by Jane Tesh
The event planner had been eying Camden. “Now I know who you are.”
Camden got that look he gets when someone recognizes him from his infrequent appearances on the PSN. I could tell he was bracing himself to explain that yes, he was psychic, and no, he couldn’t give her any winning lottery ticket numbers.
“You sang for a wedding here a few months ago. I have to tell you, I hear a lot of singers, and most of them are good, but your voice is absolutely beautiful.”
“Thank you,” he said.
“And you’re an investigator, too?”
“I guess you could say I’m a consultant of sorts.”
“Well, I’m sorry I can’t be more help. I honestly don’t think Sandy Olaf’s bracelet was stolen by anyone at the fund-raiser. She’s got so many things going I think she’s simply misplaced it.”
“That’s my theory, too,” I said to Camden when we got back into the car, “but I needed to check all leads. Nice of her to mention your other talent.”
“My real talent. Now all I have to do is recover it.”
“You’ve got a sore throat. You’ll live.”
We drove on to the First Methodist Church. Unfortunately, a funeral was in progress. We stayed in the car and listened to the Black Eagles Jazz Band rip through “Original Jelly Roll Blues” followed by “Sweetie Dear.” Most of the time, the music helps me forget. This wasn’t one of those times. I kept thinking of the dance recital DVD, but what good would it do to see it? I knew I wouldn’t cry. I didn’t have any tears left. How would I react? I didn’t see how looking at it would make me feel any better.
Do you want to feel better? my perverse side asked, or are you enjoying this everlasting pity party? Do you think you have to punish yourself in some way? Does holding in your grief make you feel more manly?
I told myself to shut up.
The funeral procession left the church. Seeing the headlights of the cars brought up another unwanted memory. That other dismal gray afternoon, there had been so many cars coming out the winding road to the cemetery the lights had looked like a long moving string of pearls. I remembered thinking, how can anything be beautiful today? But there they were: hundreds of little lights like a living necklace flowing down the road.
“Do you want to go in?” Camden asked.
“Yeah. It’s okay.”
We went inside the church and found a man gathering up hymnbooks and papers.
“The family has left for the cemetery,” he said.
“We’ve come about something else.”
He straightened and wiped his eyes. “Excuse me. We lost one of our younger members to cancer.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“Only fourteen. Can you believe it? Makes you question the fairness of life.”
I tried to ignore the sudden grip in my middle. “Sure does.”
“May I help you?”
“David Randall. I’m investigating the disappearance of Sandy Olaf’s diamond bracelet. This is my friend Camden.”
He shook hands with us. “I know Mrs. Olaf, but I didn’t know she’d lost a bracelet.”
“She helped organize a yard sale here. Who would know about that?”
“I helped set it up.”
“Do you remember if she had it on during the sale?”
He thought a moment. “I honestly don’t recall. She helped me put lots of things on tables, and when it was over, we put lots of things back into boxes. I couldn’t tell you if she had on a bracelet or earrings or any sort of jewelry. We were so busy.”
“Was Mrs. Olaf working with anyone in particular?”
“She did what she always does, run around doing everything. She was all over the place.”
“Could you show me where you had your sale?”
He took us outside to a large lawn near the church playground. Ice crunched under our feet. The man shivered in the sudden cold breeze. “What a day for a funeral. Even the weather is mourning.”
It had rained the day of Lindsey’s funeral and rained every day afterward for a week. Sometimes I felt it would always be raining. Camden and I checked the frozen grass and along the pathway. “Do you have the leftover stuff stored somewhere?”
“We gave it all to Goodwill.”
Another dead end. I thanked the man and we started to go when a young girl came up to us, gave the man a nod, and spoke to Camden.
“Your name’s Camden, isn’t it? Could I ask you something?”
“Of course,” he said.
Here it comes, I thought. Is my loved one in heaven? Will I ever see her again? Is there any way to communicate with her and say everything I wish I had said? How many times had I wanted to ask Camden those same things?
Camden readied himself for her question.
“Kimberly’s favorite song was ‘Be Thou My Vision.’ Do you know it?”
I could see he was taken aback, but he smiled. “Yes. It’s one of my favorites, too.”
“We’re planning a special memorial service for her next week here at the church. I know this is sudden, and you probably have lots of other obligations, but if you’re free, would you come sing it? I visited your church last month with our youth group, and you sang ‘His Eye Is On the Sparrow.’ It was so beautiful. Maybe you could sing that, too?” She started to cry.
The man put his arm around her, and Camden patted her hand. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll be glad to, but as you can probably tell, I’m having a little problem with my voice. I promise if I can get it back, I’ll come sing whatever you think Kimberly would’ve liked.”
I wrote Camden’s cell phone number on one of my business cards and handed it to the young woman. “You can reach him through my number, too.”
She brushed the tears off her cheeks. “Thanks. Kimberly was my best friend, but I couldn’t go to the cemetery, I just couldn’t.”
You wouldn’t believe how well I understand that, I wanted to say.
“You don’t have to, dear,” the man said. “It’s best to remember Kimberly in happier times. Are either of your parents here?”
“They’re waiting for me in the car. I told them I wanted to come in the church for a minute, and then I saw Camden. It’s kind of neat how that worked out.”
She thanked Camden again, and he told her to keep in touch. The man wished us luck on our search for Sandy’s bracelet.
“‘Kind of neat how that worked out,’” I said as we walked back to the car. “I’ll say. That’s two affirmations of your singing ability within the space of one hour and not one mention of your spooky power. What more do you want?”
“This singing ability is no good if it doesn’t clear up.”
“Well, now it has to, doesn’t it?” My cell phone rang.
“Randall, it’s Rahnee. I’ve got that list for you.”
“I’ll be right there.”
***
The Magic Club was deserted, the glitter balls halted in mid-gleam. As we approached the office door, we could hear voices raised in argument. I recognized Rahnee’s voice, and the other sounded like WizBoy’s.
“But I thought we had an agreement!”
“I told you I was still thinking about that,” she answered.
“But I heard you tell Taft he could run the club. What the hell was that all about? What kind of management skills did he have? You know I’m qualified. You said so yourself.”
“Can we discuss this later? I’m expecting Randall to come by.”
“I’ve worked really hard. I’ve done everything you said. I’ve never been late for work.”
“Yes, and I appreciate that, but—”
“Taft’s dead, Rahnee, so whatever grand plans the two of you had are over.”
I waited for the sound of Rahnee’s hand across WizBoy’s face, but she had more control. “You need to le
ave right now and calm down. We’ll talk about this later.”
Wiz Boy charged out of the office, slamming the door behind him. He was so angry he didn’t notice me or Camden. He stalked across the stage and into the wings. We heard a thump as the back door opened and a crash as it slammed shut.
“All is not well in Magic Land,” I said. “When you get a chance, check out that storage room over there. The fake block is the seventh one up from the floor.”
I waited a few minutes and then knocked on the office door and we entered. Rahnee was seated behind her desk, her flaming red hair in limp tendrils around her face. She had on a black sweatshirt and dirty jeans. “Hi, fellas, have a seat.”
“Rahnee, this is my friend Camden. Camden, Rahnee Nevis.”
Rahnee pushed back her hair. “Nice to meet you. You probably heard that little altercation.”
“Some of it.”
“I think WizBoy might have misunderstood. I was only asking Taft for some advice about the club. I’m not planning to hand it over to anyone yet.”
“Sounded as if Wiz feels he’s entitled to it.”
“I’ll take care of it. His little fits of temper don’t last long.”
Long enough to murder Taft? I wondered. Sounds like he had a grudge.
Rahnee moved a stack of books to one side. “I’m going through Taft’s things he kept here. Lucas wasn’t up to it.”
“What sort of things?”
“A few papers, books, notes about illusions he was planning.”
I took a closer look at the books. “Big fan of Houdini, I see.”
“Yes, both of them were.”
“This Vanishing Ruby trick they were planning. What can you tell me about that?”
Rahnee sat back and rubbed her eyes for a moment. “From what I understood, the box played a major role. The ruby was placed inside, and it would be gone.”
“That’s it?”
“I’m sure there’s more to it, but that was their secret.” She sighed. “Now we’ll never know. Even if you find the box, I doubt Lucas will want to use it.”
“What about the bet Lucas made with the other members of WOW? Anyone crazy enough about getting the cabinet key out of the box?”
“I certainly don’t need any more magic things. WizBoy doesn’t collect, and neither does Jilly. The only person who would be really interested is Jolly Bob. He has a magic shop out by Commerce Circle Mall. Transformation and Company.” She placed all the papers in a large manila envelope and stacked the books on top. “People have been calling all day, asking questions. Everyone’s very upset. I wish I knew how it’s going to affect business. I’m afraid morbid curiosity will pack them in.” Her voice caught. “I don’t mean to sound so callous. You wouldn’t believe what our competition will make of this.”
I couldn’t imagine what sort of competition the club could have. “And that would be?”
“The Bombay Club has recently added magic acts. I’ve worked hard to keep this place in the black. Now another club is siphoning off my talent. But I can’t really tell people where to work, can I?”
WizBoy came to the door and stopped when he saw us. “Oh, uh, Rahnee, sorry, I—”
“Come in,” she said. “It’s okay.”
WizBoy turned red. “Yeah, well, I guess I overreacted a little. Sorry, Rahnee. I didn’t mean what I said.”
“Apology accepted. Was there anything else you needed, Randall? Oh, yes, the list.” She pulled a piece of paper from an overstuffed clipboard. “The police needed it, too. I made copies. I think that’s everyone. There may have been a few walk-ins.”
The list was a daunting twenty names long. I folded the list and put it in my pocket. “I’m going to see Lucas. Would you like for me to take those papers and books to him?”
“Yes, thanks, and tell him everyone here feels terrible and sends him our deepest sympathy.”
I wanted to talk to WizBoy, and gave Camden a slight nod.
“Rahnee, I’ve never been in your club. Would you mind showing me around?” Camden asked.
“I’d be glad to.”
She and Camden went out, and WizBoy came in. “Guess you heard me yelling, huh?”
“A little. What’s the deal?”
He shrugged and plopped into Rahnee’s chair behind the desk. “Well, it’s no secret I want to run the club. Then I found out Rahnee was going to give it to Taft, and I got kinda upset about that.”
“How upset?”
“Oh, no,” he said. “Don’t go there.”
“Then tell me what happened Saturday night. You last saw Taft at the nine o’clock show?”
“Yeah, only I wasn’t paying much attention. Don’t get me wrong. I like to see other guys perform, but I’d seen this act a hundred times, and Rahnee needed me to help with some cabinets backstage.”
“When did he finish?”
“I’d say quarter to ten. Rahnee don’t like the acts to go on too long. Says the audience gets bored.”
“Did you come in Sunday?”
“No need to.”
“Where were you?”
“That policeman asked me the same thing. I got no alibi, if that’s what you mean. I was at home, sleeping in like I always do on Sundays.”
“Where’s your key?”
WizBoy’s key was on a key ring shaped like a skull. Two little silver bones dangled between the keys. “House key, car key, and key to the Magic Club. Most important keys I keep together. And before you ask, no, I don’t ever let anybody else have these keys.”
“And you didn’t notice anything unusual this morning?”
“Man, we must have passed that trunk dozens of times. ‘Course, Rahnee’s got that rule about not touching anyone else’s props. It’s a good rule. You don’t want to take out your top hat and find somebody’s pinched the rabbit.” He looked worried. “You don’t think he might have still been alive, do you? If we’d known he was in there, maybe we could’ve done something.”
“I don’t think so. Who locked up Saturday night?”
“Rahnee takes care of that. We don’t close till one.”
“You remember seeing Taft after his act?”
Thinking hard required WizBoy to screw up his face until he looked like a punk monkey. “No. He usually has—had a drink afterward.”
“Then I need to talk to the bartender. Jilly, is it?”
“Yeah, she’s here. She just came in.” WizBoy stayed in his seat, apparently liking the view from that side of the desk. “The cops won’t close down the club, will they?”
“You’ll probably have a bumper crowd tonight. Thrill-seekers.”
“Kinda sick, isn’t it?”
“That’s show biz.”
“I mean, I’d hate for the club to get a bad rep. We’re on our way up, know what I mean?”
“Rahnee said you had a little competition from the Bombay Club.”
WizBoy looked scornful. “Amateurs. We’re the best. You have to be really good to get in here.”
“What can you tell me about the auditions Saturday?”
“Man, they were all pitiful. People think if they know a few card tricks they can be magicians. This one guy, I swear, he won’t take no for an answer. I’ll bet he’s in here every other day. He can go play the Bombay Club.”
“What about the Vanishing Ruby trick?”
“I don’t know anything about that. The Finches kept pretty quiet about their trick.”
“Would you say the brothers were close, or were they rivals?”
“Close. And they were majorly excited about that box.”
“What can you tell me about this bet they had about opening the box?”
“Lucas said whoever found the box and got it open could have something from his collection.”
“Any idea where he might ha
ve hidden it?”
WizBoy shook his head.
“I’d like to talk to Jilly,” I said.
“I’ll introduce you.”
Jilly Porter was the bartender, a slim, mournful-looking young woman, mournful because Taft didn’t stop by Saturday night after his act for his usual drink. She had on a floor-length black dress with long sleeves. Her long straight black hair made a curtain for her small face. She looked like Cher’s kid sister.
“I kept waiting for him,” she said. “I had his drink all ready and everything. He always had the same thing, a Screwdriver, and he liked the little fish crackers.”
“Were you close friends?” I couldn’t help notice how WizBoy stiffened at this question and then relaxed at Jilly’s answer.
“We were really good friends, and he said I could assist with the new act. I was really looking forward to that. I told Rahnee I could be a magician’s assistant easy. I’ve watched these guys for months. But she keeps interviewing other people.”
“I told you I’d put you in my act,” WizBoy said.
“Taft was going to teach me some card tricks.”
“I can teach you card tricks. Nothing to it. You’re already real good with coins.”
She showed no interest in WizBoy’s offer. She showed no interest in WizBoy at all. I wondered if she and Taft had been really close friends. “Do you have any idea why Taft would hurry out after his act Saturday night? Did he have another show somewhere else?”
WizBoy immediately brought up the enemy camp. “He could’ve been heading over to the Bombay Club.”
“Oh, no,” Jilly said. “He was faithful to this club. He wouldn’t play anywhere else. He said Rahnee had given him his big break, and he wasn’t going to forget it.”
“Were you here on Sunday?” I asked her.
“No.”
Well, somebody had to let him in, unless Taft used his magic to unlock the door. “Did you give anyone your key?”
Her face was hidden behind that curtain of hair. “I had to go down to the police station and answer all sorts of questions like this.”
WizBoy tried to pat her hand, but she withdrew. “Jilly, he’s only trying to find out what happened.”
