ROB AND DEREK TAKE THE SEATS BESIDE US.
“Do you think your father will join us?” Rob asks. “Should we save him a seat?”
Derek shakes his head. “I’m his eyes and ears,” he says. “Besides, I know all there is to know about the Great Bradinski. I’ve seen every single magician perform countless times. Since I was a little kid, magicians have been part of my life.”
“That sounds like the perfect life for me,” Rob says.
“Sure is,” Derek says.
Do I note a hint of weariness in his tone? I’m reminded once again of what Mom said to me. It must be hard to live in his father’s shadow all the time. It also gets me thinking about how wreaking havoc on certain magic shows could garner Derek his father’s attention. Hmmm. The one person I need to interrogate is the one person I’ve been trying to avoid. Now, this is no simple task. I’ll have to play off what Derek loves.
He comes from this magical world. Years of being around so many illusionists, conjurors, and enchanters have made him an expert, even if his expertise can be overbearing. I have to stop viewing him as an annoying pest and start utilizing his knowledge.
“How big of a deal is the Great Bradinski?”
Derek can’t shake the surprised look from his face. I guess he didn’t expect me to actually ask him a question. He’s probably used to just spouting out facts at all hours of the day to anyone in direct contact with him. But maybe it’s the exact opposite. What if living with a father as big and famous as Dr. Von Thurston causes a person to shrink their personality? What if the only time Derek gets to shine is when he’s with strangers, people who don’t know a thing about his father (minus Rob, of course)?
Who knows?
“He’s obviously not as big as my father, but he draws in the crowds, as you can tell,” he says. “The Great Bradinski is a graduate of the traditional school of escapology. He has followed the footsteps of the great Davenport brothers, Australia’s very own illusionist Murray, and of course the renowned Harry Houdini.”
“Of course, Houdini!” Rob says. “He’s the guy who practically created magicians.”
Derek tsk-tsks Rob’s statement. He’s mimicking his father’s reaction from earlier in the day. “Harry Houdini was not the first magician. He happened to be at the right time and place. Some people are just lucky.”
He sounds disgruntled. Derek can’t hide his disdain for anyone who isn’t his father.
“Derek, remind me where you were this morning at around eight AM?” I ask as casually as possible.
While not quite diabolical, the laugh Derek delivers almost reaches that level. I have to hand it to him. He must practice his cackle in the mirror to get it just right. It starts off quiet and then at the end he really brings up the noise. It’s long lasting and goes way beyond proving a point. Both Diane and Cheryl place their hands over their ears. I don’t. I take in every single high and low octave until he eventually stops.
“We’ve already established this. I was having breakfast with Dr. Von Thurston,” he says after what seems like a lifetime of laughter. “Everyone at the restaurant can verify that.”
Diane shrugs beside me. It would be easy to confirm Derek’s morning appointment. Still.
“What was the name of your server?” I ask. “Anyone who can actually verify you were there?”
“You can ask any of the assistants,” he quickly responds. “A bunch of them were eating at a table together across the way. I remember because when I said good morning to them, they simply nodded.”
“What is it between you and the assistants?” I ask.
“You’ll have to ask them that question.”
“Maybe I will!”
“Did Dr. Von Thurston enjoy his breakfast? Did he order eggs, too?” Rob asks.
Cheryl sharply elbows him.
“Never mind,” Rob says. “It’s a weird question to ask.”
I’ll make sure to verify Derek’s morning alibi later. I need to bring this running train back on track. I pull the hourglass out of my pocket.
“What do escape artists need compared to other magicians?” I ask.
“The element of time, of course,” Derek says. He reaches for the hourglass. “The crown jewel of the Great Bradinski’s act revolves around escaping from a straitjacket before the wooden case he stands on goes up in flames. And he gives himself only five minutes.”
“Hmmm.”
“The guilty party left this behind, didn’t they?” he asks. “Did you dust for fingerprints?”
“Too many people handled the piece to be able to pull out a good set of prints,” I say. Serge found the hourglass, Diane touched it, and then she handed it to me. Dusting for prints wouldn’t have made a difference.
“Too bad,” he says.
“Why would the culprit leave this behind?” I say. “You say escapologists must escape from their trick in a timely fashion.”
“Yes,” he says.
“Hmmm.”
Everyone stares at the timer. The Great Bradinski is the only magician performing tonight, and if his big trick involves escaping from a straitjacket, then whoever is sabotaging the act will surely be…
“I’ve got to use the restroom,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
I get up, taking the hourglass with me. I walk to the back of the ballroom toward the exit. Before leaving, I quickly glance around. Derek is straining his neck to make sure I’m heading to the bathroom. It’s smart of him not to trust me. He’ll be disappointed to see I really am entering the ladies’ restroom. But he doesn’t know the Crossed Palms Resort the way I do. Let him believe I’m going to the restroom. I have to check something of the utmost importance.
When I enter the restroom, I greet Erika, the bathroom attendant. Erika takes her duties seriously. She is quick to offer a guest a mint or a tiny spritz of flowery perfume. If you’re in need of a little touch-up of makeup, Erika loves to suggest the right color of blush or lipstick. This restroom is right next to the ballroom. It’s extremely busy, and Erika makes sure no one is ever lacking a beauty essential.
“Hi, Erika. Busy night, huh?”
Erika does not respond. The key to being a bathroom attendant is anticipating your guest’s needs and doing so as quietly as possible.
“Do you mind opening the side door for me? I forgot something and want to avoid the crowd outside.”
Erika communicates by eyeing the bathroom sink. Although I didn’t use the restroom, she wants to see me wash my hands. Erika is a stickler for cleanliness. She hums to the tune of Buddy Holly’s “Everyday” while I wash my hands thoroughly until the song ends. When I’m done, she hands me a towel to dry and turns to open the side entrance. This particular bathroom has a door that leads to the back of the ballroom via one of the hotel’s many intricate hallways.
“Thanks, Erika!” I say. In the hallway, I take a sharp right toward the back of the ballroom, where the Great Bradinski should be preparing to step onto the stage any minute now. I walk fast and with serious purpose. I need to do all this before Derek starts to wonder what’s taking me so long.
A couple of security guards are situated by the backstage door. They’re people I know. It’s good to see Walt is being proactive about the saboteurs striking again. Since I know them, the guards just open the door and let me waltz in.
Backstage is a whole other world. Various hotel workers are creating their own behind-the-scenes magic. Setting. Lights. People ready to pull up the heavy velvet curtains. No one bats an eye when I walk past them. They’re used to me lurking about. I make sure not to trip over any of the heavy ropes or wires.
I quickly reach my destination. We like to call the room I’m currently facing the pink room because the walls are a bright shade of pink. Mr. Maple wanted to call the backstage dressing rooms something other than green rooms to stand out among other hotels. It’s fine by me. Pink or green, it doesn’t matter. The Great Bradinski is behind this door.
Unfortunately, the men guarding the pink room refuse to open it for me.
“Sorry, Goldie. Strict orders from the Great Bradinski. No one is allowed in, under any circumstances,” one says. “He said something about secrets being revealed.”
“What if it’s an emergency?” I ask. Which it is. I want to make sure everything is on the up and up. Knowing what I know now about how important time is to the Great Bradinski’s trick, I think the hourglass means someone could have already sabotaged his act.
“I need to warn the magician,” I say. “This is a big deal.”
The guard doesn’t budge. I appreciate his commitment to the job. Loyalty to doing the right thing is an admirable quality… except when it gets in my way. I have to persuade him to let me in.
A light bulb goes off in my head.
“I got it! What if I’m blindfolded? I won’t be able to see what the Great Bradinski is doing,” I say. That’s not ideal, but drastic times mean drastic measures. The Great Bradinski wants to make sure no one discovers how his tricks are performed. If I can’t see what’s happening, then his tricks stay safe with him, and I can talk to him without compromising his work.
“All I need is for one of you guys to tie my headband over my eyes, open the door, and push me gently into the room,” I say. “It’s all I’m asking.”
The guard scratches the back of his head. “I don’t know, Goldie.”
I take my headband out of my hair and place it over my eyes.
“Just tie it like so. Then knock on the door,” I say. “Easy breezy.”
Eventually, the guard relents. He secures the headband to my face and gives the door a series of knocks. My guess is that it’s a secret code of some sort. Without my eyesight, I have to rely on my other senses. Lucky for me, I know the pink room well enough. Hopefully I won’t bump into anything.
“You may enter!” a woman’s voice says. The door opens, and I take two very short steps forward.
“Who are you?” the woman says. “Oh, didn’t I speak to you earlier, during the assistants’ soiree?”
Her voice sounds familiar, but I can’t immediately place it. It’s definitely not Rose or Betty. Those two had very distinct accents.
“Yes! I did attend that party. My name is Goldie, and I’m the Crossed Palms Resort’s assistant house detective.”
A puff of perfume suddenly fills the air. She must have just spritzed herself. I also hear the sound of someone moving things around—a chair scraping against the floor. A squeaky sound of a shoe.
“We’ve already spoken to the house detective. A man named Walter Tooey.”
The Great Bradinski speaks, I bet.
“He’s my boss. I’m here to ask you a couple of questions.”
There’s another scrape of a chair. Another squeaky sound. The other shoe being put on, perhaps?
“We’re on in less than five minutes, and I have a blindfolded girl in a bright-pink room,” he says. “If I weren’t the Great Bradinski, I would think this was some sort of practical joke.”
“No joke, sir. Just trying to do my job,” I say. “See, I’ve been thinking. The timing is going to be way off when it comes to your act.”
“What do you know about my act? I’ve never performed in St. Pascal before today. I’ve performed this act hundreds, maybe even thousands, of times. I can even do it blindfolded. No one will mess up my act. Impossible.”
“Sorry, Great Bradinski. If my gut is right, I think someone has already rigged your act to fail, and I can prove it.”
The room goes eerily quiet. No squeaky sounds of shoes being put on. No scraping of a chair on the floor. One thing is for sure: The seconds are slowly ticking away, and I’m standing before the Great Bradinski solely on a hunch. I hope I’m wrong.