Crimes of Magic: The Yard Sale Wand

by Richard L. King

  We decided that we shouldn’t hang around waiting to be discovered, so we ran down the sidewalk for two blocks and then turned at a smaller street. We walked about halfway down that block, which had no streetlights. Rachel turned into a long, dark driveway.

  “This will have to do,” she said as she stopped halfway down the driveway. “Set up the circle here.”

  There was enough light for me to get everything set up on the small newsprint magic circle. We didn’t need the automatic snap-back, so I didn’t use the three cards that activated that feature. For a homing beacon, I used half of a hand-painted postcard. The other half was taped underneath the coffee table in my living room.

  “I’m ready,” I said.

  “I wish we didn’t have to leave the circle behind. It’s evidence,” Rachel said.

  “No problem,” I said. I took a charcoal pencil out of a pocket and drew the Fire Starter Spell just outside the circle in one corner of the paper. I used a delay of one minute and twelve seconds. In the diagonally opposite corner of the paper, I drew the spell with a one-minute delay, figuring it took me about twelve seconds to draw it.

  “This newsprint will burn completely,” I said. “There won’t be any evidence left behind.”

  “Hit it!” Rachel said, and I activated the spell. Shimmer, flash, shimmer, and we were in my living room, safe and sound.

  Chapter 9

  “I wonder if the fire department came to Moshi’s house,” Rachel said.

  “We’ll have to check the internet news and see,” I replied.

  “Oh yeah, news for what city?” Rachel asked sarcastically.

  “Oh. You’re right. We have no idea where we were.”

  “I’m just teasing, Professor. We were in Huntington Beach, California.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Moshi had some letters on his desk, and his name isn’t Moshi. It’s Samuel Sagami. I ‘accidentally’ stole one of his letters,” Rachel said as she unfolded a letter from her pocket.

  “Who writes letters anymore?” I asked.

  “This one is from his mortgage company. Evidently he’s missed a couple of payments. What’s important is that Moshi needs money. That’s very good news.”

  “Why is that good news?”

  “If Moshi was an accomplished magician, he wouldn’t be hurting for cash,” Rachel explained. “This makes me think that he’s a hired henchman. That also explains why he wasn’t familiar with the wand and what its symbols looked like.”

  “But he had a Coriolis,” I argued.

  “If you hired a henchman to get a magical object for you, wouldn’t you lend him your Coriolis to make sure he didn’t get ripped off?”

  “Absolutely,” I agreed. “That also explains why Moshi’s Coriolis had all three symbols permanently engraved on it. It was a single-purpose instrument given to Moshi to verify the magic wand. But what about the dradle he used to hypnotize us while he got away?”

  “Now that Dream Dradle is probably a valuable magical device,” Rachel said. “Would you trust a henchman with something like that?”

  “Well, let me think,” I said. “Let’s say I’m a magician and Moshi is my henchman. Let’s also assume that Moshi has done work for me before—satisfactory work, so I continue to use him. I would give him cash to buy the wand, because that would be the easiest way to get it. Evidently, he gave Moshi $500, because that was his highest offer.

  “As Moshi’s boss, I figure that if $500 won’t buy the wand, then the seller isn’t willing to part with it. I could have given Moshi $1,000, but maybe I don’t trust him with that much cash—he’s just a henchman, after all. So, if the seller won’t take Moshi’s money, what can I do? Moshi has to steal the wand, of course.

  “The best time to steal the wand is after the seller refuses Moshi’s best offer, so I have to provide Moshi with a foolproof way to steal the wand. Therefore, I lend Moshi the Dream Dradle that hypnotized us for three hours. So, yes, I would have to trust Moshi with both magical devices so that I would be sure to obtain the wand.”

  “I was wondering if Moshi flew back home or if he translocated,” Rachel said. “This is leading me to believe that he had to fly. He obviously isn’t a magician and couldn’t translocate, or maybe he just didn’t have a homing beacon for Portland. Let me check available flights.”

  Rachel took out her phone and began rapidly thumbing data into an app.

  “I’m not finding any nonstop flights leaving around noon. It looks like he would have to stop in San Francisco. He would land at John Wayne between four thirty and five at the earliest.”

  Rachel tapped and swiped her phone for a few more seconds. “According to Google maps, the drive time from John Wayne to Huntington Beach is about twenty-five minutes. That means he would get home between five and six o’clock.”

  “That’s early enough for his employer to come get the wand,” I said.

  “That’s right,” Rachel agreed. “His employer, obviously a magician, could easily translocate to Moshi’s house, so why didn’t he come get the wand?”

  “Maybe Moshi didn’t tell him that he had stolen the wand,” I suggested.

  “Yes, but why?”

  “Good question,” I agreed.

  “Obviously Moshi needed money,” Rachel continued, “so the sooner he got paid the better. Why didn’t he immediately arrange for the wand to be picked up by his employer?”

  “There must have been some profit in waiting,” I proposed.

  “$500,” Rachel said. “He wanted to keep the $500 he should have used to buy the wand. He planned to tell his employer that he got the wand for $500, but he had to think through all the ramifications of the lie.”

  “Right!” I said. “That’s brilliant. If I were a crooked henchman, that’s what I would do.”

  “Moshi was probably trying to figure out if his employer would know if he had used the Dream Dradle on us. He had to concoct some story to explain why he used the Dradle if you were willing to sell him the wand, just in case his employer knew about it. I think he decided to sleep on it to make sure he had a good story.”

  “I have to admit it, Rachel,” I said. “I think you have it figured out. It’s most likely that his employer doesn’t yet know that Moshi got the wand.”

  “Even better, I doubt if Moshi even took any photos of the wand. He intended to turn it over to his employer tomorrow.”

  “So what will Moshi do now that the wand is destroyed?” I asked.

  “Hmmm, this isn’t good,” Rachel said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Moshi failed to deliver the wand. He probably won’t get paid for this job, and he definitely won’t want to take the blame for the failure. He’ll have to find someone else to blame.”

  “Us?” I asked.

  “Us,” Rachel said. “Moshi will most likely blame us for breaking into his house and stealing back the wand. He’ll claim that he paid us the $500, and we stole the wand back.”

  “That’s not a very good story,” I replied. “First, we would have to know how to find Moshi’s house. Second, if we stole the wand back, how would he explain the fire in his office? To find Moshi’s house, we would have to be magicians.”

  “Good points,” Rachel agreed. “What would you do if you were Moshi?”

  “Well, let’s see. First, I need a reason for not giving the wand to my employer the same day I found it. Second, I need a reason that I no longer have the wand. Third, since I failed to accomplish my mission, I need to claim that I bought the wand, if I want to keep the $500. And fourth, I need to explain why there was a fire in my house.”

  “That about covers it,” Rachel said.

  “If I was really thinking ahead, I would have taken a later flight to Orange County. I could claim that it took me longer to get a meeting with us and convince us to sell the wand. That way I would have a boarding pass that proved I didn’t get home until very late.”

  “Uh oh,” Rachel interrupted. “I
just thought of another reason why Moshi’s employer didn’t come to get the wand.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Maybe his employer is in Europe. That’s eight hours later than here. Six o’clock here would be two in the morning there.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked.

  “Yeah, it could be Seth.”

  “Crap!” Seth is an English Master Wizard, our nemesis, with whom we have previously contended.

  “Moshi knows my name, because it’s on my office door. Once Moshi reports to Seth and describes us, our cover is blown.”

  “Game over,” I remarked.

  “All these speculations we’ve come up with about why Moshi held onto the wand could have been wasted thinking.”

  “On the bright side,” I said, “at least we accomplished two of our goals. We took the heat off of Willow, and we still have the wand.”

  “Yes, but Goal Two, make sure we aren’t bothered anymore, is a fail,” Rachel said.

  “Sir Walter Scott said it best,” I quoted, “Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.”

  “I thought that was Shakespeare.”

  “A common misconception,” I replied.

  “Whatever, now we have to prepare to meet Moshi’s boss. This job is obviously too difficult for a henchman to accomplish, so we’re going to face the big gun—Seth.”

  Chapter 10

  The next morning was a Monday, and I slept in late, because I didn’t get to bed until after two o’clock in the morning. I was in the process of making coffee, when my phone rang with Rachel’s ringtone, “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.”

  “What’s up?” I asked when I answered the call.

  “We have a new case.”

  “You mean in addition to Moshi and the Snoozer?”

  “That’s right. Charlene called, and she needs our help.”

  “Well come on up and tell me all about it,” I said.

  Charlene Mosley is a lawyer at the Hastings-Cooley law firm. Hastings-Cooley, and especially Charlene, are Rachel’s long-time clients. Rachel interned at Hastings-Cooley while she was an undergraduate at the University of Oregon. After graduation, Rachel decided to become a private investigator rather than go on to law school.

  Charlene is one of the few people that we have told about magic, and I was guessing that the case she had for us might involve magic. In the Case of the Witch’s Artifact, Charlene was the pro bono defense attorney for Caite Crenshaw, the owner of the Moonstone Crystal and Herb Shop, when Caite was accused of murder.

  Rachel knocked on my door, let herself in, and joined me in the kitchen.

  “Charlene has a client accused of murder,” Rachel said.

  “Murder? Sounds like an important case,” I replied. “How are we going to handle Charlene’s case when we have Moshi, and possibly Seth, to worry about?”

  “We’ll just have to juggle both cases at the same time.”

  “Does Charlene’s case involve magic?”

  “She thinks it might. I told her that my hourly rate has gone up now that you and I are partners, and we’re the only P.I.’s who know magic.”

  “Did she flinch?”

  “Not a bit. Lawyers just pass through their expenses to the client, and this isn’t a pro bono case. This client is rich.”

  “Who’s the client?”

  “A woman named Mary Martingale who is accused of killing her husband, Seymour.”

  “The spouse is always the first suspect in a murder. Tell me more.”

  “That’s just about all I know, so far. We have a meeting with Charlene at one o’clock.”

  “That gives us a little over two hours. Would you like some breakfast?”

  “I ate already, but I’d like some of your special coffee.”

  “Today it’s just Starbuck’s House Blend,” I replied.

  “Your coffee is always special no matter what you put in the pot.”

  “You don’t mind if I have a little cottage cheese do you? I haven’t eaten anything yet this morning.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I know if your blood sugar gets low you get grouchy.”

  “I feel the grouch sneaking up on me as we speak,” I said as I took some Knudson’s cottage cheese and half-and-half out of the refrigerator. The coffee had finished brewing, so I poured a cup for each of us—black for Rachel, with half-and-half for me.

  “How did you sleep last night?” I asked.

  “Sort of fitfully. I kept thinking about what our next move should be with Moshi, but I couldn’t come up with anything.”

  “Sometimes it’s best just to wait and respond to what happens,” I suggested.

  “I prefer to control the situation if I can,” Rachel replied.

  “You know, sometimes I think that control is just an illusion. It’s just a quality we attach to events after they happen. I’m not sure we’re really ever in control of our fates.”

  “Are you talking about predestination?” Rachel asked.

  “No, not exactly. There’s a difference between not controlling the future and having the future pre-defined. Maybe it’s just me, but I often feel like I’m just floating down the river of life on an inner tube, bumping into other floaters and watching swimmers fighting the current.”

  “Well then, maybe I’m a swimmer,” Rachel said. “I want to know what’s around the bend and if I need to avoid any rocks, not to mention sharks.”

  “Sharks are salt water fish. My river is fresh water.”

  “Don’t be so literal, Professor. We’ve bumped into several sharks while trying to pilot our private investigation raft down your river of life. You’re getting too philosophical for a Monday morning.”

  “You’re right, as usual,” I admitted. “Thanks for grounding me. I can get lost in my head.”

  “Speaking of which,” Rachel said, “I have a thought that keeps popping up in my head. It’s not logical, but I can’t help but think it.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Do you think that having both these cases at the same time is a coincidence or is it our destiny?”

  “Now who’s being philosophical? Maybe ‘coincidence’ is a quality we attach to events when we can’t attach ‘control’ to them. Both Ward and Gabriel have warned us that ‘coincidences’ will be more commonplace now that we are involved with magic.”

  “Professor, my brain hurts. Pour me some more coffee. I know you think about these things all the time, but it’s a brain strain for me. I just want to know what to do next.”

  “I can answer that,” I said. “Next, we go talk to Charlene. Go down and change out of your sweats. I’ll put on some business clothes and meet you on the porch at twelve thirty. I assume you’re driving.”

  “Good—an action plan. See you at twelve thirty. I’ll drive,” Rachel said as she gulped down her coffee and left my apartment.

  I went to my bedroom and changed into a casual short-sleeved shirt tucked into tan pants with brown loafers. That’s about as formal as I get, except for weddings and funerals. At twelve thirty, I went down to the front porch.

  “You look good, partner,” Rachel said as I stepped out the front door.

  “So do you, as always,” I replied.

  Rachel was dressed simply in a white sleeveless blouse, black skirt, no stockings, and black flats. Even though Rachel is only five foot six, she rarely wears heels.

  “I brought my magic bag, just in case,” I said.

  “This is just an information-gathering meeting, so we shouldn’t need it. We’ll leave it in the car. Come on, we’ll take Fred to Charlene’s office.”

  We live in Northwest Portland and Charlene’s office is downtown in a high-rise office building. There was the usual Monday afternoon traffic, so it took us a little while to get there. Hastings-Cooley has offices on the two top floors of the building. It is a prestigious law firm, and you have to have money to be one of their clients. Unless, that is, you are one of Charlene’s pro
bono clients. According to Rachel, Charlene would have already been made a partner in the firm if she had more billable hours; but Charlene has a soft heart and will defend clients, usually women, who have no money.

  We took the elevator to the top floor where we introduced ourselves to the receptionist. She knew Rachel, of course, and she had seen me once before, but she didn’t seem to remember me. She buzzed Charlene and Charlene came out to meet us.

  “Rachel, Professor how are y’all doing. You two are a sight for sore eyes.”

  Charlene has a charming Southern accent. Her law degree is from the University of Alabama. She’s a tall woman, Rachel said that she describes herself as being five foot twelve. She is approximately my age and is attractive enough, but if it weren’t for her height, she wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. She wore a suit appropriate for a middle-aged female lawyer. She escorted us back to her office which had large floor-to-ceiling windows giving a magnificent view of the city.

  “Have a seat; take a load off,” Charlene said as she motioned to two chairs in front of her desk. She sat behind the desk, and we took our seats.

  “It’s good to see you again, Professor,” Charlene said. “And thanks for using the door to come in this time.”

  Charlene was referring to the first time we met when I magically translocated into her office to demonstrate that magic is real.

  “It’s really good to see you, too, Charlene,” I replied. “You’re looking good.”

  “Aren’t you as sweet as pecan pie. I’m just holding myself together with baling wire.”

  I was pleased that Charlene was speaking to me so informally. It meant that she had accepted me as a friend, not just Rachel’s business partner.

  “What have you got for us, Charlene?” Rachel asked.

  “My client, Mary Martingale, is accused of killing her husband, Seymour. They’re the owners of Martingale Asian Antiquities, a world-renown dealer in antiques and artifacts. Yesterday at 6:45 PM, their maid knocked on the door of their home office to let them know that dinner was ready to be served. The maid had observed them both going into the office sometime shortly after six. There was no response to the maid’s knock, so she tried to open the door, but it was locked.