Hocus Croakus (5 page)

“Arrr…” Renie began, but shut up.

The spotlight kept enlarging until it was big enough for a person to stand in its center. Then the light blinked for a single second. When it came back on, the Great Mandolini was in front of the spot, sitting in an armchair, reading a book and drinking a glass of water. The audience gasped and burst into applause.

“That was pretty good,” Joe commented. “This should be fun.”

And it was. Even Renie abandoned her sulk as the illusionist placed a tabby cat into a large empty box, closed the lid, and opened it again to reveal a tiger on a gold leash held by a beautiful blonde.

“That's Salome,” Judith whispered to Joe. “I met her in the elevator. In fact, I met another member of his troupe, too.”

Joe gave a faint nod. Mandolini introduced his assistant to a round of hearty clapping from the audience. Salome was wearing a clinging silk gown that matched the tiger's stripes. As she and the tiger pranced off the stage, Judith studied the Great One's appearance. He was wearing a traditional tuxedo but with an ascot instead of a bow tie. From such a distance, Judith couldn't guess his age, but figured him to be fairly young. He looked tall and lean, with brown hair grown a trifle long in the back. His movements were elegant as well as swift.

After a dozen illusions that included suspending Salome in midair and a white rose that turned into a falcon, the curtain closed, the houselights came up halfway, and Mandolini moved to the front of the stage. He spoke to the audience as if he were in the most intimate of settings.

“Before we perform our final—and most dangerous—segment, I'd like to tell you about how I got into this rather unusual business,” he began, his informal voice more high pitched than the one he used for creating his illusions. “I first became interested in magic—notice I use the word
magic
in this context—when I was about three. I had an uncle who loved to perform cards tricks and other simple sleight-of-hand stunts. My sister and my cousins and I were all fascinated, but I was the only one who thought about becoming a magician. I didn't realize that the profession involved far more sophisticated feats.”

Mandolini's words became less personal as he discussed Dedi, the first magician of historical record, who lived in Egypt almost six thousand years ago. Working his way up to the medieval magicians, he recounted how they introduced dice, cards, and coins from their bags of tricks. He had moved on from the Herrmann Brothers and Harry Blackstone when Renie let her head fall onto Bill's shoulder and she uttered a bogus snoring sound.

“How long, oh Lord, how long? I'm not here for a history lecture,” she griped as waiters removed the rest of their soiled tableware. “I'm here to gamble.”

Judith was also growing restless, but occupied herself with studying members of the audience. “People seem to come from all over,” she noted in a low voice. “Really, it's quite an ethnic mix. In fact, there seem to be a large number of Asians.”

“They love to gamble,” Bill said, “and they always seem very well heeled. I've noticed that in Nevada, particularly when I play baccarat.”

Renie lifted her head to look around. “Ah!” she exclaimed though she kept her voice down. “I see Petunia
Pig has been joined by Porky at what used to be our very nice table. They don't seem to be getting along. Maybe she ate his serving before he got there.”

Judith's gaze shifted to the tables near the stage. The woman who had taken over their spot was sitting with a balding, beefy man. With heads bent and bodies rigid, they appeared to be arguing. The other two seats were vacant.

Mandolini was talking about the amazing feats of Harry Houdini.

“I should escape so easily.” Renie sighed. “I think I'll disappear into the bathroom.”

“I'll go with you,” Judith said. “I hate to complain, because the tickets are free,” she went on as they reached the nearest rest room, “and Mandolini is really very good except for the monologue. But you know me, I can sit in one place only so long with this phony hip.”

“I can sit only so long with my disposition,” Renie replied as they entered adjoining stalls. “That's why I like doing my graphic-design work in the basement. I can get up to do the laundry in the other room or go outside and pull a few weeds.”

“Speaking of your work,” Judith said when they regrouped at the sink area, “when do you start your conference meetings?”

Renie wiped her hands on a paper towel as she made a face in the mirror. “Nine o'clock. What's worse, we're supposed to meet around eight-thirty for coffee and sweet rolls.”

Judith knew how much her cousin hated getting up early. Renie rarely rose before nine-thirty, and even then she didn't become fully conscious until after ten.

“That's going to be hard on you,” Judith said in
commiseration. “But it's only for three days. After that, you'll be free for the rest of our stay.”

“If I live through the—” Renie stopped as the lights flickered and the rest room went dark.

“The power must have gone out,” Judith said, surrendering the search in her purse for the lipstick that matched her red blouse.

Two other women were speaking in agitated voices as they came from the toilet area.

“Did you say the power went out?” one of them asked as they neared the cousins.

“Just a guess,” Judith replied. She couldn't see either woman in the pitch-black darkness. She couldn't see Renie, either. “We're in the mountains, after all. We have property nearby, and power failures happen every so often.”

An accented voice spoke from the toilet area. “What is happening? Are we in danger? Should I come out?”

“Yes,” Judith called to the woman, who sounded as if she was Asian. “Just be careful.” The tapping of high heels resounded on the tiled floor.

“Someone could get hurt,” the foreign woman said from somewhere near Judith. “Where is the sink?”

“Just follow my voice,” Judith said. “I'm close to the sinks.”

More tapping of heels, then the sound of a faucet. “I do not like this,” the woman said. “It is bad luck.”

“It won't last long,” Judith said in reassurance, though she hadn't any idea of when the power might be restored.

“Maybe,” Renie suggested, “it isn't out in the rest of the complex. Let's find the door.”

Judith groped for her cousin's arm. “Is that you?”

“Yes, coz,” Renie replied. “We should go left.”

They moved slowly, but eventually felt carpet beneath their feet. “This is the entrance to the rest room,” Judith said. “We have only a few more steps to the door.”

As the cousins cautiously moved forward, they heard a sound in front of them. A second later, Judith's arm was brushed by someone walking at a quick pace. There was no apology; the unseen newcomer had gone into the rest room.

Renie opened the door. The cabaret and the adjacent rest rooms were in the Autumn section, just off the video-poker slots. Except for a trio of flashlights cutting through the darkness, they could see nothing. They heard shouts, however, and what sounded like panicky voices.

Someone bumped into Renie from the back. “Hey, watch it!” she yelled. “Knucklehead,” she murmured. “The whole place is out. People shouldn't run around when they can't see where they're going. On the bright side—excuse the pun—maybe they'll cancel the conference.”

“What about our mothers?” Judith asked with concern. “They must be frightened.”

“They know what a power failure is like,” Renie replied. “Heck, we have them at home every so often. Remember, just a month ago the pole on the corner by our house caught fire and our whole side of Heraldsgate Hill was in the dark for two or three hours.”

“Yes, we had the same thing happen at the end of the cul-de-sac last summer,” Judith said as two workmen with Coleman lanterns scurried by. “Luckily, it was during the late morning and all the guests had left. Afterward, I wondered if it had been an omen of the B&B fire.”

“Let's hope this isn't an omen of something bad,” Renie said. “That woman with the accent gave me the creeps.”

“Don't be silly,” Judith retorted. “Do you want the casino to burn down?”

“Of course not,” Renie replied. “I meant like not winning.”

“Speaking of that,” Judith said, “how do they keep people from stealing money and chips off the tables?”

“The dealers and croupiers put covers over the house's portion,” Renie said. “I suppose there might be some petty thievery, but I've found gamblers to be pretty honest.”

It seemed to Judith that they were also pretty patient. Except for the dwindling number of those who seemed upset or scared, the general tenor of voices had turned jocular. Judith supposed that most gamblers had to be good sports, and therefore, good natured.

“I suppose our husbands have both nodded off by now,” Renie remarked. “After all the blah-blah from Mandolini, Bill and Joe may be in the mood for a post-prandial nap.”

“They'll wake up wondering where the TV remote is,” Judith said. “Joe does tend to doze in front of the—”

Suddenly, the lights came on, causing Judith and Renie to blink against the brightness.

“Thank goodness!” Judith exclaimed. “We'd better get back to our seats for the rest of the show.”

“Maybe it's over by now,” Renie said in a hopeful tone.

“The show couldn't go on without power,” Judith responded as they entered the cabaret.

The atmosphere inside the room was clearly one of
relief. The cousins heard nervous laughter and high-pitched chatter as they approached their table. Joe and Bill, however, looked resigned.

“What did you do now?” Bill asked Renie in a tone of reproach.

“Huh?” Renie arranged her long taffeta skirt as she sat down. “It wasn't me, honest.”

“At least,” said Joe, “you missed the rest of the monologue, all the way up through David Copperfield, Doug Henning, and Siegfried and Roy.”

Judith was surprised. “Mandolini kept talking?”

“Sure,” Joe said, offering Bill a cigar. “Why not? He doesn't need a mike in a place this size. Even if you can't see him, you can hear him.”

The houselights went down, causing a momentary stir. Apparently, some members of the audience were afraid that the power was failing again. But Pancho Green was onstage, reassuring the guests.

“We apologize for the brief inconvenience,” Pancho said with a self-deprecating smile. “In the two years that the Lake Stillasnowamish Resort Casino has been open, this is the first time we've had a power failure. We've been told that a heavy windstorm has been blowing in from the west and may have affected the power lines between Mount Nugget and Mount Woodchuck. We were about to switch to our auxiliary generator, but power was restored before we could do it. Enjoy the last part of the Great Mandolini's fabulous act, and we wish you luck and relaxation during your stay with us. Thank you.”

The audience applauded Pancho as he disappeared into the wings. The Flynns and the Joneses settled back in their seats as the curtains lifted on an empty stage.

“Do you think,” Judith whispered to Joe, “that the flicker of lights at the beginning of the show was planned or a power problem?”

Joe gazed at Judith through a cloud of cigar smoke. “That was part of the act. For all we know, the power failure was, too. Maybe something went wrong and they accidentally turned off the power in the whole casino.”

Judith frowned. It was possible, she thought, but she doubted it. Turning her eyes to the still-empty stage, the sitar music playing in the background, she had a sense of unease. Maybe, she told herself, it wasn't because the lights went out, but because of Bart Bednarik. His phone call had upset her, and Joe wouldn't allow her to share the bad news with him.

A brief flurry of what looked like snowflakes scattered across the empty stage. When the flakes evaporated, a goateed young man whose long, fair hair was tied back in a ponytail sat on a chair with an odd looking item in his lap. He moved his hands as if conducting an orchestra, and strange yet haunting music filled the air. At first, Judith detected the sound of a tuba, but it was followed by high-pitched tones that were more like squawks. The young man's hands never touched the instrument.

“What is it?” Judith whispered to Renie.

“I'm guessing it's a theremin,” Renie said. “My friend Melissa Bargroom told me about it. It's not magic, even though it looks like it. The theremin was the first electronic instrument, dating back to just after World War One.”

“I've never heard of it,” Judith said, “but being a music critic, Melissa ought to know.”

Another flurry, not of snow, but of brilliantly col
ored confetti, swept across the stage. When it evaporated, drums rolled and the houselights dipped for a few moments while a murmur of anticipation welled up from the audience.

Judith, however, remained distracted. She should have called her mother from the casino floor to make sure that the old ladies were all right. She should have called Bart Bednarik to spur him on with the B&B project. She should have checked with Corinne Dooley to make sure that Sweetums wasn't causing any feline problems with the neighbor children while the Dooleys cared for him in the Flynns' absence. Judith squirmed in her chair.

“And now,” the Great Mandolini announced, “for our finale, a truly death-defying performance by the lovely Salome.”

Instead of stagehands, Pancho Green and the young man who'd played the theremin pushed a large cabinet out of the wings. Salome produced two lethal-looking sabers from under her silver cloak. She handed the weapons to Mandolini. Deftly, Salome swirled the cloak around her body, revealing glimpses of a sparkling silver ball gown that dazzled the eye. Then she opened the cabinet, waved her hands every which way to show that it was empty, and stepped inside, closing the door behind her.