The Art of Vanishing (A Lila Maclean Academic Mystery Book 2)

by Cynthia Kuhn

  The audience gasped at the sickening thud made by the spotlight as it struck him on the head. He seemed to fold in half before sprawling on the ground, where he stopped moving. The room went completely silent for a moment, then all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 9

  The stage manager was protesting that he ran a tight ship around here, but no one was paying attention. The EMTs had taken Jasper to the hospital, the facilities crew had cleaned up the blood, and Campus Security had cleared the scene. Francisco, Calista, and I sat on the stage, as representatives of the department hosting this ill-fated event, waiting to be excused. We’d already filled out incident reports and given as much information as we could to whoever asked.

  A pale Calista wondered aloud if Jasper had ever regained consciousness.

  “No,” I said. “He was still out when they put him into the ambulance. Do you think he’ll…” I faltered.

  “Live? You never know with head injuries,” said Francisco. “And that light hit him so hard.”

  “Just a few moments earlier, both of you were standing in the exact same spot as Jasper,” said Calista. “Are you freaked out?”

  “I am,” I said. “Not going to lie.”

  Francisco didn’t respond.

  I tried to change the subject. “Do you think Damon’s reading will still take place?”

  He turned slowly to me, as if struggling to process what I had just asked. He gave his head a shake. “Why wouldn’t it?”

  “Well...” I extended my arm and gestured to the nearly empty auditorium.

  “It was an accident, Lila. I don’t think it affects anything,” said Francisco.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let me put it this way: do you think Chancellor Wellington is going to eat the cost of the very expensive event because a visiting student got an owie?”

  “It’s more than an ‘owie,’ Francisco,” I said, surprised.

  “Okay, okay. Sorry.” He put his hands up in surrender.

  We fell quiet. The accident had probably shaken him more than he wanted to admit. I wasn’t feeling particularly steady myself.

  A plump man in a black Campus Security uniform eventually approached us. A small rectangular nametag on his chest read “Officer Stanley.”

  “You folks can leave now,” he said gruffly.

  “Sure we can’t help with anything?” Calista said as she scooted off the edge of the stage.

  “Nope.”

  “Thanks for coming so quickly,” I said.

  “Well, we weren’t too far away when we got the call from dispatch.” He smoothed his bristly brown mustache without any visible reduction in volume. It poked out in all directions from his upper lip.

  We bid him goodbye and retired to the small room backstage where our coats and bags were piled. As we donned them, Francisco’s cell phone rang. He scrabbled in his pocket for a moment, then pressed the screen and put the phone to his ear.

  “What? I don’t—”

  He darted an angry glance at me. Uh oh.

  “No, I’ll find out and call you back.” He clicked off without saying goodbye.

  “What happened?” Calista and I said in unison.

  “Damon didn’t show up at Judith’s,” Francisco said. “He was supposed to be there for dinner at six o’clock, but now it’s”—he consulted his heavy black watch—“almost seven.”

  “Seriously?” asked Calista.

  Francisco’s voice rose. “First Jasper, now this? What’s going on?”

  Calista patted his back and he shook her off while he glared at me. “Simone said you were in charge of arranging a student to escort him, Lila. Did you forget?”

  Simone. Of course.

  “No, Simone said she would do it.”

  “She just told me you were in charge.”

  “No, she was.” I sounded like a child denying responsibility. “You know what? We could go get him. He’s staying at the Mountain Inn. It’s only a few blocks away.”

  Francisco perked up. “I’ll drive.”

  “Can you call him and tell him we’ll pick him up right now?” I knew Francisco had wrangled Damon’s number from Spencer somehow and was the only one of us who even had it. Part of it was Damon’s insistence on secrecy—of course his phone number was unlisted—but I suspected the other part was Francisco not wanting to share his famous author contact with the rest of us. Fine by me. I had no desire to call Damon Von Tussel.

  Francisco dialed and listened intently for a few minutes, then jabbed the screen. “He’s not answering.”

  “Then let’s go over there and find him.” I turned to Calista. “Could you please call Judith and let her know what’s going on? Thanks so much—and we’ll meet you there?” She nodded and rushed out without another word.

  As we walked toward Francisco’s Jeep Cherokee, I had a eureka moment and pulled out my own phone. If anyone could get ahold of Damon, it was my mother. She answered right away.

  “Darling, how did the panel go? I’ve been on pins and—”

  I cut her off while hoisting myself up and into the Jeep. “Mom, sorry but I need your help. We can’t find Damon—”

  “Again?”

  “I mean, he’s here in town, but he’s not where he’s supposed to be at the moment. We’re trying to deliver him to a dinner in his honor. Could you please call him?”

  “I’ll try. What should I say?”

  “If he’s at the hotel, tell him to stay put. Francisco and I—”

  “Ooh, Francisco? What a dashing name. He sounds interesting.”

  “He’s a colleague, Mom. Please tell Damon to stay at the Mountain Inn and we’ll pick him up. If he’s somewhere else, call me back and let me know where to go.”

  “I’ll get back to you in a minute either way.” She hung up.

  I looked over at Francisco, who was checking his phone while the Jeep warmed up.

  “I’ll send Damon a text too.” He tapped quickly, then dropped his phone into the beverage holder and backed out of the parking spot.

  We made it to the Mountain Inn in three minutes. Francisco pulled up to the front door and I ran inside to the front desk, where a bored-looking woman in a blue polyester uniform lifted her overly plucked eyebrows at my haste.

  “Help you?” she asked.

  “I’m looking for Damon Von Tussel,” I said.

  Her fingers didn’t exactly fly across the keyboard of the computer in front of her, but she was pressing keys. I tried to be patient, studying the taupe walls, which were finished in a fake stone texture. Finally, she looked up. “Extension 6642. You can call up to his room right there,” she said, pointing across the lobby to a phone on a small oval table next to a sofa printed with a vaguely southwestern design in brown and mauve.

  As I walked toward the chipped end table, my cell rang. I glanced at the screen. It was my mother. “Hello?”

  “He’ll be waiting for you in the lobby,” she said.

  I looked around, confused. “I’m in the lobby.”

  “We just finished talking. He’ll be there in a sec.”

  “Mom, you’re the best. Thank you so much. Talk later?”

  “I know you have to go. Good luck, darling. Call me tomorrow,” she said.

  I promised to do so, and we hung up. The elevator dinged around the corner, and I took a few steps in that direction. Anxiety welled up in my stomach, but I reminded myself I had no choice but to speak to him. I straightened my shoulders. Then Damon appeared dressed in a well-cut navy suit and a paisley tie. The mahogany cane with the gleaming silver tip was a new affectation. It was clearly unnecessary: he charged down the hallway toward me like a bull. I braced myself for our conversation.

  The odor of whiskey on his breath reached me before he did. “Lila,” he said in his gravelly voice.

 
“Hello, Damon. I’m here to take you to the dinner. I’m afraid we had a mix-up with the student who was to escort you over there—I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged philosophically. “S’allright. I knew someone would come eventually.”

  The elevator dinged again and a woman with bronze streaks in her long brunette hair joined us. She wore a red tunic-length sweater over a long black skirt. Very little makeup—just some mascara and lip gloss—and gorgeous. I’d guess about twenty-five years old. How had he hooked up with someone so soon, especially since no one has made arrangements for students to help him get around campus?

  “Do you have my coat?” she asked.

  He smiled fondly at her as he tapped a leather jacket across his lower arm. I’d been so focused on the cane on the other side that I hadn’t even noticed it was there.

  She slipped the jacket on, then turned to me. “Who’s this, then?”

  I put out my hand. “I’m Lila Maclean.”

  “Violet’s daughter?” She squeezed my hand painfully.

  “Yes,” I said, surprised. “You know my mother?”

  “Of course.” She pointed to herself. “I’m Mina.” She seemed to expect me to know who she was. At my blank look, she added, “Damon’s daughter.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know you were coming out to Colorado.” I tried to phrase it so she wouldn’t know I had no idea Damon even had a daughter. I didn’t remember my mother ever mentioning her. “Nice to meet you.”

  “And you,” she said warmly. “I’m surprised we never ran into each other in New York.”

  “I didn’t go out much in recent years because I was working on my dissertation.”

  She asked some questions about my project, then I turned the conversation back to her.

  “Have you lived in the city your whole life?”

  “Oh. I grew up there, then I was off to boarding school, then college. Came back to New York two years ago—” she began.

  Damon interrupted. “We’ve just been—” He made a circling motion with his hand while he searched for the word.

  “Reunited,” Mina offered. Her smile was wide over extremely white teeth, and her whole face lit up.

  “Glad you decided to return,” said Damon, clumsily knocking her with his shoulder.

  “Aw, me too,” she said to her father. She stepped back and hugged Damon fiercely, almost knocking him over.

  “That’s…great,” I said.

  I couldn’t help reflecting on the fact that my mother had never told me who my own father was. But I had chosen to respect her wishes and not push for more information. Not that I never wondered about him. Perhaps I should utilize some of my scholarly skills and do some tracking of my own. I’d been tempted before, but I didn’t want to hurt my mother’s feelings. Still, didn’t I have a right to know? I could feel myself spiraling down familiar, complicated territory. I resolutely shoved the line of thought away and smiled at them both.

  “Are you coming to dinner, Mina?”

  “They know you’re bringing me, right?” She turned to Damon.

  He raised and lowered his shoulders quickly. “I don’t know anything about anything.”

  Mina’s face fell.

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” I said, planning to text Judith on the way over in case she didn’t know already. “And will your mother be joining us too?”

  Mina froze, a shadow crossing her face. “No.”

  “Her mother is Minerva,” Damon said quietly. “The supermodel.”

  Oh no. Minerva was a friend of my mother’s. It had been widely publicized that she’d died of a drug overdose a number of years ago.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  Mina nodded. I apologized again.

  Damon looked back and forth between us. “Shall we go? I’m thirsty.”

  Judith Westerly met us in the foyer of the spacious home she shared with Spencer. As she opened her arms to greet us, the sleeves of her long golden gown fluttered gracefully. “Welcome!”

  “Sorry we’re late,” I said, which she waved away, then patted the back of her silver chignon.

  “Not a problem at all. We happily extended our cocktail hour until the guest of honor could arrive.” She floated up to Damon and extended her hand. “Dear Mr. Von Tussel, we are so grateful you’re here. I’m looking forward to your reading tremendously.”

  As he took the hand of his slim host, he looked genuinely charmed. Judith had that effect on people—her profuse kindness tended to wrap itself around you like the coziest of blankets. “Come right this way,” Judith said. “I’ve just sent everyone into the dining room.”

  Everyone followed her obediently, including Damon, whose cane tapped loudly on the marble floors. I realized that I’d forgotten to text Judith about Mina, and I needed to remedy the situation. I wasn’t even sure Judith had seen Mina at the back of the group.

  “Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll grab Judith so you two can meet?” I asked Mina.

  She hesitated.

  “She’s very nice,” I assured her.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  I hurried over to Judith and explained the situation. She apologized for not introducing herself to Mina and told me to go on ahead. As she turned to go back to the main entrance, she whispered to one of the servers walking nearby—no doubt graciously arranging for a chair to be whisked into place for her party crasher.

  I went through the doorway into which Judith had led Damon, to the left. I followed the sound of voices, moving quickly past the sofa in the great room where I’d sat, trembling, as Detective Archer had taken my statement last fall. No need to relive that. We finally reached the dining room near the back of the house and entered. My colleagues were chatting, drinks in hand, as they approached the beautifully set long table. The crystal shone and the silver gleamed in the warm yellow light of the chandelier. There were four small white bouquets brightening the center of the large table—low enough for all guests at the table to converse; Judith paid attention to things like that.

  After a moment, Judith returned and took her place at the far end of the table, wagging her hands to indicate we should all take our seats. Spencer sat at the end of the table opposite her. Damon—who had somehow managed to score himself a glass of whiskey in the nanosecond since we’d arrived—already slumped with his elbows on the table beside Judith, and Mina took the chair next to him. I settled beside her, smiling at Nate who had obtained the seat next to me. Norton took the last seat on our side. I saw Chancellor Wellington whispering to Spencer before claiming the seat next to him across the table. He was followed in rapid succession by Simone, Dean Okoye, Calista, and Francisco. Tolliver was a no-show, as usual.

  Simone and I were going to have a talk later about her sabotage, that’s for sure. She knew it, too, avoiding eye contact with me, though she twinkled at Nate across the table.

  Two young men in white shirts and black pants circled the table, placing bone china plates with filet mignon, new potatoes, and asparagus spears before us. Silence fell over the table, and we all picked up our forks and began to eat the delicious food.

  Damon smacked his lips and gave his beard a stroke. “First-rate eats,” he rumbled.

  A chorus of appreciation followed the guest of honor’s lead.

  “Thank you for the kind words,” said Judith. “Please let me know if you need anything at all.”

  “Good thing someone finally remembered to pick us up or we’d have missed this meal,” Damon said to Mina, unleashing a phlegmy staccato laugh.

  Mina’s lips curved up. She was clearly ignoring her father’s boorish behavior.

  The servers reappeared with carafes of red wine and circled the table, refilling glasses. I admired the professional twirl at the end they performed and wondered how long it had taken to master the maneuver.

  “
Any news on Jasper?” Simone inquired of Francisco.

  “Jasper Haines?” Damon froze, the next bite of filet mignon halfway to his mouth.

  We hadn’t talked about the panel in the car, as focused as we were on speeding across town to the gathering. Instead, I’d let Francisco chat with Damon and Mina, knowing he’d been deprived of the opportunity before by the machinations of his rival. I’d tuned out after the first tidal wave of admiration.

  “What happened?” Damon barked, letting the hand with the fork fall on the table.

  “Oh, I thought you knew...” Simone blanched slightly. Mina and Damon stared at her with puzzled expressions.

  “There was an accident during the panel,” Francisco said. “While Jasper was presenting his paper, a stage light fell on him.”

  Mina gasped, and her hands flew up to cover her mouth. Damon didn’t move, but he let out a hard breath of air, as if he’d been punched in the stomach.

  “Is he okay?” he said urgently.

  It was silent for a long moment, then everyone spoke at once.

  “He had just begun speaking—” said Norton.

  “He’s still alive—” said Nate.

  “The light just came crashing down—” said Simone.

  “He probably has a severe—” said Dean Okoye.

  “Shall I call the hospital right now—” said Judith.

  “A most unfortunate incident—” said Spencer.

  Damon looked from speaker to speaker, trying to make sense of the flood of words.

  Finally, Francisco spoke loudly enough to quell the din. “They took him to Stonedale Hospital. I was going to stop by on the way home and check on him.” That surprised me, given his feelings about Jasper. But perhaps Francisco was more bark than bite. “If anyone would like to join me, I’d be glad for the company.”

  Damon looked down the long table at Judith. “We need to go check on him. Jasper is—” He faltered, locking eyes with Mina.

  Mina was already standing, looking distressed. Were those tears in her eyes? “He’s my fiancé,” she said.