The Magician's Daughter: A Valentine Hill Mystery

by Judith Janeway

  “I didn’t take your clothes off, if that’s what you’re thinking. I had Nancy come up and do it.”

  “Oh, you had a complete stranger undress me. That makes me feel much better.” I strode into the living room end of the loft, but couldn’t see my clothes anywhere.

  He followed me. “Look, what was I supposed to do? You’d said that you’d been hurt, then you pass out. I didn’t know if I should call 911 or not, so I asked for a second opinion. Hey, you’re moving pretty good for someone who obviously took a hell of a beating. But, I have some bad news—you’re not going to be wearing a bikini for a while. Not with those bruises.”

  I stopped rummaging among the sofa cushions. “You had someone else take my clothes off and then you looked at me? I got it right the first time—perv.” I pointed my finger at him. “If you messed with me in any way, I have a friend in the San Francisco Police Department who’ll fix your wagon for you.”

  “Fix my wagon? What’s that supposed to mean? If your friend is Hector Lopez, I’ve got news for you. He’s in homicide, and you’re not dead. And you can probably thank me for that. Though it doesn’t look like you will.”

  I stared at him. “You went through my pockets?”

  “Think about it. Girl who goes by the unlikely name of Valentine, pops some oxy, complains of severe pain and passes out on me. What else could I do? Not that I learned very much. No ID, just a wallet with fifty library cards from all over the country.”

  “Twenty-seven library cards,” I corrected him. “And they’re actually very good ID. They tell you a lot about me.”

  “Sure, whatever. But not as much as the so-called confession from Jeff. True Confessions is more like it. He’s just holding your money hostage, the way you’re holding his heart hostage. You like to put all your boyfriends through the wringer, or just this one?”

  “Jeff is not my boyfriend. He’s a person who imagines things and thinks they’re real. He admits he took my money. That’s a confession. Now it’s your turn to confess. Where are my clothes? And you’d better hand them over right now, because there’s no way I’m appearing in public in this hideous shirt.”

  “Don’t start in on my wardrobe again. Your clothes are in the bathroom. We left them in there with a clean towel, so you could take a shower in the morning.”

  “Oh. Where’s the bathroom?”

  Rico pointed in the direction of the sleeping area. I turned and headed that way.

  “You’re welcome,” he called after me. “And just so you know, I’m leaving now.”

  “Good,” I said, continuing toward the bathroom. I heard the door close and a second later, the clang of metal. I stopped in my tracks. The elevator. I’d forgotten all about it. “That’s okay,” I said aloud to myself. “I’ll deal with it when the time comes.” That’s what my Aunt June had always said, and she was mostly right.

  In the shower with hot water washing away the kinks, I could see that Rico had had it right about the bruises. Definitely not for public display. But if they hadn’t faded by the time I returned to Vegas, I could always apply the body makeup I used for my scars when I had to put on the skimpy outfit Eddie the Wiz had his assistants wear. That is, if he still had a job for me when I returned to Vegas.

  I couldn’t worry about that, because I’d never get back to Vegas if I didn’t make some money. To do that, I needed to call Lopez and get my things back. So, freshly showered, and not so freshly dressed in yesterday’s clothes, I walked around, finger-combing my damp hair, and looked for a phone. No phone.

  Okay, time to face the elevator. I had to leave the apartment door open to see, because it was completely dark in the hall. I pushed the call button, then waited for the elevator car to make its snail-like progress to the second floor. The folding metal gate needed some force to make it close all the way, and I discovered that the car wouldn’t budge if it wasn’t closed. On the way down, I breathed in and out slowly, the way I’d trained myself to do. No rapid heartbeat, no clenching stomach and no sweat, literally and figuratively. The car stopped at the ground floor with a little bounce. I pushed open the gate and stepped out with a little bounce myself. I’d never had such an easy time of it. Maybe I’d finally conquered my fear?

  “Hey, Blondie. How’s it going?” This from flame-haired Mike, who lounged against the wall, looking as if he’d been waiting for the elevator to come down.

  Time to nip this “blondie” bit in the bud. “Hello, Carrot Top. My name is Valentine.”

  He grinned and nodded. “Okay, not too subtle, but I get it. Valentine.”

  “Were you waiting for the elevator?” I stepped away from open car.

  “Nope. For you. Heard the machinery going and knew you were on the way down. Rico asked us to keep an eye out for you. Make sure you were okay.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Gee, let me see.” He scratched his head in a parody of puzzlement. “Could it be because someone used you as a punching bag? Or, was it your overdosing on a level four prescription drug—for which you had no prescription? Or maybe, it was your obvious elevator phobia. Wait, I know. The answer is—all of the above.”

  “Rico exaggerated.”

  “I got it from Nancy, not Rico. And, believe me, no one accuses Nancy of exaggeration. You can ask her yourself. Come on.” He gestured for me to follow him and walked toward a wide doorway near the front end of the building.

  I hurried after him. “I don’t want to interrupt. I know you’re busy.” And I didn’t need to hang around explaining myself to people I didn’t know. But what I did need was to call Lopez. “I really have to make a phone call. Do you think I could use your phone?”

  “Sure, but let’s let Nancy take a look at you first.” He proceeded through a doorway flanked by tall double wooden doors that bore a tastefully small brass plate. It said simply, i-systems, with no further explanation. We entered a large room with a high curved ceiling with plaster curlicues around the edges. The modern office cubicles and computers that filled the room made a jarring contrast.

  “Hey, Nancy,” Mike yelled out. “Someone here to see you.”

  Nancy’s head appeared above one of the dividers. “There you are,” she said to me and came out to join us. “How are you feeling?”

  “I feel great, thanks. I’m embarrassed that I was so dumb about taking those pills. It was nice of you to look after me in my passed out condition. I’m really grateful.”

  “Rico was pretty worried about you.”

  “That was nice of him, too,” I said with less sincerity. “Do you mind if I use your phone?”

  “Sure, go ahead.” She waved me toward an unoccupied cubicle. “When you’re done, come on back this way.” She pointed to the opposite side of the room.

  “Okay.” I sat down in the desk chair. The surface of the desk was bare except for a computer and a telephone. The computer was on and had an “i-systems” screen saver slowly flowing back and forth across the monitor. I pulled out Lopez’s card and punched in the number. It rang four times and Lopez’s voicemail message came on. I hung up the phone. Stupid voicemail. Why couldn’t they have a person answer? What if it was an emergency, like a person needed to get her things back so she could put on some clean clothes and earn some money.

  “You get through okay?” Mike asked behind me.

  I stood up and slipped the card back into my pocket, but I had a feeling that Mike had seen it. “No. I’ll have to try again in a few minutes. If that’s okay.”

  “No problem. Come on back to our employee lounge.” He led the way to a far corner of the room that housed a kitchen sink, a counter with a microwave on top and a small refrigerator underneath. Nancy sat at a round table just large enough for three chairs.

  “It’s not very spacious, or even lounge-like,” Mike said. “But it doesn’t matter because we never use it. On break, Nancy goes outside to smoke, a
nd I go into the shop. We eat at our desks.”

  “We’re using it today, though.” Nancy stood up and opened the microwave. “Thought you’d be hungry since you didn’t get dinner last night.” She checked her watch. “Or breakfast or lunch today.” She put a plate with a large burrito on it in front of me. “Would you like a soda?” She opened the refrigerator and peeked in. “Or juice?”

  I took a step back. “Look, I appreciate your helping me last night, but I don’t expect you to feed me.”

  “Protest duly noted,” Nancy said. “Now sit down and tell me, do you want soda or juice?”

  I sat down. “Juice would be very nice.” I picked up a fork and took a bite. I hadn’t realized I was hungry until I smelled the food. But then I hadn’t realized that I’d slept half of the day, either. “This is great. Thanks.”

  “We do very good takeout in this establishment,” Mike said.

  “So it’s just the two of you?”

  “For now there’re three of us,” Nancy said. “Becky’s on nights.”

  “What exactly do you do?”

  Mike and Nancy glanced at each other. I had the distinct feeling I’d overstepped some boundary. What had I been thinking? This whole setup in a condemned building couldn’t be a conventional business. More like something barely on the edge of legitimate, if that. “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”

  “We provide private businesses the service of monitoring and managing their products from point of manufacture to customer delivery,” Mike said.

  “Huh?”

  “He means that private businesses hire us to pick up goods they offer for sale and get them delivered to customers. These businesses usually don’t manufacture the goods themselves so we spare them the hassle of maintaining a storage and shipping facility,” Nancy explained.

  “It’s called drop-shipping only with the extra benefit of complete confidentiality and protection against theft,” Mike added. “We keep an eye on everything. That’s why we’re called ‘i-systems.’ Clever, huh?”

  “So you’re the middle-men for middle-men?”

  “Something like that,” Mike said.

  It all sounded a bit sketchy to me, but I didn’t say it out loud. I just ate my food and listened.

  “Okay, enough about work,” Nancy said. “It’s bad enough that I spend so many hours doing it, do I have to talk about it, too? You know, Valentine, I was wondering if you might want to see a doctor.”

  My mouth was full so I settled for shaking my head no.

  “You sure? That was some beating you took. Rico said your side hurt a lot. It’s possible you broke a rib.”

  “I think I did, but I’m fine. The last time I broke a rib was when Eddie the Wiz got drunk before the late show and messed up the wires for the levitation illusion. I did two shows the next day, no problem. They don’t do anything for a broken rib, you know. It’s not like breaking an arm where you get a cast.”

  “Who’s Eddie the Wiz?” Mike asked.

  “The magician I’ve been working for in Vegas. He calls himself Edward the Wizard, but he’s the only one who does.”

  “Rico said something about you being a magician,” Nancy said. “What kind of things do you do?”

  “When I’m working for Eddie, I just assist, which means I smile like an idiot and try to make sure he doesn’t mess up. Especially when I’m the one he’s levitating. But when I’m doing my own street gig, I do lots of different things.”

  “Yeah? Like what?” Mike asked.

  “Well, I always start by juggling, because that draws a crowd quicker.”

  “You juggle? I’ve always wanted to learn how to juggle.”

  It was an obvious opening for me to offer to teach him, but I needed to make contact with Lopez. “I don’t have my gear with me, or I could show you.”

  “So you need special equipment to juggle?”

  “I use balls. They’re the easiest to learn with, but you can juggle just about anything.” I stood up, carried my empty plate to the sink, and turned on the water.

  “How about plates?” Mike asked, pointing to the plate in my hand.

  “Yes, I’ve done plates, but I wouldn’t want to practice with yours.” I washed my dirty plate, put it in the dish drainer, and turned to Nancy. “Thanks for the meal. Okay if I use the phone again? I didn’t get through last time.”

  “Sure.” She indicated the closest cubicle.

  I dialed and this time Lopez picked up.

  “Hello, Inspector. This is Valentine Hill. You said I could pick up my gear today.”

  “Valentine. I was beginning to wonder if we’d hear from you. Sure, you can pick it up. I have it right here.”

  “Where’s here?”

  “Well, where are you? I can send a car to pick you up.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I can find my way there. Just give me the address.”

  “It’s the central station at Sixth and Bryant.”

  “And you’ll be there? Or someone who’ll know to give it to me?”

  “I’ll be here as long as you’re coming right now.”

  “I am. Thanks. Bye.” I leaned back in the chair. What a relief.

  “Everything okay?” Nancy asked.

  I got up and stepped around the corner of the cubicle. “Everything’s great. Thanks for everything. I’m going to be taking off now.”

  “Well, you’ll be back later, won’t you?”

  “I don’t think so. Rico and I didn’t part on very good terms. I’d feel funny staying in his friend’s loft.”

  “We have more say over the loft space than Rico does,” Nancy said. “You should stay there. Unless you have other plans.”

  “Well…,” I hesitated.

  “It’s settled,” Mike said. “You’re coming back to teach me how to juggle.”

  “I might not get back until late.”

  “Just push the buzzer,” Nancy said. “You’ll see it when you go out. Becky’s doing the night shift tonight. I’ll tell her to expect you.”

  “I’ll probably be here late myself,” Mike said. “There are some bugs in the program I need to fix.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it. I’m pretty sure that after tonight, I’ll be able to pay you rent.”

  “Rent?” Mike said with a laugh. “We don’t pay rent, why should you?”

  “You’re both really nice.” I headed toward the door, stopped and turned. “Can you tell me, where’s the nearest bus line that’ll take me to Sixth and Bryant?”

  “Just go out the front door. Your ride’s waiting,” Nancy said.

  I stared at her. “You mean Rico?”

  “Sorry. He made me promise I’d call him if you came downstairs. You don’t have to let him drive you if you don’t want to, but I can vouch for him. He’s harmless,” Nancy said.

  Mike laughed mirthlessly. “That’s not the first adjective that comes to my mind. But don’t worry, you’re safe with him.”

  Not a very reassuring endorsement. “So long.” I exited through the front door. I scanned the façade of the building and the neighboring ones on either side. One on the left was under construction. The one on the right looked just finished. The building I stood in front of seemed like a once-handsome but now elderly and very poor relation.

  Rico, freshly shaved and wearing another truly awful shirt, watched me look the building over. He leaned against the taxi’s front fender, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. Even without the pose that drew attention to his feet, I would have noticed the shoes. Pale tan leather that looked glove-soft and fit his feet like a glove, too. I’d seen high rollers in Vegas, Atlantic City, and Miami who wore shoes like that. Italian, very expensive and probably handmade. Not the old sneakers he’d worn yesterday. Not a taxi driver’s shoes.

 
He opened the front seat passenger door and gestured for me to get in.

  I spoke to him across the width of the sidewalk. “I don’t need a ride. Thanks anyway.”

  “Okay, but could you get in for just a minute? I have something of yours, but I can’t give it to you out here in the street.”

  “What is it?”

  “Just get in, will you? You know I’m not going to try anything.”

  Did I know that? “Give me your keys.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Your car keys.”

  He pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed them at me. His throw went wide, but I snagged them one-handed keeping my gaze on his face all the while. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. But then he hadn’t seen me juggle. Or throw a punch. I shoved the keys all the way to the bottom of my pocket, crossed to the taxi and got in. Rico circled the taxi and slid in behind the wheel.

  I shifted and leaned against the door so I could see him easily. “Okay, give it to me.”

  “Is it that you just don’t do the small-talk thing, or you’re still holding a grudge?”

  “I don’t hold grudges. I’m just careful. You said you had something that belonged to me.”

  “It’s under your seat.”

  I reached under the seat and pulled out a small brown paper bag, the top folded over several times. I unfolded the bag and gazed inside. It was filled with money. A lot of money.

  Chapter Seven

  “What’s this?” I asked, holding the bag toward him.

  “Your money.”

  “No, it isn’t.” I tried to hand the bag to him. “Look, I appreciate the gesture. I really do, but I don’t take charity.”

  Rico pushed my hand away. “It’s not charity. It’s your money. Remember Mr. Bozo? There’s a note in there from him.”

  How bizarre was this? I looked in the bag and saw a torn piece of paper. I pulled it out and read the uneven handwriting.

  “To Valentine Hill, Here is your money. I’m sorry I pushed you. Jerry Scott”

  I looked up from the note. “I don’t understand. How did you get this?”