The Cats that Stopped the Magic

by Karen Anne Golden

  “Not my decision. Magic Harry makes up the rules.”

  “I’m sorry I interrupted. Okay, then what?”

  “The cats will run off-stage and get into their carrier,” Roy answered. “On stage, Harry will open the box all the way to show that Bardot is okay. Curtain will close.”

  “What act is this?”

  “Final act of the show.”

  “What about the curtain call? Will the Siamese be involved in that?”

  “No, not a good idea. Don’t you remember? The last time we tried it, it was a disaster. Cadabra soared off the stage and was trotting down the center aisle. It took two ushers to catch her.”

  Emma giggled at the memory. “I agree, probably not a good idea. But,” Emma beamed, then complimented, “Roy, you’re the best animal trainer I’ve worked with. I’m sure you could teach them to stay on stage during the curtain call.”

  “And do what? Fetch the roses that the audience throws on stage?” His cell phone rang the Lion Sleeps Tonight ringtone. He looked at the front of the phone at the name and frowned. “Excuse me. I’ve got to take this.”

  “Okay,” Emma said, stooping down to check on the cats.

  Roy walked away, and began pacing the floor. “Today?” he shouted in the phone. “You can’t be serious. Jimmy . . . please . . . I beg of you, stop harassing me. You’ll get your money on Sunday.”

  Roy hung up. He walked over and put his hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Can you do me a huge favor and not tell anyone what you just heard?”

  “Sure, no problem. Are you in some kind of trouble?”

  “Sort of. I made the mistake of borrowing money from a friend of a friend, and now he wants his money back.”

  “You mean you didn’t borrow from a bank?” she asked, arching her eyebrows with concern.

  “It goes like this, Ms. Emma,” Roy began with a scowl. “Harry’s a cheap bastard—”

  “Shhh, you don’t want Harry to hear you. You never know when he’s going to pop in.”

  “What I’m saying is I’ve had some big money expenses moving my wife here from Ohio and renting that uppity place.”

  “What uppity place? I thought you rented from your aunt?”

  “I did, but she’s charging me the same rent the previous tenants paid.”

  “How much do you owe? Can I help? I mean, I don’t have much, but . . .” her voice trailed off.

  “Twenty-five thousand.”

  Emma’s mouth dropped. “I take that back. I don’t have that much.”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “Have you gone to a bank?”

  Roy looked up and made a face. “Duh, do I look stupid? I went to the bank first. They wouldn’t loan it to me because I have a terrible credit history.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re stupid, but this person you owe money to, please tell me it’s not a loan shark?”

  “He’s the worst kind of shark.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He works for the mob.”

  Chapter Four

  Friday before Rehearsal

  Harry DeSutter, a fifty-five-year-old entertainer with dyed black hair and matching goatee, sat at the bar of the hotel’s cocktail lounge. He nervously looked at the clock on the wall, and then scanned the room for the umpteenth time. His insurance man, Ethan Montero, was fifteen minutes late, and in a few minutes, Harry had to meet someone else.

  Ethan, a tall, dark-haired, well-dressed man, hurried into the near-empty lounge and rushed over to Harry. “Mr. DeSutter, I must apologize. I had a problem getting a cab from the train station.”

  Harry shrugged, “I’m happy you’re here now. Have a seat.”

  Ethan placed his briefcase on the floor and hopped up on the barstool next to the magician.

  “Did you bring the documents I’m supposed to sign?” Harry asked.

  “Yes, I did. But, let’s grab a table in a minute, so you can sign them.”

  “That works. I’ve got a rehearsal in a few. How’s the insurance business?”

  “It’s doing great. I’m not at the office much. I’ve been traveling a lot to clients’ homes.”

  “That’s good. How have you been? Last time we spoke you said you were getting engaged.”

  Ethan smiled. “I’m officially engaged.”

  “Have you set the date?” Harry asked.

  “We’re getting married in August. I do hope you’ll come.”

  “Yes, of course, I wouldn’t miss it. Congratulations. This is wonderful news. Bartender,” he called to the man standing nearby, “Bring me another shot and make this young man a drink.”

  “What will it be?” the bartender asked, coming over.

  “Dry martini,” Ethan said. “Shaken, not stirred.”

  The bartender nodded and went to the other end of the bar to mix the drink. When he was out of earshot, Harry asked, “I’ve never been married. How did you know you wanted to marry . . . oh, forgive me, I’ve forgotten her name.”

  “Megan Plummer. Every time I’m near her, I feel like electricity is jolting between the two of us.”

  Harry tipped his head back and laughed loudly. “Sounds like something I should put in my Hocus-Pocus show.”

  Ethan grinned. “Speaking of your show, I know you’re busy, so let’s get down to business. I’ve increased the insurance on your Siamese performers. They’re currently insured for twenty-five thousand per cat, but I’ve upped it to one-hundred-thousand dollars.”

  “Per cat?”

  Ethan nodded.

  “That sounds about right,” Harry noted.

  Ethan continued, “In the event they are accidentally killed while performing, lost in transit, or stolen, you’d be covered. But, don’t mind me asking — and this is between you and me — why so much on the cats, when the insurance on your other performers is far less?”

  “These cats are very special. They’ve become very popular with my audience, and because of that, my ticket sales have gone sky-high.”

  The bartender set down two drinks.

  “Thank you,” Harry said. “Charge this to my room. I’m in Room 216.”

  “Yes, sir, will do,” the bartender said, moving to the cash register.

  Ethan took a drink out of his glass, and then glanced at his watch, “Let’s get the paperwork signed. Actually, we don’t need a table. We can do it here.” He slid off the barstool and picked up his briefcase. He set the case on the bar and opened it. Extracting two documents, he passed them to Harry. “Just sign here, here and here, and we’re good to go.”

  “Does the policy change take effect immediately?”

  “Since you already have other policies with us, the answer is yes. The increase in the premium will show up on your next statement. I’ll get this back to the office pronto.”

  “I appreciate it,” Harry said, then noticed the short, balding man who had just walked in. “Warren, over here.”

  The man approached Harry and said, “Hello. I’m a little bit early, but I thought you’d be anxious to see the new prototype drawing.” He held the rolled-up drawing in his hand.

  “No problem. Hey, you want to join us for a drink, then talk business?”

  Ethan bowed out. “Listen, I better go.” He hurriedly finished his drink.

  “Before you rush off, Ethan, this is Warren. He’s in charge of my props and gizmos that I use in the show.”

  “Hello,” Ethan said, shaking Warren’s hand.

  “Please to meet you.”

  “Sorry to dash off,” Ethan said, grabbing his briefcase. “It’s been great to see you, Harry. Nice to meet you, Warren. Take care now,” he said, leaving the lounge.

  Harry called after him, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Ethan was already out the door and didn’t hear him.

  Warren suggested to Harry, “Can we get a table? I’ve got the prototype drawn up. I can’t wait to show you.”

  “Sure, of course.” Harry slid off the barstool
and walked to a table in the back of the lounge.

  Warren unrolled the drawing and placed the nearby salt and pepper shakers on the edges to keep it flat. He began to explain, “Per your instructions, I’ve designed a version of your magician’s box, but smaller in scale.”

  “What about the retractable saw blade? I want you to make sure it doesn’t come anywhere near my performer.”

  “Oh, be assured, I’m working on that. One thing that I know for sure is the saw is much quieter than the bigger-sized one.”

  “Great. There are two things you must keep in mind. Number one, we don’t want the saw’s noise to freak out the animal. Second, we don’t want to cut the animal in two.”

  “I assure you, everything in the design is quite safe. By the way, which animal will be in the box? I’ll need measurements of their body size.”

  “The performer will be one of my Siamese cats. Come to the rehearsal in a few minutes and you can measure her then. Just don’t tell anyone why you’re doing this. Just say it’s for a new costume.”

  “Why?”

  Harry became irritated, “Because I haven’t told my trainer yet about the new act.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “How soon can you have it made?”

  “The guy who’s building it said it would take a few days.”

  “Perfecto! Now, I must dash off. Thanks, Warren.”

  “You’re quite welcome,” Warren answered.

  Chapter Five

  Friday in Oyster Bay —The Interview

  A black four-door sedan pulled up in front of the Beaux-Arts mansion and stopped. “Here we are,” the driver announced to the passenger in the back seat.

  “Are you sure this is the correct address?” the passenger asked, amazed by the grandeur of the three-story house.

  “I’ve been on this run many times before. I’m positive.”

  Julia Jackson stepped out of the car service, grabbed her nurse-on-wheels bag, and thanked the driver. “How much do I owe you?” she asked.

  The driver powered down his window. “Nothing, for this ride. It’s on the house.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I want to break the nurse curse.” He exploded with laughter. “Nurse curse, that’s a good one,” he said, slapping the steering wheel.

  “What curse is that?” Julia asked uneasily.

  “It goes like this, ma’am. Every time I bring a nurse from the agency to this address, I get a call back pretty darn quick. Seems the lady of the house is hard to deal with, so I have to hurry back and pick ‘em up. Lately, I’ve just been parking at the end of the lane, waiting for the call. I’m hoping this time, if I don’t charge you anything, you won’t be calling me, crying your eyes out.”

  “I’m a professional. I don’t ‘cry my eyes out.’ This isn’t my first rodeo. Maybe I’ll have a different car service pick me up,” she began firmly, “so I don’t have to listen to some smart-aleck driver tell me my business.”

  “Okay, ma’am. Have it your way.” He stepped on the gas and drove out of the circular drive.

  “Nuts,” Julia said under-her-breath. She climbed several steps to the mansion’s front landing and stopped. She stood in awe, studying the architecture. “Wow,” she said aloud. “I love this house.” She rang the bell, and soon an older woman dressed in a two-piece navy-blue suit answered the door.

  The woman asked, “Are you Ms. Jackson from the agency?”

  “Yes,” Julia answered. “Are you Mrs. Lincoln?”

  “No, I’m Mrs. Lincoln’s personal assistant. Please come in. Mrs. Lincoln is in the library. Follow me,” the woman guided.

  Julia followed, careful not to trip on the thick oriental hallway rug. Her eyes quickly scanned the foyer with the oil paintings on the wall, the Art Deco vases and lamps on the side tables. The entrance alone reminded her of one of the period rooms at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

  The assistant knocked on a door, then opened it. “Mrs. Lincoln, the nurse is here.”

  “Thank you, Margo. Please show her in.”

  Margo turned to the nurse. “You may go in, dear.” As Julia stepped inside, Margo whispered, “Best of luck,” then she closed the door.

  Mrs. Lincoln was sitting on a red damask chair in front of a crackling fire in the fireplace. Above the mantel was a life-size portrait of a woman with a cat. Julia couldn’t help but admire the gilded-framed oil painting of a woman standing with a Siamese cat perched on her shoulder.

  Olivia asked, “Hello, are you Ms. Jackson?”

  “Yes, but please call me Julia.”

  “I’m Mrs. Lincoln, but please call me Olivia.” Olivia laughed, breaking the tension of an awkward introduction. “Have a seat,” she said, pointing to a matching chair.

  “Thank you.” Julia sat down and pulled her nurse-on-wheels bag to her side. She asked, “Is that you in the portrait?”

  “Why, yes, it is. I have to say, you’re the first nurse I’ve interviewed that ever noticed it.”

  “I love Siamese cats,” Julia said, beaming. “I grew up with one. Princess lived to be twenty-two-years-old.”

  “That’s quite an old age. I’m sorry to say my Duchess didn’t live that long,” Olivia answered.

  “I’m sorry,” Julia said with a concerned expression. “Every time one of my beloved cats crosses the rainbow bridge, another piece of my heart is broken.”

  “I know the feeling all too well. Have you had many cats?”

  “I’d say over the years I’ve had a dozen or more.”

  “I know it’s considered rude to ask a woman her age, but how old are you?”

  “I don’t think it’s rude. I’m fifty-four.”

  Olivia smiled. “Do you have any cats now?”

  “No, not with me. I got married several months ago, and my husband doesn’t want any pets. I left my black cat, Maggie, with my mom back home.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “I know,” Julia answered gloomily. “I miss my mom and my Maggie something awful.”

  “Where are you from? I hear a hint of an accent.”

  “I’m from Ohio.”

  “Ohio? How on earth did you end up in Oyster Bay?”

  “My husband has an aunt who lives several miles from here. We rent her carriage house.”

  “What’s her name? Perhaps I know her.”

  “Penelope Chadwick.”

  “I don’t believe we’ve met. Is your husband from this area?”

  “Actually, he’s an army brat. He’s lived all over the world.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s an animal trainer for a magician.”

  “Is that so?” Olivia asked curiously. “Does he work nearby?”

  “Right now, Roy, that’s my husband’s name, is working in one of the resort hotels in the Catskills. That’s where his boss has his magic show.”

  “Interesting,” Olivia said casually.

  The library door opened. Roland walked in carrying a tray with a Blue Willow design teapot and several matching cups. “Hello,” he greeted. “I thought you two might enjoy a cup of tea.”

  “How sweet,” Olivia said.

  “Thank you,” Julia said. “You’re very kind.”

  “Roland, this is Julia,” Olivia introduced. “I’ve decided she would be perfect for the job because we have something in common.”

  “What’s that?” Roland grinned. He was happy the interview was going well.

  “Julia loves cats, and she once had a Siamese.”

  “Imagine that,” Roland said, setting down the tray on the small table between the two chairs. “Julia, I’m the husband.”

  “I apologize for my manners. This is my husband, Roland. Roland, this is Julia Jackson.”

  Julia smiled. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Olivia said, “Roe, Julia is the first nurse to ever notice the painting. Can you tell her the story about it?”

  “I’d love to hear it.” Julia leaned forward w
ith interest.

  “I’d be glad to tell it in just a minute.” Roland reached down and poured tea into two cups. “My Olivia takes her tea with a lump of sugar,” he said, dropping a cube of sugar into her cup. How about you, Julia?”

  “I take it plain.”

  “Plain?” he asked.

  “I mean no sugar, please.”

  Roland handed a cup to Olivia and then Julia. He walked over to the portrait. “I commissioned this painting from a local artist. My Olivia, when she felt better, volunteered at the mission’s soup kitchen. Every time she went, she’d take Duchess along with her. Duchess loved to ride—”

  “On my shoulder,” Olivia finished. “Duchess made so many people happy. Everyone wanted to talk to her or pet her. My darling Siamese loved it.”

  “Mrs. Lincoln, that is such a wonderful story,” Julia admired.

  “Please, call me Olivia. Now, Julia, do you accept the position?”

  Julia was surprised by the sudden offer. “Don’t you want to see my résumé?”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. If the agency cleared you, I’m sure your credentials are just fine.”

  Julia smiled. “If you don’t mind, I have a few questions. I was told that the hours would be nine to five, Monday through Friday. Is that correct?” she asked.

  “That works for me.”

  “And, can you tell me my duties?”

  Olivia took a sip, then said, “Basic nursing. I’d expect you to make sure I take my meds on time and make sure I eat. Sometimes I forget to eat. It would be nice to have a schedule. Oh, and go with me to doctor and treatment appointments.”

  “Sounds right up my alley, but I should tell you right off the bat, I don’t have a car.”

  Roland piped in, “We have a driver who will take you wherever Olivia needs to go.”

  Julia’s eyes grew big. “For real?” she asked, then fumbled, “I mean I’ve never worked for anyone who had a personal driver.”

  Olivia and Roland glanced at each other, and then laughed.

  Roland said, “We’re a little bit spoiled.”

  Olivia asked, “One more thing. Do you like old movies?”

  Julia grinned. “Yes, I do. My husband teases me and calls me a movie buff.”

  Olivia laughed. “That’s what Roe calls me. Who is your favorite Hollywood director of the past?” she quizzed.