The Art of Vanishing (A Lila Maclean Academic Mystery Book 2)

by Cynthia Kuhn

  “Sure,” I said. “Where is it?”

  “In the closet.”

  I went over and pulled the double doors open. There were several suits and pants hung neatly on hangers. A closed brown leather suitcase was on the floor. I had to slide a few of the items to the left in order to see the battered briefcase on the floor—also in brown leather. The top was open, so I gently positioned the flap over the bag and picked the whole pile up rather than grabbing the handle. When I moved backwards, I bumped into my mother, who was heading toward her dress, and I lost my hold on the briefcase. The contents exploded onto the ground.

  “Shoot,” I said, bending down to scoop up the items. Knowing Damon, he’d probably accuse me of going through his things. So there was that to look forward to.

  After I got the smaller items back inside, I turned toward the hundreds of pages which had spread out in ungraceful chaos all over the floor.

  As I picked up the pages, I noted they were typed and double-spaced.

  “Is Damon writing a new book?” I called out to my mom.

  “Not that I know of.” She paused in the act of donning her shoe, thinking. “Though we didn’t really talk about his work. If you know what I mean.”

  “Mom, please.”

  She giggled. “You are so uptight, darling.”

  “Maybe. But still.”

  I had all of the pages together, so I tapped them gently on the floor to straighten the pile. I’d have to go through and put them in the correct numerical order. They had page numbers but no title or author’s name listed in the header, the way one typically finds in a book manuscript. While I shuffled them into a neat stack, I looked into the closet interior again and froze.

  Behind where the messenger bag had been sitting, there was something else. I hadn’t seen it at first because it blended into the shadowy closet interior, but now that I was sitting, I could just make out a rectangular shape. I set down the stack of pages and reached into the dark closet to remove the object. It was an acrylic frame, around 9 x 12. I turned it over and gasped.

  I held the title page of The Medusa Variation.

  Damon had stolen his own manuscript from the library.

  But why?

  Soon afterwards, the door lock beeped and Damon strode inside. My mother was putting her “finishing touches” on in the bathroom, and I was sitting in the wing chair, putting the pages back in numerical order.

  He froze when he caught sight of me.

  “Hi Damon,” I said, continuing with the work.

  “What are you doing?” He tromped across the room and snatched the stack of pages from my hands. “These aren’t yours.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “They spilled on the floor and I was trying to reorganize them.”

  He scowled, looking down at the manuscript. “How did they spill?”

  “I was pulling out the briefcase at my mother’s request and—”

  “Never mind,” he snapped, then turned his bulk in the direction of the bathroom door and bellowed, “Violet, let’s go.”

  “Is that the original manuscript of The Medusa Variation?” I asked. “Wasn’t it stolen from the library? Did someone find it?”

  Damon stroked his beard as he stared at me. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  I nodded.

  “Suffice it to say I never gave the publisher permission to traipse the manuscript around the country, showing it off like some prize pig wearing a ribbon.”

  “Don’t they own it, once you sign a contract?”

  Damon snorted.

  “Contract, schmontract.”

  That explained more about him than anything else he’d ever said, frankly. I hoped my mother was hearing the conversation through the door. This guy was not someone to be trusted.

  “How did you get it back?” I pressed, not willing to give up just yet.

  “I took it,” he said. His eyes bore into mine, challenging me to keep going.

  “From the library?”

  “No, from Jasper.”

  “Where did he get it?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

  Damon shrugged.

  “Did you at least contact the library to let them know it had been found? Or the chancellor? They have an agreement with the publisher—”

  Damon stuffed the pages back into his briefcase and closed it. “Really not your problem, Lila.”

  I sputtered, indignant that he was treating the matter so lightly. Then again, he was a narcissist. He probably hadn’t spent one second thinking about the other people involved in the manuscript’s disappearance. I did not like this man spending time with my mother. But he was right—it wasn’t my problem. Still, I could let Ruth know, in any case, that it had been found.

  The bathroom door flung open and my mother emerged, freshly perfumed. The gardenia note hit me instantly even across the room. I stood up and moved toward the door.

  “Would you mind putting these clothes in your car? I don’t want to lug them around all day.” She held out a neatly folded pile comprising yesterday’s outfit.

  “Sure,” I said, receiving them on my upturned forearms.

  “Thank you, darling. Mina’s waiting downstairs—do you want to come with us?” She looked at Damon for confirmation.

  “Or I could drive you all,” I offered.

  “Jasper has a car,” Damon said curtly. “But before we go, I need to speak with you alone, Violet. If you don’t mind, Lila.” His tone implied that I had no right to mind and I had already overstayed my welcome. So I left.

  Chapter 21

  I parked in the lot near the English department—normally, I’d have walked from home—but my mother might need me to drive her after the reading. I wasn’t sure what her plans were.

  Calista happened to be passing by, so we made our way toward Brynson Hall together.

  I admired the black beret Calista wore atop her blonde bob. I wasn’t much of a hat person, and I respected those who could pull it off. It wasn’t just a question of plunking a chapeau on one’s head: there was a certain sort of insouciance necessary for beret-wearers, and my cousin had it in spades.

  “What happened to you at the chancellor’s party?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “After the whole thing with Damon, Nate was looking for you. Did he ever find you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He and Amanda both did.”

  “I think he was jealous,” she said, sounding delighted.

  “About what?” I concentrated on the sidewalk, unsure if I wanted to participate in this conversation.

  “Lex.”

  “Nothing to be jealous about. We barely had a chance to speak. Plus, Nate is dating Amanda—”

  “What did you think of her?” Calista asked. “Isn’t she great?”

  If you liked overachieving sprites.

  “But...” she continued, not waiting for me to answer. She paused to say hello in response to a student who greeted her, then lowered her voice. “I don’t think he wants to be with her.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “I mean,” Calista said, warming up to her subject, “she’s super smart, she’s nice, and she’s beautiful too.”

  “Right. Who would want to date someone like that?”

  She laughed. “You know what I mean. She’s perfect on paper, yeah, but he doesn’t love her. There’s chemistry, obviously, but it doesn’t seem like true love.”

  “Maybe they’re just having fun, Calista. Not everyone who dates is in love.”

  “True, but I think he’s looking for love. And honestly, I think he has feelings for you.” She stopped walking and turned to face me. “Do you have feelings for him too?”

  “What? Nate? No. We’re friends.”

  “I don’t know. There’s something in the air when you’re together, some
vibe that is palpable. You and Nate are soul mates, I think.”

  “You are such a romantic,” I said, smiling at her earnest face. “And I appreciate that about you. But Nate and I are just friends. Seriously. I don’t have time for any relationship things right now, anyway.”

  She waved that claim away. “There’s always time for relationships.”

  “Seems like there’s not even enough time for me to finish my work every day, much less date someone.”

  “Well, if he were interested, would you?”

  “No, Calista. Please don’t try to make anything happen. We’re just friends. In fact, that’s all I want us to be.”

  Her expression made it clear she doubted me.

  “Wait, if you think Nate and I should be together, why did you invite Lex to the reception?”

  She cocked a brow, her expression suddenly looking far less soft than just a moment before. In fact, she looked downright mischievous. “To make Nate jealous. Which I did.”

  “I may have underestimated you,” I admitted.

  “Most people do.” She readjusted her beret. “By the way, Lex is not too shabby either.”

  I agreed with her, but I didn’t want to discuss it right now. And luckily I had the perfect change of topic.

  “Let’s put a pin in that for now. I have to tell you something: you know how the manuscript went missing from the library? I just saw it—in Damon’s briefcase.”

  “What? How did it get there?” She gripped my arm for a moment. “I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I. But he has it.”

  “So weird,” she said. “Why would he steal it?”

  “He didn’t,” I said. “Jasper did.”

  “Jasper?” Calista thought for a moment. “Why would he want it?”

  “It’s probably worth quite a lot of money.”

  “But if he was going to sell it, why would he have given it back to Damon?”

  “Excellent point.”

  To ponder.

  We walked through the double doors of Brynson Hall together. Francisco was standing near the hallway next to the main auditorium, where people were filing in to claim their seats, almost an hour early. Looked like this would be another sold-out event. He beckoned us over, a grim look on his face.

  “Have you seen Damon?”

  “He’s on the way,” I said. “He’s walking over with Mina and Mom. They should be here any minute.” My mother had promised to deliver him to the event without allowing him to stop for drinks, if that was on his itinerary. I knew she’d be successful at diverting him if need be. And she was clearly content to be shepherding him over to the reading. Although I couldn’t understand her attraction to Damon, today there was a certain electric quality to her being. I guessed they had reaffirmed their fondness for each other—and if he made my mother happy, who was I to question his motives?

  Except that I didn’t want my mother to get hurt.

  I decided to have a talk with her about Damon tonight. To express my reservations. Then she would go ahead and do whatever the heck she wanted to do anyway. That’s how we did things.

  “I hope he gets here soon,” Francisco said. “We’re running out of time.”

  I checked my new watch. “We still have forty-five minutes. Don’t worry. And he might already be backstage. I had to park my car over by Crandall, so they may have beaten us both here.”

  We agreed that Calista would go and secure seats for us while Francisco and I went to look for Damon.

  We searched everywhere with no luck, then Francisco showed me to the room where Damon had waited before his first reading.

  “There’s still a half hour,” I said. “They’ll be here.” The sounds of audience members filling up the auditorium were muted by the cement walls, but the tranquility didn’t have a calming effect on Francisco.

  “This is a disaster,” he said desperately. “If they don’t show up, I’m done. The chancellor is already breathing down my neck about how everything is messed up. When I go up for tenure, I don’t want to be engraved in the chancellor’s memory as the candidate who humiliated Stonedale.” Francisco and I looked at each other for a long moment, then he exploded into a string of colorful curses.

  It was strange to catch a glimpse of Francisco’s typically cool exterior crumble. He always gave the impression of being able to handle anything, albeit impatiently. I wondered if Calista had witnessed his vulnerable side very often.

  “I’ll call my mother,” I said, already pressing her number in my contact list.

  Her voicemail answered, so I left a message asking her to please text me the anticipated arrival time.

  “At least we have good support in place,” he said. “Both Campus Security and Stonedale PD are out there.”

  It was reassuring, though I fervently hoped tonight went off without a hitch.

  A man in the familiar green facilities uniform poked his head into the room. “We can’t get the microphone to work,” he informed us. His nametag said “Gary.”

  Francisco resumed his swearing streak.

  “Can I do anything?” I asked Gary.

  “I can work on the electrical box, but we could try a different mic. There are a few more in the closet of the control booth—would you grab one?”

  “Sure.”

  He nodded curtly and wiggled a key off of the silver ring holding about sixty keys. How he kept those straight, I had no idea. “Here you go. Get one from the shelf marked ‘front stage.’”

  I took off at a jaunty clip out of the waiting room, only to realize I didn’t know where the control booth was. Sheepishly, I returned and asked for directions. It was in the auditorium proper, facing the stage—a glass booth along the back wall from which technicians ran the sound and lights for plays and musical performances. Simple events like readings could be handled backstage, but complex events required additional technologies. Gary added that the chancellor had paid extra to make sure the booth was completely soundproofed so there was no chance his wife Patsy had to suffer through the clicking of controls during her beloved chamber orchestra concerts.

  Gary snorted when he said that.

  I refrained from comment, which I thought was prudent.

  As I walked down the stairs stage right, I saw my mother, Damon, Mina, and Jasper coming toward me. They were laughing about something.

  “Lila, darling!” My mother hurried the last few steps and gave me a quick embrace. “Here we are, as promised.” She whispered into my ear, “And I haven’t let Damon have liquid of any kind.”

  “Great job, Mom.”

  I greeted the rest of the group and wished Damon good luck. He touched his forehead in something between a salute and a hat tip and followed my mother up the stairs.

  “Please thank the planning committee for making sure there’s security here,” Mina said. She grabbed my hand and put both of hers around it. “And thanks again for helping me on Sunday,” she added under her breath. To my surprise, she pulled me into a brief hug as well, just as my mother had.

  Whatever happened tonight, at least I’d been well-hugged.

  “Would you like to watch with us from backstage?” Jasper asked. “It’s a whole different experience.”

  “Thanks, but I’m going to sit with my friends. Just have to grab a microphone first.” I pointed to the back of the auditorium toward the sound booth and waved the key.

  “Is there something wrong with the sound system?” He looked slightly alarmed.

  “They think the current mic is shot. No worries—they’ll fix it up. They do it all the time,” I reassured him. “Hey, can I talk to you afterwards?”

  “About what?” Mina moved closer to him and put her arm through his possessively.

  “Damon said you found his manuscript.” I thought it wise to go with “found,” rather than the more
accusatory “stole.”

  Jasper stood perfectly still and blinked at me. It seemed, though it must have been an illusion, as if his blond spikes stood up slightly straighter too. I could see him struggling to decide how to respond.

  “Isn’t he the best?” Mina said, squeezing his arm. “My father was beside himself when that disappeared.”

  “Where was it?” I addressed Jasper again.

  He didn’t respond.

  “The manuscript?” I prodded. “How did you find it?”

  “Long story,” he said after an extended pause, no doubt buying himself some time to think of a good answer.

  “Well, congrats,” I said cheerfully, looking down at the key in my hand, which reminded me I had been sent on a mission. “Speak to you later? I really do want to hear more about the manuscript.” We agreed to meet after the reading out front.

  Mina pulled Jasper toward the stage. He still seemed thrown off by my question, stumbling as she tugged on his arm.

  I walked up the aisle, spotting Calista on the far side of the auditorium deep in conversation with Judith and Willa. Looked like she had scored some great seats in the second row. I made a mental note of her location so that I could find her once the crowd, which was pouring in at a steady rate, was settled.

  At last I reached the control booth. I fit the key into the lock; it turned smoothly and clicked. The door swung open quietly, and I felt around for a switch, which was right next to the door on my left. When the overhead lights came on, I found myself in a long rectangular space—something like mission control rooms I’d seen on television—with three levels. The lowest level featured a long board full of switches, buttons, and levers. A number of rolling chairs were clustered together at the far end; I supposed they were used to slide along the board as needed. Behind it was a row of chairs bolted to the ground with an empty counter in front of them; electrical outlets were spaced every so often, likely for laptops or other equipment. The backs of the chairs had vertical metal bars—very modern and clean design. The highest level was simply a flat empty space that could presumably be adapted for whatever was necessary. The second and third sections were divided by a waist-high silver bar in a long “U” with squared edges, probably to keep people from tumbling down from the third level.