Determined to follow the mystery man—Rose Maceo?—I tried to find the short, stout gangster in the dwindling crowd but, like Bonkers, the now-suspicious clown, he had disappeared. Was it possible Maceo knew the victim? Did he have him killed—if so, why?
Out of breath, Nathan suddenly showed up, smiling like a Chesire cat. “You gotta admit, dead genies make for some colorful photos. I couldn’t take close-ups of his neck wounds because of his damn beard. Still got some good shots that’ll make the boss happy.”
I shuddered. “Hope Mr. Thomas doesn’t put the photos on the front page. A dead genie will give kids nightmares for months.”
“This story belongs on the front page with my pics!” Nathan argued. “Mack’s stories always get top billing.”
Mack again. If only the editors would give the rest of us a chance. “What did Mack find out? Anything besides the obvious?”
“Not much. The victim seemed to appear out of nowhere—like a genie.” He grinned. “Hey, maybe I should start writing news stories myself. Can’t be that hard.”
“Says you. Good luck sharing the spotlight with Mack. Say, did you overhear Draper talking to the cops? Sounds like he hired the victim without an audition. Doesn’t that sound dicey?”
“Seems risky. What if he stinks on stage? They throw tomatoes, shoes and all sorts of stuff. Then they’ll pull you offstage by the neck with a huge hook. Tough job.”
“I’ve seen a few duds yanked off the stage.” True, I felt a bit sorry for the troupe, sympathizing with their plight. Still, that didn’t give them the right to steal strangers’ jewelry, no matter how rich and privileged. “Say, did Mack get to interview the troupe? Or Draper?”
“He tried, but they avoided answering his questions, like they were hiding something.”
“I got that feeling too.” I nodded. “Strange that this genie popped up out of nowhere.”
“Maybe he’d escaped from his bottle?” Nathan cracked. “Let’s see what the cops and newsboys dig up.”
Newsboys? What about news women?
On the way back to work, I kept mum about Musey and Sammy’s plan to fence the stolen jewels. Had the cops shown up at their meet yet? How I wished I could be a fly on the wall...
At the Gazette, the newshawks hadn’t gotten back yet, so I sat at my desk, trying to piece together details about the victim. Were they at the morgue, waiting for a report?
Mrs. Harper frowned at me from across the room. “That was a nice long lunch, Jasmine. Where were you?”
“I was helping the fellas at a crime scene,” I fibbed, glad that Mack hadn’t yet returned. “Didn’t you hear about the murder at Martini Theatre?”
“Yes, of course, but why is that your concern?”
Trying to think fast, I brought up the one subject that I knew would melt her frosty heart. “When I heard the news, I was so worried it might be Derek. I wanted to make sure he was OK.”
Only then did her stony face soften. “Did you get to see him?”
“Yes, thank goodness.” I fluttered my hand over my chest for emphasis. “I even got to ask him a few questions—for Mack, naturally.”
Speak of the devil. Mack burst in with his entourage of eager cub reporters, Chuck and Pete, his broad face flushed with excitement. “Have I got a scoop for tomorrow’s paper! A real humdinger. You’ll never guess who this so-called swami or genie was in real life!”
Mr. Thomas peeked out of his office door. “Who?”
“His real name is Nico Turturo, a con artist with a rap sheet ten miles long.” Mack paused as the staff gathered round to hear his latest news. “They call him the Turtle ‘cause he likes to wear different disguises. I recognized him the minute they removed his face paint.”
I figured Nick Turner was an alias. “Did he work for one of the gangs?” I piped up.
Mack studied me for a long minute. “What makes you say that?”
“Just a hunch.”
Mack glared at me before he continued. “Get this: His last job was a bank heist. Turturo freelanced as a jewel thief and part-time fence. He just got out on parole about two weeks ago from Huntsville prison. Under that corny costume, he’s got the prison tattoos to prove it.”
I knew it! Then a thought hit me: Did the genie work for Maceo—or was it Musey? After hearing Draper’s answers, I began to wonder if Musey forced him to hire the genie or mystic to keep his eye on Draper and his band.
The genie costume and even his act may have been merely a cover, a way to infiltrate the troupe. Maybe Musey wanted to make sure he got back his investment—either in jewelry or cash.
The staff crowded around Mack, asking questions, but he shooed them away. “Beat it, boys. You’ll just have to wait till you read tomorrow’s paper. I gotta make this deadline.” When Mack thought no one was looking, he motioned me over, his voice low. “You think the Turtle was working for a local gang?”
“Makes sense to me.” I shrugged. “Or else he was freelancing.”
“I saw you talking to your two beaux at the crime scene. What did they tell you?”
I ignored his crack. “Not much. I heard the director say that Bonkers, the clown, found the body under a circus set in the alley.”
Why mention the viola case to Mack? Let him do his own detective work.
“They’re still looking for him. Peter Peterson. Sounds like a bogus name to me.” Mack glanced around the room. “Keep me posted.”
I nodded. “I’ll let you know if they find out anything.” Feeling smug, I sat at my desk, wondering if Mack was playing dumb or playing me.
Half an hour later, I jumped when the phone rang on Mrs. Harper’s desk.
“For you, Jazz,” the secretary, Mrs. Page, called out. “That dreamy Fed agent.”
Swell. Did she have to blurt it out now? Was she planning to eavesdrop on all our calls?
“Jazz, I’ve got some bad news.” Burton’s voice sounded urgent.
“What happened?” My heart banged in my chest. “Is Sammy OK?”
“Sammy’s been taken into custody. Damn it, Musey never showed up. I think some snitch tipped off Musey about our sting.”
******