“Hmmm.”
“The guilty party left this behind, didn’t they?” he asks. “Did you dust for fingerprints?”
“Too many people handled the piece to be able to pull out a good set of prints,” I say. Serge found the hourglass, Diane touched it, and then she handed it to me. Dusting for prints wouldn’t have made a difference.
“Too bad,” he says.
“Why would the culprit leave this behind?” I say. “You say escapologists must escape from their trick in a timely fashion.”
“Yes,” he says.
“Hmmm.”
Everyone stares at the timer. The Great Bradinski is the only magician performing tonight, and if his big trick involves escaping from a straitjacket, then whoever is sabotaging the act will surely be…
“I’ve got to use the restroom,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
I get up, taking the hourglass with me. I walk to the back of the ballroom toward the exit. Before leaving, I quickly glance around. Derek is straining his neck to make sure I’m heading to the bathroom. It’s smart of him not to trust me. He’ll be disappointed to see I really am entering the ladies’ restroom. But he doesn’t know the Crossed Palms Resort the way I do. Let him believe I’m going to the restroom. I have to check something of the utmost importance.
When I enter the restroom, I greet Erika, the bathroom attendant. Erika takes her duties seriously. She is quick to offer a guest a mint or a tiny spritz of flowery perfume. If you’re in need of a little touch-up of makeup, Erika loves to suggest the right color of blush or lipstick. This restroom is right next to the ballroom. It’s extremely busy, and Erika makes sure no one is ever lacking a beauty essential.
“Hi, Erika. Busy night, huh?”
Erika does not respond. The key to being a bathroom attendant is anticipating your guest’s needs and doing so as quietly as possible.
“Do you mind opening the side door for me? I forgot something and want to avoid the crowd outside.”
Erika communicates by eyeing the bathroom sink. Although I didn’t use the restroom, she wants to see me wash my hands. Erika is a stickler for cleanliness. She hums to the tune of Buddy Holly’s “Everyday” while I wash my hands thoroughly until the song ends. When I’m done, she hands me a towel to dry and turns to open the side entrance. This particular bathroom has a door that leads to the back of the ballroom via one of the hotel’s many intricate hallways.
“Thanks, Erika!” I say. In the hallway, I take a sharp right toward the back of the ballroom, where the Great Bradinski should be preparing to step onto the stage any minute now. I walk fast and with serious purpose. I need to do all this before Derek starts to wonder what’s taking me so long.
A couple of security guards are situated by the backstage door. They’re people I know. It’s good to see Walt is being proactive about the saboteurs striking again. Since I know them, the guards just open the door and let me waltz in.
Backstage is a whole other world. Various hotel workers are creating their own behind-the-scenes magic. Setting. Lights. People ready to pull up the heavy velvet curtains. No one bats an eye when I walk past them. They’re used to me lurking about. I make sure not to trip over any of the heavy ropes or wires.
I quickly reach my destination. We like to call the room I’m currently facing the pink room because the walls are a bright shade of pink. Mr. Maple wanted to call the backstage dressing rooms something other than green rooms to stand out among other hotels. It’s fine by me. Pink or green, it doesn’t matter. The Great Bradinski is behind this door.
Unfortunately, the men guarding the pink room refuse to open it for me.
“Sorry, Goldie. Strict orders from the Great Bradinski. No one is allowed in, under any circumstances,” one says. “He said something about secrets being revealed.”
“What if it’s an emergency?” I ask. Which it is. I want to make sure everything is on the up and up. Knowing what I know now about how important time is to the Great Bradinski’s trick, I think the hourglass means someone could have already sabotaged his act.
“I need to warn the magician,” I say. “This is a big deal.”
The guard doesn’t budge. I appreciate his commitment to the job. Loyalty to doing the right thing is an admirable quality… except when it gets in my way. I have to persuade him to let me in.
A light bulb goes off in my head.
“I got it! What if I’m blindfolded? I won’t be able to see what the Great Bradinski is doing,” I say. That’s not ideal, but drastic times mean drastic measures. The Great Bradinski wants to make sure no one discovers how his tricks are performed. If I can’t see what’s happening, then his tricks stay safe with him, and I can talk to him without compromising his work.
“All I need is for one of you guys to tie my headband over my eyes, open the door, and push me gently into the room,” I say. “It’s all I’m asking.”
The guard scratches the back of his head. “I don’t know, Goldie.”
I take my headband out of my hair and place it over my eyes.
“Just tie it like so. Then knock on the door,” I say. “Easy breezy.”
Eventually, the guard relents. He secures the headband to my face and gives the door a series of knocks. My guess is that it’s a secret code of some sort. Without my eyesight, I have to rely on my other senses. Lucky for me, I know the pink room well enough. Hopefully I won’t bump into anything.
“You may enter!” a woman’s voice says. The door opens, and I take two very short steps forward.
“Who are you?” the woman says. “Oh, didn’t I speak to you earlier, during the assistants’ soiree?”
Her voice sounds familiar, but I can’t immediately place it. It’s definitely not Rose or Betty. Those two had very distinct accents.
“Yes! I did attend that party. My name is Goldie, and I’m the Crossed Palms Resort’s assistant house detective.”
A puff of perfume suddenly fills the air. She must have just spritzed herself. I also hear the sound of someone moving things around—a chair scraping against the floor. A squeaky sound of a shoe.
“We’ve already spoken to the house detective. A man named Walter Tooey.”
The Great Bradinski speaks, I bet.
“He’s my boss. I’m here to ask you a couple of questions.”
There’s another scrape of a chair. Another squeaky sound. The other shoe being put on, perhaps?
“We’re on in less than five minutes, and I have a blindfolded girl in a bright-pink room,” he says. “If I weren’t the Great Bradinski, I would think this was some sort of practical joke.”
“No joke, sir. Just trying to do my job,” I say. “See, I’ve been thinking. The timing is going to be way off when it comes to your act.”
“What do you know about my act? I’ve never performed in St. Pascal before today. I’ve performed this act hundreds, maybe even thousands, of times. I can even do it blindfolded. No one will mess up my act. Impossible.”
“Sorry, Great Bradinski. If my gut is right, I think someone has already rigged your act to fail, and I can prove it.”
The room goes eerily quiet. No squeaky sounds of shoes being put on. No scraping of a chair on the floor. One thing is for sure: The seconds are slowly ticking away, and I’m standing before the Great Bradinski solely on a hunch. I hope I’m wrong.
Chapter Fifteen
“FIVE MINUTES TO CURTAIN,” A VOICE SAYS.
I don’t have much time. I need to take off this blindfold and show the Great Bradinski what I’m talking about. I don’t know if I’m right, but I feel like I am.
“Sir, if you will just indulge me for a second. My expertise is in mysteries. I believe your straitjacket has been compromised.” I take another small step. “If you’ll let me show you and we find nothing wrong, then no harm done. But if I’m right…”
A loud sigh in front of me. Someone’s heels walking behind me. And a couple of seconds later, my blindfold is loosened. It takes a moment for my eyes
to adjust, but there he is. The Great Bradinski stares at me, his bushy eyebrows gathered together in concern.
“I am the Great Bradinski, and this is my assistant, Penelope.” I give a short wave to Penelope as she crosses the room. “You mentioned my straitjacket. It’s been my tool for many years.”
“As have these.” Penelope opens a wardrobe case full of identical straitjackets—each exactly the same as the next, or so it seems. They must have a rig that allows the Great Bradinski to escape. I bet every single one of them is faulty.
“Now, why should I divulge my trick to a girl, let alone a stranger?”
“I’m not just any girl. I’m the assistant house detective, and my job is to make sure sabotage has not contaminated this room,” I say. “You’ve heard what’s happened to the other acts. I don’t want the same to happen to yours.”
He examines my face. Really studies it. I stand tall, with my hands pressed against my sides. My chin slightly raised. There’s a long pause, and I’m nervous we’re running out of time.
“Swear to me right here and right now you will not divulge my secret,” the Great Bradinski says. “In the name of the great magician John Nevil Maskelyne, who founded the Occult Committee that I am a member of, you must swear.”
I place my hand over my heart. “I don’t know who John Nevil Maskelyne is, nor do I know what the Occult Committee does, but I do swear by all the famous detectives, including Miss Marple, Walt Tooey, and Sherlock Holmes.”
A detective is no good if they can’t be trusted to keep their word. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.
Convinced by my swearing, the Great Bradinski shows me the straitjacket. The jacket has so many straps and buckles. I wouldn’t even know how to put it on. It is one complicated piece of clothing.
“Every straitjacket act is different. Some people love to tell stories and misdirect the audience with tales,” he says. “Others love using flash paper and dramatic music. I am a purist. No elaborate gimmicks. Just a man with a ticking clock, completely strapped into a jacket.”
He holds the jacket by the hanger and twirls it around so we can get a real good look at it.
“Regardless of how you go about performing the act, there is always one thing most magicians agree upon,” he says. “The trick, if you will, is this: To convince the audience that I cannot simply unfasten these straps by manipulating my body, Penelope places a lock. An added dramatic flair.”
He shows me a lock. It seems normal, not too big or cumbersome, with a slot underneath for a tiny key to unlock it. Right now the lock hangs off one of the sleeves of the jacket.
“I always have a key placed in a secret compartment,” the Great Bradinski says. “A different compartment in each of the straitjackets. The key is how I’m able to escape. For this particular jacket, it’s in here.”
The magician inserts his finger into the tiniest of slots in the back of the jacket.
“It is always here.…”
He digs some more. Twirls the jacket again. Lo and behold, the key is missing!
The Great Bradinski grabs another jacket and searches it. No key! Then another. And another.
Blinding pink room, I was right!
“Unbelievable!” he says. “All the keys are gone!”
A sudden pounding on the door startles us. An argument is occurring right outside the room.
“I’m Derek Von Thurston, and I demand to be let in!”
There is a bit of a crash and a thump. The door swings wide open and Derek comes tumbling in, landing flat on his face. Not the grand entrance I’m sure he’s used to, but an entrance nonetheless.
“Bradinski, you’re in trouble!” Derek says, barely able to speak coherently from the tussle.
“Well, son, you are a little too late with the news,” the Great Bradinski says. He’s holding up the last straitjacket, about to check it. We both know there will be no key. When the ugly truth is undeniable, the Great Bradinski slumps into a chair.
“Do you mind if I take a look around?” I ask. I climb over Derek, who is still on the floor, and walk to the wardrobe case. I look inside the portable closet, tap on the walls, and lift the small rug. I check under the Great Bradinski’s shoes, which are lined up like soldiers at the bottom of his luggage. “Is this case always kept locked?”
“Of course. I unlocked it as soon as we got here,” Penelope says. “We had to get ready.”
“Then you must be the culprit!” Derek shouts at her. “How long have you been working for the Great Bradinski?” He stands and brushes himself off. Honestly, I wish he would just lie on the floor and keep quiet.
“Aren’t you Dr. Von Thurston’s son?” Penelope asks. “Why are you here?”
“I’m a concerned magician and part-time detective.”
I stop him before his hand reaches into his pocket to pull out his card.
“Don’t,” I say, taking out my pad and pen. “Never mind him. How many people came to the room while you were here and the wardrobe was unlocked?”
“Plenty of people. Walt Tooey. The guards. A waiter. The director of the show. Lights people.”
“A waiter?” I ask.
“The Great Bradinski insists on drinking hot chamomile tea before each performance,” she says. “It helps calm his nerves.”
She points to a rolling serving cart with a steaming pot of tea, sugar cubes, and mugs. I walk over to the cart and notice the mug with the recently poured tea. I keep searching, sensing the road is slowly narrowing. I always get a slight itch on the back of my neck when I’m getting closer to solving a mystery, and my neck is tingling like crazy.
I look underneath the rolling cart. A shiny object gleams brightly. I stretch my hand under the cart to try to dislodge the object, but Derek’s thin fingers grab it before I can.
“A coin!” Derek exclaims.
“Give me that!” I say. “I found it first!”
I reach for the coin, but Derek has some sort of supernatural grip. He will not let go. Because I have completely lost all sense of time and place, I don’t realize how Derek and I are now wrestling on the floor for the coin, right in front of the Great Bradinski and Penelope.
“Goodness,” Penelope says. The Great Bradinski clears his throat loudly enough to bring me back to my senses. I sit up, having been able to secure the coin from Derek’s sticky fingers.
“I’m so sorry,” I say while I try to fix my yellow headband. Derek is testing all my patience. Lucky for him, I don’t have time to show him my true brute strength.
“Is this your coin?” I ask.
Penelope shakes her head. “We’ve never seen this coin before,” the Great Bradinski says. “Ever.”
The last time I saw coins was during Serge’s fishbowl trick, just a couple of hours ago. So many coins appearing out of thin air and falling into the bowl. I take a closer look. Those coins were different. Smaller.
I’ve seen this coin before, being tossed up in the air and landing in the palm of his hand. My heart races.
“Did the waiter have shaggy blond hair?” I ask.
The Great Bradinski and Penelope both nod.
“He was a little peculiar. He kept mumbling to himself about magic tricks,” Penelope says. “I didn’t pay him any mind.”
“Because we went to our meditation space,” the Great Bradinski says.
In a corner of the room is a small altar.
“We practice abraca-yoga,” the magician says. “Before each show, for at least fifteen minutes. It helps limber the body. We felt it was important to practice after hearing what happened to our dear friend Ganapati.”
“That’s right. So we ended up extending our abraca-yoga practice to a half hour,” Penelope adds. “We left the waiter as he set up the cart while we spent time over here.”
More than enough time for Evan to quickly go through the wardrobe and take each of the keys. I hope I’m wrong, but Evan would have had access to all the performers whose props went missing. Their performance spaces had p
itchers of water, iced tea, and whatever else the magicians asked to be served.
“I’m sorry this has happened. Would you like me to make an announcement to the audience about the show being canceled?”
The Great Bradinski stands up with a determined expression on his face.
“The Great Bradinski never cancels a show,” he says. “Penelope, let them know we will be five minutes late.”
Penelope goes to the door and speaks to the guards.
“How will you escape from the jacket?” Derek asks. “It won’t be much of a show now, will it?”
The Great Bradinski walks over to Derek and places his hand on his shoulder. He does the same to me. Then he slowly leads us both to the door.
“The person who tried to sabotage my finale will not get the satisfaction of a job well done,” he says. “I’ve been in this game far too long to let this slight bump stop me. No. The show must always go on. And to do so, I will need you both to leave.”
“But…”
The Great Bradinski doesn’t wait for Derek to say another word. He just allows the door to open for Penelope to walk through, and then he closes it in our faces.
And that marks the end of my time with the Great Bradinski and his fabulous assistant, Penelope. I wish he could have kept Derek with him. Oh well.
I’ve got to find Evan.
Chapter Sixteen
THE SHOW WILL GO ON, WHICH IS GOOD BECAUSE IT will buy me some time. I walk as quickly as possible, ignoring Derek’s pleas for me to hear him out.
“Goldie, will you wait?!”
If Walt or my dad ever hears how I was wrestling with a hotel guest, they’ll blow a gasket. I can’t believe I allowed my emotions to get the best of me. But I had to secure the coin, didn’t I?
“The coin!” Derek yells. “I’ve seen that coin before.”
I stop in my tracks.
“What do you mean you’ve seen this coin before?” I say. “Where?”
“If you would just listen to me for one second, I can tell you.” He takes a deep breath, but I simply cannot listen to another of his long-winded stories. I place my hand over his mouth.
Goldie Vance--The Hocus-Pocus Hoax Page 10