Now You See It: A Toby Peters Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B

razor, a package of gum, a long knife with a fancy ivory handle and a curved blade, matchboxes, a typewriter, cigar boxes, small statues of African figures and Greek warriors. A glassed-in cabinet held neatly arranged pistols and knives.
    I was looking at a compact wooden radio when Ott returned with my Pepsi glass and a glass of something amber for himself.
    “That’s the Anderson Surprise Radio,” he said, sitting and crossing his legs. “You turn it on and it works. You turn the dial and the top pops open with a loud electrical sizzle and a shower of spring-activated colorful balls. The company went out of business two years ago. An old man tried to get H.V. Kaltenborn on that radio, had a heart attack instead of the news.”
    “Fascinating,” I said, raising my glass.
    “Isn’t it?” he said, raising his.
    “And the guns?”
    “Cigarette lighters, flares, guns for making loud noise and lots of smoke. That’s what audiences like. The smell of smoke. The noise. The danger they know isn’t really danger and yet can think, ‘What if something goes wrong?’ Something could always go wrong. And sometimes it actually does.”
    I drank and felt something on my chin. The glass was leaking. Ott beamed and grinned. I put the glass down in front of Bombay the Great.
    “Dribble glass,” Ott said. “Can’t resist it. Sorry.”
    He didn’t look sorry. I wiped my chin and neck with my sleeve, trying to show nothing.
    “Get you another one?” he asked, starting to rise.
    “No thanks,” I said.
    He looked around the room with satisfaction.
    “World’s largest collection of practical jokes,” he said with a sweep of his hand.
    “Practical?”
    “Yes, I’ve always wondered why they were called practical jokes too,” he said. “But I’ve learned to accept life’s small mysteries. You?”
    “I try to solve them,” I said. “Unanswered questions give me stomach cramps. Why are you hosting a dinner in honor of Harry Blackstone?”
    He nodded, reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver cigarette case and a small matching lighter. He took a cigarette from the case, put it in his mouth, and flicked on the lighter. A tiny pink umbrella popped up from the lighter.
    “Funny?” he said with a grin.
    “Hilarious,” I said.
    He put the lighter and case back in his pocket, played with the cigarette for a second and offered it to me.
    “Don’t smoke,” I said.
    “Just as well,” said Ott with a wide toothy grin. “It would have exploded.”
    “Blackstone,” I reminded him.
    “Bygones are bygones,” he said, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. “He insulted me. I’ve learned to accept insults. Grudges are useless. Blackstone is a fine magician.”
    “I didn’t see any Blackstone posters in the hall.”
    “I respect him. I don’t admire him. My moods, my opinions change constantly. I can be laughing one minute, crying the next. Would you like some peanuts?”
    “No. I’d like some answers.”
    He let out an enormous sigh and stood up, taking a long drink from his glass and then placing the glass on the table.
    “What do you see before you?” he asked.
    I saw a slightly looney man with a lot of money and time.
    “Calvin Ott,” I said.
    “No,” he shouted, his face turning red. I think I jumped in my seat. “No,” he repeated calmly. “You see Maurice Keller, Illusionist Extraordinaire.”
    “When’s the next show?” I said, forcing myself to grin and sit back.
    “I don’t perform in public,” he said. “I may have something special in honor of Blackstone, however.”
    “Mind if my brother and I show up?”
    “No,” he said, happy again. “You’ll be welcome. In fact, I insist.”
    I got up, looked at Bombay the Skull, who turned away from me. Ott was grinning.
    “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
    “No, thanks,” I said.
    “Your loss,” he said as I turned toward the hallway. “You can show yourself out?”
    “I can.”
    “There’s no door