Now You See It (2 page)

He looked around as if someone might be hiding in one of the boxes around us, listening, and lowered his voice. “There's a fake cinder block in the back wall of the storage room. I discovered it quite by accident. You can push it in, and there's a hollow place in the wall just big enough for the box. It's the seventh block up from the floor.”

“Why didn't you call the police, Mr. Finch?”

“I didn't want word getting out that this sacred item was missing. Besides the fact that Taft is extremely upset, WAM might very well take advantage of the situation.”

“WHAM? I thought they broke up a long time ago.”

Finch did not appreciate my humor, rolling his eyes. “Not the British pop group. W-A-M. Wizards and Amazing Mages, our competition in Charlotte.”

“Would WAM go so far as to steal this special box?”

“I would imagine they'd try anything to discredit WOW.”

I had no idea the magic world was so treacherous. I wrote “WAM” in my notebook. “Besides the evil wizards of Charlotte, is there anyone else in particular who wanted the box?”

“Talk to Rahnee. She knows who comes in and out of the club. I wouldn't trouble with anyone else unless it becomes absolutely necessary. As I said, I don't want everyone in town to know the box is missing. Please consider taking this case. I have to get that box back.”

“I'll be happy to take your case,” I told him my fee.

“That's fine. Thank you.”

He wrote me a check, and I told him I'd get started right away.

Chapter Two

That Old Black Magic

The Magic Club was located right in the middle of downtown, which means parking's impossible. I finally drove around to Coronation Street and found one of my old parking places near Morton's Detective Agency where I used to work. Seeing the drab building with its gray alley and even grayer prospects made me extremely pleased with myself for striking out on my own. Even though finding Finch's magic box was a goofy case likely to be solved in a couple of hours, it was still a hell of lot better than working for Mort.

The front of the Magic Club was dark, but when I pushed open the glass door, I entered a sparkly world of neon signs and glitter balls. Glow-in-the-dark stars and moons decorated the ceiling. A polished wooden bar ran the length of one side of the room, the mirror behind it reflecting all the colors and lights. Round tables and chairs filled the space in front of a large stage complete with red velvet curtains and a spotlight where a large man in shiny black clothes was trying to coax doves out of a tube. Music was playing. I recognized the tune. “That Old Black Magic.” No one was at the bar. No one paid me any attention, so I wandered up a few dark stairs and found myself in the wings of the stage.

The magician was having trouble with his old black magic. He gave up on the tube and spun theatrically, his traditional cape billowing with a glint of red satin lining. He spread his hands in a big “ta-dah!” gesture, but nothing happened except a few tiny feathers that drifted to the floor. The music stopped, and a firm female voice said, “Thank you.” The large man came off, shaking more white feathers from his hands.

“I can't believe this,” he said. “That trick always works. Betty, you stupid bird, get out here.”

A dove peered from his pocket. The man sighed and pulled it out. “I'm going back to rabbits, I swear I am.” A small white terrier of indeterminate breed poked its head out of another pocket and whined. “That includes you, Binky.”

On stage, the man had looked younger and more confident. Now I could see he was closer to fifty with a thick waist and bags under his small brown eyes.

“Do you know where I can find Rahnee Nevis?” I asked.

“She's out front, of course, running the auditions.”

“She?” I'd heard the name as “Ronnie.”

“Rahnee the Magnificent, and she is, too, friend. Are you here for the auditions?”

“I'm here to see Ms. Nevis.”

“What a pity. You have a remarkable presence, a natural for the stage.”

“The Remarkable Randall, that's me.” I went back down the stairs and looked out across the rows of tables. A woman sat down front, a truly magnificent woman with a long, thick mane of red hair pulled back with a gold band, blue eyes gleaming in glitter ball light, a full figure all in black, with a Viking attitude.

She gave me a quick, critical glance. “Well, auditions are closed for today, but I suppose we could fit you in. I like your look: straightforward, no flash. Could work very nicely. What's your act?”

“I'm David Randall. Lucas Finch hired me. It's about a box.”

Her expression changed. “I see. We should talk in my office. This way, please.”

She led me to a small office and indicated a black leather chair. I sat, admiring the posters on the walls. Each one highlighted a different magician and his specialty. The Amazing Andre and His Cabinet of Death. The Mysterious Mage of Morocco and the Mists of Memory. Lu Fang and the Oriental Fire of Fate.

Ms. Nevis saw my interest. “Some of our most successful members of Wizards of Wonder.”

“So Lucas and Taft are up next with their Vanishing Ruby?”

“A useless trick without the box.” There were some small brightly colored balls on her desk, and while she talked, she fiddled with them, making them disappear in one hand and reappear in the other. I couldn't tell if this was her way of keeping in practice, or if she was nervous about something. “What did Lucas say?”

“That he came here to check on it and it was gone.”

“Most unfortunate. The Finch brothers have been working on that trick for some time.”

“Do you know where he hid the box?”

Somehow the pink ball had hopped from her left hand to her right. “No, it's all part of this contest he wanted to have for the members of WOW. I know he hid it somewhere in the club, but I've really been too busy to hunt for it.”

Now the pink ball was back to her left hand, and the green ball was in her right. “Excuse me, but how are you doing that?”

“This?” She spread her fingers, and there was a different colored ball between each one. “Simple sleight of hand.”

“Doesn't look simple to me. Are you practicing for an act?”

“Always.” She still seemed on edge.

“So you're not interested in the bet?”

“I know about the bet, but I'm not a collector. There isn't anything in the Finches' collection I would want. It's hard for me to believe anyone took the box. It's highly unethical for a magician to steal another magician's trick.”

“But it happens, doesn't it? Didn't some guy go on TV, giving away secrets?”

Rahnee Nevis' face darkened. “A disgrace. No one would do that here.”

“Who else knows the box is missing?”

“My assistant, WizBoy. We're trying to keep it quiet. We wouldn't want others to know their possessions aren't safe.”

WizBoy. Now that conjured up a picture. “Is WizBoy here now?”

“Yes, he should be around somewhere.”

“Is Taft here?”

“He was here last night for a performance. I haven't seen him today.” One of the little balls slipped from her fingers and bounced on the floor. I caught it and handed it back to her. “Thanks. You see why I practice.”

You are definitely nervous about something,
I thought.
Even more so when I asked about Taft.

Rahnee put the little balls in a glass dish on her desk. “Let's talk to WizBoy. He should be backstage getting things ready for tonight's show.”

WizBoy—what an unfortunate nickname—was thin and scrawny. He'd shaved his head except for an orange cowlick dangling over one eye. A silver hoop eyebrow ring dangled over the other. He had on a skintight lime tank top and tight jeans. The tattoo on his arm had the word “abracadabra” coming out of a skull's top hat. The perfect thing for your punk magician. He was on the floor taping down an extension cord and stood when Rahnee called him. Rahnee introduced us, and he shook my hand.

“Got a lot of work to do here, man. Hope this won't take long.”

“Just a few questions. Did you ever see the Houdini box?”

“Yeah, Lucas showed it to me.”

“When was that?”

He hesitated. “I don't remember the exact day. Sometime after he and Taft got it.”

Like Rahnee, WizBoy seemed nervous about something. “But you're in on this bet, right? Do you have any idea who would want to steal the box?”

WizBoy tugged on his eyebrow ring, which made me wince. “Don't know who'd want it. I know some magicians are doing things with rings and ropes but not boxes, and I don't ever use anything but cards. It's too bad for Lucas and Taft, it really is. They been working hard on that ruby trick. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta get this done.”

“I told the Finches if the box was that important they should insure it and put it in a safer place and not play games with it,” Rahnee said. “I can't imagine who'd steal it. Hey, don't put that there!”

This last command was addressed to the large magician with the tube full of doves. He was attempting to put a cage of birds on a trunk. Binky whined and scratched at the trunk. Rahnee strode forward.

“That belongs to Taft. You don't ever mess with someone else's props. You ought to know that.”

The magician backed off. “Sorry. I was just going to set the cages on top.”

“And what's wrong with your dog?” She shooed the terrier away. “Stop that.”

Binky continued to whine and scratch.

WizBoy laughed. “Does he think he's a drug dog or something? Is he sniffing out cocaine?”

“What's in this trunk?” I asked.

“As I said, it belongs to Taft,” Rahnee said. “He and Lucas are working on an escape act. As far as I know, it's empty.”

Binky and I had other ideas. “Can you open it?”

Rahnee tried the latch. The trunk was locked. “We keep the key behind the bar.” When she came back, she unlocked and opened the trunk. Inside lay a tall body, folded neatly to fit.

Rahnee shuddered and recoiled. “It's Taft!”

I looked at the white face. Taft, like Lucas, was elegantly dressed in a suit and tie, now unfortunately crumpled.

Rahnee looked as if she might faint. “Oh, my God, is he dead? I can't believe he's dead.”

WizBoy grabbed his cell phone. The bird magician started to reach into the trunk. I caught his hand.

“Don't touch anything.”

“I wanted to see if he's alive.”

I'd never seen anyone more dead. “I don't think so. Let the police handle it.” I turned to Rahnee. “Who's been in here today?”

Rahnee looked like a Viking whose last ship has sailed. “Dozens of people. We held auditions all morning.”

“When did you last see Taft?”

“Saturday night. He performed during the nine o'clock show.”

“What about Lucas? Was he here?”

She was trembling. “No. He had another engagement. We should call—” Her voice quit.

I sat her down on one of the metal folding chairs. “Take it easy. I'll call him.” I took another look at Taft Finch, being careful not to touch anything. He was curled up, a sickly shade of white, and he wasn't breathing. If he wasn't dead, he was doing an excellent illusion.

I called Lucas and told him to come to the club right away. “There's been an accident. I'm afraid your brother's dead.”

I heard him gasp. “I'm on my way.”

The bird magician came up beside me. “What the hell's going on?”

“Not much of an escape trick. When did you last see him?”

“I missed the auditions Saturday, so Rahnee let me try out today. Bart, Binky, and His Baffling Birds.”

“You notice anyone around this trunk today?”

“No, not really.”

“Nobody used this trunk?”

“You heard what Rahnee said. Nobody messes with the props.”

The police and the ambulance arrived, and we stood back while they worked. The policeman in charge was an old friend of mine, Jordan Finley. When he saw me, he sighed and shook his head. Jordan is large and square with sharp blue eyes that miss very little. I tend to get in his way.

Jordan moved everyone into the main room of the club. Rahnee and Bart sat down at one of the tables. Rahnee was sobbing. Binky curled up under Bart's chair. WizBoy and I stood. “All right, Randall. What's the connection this time?”

“Taft's brother Lucas hired me to find a missing box. I came over to talk to Ms. Nevis. The dog started scratching at the trunk, so she opened it and we found Taft inside. The last time anybody saw Taft Finch was Saturday night around nine when he performed in the club.”

“You know Taft Finch?”

“This is the first time we've met.”

Lucas Finch arrived, and when he saw his brother's body, he broke down completely, choking on tears. “What was he thinking? Why did he try this by himself?”

“When was the last time you saw your brother, sir?” Jordan asked.

“Saturday.”

“This trunk is part of his act?”

“No, we were supposed to do this together.”

“This box you hired Randall to find. Does it have anything to do with the trunk?”

Lucas was unable to reply. Rahnee gulped back another sob and answered for him. “The box is a small box for another magic trick. We think it's been stolen.”

“Was it a valuable box? Would someone kill to have it?”

Apparently so
, I thought.
Unless Taft climbed in the trunk for a nap and couldn't get out.
“It was valuable to Lucas and Taft. It was going to be the centerpiece for their new act.” I turned to Lucas. “But what about the act you and Taft planned using this trunk?”

Lucas managed to speak. “We were working on an escape act, but Taft never would've tried it without me. We were always very careful. Besides, there's a way to get out.”

“You can unlock the trunk from the inside?”

“It's a special latch that doesn't need a key. Most magicians' trunks have more than one way to open them. This one is hidden in the lining. All Taft would've had to have done was pull back the lining and slide the bolt over.”

Jordan turned another page in his notebook. “What about the value of the smaller box, sir?”

“It's very valuable to a collector of magical memorabilia. It supposedly belonged to Houdini. Taft and I paid several thousand dollars for it.”

“Is this trunk always kept backstage? Who else has access to the backstage area?”

Anyone who walks up those steps,
I thought.
No one questioned me.

Rahnee said, “We auditioned new acts Saturday, so there've been many people backstage.”

“How about last night, ma'am? Do you lock up?”

“Yes, and I set the alarm.”

“Anyone else have keys to the club?”

“WizBoy and Jilly have keys. WizBoy's my assistant and stage manager. Jilly's our bartender.”

Jordan asked Lucas to come to the station for some more questions. He talked to WizBoy for a while and then thanked us for our cooperation and reminded us to stay in town. He gave me a long stare. “Consider yourself off this case, Randall. We'll handle things from now on.”

The police worked a while longer, collecting what they hoped might be evidence, taking photographs, writing notes, and talking in low voices. Finally they allowed the EMTs to take Taft Finch's body from the trunk an carry it off on a stretcher. The trunk was hauled out by two of the larger policemen. When everyone had gone, Rahnee, Bart, and I sat down at the bar. WizBoy went around to the other side of the bar and poured everyone a drink.