Carol O’Connell - Shell Game

„He never goes anywhere without her.“ Emile passed a salad bowl to Mallory. „She was a gifted composer, a wunderkind. I’m sure Charles has mentioned Louisa’s Concerto?“

She nodded. Charles had done more than mention it. He had raved about it, going on at great length, believing that she might be paying attention. He loved only classical pieces. She loved everything else. Thanks to her insanely musical foster father, Mallory could name every bandleader of the swing era, every jazz musician of note, all the blues artists and the stars of rock n’ roll, but she did not know a concerto from a sonata. If one could not dance to the music, it was not in Mallory’s vocabulary.

„I knew Louisa during the war,“ said Nick Prado. „World War II, now that was a time. Oh, Emile, you’ll love this. Malakhai’s doing his old act at Carnegie Hall. A symphony orchestra is going to play the concerto.“

„But Malakhai wasn’t mentioned in the advance publicity,“ said St.

John.

„Late booking.“ Charles rose from the table. „Some diva caught a cold and canceled a performance. Back in a minute. I’m just going to change the record.“

Mallory was watching Riker’s face. She could guess what was going on behind his bloodshot eyes. He was probably mulling over the events of the day. Had he put it together yet, the conflict of motive and style? The money motive for Oliver Tree’s nephew, who loved drugs, didn’t fit her earlier profile of a thrill kill for the love of spectacle. Her partner must be wondering if she had spun him a story during the parade this morning. Or did she spin one for Lieutenant Coffey this afternoon? Might both versions be fairy tales?

Confused, Riker?

The music was playing at the low level of a backdrop for dinner conversation. The ancient record player had been brought up from the basement so Charles could play requests from Max Candle’s store of vintage albums. She dated the last Artie Shaw album to 1943. Now she was listening to Lady Sings the Blues, automatically crediting lyrics to the singer Billie Holiday, and the music to Herbie Nichols.

„For Malakhai,“ said Charles, returning to the table. „This is one of his favorites.“

Apparently, the absent Malakhai had a penchant for dead women, but he had at least ventured into the fifties. Mallory could place this recording in the autumn years of the artist’s short life.

Franny Futura had downed two glasses of wine and lost his nervous mannerisms. With a table between himself and Mallory, he was less the mouse. She handed him a peace offering, a bowl of cranberry sauce.

„Tell me how long you’ve known Oliver Tree.“ She had softened her voice to make this sound less like an order.

„I knew him when we were teenagers in Europe.“

„Europe?“ Riker turned to the man seated beside him. „I thought the little guy was a carpenter from Brooklyn.“

„Yes, by way of Paris,“ said Futura. „But Oliver was originally from Nebraska. When his parents died, he was sent to France to live with his grandmother, Faustine. We all started out at Faustine’s Magic Theater. Max Candle and Malakhai too.“

„So Oliver Tree had a lot of experience in magic.“ Mallory directed a condescending smile at Riker. This killed his theory of death by incompetence. „He was a good magician.“

„Oh, no. He was the worst,“ said Nick Prado. „A good carpenter. He made fine props. But Oliver was terrible at magic.“

And now Riker was smiling, and Mallory was not.

„Right you are,“ said Futura. „Oliver never could get the timing right for a stage illusion. Couldn’t do sleight of hand either.“

„The crossbow – the one from the parade stunt,“ said Mallory. „Wasn’t that a prop in his act?“

Futura seemed confused by the shift of context. „Oliver’s act? Oh, you mean Max Candle’s Lost Illusion? Oh, no. That routine uses repeaters. But I’m sure the single-fire crossbow was one of Oliver’s. Of course, his collection was nothing like Max Candle’s. Years ago, I wanted to buy a few props, mementos from the old days. But Max’s widow wouldn’t sell.“

„Dear old Edith.“ Nick Prado’s acid tone implied anything but endearment. „Is that woman dead yet?“ And now he wore a pained expression. „I’m sorry, Charles. I’m sure you were very close to her.“

„No need.“ Charles didn’t seem shocked. Apparently, he knew that his cousin’s wife had no admirers in this gathering. „And yes, she’s dead. A heart attack. It happened a month ago.“

The old men seemed pleased with the death, barely suppressing smiles all around the table. Prado was the most cheerful. „Charles, I hope you inherited the lot – all the stuff in the basement. You’ve got Max’s platform, right?“

„Yes, but it hasn’t been out of the crate in thirty years.“ Charles turned to Mallory. „Oliver’s platform was very faithful to the original. Max totally mechanized it to do away with assistants and human error.“

Riker looked up from his plate. „So the cops weren’t in the original routine?“

„Well, yes,“ said Prado. „But they’re just window dressing. A police presence assures the audience that the weapons and handcuffs are real. Charles only means that Max did away with Edith. She was his assistant when he had that accident in Los Angeles. Remember that, Emile? It laid him up for a year. That’s when he built the platform.“

Mallory sat up a little straighter. „You think Max’s wife tried to do him in?“

Prado seemed to be considering this. „That would explain a lot.“

Charles’s knife and fork clattered to the plate. „Mallory, that’s enough. First Oliver, and now Max. Sometimes people do have accidents.“

Mallory wasn’t listening. She was assessing her suspects by their tailoring or the lack of it. Nick Prado was obviously doing well, and so was Emile St. John. But Franny Futura’s tuxedo did not fit him properly. Perhaps it was rented. He might be hard-pressed for cash. She loved money motives best of all.

„So none of you liked Edith Candle,“ said Riker.

„Well, no.“ Prado sipped his wine. „But I’m not sure Max liked her all that much either. Sorry again, Charles.“ He lifted his glass higher. „It’s the wine talking.“

„But Max stood by her,“ said Futura. „He was very big on keeping promises – vows. Deserting a wife wasn’t his style.“

„Well, he did have an affair with another man’s wife,“ said Prado. „He was no saint.“

Charles dropped his fork again. This was news to him.

St. John pushed his chair back from the table. He pulled a platinum cigar case from his breast pocket and tactfully changed the subject. „Mallory, I gather you don’t think Oliver died by accident. Can you prove it?“

„It would help if I knew how his crossbow trick was supposed to work.“

„But nobody knows,“ said Futura. „The Lost Illusion was only performed one time.“ He pulled out a cheap cigarette lighter for his friend’s cigar. „That was what, Emile? Forty years ago?“

St. John nodded, exhaling blue smoke. „A lot of magicians tried to trace that performance, but Max was very careful about staging out-of-town tryouts. The ideal town would be remote and too small to support a newspaper. Sensible precaution – no critical reviews while he was working out the bugs in a new act.“

Smoke was swirling in shafts of late-afternoon sun. Mallory sipped her wine and watched the white-haired men. They were full of food and wine, content and drowsy – vulnerable.

„Did anyone think Oliver’s invitation was a little strange?“ Mallory had their attention as she feigned a moment of forgetfulness. She pulled Charles’s copy from the pocket of her blazer and read the lines aloud, as if she had not memorized them, „ ‘You are invited to the solution of Max Candle’s Lost Illusion, and more than one deadly mystery will be revealed.’ The wording is odd, isn’t it?“