I HEAD IN THE DIRECTION DIANE WENT BEFORE MR. Maple began his screaming rampage. The workshops are over by now, and the garden is filled with roving magicians, fans, and the like. Soon, they will disperse into various get-togethers and meetups throughout the resort. Each party will be equipped with a bar and appetizers to tide people over before the bigger entertainment tonight.
I cross the garden and take a turn toward a tiny bridge where guests can look at a trickling waterfall. It’s a perfect place to enjoy the beautiful weather. And it’s exactly where I find Diane, leaning against the railing of the bridge and calmly staring at the waterfall. Rays of soft golden sunlight are highlighting her face. I stop and stare for a second. I hope she’s having at least a bit of a good time. I can’t help feeling responsible for ruining her afternoon.
“Hey, Diane.”
“Hey, Goldie!” she says. “How are you holding up? Your boss seemed to have a few choice words to share.”
I brush it off. “Mr. Maple? I’m used to it,” I say. “Some men like to walk around in a storm because they think they get more done that way. It usually doesn’t work.”
“There’s no excuse for it,” Diane says. “I take it you’re officially back on the clock?”
I nod. “It sure seems that way. I’ve got to head out soon to speak to some magicians’ assistants. We should probably reschedule,” I say, trying my hardest not to sound as glum as I feel. I would much rather hang out with Diane than work, but when I think of those poor bunnies and Serge’s distraught expression, the urge to solve this mystery intensifies. I can only hope Diane understands.
“I don’t mind tagging along—that is, if you want me to.”
Do I? I want to scream. I play it cool instead, as cool as this goofy grin plastered across my face can allow.
“Great! There will be small bites, so you won’t go hungry,” I say. “And if you get bored, you can leave. I won’t be offended one bit.”
Diane places her hand over mine.
“Cool.”
For a moment the world sort of stands still. I imagine my magnifying glass, Mr. Oculus, jumping out of my pocket and very carefully studying her hand. Is this really happening?
Then I think of the bunnies with their cute bunny faces being scared and snap back to the task at hand.
“Cool. Cool. Cool.”
Oh God, I can’t stop saying cool. Get it together, Marigold Vance.
“‘The Now You See Us, Now You Don’t Soiree.’ That’s what the party is called,” I say. “I can only hope the bunnies will show up, too, hippity hopping along.”
I lead Diane across the bridge and make a quick cut to the back of the hotel. The soiree is being held in one of the conference rooms. As we walk past other party rooms, we notice how each of them has been decorated with a certain theme. There’s a room with people flinging their capes around dramatically. It’s as if they’re dueling to find who has the flashiest cape swoosh. In another room, several magicians are slow dancing to the Drifters singing “This Magic Moment.” We pause at the entrance and sway to the glorious music for just a few seconds.
We find the room we’re looking for—the location of the “Now You See Us, Now You Don’t Soiree.” The room is filled with beautiful young women in sequin gowns. A couple of men punctuate the scene, but for the most part it’s a ladies’ soiree. I walk in and see Cheryl and Rob watching two magicians in a corner of the room. We join them.
“What’s going on?” I whisper to Cheryl.
“They call it jamming.”
I am thoroughly confused. I thought jamming was when musicians got together to play music, freestyling off each other to see what they can come up with. This is different.
Two young assistants are performing together. First, one does a trick; then the other plays off that trick and performs another, in a kind of riff on the previous trick.
“Dueling magicians!” I say.
Rob corrects me. “Not necessarily. Just two magicians exchanging ideas.”
Even better. We watch as the two magicians continue to perform various tricks. They’re both women, which adds to the brilliance of it all. Each time one of them finishes a trick, we clap. They’re doing this for fun, and their enjoyment is contagious. I get so caught up in their jamming I forget what I’m supposed to be doing.
For the love of Esme, Coco, and Snowball, I must focus and start my job! I leave Diane with the others and begin my process. First, I give the soiree a good once-over. Several jam sessions are occurring at the same time. A few intimate conversations are taking place. Some people are pouring themselves drinks.
“On your right, Goldie.” Arnold, a server, pauses by me with a trayful of mini cucumber sandwiches. “I thought you had the day off?”
I grab one of the cucumber sandwiches and pop it into my mouth. “A detective’s work is never done,” I say. “Arnold, have you noticed anything unusual happening? Any bunnies hopping about?”
“Bunnies? The only thing I’ve seen are magic tricks everywhere. No bunnies. Sorry, Goldie.”
I take one more cucumber sandwich and eat it before heading toward two women clinking their glasses together in a toast. One of the ladies wears a glamorous, snug dress in electric blue, while the other wears a flashy and short red dress with a top hat. I can’t help being drawn to the top hat. It looks similar to the one Serge wore. But who am I kidding? If I take a quick look around, there’s a whole lot of top hats happening. It’s the fashion du jour.
“And I said, that’s the queen of hearts!” the woman in electric blue says while the other laughs.
“Good evening! My name is Goldie, and I’m the assistant house detective here at the Crossed Palms Resort.” Before I can continue, the woman with the top hat interrupts.
“You’re an assistant, too! Welcome to the club,” she says, raising her glass for another toast. “May we shine as brightly as the men who tend to hog the spotlight.”
“Oh, Betty, don’t be so hard.”
“You’re right. At least my boss isn’t as bad as—”
“Betty! You don’t want to give this young one the wrong idea about being an assistant,” the other woman says before taking a big sip from her glass.
“Rose, you and I both know the unsung heroes are the assistants,” Betty says. She turns to me. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
I nod. I guess this may be the case to a certain degree, and maybe that’s a good enough reason for someone to wreck a trick or two. Walt always makes sure everyone is aware of my contributions. He doesn’t hog the limelight. In fact, he dreads it.
“It sure can be hard, working with such bigger-than-life personalities,” I say. “Hard enough to want to mess up an act, I bet! I mean, I wouldn’t do that. Would you?”
The two give each other a sly glance.
“Just between us gals, we’re talking about the missing props, aren’t we?” Rose says. I totally appreciate how she is whispering. “We’ve heard all about it, and of course fingers are being pointed toward us, but you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
Betty cocks her eyebrow high and whispers: “There’s always the rumor of someone conveniently forgetting a prop or two. Or fumbling what they were meant to be doing,” she says. “Remember Trudie in Chicago? That was a doozy of a failure.”
Rose whistles. “Do I? All the assistants got flak for it. As if we would ever.”
“Never!” Betty says emphatically. “You’ve got to understand, Goldie. Assistants have an unspoken rule we abide by: We do our job no matter what because our love for magic and entertaining is true.”
I pause. “What about if someone is just plain angry or jealous?”
“Ask all the assistants here, and they’ll tell you the same thing,” Rose says. “The love for magic supersedes everything, even when working with overly demanding personalities. If you don’t love magic, then you are not a true magician.”
Food for thought.
“Also, none of those magicians who lost props have assistants,” Betty adds. “They only do solo work.”
I hadn’t thought about that. Ganapati appeared on the stage by himself. Professor Blaze was with Mysteriousa, but she’s not his assistant. And Serge was alone, minus his missing bunnies.
“You’re right,” I say.
“Of course we are! We assistants know everything,” Betty says, tapping her top hat. “Ask around and you’ll hear the same story. We haven’t heard a thing about an assistant causing this much damage. If we did, we would have been all over it.”
“Like breaking news,” Rose adds. “We are a very tight-knit community. Nothing gets past us. Right, Betty?”
“Thanks for your valuable insight, ladies,” I say. “I have a hot tip for you both: Eat the cucumber sandwiches. They’re refreshing.”
I walk to another group of assistants, and they relay the same message. There have been no rumors of unhappy assistants undermining acts, not recently anyway. It doesn’t matter how many people I speak to; they all say the same thing. The props weren’t stolen by an assistant staying at the Crossed Palms Resort.
“Magicians love dramatic flair,” says a male assistant. “Who doesn’t? Hijacking bunnies is a line we just would never cross. There’s a Magician’s Code of Ethics that states, and I quote, ‘Promote the humane treatment and care of livestock used in magical performance.’” The assistants bow their heads in silence.
“But surely an assistant would be willing to make their boss look bad.…”
I recognize the voice right away. It’s not Rob or Cheryl or Diane, all three of whom are having a good time with Rose and Betty in a corner of the room. It’s not Walt or even Mr. Maple, who would surely be yelling about something. No, the voice belongs to the one and only Derek Von Thurston. Talk about crossing a line.
“Oh, look who’s arrived,” Betty says. “C’mon, Rose, I think we need another drink.” The other assistants follow Betty to the bar. I’m sure I’m not the only one noticing the frosty reception Derek is receiving. I bet it has more to do with his father than with him. Either way, he seems unfazed. He insists on speaking to other assistants, but their responses are curt.
“You’re not supposed to be interviewing Crossed Palms guests,” I say. I try to rein in my anger. “That’s my job.”
Derek sniffs. “It’s hard to tell whether or not you’re working the Case of the Missing Props. As a part-time detective, it’s imperative I lend a hand before my father’s big show.”
Cheryl notices our heated conversation and walks over. Rob and Diane follow.
“It’s up to the hotel staff to contain the situation,” Cheryl says in a very professional hotel voice. “We ask you to allow Goldie and Walter Tooey to perform their jobs. We are here to quell any worries you may have.”
“Well, ummm, Cheryl,” Derek says. “My father will not perform unless the culprit or culprits are detained. Walt and Goldie clearly can’t do this alone. As a representative of the acclaimed Dr. Von Thurston, I respectfully believe you need my help.”
“He does have a point,” Rob says. The stone face both Cheryl and I give him causes him to shrink slightly. “There is no I in team.”
Et tu, Rob?
“He is a part-time detective,” Rob reiterates, albeit in a timid voice. He must notice the flames shooting from the tops of our heads.
“I’m assuming you’ll be attending the Great Bradinski’s show,” Derek says. “So am I! We can sit together.”
“I just… I can’t. Ugh!” I grab Diane’s and Cheryl’s hands and head toward the exit.
As expected, Derek and Rob immediately follow. We manage to pick up the pace and leave the guys behind us.
“I can’t believe Rob,” Cheryl says.
“I can’t believe Derek,” I say.
“I can’t believe I’m going to see a magician who goes by the name of the Great Bradinski,” Diane says. “How many great Bradinskis have you met in your lifetime? Honestly, none that I can think of.”
And with that, the urge to laugh takes over my body. I can’t help it. Diane is so excited to see more magic. Soon my anger slowly melts away. The Great Bradinski. She’s right—I’ve never met a great Bradinski before. Who knows what we can expect from his show?
Who cares if Derek and Rob are driving me bananas? I’ve got Cheryl and Diane beside me. Soon we’ll be watching the Great Bradinski in action, and I can only hope we will get even closer to solving this mystery.
Since Cheryl and I know everyone, we’re able to cut past the long line to enter the show. We score front-row seats, enough for us all to sit, even Derek.
“Keep your eyes and ears open. Something is about to happen,” I say. “I can feel it in my bones.”
My thoughts are churning with everything the assistants shared with me. I might not be closer to solving this brain twister, but I am definitely eliminating motives.
“Mr. Bradinski,” I say, “I await your greatness.”