Now You See It (16 page)

“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 over 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.”

“I'll tell him. Did you find out who's stealing things? I'm available.”

“Thanks, but we've got it under control. The receptionist is going to make sure the side doors are locked during taping. We think that's how our thief is getting in.”

“If that doesn't work, give me a call.”

She thanked me and hung up. I went in search of a snack. Camden was already in the kitchen hunting for a Coke in the fridge. He tossed me one.

“Your sweetie just called. She wants you to know she's doing her best to keep Sheila from predicting.”

“I hope she can.”

“I've got to do some work on Sandy's case. I've run out of places to look for her bracelet. Guess I'll retrace my steps and see if I missed anything.”

“I could always give it a try.”

“I'll let you know.” I wasn't ready to have Camden's help. Unlike tracking Taft's murderer, finding a bracelet wasn't a life or death situation. Even though it bugged me not to have solved her case, I knew Sandy would be patient.

“Oh, that's all right, David,” she said when I called her. “I've been so busy with various functions lately. I did have a few phone calls, though, from people who thought they had my bracelet and wanted a reward. Of course, none of them knew about the initials, so when I asked them to describe the bracelet, they always left out that important little detail.”

“Sorry you're being hassled about it.”

“Well, you never know. Someone honest might find it and call me.”

“How did these people know you'd lost a bracelet?”

“Oh, word's gotten around the club, and once that happens, the world knows. It's all right, really.”

“Sandy, I wish all my clients were as understanding as you.”

“I know you're doing everything you can.”

I thanked her and hung up. Her upbeat attitude made me even more determined to find her bracelet. Was I doing everything I could? I checked off the places I'd searched: jewelry stores, pawnshops, the country club, the churches. Maybe, like all the magicians kept telling me, it was right before my eyes and I couldn't see it.

Rufus wandered into my office, looking particularly scraggly in his worn bib overalls and Harley Davidson t-shirt. I wouldn't have been surprised to see a mouse peering out from the undergrowth that was his beard. I didn't want to provoke the beast, but I had to ask.

“How's the hangover?”

“Ain't no big thing.” He settled himself into the chair across from my desk and pulled out his tobacco pouch. “Want somethin' to do?”

“I've got plenty to do, thanks. What's up?”

“Your little romance with Kary's getting along pretty good, right?”

“Pretty good.”

“Then you tell me what the hell I can do to fix things with Angie.”

“Marry her.”

“Aw, hell. That dog won't hunt.”

“Translation, please.”

Rufus dug a wad of tobacco from the pouch and stuffed it in one cheek. “I ain't ready for that.”

“Who is?”

“Well, you, for one. Can't go anywhere in this house without stepping on your tongue.”

“Are you in love with Angie?”

He squinted at me, so I figured he was thinking about it. “Yep.”

“Have you told her? Maybe that's all she needs to hear right now. Come on. We can have a double wedding. No, a triple wedding, if Camden decides to man up.”

Rufus shifted the wad of tobacco to his other cheek. “Think that's likely?”

“Let's all get it over with.”

“I dunno. You can put your boots in the oven, but that don't make 'em biscuits.”

“What? Speak English, damn it.”

Rufus leaned forward. “What I mean, Yankee boy, is that it's a bigger commitment than anybody thinks, and just sayin' ‘let's get married' don't cut it. You gotta have a plan. You gotta have resources.”

I knew what he meant. “You're not making enough money.”

He sat back with a sigh that ruffled his beard. Any mice in there needed to hang on. “Want Angie to have everything she deserves, you know?”

“I know. But if she loves you, she won't care about that.”

“But I care. I want the time to be right. She's just gonna have to wait.” He looked around for a place to spit.

“Not in here,” I said.

“Where's your trash can?”

“Go out in the yard. But before you go, let me ask you something. The bartender at the Bombay Club told one of her employees to shape up or he'd be sorrier than a mustard-eating frog on Sunday. First of all, do frogs eat mustard, and second, why Sunday? Are there other days on which said frog would be less sorry?”

He shrugged. “Same as a jumped-up toad in a pickle barrel.”

“That doesn't make any sense, either! How do these sayings get started? You have to be making these up as you go along.”

“Nah. Heard ‘em all my life. Part of our colorful Southern heritage. You like that? ‘Heritage'?”

“I'm impressed. How about he looked like death sucking a sponge?”

“Same as death eatin' a cracker, only messier.”

“Thanks for clearing that up.”

He pulled himself out of the chair and went to the door where he turned for his usual parting joke. “Know what a redneck's last words are?”

“Lay it on me.”

“‘Hey, ya'll watch this!'” He gave a snort of laughter and left.

Yeah, watch this. Watch the Three Stooges lose the women they loved because they were too busy trying to figure out what they wanted. We would all be sorrier than mustard-eating frogs or pickle barrel toads.

I was still wondering what else I could do when Jordan called. I was a little surprised to hear from him until I realized he wanted some information.

“Randall, I'm sure you've been talking to Rahnee Nevis. What's the deal between her and Taft Finch?”

“They were having an affair. She's not a suspect, is she? I haven't been able to find a motive.”

“That's what she told me. And she was not planning to sell the club to anyone.”

“That's right.”

“Just crossing some t's here.”

“Then cross one for me. Do you know the cause of death?”

“Apparently, Taft Finch had a drink Sunday morning and either forgot and took some pills along with it, or someone had already mixed the pills in for him. One second here.” I heard the click of his keyboard. “The report says ‘doxylamine succinate, a short-term sedative, and traces of diphenhydramine.' It's my guess these two things should not be together.”

Doxylamine was the name Nick used for Taft's blue pills. “I can't imagine he forgot. Rahnee and Lucas both told me Taft rarely used his sleep medication, and he would've known better than to wash it down with alcohol.”

“That's why this is a murder investigation.”

“Then someone big and strong would have to put Taft in the trunk—unless he was tricked into getting in.”

“Well, of the three people who have keys to the club, only Ms. Nevis fits that description.”

I didn't like the way this was going. “Are you trying to paint her as the woman scorned? I think she and Taft were genuinely friends.”

“Didn't you and Cam take a little trip to Charlotte this morning?”

“Wow, your spies are everywhere.”