Read Online Magicide by Carolyn V. Hamilton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carolyn V. Hamilton
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returned. He bowed to Cheri, and when he straightened, he held out a bouquet of plastic flowers.
“Of course. And now I’m still a child.” Peter set the magic wand and plastic flowers on the table and picked up his coffee cup. “I host a children’s television show and perform at parties and fund-raisers for cancer children. I’m a lost child in an Alice-Does-Wonderland world.”
Pizzarelli peered closely at Peter’s face. “That’s you on that TV show? You’re the Peter Jones who’s Peter Parrot!”
“My people do a good job with the costume and make-up, don’t they?”
“I’ll say. I’d never have guessed. My nephews love that show.”
Cheri pecked at her digital notebook. “Do you know anyone who might want to kill Maxwell?”
Peter’s grin became a smirk. “I had nothing to do with my father, and he didn’t have any friends.”
“So you can’t think of a single person.”
“Besides every magician in the phone book?”
Pizzarelli had regained his composure. “Why ‘every magician in the phone book?’”
“Did I mention my father was an asshole? Let me tell you his best trick. He’d see another magician do an illusion he liked, and he’d have his manager call the guy, offer him, say, two thousand dollars to use the effect. Of course the effect would be worth a lot more than a couple thousand dollars, and the other magician knew that, so he’d say no, he wanted more. Maxwell’s manager would say, no you don’t understand. Maxwell will use the effect, and you can sue him. We’ll see in court how deep your pockets are compared to the most famous magician in the world. Neat trick, huh?”
Years ago Cheri had heard a rumor like that about Maxwell and wondered if it was the kind of gossip generated by professional jealousy. The intensity in Peter’s clipped words told her he certainly believed it.
“Where were you last night?”
“With my mother in the VIP stands. The Dunes Park was jammed. I think everybody who’s anybody in Vegas was there, plus a zillion tourists.” He took a sip of his coffee, set the mug down and adjusted the cuff of his tee shirt on one wrist.
“Were you both together the entire evening?”
“Yes.” When he looked up his eyes had the flat expression of a vent’s dummy. “Well, I did take a page in the casino for a few minutes. She went on to our seats without me.”
“One of Maxwell’s leg shackles was switched at the last minute,” Pizzarelli said. “Would you and Larissa know how to do that?”
Peter stopped smiling. “That’s the advice you wanted? Of course we’d know how to work with jumpcuffs and leg irons—any magician would. I can tell you how it could be done, but I won’t tell you all my magic secrets.”
Pizzarelli asked, “Did you visit the green room? Maybe disguised as a food vendor? Make a hamburger delivery?”
In a bitter tone, Peter said, “Didn’t you get it? Maxwell and I were estranged. He would never allow me anywhere near the back of the stage. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“One of the guys who was supposed to be in the roller coaster car—a fat guy—ate a burger, got sick, and substituted his wife in his seat. We’re told that would throw off the timing of the car’s speed.”
Two furrows appeared on Peter’s forehead. “Yes, it would. The guy ate a hamburger? Anyway, we were in the VIP stands. We were never anywhere near the green room.”
Cheri said, “So, you and your father didn’t get along.”
“Not—at—all.” Peter emphasized each word. “It’s one of the reasons I shortened my last name to Jones. I didn’t want anything to do with him or his fame or his magic. We never spoke.” Peter reached for the carafe of coffee, the sleeve of his tee shirt stretched back from his wrist, and Cheri saw a cross-cross of welted scars.
Pizzarelli circled the table. “Were you jealous of your father’s protégé, Dayan Franklyn?”
Peter’s hand spasmed, and some of the
“Of course. And now I’m still a child.” Peter set the magic wand and plastic flowers on the table and picked up his coffee cup. “I host a children’s television show and perform at parties and fund-raisers for cancer children. I’m a lost child in an Alice-Does-Wonderland world.”
Pizzarelli peered closely at Peter’s face. “That’s you on that TV show? You’re the Peter Jones who’s Peter Parrot!”
“My people do a good job with the costume and make-up, don’t they?”
“I’ll say. I’d never have guessed. My nephews love that show.”
Cheri pecked at her digital notebook. “Do you know anyone who might want to kill Maxwell?”
Peter’s grin became a smirk. “I had nothing to do with my father, and he didn’t have any friends.”
“So you can’t think of a single person.”
“Besides every magician in the phone book?”
Pizzarelli had regained his composure. “Why ‘every magician in the phone book?’”
“Did I mention my father was an asshole? Let me tell you his best trick. He’d see another magician do an illusion he liked, and he’d have his manager call the guy, offer him, say, two thousand dollars to use the effect. Of course the effect would be worth a lot more than a couple thousand dollars, and the other magician knew that, so he’d say no, he wanted more. Maxwell’s manager would say, no you don’t understand. Maxwell will use the effect, and you can sue him. We’ll see in court how deep your pockets are compared to the most famous magician in the world. Neat trick, huh?”
Years ago Cheri had heard a rumor like that about Maxwell and wondered if it was the kind of gossip generated by professional jealousy. The intensity in Peter’s clipped words told her he certainly believed it.
“Where were you last night?”
“With my mother in the VIP stands. The Dunes Park was jammed. I think everybody who’s anybody in Vegas was there, plus a zillion tourists.” He took a sip of his coffee, set the mug down and adjusted the cuff of his tee shirt on one wrist.
“Were you both together the entire evening?”
“Yes.” When he looked up his eyes had the flat expression of a vent’s dummy. “Well, I did take a page in the casino for a few minutes. She went on to our seats without me.”
“One of Maxwell’s leg shackles was switched at the last minute,” Pizzarelli said. “Would you and Larissa know how to do that?”
Peter stopped smiling. “That’s the advice you wanted? Of course we’d know how to work with jumpcuffs and leg irons—any magician would. I can tell you how it could be done, but I won’t tell you all my magic secrets.”
Pizzarelli asked, “Did you visit the green room? Maybe disguised as a food vendor? Make a hamburger delivery?”
In a bitter tone, Peter said, “Didn’t you get it? Maxwell and I were estranged. He would never allow me anywhere near the back of the stage. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“One of the guys who was supposed to be in the roller coaster car—a fat guy—ate a burger, got sick, and substituted his wife in his seat. We’re told that would throw off the timing of the car’s speed.”
Two furrows appeared on Peter’s forehead. “Yes, it would. The guy ate a hamburger? Anyway, we were in the VIP stands. We were never anywhere near the green room.”
Cheri said, “So, you and your father didn’t get along.”
“Not—at—all.” Peter emphasized each word. “It’s one of the reasons I shortened my last name to Jones. I didn’t want anything to do with him or his fame or his magic. We never spoke.” Peter reached for the carafe of coffee, the sleeve of his tee shirt stretched back from his wrist, and Cheri saw a cross-cross of welted scars.
Pizzarelli circled the table. “Were you jealous of your father’s protégé, Dayan Franklyn?”
Peter’s hand spasmed, and some of the
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