Read Online Who Done Houdini by Raymond John - Free Book Online Page B

estate.”
    â€œShould we contact the New York Police Department, then?”
    â€œThe official cause of death on the certificate is peritonitis. I doubt they’d execute an exhumation order without more evidence. Inquests are expensive, and Mrs. Houdini would most likely have to pay for it . . . along with possible insurance issues.”
    â€œOne thing I don’t understand. Why would Sir Arthur say the police suspect him as an accomplice to murder?”
    â€œThat is something we will have to find out from him.”
    Our trolley ride ended in short order and we got out at Adelaide Street. Like many of the streets crossing Woodward, both sides were walled off at the intersection to resemble a gate. We lived in the third house on the south side.
    The Chevrolet awaited us beside the house. I could hear the hum of a vacuum cleaner within our house. Violet was at war with her mortal enemy. Dust.
    As I expected, Mr. Holmes got in on the driver’s side, and I offered him the key.
    He got out with a harrumph. “Why do you silly Americans persist in driving on the wrong side of the road?”
    I saw my opening to avenge my humiliation playing backgammon. “We drive on the right to honor the French, our allies when America gained independence. They drove their teams of horses with the driver sitting over the leftmost horse. You drive on the left because knights on horses carried their weapons in their right hand. I’m amazed you didn’t know that.”
    Eyes glittering, Mr. Holmes’s mouth opened, then closed without a word. I heard him grumble as he slid next to me. “I trust you know how to get to this A.J. Baker’s séance parlor.”
    â€œHe’s in St. Clair Shores. It’s more than ten miles from here.”
    â€œI’m surprised he lives so far from the city.”
    â€œI think he wants the privacy. Anyone who comes to see him must have a strong incentive to do so. Mrs. Henry Ford reputedly visited him a while ago. As you know, the wealthy do not like to throw away their money.”
    â€œQuite true. Would you mind stopping somewhere on the way? I would like to purchase a newspaper.”

 
    Chapter 10
    I let him read until we arrived at our destination, interrupting him only once on the way to point out the superstructure of the giant rollercoaster at Jefferson Beach now under construction. The first dip was supposed to be more than two hundred feet.
    Holmes seemed impressed. “Amazing. The one at Blackpool is much smaller.”
    â€œHave you ridden on it?”
    â€œOf course. I wanted to find out what all the screaming was about. I found the whole experience incredibly boring.”
    â€œBoring? You didn’t feel an adrenalin rush when you started to hurtle downward? Cameron and I drive to Flint to ride the roller coaster at least two or three times a month. We both love it.”
    â€œ Chacun a son gout, mon ami. But I’m delighted you have a son, Wiggins. I regret it is one of the pleasures I’ll never experience.”
    Regret. I didn’t know that word even was in Holmes’ vocabulary.
    â€œHow far are we from our destination?”
    â€œWe’re almost there.”
    Less than a mile, it turned out. Just north on Eight-Mile Road and off a long driveway leading to a house not visible from the thoroughfare. The location was unmarked, and easily passed unless a driver had a map, furnished by Baker himself, to find it.
    The house itself was immense, dark and gabled. Foreboding in daylight, it had to be terrifying at night. Unlike most mediums, Baker obviously wanted to scare his clients. The easier to deceive them, perhaps.
    I gathered the press camera from the trunk and followed Mr. Holmes to the door.
    The door knocker, a dragon head and wings, was welded tightly against the striker plate. I pushed the button next to the door and a bell sounded somewhere deep within the bowels of the establishment.
    Moments later,