Now You See It (9 page)

By then, Sheila was radioactive. “What was all that about?”

He explained. “You had three minutes left. It would've been dead air, plus we always plug our sponsors at the end of each show.”

She turned her glare to Ellin. “Why didn't you cue me?”

“I did,” Ellin said.

“We'll have to work out a better system, then.”

Ellin's idea of a better system would be pull the pin and hand Sheila the grenade, but before she could say anything, Sheila flapped one hand to motion someone over.

“I want my son Dirk to help with advertising. We really need more sponsors.”

Dirk lumbered up, a hulking blob with a broad dull freckled face and a head too small for his body, covered by a windblown haystack. Despite his expensive white polo shirt and khaki slacks, he looked unkempt and unfinished. Grinning, hands in his pockets, I expected he'd blurt a Goofy “huh-yuck” at any moment.

“Dirk?” His name caught in Ellin's throat.

“Yes, my son Dirk. He's perfect for the job.”

Dirk Kirk. Perfect. Ellin quivered to remain calm.

“Does he have any experience?”

“How difficult can it be? You go to businesses and ask for their support.”

Ellin had found out the hard way not every business in Parkland wanted to be associated with the Psychic Service Network.

“Will he write the commercials, too? Film them? Edit them? Satisfy the sponsor?”

Sheila waved her words away. “Dirk is a natural. He makes friends so easily. You see, he's an entertainer, too.” If she'd been Medusa, she couldn't have done a better job of turning cast and crew to stone. “We'll be featuring him soon. This is going to be an excellent experience for all of us. Show them what you can do, Dirk.”

Dirk beamed, took a pack of cards from his pocket, and waddled up to me, fanning them clumsily. The design was a garish paisley swirl of pink and red. Three cards tumbled to the floor, which didn't faze him. “Pick a card. Any card.”

Sheila called, “Phil! Come here.”

A tall, white-haired, craggy-faced man came over to us. Mister Kirk. Sheila took his arm. “Phil, show them what Dirk can do.”

The man obligingly picked a card.

“Don't let me see it.” Dirk tried to shuffle the remaining cards. He furrowed his brow, his tongue in one corner of his mouth. “Okay, okay, it's the six of clubs, right?”

The card was the five of spades. “Very close!” Phil Kirk said. “Dirk's going to be a famous magician some day.”

I had several replies to this, but to avert open warfare Ellin said, “Cam, Randall, this is Phillip Kirk, Sheila's husband and the man who is responsible for the show.”

We shook hands all around. Camden frowned at the handshake, but the man didn't notice his worry. Kirk gave his wife a hug. “What do you think of my little girl, eh? Hosting her own television show! I knew she could do it. You'll see, Ellin, we'll turn this network around.”

Like Linda Blair's head in “The Exorcist,” I wanted to say, but valiantly held back. Apparently—though this stretched my imagination to its limits—Phil Kirk thought of his wife as a cute, fluffy little blonde who delighted him with her original ideas. I could tell he wasn't going to tolerate any criticism, no matter how well deserved.

“Sheila's always been psychic. Amazingly accurate. Sometimes it scares me.”

Despite Ellin's killer glare, I had to reply. “Me, too.”

“She's already done wonders for this show. I told her she'd be a natural.”

A natural disaster, absolutely. “Nice to meet you. Camden and I were just leaving.”

Sheila huffed, “But Dirk knows many more tricks.”

I glanced at my watch. “Gosh, sorry, I have to be somewhere in ten minutes. Maybe next time. Come on, Camden.”

He kissed Ellin. “Hang in there, sweetheart.”

“Thanks for coming by.” Her brief smile included me. “We'll have lots to talk about later.”

We left the happy Kirk family exclaiming over Dirk's ability to straighten the pack of cards.

“Interesting that Dirk's sort of a magician,” I said as we walked down the hallway. “Maybe he's been to the club. Maybe he knows something about the Houdini box. Although it's hard to believe anyone that dull knows anything.”

“I'm sure Ellie's heard more about Dirk than she ever wanted to know.”

“And what's the deal with Phil? I saw your face when you shook his hand.”

“He's got a health problem. Could be serious.”

“Think he'll believe you?”

“Probably not.”

“Then you'd be wasting valuable voice.” I checked my watch. “Let's go by Bilby's and see if he's heard anything about a diamond bracelet or a Houdini box.”

“Speaking of jewelry, swing by Royalle's first. I want to show you the impossible ring.”

Chapter Nine

Some Enchanted Evening

Royalle's Fine Jewelry was in Old Parkland, the historic part of the city. I found a parking space across the street. We looked in the huge windows of Royalle's like a couple of kids checking out puppies in the pet store.

“Which one is it?”

Camden pointed to a brilliant cluster of diamonds and emeralds. “That little number right there. Take a guess how much it costs.”

“More than you and I will ever make in a lifetime.”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“Okay, you've had your fun. Get back in the car.”

“I really wish I could afford it.”

“And I wish Kary would marry me. Come on. Maybe Bilby's got something nice you can afford.”

***

Unlike the stereotypical dark cluttered hole in an unsavory neighborhood, Bilby Foster's Pawnshop is a clean, modern building with neatly arranged shelves full of electronic gadgets, musical instruments, and appliances. Bilby, a short squat little man, was sitting as usual on a padded stool in the back of the store behind glass cases filled with jewelry and watches.

“Randall,” he greeted. “Cam. What do you fellas need today?”

“I need a diamond bracelet, a box that may have belonged to Houdini, and Camden needs an expensive-looking diamond and emerald ring,” I said.

Bilby didn't even blink. “Diamond bracelets I got plenty of. Rings, too. What's the box all about?”

“A shiny wooden box about the size of a shoebox with an ‘H' on top. Stolen from the Magic Club last Thursday. The bracelet should have Sandy Olaf's and her friend Bertie's initials engraved on the clasp.”

Bilby rubbed his nose. “Well, it's interesting you should ask that. I had a fella in here not long ago looking for a magic box.”

“You're kidding.”

“Nope. Wanted to know if I had any sort of old stuff that might have belonged to a magician. Some sort of collector, looking for any kind of magic stuff, wands, books, those rings that stick together. I told him he'd have better luck at an auction or estate sale.”

“But he specifically asked you about a box?”

“Yeah, a wooden box with an ‘H' on top. Said it would have stars and some other things carved on top, too.”

“What did this guy look like?”

“Kinda stout, dark curly hair and a beard.”

“Did he leave an address or a card or anything?”

“Nope. I take it you want to know if he comes back in?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Will do.” Bilby hopped off his stool. “Okay, let's see.” He unlocked the jewelry cases and pulled out the trays of bracelets to put on top of the cases. We checked each one, but none had initials on the clasp. “What kind of ring did you say, Cam? Diamonds and emeralds? Got a few.”

He took out the trays of rings. Camden chose one, but after inspecting it, shook his head and put it back. “Not exactly what I'm looking for.”

“I'll give you a good deal. Gonna ask Ellin to marry you?”

“Yes, and I want a very special ring for her.”

“These don't suit you, I'll keep an eye out and call you if something better comes in.” He put the tray of rings back in the case. “Same thing for you, Randall. I'll check any bracelets. Don't know about that box, though. Doesn't sound like something somebody'd pawn.”

***

Camden and I checked a few more pawnshops in town before heading back home.

He went into the kitchen to start supper. I went into my office and found a stack of paper about Houdini on my desk.

Upstairs, I tapped on Kary's open bedroom door. “Got a minute?” She'd presented me with a peace offering. I was definitely going to return the favor. “Care to visit the Magic Club tonight? Might not be too cheery since they've lost Taft Finch, but the show must go on.”

“I'd like that, thanks.”

“Thank you for all the Houdini stuff. You're not still looking, are you? I'm sure I have enough.”

She turned her laptop so I could see the screen. “Mothers United.” Another adoption site. Great.

“I've been reading letters from pregnant women who can't keep their babies and want to find the perfect mothers for them.”

She didn't look as thrilled as I thought she'd be. “But?”

“But there's really no way to tell if any of their stories are true.”

“The downside of the Internet.”

“Anyone can put anything on a website. On Mothers United, you're supposed to email the mothers and tell them about yourself. Then they decide if you're a good match.”

“Pick one you like, and they get UPS to deliver?”

“That's another thing that sets off the alarm bells. Nowhere on the site does it mention any sort of fee or price.”

“So I gather your search helped you eliminate online baby shopping as an adoption tool.”

“Pretty much, yes.”

I allowed myself a moment of temporary relief. Due to a difficult unplanned teen pregnancy, Kary is unable to have children. She was as determined to adopt a baby as I was determined not to. She wouldn't give up.

Did I say temporary relief? Because that's all it was.

“So,” Kary said, “I've decided to investigate Mothers United and see what's going on.”

“Investigate?”

“Yes. I'm going over to their headquarters and pretend to be a pregnant woman in search of the perfect parents for my unwanted child. I won't use this kind of service, but if they're not legitimate, I don't want anyone to be taken in and lose their money.”

Okay. “Do they actually have headquarters? I thought they were only online.”

“Ah, yes, but I have skills and a friend who works with the Better Business Bureau. They've had several questions about Baby Love, which is a part of Mothers United, and Baby Love has an office in Parkland. My plan goes into action tomorrow.”

I almost said,
“
Do you want me to come with you?” but I'd learned my lesson. “Is it a secret plan, or can you tell me about it?”

“I'm still working out the details.”

What would be the safest thing to say?
“We'll leave for the club tonight around seven.”

***

The only way to deal with Kary's new plan was to shove it out of my mind and concentrate on having a pleasant evening out. Right up until seven, I figured something would happen to spoil things, but at seven o'clock exactly, Kary came down the stairs dressed in tan slacks and a cream-colored sweater. I held her coat. We went out, and I opened the Fury's door for her. She slid in. On the way to the club, she filled the awkward silence by talking about the students she was tutoring at an elementary school.

“There's one little boy that's so cute, I have a hard time scolding him. His name is Ozzie.”

“Ozzie? You don't hear that every day. Is he Oswald?”

“Yes, poor thing. I see a hard life ahead for him.”

“Nah, his college buddies'll call him Oz. He'll be cool.”

“I hadn't thought of that. Okay, no need to worry about his future.”

What about our future?
I thought.
Have I really screwed it up this time?
Then, as she pushed back her hair, I caught a sparkle of silver and saw she was wearing the bracelet I'd given her for Christmas. I'd found the perfect bracelet with little dangling stars to commemorate Wonder Star, her super hero alter ego, saving the day and me in a dark tunnel under the city.

Okay, so maybe things weren't totally messed up.

News of Taft Finch's death had, as I figured, boosted business. The club was full. Kary and I found a table at the back. WizBoy was on stage, performing card tricks to loud rock music.

I used to date a theater major, and she took me to see a musical called
The Fantasticks.
I didn't remember much about the show except one humorous character, an old actor, who said “Look for me in the light.” Just as the light had made Bart appear younger and trimmer, the light transformed WizBoy. Offstage, a scrawny kid with a sad lack of grammar. Onstage, surprisingly engaging and colorful and making those cards dance. Unlike poor Dirk Kirk, who could barely hold onto his cards, WizBoy made them sail up in fountains of red and black and spiral like butterflies. His finale was collapsing a house of cards and making it rebuild. Kary joined the enthusiastic applause. I wedged myself against the bar to order our drinks. Jilly, in her usual basic black, listlessly took orders and filled glasses.

“How are you tonight, Jilly?”

“Oh, okay, I guess. I'm glad it's busy. Takes my mind off things.”

She handed the man on my right his beer. As he moved away, WizBoy took his place. He grinned at Jilly. “Hey, great crowd, huh? Did you hear that applause?”

She threw him a frosty look. “I'm very happy for you.”

“Well, heck, I'm sorry about Taft, too, but, in a way, it's a tribute that so many people came out tonight. A memorial.”

“We're planning a memorial for him. A real one.”

She went to get my order. WizBoy gave me a look I recognized from bitter experience: the can't-I-do-anything-right? Look.

“You were great,” I said.

“Glad somebody thinks so.”

“My friend Kary thinks so, too.”

“The blonde you're with? Man, she's gorgeous.” Still, his gaze returned to Jilly.

“And she believes in magic. Let me introduce you.”

He glanced back at Kary. “Not a bad idea.”

Jilly brought my drinks. I paid and led WizBoy to the table.

“Kary, this is WizBoy. Wiz, Kary Ingram.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he said.

“Your act was wonderful,” Kary said. “I really enjoyed it.”

He took out a pack of cards. “That was nothing. Watch this.”

His close-up sleight of hand tricks brought a crowd around the table and more applause. When he'd finished, I offered to buy him a drink.

“Sure, thanks.”

We went to the bar. I got Jilly's attention and ordered. WizBoy gave her a big smile, which she ignored. When she'd brought our drinks and drifted back to the register, he took a big gulp and set his glass down with a thunk. “Can't she see what a hit I am? Why is it I can impress everybody and his brother and not her?”

I found myself saying the thing I hate most. “Give it time. She's still upset about Taft.”

“But he wasn't interested in her. He told me one time he thought she was sweet, but too young for him.”

“Did he tell Jilly this?”

“Nah, he was too nice. He and Rahnee had something going, though. Couple of times I came by her office, and the two of them were in there, you know, fooling around.”

“Did you mention that to Jilly?”

“And upset her? No, I thought I'd let her figure it out on her own. If I told her, she wouldn't believe me. Or maybe she'd kill the messenger.” He took another drink. “We've got a lot in common, even if she doesn't see it. My folks wanted me to be a banker like my old man. They thought being a magician was foolish. Jilly's parents didn't want her to be a magician, either, only they thought it was evil.”

“Evil? You mean, satanic?”

“Yeah, they thought she was going to be calling up demons or something. They had all kinds of Bible verses they said proved their point, but you can find a verse to fit anything, can't you?”

Camden knows every single Bible verse that relates to the evils of sorcery. He says in his teenage years, he had them flung at him all the time. “But you and Jilly became magicians, anyway.”

“Well, my folks still aren't too happy about it, but they've come to see my show, and they sorta grudgingly admit I got skills. Jilly left home before her folks could kick her out. She told me they were planning to, but she didn't care. She really hates them. She says her mom decided she was some kind of bad seed because she likes to wear black and play with cards. But her dad's the real hypocrite. He was a magician once, and since he couldn't make it, he had this complete turnaround.”

This explained Jilly's perpetual gloomy mood. Camden had escaped by traveling across the country and working through all the visions until he could control them. He'd had the good fortune to land on Grace Street. Jilly had landed in the Magic Club.

“You'd think this would be the place where she'd be happy,” I said.

“You would, wouldn't you?”

The next act was onstage, a wild-haired fellow in a silver jumpsuit making rings jump through hoops. Each ring was a different color, and when the light hit, their sparkle tossed a kaleidoscopic effect all over the room. For the life of me, I couldn't see how the guy was doing it. The audience sat spellbound, except for WizBoy, who checked his watch.

“Gotta go.”

“Are you on after this guy?”

“Nope. Rahnee only lets me do one set. I gotta check on the heater. Sometimes it cuts off. Excuse me.”

The magician onstage spun the silver hoops around each other like a giant disco ball and then made another series of silver rings dance on a scarf. After the scarf dance, he scooped up all the rings and hoops and bowed to enthusiastic applause.

“WizBoy looks like he should be playing drums in a rock band,” Kary said. “Is he a suspect?”

“Right now, anyone in this room could be a suspect. Be right back.”

I circled the room, looking for Rahnee. She was seated at a table near the stage, looking splendid in a gold blouse and black skirt.

I sat down next to her. “Looks like a nice turnout for Taft.”

Her fiery hair was dusted with gold sparkles. “I'm sorry Lucas isn't here to see this. He said he couldn't manage coming out tonight.”

A well-dressed couple offered condolences to Rahnee. She thanked them. After they'd moved on, she said, “Two of our best customers.”

“Looks like the club will be okay.”