THE CAMBODIAN CURSE AND OTHER STORIES

by Gigi Pandian

  Sanjay looked at Priya. She was again the smart, strong girl he remembered from his childhood. And she was right.

  “You’ve just given me the real answer, Priya.” Sanjay laughed sadly and looked up at the high stone ceiling. “That was some wonderful misdirection, Kevin.”

  Kevin froze. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Broderick said he had some work to do—odd, given we don’t have cell or Internet service. That meant someone here must have given him a reason to think about work. Someone wanted to get him up to his room, so they could get him alone.”

  “That doesn’t work,” Vik said. “None of us had a chance to slip away from the dining table while Broderick was upstairs. We already established that.”

  “Broderick wasn’t killed when we thought he was,” Sanjay said. “He was killed long before we all gathered in the grand room for dinner.”

  “You’re forgetting we talked to him,” Priya pointed out.

  “Did we?” Sanjay asked. “Or did we hear what a skilled actor wanted us to hear? Kevin was facing the bedroom door with his back to us. He’s a performer. I bet he can do a great Welsh accent.”

  Kevin frowned. “So what if I can? That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “You forgot to factor in how thick these doors in the castle are,” Sanjay said. “We heard ‘Broderick’ loud and clear through the door. But that’s not possible. Vik, can you go upstairs?”

  Without a word, Vik stood and climbed the stairs. He closed the bedroom door behind him. The muffled sound of “You bastard!” escaped through the door, but just barely.

  “Maybe the door was open,” Kevin said. His voice was calm, but Sanjay saw beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “I don’t remember, but that must have been it.”

  “No,” Priya said. “You shook the door handle and said it was locked.”

  “Which we only have Kevin’s word for,” Sanjay added.

  Kevin lunged across the table and grabbed the carving knife. Before anyone could react, Kevin landed on his feet next to Priya.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, grabbing hold of her and holding the knife against her neck. “This was only about Broderick, not you. I hadn’t made millions like the rest of you, and he took advantage of that when he bought my idea for hardly any money at all. Don’t anyone step closer!” He pushed the knife closer to Priya’s neck. Sanjay watched in horror as her eyes narrowed. Not with fear, but with anger. She was going to act.

  “If you don’t want me to get snot all over you,” she sniffled, “at least let me get a tissue from my pocket.”

  Priya’s quivering hand reached into her pocket. Sanjay looked on helplessly as Priya’s fingers emerged from her pocket gripping not a tissue, but a small silver canister. After only a moment’s hesitation, she raised her arm and sprayed mist into Kevin’s eyes. He screamed and let go of his grip, giving Vik and Sanjay the opportunity to tackle him.

  “What the hell was that?” Kevin cried.

  “This island is shrouded in fog,” Priya said, standing over Kevin. “I’m a woman with thick Indian hair. Did anyone think I’d walk around this place without hair defrizzer?”

  “It was never supposed to be an impossible crime.” Sanjay pressed his knee into Kevin’s back. “I bet you didn’t think anyone would go up to their rooms until we broke up after dinner when nobody would have an alibi.”

  Kevin grunted but didn’t speak.

  “It might have worked,” Sanjay said, “if Priya hadn’t been cold and left the dinner table to get her sweater.”

  “When did he do it, then?” Elena asked.

  “When the sea lions barked,” Sanjay said, struggling to remove a piece of rope from his bowler hat to tie Kevin’s wrists. “That was the only time we split up when we all went looking for them. Someone ‘accidentally’ left a music player behind in the conservatory. I bet when we check it out, we’ll find it has the sound of sea lions.”

  “A distraction,” Vik said, holding Kevin as Sanjay secured the rope.

  “Thanks, old friend.” Sanjay knotted the rope, sat back, and placed his magic bowler hat back on his head.

  Tempest in a Teapot

  Tempest Raj Mendez, a magician friend of Sanjay’s, made her debut appearance in this short story that originally appeared in LAdies Night, A Sisters in Crime Los Angeles Chapter Anthology, edited by Naomi Hirahara, Kate Thornton, and Jeri Westerson, published by Down & Out Books in 2015.

  “There’s something wrong with this teapot,” said the woman dressed in a shiny silver leotard. “The lid doesn’t open.”

  “Don’t touch that!” Tempest rushed to Aurora’s side and plucked the teapot from the new assistant’s clumsy hands.

  “Oh my God,” Aurora whispered. “Is there poison inside?”

  Really, Tempest thought, no good could come of magicians hiring their unskilled girlfriends. Xavier and Zach should both have known better. But she grudgingly admitted that Aurora looked stunning in her sparkly costume, right down to the gold tassels on her four-inch heels. Serving as a distraction was more than half the job of a stage magician’s assistant.

  “Of course there’s no poison inside,” Tempest said. “It’s a prop for one of my illusions I wanted to show you.”

  “It doesn’t look very exciting.”

  Tempest scrunched up her nose. “Here, I’ll demonstrate. Would you like a drink?”

  “You’re sure it’s not poison?”

  Tempest was rethinking her idea of inviting Aurora to join her and some friends for a night out in Burbank later that evening. “Pick a drink. Any drink. I’ll make it appear magically from this teapot.”

  “Seriously? Any drink?”

  “Within reason.”

  Aurora sat down on a wooden trunk at the side of the stage. “What fun is that?”

  “I simply meant that it’s old magic, so it doesn’t know about modern brands. If you were to request a certain distillery’s blend of whiskey, for example, the magic teapot would simply give you whiskey.”

  “I’d love a glass of red wine.”

  Tempest positioned her hand carefully on the teapot made of dark glass, then picked up a porcelain teacup in her other hand, flipping it to add a little flourish. There was nobody in the audience, but old habits die hard. She poured an ounce of red wine into the teacup and handed it to the bored assistant.

  Aurora’s eyes widened as she tasted the contents of the teacup. “It’s really wine. Good wine.”

  “Of course. What would you like next?”

  “How about some tea since it’s a teapot.” Aurora finished the small amount of wine and handed the cup back to Tempest.

  “Black tea or herbal tea?”

  “Black.”

  Out of the spout flowed black tea.

  “It’s cold,” Aurora murmured, a pout forming on her bright red lips.

  Tempest shrugged. “Magic is finicky.”

  “In that case I’d rather have a martini.”

  Tempest grinned. She loved it when people asked for drinks where a perfect detail could be added. Lifting a tumbler from the side table, she poured a shot of gin from the teapot spout into the glass before handing it to Aurora. While Aurora’s attention was still focused on the teapot, Tempest used sleight-of-hand to add two olives to the glass without the other woman noticing.

  Aurora was less impressed than Tempest had hoped.

  “It’s rather an old-fashioned trick, isn’t it? Not very flashy.”

  “I bet you can’t guess how it’s done.”

  “Who cares? I’m sure it was a great trick a hundred years ago, but—”

  “Those are the best illusions,” Tempest said. “They take real ingenuity, not modern technology.” She sighed and set the teapot down, making sure it was far from Aurora’s reach.

  Tempest often felt like
she’d been born in the wrong century. Thanks to her mom, she’d always been fascinated by the stage magicians who died long before she was born. Sure, there were skilled magicians today, but it wasn’t the same. There was a certain, well, magic, missing from modern magic.

  Though Tempest was only twenty-six, she had more than a decade of experience as a professional magician. When people saw her, if they didn’t remember her embarrassingly public fall from grace, they usually assumed she was a magician’s assistant. But she learned that having people underestimate you can be used to your advantage. There were far too few female magicians, not to mention female magicians who looked like her: light brown skin and features that far too many journalists had called “exotic,” courtesy of her mixed background with a Scottish mom who was half-white and half-Indian, and a Californian dad with a Mexican mother and black father. So Tempest Raj Mendez pushed all thoughts of critics from her mind and became The Tempest.

  Aurora hopped down from the oversize trunk of props. “Where are Xavier and Zach? They were supposed to be here ages ago.”

  “Zach is right here,” a deep voice boomed from the back of the theater. Zachary Zookeeper (not his real name) strode down the center aisle toward the stage. The children’s performer was dressed in his signature faux-snakeskin suit with a coiled plastic snake as a hat and was carrying a fluffy stuffed elephant in his arms.

  Zach and his brother Xavier complemented each other’s strengths in their show for kids. Zach was the wacky magician and Xavier the straight-man singer and musician (who refused to let his brother christen him Xavier Xylophone). Sharing the stage with his brother was what Xavier was doing to pay the bills until the masses recognized his brilliance as a solo artist. Xavier had recently fallen for Aurora, an unemployed actress, so he asked his brother to give Aurora a try as their new assistant.

  So far, Zach had been far from impressed. But being a good brother, he’d asked Tempest to join them at the small theater, located in a strip mall in Encino, to give Aurora some tips. Tempest was skeptical, but she liked Zach, so she agreed to help.

  “Xavier can’t make it until later,” Zach said, placing the oversized stuffed animal on a seat in the front row. “He’s got a meeting with a music producer. And I’ve got a headache, so I’d rather not do a full run-through today. We can focus on the illusions where you need the most practice. Shall we start with the snake basket illusion?”

  Aurora bit her lip. “I’m no good at that one.”

  “Sure you are.” Zach picked up one of the swords from the prop cabinet and pressed it into her hand. “We’ll do it just like we practiced it, starting when I say the magic word.”

  “Isn’t that a bit advanced for her?” Tempest asked.

  Zach dismissed her concerns with a wave of his hand, his attention focused to the rear of the eight-row theater. “Is someone there?”

  “Don’t mind me,” a husky female voice called from the darkened back row. The ghostly words startled Tempest, who could have sworn they were alone. “I’ve been in the office doing paperwork, but I’m heading off now.”

  “Could you lock the door on your way out, Francesca? I’d rather not have any interruptions while we practice.”

  “Aye aye, cap’n,” Francesca said with a faux cockney accent. She’d had a long career as a character actor, and now shared the strip mall theater space with Zach and Xavier to teach method acting to aspiring actors.

  “Isn’t this illusion too gruesome for kids?” Tempest asked.

  “Kids love the macabre,” Zack said. “Even though they don’t know what macabre means.”

  Aurora rolled a barrel-size wicker basket into the center of the stage, the harsh stage lights revealing its frayed edges. She showed the elephant audience-member that the basket was empty, then placed it on a stand that raised it a foot off the floor (to illustrate it wasn’t sitting on top of a trap door). Skipping his usual banter, Zach tossed his snake hat aside and stepped into the basket. Aurora placed a wicker lid on top, then picked up a sword.

  Tempest took a seat in the front row next to the elephant. She’d noticed how much the brothers looked like each other, and now she noticed that Xavier’s girlfriend Aurora looked like his older brother Zach’s wife. Both women had wavy red hair—a natural auburn red, unlike the flame-red tips of Tempest’s hair.

  When Zach gave the signal, Tempest counted off the seconds in her mind, hoping Zach knew what he was doing to trust Aurora with this skilled illusion. Tempest saw Aurora’s foot tapping and let out a sigh of relief that she was acting with precision.

  Aurora thrust the sword downward into the basket.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  She plunged the sword the opposite side.

  Tap, tap.

  The sword went into the center.

  “Ah!” Zach cried out.

  Aurora screamed. The sword clattered to the stage floor.

  Tempest jumped onto the stage and rushed to the wicker basket. Flinging the lid aside, she looked inside. Zach was curled up inside the basket, his eyes closed, a pool of blood spreading across his stomach.

  “Call for an ambulance,” Tempest said. Her voice was calm, though her insides were anything but. Never let the audience see you sweat.

  Aurora, however, wasn’t a natural performer (which probably explained why she was an out-of-work actress). When Tempest realized Aurora wasn’t capable of doing anything besides cry hysterically to the poor 911 operator, Tempest took the phone and explained the situation.

  “Take the phone back,” Tempest said to Aurora. “I’m supposed to apply pressure to his wound.”

  “Oh God!”

  “Don’t worry,” Tempest said as she leaned over the basket and pressed a towel to Zach’s stomach. “He’s unconscious but alive. And it was an accident. He shouldn’t have been doing a dangerous illusion when he had a headache. Timing is everything.”

  “I didn’t do this,” Aurora said. With shaking hands, she hung up the phone.

  “You were supposed to stay on—”

  “I didn’t do this!”

  “Nobody will think it’s your fault,” Tempest assured her. She looked down at Zach, feeling her heart beating in her throat.

  “No, that’s not what I mean. Look at the sword.” Aurora gestured toward the sword that had fallen to the stage floor. “I couldn’t bring myself to use the real sword. I thought it was dumb to use a dangerous sword for a kids’ show, so I used a plastic one. There’s no way the plastic sword did this to him.”

  Tempest frowned. Aurora was right. There was no blood on the sword that lay at her feet. Was Aurora a smarter woman than she gave her credit for? Could she have substituted the real sword when Tempest wasn’t looking? No, Tempest was sure she would have noticed. She looked to where the real sword lay on top of the trunk. It didn’t have blood on it either.

  How, then, had Zach been stabbed? One word kept pushing its way to the forefront of Tempest’s thoughts: magic.

  The paramedics took Zach away in an ambulance, and a police officer questioned Aurora. The police were prepared to dismiss the incident as an unfortunate accident. This was L.A., after all. The police had much more important things to deal with than stage magicians who acted foolishly. It would have been recorded as an accident had it not been for Aurora’s insistence that she hadn’t stabbed Zach.

  She showed the skeptical policeman each of the swords in the theater (there were three, all of which were kept locked up in a prop cabinet) and dared him to find blood on any of them. Daring the police turns out not to be such a good idea. Aurora was taken to the police station for further questioning.

  Tempest drove to the hospital to check on Zach. He had regained consciousness and was sitting up in bed. His black hair was disheveled and he looked rather pale.

  “Please tell Aurora I’m not upset,” he said. “It’s my fault, not hers. I should never have made h
er learn this stupid illusion.”

  “She swears she didn’t stab you,” Tempest said. “Not even accidentally.”

  “I feel awful that she feels so bad she thinks she needs to lie.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at his hospital gown. “I’ve just realized something quite disturbing.”

  Tempest leaned in. “What is it?”

  “I think—” He paused and cleared his throat. “I’m pretty sure I feel more naked without my coiled snake hat than I do without my clothes.”

  Tempest crossed her arms. “Can you focus? I don’t think Aurora is lying.”

  “If she’s not lying to protect herself, then she’s simply mistaken. I felt a sword hit me.”

  “There was no blood on the blade, Zach. No blood on any of the swords in the theater.”

  Zach gave a start, then winced in pain. “It must have gotten wiped off somehow. Maybe on my clothes?”

  “There’s a problem with that theory. She used the plastic sword.”

  Zach gaped at her. “Then how the hell did I get stabbed?”

  Once Xavier and Zach’s wife reached the hospital, Tempest departed. She canceled her plans with her friends and instead hurried back to the theater. An idea was forming in her mind that she wanted to explore. If she ever made it back to the theater. Rush hour was beginning and had other ideas. She hoped she’d make it in time.

  Her tires screeched as she exited the 101 and peeled into the parking lot. She bounded out of the car and let herself into the theater, relieved it didn’t appear to be an evening where Francesca was teaching an acting class. Tempest didn’t have her own key, so with Aurora at the police station she’d borrowed Zach’s. She tucked the key into the pocket of her jeans and walked straight to center stage.