Free Horten's Incredible Illusions by Lissa Evans

added loyally.
    “And how about you? Are you clever? Or are you smart—which is a whole heap better than being clever?”
    “Excuse me, but who are you?” asked Stuart.
    “You can call me Miss Edie. Maxwell Lacey told me he thought you were a smart boy.”
    “Who’s Maxwell Lacey?”
    “He’s a lawyer. Works for me. He came to see your tricks in the museum—gray-haired fellow with a mustache.”
    “I remember. He kept asking me if I was related to Tony Horten, and whether the tricks had been found on council property. He went on and on about it.”
    “Lawyers aren’t paid to be interesting.“
    “But why did he want to know?”
    “Because I’d given him a job to do.“
    “What job?”
    “To buy the tricks. Buy them all. And if he’s going to buy them, he needs to find out who owns them.“
    “I do,” said Stuart.
    “Can you prove that?“
    There was a pause, and then Stuart shook his head, forgetting for a moment that he was on the phone. The voice on the other end of the line was so vivid and vital that he could almost picture the speaker: ancient and white-haired but crackling with life.
    “Well?” she demanded, still waiting for her answer.
    “No …” he said hesitantly. “I can’t prove it.”
    “I thought so.” She gave a dry laugh that ended in a cough. “And I spoke to Maxwell Lacey earlier today. He’s been poking about in the basement of that town library of yours and he’s found a local law that says everything found on council property belongs to the mayor, unless there’s legal proof otherwise. And where’s your mayor?“
    “She disappeared,” said Stuart.
    “I know she did. So there’s a mess. You’ve got no proof, and the town’s got no mayor. Could take years to sort out. And I don’t have years—I might not even have months—and I want those tricks.”
    “Why?”
    “I promised my grandma I’d get them.”
    “Your grandma? But she must be … I mean, the tricks are about fifty years old, and surely your grandma must have—”
    “My grandma died eighty-five years ago.”
    “But—”
    “And before she died she told me something I’ve never forgotten. Hidden in one of the tricks—it’s well hidden, she said—is Tony Horten’s will. And it leaves everything to the person who finds it.”
    “But—”
    “It’d be all the proof you’d need. Find that will, and the tricks are yours to keep.”
    “But—”
    “Or yours to sell. I’d pay you a good price for them.”
    “Hang on,” said Stuart. He felt as if he were being buffeted by a strong wind—strong enough to push him in a direction that he didn’t want to go. He tried to make his voice sound firm and certain. “Hang on. Even if there is a will—and I still don’t understand how your grandma could possibly have known that—and even if I could find it, I don’t want to sell the tricks. If I can actually prove they’re mine, then I want to keep them.”
    “Fine words.”
    “But I really mean it.”
    “I see.” The speaker coughed again—a dry, jagged sound. “You know, there’s something particular about me that you don’t know,” she said.
    “What?”
    “I’m rich. Very, very rich. I am Rich with a great big golden capital R . My grandma was a businesswoman, the smartest you could ever meet. She left England with ten pounds in her pocket and a head full of ideas, and she set up a factory in Canada and made more money than you would ever believe. It’s all mine now. I’m the last one left, and I can give away as much of it as I like. Do you know what it means to be rich?”
    “No,” said Stuart.
    “It means you can get anything you want. What do you want, Stuart?”
    Stuart hesitated. “Nothing that I can buy ,” he said.
    “Now that’s an interesting kind of answer. Let me see if I can guess what you mean…. Maxwell Lacey tells me that you’re new in town and you’re just a little fella—smaller than the other kids. Must be hard, especially when you’re starting at a