearing some awful Hawaiian shirt. Where were my clothes? “Stay away from me, perv.”

  “Perv? If babysitting a dopehead all night makes me a perv, then okay.”

  “I’m not a dopehead. And you had your hand on my breasts.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I was asleep on the couch when you freaked out, yelling, carrying on. I came over here to wake you up, and you grab my hand. The only way you’d stay quiet was if I let you hold onto my hand.” He held out his hand and flexed it. “It’s been completely asleep for hours. I may never get all the feeling back into it.”

  “Yes, and I suppose I also undressed myself in my sleep.” I looked around the room for my clothes. “No wonder I was having nightmares if I was wearing this awful thing.” I pulled at the oversized red Hawaiian shirt that sported green and yellow parrots.