I THINK MY BOW TIE IS TRYING TO STRANGLE ME.
“I don’t know about this, Cheryl,” I say, trying to loosen it up. It’s so tight and the outfit goes against my whole fashion persona. I live for chinos and sweater-vests. These tuxes are just way too stiff. My magnifying glass can barely fit in the pants pockets!
“Stop fiddling,” Cheryl says. “You look great!”
“Well, at least your suit fits you,” Rob says. “Look at me!”
Rob had to borrow a tuxedo from the regular staff. We all did. Unfortunately, his jacket is a size too small, and there wasn’t enough time for us to find a more suitable replacement.
“Just leave it unbuttoned and make sure to move quickly whenever you get too close to Mr. Maple,” Cheryl says.
She walks over to Rob and straightens his tie. Cheryl and Rob smile at each other. They’re cute, but I’m reminded of my love predicament and get sad.
Earlier in the day, I had to call Diane at Wax Lips to cancel our date.
“It’s okay. We’ll try again soon,” she said.
Her reaction sprung hope and made me even more determined. I promised her I would reschedule the dinner reservations for tomorrow. I can’t be on call all weekend long. Aren’t there laws against working a person to the bone?
“I need to button this jacket because I don’t want anyone to see this.”
Rob opens his shirt to reveal his copy of Dr. Von Thurston’s How to Be a Magician in Thirty Days. No wonder his suit jacket won’t close!
“I figured when there’s a lull in my shift, I might be able to get his signature,” Rob says sheepishly.
“Smart,” I say. “See, I have my pad and pen, just in case.” I show them my tools so Rob doesn’t feel as embarrassed. Always be prepared is my personal motto.
“Our job is to serve food to these magicians, not to see if they’re up to any foul play or to bother them for autographs,” Cheryl says. “Can you both promise to focus? I don’t want Mr. Maple to get mad at us.”
“No sweat! We’ll blend in like the rest of the penguins,” I say. “Just us penguins serving food. Waddle. Waddle. Waddle.”
I do my best penguin impression and Rob follows my lead. Cheryl laughs. Soon, three penguins are waddling in the kitchen. As much as Chef François, the Crossed Palms Resort’s head of culinary everything, is happy to see us working tonight, he’s not super excited about penguins waddling in his place of work. He flashes us a look, which is not to be confused with the “look.” This one is more of a universal “cut it out.” We stop.
The doors to the ballroom haven’t been officially opened, but they will be soon. In the meantime, the sweet aroma of Chef François’s amazing cooking is making my stomach growl and my eyes water.
“Petite fille, would you like to try one?” asks Chef François in his awesome French accent.
“Oui,” I say.
He offers a tray of French cheese puffs, or gougères, as he calls them. I eat one and immediately want to store another in my pocket for later. A little cheese puff can do wonders for a person. After two quick bites, the tux doesn’t feel so bad. It also reminds me that I do get to work with my two best friends tonight.
The cooks are lining up the trays of various snacks that we’ll be circulating to the crowd of magicians before they take their assigned seats. Chef François runs a very tight kitchen. If you’re ever lucky enough to find yourself in a kitchen as professional as the one in the Crossed Palms Resort, you’ll see a true work of art. Every single person has a job to do, and they do it with precision and love. Like a dance, the cooks work in unison, calling out to one another if someone is missing an ingredient or a garnish of any type. I can watch them work all day, especially if I get to sample the wares.
Just as I’m about to pop another one of the cheesy cheese puffs, a bell goes off. It’s our cue to take the many delicious treats out to the ballroom.
“All right, penguins,” I say as I grab a tray. “Let’s go waddle with the magicians!”
The Sugar Maple Ballroom is slowly filling up with pretty dresses, suits, and dazzling capes. It’s a slow surge and not too intense. People are making their way in, matching their names with their assigned seats. Rob is beside himself with excitement. I bet I would feel just like he does if I were in a ballroom filled with detectives. Just imagine the possibilities. We could exchange detective tips, like, What are the best gadgets to use? The appropriate binoculars? Huh, maybe I should push for a detective convention. Does that even exist? Mental note to find out.
Speaking of detectives, Walt is here. Like a good detective, he totally blends in: He’s wearing a tux, like the rest of the staff. Nothing out of the ordinary in his attire. I mosey over to him while guests grab cheese puffs off my tray.
“Care for a gougère?” I ask.
Walt shakes his head. “No eating while on the job.”
“Don’t worry, Walt. I’m following the detective rules even though I’m starving,” I say. “Anything I should be paying attention to?”
I scan the ballroom like Walt. As a detective, your eyeballs should always be moving. It’s quite a skill to pay attention to a conversation while tracking the actions of those around.
“This is just your standard observation. You know the drill. Survey the room for any unusual occurrences.” Walt tugs a bit at his tie. “You just stick to making sure these guests are well fed and the iced tea flows.”
“Flowing iced tea,” I say. “Got it!”
The key to being a strong detective is being a keen observer. For example, as I walk across the ballroom, offering cheese puffs to guests, I notice a magician pulling a coin from behind a young woman’s ear. Next to him is another magician, not impressed by the trick. But the woman sure is. She is laughing with glee. Is the frowning magician jealous, is he a rival, or is this his usual demeanor and my first reaction isn’t quite right? As a detective, you have to consider all the possibilities, make a note of them, and press on.
When I run out of cheese puffs, I head back to the kitchen to reload. This time Chef François hands me a tray of salmon mousse canapés.
“Salmon canapés? Salmon canapés?” I say as the ballroom becomes more and more crowded. I spy Angela Diaz commanding a group of people. Rob is across the way, looking nervously at the ballroom doors. He’s waiting for Dr. Von Thurston to appear. Cheryl is off helping a group of guests find their seats, while Walt cases the room. Everything is moving along.
“Do you have anything else besides canapés? How about pigs in a blanket or fondue? Don’t you have fondue?”
A boy about my age with curly dark-brown hair is suddenly standing beside me, asking questions at a rapid speed. Unlike the rest of the attendees, he’s not dressed in a tux. Instead, this boy wears a bright-blue velvet suit.
“No, we don’t have any fondue. Would you like to try the salmon canapés?”
“Salmon canapés are a major snafu. The last convention we attended struck canapés off the menu and ordered extra pigs in a blanket,” he says. “People may scoff at pigs in a blanket, but why meddle with a good thing? That’s what I always say.”
I nod at him, smile, and walk over to another group. To my surprise, Blue Velvet Suit follows me. I’m not sure what’s happening. Maybe he’s bored and wants to continue to extol the virtues of pigs in a blanket? I can’t say.
“Fondue is the epitome of gourmet cooking right now,” he says.
“I’ll make sure to relay the message to the chef,” I say. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I take a few steps. He follows. “If you hold the tray on your right-hand side, you’ll be able to navigate this crowd better. Like this.” Before I can stop him, he grabs my tray and starts to prove his point by hoisting it over his right shoulder. A guest takes a canapé from the tray.
“Excuse me! My job is to serve you,” I say, pulling the tray away from him. “Not the other way around.”
“Don’t get bent out of shape. Just trying to help.”
What is Blue Velvet Suit talking about? I’m doing a great job. I give him a curt nod and stomp back to the kitchen.
“I can’t believe it. The nerve of that guy!” I huff as I pass through the doors.
Cheryl is right behind me, about to grab a tray of food. “Who are you talking about?”
“The one in the velvet suit. Have you seen him? He won’t stop telling me about fondue and pigs in a blanket. He really teed me off.” We look through the circular window, and I point to Blue Velvet Suit. “That guy!”
“Nice suit,” Cheryl says.
“Well, yeah, of course he’s wearing a nice suit. It’s the words coming out of his mouth that have me blowing my cool,” I explain.
“He’s probably just trying to be helpful, that’s all.” Cheryl shrugs.
“Funny. That’s basically what he said to me.”
Another bell rings to alert the guests it’s time to sit down for dinner. We each grab a pitcher of water and head out. I try my best to ignore Blue Velvet Suit, which is not an easy task. He keeps finding excuses to be by my side, offering unsolicited advice on the best way to pour a glass of water.
“And you don’t want to pour too many ice cubes because it makes it really difficult for a person to enjoy their drink,” he says.
“Thanks!” I say with a big smile, although what I really want to do is pour this pitcher over his head. But that’s not the Crossed Palms way. I take a deep breath and carry on. I won’t have a cow. Maybe he just can’t help himself. Who am I to judge?
I continue to fill glasses as he rattles on about tap water versus mountain spring water. I simply nod politely.
Luckily, Blue Velvet Suit’s running of the mouth is interrupted when Rob heads over to us. “He’s here!” he says breathlessly.
I look toward the door and see that a huge crowd of guests have left their seats to gravitate around a cloaked figure. The whole room is abuzz with excitement now, not just Rob. Every single person in the ballroom is on their toes, trying to get a glimpse. There is absolutely no question—Dr. Von Thurston has entered the Sugar Maple Ballroom.
“Make way, people!”
Mr. Maple tries to take control of the scene, but even he is no match for these fired-up Dr. Von Thurston fans.
“The hotel should have hired a dedicated security detail.” Blue Velvet Suit is back at it. “Dr. Von Thurston is the greatest magician of all time. He’s smart, brilliant—some would even say a legend. You simply can’t expect him to enter a room and not be accosted.”
“You seem to know a lot about Dr. Von Thurston,” I say.
“Of course I do. Don’t you?” he asks. “Isn’t it your job to know about the guests at your hotel?”
Why does Blue Velvet Suit feel so compelled to explain things to me? I would just ignore him in normal circumstances, but he’s a guest, so I turn things around and ask him questions.
“Do you need help finding your seat number?” I ask, hoping it will deter him. “Cheryl would be more than happy to assist you.”
Cheryl walks over to us with the biggest smile. “I sure would. How can I help?”
“You can’t. Whoever made these seat assignments should have paid closer attention to where Dr. Von Thurston prefers to sit,” Blue Velvet Suit says. Cheryl’s smile slowly dissolves. “His best angle is his right side, and these seats are not facing the correct direction.”
Now Cheryl sees what I’ve been complaining about. Rob, on the other hand, doesn’t seem fazed by what Blue Velvet Suit’s said. Not one bit.
“Do you think we should move the tables?” Rob asks. “We don’t want Dr. Von Thurston to be seen from his bad side, do we?”
Cheryl glares at Rob for a full minute. She’s been working nonstop to figure out the best seating arrangements. To rearrange them now would be a disaster.
“It’s too late,” Blue Velvet Suit says. “Dr. Von Thurston doesn’t believe in sudden changes. He says it disturbs his equilibrium.”
This guy takes being a fan to a whole new level. “How could you possibly know so much about Dr. Von Thurston?” I ask.
Cheryl and Rob tilt their heads to the side, waiting for his answer.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Blue Velvet Suit replies. “He’s my father.”
Rob gasps and then starts coughing uncontrollably.
“Dr. Von Thurston is your dad?!” Rob exclaims. “How did I not know that?”
“I should probably take my rightful seat. Here’s my card.”
Blue Velvet Suit digs in his pocket and hands me a business card. The crowd has somewhat dissipated by this point, so he walks over to Dr. Von Thurston’s table and takes the seat to his father’s right. I hear Dr. Von Thurston proclaim to his tablemates how talented his son is.
When I finally gather my jaw off the floor, I read the card he gave me.
DEREK VON THURSTON
PART-TIME MAGICIAN/PART-TIME DETECTIVE
FULL-TIME EXPERT
Part-time detective?!