Now You See It (6 page)

“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 have 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.”

She hugged her arms in tight. “I'm sorry. This is really upsetting.”

“I can come back later,” I said.

She hesitated. “No, that's okay. Give me a minute.” I could tell WizBoy wanted to leap over the bar and comfort her. After a while, she pushed back her hair. For the first time, I could see she was wearing a silver chain necklace. She pulled the necklace up to reveal two dangling keys. “Here's where I keep my key, and no, I didn't give it to anyone.”

“What about the box he and Lucas were going to use for their new trick?”

“Lucas showed it to me when he made the bet.”

“When did he show it to you?”

She shrugged and then rubbed her shoulder as if cold. “I don't remember. When he first got it, I think.”

“Do you have any idea where he might have hidden it?”

“No.”

“Did anyone come to the club especially to see him? A girlfriend, maybe, or groupies coming around to catch his act every night?”

She gave me a look. Her eyes were very dark. “No.”

“Sorry, Jilly. I'm trying to find out who murdered him. If that means some uncomfortable questions, then I have to ask them.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay. I guess you have to. But Taft didn't have what you'd call groupies, and if he'd had any, he would've treated them as nicely as he treated everyone. He always made me feel like a lady, you know? Is that all?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Jilly walked to the register. WizBoy watched her and then turned to me.

“I'd better make sure she's all right.”

“If you remember anyone Taft might have been seeing, let me know,” I said, but he was already heading down the bar. As far as WizBoy was concerned, there was only one woman. Too bad she didn't return the feeling.

I had a few more questions for Rahnee. I found her and Camden backstage. She was counting an array of interlocking rings. As she handed them to Camden to put on a pegboard, they continued their conversation.

“Oh, I've always been interested in magic,” Rahnee said. “I started doing shows with my girlfriend when we were in our teens. But what about you? Have you ever thought about being on stage? Maybe using your psychic ability in an act?”

“It's too unpredictable for that,” Camden said. “And sometimes people aren't happy with the results.”

She handed him the last ring. “I'm not afraid of the future. Would you tell me what you see?”

He set the ring in its place and took her hand. I've seen him read people dozens of times with many different reactions. Sometimes his eyes will glaze over, and he's gone for a while, taking a stroll to the Other Side. Other times, his eyes will darken, or even turn gray, which always creeps me out. This time, the spirits must have been cooperating because he smiled and gave her hand a comforting squeeze.

“You've worked hard for everything you've got, Rhonda, and everything is going to be all right.” She gave a little start at the mention of what must have been her real name. Camden says if nothing else, a person's real name comes through. “It might be hard to see it now, but the magic is still here. It will always be here.”

When the tears began to roll down her cheeks, I searched my pockets and found a handkerchief. Rahnee thanked me and wiped her eyes. “You'd better not tell anyone my name is Rhonda,” she said with a slight laugh.

“Your secret's safe with me,” Camden said, “and Randall didn't hear a word.”

“Not a thing,” I said.

Camden kept her hand in his. “You remind me of my girlfriend. Like you, she's from a wealthy family, but she wants to make her way on her own. That's one of the things I really admire about her. I'm afraid I don't have the kind of ambition you ladies have.”

“You picked up on the wealthy part, too? My God, you're good. I hope to hell you didn't see me having anything to do with Taft's death.”

“I didn't, but a psychic's word doesn't go very far in court.”

“Let's hope it never comes to that.”

“Rahnee, when Taft left Saturday night, did he say anything to you about where he was going?” I asked. “Jilly says he didn't stop for his favorite snack.”

She brushed a few more tears away. “He didn't say anything to me.” She motioned to a large panel on the wall filled with switches and toggles. “I was busy keeping everything moving. I run the lights from back here, too, so I had my hands full. I know the Finches' act. They need a pale blue special and a blackout.”

“Who performed after them?”

“They were the last act. We had a break and cleared the stage.”

“And the trunk was backstage?”

“Yes, where we found it today. That's where the Finches always kept it.”

“So Taft performed Saturday night and hurried out. Sometime during Sunday or early Monday, he must have come back to the club, but how did he get in? WizBoy and Jilly both say they weren't here. And why would he be here by himself on Sunday?”

“Sometimes he'd ask if he could come and practice a trick on Sunday or early Monday before he went to work, but he'd always call so I could come unlock the door and stay in case he needed assistance.”

“Where do you keep your key?”

She pulled a ring of keys from her pocket. “I always have it with me.”

“Do you ever lend your key to anyone?”

“No.”

I glanced back at the bar where WizBoy was doing card tricks in a vain attempt to make Jilly smile. Damn it, somebody let Taft Finch in, and that same somebody didn't let him out. WizBoy, jealous of Taft and Jilly? Or someone on my long long list who maybe harbored a grudge against Taft? Maybe Lucas Finch could shed some light on this mystery.

I thanked Rahnee and said I'd be in touch. Camden and I leaned against the Fury and compared notes. I told him everything I'd learned from WizBoy and Jilly. He told me that besides what he'd seen for Rahnee, there was a lot of leftover performance anxiety from backstage.

“See anything particular between Rahnee and Taft?”

“Yes, she's still in shock over his death, but she's also practically running over with concern for her club. It was hard to see anything specific.”

“What about the storage room?”

“I found the fake block, but the whole wall's a jumble of impressions. Rahnee, WizBoy, and Jilly are in and out of there all the time.”

“So aside from making Rahnee feel better, you're especially useless today. Did the Deadly Sheila usurp your powers?”

“‘Usurp.' That has to be worth at least twenty-five points.”

“I've been waiting for years to use that one. Did you see the dark spot on the cinder block? Is it blood?”

“Yes, but I couldn't tell whose blood.”

I started to say “useless” again, but he held up a hand to forestall my criticism. “I've got my own performance anxiety. Ring or no ring, I'm asking Ellie to marry me.”

“Today?”

“No. But soon.”

“And you think that's affecting you?”

“I know it is. My own emotions always get in the way. Besides, you're always telling me you want to solve things on your own.”

“That's true,” I said. “But I'm not against a little help.”

“That's me,” he said with a wry grin. “A little help.”

Chapter Six

Mysterious Ways

Lucas Finch lived on Prospect Avenue in a remodeled apartment complex. I rang the doorbell and tried not to grimace when he opened the door. I've seen what grief can do, how it can alter people. Lucas Finch looked ravaged: haggard, red-eyed, unshaven. His voice was as hoarse as Camden's.

“Mister Randall.”

“I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

“No, come in.”

We stepped inside the small, neat apartment, not surprised by the color scheme of brown and brown and the large framed poster of Houdini. “This is my friend Camden.”

Camden shook his hand. “I'm very sorry about your brother.”

“Everyone at the club sends their sympathy,” I said.

“Thank you. Please have a seat.”

It looked like he'd been lying on the sofa, so I chose one of the brown armchairs across from the sofa, and Camden sat down in the other. “I brought Taft's things from Rahnee's office.”

He sat down on the sofa and took the stack of papers and books. “I appreciate that.”

“Rahnee's hired me to find out what happened to Taft. I know this is a difficult time, but I need to ask you some questions.”

“Of course.”

“You and Taft performed at nine o'clock Saturday night and then he hurried out. Do you have any idea where he went?”

I thought he wasn't going to answer. He looked at the floor for such a long time, I thought he'd fallen asleep. He rubbed his face. “No.”

“Did he have a wife, a girlfriend? Was he going to meet someone?”

“If he was, he didn't tell me.”

“Where did you go after the act?”

“I was hired for a friend's birthday party. Sounds corny, but there's not a whole lot of work for magicians these days. Sometimes I take these jobs just to keep in practice.”

“This friend can vouch for your whereabouts?”

“Yes. The police have already checked on that. After the party, I came home and didn't get up until late Sunday morning.”

“Did you see your brother on Sunday?”

“No. I was still annoyed at him for losing the box. I should've apologized. Well, it's too late now. It's too late for everything.”

“Is there anyone else who might have had a grudge against your brother, or against you?”

He lifted his head. “Me?”

“The two of you were planning a terrific new act with a valuable magic box. Maybe one of the other magicians was jealous.”

“So they'd steal the box
and
murder Taft? That's insane. No one could use the box. It's one of a kind, instantly recognizable. And what could anyone gain by murdering my brother?” With a trembling hand, he sifted through the papers I'd brought. “Taft had plans for many new acts, not just the Vanishing Ruby.”

“Did Taft take anything besides sleeping pills?”

“Why do you ask that?”

“I found some in his coat pocket. Maybe he took too many one night, and that made him too groggy to think clearly the next day.”

“No, no. He rarely needed anything like that.”

I gave the apartment another look. There were several framed posters and lithographs on the walls similar to the ones I'd seen in Rahnee's office. One showed a man in a black frock coat and top hat and cane surrounded by fancy trees and bright red flowers. The name “Kellar” was written above his head in bold yellow letters.

Lucas saw my interest. “Kellar was considered the Dean of American magicians. Always very tasteful.”

Camden got up and went to the beautiful glass-fronted cabinet beside the living room door. The cabinet was filled with books, games, packs of cards, programs, and toys, all having to do with magic. “This is quite a collection.”

“Taft and I collect magic memorabilia. I won't feel like doing that any more.”

I got up to have a look. “These are the things someone can choose from if he or she opens the box?”

“Yes.”

The cabinet was lined with mirrors decorated with little silver stars so everything inside reflected and glittered. I could tell the books were antique by their ornate covers with titles such as
Magick Illusions
and
Houdini's Rope Ties and Escapes
. A grinning skull sat next to a brightly colored box with Asian designs and a metal bank shaped like a magician holding out his top hat for coins. Boxed magic sets in bright red, yellow, and blue featured tricks called “The Floating Wonder” and “The Devil's Delight.” There was also a large box trimmed in brass and filled with odd objects that looked like someone's woodworking project, cups and spindles and eggs and something called Pillars of Solomon. A card on the box from Martinka and Company, Museum of Magic and Magic Shop, proclaimed the shop as the “Magicians' Headquarters” and “Formerly Owned by Harry Houdini.”

“What's this box?”

“An antique magic set. We found that at Martinka and Company, the oldest magic shop in the country. Every time we visited New York, we'd go there. So much wonderful history. The very first magic society was founded there, the Society of American Magicians in 1902, and Houdini was president of Martinka in 1919.” He rattled on about the Martinka brothers coming over from Germany and all the famous magicians who frequented their shop.

“What does ‘Pillars of Solomon' mean?” Camden asked. “I know what it means in the Bible, but what's the connection to a magic trick?”

“It's quite a good illusion. A string passes through the pillars, and then the magician appears to cut the string, but the string still goes through.”

Talking about his collection seemed to steady Lucas, so Camden asked more questions about the items. “What about those cubes? They look like three-dimensional playing cards.”

“Oh, there are hundreds of variations on cube illusions.”

“And the skull? What do you use that for?”

“The talking skull is one of the oldest tricks in magic.”

As he explained, I checked out the room. While I found all the magic stuff interesting, I couldn't imagine that Taft had been murdered for it. It was too easy for a thief to break in, smash the cabinet doors, and take whatever he wanted.

“Lucas, what's your collection worth?” I asked.

“Taft and I had it appraised at fifty thousand dollars, but it would be worth much more to a collector.”

I had expected it to be more, but fifty thousand dollars was still a lot of money. I took another look in the cabinet. Beside small framed photographs of Houdini and a woman I guessed was his wife, a small program card announced: “The Finest Escape Ever Attempted!” and showed a man covered in chains perched on top of a bulky-looking box. “Were you and Taft attempting a trick like this?”

“Oh, no. Nothing that drastic. Something much more simple. We really hadn't worked out the details. Taft wanted to see how quickly he could get out.”

“And he could get out?”

“Yes, but it was taking longer than he liked.”

“Had you tried it?”

“No, I get claustrophobic. I was always on the outside, in case Taft needed help. My God, I wish we'd never seen that trunk! What were we thinking? We should've stayed with what we knew.”

“Would Taft have attempted the trick by himself?”

“I have no idea. Why.”

“You said there some sort of latch inside in the lining.”

“Yes. I don't know why he didn't use it. It's a little bolt that slides back and releases the lock.”

“You haven't heard from the police about the official cause of death, have you?”

“No, not yet.”

“Lucas, there's a possibility he was already dead.”

“And then put in the trunk?”

“It's better than being locked inside alive and suffocating.”

He put his head down in his hands. “I don't want to think about how it must have been. He was all the family I had. You can't imagine how I feel.”

My answer wouldn't have helped the situation. “Sometime Saturday night or Sunday, Taft went back to the Magic Club. As far as we know, he didn't have a key to the club, so someone let him borrow their key, or let him in. For some reason, he decided to try to escape from the trunk, which should be easy, since there's a special latch that works from inside. Something went wrong, and he suffocated. If this is what happened, the medical examiner should find signs of his struggle. If someone hit him on the head or choked him and put him in the trunk, there'll be signs of that, too. But when I saw him, it looked as if he'd curled up inside for a nap, which makes me think maybe someone got him to take one or more of his sleeping pills, or got him drunk, or some combination of the two, and said, ‘Let's see your new trick,' and closed the lid, hoping he'd run out of air before he woke up.”

“But all of that brings me back to why someone would murder him,” Lucas said.

“That's what I'm going to find out.” I motioned to the stack of books. “Let me borrow some of these books about Houdini. Maybe there's something about that box that set someone off. Maybe it's more valuable than you thought.”

He handed me several books. “I can't get my brother back, but if you could find the box, it would be some small consolation to me.”

“I'll do my best. Rahnee said Taft would come by the club on Mondays to practice before work. Where did he work?”

“At Shepherd Missions.”

“I'll talk to the people there. Any other friends, acquaintances?”

“Just those of us in the magic community.”

“One other question. When you hid the box or when you went to look for it, did you cut or scrape yourself on the cinder block?”

He shook his head. He rubbed the ends of his fingers and held them out. “The block's a little rough, but I didn't cut my hands. I know exactly how to push on it to make it open.”

A thief or someone in a hurry might have had more difficulty. “Thanks.”

Camden had made a slow circle of the room and came back to Lucas. He shook his hand. “Again, my sympathies, Lucas.”

“Please find out what happened.”

“Anything?” I asked Camden as we left the house.

“Just grief,” he said.