by John Gaspard
I didn’t bother listening to the other messages, but started the car and then proceeded to violate several traffic laws as I made my best time yet getting back to Minneapolis.
From a block away it was clear that something was going on at Chicago Magic. An ambulance, a fire truck, and several squad cars were parked haphazardly in front of the store, their flashing lights creating psychedelic patterns on the storefronts. A crowd of onlookers were being held at bay by several uniformed officers. As we approached, a voice yelled out to me.
“Eli! Eli, old boy. What’s going on?” It was Clive, standing on the edge of the crowd, holding his portable police scanner in one hand while he held a small video camera above the crowd and pointed it in the general direction of the front door of our shop. “There was one call on the scanner and since then they’ve been completely mum on the topic. Occasionally one of the medics or the fireman will come out coughing, then they turn around and go back in. What the devil is going on?”
“Clive, I haven’t a clue,” I said as I pushed through the crowd with Megan right behind me. I got to the front and was ducking under the police tape they’d strung around the front sidewalk when a uniformed officer yelled at me from the curb.
“Hey, you, stay behind the tape.”
“It’s okay,” a familiar, but not friendly, voice bellowed. “We’ve been waiting for him.”
I looked up to see Homicide Detective Fred Hutton standing over me. He lifted the yellow tape up high enough for Megan and me to scamper through, then waved us into the store. The flashing lights were creating weird patterns on his face. I couldn’t really read his expression, but I didn’t like the fact that he had been borderline polite to me. That couldn’t be good.
Deirdre was waiting for us on the other side of the door.
“Deirdre, what happened? What’s going on?” I asked, scanning around the shop. It was a small space and didn’t really seem large enough to hold the number of cops, EMTs, and firemen that were currently encamped there. They were all standing at the front of the shop, making it impossible for me to see what was going on in the back.
“Eli,” she said, putting out a hand to stop me from moving forward, “there’s been an accident. That’s why I was calling you. Your uncle—”
I didn’t wait for her to finish but pushed past her and through the wall of civil servants until I got to the back of the shop. The back counter was blocking my view, but I could see a pair of legs sprawled on the floor at the base of the steep steps that led up to our apartments.
“Harry,” I called out. I moved toward the body, but a hand reached out and stopped me.
“I wouldn’t go back there if I were you,” a voice said. I turned and was completely surprised and thrilled to see Harry, seated on a stool by the counter. One of the EMTs was bandaging Harry’s hand, but otherwise he looked unharmed.
“Harry? You’re okay?”
“I’m fine. What happened to you?”
“I’ll tell you about it later. Who’s that back there on the floor?”
“It’s that terrible magic student of yours,” he said, and then gestured next to me. “That young lady’s husband.”
“Ex-husband,” Megan said. She had made her way through the crowd and was standing by my side. “Or at least, he will be as soon as I get the papers signed.”
“I’m afraid he won’t be signing papers any time soon,” Harry said with a sad shake of his head.
“Why? Is he—” I wasn’t sure the best way to ask the question with Megan standing next to me.
“Is the little prick dead?” Megan said, cutting me off.
“No,” Harry replied quickly. “Quite the contrary. The little prick is very much alive. But he’s taken a bit of a spill and I suspect that he’ll be in the hospital for the foreseeable future.”
“So, if he’s alive and needs to go to the hospital, why is he still lying back there?”
Harry shrugged. “They got a neck brace on him, and put him on one of those back boards, to prevent any further spinal injury. But I think they’re taking a short break.” He glanced over at the EMTs, who were in the front of the shop, taking turns with an oxygen mask. “There’s the problem of the smell.” He looked us over, head to toe. “You probably didn’t notice it yourselves, given your current olfactory situation.” He sniffed the air around us. “Bat guano, am I right?”
“On the nose,” I said. “So what happened?”
“Well, he came in here about an hour ago, pretending to want to buy a cups and balls set. Of course, I refused to sell it to him, as he hasn’t begun to master the cut-and-restored rope trick we sold him two weeks ago. So then he pulled a gun on me,” Harry recounted indignantly. “I told him flat out that wasn’t going to change my mind, but he started yammering about how he needed to tie up the loose ends. Turns out he’s the fellow that’s been killing all the psychics. He said he had it all worked out that the police would think you did it, but that he knew I was the only one who would ever put all the pieces together, so I had to be, in his words, ‘taken care of.’”
“You always did scare the hell out of him,” I said.
“Well, be that as it may, he kept pointing the gun at me and told me to head upstairs. So I did as I was told and went upstairs. When we got up to the top, in my kitchen, I started coughing and doubled over.”
“Were you okay?” Megan asked.
“I was fine, my dear,” Harry said. “I just needed him to step a bit closer to me. And when he did, I fired at him, right in the face.”
“With a gun?” Megan asked, her eyes wide.
“No, no, nothing like that,” Harry said reassuringly. “On my way upstairs, I palmed one of those horrible cans of fart spray that Eli has had sitting around on the back counter for the last two weeks.”
“Good thing I never got around to restocking those shelves,” I said.
Harry clucked his tongue. “Perhaps, perhaps.” He turned his attention back to Megan. “I blasted him right in the face with the putrid stuff. Then I pulled the rug out from under him.”
“What did you do?” I asked
“I just told you, I pulled the rug out from under him. You know that little braided rug that your Aunt Alice had at the top of the stairs? After I blasted him in the face, I reached down and pulled it out from under him. Backwards he went, ass over tea kettle, landing with a thud at the bottom of the stairs.”
Megan and I exchanged looks, marveling at Harry’s resourcefulness. “Aunt Alice always said someone was going to break their neck on those stairs someday.”
“And she was right,” Harry agreed. “As always, the old girl was right.”
In spite of the smell, it was ultimately decided that Pete should be moved to a hospital, given that he probably had a broken back and certainly had broken one leg, one arm, and several ribs. The EMTs lifted him, on the backboard, to a stretcher and the cops and firemen cleared a path so they could roll him out of the store.
Pete was conscious, although clearly in pain, and the double take that he gave when they wheeled him past Megan and me must have been painful indeed. At least I hope it was.
“How the hell did you get out of the cave?” he croaked in a thin, raspy voice.
I shook my head at him and wagged a finger in the air. “A professional magician never reveals his methods,” I said with a smile.
It felt really, really good to have the last word.
They continued to roll him out. He tried to look back at us, but between the neck brace and the intense pain, it wasn’t going to happen. After he was gone, the smell lingered on.
“How are you doing?” I asked Megan as I put a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m okay,” she said. “I just wish Harry hadn’t pushed him down the stairs.”
“I know, it looks like it was very painful.”
She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I wish I had been the one to push him. And, just between you and me, Eli,” she added more confidentially, “if all those
cops hadn’t been swarming around here, I would have dragged the little bastard to the top of those damned stairs and shoved him down again.”
I nodded in agreement. “I think I understand,” I said. “And I’ll make a mental note never to get on your bad side.”
I looked up to see Deirdre waving me over from across the room. She and Homicide Detective Fred Hutton had been conferring in a whispered conversation.
“You smell almost as bad as our perp,” Deirdre said as I approached the pair. “What did you get into?”
“It’s really more what I got out of,” I said. “Pete’s final victim was going to be his wife, Megan. She’s a psychic who works in crystals, so he locked us in a cave with no oxygen, with the idea that it would look like I was the killer and I had somehow screwed up.”
“I would have bought that premise,” Homicide Detective Fred Hutton said dryly.
“He was counting on that. And I guess he figured that somehow Harry would have been able to put all the pieces together, so he had to remove him from the equation.”
I looked back toward the stairs that Pete had intended to push Harry down before inadvertently making the trip himself.
“It would either look like an accident, or maybe you guys might have figured I did it and that I just tried to make it look like an accident. Either way, Pete would be free and clear and could go on his merry, murderous way.”
Deirdre nodded. “That fits with the conversation we had with Harry and the brief conversation we had with your girlfriend’s husband before the EMTs took him out. We would have questioned him further, but the smell precluded that.”
“You actually sell that product?” Homicide Detective Fred Hutton asked.
“More of them than I’d like to admit,” I said.
“After experiencing the results, I would argue that a permit should be required for purchase,” he said.
“Anyway,” Deirdre said, pointedly turning the conversation away from the impending fart spray legislation, “Fred and I have discussed it, Eli, and we’re both confident that you’re no longer a suspect in this case. We have a few loose threads to tie up, but the DA will indict your hospital-bound friend on three charges of murder in the first degree, along with four counts of attempted murder. Plus assault charges for his attack on you and Mr. Boone, if you wish to pursue those charges.”
“I would love to pursue those charges,” I said. “I’d like Pete to be locked up for a good long time.”
“I can pretty much assure that,” Deirdre replied.
And knowing her as I did, it was as good as done.
I watched as she turned and continued to confer closely with her husband and I determined at that moment to no longer call him Mediocre Fred—at least for the time being.
Homicide Detective Fred Hutton and Assistant DA Deirdre Sutton-Hutton left a short while later and soon after their departure the rest of our visitors made their own exits. In a matter of a few minutes, the shop went from being completely packed to just the three of us—me, Megan, and Harry.
I walked Megan to the door while Harry pretended to be busy restocking the fart spray. When we got to the door, Megan turned and looked up at me.
“So, what did you think of our second date?” she asked.
“In a word, memorable. So what’s next for the two of us?”
“I’m headed home to take a long, long bubble bath,” she said.
“That sounds very inviting,” I said.
“That’s why I’m inviting you,” she said, flashing a wicked little smile. “Unless you have other plans.”
“No, that sounds wonderful. Just wonderful. The thing is,” I said, and then cut myself off, picking my words carefully. “This may sound weird, but before I come over to take a bath, I’d like to take a long hot shower. And maybe burn my clothes. No, wait. Not maybe. Definitely. Definitely burn my clothes.”
“I hear you,” she said. “Meet me at my place in an hour.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave me a quick kiss on the lips, which turned out to be not so quick after all. And then she left.
I locked the door and turned to see Harry, who was still pretending to be occupied with restocking the gag shelf.
“If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” he grumbled as he put the last product in place. “You got a date?”
“Looks like it,” I said as we headed toward the back stairs. “Did you eat yet?”
“No,” he said. “Haven’t gotten around to it. Been a busy night.”
“That it has.” We stopped at the base of the stairs. “Why don’t you throw some leftovers in the oven and I’ll sit with you after I take a shower?”
“Buster, that would be nice. Oh, will you look at that.” He bent down and picked up three dimes that were lying at the base of the steps. He held them up for me proudly. “Three more dimes from your aunt,” he said, smiling widely.
“They probably came out of Pete’s pocket,” I offered.
“That’s plausible,” he said as he started up the stairs.
I considered for a moment, and then spoke again. “Harry, you know those dimes aren’t really from Aunt Alice, don’t you?”
He turned and looked down on me, his face beaming. “Buster, every time I find a dime, I’m reminded of how much Alice loved me. When you look at it that way, why in the world would I care where they came from?”
He turned and continued his slow climb up the stairs. A moment later, I followed him.
Chapter 22
“Okay, I asked you once and you didn’t give me a straight answer so I’m going to ask you again.”
“Ask away,” I said, “although I can’t guarantee an improved result.”
It was a cloudy, crisp day in late November and Megan and I had decided to take a walk along the Minnehaha Parkway. After some charming, aimless strolling, we found ourselves seated on a wooden bench.
She pointed at the object in front of us.
“What’s the deal with that bunny?” Megan asked. The bench was just a stone’s throw from the giant rabbit statue.
“I have no idea,” I said finally. “Harry’s intrigued with that rabbit, as well,” I added. “Although I don’t exactly remember why.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Harry? Harry’s good, I think,” I said, taking off my gloves and setting them on the bench next to me. I pulled off my wool cap as well, since it was starting to feel a little warmer. A little warmer for November, that is. “He’s started talking about Aunt Alice more, which I think is a good sign. He’s not exactly moving on, but he’s moving ahead, if that makes any sense.”
“I think it does,” Megan said as she took off her gloves. We had both bundled up for cold that, apparently, wasn’t happening.
“Which reminds me,” I said. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Well, normally we go see Pete’s family for Thanksgiving, but I don’t think that’s happening this year—”
“Well, if you want, you could join us,” I interjected as off-handedly as I could. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just Harry and me. And my friend Nathan. And that British writer, Clive. And whichever of the Minneapolis Mystics don’t have a gig that day. Which generally means all of them. Basically it’s everyone we know who doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“That sounds like fun. I did tell Franny that she and I might get together”
“Bring her along. The more the merrier.”
“I think she’d like that,” Megan said. “She’s almost back to normal, health-wise. And, who knows, there might be some sparks with Harry.”
“Two psychics at his dining room table? I can pretty much guarantee that there will be sparks with Harry,” I said.
We both laughed and then I felt a need to amend that thought. “Although, actually, I’m not so sure that’s the case now. It might have been true a month ago. But now, I’m not so sure. He’s mellowed in that area. And I think that’s due, in no small part, to y
ou.”
I picked up Megan’s hand and held it. She leaned her head on my shoulder.
“But if Franny’s looking to hook up with a guy her age, I can promise you that we’ll have plenty of options for her to choose from,” I added.
“Speaking of hooking up,” Megan said, sitting up straight and turning toward me, “I meant to tell you. I ran into Nova. She and Boone got back together. And, you’ll never believe this, she’s running Akashic Records!”
“What happened to pretty boy Michael?”
“Out on his ass. Turns out Arianna didn’t leave him squat.”
“Nothing?”
“Not a thing.”
“So he wasn’t even mentioned in the will?”
“Oh, from what I heard, he was mentioned. He was mentioned at great length. Remember the language I used in the cave with the bats? Multiply that by ten.”
“Wow.”
“Arianna left it all to Nova. So she’s running the store and Boone is in charge of the record department.” Megan sat back and we continued to look at the rabbit.
“You didn’t happen to find out,” I asked finally, “why Boone was at Arianna’s that night, did you?”
Megan looked around to make sure that no one was within listening distance. “As it turns out,” she said quietly, “Nova confided in me that Arianna was one of the reasons she and Boone got back together again. Turns out, he’d been taking private lessons from Arianna, in order to learn how to please Nova the same way Arianna had. I mean, you know, sexually.”
“Shut up,” I said, my mouth dropping open in an almost comic reaction to this news.
“No, not like that,” she said as she slapped my knee. “They weren’t doing it. She was giving him actual lessons, with reading assignments and written tests and everything. Nova told me all about it. And, get this…it was Boone’s idea. He talked to Arianna, told her he really wanted things to work with Nova, and she took him on as a student, to teach him her secrets. The night she died was supposed to be their fourth lesson.”
