Free Now You See It: A Toby Peters Mystery by Stuart M. Kaminsky Page B

see a little of the master at work,” he said with a thick layer of sarcasm.
    “Just happened to be the night someone was murdered,” said Phil.
    “Didn’t discover that till I entered the theater and was stopped by a police officer,” said Ott.
    “Didn’t know the dead man, Cunningham?” I tried.
    “That’s what the police asked me. I’ll give you the same answer I gave them, no. More questions?”
    “Someone was supposed to be at the theater, someone who had threatened to ruin my show if I didn’t turn over my secrets,” said Blackstone.
    “You think it was me?” asked Ott, pointing to himself.
    “Yes,” Blackstone said.
    “Why not the man who was shot? Or the one who shot him?” asked Ott smugly.
    “Pieces of the puzzle,” said Blackstone.
    “Well,” said Ott with an overdone sarcasm, “if anyone can put the pieces together, it’s the great Blackstone. I am, as I said, drained. I will see you all on Wednesday night,” Ott said, holding his glass up in a toast to Blackstone.
    We went to the front door. I was about to say “Open Sesame” when Blackstone simply clapped his hands and the door opened. We stepped out into the night past the gargoyles. The doors closed.
    “I hate to say it,” said Blackstone, “considering the murder and Gwen’s shooting, but I enjoyed that.”
    We moved to the street. The cars that had filled the driveway when we arrived were gone. There was one, lone dark Buick parked in front of Phil’s Ford. Pete Bouton stood next to it.
    “Alright?” he asked.
    “Fine,” said Blackstone.
    “A question,” I said. “Do you really know how to do the singing blade trick?”
    “Ah,” said Blackstone looking at his brother. “Pete?”
    “I’d say there are maybe eight or nine people here in the United States, four in Europe, one in Australia and who knows how many in China who could do it,” said Pete.
    “Then why don’t they?” Phil asked.
    “It’s not much of a trick,” said Blackstone, looking back at Ott’s house. “Any really competent illusionist could figure out how it was done. The technology has come a long way since Dranabadur. But, that said, there are still brilliant illusions, which have endured for centuries. The singing blade, however, is not one of them.”
    “Ott’s an idiot?” Phil asked.
    “Mr. Ott is a wealthy amateur in the worst sense of the word,” said Blackstone. “Given the opportunity, he would reveal every one of Peter’s and my illusions.”
    “So he’s just jealous,” I said.
    “Not just of me, but I do seem to have become his obsession. I did not like the way he recovered in there.”
    Blackstone looked back at the house.
    “Wednesday night,” he said. “Gentlemen, you have work to do.”
    “You knew all those people who were here tonight?” said Phil.
    “Yes,” said Blackstone. “Local magicians, not professionals.”
    “Can you give us their names? Full names?” asked Phil.
    “I’ll have a list in your office in the morning.”
    Blackstone got in the car with his brother and they drove off. Phil and I did the same. We didn’t talk. There was nothing to say except good night when he took me back to my car parked behind the Bluedorn Apartments.
    I got back to Heliotrope and parked half a block down from Mrs. Plaut’s at a little after two. There was one more surprise waiting for me before I got to bed.

Chapter 7
     
             Announce that you are about to demonstrate a magic detector. Take a quarter. Place it on table. Turn your back. Tell the person to pick up the coin with either hand. Have them hold the hand to their forehead for about fifteen seconds while you concentrate. Tell the person to put the coin back on the table. Turn and have them place their hands on the table. Look into the person’s eyes and then point to the hand that held the coin. Tell them you can repeat the trick and do so a few times. Solution: Before looking into the person’s eyes, look at their hands. The whiter