Now You See It (7 page)

Chapter Seven

In the Morning of the Magicians

Camden and I went by Transformation and Company but the shop wasn't open until Wednesday, and Jolly Bob didn't answer his phone. Tuesday morning, I got on the phone and eliminated several people off Rahnee's list. Half of the auditionees had been from out of town and left Parkland before noon on Saturday. Three more had gone to audition for a club in Fayetteville. The owner could vouch for them. According to their answering machines, Wendle the Wonderful had gone to his beach house in North Myrtle; The Amazing Janica had flown to California to see her mother; Tammy and Her Ten Talented Assistants were performing on a cruise ship in Bermuda; someone named Fancy didn't answer her phone; and The Mystic Maria could be reached at the Richmond Dance and Supper Club, two shows daily, at seven and ten.

Fortunately, halfway through my message, The Mystic Maria picked up her phone. She had a booming voice, which didn't seem very mystic to me, but what do I know about show business? In the background, I heard an old pop song, “We've Got Magic To Do.”

“Mister Randall, what can I do for you? I'm booked for two months, but after that, I have some time slots available.”

“I'm investigating the death of Taft Finch.”

“Don't know him, sorry.”

“He performed at the Magic Club Saturday night. You had an audition for Rahnee Nevis that day. I was hoping you might have seen or heard something that could help.”

“What did he look like? Was he auditioning, too? There was quite a crowd Saturday. Can't say that I'd remember any of them.”

“He was a tall, well-dressed man with a beard.”

“Nope. I would've remembered someone like that. Everyone I saw was flashy, you know? Wild costumes, elaborate props.”

“He was attempting a locked trunk escape act. Do you remember seeing a large trunk backstage?”

“There were several large trunks backstage. Have you checked with Fancy? She uses one in her act.”

I looked down my list. “I left a message on her answering machine. What can you tell me about her?”

“I remember her because she's a juggler. You don't see too many magicians who are good jugglers, too.”

“Do you know of any rivalries between magicians, anything that might turn ugly?”

“I'm sure there are plenty of people with personal differences, but most of the time we're too busy scrambling around for jobs to waste time on rivalries. I'd say on the whole, we're a pretty genial group.”

“Can you tell me anything about Wendle the Wonderful, the Amazing Janica, or Tammy and Her Ten Talented Assistants?”

“Like I said, there was a crowd. I don't know any of them.”

“There must have been a crowd if Tammy had ten assistants.”

Her loud burst of laughter almost made me drop my phone. “Those are her fingers! Ten talented assistants? Get it?”

Oh, brother. I should've seen that one. “I'm new to the world of magic.” She was still laughing when she hung up. At least I'd made The Mystic Maria's day. Next I called Bart of Bart, Binky, and His Baffling Birds.

“Come on over,” he said. “I'm working on a new act and need some input.”

Bart had an old blue Toyota in need of a paint job parked in front of his small house, but inside, the house was filled with entertainment centers that held every new gadget on the market and other shiny machines I didn't recognize. Beyond the living room was a large glassed-in room where Bart's baffling birds chirped and squawked in their cages. Binky yapped excitedly and ran around the furniture until Bart got him to stop.

“Good lord, Binky. Where do you get all this energy?” He shooed the small dog out the back door. “What's the latest, Randall? Hear anything from the police?”

“Not yet.”

“You suspect foul play? I don't know the Finch brothers real well, but I always thought Taft was a nice guy, harmless. I can't imagine he was a threat to anyone.”

“Was it possible he was involved with a woman?”

“Involved with a woman? Sure, women seemed to like his type.”

“His type?”

“Yeah, the old-fashioned type. You know, holding doors, bringing flowers. And he and Lucas had been everywhere and had all these adventures, so they had plenty of stories. They were chased out of Egypt, did Lucas tell you? Years ago when they were teenagers, they were out camping in the desert and tried a few tricks on the wrong people. They went down the Amazon, too, doing shows on these little riverboats, and sailed halfway around the world. Really knew how to live.” He stopped. “That didn't sound right, did it?”

“I know what you mean. The Finches had some wild times.”

“Yeah, which is odd, because Taft was kinda on the shy side, but when he was on stage he'd come alive.” He stopped again. “Damn. I keep putting my foot in it, don't I?”

“So you've seen the act?”

“Many times. The Finch brothers look like they stepped out of
Gentleman's Quarterly
, but you get them in a spotlight, and they would bring down the house. Being twins, of course, they knew exactly what the other one was going to do. Hard to compete with an act like theirs.”

There was a definite twinge of jealousy in Bart's voice. “Did you see them Saturday night?”

“No, I wasn't there Saturday, but I'm sure they were fabulous as ever. Great with cards.” He picked up a deck from the coffee table, and that's when I noticed the large bandage across the back of his right hand. “I've decided I need to change over to the cards, myself. Those birds are driving me crazy.”

“How'd you hurt your hand?”

“These stupid birds, I'm telling you. I was trying to teach one of them to stay down in my pocket, and he caught me with his claws.”

Hmm. Maybe. “Did Taft ever discuss the trunk escape with you?”

He shuffled the cards and made the ace of spades hop up. “No, but if they had I would've said ‘Stick to what you do best.'”

“Was it that difficult a trick?”

“No, not at all. Just an escape from a locked trunk, and they never could get it right.” The king of spades hopped out of the deck.

“Who else knew they were planning an escape trick?”

“I don't know. It wasn't a secret. I suppose anyone at the club might have known.” The queen of spades peeked up from the deck. “As for this woman angle, why don't you ask Fancy about that?”

“Were she and Taft an item?”

“You'll have to ask her.”

“She's on my list.”

His fingers paused. “Well, I hope you'll take me off your list. I'm a good enough magician that I don't need to kill off the competition, especially the Finch brothers. They certainly aren't a threat to me.”

So Taft was a great guy, a gentleman, an adventurer. I wondered if I could rule out money as a motive. “What about their collection of magic memorabilia. Worth anything?”

“Only to another magician or a student of magic. Some guys get all excited over some limp mildewed book or a crumbling piece of equipment.” He looked around at all the gleaming machines. “I never saw the need to clutter my house with junk like that.” He stacked the deck of cards on the table. “What do you think about the card tricks? Pretty good, huh?”

“Not bad. What about this special box supposedly owned by Houdini? Did you ever see it?”

“No. I wasn't interested. Just another trinket for their collection.”

“And the bet Lucas had about getting the box open? Did you ever hear anyone talking about it?”

“I may have overheard some guys talking about it at the bar. I think they were going to call their new trick the Vanishing Ruby.”

“That's right.”

Rahnee had said there was no rivalry between the brothers, but I thought I'd try out the idea on Bart. “Any indication that Lucas might be jealous of Taft?”

“No. What would he have to be jealous about? That's ridiculous.”

I'd worked on cases where people had been murdered for very ridiculous reasons.

“Well, thanks for your help. If you think of anything else, give me a call. I'm in the book. The Randall Detective Agency.”

“The Remarkable Randall Detective Agency?”

“Some days it is.”

Binky's insistent barking at the door made Bart sigh and get up to let his dog in. “Know anyone who'd like to buy a dog and six uncooperative birds?”

***

My next stop was Shepherd Missions. The people there were sad to hear the news about Taft's death.

“We all thought a lot of Taft,” an earnest young woman said. She had a head full of what I call fried hair, as pale and crinkly as packing material. She was extremely plain, but her smile made you want to smile back. “We're in and out all the time taking food and blankets to the needy. Taft kept records for us, typed letters, answered the phone. Very nice guy. Always well-dressed and polite. Remembered everyone's birthday. You don't meet a lot of men like that anymore.”

“Did you know he was a magician?”

“Yes, every now and then, he'd do a card trick for us. What happened to him?”

No need to upset her with the details. “There was an accident at the Magic Club. The police are investigating.”

“Well, that's a real shame. He was a hard worker for the Missions.”

“What exactly do you do here?”

“This is a clearinghouse. We accept all kinds of donations from the community, and then we distribute the canned goods and clothing to our needy families.”

“Did Taft have a work station?”

“That's his desk by the window.”

“Do you mind if I have a look?”

“Go right ahead.”

The fried hair woman sorted canned food into cardboard boxes while another worker looked through a pile of used toys. I sat down at Taft's desk. A stack of stamped envelopes, a glass jar full of pencils, and a telephone flanked the computer. I hesitated before opening the top drawer. Idiot. You're not going to find a picture of Lindsey in there. I found paper clips, rubber bands, a stapler, and a ruler. The larger drawers had more envelopes, paper, and some forms thanking donors and showing them how to take their donations off their taxes. No angry letter from a rival magician. No incriminating photo of Taft with the Other Woman. There was, however, a birthday card showing a white rabbit peeking out of a top hat saying, “The Trick is Remembering Your Birthday!” Inside, the card said, “Sorry I'm Late!” A note written in red ink said, “I love you as a friend. Let's keep it friendly.” The note was signed, “Rahnee.”

Keep it friendly. A Dear John birthday card.

The woman peered over my shoulder. “What are you looking for?”

I held up the card. “Do you mind if I take this?”

“Take whatever you need. I wish we could help you more, but Taft never said anything about himself. I don't even know about his family.”

“He has a brother.”

“Really?”

“He's a magician, too.” I closed the desk drawers and put the card in my pocket. “Do you know if Taft had a girlfriend? Anyone come to see him at work?”

“They may have. Like I said, the other workers and I are in and out all day long. Taft could've had visitors, and we'd never see them.”

I checked my wallet and found a twenty-dollar bill I wasn't using. “I'd like to make a donation. Thanks for your help.”

“Thank you,” she said with her infectious smile. “Sorry we couldn't be more helpful.”

My smile faded when I saw what was in her hand. A little pink teddy bear exactly like the one Lindsey used to carry everywhere. I had a sudden memory of Lindsey laughing as she refused to believe that “The Teddy Bears' Picnic” was a jazz song. Even after I played the 1907 version with men growling in the background, she remained unconvinced.

“Mister Randall?” The woman's concerned voice brought me back to the present. “Are you all right?”

“Sorry. Just thought of something.”

She offered me the bear. “Did you need a toy for someone? Please take this. We have plenty of stuffed animals.”

I backed away. “No. No, thank you.”

That's the trouble with grief. You never know when it's going to mount a surprise attack. Somehow I made it to the car. I don't have any tears left, so I took a few painful gasps and managed to get control. For a few minutes, I wanted that bear. I wanted to feel the soft plush and remember the countless times I picked it off the floor. I wanted to smell the baby powder, the fresh smell that was Lindsey. But of course, it couldn't be the same bear. And I couldn't have the same life.

***

My cell phone ringing startled me, but I wasn't surprised to see it was Camden. Our connection, psychic or not, comes in handy when I need a distraction.

“Can you give me a ride to the studio?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I swung by Grace Street. Camden was waiting on the porch. When he got into the car, he gave me a look, but didn't say anything about photographs or teddy bears or the overwhelming sadness I battle almost every day.

“How about Sandy's bracelet? Any leads?”

“No luck. There's one more place on her list, and then I thought I'd check the pawn shops, ask around. Do you know where it is?”

“No.”

“You're a sorry excuse for a sidekick, I'll say that.”

“I'd have to meet Sandy. Do you want me to?”

While it's true many of Camden's predictions and insights have been helpful in past cases, I know my own deductive powers are damn good, and those are the only powers I want to rely on. “No, thanks.” I turned up Food Row. “You sound like you've been gargling with gravel. You need to see a doctor.”

“Think again.”

“My doctor's office isn't far from here. I have questions to ask him, and he can have a look at your throat at the same time.”