Now You See It (4 page)

Chapter Four

We've Got Magic To Do

My next stop was the Parkland Hilton. The manager gushed over Sandy's generosity and organizational skills and sent a young man in an official-looking blue jacket to show me to the banquet hall and kitchen.

The young man's gold nameplate read “Guest Coordinator.” He was thin with a crest of hair that I'm sure took him all morning to perfect. If Sandy's housekeeper reminded me of a bulldog, this anxious fellow reminded me of a nervous yet very particular bird. “We've looked everywhere, Mister Randall. I'm afraid something as nice as a diamond tennis bracelet might have been stolen. As I recall, there were over three hundred people at that banquet.”

“But they paid to attend, right? How much?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

“Doesn't sound like a thieving kind of crowd.”

He cocked his head exactly like a cockatiel. “You'd be surprised. We've had very wealthy guests steal small tables and light fixtures, and one man actually attempted to haul out an ice machine.”

In the kitchen, we looked into cabinets, air vents, and drains. The tablecloths had fringe, so even though they had been washed since the banquet, we checked them all to see if the bracelet had gotten snagged. Then we went down to the laundry and looked in the washers and dryers. Back in the banquet hall, the young man found a corner of carpet coming loose, so we checked under that.

“I don't know where else to look,” he said. “I promise a thorough search was made the first time.”

I shook his hand. “Thanks for your help. I've got a few more places to look.”

***

My next stop was the Lutheran Church of the Redeemer. By now, I was expecting a bear-like man or a cat woman, but I was in for something new. The assistant pastor was an ordinary-looking man, but he had a strange whistling lisp that made me wonder how he got through the church services. His congregation would get a sermon and an anthem all at once. He was equally complimentary about Sandy.

“Mrs. Olaf is a wonderful person. She works tirelessly with all our worthy causes.”

“Works tirelessly” and “causes” trilled like little birds.

“Where did you have your chicken dinner?”

“Here in the fellowship hall. We served over seven hundred people. It was a tremendous success. And we had enough chickens left over to take to the homeless shelter. I'd say almost a thousand people were fed, plus we had a lot of leftovers we've frozen for next month's dinner.”

The fellowship hall was a wide yellow room about the size of a basketball court with the standard folding tables and chairs. The church kitchen was wall-to-wall stainless steel, with huge refrigerator freezers and sinks as large as bathtubs.

“You must do a lot of dinners.”

“Oh, yes,” he said. “We believe in feeding the flock. These dinners are surprisingly special experiences.”

Flocks of happy birds, I imagined as “surprisingly special experiences” washed over me. The kitchen was spotless. Everything in the cabinets was perfectly arranged.

“Did Mrs. Olaf go anywhere else in the church?”

“No, she stayed right here all evening, serving food.” He paused, “Although, at one point, I think she went out for more bread.”

“Which way would she have gone?”

He led me out the side door of the kitchen and down a narrow path to the parking lot. Along the way, I searched the grass and behind the line of shiny plastic trash cans. Nothing. The parking lot was a smooth expanse of asphalt. If her bracelet had fallen off here, it would have been instantly noticed.

I thanked the pastor. “I appreciate your time.”

“I assure you we shall search ceaselessly,” he said, with a flourish of singing “s” sounds.

Two down, three to go. I was only a couple of streets over from Food Row, so I picked up a couple of cheeseburgers at the Quik-Fry. Then I called Rahnee and asked if she had her list ready.

“Not yet.” I could tell by her voice she hadn't stopped crying. “I'm sorry. I can't seem to get myself together.”

“Don't worry about it. I can stop by tomorrow.”

“No, I want you to have all the information you need. It shouldn't be too much longer. Let me call you.”

“That's fine. I understand.” I wanted to tell her I understood completely the sudden loss, the shock and bewilderment. You think someone is going to be with you forever, and suddenly they're gone. Just gone. And from the way she was reacting, I wondered if there had been something else besides friendship between Rahnee and Taft. I made sure she had my number and closed my phone. Grace Street was around the corner. I told myself it was foolish, but suddenly I wanted to go home and make sure everyone was okay.

***

All of Camden's tenants were accounted for. Rufus Jackson had left for his construction job in his bigfoot truck, old Fred had gone back up to his room, and Angie Dawson was taking up most of the green corduroy sofa in our main living area we call the island. She had a large bowl of Sugar Puffs in her lap and a box of doughnuts on the end table beside her. Angie's one of the biggest women I've ever seen, easily three hundred and fifty pounds, all solid rolls. She wears her brown hair short and sticking out from her tiny ears, so her head looks enormous, and I rarely see her little eyes, lost in the mountains of her cheeks. Still in her yellow nightgown, she looked like a giant pudding that had landed on the sofa.

She clicked the remote until she found a talk show. The topic was “Faithless Husbands and the Women Who Love Them.”

“Hell.” She changed the channel. A group of hyperactive kids jumped around singing, “We've Got Magic To Do Just For You.” “Don't need to see that, either.” She changed the channel again.

Knowing I could outrun her if I had to, I ventured a personal question. “You and Rufus still on the outs?”

“Durn fool can't make up his mind about getting married.” She crunched a mouthful of cereal. “I don't know what he's waiting on. He's never going to find another woman like me, and he knows it.”

There was no safe reply to this. “Has Camden said anything to you about a ring?”

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?”