Read Online Masters of Illusions by Mary-Ann Tirone Smith - Free Book Online Page B

outside the tent. Fifty feet from where
     the fire started. Who else was there?”
    “Nobody.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “’Course not. Who could be sure?”
    “I guess it isn’t necessary for me to ask you to think about it.”
    She pressed her lips together. “No, sir, it ain’t. Many a night I lay in my bed thinkin’ about not much of anything else.
     But I’m ready, now, to do some extra thinkin’. Haven’t been ready to do that till now; that’s why I come. Waited till I could
     take the sleeves off my costumes. See, I believe I know someone who could help both of us. Help me with my thinking and help
     you too, mister.”
    “Not mister. Charlie.”
    Her face had been so pained. Now she smiled. She said, “Charlie.”
    “And who would that person be?”
    “That would be the Master of Illusion.”
    She paused, still smiling, grinning actually. She was a flirt and she was also a performer. She knew all about dramatic timing.
    Charlie said, calm as could be, “The Master of Illusion?” as if someone had suggested him before.
    “That’s right. He’s a clown, a magician, too. He comes out into the ring, snaps his fingers, and puffs of pink smoke come
     out of the snap. And he’s a contortionist. Fits in a car that’s no more than two foot square.”
    “How could he help us?”
    “He’s a hypnotist, too. The best. Off season, he does nightclubs and things like bowling banquets and bar mitzvahs. Gets people
     to act like they’re chickens. ’Course, then he’s known as the Master of Hypnosis. He’s a real psychologist, honest to Pete.
     Went to school. He can get people to stop smoking, things like that. But he’s circus. He gets real bored out there. Can’t
     wait to come back.
    “He could get me to remember whatever it was I forgot after all these years. He’ll do it for me because I stand in as his
     assistant once in a while—when his wife is having babies. They got about eight or nine kids, that’s why he has to work outside.”
    “How do you assist him?”
    “I get to open the car door.”
    “And what’s this hypnotist’s name?”
    “Told ya. The Master of Illusion.”
    “I mean his real name.”
    “Real name’s Bud. He kind of likes Master, though.”
    The tape broke. It didn’t matter. With a nod from Charlie toward the phone, Alfred Court’s assistant was hooked up with the
     Master of Illusion in just a few minutes. He was working at a club in Boston. She exchanged some polite talk, asked for his
     family, and then told him what she was about. Then she put her hand over the phone and said, “’Course he wants a thousand
     big ones. Me and him will split.”
    Charlie looked over at Margie. Margie said, “Why not?” The thought of watching this woman get hypnotized thrilled her. She
     listened as Dixie and her friend spent half an hour shooting the breeze about their last performance together, laughing, and
     later, when she’d left, Charlie and Margie kidded around themselves—talked about subtracting the phone bill from the thousand.
    Margie said to Charlie, “It could be a scam.”
    “It is a lot of money, Margie.”
    “Who cares about money? But these people aren’t known for honesty, right?”
    “You’re thinking of carnies, honey. Not circus people.”
    “Well… let’s do it. Time to sell the old Caddie anyway. It must have at least seven hundred miles on it.”
    Charlie kissed her. She kissed him back. He said, “We’ve only got twenty minutes till Martha gets back.”
    “Then you’d better make it good.”
    Margie wanted to invite everyone they knew to the hypnosis session, but Charlie reminded her that it wasn’t exactly a party.
     When Charlie would remind her of what he was actually up to, it would dawn on her that though his firebug hunt might be a
     game for her, it was no game for him. Margie had a living thriller going on in a private corner of her house—she was in the
     middle of a best-seller, married to Nero Wolfe, or Hercule Poirot, or