THE OWNER OF THE CROSSED PALMS RESORT STORMS into the ballroom like a Category 2 hurricane. His dedicated and patient secretary walks behind him, as does a whole entourage of people. Mr. Maple rarely leaves his office. When he does, he usually travels with a crowd. I like to call them his pencil-pushing gang, but Dad is not too keen on me using the word gang. The pencil-pushing gang—hotel-office people—gives me the “look.” The “look” is a warning every employee at the Crossed Palms Resort learns as soon as they start working here. It’s used to alert everyone in the surrounding area that Mr. Maple is in rare form.
“Mr. Maple, we’re just about done with the ballroom,” Cheryl says. She clasps the clipboard to her chest, almost like a shield. It’s times like these I try to yield the floor to Cheryl. She often works closely with Mr. Maple and his massive entourage. I rarely get the pleasure because I’m usually busy parking cars. Even though I’m good at it, everyone knows what I really want to be is the house detective. I’ve been training my whole life, ever since Mom gave me my first magnifying glass when I was seven.
“Humph,” Mr. Maple grunts. He strolls steadily around the tables, inspecting our work. I get an itchy feeling inside, an urge to say something. It’s hard to suppress it but I must, especially since Mr. Maple’s entourage contains two very important people. First is the hotel’s actual house detective, Walter Tooey, who’s currently looking a bit nervous and wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. Walt is my mentor, and I’m his assistant. In between parking cars, I help him solve mysteries. Walt says I have a good eye for it. And I do! Just the other week I helped solve the case of the missing Bejeweled Aqua Chapeau, and then there was the case with that Soviet spy. It was kind of a big deal, which I guess makes me kind of a big deal, too.
“Hi, Walt!” I say, waving. He in turn flashes me the “look.” I respond with a grin. Walt does not return my smile. As Rob said just minutes ago, Oh boy.
Right behind Walt is my dear ol’ dad. Dad is the manager of the Crossed Palms Resort. He’s really good at what he does. He’s patient and calm, the two things you need when working at a very busy and popular resort. There’s always a crisis that needs to be averted, and Dad does so with ease.
Dad sees me and gives me a wink, which is all it takes to make me feel better.
“You!” Mr. Maple points to Evan.
“Yes, sir?”
“These are very important clients,” Mr. Maple barks. “When table one is seated, make sure the drinks are flowing, and don’t skimp on the powerful stuff. I don’t care about the rest of the tables. Keep your eye on table one.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll make sure the glasses are filled to the brim on table one,” Evan says. “Any special drink orders?”
Mr. Maple swivels over to his crowd of people pleasers, and they start to whisper among themselves until his secretary eventually steps forward. She whispers something to my dad, who also steps out of the blob of people.
“Dr. Von Thurston is set to be seated at table one like you requested, Mr. Maple,” Dad says.
“Well, of course he is!” Mr. Maple yells. “Dr. Von Thompson is the top headliner. Where else would he sit?”
“It’s Von Thurston,” I say.
My comment hushes the entourage. You can practically hear Walt’s heart thrumming against his rib cage. No one corrects Mr. Maple, especially not a short girl with a yellow headband.
“That’s what I said—Von Thurston,” Mr. Maple says, totally ignoring my existence. Then he goes right back to addressing the whole ballroom. “What about it?”
“He will only drink iced tea with a slice of lime,” Dad says.
“Then make sure he gets his iced tea!”
Evan nods and goes back to standing like a statue behind the bar. Mr. Maple continues his inspection.
“What is this here? What is this?” Mr. Maple picks up a woven finger trap and everyone freezes again. I see Cheryl grimace while Rob stares at the carpeted floor. When no one pipes up, Mr. Maple prods again. “Well?”
“I would be careful if I were you, Mr. Maple,” I say, breaking formation to walk over to him. “It’s a woven finger trap, and I spent the last half hour trying to extract my stuck fingers. If you look closely, you can see it’s still red.”
I show him my finger, and Mr. Maple steps back as if I’d shown him a broken body part.
“Whose idea was this?”
Now it’s Cheryl’s turn to step up to the plate.
“The League of Magical Arts sent us party favors,” she says. “They wanted to make sure the guests leave with a little token for their continued support.”
“A trick?” Mr. Maple says with disgust.
At the far end of the ballroom, the doors swing wide open.
“Good morning!”
Angela Diaz enters, wearing a pretty, yellow fit-and-flare dress. “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.”
Angela Diaz goes by the name of Angela, the Sorceress of Wonder, and she’s St. Pascal’s very own magician. I love watching her work. Angela tells me it’s rare to see a female magician grace the stage. Women are usually relegated to assistant positions, but the Sorceress of Wonder comes from a long line of magicians, so she accepts nothing less. Her father is a magician. Her grandfather is, too. As a kid, Angela toured the states with her family, performing at various festivals and county fairs. Her father now owns a small magic shop here in town, where you can pick up all types of tricks. It’s a pretty fun shop.
Angela is set to entertain the group tonight.
“Where would you like me to be?” Angela asks in a boisterous yet blunt tone that doesn’t quite match her petite frame but immediately turns heads. I think Angela’s real trick is how she appears meek and demure offstage but commands attention onstage and backstage. She loves performing in glamorous gowns, and her signature act includes beautiful doves that magically appear out of thin air. I ask her how she does it all the time. But true to the magician’s code, Angela never tells. She doesn’t even give me a hint.
“We’re almost done here, and then we’ll be able to do the rundown of your show,” Dad says. “Just a few more minutes.”
“Whatever you say.”
Angela tugs a chair from one of the tables, sits down, and pulls a deck of cards from her pocket. She smiles at me before she starts to shuffle.
After a few strolls around the ballroom, Mr. Maple seems content enough with the decorations. Cheryl lets out a sigh of relief as Mr. Maple and his entourage gather themselves to head to the exit.
Just when Mr. Maple is finally about to leave, a bellboy runs into the ballroom, out of breath. He walks over to Dad and whispers in his ear.
“Are you sure about that?” Dad asks. “Ummm, Mr. Maple, there seems to be an issue.”
Mr. Maple places his hand on the door. Cheryl moans quietly beside me. This can’t be good.
“It appears three of our servers have contracted the stomach flu. We will be short-staffed tonight.”
“Short-staffed!” Mr. Maple yells. “Short-staffed. That won’t do!”
He turns around and his eyes land on us.
“You two.” Mr. Maple points to Cheryl and then to me. Rob tries to hide behind me, which is ridiculous. He’s bigger than I am. “And you. You are now on for tonight.”
I can’t work today. This totally can’t happen to me. I’m not scheduled to work tonight. He can’t do this. Please, no.
“Excuse me, Mr. Maple,” I say. Doesn’t he understand I have a very important date with Diane? I plead with him. “I can’t possibly work tonight. I have a date.”
Mr. Maple twirls like a tornado to face me directly.
“Excuse me? You didn’t actually just tell me you can’t work tonight because of a date, did you?” he asks.
Walt is giving me the “look.” Cheryl is giving me the “look.” Heck, even Dad is giving me the “look.”
I sigh dejectedly. “No, Mr. Maple, I didn’t.…”
“This is a Crossed Palms Resort team effort. Everyone’s on deck!”
“Yes, Mr. Maple.”
With that, Mr. Maple and most of the entourage walk out of the ballroom. Dad stays behind.
“Sorry, Goldie,” he says. “You’ll have to reschedule your plans.”
He gives me a quick hug before trotting off to join the rest of the pencil-pushing gang. I slump into a chair beside Angela. I can’t believe it. My first official date with Diane is over before it could even get started.
“And I thought I had it made in the shade,” I say.
Rob and Cheryl gather round, offering me condolences.
“Sorry about that, Goldie. But does this mean I’ll be in the same room as the Dr. Von Thurston? And do I have to wear a tux?” Rob asks. “It’s my least favorite part of being a valet. I hate bow ties.”
“We’ll not only have to wear bow ties, but we’ll also have to make sure the drinks are flowing on table one. What a nightmare!” Cheryl jots down the changes to the schedule on her agenda. “I gotta alert the rest of the staff.”
Cheryl runs off, leaving me to mend my broken heart.
“Sorry, kid. As they always say in the biz, the show must go on,” Angela says. She spreads her deck of cards in front of me. “Pick a card. Any card. Make sure not to show me.”
I do. To my surprise, it’s the queen of hearts.
“Now put the card back, anywhere you want.”
I do.
“Now try to think about your card. Make sure you tell me your card, telepathically, so it will connect to my noggin right here.”
Angela taps her forehead. I close my eyes.
“Tails, you pull out the wrong card,” Evan says, and he flips his lucky coin up in the air and catches it.
“Aren’t you the nonbeliever?” Angela says. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Evan, this is Angela. Angela, Evan.” Rob does the introductions.
“Now, is this your card?” Angela asks.
She pulls out a joker, and I can’t help appreciating the irony. This is a complete joke, my having to work. But it’s the wrong card. I shake my head.
“Of course not. That’s not what you are magnetically sending to me.” Angela closes her eyes. “No. No. No.”
She opens her eyes wide. “Actually, Rob, can you check your pockets? I think you have something that belongs to me.”
Rob quickly does as he’s told and discovers the queen of hearts in his left pocket. He gasps.
“I love this trick!” Rob exclaims.
“Magicians.” Evan snorts behind us and tucks his coin away.
It’s a great trick. It is! But it doesn’t erase the fact I’ll have to let Diane down.
Seeing my frown, Angela does a bit of a flourish with her hands and makes a rose appear out of thin air.
“Here you go, sweet Goldie.”
“Thanks.” I hold the rose to my nose and think of Diane.