Now You See It

by Jane Tesh

  “He left a message for his wife. ‘Rosabelle, believe.’ If she ever heard a psychic say that, she’d know it was really him.”

  “I take it she never heard this message.”

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe she did, but didn’t want to admit it.”

  “This from someone who gets messages all day long.”

  “Oh, I’ve gotten messages, all right, loud and clear. I just didn’t want to hear them.”

  I had to slow down for a driver who’d never gotten the message on How to Merge. “We’re talking about Ellin now, right?”

  “Well, I really hope she’ll be able to do something about Sheila.”

  “What if she can’t? What if it’s ‘Ready To Believe’ at any cost?”

  “I’ll have to think of something.”

  “You know, there’s a whole city full of women. You’re bound to find someone else who can be the one.”

  “Nope. Ellie’s the one. Always has been.”

  “Can you explain that to me? Why Ellin? You’ve had dozens of girlfriends. Why her?”

  “Can you explain why you love Kary? She and Ellie are both beautiful blonde women who are independent, ambitious, and downright stubborn when it comes to getting their way. Why one and not the other?”

  I didn’t know how to explain it. It wasn’t just her beauty. Something in Kary reached out to me, to the inner me, the me I was always telling to shut up. It was as if she could see the person I was supposed to be, the better self, while I wanted to be this other better David Randall for her.

  “My reason is heavy with psychological significance,” I said.

  “Mine is completely selfish. I need looking after, and I know Ellie will take care of me.”

  I had indeed seen evidence of this. “You also know she’s all about money and power.”

  “I can pull her from the dark side.”

  “Think so? You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  “She’s worth it.”

  I turned on my signal for our exit. “Well, I’ve got another job for you. Pretend to be a mentalist, so I can solve this case.”

  ***

  WAM was doing a lot better than WOW. Ali’s Cavern was a huge flashy club, all black and white, with touches of red and gold, impressive and elegant all at the same time. The large stage had a computerized lighting system and red velvet curtains. An ornate chandelier hung over the dining area. No glitter balls for this crowd.

  At noon, the club was quiet, with a few people eating sandwiches and a few more painting some scenery. “This Magic Moment” was the background music.

  “You know, Camden, I never realized how many songs there are that have to do with magic. I’ll bet I’ve heard a dozen this week.”

  “It’s in the air.”

  A trim young woman in a tuxedo greeted us. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Welcome to Ali’s Cavern. Two for lunch?”

  “No, thank you,” I said. “We heard you were looking for outstanding acts. This is Camden. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”

  The woman looked slightly confused. “I don’t believe so.”

  “The mentalist? We’ve been on a twelve-city tour, opened for Penn and Teller in Vegas. He’s the finest ESP act you’re likely to see.”

  She looked at Camden again, taking in the faded jeans, worn sneakers, and general dishabille. “Really? And you are?”

  “John Fisher, Camden’s agent and manager. Give her a sample, Camden. She doesn’t seem convinced.”

  Camden took her hand. “Nice to meet you, Donna.” His faint voice made him sound even more mysterious. “You’d rather be skiing Beech Mountain, I see.”

  She stared and then began to laugh. “My boss put you up to this, didn’t he? That’s very good. You really had me going.”

  “You recently lost your mother. She told you to look after your sister. ‘Look after Annie,’ she said. You promised you would.”

  The laugh stopped in her throat. She pulled her hand away. “H-how could you know that? No one was there but me when my mother—”

  Camden gave me a look that said he’d had enough. “I’m sorry,” he said to the woman. “Sometimes I get a very strong impression. You must have loved your mother very much.”

  She straightened her jacket. “Mister Fisher, I don’t think our customers would want that much information revealed in front of everyone.”

  “We can tone it down, no problem.”

  “I’m afraid we’re booked at present, and truthfully, no matter how good, we don’t get much call for mentalists.”

  “Can you suggest another club, then? If not here, then, say, Greensboro? Parkland?”

  “The only clubs in Parkland I could recommend are the Magic Club and the Bombay Club.”

  “So you hire magicians from those clubs?”

  “On occasion. If they’re exceptionally good.”

  Camden closed his eyes and put his hands to his temples. “I see the initials ‘T. F.’ I’m getting a strong impression of a magician. Tom, perhaps? No, Taft.”

  “Taft Finch?” Donna looked at him askance. “I know Taft Finch.”

  “He performed here Friday—no, Saturday night.”

  I wasn’t sure how much he was guessing or if he’d picked up something. Either way, it worked.

  “Saturday night,” Donna said.

  “Are you aware he died Sunday morning while apparently attempting an escape act?” I asked.

  “Yes, I heard about that. A horrible thing to happen. He was a great guy. He always bought a round for everyone and kept us up late telling about his adventures. I liked him well enough to book him several times. Do they know what happened?”

  “There’s a possibility he was murdered.”

  “Good lord.”

  “Anyone here at Ali’s Cavern have a grudge against him? Maybe they weren’t happy that someone from Wizards of Wonder was working this club.”

  She hesitated. “No, we’re over that.”

  Camden closed his eyes. “I see some sort of conflict. A secret revealed. A split with no hope of reconciliation.”

  Reconciliation. He’d been saving that one up. Donna looked uncomfortable. “All right, so maybe some of them aren’t over it.”

  “Then why would a member of WOW be allowed here?” I asked.

  “From what I understand, Taft knew the parties involved, and he smoothed things over. Because of that, he was the only member of WOW who could perform in the club.”

  Hmm, maybe a matter of contention between the Finch brothers? Lucas had said it was hard to find work, yet Taft could perform in the war zone. And exactly how much money was a considerable amount? Had Taft sold some of the Finches’ special collection?

  “Donna, do you happen to know the name of the WAM magician whose trick was revealed?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What’s with all the questions? I thought you wanted an audition.”

  Camden moved his hands as if feeling invisible walls. “The vibrations here are strong. There may be a way to solve this mystery, a connection to the feud. Perhaps if we could speak with this magician, we could know what happened to Taft.”

  She took a step away from him. “I don’t know. He wasn’t with WAM for very long. He wasn’t quite as accomplished as our usual magicians, but he did a good job with the rings.”

  “Rings? Silver rings?”

  “Yes, and sometimes scarves.”

  “I see his name,” Camden said in his best far away voice, which sounded really spooky thanks to his laryngitis. “Omar the Ring Master.”

  “Oh, wow,” she said. “That’s it. You are really good. That’s what he called himself.”

  Now that we had her attention, I said, “Just a few more questions, please. When did Taft leave here Saturday night?”

  “He performed
from midnight until one a.m. As usual, everyone sat around talked, had a few drinks. Then he got a phone call and said he had to go.”

  I glanced at Camden, who went back into his act. “A phone call. From his brother? I hear a man’s voice—no, a woman’s.”

  “I didn’t hear who called, and he didn’t say,” Donna said. “It must have been a voice-mail message. He said, ‘I’ve had some good news, Donna. See you later,’ and hurried out.” A group of people came into the club behind us. “You’ll have to excuse me.”

  “You’re sure you can’t grant us an audition?” I asked.

  Camden pulled on my sleeve. “That’s all right, John. I feel the spirits calling me to move on.”

  “Very well. Thank you for your time, Miss Donna.”

  She’d kept her eyes on Camden. “You’re welcome.”

  ***

  We got back in the Fury. “Well, that’s interesting,” I said. “When Taft finished his act at the Magic Club, he hurried out to get to Charlotte by midnight. Does his act here and then gets a phone call that probably lures him back to the Magic Club.”

  “‘I’ve heard some good news.’ Possibly about the missing box?”

  “Maybe Lucas still has Taft’s phone, and we can see who called him. By the way, you were quite convincing.”

  “I really didn’t mean to depress her, though.”

  “I’m sure you got up this morning thinking, ‘Oh, I’ll go to Charlotte and upset a total stranger by repeating her mother’s dying words.’ And how about Omar being a former member of WAM and possibly the one who blew the whistle on Jolly Bob? I’ll have to put Kary onto that part of the puzzle.”

  My phone rang. It was Lucas returning my call. “Sorry, Randall. I’ve been working to get Taft’s memorial service ready. To answer your questions, I can’t say Taft liked the idea of the bet. But there was no way anyone was going to figure out how to open the box.”

  “Well, suppose someone got impatient and broke it open to get your cabinet key. Is there something really valuable you don’t want to lose?”

  “I consider everything in our collection valuable.”

  “Yet you’re willing to risk it for a bet.”

  “As I said, no one would be able to get the box open. And as for breaking it, no real magician would destroy that box.”

  “Do you have Taft’s cell phone?”

  “No. I suppose the police have it.”

  I almost asked him if he called his brother late Saturday or early Sunday to leave a voice-mail message, but I didn’t. I couldn’t completely rule Lucas out as a suspect. The brothers had argued about the box. More than likely Lucas knew about Taft’s affair with Rahnee. If I could get Taft’s phone and hear the message, maybe I could recognize the voice. If Lucas had called with good news, what else could the news be except the box was found? And since the box was still missing, did Lucas use this false message to lure Taft to the club, kill him, and then play the grieving brother?

  “When is the memorial service?”

  “Tonight at seven.”

  “I’ll see you then.” I closed my phone. “Lucas is positive no one can open the box. There’s a memorial service for Taft tonight at seven. I may have need of your extra senses.”

  “You still owe me lunch.”

  “No problem. We will fortify ourselves and pay a visit to the Willow Creek Brothers.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  It’s Only Make Believe

  The Sorcerer’s Temple in Piney Woods turned out to be a cinder block building with all the warmth and charm of an old church fellowship hall. Someone had painted stars and crescent moons on the door and misspelled “Sorcerors Temple” in squiggly letters.

  I knocked. A middle-aged man in a plaid flannel shirt and overalls opened the door.

  “Willow Creek Brothers of the Sacred Arts. What’s the password?”

  I took a wild guess. “Abracadabra?”

  “Enter.”

  Inside, the walls had been painted dark purple. A folding table and seven wooden chairs sat to one side. A large book lay open on a metal stand. Candles were everywhere.

  In the midst of all this, the man looked very ordinary. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  “I’m the Remarkable Randall, and this is Camden the Mentalist. We’ve come in search of a special box we understand used to belong to Houdini. It’s about twelve by six inches, golden brown, ‘H’ on top.”

  “We got rid of that,” he said. “Sold it to a fella name of Finch.”

  “Why did you sell it?”

  “Well, they offered us a nice chunk of money for it.”

  “Do you mind telling me how much?”

  “Don’t mind. Twenty-five hundred dollars. Wish they’d buy some more of our magical artifacts. We got plenty.” He pointed to a bookshelf on the far wall. “You can come have a look.”

  The magical artifacts included a battered top hat, a stack of wands with silver tips, capes with red velvet lining, several boxes, a mask, decks of cards, and a lot of books in cracked black leather bindings. Camden and I did our best to look impressed.

  “That’s a fine collection.”

  He picked up the top hat. “Now this here’s the exact same hat that Theodore Toombalt wore in his act during the thirties. We got that from his nephew lives down by the mill. Got the gloves, too, around here someplace.” He put the hat down and picked up one of the wands. “You don’t see wands like this anymore. Genuine silver tips. Not like them silly folding ones that shoot out and poke you in the eye. Wanna hold it?”

  “Thanks.” I took the wand. “How often do the Brothers meet? I thought you had disbanded.”

  “We did for a while.”

  “Because of the box?”

  “No.” He grimaced. “Because of our wives. They didn’t like us going off without them. I told mine, it’s Brothers of the Sacred Arts, not Brothers and Their Wives. She said it was just another way of getting out of doing some work around the house. I told her she and her cronies got together to play bridge and yak all the time, why shouldn’t I meet with my buddies and learn some new tricks? She finally saw the light. I think she got tired of me being around the house so much.”

  “Is there some sort of curse on the box?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  So all this nonsense about the box destroying the Brotherhood was Bart misdirecting me. I handed the wand back to him. “I understand there’s a trick to getting the box open.”

  “Could be. Never needed to open it, myself.”

  Camden held out his hand for the wand. “I’d like to see that.”

  “Sure, buddy. Look at anything you like. Give you a good price.”

  “Where did you get these things?”

  “Oh, here and there. And one of the fella’s had a grandpa who had a magic act.”

  “Is that where the box came from?”

  “Can’t say as I remember.”

  While Camden carefully picked up and examined all the items, I had a few more questions for the Willow Creek Brother.

  “Did you hear what happened to Taft Finch?”

  “Can’t say that I did.”

  “There was an accident at the Magic Club. He was found dead in a large trunk.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Do any of the Willow Creek Brothers perform at the Club?”

  “Ain’t none of us good enough for that. We like to keep to ourselves.” He scratched his head. “I think a few of the fellas went one time. Said the drinks were overpriced. Too bad about Finch’s brother, though. What was he trying to do with the trunk?”

  “An escape act.”

  “Didn’t go too well, then, did it?” He turned to Camden. “See anything you like, buddy?”

  Camden set the top hat back on the shelf. He hadn’t fallen o
ver or zoned out, so I could safely assume none of the items had a curse or evil back story. “No, thanks. It’s a nice collection, though.”

  I thanked the man for his help. “Now why would Bart want us to believe the box was cursed?” I asked Camden as we walked back to the car.

  “Maybe he thinks it is.”

  “You get anything from the sacred artifacts?”

  “It’s ordinary stuff. The hat did belong to Theodore Toombalt, but since it has his name written inside, I didn’t have to go to the Other Side to figure that out.”

  “So now we’ve checked out the Willow Creek Brothers. You didn’t have a chance to shake hands with Bart, did you?”

  “No, but you could tell he was interested in the box.”

  “Everybody wants it, and where in the hell is it?”

  ***

  Two hours to Charlotte and two hours back, plus a lunch stop and a trip to the Sorcerer’s Temple meant we got back to the house around three o’clock. We were greeted at the front door by Fred. He had on his rumpled brown jacket, his boxer shorts, and his bedroom shoes.

  “I need to go to the bank.”

  Camden backed him into the house. “Fred, you need to put on some pants.”

  “Then will you take me?”

  “Randall might be able to.”

  I pulled the mail from the box and started looking through it. “Maybe later, Fred.”

  “You’re a damn nuisance.”

  “Yeah, well, so are you.”

  Still grumbling, Fred went up the stairs. “Camden, that old boy should be in a home.”

  “He is in a home.”

  “You know what I mean.” I handed him his latest issue of UFO Monthly.

  “How would you like it if I kicked you out?”

  “At least I have all my clothes on.”

  I was glad to see my mail was the usual junk mail and bills. No more invitations to the reunion. I put it on my desk and then had a surprise phone call from Ellin.

  “How’s Cam’s voice today? I know he’s not supposed to talk.”

  “A little rough. You sound a bit calmer. How are things going?”

  “As well as can be expected. Tell him I’m trying to redirect Sheila. This new act, for instance. I don’t think it’ll involve predictions.”