by Jane Tesh
She grinned, eyes disappearing. “Why, I’d marry the little cutie pie in a heartbeat.”
“I mean for Ellin.”
“I know what you mean, Randall. Where have you been? Blondie’s decided she wants this fancy engagement ring. Haven’t you heard her talking about it?”
“I try to tune her out.”
“Well, there’s no way Cam can afford it, so it don’t matter.”
“Where is this ring?”
“At Royalle’s, of course. Might as well be at Tiffany’s.”
If Ellin and Angie were the last two women on earth, I’d choose Angie. “What the hell’s wrong with her?”
Angie shrugged, a huge heaving of the continents. “She’s scared, I guess.”
“Scared? She’s the devil’s twin sister. What’s she got to be scared about?”
“Commitment, the dirty word in this house. You know all about that, don’t you, Randall? Rufus don’t want to commit to our relationship, Ellin don’t want to commit to Cam, you and Kary can’t figure out what you want to do. It’s a curse.” She put a whole doughnut in her mouth, took two chews, and swallowed. “Where you been all morning?”
After all the excitement at the Magic Club, I was ready for a doughnut myself. “Lots of places, all at once.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Some woman brought you a DVD.”
“Hello. That sounds promising.”
“It’s on the table.”
I got up and went into the dining room. Incriminating evidence of a foul deed? Blackmail material for some high-ranking city scum? Darling Darlene Does Detroit?
When I saw the label, I put the DVD back down. “Miss Duncan’s Dance School Recitals.”
“So what is it, Randall?” Angie called over one massive shoulder.
“Was this woman petite with short black hair?”
“Yep.”
Lindsey’s dance teacher. She’d come by one day after the funeral and said she’d make copies of all Lindsey’s dance recitals for me. I’d forgotten.
“It’s Lindsey’s dance recitals.”
“You wanna watch it?”
Yes. Oh, my God, yes. “Not right now.”
Angie turned back to her program. I walked away from the table so I couldn’t see the DVD. Doughnut clogged in my throat. Lindsey’s dance recitals. She started taking dance lessons when she was three, and I never missed a recital. That first year, she’d been all in yellow with a tiny stiff tutu wobbling around her plump tummy. She did something called “Baby Duckling Dance.” I remembered the auditorium filled with proud parents, all laughing and smiling and taking pictures as their little girls did their best to follow the music. Some children stood there, transfixed by the lights and sound. Some cried. Some waved. But Lindsey always danced. No matter what the others did, she always watched her teacher and did her steps. The next year, she was dressed in something patriotic and did a little ballet number. When she was five, she tap danced to “When the Saints Come Marching In.” I remember that one because she was so excited about the music.
“Daddy,” she’d said, eyes alight, “we’re dancing to one of your jazz songs!”
The rest of the years ran together. I couldn’t recall her costumes or her music. I wanted to see the DVD. I wanted to see my daughter whirl and pirouette, graceful as a flower. She always loved to dance, and I always loved to watch her. But to watch her now, to watch what I would never see again—I might as well tear my heart from my chest and throw it away.
“Oh. Hi, David.”
I took a deep breath to get my emotions back under control and to manage the new feelings that swept through me. “Kary.”
We stood looking at each other for a few awkward moments. She was her usual beautiful self, her long corn-silk blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, her brown eyes watching me warily.
I said the first thing that came to mind. “Did you have class today?” Idiot. Of course she did. She had class every Monday. She was almost finished with her teaching degree.
She seemed relieved to talk about something ordinary. “Yes. Curriculum Development.”
I wasn’t sure what she wanted to say next, because old Fred wandered in, muttering. Fred is small and gnarled with hair growing out of his ears. He always reminds me of something that’s been left out of the refrigerator too long, a stalk of celery, maybe, or a poor tired carrot. He had his coat on over his pajamas.
“Fred, you want something to eat?” Kary asked.
“I want to go to the bank.”
“Cam will be home in a little while if you need some money.”
“Don’t need no money.”
“I have today’s paper, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“Done read the paper.”
I wanted to tell Kary not to bother, but she kept on trying. “What can I get for you, Fred?”
“You can’t get me nothing.” He frowned at me. “You can take me to the bank.”
“Sure.” Humor the old coot. He’d forget all about this tomorrow.
“All right, then.” He wandered out.
Kary watched him go. “Poor old fellow. Last week, he wanted to go to the zoo.” There was another long uncomfortable pause. “Do you have any white things for the wash? I’m going to start a load of clothes.”
“Some socks and t-shirts. I’ll get them.”
I took the DVD and put it on the bookcase in my office. Then I retrieved my dirty laundry and brought it to the washer and dryer at the end of the first floor hall. There were some clothes in the dryer, so I helped Kary sort and fold them. I tried not to linger over her pretty pink slips and bras. Here, also, were Angie’s huge underpants, big enough for a sailboat, Rufus’ red and blue bandannas, Camden’s vests, and a few ordinary shirts that belonged to me.
Kary retrieved the little fabric softener sheet that had drifted to the floor. “Can you talk about your cases, or is that off limits now?”
The edge to her voice warned me I’d better stay calm. “I went to see a new client about a missing box. Unfortunately, my client’s brother was found dead at the Magic Club.”
“Did something go wrong with his act?”
“Looks that way.”
“I hope it wasn’t one of those sawing-in-two tricks.”
“No, no. Nothing that graphic. He tried to escape from a locked trunk and either forgot how to get out, or someone meant for him to get stuck. I’ve actually got three mysteries now: the mystery of the missing bracelet, the mystery of the missing box, and the mystery of the dead magician. The bracelet is a diamond bracelet that belongs to Sandy Olaf, and the box once belonged to Houdini himself, so the legend goes.”
She didn’t say anything. She folded and stacked the dishcloths and then reached for the detergent on the laundry shelf. “I suppose you want me to find out everything about Houdini.”
One of the main points of our argument was Kary’s insistence that she not be relegated to researcher. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
She poured the amount of detergent she wanted into the washer, closed the lid, and turned it on.
“Kary, I said a lot of things I wish I hadn’t said. I’m sorry. I was concerned about you. I still want you to help me.”
“As long as I stay home, right?”
“I didn’t mean it to sound that way. But there’s no sense in putting yourself in potentially dangerous situations.”
She had to see the truth in this, but I could tell she was still angry. “Is there something I can do that doesn’t involve the Internet?”
“There isn’t anything at the moment. I’m also trying to find Sandy Olaf’s diamond tennis bracelet, if you’d care to get in on that.”
“I’ll think about it.” She looked at her wristwatch. “I have another class. Will you put these in the dryer when they finish?”
&n
bsp; There were many more things I wanted to say, but I figured I’d said enough for now. “Sure.”
“Thank you.” And she left.
***
Before the washer had even filled, Ellin brought Camden home. She paced the island, arms waving.
“She’s already moved her things into my space. I can’t believe it. She wants to make all sorts of changes. She even wants to change the set. She wants to fire half the staff and bring in her own people, including her son. She’s demanding her own phone line, her own secretary. This can’t be happening.”
“Why don’t you quit?” I asked. “Why put up with all this aggravation?”
She paused long enough to give me a laser stare. “Because I helped set up the PSN. I’ve been with it from the very beginning. It wouldn’t exist without me. I’m not letting some stranger walk in and take over.”
“Maybe corporate’s got something better in mind for you.”
Angie heaved herself over so Camden could sit down on the sofa. “We’ve been through this,” he said with a sigh.
“They expect me to work with this woman and keep her happy so we’ll have the money to run the network.”
“If that’s what it takes, do it,” I said. “I’m guessing you’ve had a word with the higher-ups?”
Her eyes have that rare ability to either flame on or chill out. Right now, they were arctic blue. “Several words.”
“You’re not being replaced, right? This is only a temporary setback?”
“I certainly hope so.”
“Can’t you hold out until this woman’s gone?”
“I guess I’m going to have to. But I don’t like it.”
“We can tell.”
She gave me one of her rare smiles. “What gave it away?”
“Relax. I know what it’s like to want to be your own boss.”
“You need to meet this woman. Then you’d see what I mean.”
“I’d love to, but I have three cases going right now.”
“Well, when you get a minute, bring Cam back over to the studio later today and you can have the pleasure of her acquaintance.” She cut her eyes over to Camden. “Of course, if you would drive, this wouldn’t be an issue.”
Camden can drive, he just chooses not to. Something about too many signals coming in. “If Randall has time, he can bring me over.”
“Why didn’t you stay?” I asked him.
“Sheila wanted me to leave. She said I was interfering with her aura.”
Ellin rolled her eyes. “See what I have to put up with? And if a certain someone would use his cell phone that would make my life so much easier.”
“One thing at a time, honey,” Camden said.
She gave him a kiss. “Your voice is getting worse. Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?”
“I’m hoping it’ll clear up on its own.”
“I know you have to be careful about what medicines you take, but don’t you have some cough syrup or lozenges or something?”
“It doesn’t hurt. It just fades in and out.”
“Do you have some singing engagements coming up?”
Camden has a very good tenor voice, which was always in demand from various singing groups, his church choir, and the community theaters.
“A few,” he said. “If I try not to talk too much, it ought to be all right.”
“Well, if it’s not better by tomorrow, we’ll schedule a visit to the doctor.” She brushed back his hair. “I don’t think it’s something I can erase.”
Her tone was surprisingly light. Camden always says holding her hand can block his worst visions, and usually she’s annoyed because her lack of psychic talent makes this possible. But today, she didn’t seem to mind being a Psychic Eraser. At least it was a psychic something.
She gave him another kiss. “I’d better get back. Oh, and don’t worry about the ring. We’ll work something out.”
As soon as she had gone, I said. “Okay, tell me about the ring.”
“She’s seen one she likes, and it might as well be on the moon. I wish I could afford it. You heard her say don’t worry, but it would be a nice surprise if I could get it for her.”
“Has she ever said anything like, ‘It doesn’t matter if we’re poor, as long as we’re together’?”
“Not in so many words. She plans to rule the world, you know, so we won’t be poor.”
Ellin was indeed on her way to world domination, but she’d shown a bit more concern for Camden than she usually let others see. Theirs was a strange opposites-attract relationship. Maybe his calm approach to life appealed to her. Maybe her intensity made him feel a little more alive. God knows Kary had pulled me back from the brink.
Angie’s little eyes twinkled. “Give her up, Cam, and marry me. Don’t look like Rufus wants to.”
“I suppose you want a ring, as well?”
She opened the doughnut box. She took out the last glazed doughnut and shoved it around her sausage-sized finger. “This’ll do.”
“That kind of ring I can afford.” He gave me a look. “What about these three cases of yours?”
“I told you Sandy Olaf hired me to find her bracelet. The magician, Lucas Finch, hired me to find a special box he and his brother wanted to use in their act. Unfortunately, the brother, Taft, was found wadded up nice and neat in a trunk backstage at the Magic Club.”
Angie made a face. “That’s gross.”
“Not only is the special box missing, but there’s a possibility Taft’s been murdered. The owner of the club has hired me to find out what happened.”
“This box made of gold or something?” Angie asked.
“Lucas says it once belonged to Houdini.”
“Who what?”
“Harry Houdini, famous magician and escape artist.”
“Famous enough to get killed over?”
“Looks that way.”
Camden accepted a piece of doughnut from Angie. “Did you see Jordan?”
“Yes. There were only four of us at the club: me; the owner, Rahnee Nevis; a magician named Bart; and the stage manager, WizBoy. Everybody seemed properly horrified. Taft performed Saturday night at nine. That’s the last anybody saw of him.” I made a mental note to ask Lucas where he was Saturday night and if he had any idea where his brother might have gone.
“And the box?”
“Last seen in its hiding place at the club behind a fake cinder block in the storage room.”
He frowned and held out his hands. “Is this box about twelve inches long, kind of gold, with an ‘H’ on top?”
Even though I’ve known Camden for years, he still spooks me with this stuff. “Where are you getting this from?”
“From you. Someone described it to you.”
“Lucas did.”
“I don’t know where it is, but I can see it very clearly. Damn. You know what this means.”
This kind of prediction means he’s involved somehow. Camden never sees his own future, and sometimes his visions are so scrambled I have to figure them out. I made some “Twilight Zone” noises. “It means it’s magic.”
“It means trouble.”
“Come on, then. You know you love trouble.”
Angie licked the last traces of sugar from her finger. “Don’t think he oughta be tromping around with you when his voice still ain’t one hundred percent.”
“It’ll be okay,” Camden said. “I won’t talk that much.”
“Why don’t you go see a doctor?”
Camden must have had some scary hospital experience when he was younger, because he has a borderline phobia.
“No, thanks.”
“We’ll go see my doctor,” Angie said. “He won’t stick you with nothing.”
“I need to go with Randall, right?”
&n
bsp; I’m always glad to help with an escape. “Right.”
Chapter Five
Energy Fools the Magician
The Parkland Country Club is the oldest club in town, an imposing white building that looks like the main hall of some Ivy League university. A smooth golf course spread out on all sides, trying to turn green in the uncooperative weather. The fountains hadn’t been turned on yet, and there weren’t any flowers in bloom, so the place looked a bit desolate. This didn’t keep several groups of golfers from their games.
We checked by the office and I spoke with the woman in charge of events. I was relieved to find she did not remind me of an animal or possess an unusual voice. Like everyone else, she was a big fan of Sandy Olaf and all her causes, and agreed to show me the dining room where the country club ball had been held.
We went down several halls carpeted in rich money green; past the bar, which was crowded for early afternoon; past a smaller dining room where a meeting was in session; past the pro shop, full of incredibly expensive golf clubs and golf shirts—hell, you’d have to take out a loan to buy a box of golf balls—until finally we reached the dining hall, a circular room in shades of dark pink and green, complete with chandeliers and a small stage framed by dark green velvet curtains.
“Mrs. Olaf was on stage with the other prominent guests, and I believe she sat at the first table to the left.”
I looked on stage, which was bare and polished to a high shine. Around the tables, the pink carpet was immaculate.
“Did you happen to notice if Mrs. Olaf had on her bracelet?”
“The dining room was completely full that night. The only thing I noticed was one of our more prominent member’s dresses, which was almost falling off. I’m not sure why she bothers wearing them. She seems to think this makes her more attractive.”
“So it’s a safe bet to say all eyes were on that woman?”
“That’s the way she likes it.”
So an enterprising jewel thief could easily make the most of this distraction.
Camden slowly walked around the room and came back to me, shaking his head. Sometimes he can find things just by being in a room, but usually he needs to touch someone’s hand or a personal object to get a clear picture. And he’s told me that leftover vibrations often cloud the visions. A dining room full of party people would have left plenty of vibrations.
