MISS DUPART LOOKS TO THE PALMS PALACE AND THEN back to us. Her eyes squint a bit as if she’s trying to use some sort of superpower eyesight to penetrate the walls of the bar.
If only, Miss Dupart, if only.
“I have seen Evan playing with his coin on more than one occasion,” she says. “It’s his signature style.”
“Correct!” I exclaim, and produce the coin for her to see.
“What a rare-looking coin,” she says. “Is Evan missing his coin?”
“No, he stole it,” Derek says. “From my father.”
Miss Dupart inhales sharply.
“Thievery. How very tacky. I don’t condone it in any form or manner,” she whisper-talks. “A coin, no less? Material possessions are worthless unless given as a gift.”
Every piece of jewelry Miss Dupart wears has a story behind it about the person who gave it to her. She cherishes each item like it’s family.
“It is very tacky,” Derek says.
“To bring you up to speed, I have a feeling Evan had something to do with the magic acts failing this weekend,” I say. “I found this coin at the most recent act. Derek told me how Evan was his father’s assistant and how the coin was given to his father, so it can’t possibly be a coincidence. If the coin I found is Evan’s coin, then he’ll be my number one suspect.”
Everything is riding on this being Evan’s stolen coin. Evan’s a gambling man, so I’m guessing he would be up for a little wager.
“Do you think you can find a way of asking Evan to show you his coin?” I ask. “Maybe a heads or tails bet? Get him to talk about it. What do you say, Miss Dupart?”
“A thriller it is! I would have you know, young Derek Von Thurston, that I am an accomplished thespian. From the bright lights of Broadway shows to the London West End theaters, I have embodied many, many roles,” Miss Dupart says. “I will gladly embark on the role of the unsuspecting hotel guest turned spy.”
Miss Dupart walks over to the doorman, who opens the door wide enough for both Derek and me to take a quick peek in. We still can’t see very well. I have to follow Miss Dupart’s interactions with Evan.
“We need a better view,” I say.
The Palms Palace has big glass windows that are perfect to observe through. Unfortunately, large planters overflowing with giant palm leaves practically engulf the windows, so we’ll have to climb through the foliage to snoop.
I lead Derek to the potted plants and trees. Thankfully, no one is around, including the groundskeeper, who would no doubt be completely devastated if he knew what I was thinking of doing.
“We need to get in there,” I say, ready to climb into the shrubbery as best I can without destroying the plant life.
“That’s impossible,” Derek says. “My yellow suit. It will be destroyed!”
I can’t believe he’s worried about his yellow suit getting dirty. Who cares about stains? When it’s time to dig in the dirt to uncover the truth, you never hesitate. You simply jump right in. Derek is constantly declaring his detective prowess, yet here he is afraid.
“Derek! Don’t you want to follow the action?” I ask. “I sure don’t want to miss a thing.”
He looks down at his yellow shoes.
“Dr. Von Thurston doesn’t approve of messy appearances. Truth be told, he barely approved of my yellow suit.”
I’m really starting to understand what it must be like for Derek to be a Von Thurston. Mom and Dad have never told me what I should wear. When I settled on my yellow headbands, Dad made sure to keep my drawer fully stocked. And Mom is always on the lookout for the perfect capris with deep pockets. To my parents, what matters isn’t what you wear—it’s how you treat others. I’m sure Dr. Von Thurston’s opinion of the yellow suit is just the tip of the iceberg for Derek.
“Say no more, Derek. I’ll be our eyes,” I say. “You just be on the lookout. If the groundskeeper sees me in here, he’ll toss me out like a pesky weed!”
I head right into the growth, placing one foot in a planter and pulling myself in. The first step is a doozy. Apparently, our fine Crossed Palms Resort staff just watered these things, so my penny loafer immediately sinks into mud.
“What do you see?” Derek asks.
I push over a couple of palm leaves until I’m able to take a clear look inside. Miss Dupart has found the perfect position, a seat directly at the center of the bar. Only one pair of guests sits with her, enjoying their drinks, so the view is pretty unobstructed. It doesn’t seem as if anyone is tending to the bar. Mr. Maple would not be happy about that. Where is Evan?
Lately, I’ve been trying to perfect my lip-reading technique by making Cheryl and Rob have conversations far away from me while I attempt to decipher what they’re saying. The first couple of times, I kept thinking Rob was asking Cheryl out on a date when he was actually asking about her birthday. It’s not an exact science. Mistakes are bound to be made. But right now I’m willing to try my best.
I see Miss Dupart raise her hand, lean slightly over the bar, and say something that looks like either “toodles” or “poodles.” It can go either way. As soon as she does this, Evan pops up. He must have been kneeling down behind the bar for some reason.
Miss Dupart laughs very gaily at something Evan has said. Evan is in the dim, moody lighting of the bar, so I can’t read his lips—I just have to guess. He probably said, “What’s the word from the bird?” and Miss Dupart probably laughed as if Evan were the wittiest person around.
“Nothing much is going on,” I say. “Greetings and salutations. Something about a poodle, I think.”
“Huh?” Derek says.
I continue to narrate. “Evan is saying something something something while he fills a long tumbler with ice. I think Miss Dupart is telling an interesting story, something about missions.”
“Come again?” Derek says.
I’m not doing a great job. I’ve watched a couple of episodes of that new animal show Wild Kingdom. Live narration is way harder than I expected. Never underestimate the skill needed to follow the actions of a cheetah.
Evan’s face suddenly turns sour, as if he’s just sucked on a lemon. “Oh! She must be talking about magicians! Evan just got so angry.”
Evan hands Miss Dupart her drink. As is his custom, he drops several umbrellas onto the rim of the glass. The umbrellas are definitely a cute touch. Sadly, Miss Dupart is unable to truly sip her drink with so many of them obscuring the way.
“What’s going on now?”
“Not much. Evan is tending to other guests. Miss Dupart is adjusting her rings and probably wondering how to take a sip of her drink with so many umbrellas.”
“Umbrellas?”
I wonder how Miss Dupart will get him to talk about the coin. If only my detective skills included telepathy. I would beam my thoughts right into Miss Dupart’s head, and she would know exactly what to do.
Evan returns. Miss Dupart says something to him. I can’t make out what she’s said! Darn it!
Uh-oh.
“Evan’s raising his hands. He looks as if he’s annoyed with Miss Dupart.” He tries to hide his annoyance with a sweet smile, but his body language is a dead giveaway. He shakes his head, not once or twice but three times. Then he digs into his pocket and shows Miss Dupart something small.
“Is he really going to choose any old coin to prove his lucky coin isn’t missing?” I say.
“He pulled out a coin?” Derek asks.
“He sure did.”
Miss Dupart scrutinizes the coin and smiles.
“Evan flipped the coin into the palm of his hand,” I say. “Miss Dupart is toasting him and finishing her drink now.”
Before Miss Dupart leaves, clearly content with what she’s seen, she says one more thing to Evan. I can’t quite make out the words. Evan gives her a quizzical look and then drops down behind the bar, out of sight once again.
What did Miss Dupart say? And more important, what did Evan say? The suspense is killing me!
“She’s coming out!” I say. I start to detangle myself from the plants. My poor penny loafers are completely covered with mud. Derek stares down at them and grimaces.
“No crying over muddy shoes,” I say.
We meet Miss Dupart over by the entrance. She points to a corner where we can talk more freely. Miss Dupart really does embody the hotel guest turned spy. Thankfully, we find a table for us to sit down. I run and grab a glass of water for her. Spying can dehydrate a person.
“Miss Dupart, what happened? I couldn’t lip-read the last part.”
Miss Dupart takes a long sip, carefully places the glass down, and then stares deeply into our eyeballs for at least ten seconds. It’s all so very dramatic, and the longer she stares, the more I feel like my eyes keep opening wider and wider.
“As we suspected, Evan was not going to be an easy riddle to solve,” she says. “But he proved no match for Doriane.”
“Doriane?” Both Derek and I say this at exactly the same time.
“Doriane would be my spy name, of course,” she says. “My alias.”
“Go on, Doriane,” I say. Miss Dupart is doing us a favor, so if she wants a spy name, she gets a spy name.
“Well, the minute I mentioned how fond I was of seeing so many magicians in the vicinity, his feathers became so ruffled.”
I knew she mentioned magicians!
“The real icing on the cake had to be when I asked him what my chances were of finally meeting the renowned Dr. Von Thurston,” Miss Dupart says.
“You asked him about Dr. Von Thurston?” Derek says. He’s not happy with Miss Dupart’s line of questioning. He doesn’t know Miss Dupart as I know her. Sometimes a person’s surprise reaction is all it takes to see what they are thinking and hiding. She was right to bring up Dr. Von Thurston.
“That’s when he got mad,” I say.
“As if right on cue,” she says.
I can’t imagine harboring so much anger toward one person. Yet here’s Evan, carrying this outrage around like a big, heavy stone.
“It took a couple of tries to ask him about his lucky coin. Any other day he would have surely asked me heads or tails. He hesitated,” she says after taking another sip. I thought watching the action while standing on a potted plant was intriguing. Hearing it from Miss Dupart adds so many more layers to it.
“Our Evan didn’t want to leave anything to chance, so he finally pulled out a coin to toss up and see what my true chances were of meeting Dr. Von Thurston in person. A lifelong dream of Doriane’s, of course.”
“What coin did he use?” I ask.
“A bright silver quarter,” she says. “I asked him where his beautiful lucky gold coin was. His response…”
Miss Dupart pauses for dramatic effect.
“He said he recently lost the coin. He said, ‘I’m no longer tied to it as I once was. Sometimes the past just holds you back. You must burn the past. It’s what my doctor ordered.’ End quote,” she says. “And scene.”
Yowza. Not only did Evan admit he lost the coin but he also sort of confessed to his crimes.
“‘What my doctor ordered’? He’s definitely talking about Dr. Von Thurston,” Derek says. “If he plans to rig my father’s act, we’ve got to stop him.”
I yank Derek’s arm, preventing him from yet another attempt to get himself into the Palms Palace. We’ve already tried that. We need a better solution.
“Thanks, Miss Dupart, for all that you did. You are most definitely the best spy that has ever lived,” I say. “After the coin toss, I wasn’t able to see where Evan went.”
“Our shaggy-haired server simply disappeared,” Miss Dupart says in a matter-of-fact tone.
Derek and I give each other a look of astonishment. Evan did spend a lot of time with Dr. Von Thurston learning tricks. Did he actually master the art of invisibility?
“Huh?” I say, and wait with bated breath.