Now You See It

Chapter 17

Alice Pallas Butler and her husband were standing just inside the ban-room door when Phil and I arrived. Jeremy wore dark slacks, a white shirt, and a tie. I wondered, and not for the first time, what his collar size was. It wasn’t much larger than his wife’s. Alice wore a black dress that covered her ample arms, went down to her ankles, and left just enough room at the neck for a string of pearls.

They were talking to Jimmy Clark, who wore what looked like the same flannel shirt and dark slacks I had always seen him in.

There was no one else in the room.

Phil nodded and began his search of the room, which, except for the lack of table settings, looked exactly the way it had when Calvin Ott had been killed.

“Toby,” said Jeremy. “How is your tooth?”

“Do you believe in miracles?” I asked.

“Yes,” Jeremy answered.

“Me, too,” said Jimmy.

Alice didn’t answer. I had a feeling she didn’t believe in miracles. She believed in Alice and Jeremy.

“Shelly fixed it,” I said.

“Fixed …” asked Jeremy.

“My tooth,” I said, opening my mouth and pointing.

No one looked.

“It’s perfect,” I said. “If you’ve got a very broad definition of ‘perfect.’”

“Once in a lifetime,” said Alice.

“Did you know there was once-and only once-a perfectly symmetrical major league baseball game?” asked Jeremy.

I knew Jeremy had played baseball when he was about forty years younger. He’d been a first baseman. He had even read me a couple of poems he’d written about the game.

“No, I didn’t,” I said.

“I was there,” said Jeremy. “Some called it a miracle. August 13, 1910, the Pirates and Dodgers played an 8–8 tie. Each team had 38 at bats, 13 hits, 12 assists, 5 strikeouts, 3 walks, 2 errors, 1 hit batsman, and 1 passed ball.”

“A tie?”

“Darkness,” said Jeremy. “God or the Fates chose that day and that game and said ‘it shall end in a perfect tie.’”

“Amen,” I said.

“And like so many miracles,” Jeremy went on. “No one watching was aware of it till the next day when someone looked at the statistics.”

“I saw a miracle once,” said Jimmy Clark. “Back home in Decatur. We were …”

He was interrupted by the arrival of the Bouton brothers. Pete, wearing a gray sports jacket and no tie, beckoned to Jimmy who said, “Excuse me” and moved toward the brothers who had paused at the door.

Harry was wearing a dark suit and a white turtleneck sweater. No tux. After I introduced him to Alice, he moved to the platform against the wall with Pete, who was carrying a black satchel very much like the one filled with money that Ott had shown us.

“Who’s watching Natasha?” I asked while Harry took the satchel, placed it on the table, and looked inside, checking whatever it was he needed.

“Violet for a while,” said Alice, her eyes on the activity.

Pete pointed to the curtain near the door and spoke to Jimmy. We couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Jimmy nodded.

Gunther and Shelly arrived together. Gunther, as usual, had dressed for the occasion, in a suit, vest, and perfectly Windsor-knotted tie. Shelly, in a yellow sweater bunched awkwardly at the waist, wore a grin as large as his biggest cigar.

“How’s my patient?” he asked, coming up to me and adjusting his glasses for a better look.

“Fine,” I said.

“Open,” Shelly said.

“I’m fine,” I repeated.

“Open, open,” he said, head tilted to one side.

I opened my mouth, hoping he wouldn’t put his fingers inside. He leaned forward and peered.

“Yep,” he said, backing away and actually rubbing his hands together. “Yep. You tell them?”

“I told them,” I said.

“Yep,” Shelly repeated.

“You wish us to go where we were when Calvin Ott was murdered?” Gunther asked.

“Yep,” I said.

“Toby, tell Blackstone,” said Shelly as Gunther guided him away. “About your tooth.”

Phil went through the door to the kitchen. Harry, Peter, and Jimmy bustled. Magicians, dressed as somberly as they thought the occasion required, began to arrive at the open door.

Alice and Jeremy, as we had arranged, had the job of preventing them from entering. Unless they could levitate, which a few of them did indeed claim, they would not get by the Butlers.

Phil came out of the kitchen and looked at Harry, who was adjusting his tie, hands folded in front of him.

A minute or two passed and the magicians in the hall had started to grow restless. I moved between Jeremy and Alice and announced that we were waiting for a special guest who would be here in a minute or two.

They grumbled. The magicians in Ott’s circle were all there. Leo Benz hunched down, hoping Phil and I wouldn’t see him.

From the rear of the pack, someone began making his way forward, apologizing as he came. Their backs were turned to him, so there was no recognition till Cornel Wilde was at the ballroom door, shaking my hand and smiling.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said.

“I’m Alice Pallas Butler,” Alice said with what could almost have passed as a shy smile.

Wilde took her hand and said, “A pleasure to meet you.”

Alice stepped back and looked at Jeremy with a wider smile.

“You want me to …?” Wilde said.

“Just stand here as we let them in one at a time,” I said. “We told them we had a guest. You’re it. You can shake their hands to get a good look.”

Wilde nodded and Phil told Jeremy and Alice to let the magicians in one at a time. Wilde smiled with very white teeth as they moved past him. He held a few of the hands longer than others, didn’t seem to look at them, and let each person pass.

Phil and I watched Wilde for a sign of recognition, something to show that he had spotted the person who had been with Melvin Rand at Columbia.

They filed in, and, at the urging of Gunther and Shelly took their seats, looking up at Blackstone, who smiled like a man who had a secret.

When everyone was seated, I glanced toward Wilde. He shook his head, indicating that the person we were looking for hadn’t come through the door.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Eliminates a room full of people,” said Phil, eyes scanning the crowd.

“If it’s alright with you,” said Wilde. “I’ll just stand by the door.”

Phil nodded, and Wilde moved to the door next to Alice and Jeremy. The room was full. I motioned to the Butlers, who started to close the door. John Cawelti held up his hand and entered just as the doors were closing. He looked around, saw Phil and me and did a cross between a sneer and a smirk. Then he moved to the back wall, not far from Wilde, leaned against it and crossed his arms.

Pete Bouton sat at a table near the door. Jimmy wasn’t anywhere in sight. I knew he was behind the curtain, where he had been the night Ott was murdered.

“Gentlemen and lady,” Blackstone said, closing his eyes and dipping his head toward Alice. “This will not take long. I begin with a statement. I did not kill Calvin Ott, but I know how he was killed. If any of you would prefer to be the one to explain how it was done, I will relinquish the podium to you.”

He looked around the room. Magicians looked at each other. No one raised a hand.

“Very good,” said Blackstone. “Now if Mr. Peters will step up here.”

I wasn’t prepared for this. The last time I had been part of Blackstone’s act, I had almost been sliced in half wearing a chocolate soldier uniform. I moved to the podium.

“Mr. Peters shall play me,” said Blackstone, positioning me where he had stood when Ott had died. “And I shall play the late Calvin Ott.”

Blackstone moved to the table and sat where Ott had sat, with the black satchel now on the floor beside him.

“Question,” said Blackstone. “Why did Calvin Ott arrange a testimonial dinner in my honor? He’d never made any attempt to hide his jealousy. He said he had a surprise. But, obviously, this surprise was designed to embarrass me and to bring him applause. But what could it be?”

Blackstone’s hands were now folded.

I stood a few feet away from Blackstone, watching him.

“Ah,” he said. “I have it.”

The lights went out.

Someone gasped. The lights came back on.

Blackstone was slumped over, face on the table, knife sticking out of his neck.

“There he goes,” Pete Bouton shouted. “He killed my brother!”

The ballroom door was open. Someone ran out. Pete ran for the door shouting, “Don’t let him get away!”

People started to rise. Pete stopped at the door, turned, and held up a hand to keep the first pursuers from exiting.

I took four quick steps to Blackstone, who suddenly sat up and said, “The illusion is complete. Please return to your seats.”

Blackstone reached up, pulled down the collar of his sweater. He snapped a white band and pulled it off of his neck and held it in front of him. A knife handle and an inch or two of blade were attached to the band. Blackstone placed the device on the table.

“When the lights went out the other night,” said Blackstone, “Calvin Ott pulled something very like this from his satchel, snapped it on his neck, and put his head on the table just as I did now.”

Phil and I looked at each other. Ott had come to our office not to make a sincere bet but because he wanted to establish why he would be carrying the black satchel at the testimonial dinner.

Blackstone looked around the room and continued, “I think he planned to be sitting here when we all returned from our wild goose chase. I think he had something ready to say about having fooled me with his illusion, but … someone else had the perfect conclusion to Calvin Ott’s illusion.”

“The killer, who was part of Ott’s scheme, came to the podium as he was supposed to do, stood behind Ott, and when the device was removed, stabbed Ott in the neck. The victim had inadvertently participated in his own murder. The killer dropped the device with the fake knife into the satchel and ran.”

“Where?” asked one of the magicians. “Who is he?”

“Some of you know Melvin Rand,” said Blackstone.

There were murmurs around the room.

“Melvin Rand was a waiter that night,” said Blackstone, looking at the ballroom door.

Jimmy Clark, who had turned out the lights at Blackstone’s cue and then run through the door, came back into the ballroom. Blackstone smiled and nodded at him. Jeremy said something, and then Jimmy went back out the door.

“Rand killed Ott?” asked someone.

“And Rand is now dead. There was a suicide note, a confession,” said Blackstone, looking at Cawelti who stood impassively, arms still folded. “The case appears to be closed. The illusion revealed. The show is over.”

The magicians applauded and rose. Some headed for the door, including Leo Benz. Others went up to congratulate Blackstone.

“Too easy,” I heard one lean man say.

“Best illusions always are when you find out how they’re done,” said the tall man to whom he was talking.

The congratulating of Blackstone went on for about ten minutes. Cornel Wilde also made his way to Blackstone, who reached out to shake the actor’s hand.

When almost everyone had cleared the room, Cawelti shook his head, went through the door, and disappeared. Phil, the Butlers, Shelly, Gunther, and I stood in a half circle in front of Blackstone and his brother.

“Something is missing,” said Blackstone. “Something doesn’t feel right, but.…”

Blackstone shrugged and picked up the satchel. I went with Wilde to the door.

“Thanks for coming,” I said.

“I enjoyed it,” said Wilde.

“Well,” I said. “Too bad he wasn’t here, the man who was with Rand at Columbia.”

“He was,” said Wilde.

“Wait,” I said. “When everyone was inside the room and the doors were closed, you let me know he wasn’t here.”

“He didn’t come through the door,” Wilde said.

Besides Blackstone and his brother no one had been in the room except….

“Jimmy?” I said.

“The young man with the limp,” said Wilde. “That’s Jimmy?”

“Yes,” I said.

“It was him,” said Wilde, looking at his watch. “I’ve got to hurry. As I said, I enjoyed it.”

He shook my hand and was gone. I hurried over to Phil to tell him what Wilde had said. I then turned to Pete Bouton and asked, “Do you know where Jimmy is?”

Before he could answer, Jeremy said, “I do.”

Phil and I looked at him.

“He’s babysitting Natasha,” said Alice.

“I thought you said Violet was watching Natasha,” I said.

“Until Jimmy could relieve her,” said Jeremy. “She had to catch the last red car home at nine.”

Okay. I had choices to make and fast. Did I just turn and run the three blocks to the Farraday Building? Did I tell Jeremy and Alice what was happening? Maybe nothing was happening. Did I have time to explain it to Phil?

I motioned to my brother as I moved fast across the floor and out the door. The phones were in the lobby on a wall to the right near the registration desk. I fished for a nickel as I reached for the phone.

“What’s going on?” Phil asked behind me.

I held up a hand for him to wait while I called Jeremy’s apartment.

“Toby?” Phil insisted. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

The phone rang.

“Jimmy Clark was with Rand when he went to Columbia to try to blackmail Cornel Wilde,” I said.

The phone rang.

“Jimmy was backstage when Cunningham was murdered,” I said. “Jimmy was handling the lights here when Ott was murdered. Jimmy …”

Someone picked up the phone and said, “Hello.”

“Why the hell …?” Phil started, but I said,

“Juanita?”

“Toby?”

“What are you doing there?” I asked.

“I was working late,” she said. “The Scoufas sisters wanted an emergency session, get in touch with their dead brother, you know. So I said to myself, they’re good Greek ladies. How can it hurt if I give them a little support, though, in truth, I can no more talk to the dead than I can turn myself into Rita Hayworth or …”

“Juanita, is Natasha there? Is a kid named Jimmy Clark there? He’s supposed to be sitting with Natasha.”

“Nice kid,” Juanita said. “He saw me going down the elevator and asked if I could sit with Natasha for a little while. He had to do something. How do you say no? Know what I mean?”

“Where did he go?” I asked, looking at Phil who stood with his fists clenched and his feet apart.

“Who knows? Am I a mind reader?” Juanita snapped, with a distinct return of her New York City roots.

“Yes, you are,” I said.

“No, I’m a seer, a clairvoyant, I beg your pardon. I don’t know what people are thinking,” she said. “I’ve told you all this before. There was something I felt about that young man. Something was heavy on his mind. You didn’t need special gifts to see that.”

“Where’s Natasha?” I asked.

“Asleep in bed I guess,” Juanita said.

“You guess? You haven’t seen her?”

“No, I’m sitting here listening to Big Town on the radio, playing a little solitaire.”

“Juanita,” I said calmly. “Go look at Natasha and come back on the phone and tell me she’s alright.”

Something in my voice got through to Juanita. She said “Sure,” clunking the phone down on the wooden coffee table in the Butler apartment as she went to check.

“Where’s Clark staying? What hotel?” Phil asked.

I told him, and then Juanita came back on.

“Toby, she’s not there!”