Now You See It (11 page)

“What did you juggle for your audition?”

“For you, free show.”

She pulled the case onstage, chose the balls, and sent them spinning in a bright circle. “I started with something easy. Then I added the hoops and the clubs.”

The balls disappeared, replaced by the hoops, and after the hoops had gone a couple of rounds, they disappeared, and the clubs were circling. She was so fast I didn't see what happened to the other items. She stopped the clubs, gave me another grin, and took the balls from her pocket, one by one.

I applauded. “That's great. What about the hoops?”

She turned around. The hoops sat together on a small hook on her belt. “The trick is to get everything going really fast. The audience is so busy looking at the circle they don't notice when I palm the other stuff. I can get them to look wherever I want.” Her ice blue eyes sparkled. “You're looking where I want you to look right now.”

It was true she held my gaze. She leaned over and pulled a ball from behind my ear. “See? You weren't watching my hands, at all.”

“You're very good,” I said. “What about the knives? Did you use them?”

“Sure.” She took the six knives from the case and began to juggle them. “They're trickier to get rid of, but it can be done.”

I tried to see how she did it, but I couldn't. One by one, the knives disappeared. She caught the last one in her teeth.

“Okay, I give up. Where are they?”

She took the knife from her mouth. “Back in the case.”

Five knives sat in the case. “How'd you do that?”

She leaned forward and whispered with that luscious magenta mouth. “Magic.”

It was a struggle, but I managed to pull back without offending her. “Who auditioned before you, do you remember?”

She sat back and gave a laugh. “Boy, do I remember. It was some real big goofy kid trying to do card tricks. He was awful. We were all laughing at him, I'm afraid. He even tried some fire effects and nearly set himself on fire. We weren't sure if he meant to be that stupid or not. It would've made a great comic act. Everybody was rolling.”

A big goofy kid doing card tricks. Bingo. “Was this guy's name Dirk Kirk, by any chance?”

“How did you know?”

“I've had the pleasure of meeting Mister Kirk.”

“‘Dirk Kirk.' We thought that was part of the act, too. Then we realized he really was awful.”

“So your attention was on the stage and this goofy kid.”

“Yeah, but only for a little while. I kept checking on my case. It was still there.”

“And who auditioned after you?”

“I didn't stay to watch. I had another show over here at nine.”

“Why audition for Rahnee Nevis when you have a pretty good deal over here?”

“I had a bet with Jolly Bob to see if she'd hire me. He said she wouldn't, and I said she would. I won.”

“Why would he say she wouldn't hire you?”

“Sour grapes. She won't hire him, 'cause his act is too stale, so he doesn't like her. But I've known her for years. We get along fine. I've got three weeks there. Not bad.” Again her icy eyes held mine. “Don't get me wrong. I don't mean to be all happy and everything when Taft's dead. If I were you, I'd check on Jolly Bob. Sometimes I think he'd do anything to get his hands on the Finches' collection. Some of it's worth quite a lot, and Jolly Bob is quite a fanatic collector.”

“Thanks. I'll look into it.”

“There's something else you could look into.” She leaned forward again. Just when I thought she was going to kiss me, she sat back and handed me my wallet. “Open it.”

Tucked in with the bills was a silver card with her name, address, and phone number. “Thanks.”

She winked and sauntered out.

Chapter Eleven

I Love a Magician

As for Sandy Olaf's case, April Meadows was the one place on my list I hadn't checked. I found out April Meadows wasn't a place, but a person, a very chilly person, who objected to my suggestion that Sandy Olaf's bracelet had gone astray.

“Not in
my
home.”

She stood at the door of her gray stone house on Burnley Lane and refused to let me in. She was a tall white-haired woman of about sixty, and she had painted on her eyebrows: two perfect dark brown arches over pale blue eyes. It looked like she'd used a Magic Marker. Somehow I doubted April Meadows would appreciate anything humorous, so I didn't comment on this fanciful use of make-up.

“Mrs. Meadows, I—”

“Miss.”

What a surprise. “Miss Meadows, I'm not accusing you of anything. I just want to ask you some questions.”

“You may not.”

“Very well. I understand. I'm sure a woman with your high standards wouldn't be interested in the reward, anyway.”

The eyebrows were painted on, otherwise, they would've gone up. “Reward?”

“Thanks for your time. So long.”

“Wait,” she said. “What sort of reward?”

Whatever I can make up on the spur of the moment. “Mrs. Olaf is thinking thirty thousand dollars.” And she probably was, at some point in the day.

“For that bracelet?”

“It has great sentimental value.”

“And she thinks she lost it here?”

“Possibly. What sort of event did you have?”

“A dinner for fifty guests. We used my dining room because I've recently had it decorated in Italian style and wished to show it off.”

“I'll bet it's fantastic.”

“Well, I am quite proud of it. Come have a look.”

“Oh, no. I wouldn't want to impose.”

“Nonsense. Come along.”

The ceiling of her dining room had been painted to look like a sky full of ridiculously fat cherubs, grinning like Dirk Kirk.

“Wow,” I said. “I've never seen anything like this.”

“It's an exact copy of a ceiling in Florence. Would you believe my nephew painted it?”

With his very own set of Magic Markers. “No, I wouldn't.”

“Everyone was most impressed. A true vision of heaven.”

And while everyone was staring up at this, could Sandy's bracelet have fallen off, unnoticed, or slipped off her wrist?

“You had fifty guests, you said?”

“City Council members, the mayor, very important businessmen, and a young man who may be running for state senate next year.”

I looked all around and then down. In direct contrast to the gaudy ceiling, the carpet was a deep rich blue-green with a pattern of yellow roses. “This is a lovely carpet.” Lovely, yes, but not thick enough to hide a bracelet.

“I found it in a bazaar in Turkey. The bargains were so extraordinary, I bought three carpets. The silver frame on that mirror is from Venice. You see it matches the candlesticks. And this vase is from Paris. Have you ever been to Paris?”

Once she started showing off her trophies, it was impossible to shut her up, but I let her rattle on. A row of photographs in gold frames decorated the top of some chunky bureau. I got to hear about every single one of them.

“This is my dear cousin Elanor, that's my Uncle John, here I am with my sister, May. This is our lovely little sister June, who died when she was eight, poor thing.”

The last thing I wanted to look at was lovely little sister June who died when she was eight.

April Meadows picked up the picture and sighed. “I find it a great comfort to have such a beautiful reminder. Wouldn't you say so?”

She turned the picture my way, and I had to give it a brief glance. “Very nice.”

Then she remembered I was the Enemy and got all huffy again. I'm chill-proof. Women can get as cold as they like. Nobody comes close to Ellin for total freeze.

“I really think you should leave now, Mister Randall.”

I gave her my best smile. “Thanks so much for your time, Miss Meadows. I enjoyed seeing all your wonderful treasures. I'll tell Mrs. Olaf you're helping search for her bracelet.”

“Well,” she said, “all right.”

***

I sat in the car for a long time, listening to the Black Eagles whomp through “Old Fashioned Swing,” letting my mind follow first one instrument and then another as the musicians tied complicated patterns together with ferocious rhythm. Somehow all the melodies blended. If only I could make all the pieces of these cases fit as easily. If only I could keep my thoughts from straying to that damned DVD on the bookcase at home.

I gave Sandy a call and told her I hadn't had any luck, but I'd keep looking for her bracelet. I hadn't had any luck finding Lucas Finch's box, either. Maybe Jolly Bob held more than a grudge against Rahnee and the Magic Club for not hiring him and not wanting to sell the club. Maybe he hoped to stir things up between the Finch brothers by stealing their special box.

I had plenty of suspects in my murder investigation, too. Jilly was upset because she didn't have a relationship with Taft and no one would hire her as a magician's assistant. I couldn't rule out Lucas, even if I wanted to, because Rahnee preferred Taft. She said Lucas didn't know this, but I imagined he had some idea what was going on. Then there was WizBoy, who'd made no secret he wanted to run the Magic Club and had hesitated when I asked him when he'd last seen the box. I thought I'd better have another talk with him.

***

I went back to the Magic Club, said hello to the still-disconsolate Jilly and asked if WizBoy was around.

She was wiping the bar in slow circles. “He went to Transformation and Company. He should be back in a few minutes.”

“I understand your dad was a magician.”

She stopped wiping and gave me a dark look. “Who told you that?”

I figured WizBoy was already so far in her disdain I'd give him a break. “Somebody at the Bombay Club.”

Jilly's voice was scornful. “He was a magician until he got scared he was losing his soul. Have you ever heard of anything so stupid?”

“Is that why he didn't want you to become one?”

“That and the fact I was better than he was. He never got any bookings, even though I kept telling him how he could improve his act. He never appreciated my help. We could've had a really good act, and then he got religion.”

She was getting wound up and would have said more, but WizBoy came in carrying two large black and silver bags with a fancy logo depicting a rabbit in a top hat.

“There was a huge selection of bottomless glasses, Jilly. And take a look at this great stuff.” As usual, she ignored him, moving her way down the bar, picking up the little snack bowls. He pulled items from the bags, mostly cards and rings, and several things I didn't recognize. I also noticed he had Band-Aids on two of his fingers.

“Why didn't you mention you'd played the Bombay Club?”

He glanced frantically at Jilly and waved for me to be quiet. “Damn it, don't let anyone hear you. It was only one time, and I needed the money bad.”

“Well, then, stands to reason some of the other performers might do the same, even Taft.”

“I don't know if he ever did.”

“What else haven't you told me?”

He tried to pout, but lack of lower lip made the attempt look like Grandpa trying out new teeth. “I don't have to tell you anything.”

“No, but maybe Jilly would like to know about your little trip to Bombay.”

He clutched the black and silver bags to his scrawny chest. “Man, you play hardball! She'd never speak to me again.”

“She doesn't speak to you now.”

“Okay, so maybe she's still broken up over Taft. She'll forget him. He was too old for her, anyway.”

That would be a magic trick I'd like to see. “If you know something about Taft or Lucas or this box, you'd better tell me. The police will find out eventually. It's called withholding evidence. You're sure you can't remember when you last saw the box?”

He looked at Jilly, apparently weighed his chances, and shrugged. He set the bags down and took a seat on the next stool. Satisfied no one was listening, lowered his voice. “Okay, there's one other thing. The last time I saw the box I borrowed it from Taft to show Jilly.”

“Hadn't she already seen it?”

“Yeah, but I thought I'd try and get it open.”

“You want something from the Finches' collection?”

“I don't, but, you know, if I could figure out the way to open the box—”

He stopped and I finished. “You'd impress Jilly.”

“Hey, whatever it takes.”

“When did you borrow the box?”

“It was long before Lucas decided to hide it. He didn't care if I gave it a try.”

So this was why he'd hesitated when I first asked him about the box. “I'm guessing you didn't get it open or impress Jilly.”

He scrunched up his face. “Nope. She was washing glasses or something and gave me a look like, ‘Big deal.' After that, Lucas hid the box. I gave it my best shot, though.”

“And you didn't know anything about the hiding place in the storage room?”

“Nope. Not till Lucas told us.”

“What did you do to your fingers?”

He held up his hand. “Scraped 'em trying to get some boards out to make a stand for a sign.”

“Someone who makes his living doing card tricks might want to be a little more careful with his hands.”

“It don't matter. I can still do my act. I'm always getting a cut or bruise around here.” He began putting his treasures back into the bags. “Look, about the Bombay Club. You're not going to tell Rahnee, are you? She'll fire me.”

“Have you told me everything you know?”

“Yeah, man, that's it.”

“I know there's something else. I believe I need a refill.” I raised a finger to get Jilly's attention.

WizBoy screwed up his monkey face. “That's all, I swear. As for the Bombay Club, I played it a couple of times, okay? Rahnee don't always let me perform when I want to. Sometimes there's people from out of town she wants to feature, or friends of hers she's promised stage time, or relatives who want to try playing magician. She's got one cousin who thinks he's the next Blackstone. I want to work my way up, so I go where I can be seen, you know?”

Somehow I didn't think talent scouts were frequenting Parkland, looking for the next Blackstone, or even the next Siegfried and Roy. “You're not breaking the law. Why sneak around?”

“These are really the only two good clubs in town for magicians. I don't want to cut myself off.”

“What about Charlotte? It's not that far away. That's where WAM lives, isn't it?”

He scowled. “Less said about them, the better. Hey, one of them probably took the box. Talk about sneaking around. They're good at that.” He glanced down the bar. During our conversation, Jilly hadn't once looked his way. “I don't know what it's going to take to get her interested in me.”

I knew the answer to that one: not enough magic in the world.

WizBoy turned back to me. “As much as I hate to say it, maybe you oughta be looking at Lucas. I know they were brothers and everything, but they could get into some pretty fierce arguments. They argued about the box.”

“When was this?”

“Right after it went missing. I went out to mail some things for Rahnee and they were going at it out on the street. Taft was saying where was it, and Lucas was saying where was it. They were both upset.”

“Any idea why they didn't call the police?”

“I figured they would. Then Lucas hired you. Now Taft's dead, so what the hell difference does it make?”

That was a very good question.

WizBoy left, and I asked Jilly if she had known about the cinder block hiding place in the storage room. “No,” she said. “If anybody had known, Lucas wouldn't have used it, would he?”

“Any idea why it's there?”

She shrugged. “I guess whoever owned this place before put it in there.”

“What was this building used for before the Magic Club?”

“It was a bar. Nothing special.”

“You and Rahnee and WizBoy are the only ones who go in the storage room, right?”

“Sometimes a delivery man goes in if I need help putting stuff on the shelves. Some of the boxes are too heavy for me.” Jilly's slim fingers were unmarked. For a moment, her sad eyes looked into mine. All her earlier anger was gone. “Are you close to finding out who killed Taft?”

“Not as close as I'd like, but I'm getting there.”