Without thinking, Deirdre turned in behind him, making it through the gate just before it closed. By then, Henry and his motorcycle had vanished up the driveway.
Deirdre stopped the car. Now what? Should she drive up to the front door, march up the steps . . . and then what? Throw pebbles at Joelen’s window? What Henry was up to was his own business. At least it would have been if he hadn’t been lying to her, insisting that he had no ongoing relationship with Joelen Nichol. Maybe she could figure out what was going on without embarrassing him.
She drove slowly up the driveway. When she got to the pool, she backed into the carport that was camouflaged by a bank of bougainvillea, then killed the engine, grabbed her crutch, and started to walk up the drive toward the house. Bunny was obviously not addicted to thirty laps a day. Close up, the pool not only looked gross, it smelled scummy, like sour milk and rotting leaves.
Deirdre continued up the hill, moving as quickly as she could. By the time she rounded the final bend she was out of breath. Henry had parked his bike in front and was crouched behind it, looking at the engine or the tires, she couldn’t tell which. His fancy, custom-made helmet hung from one of the handlebars.
The minute he stood, Deirdre realized her mistake. The man by the bike wasn’t Henry; it was Jackie Hutchinson. He started walking toward the front door, wobbling a little on the chunky heels of a pair of black cowboy boots that, like his helmet, could have been Henry’s.
“Looking for someone?” The voice from behind her startled Deirdre. She whipped around to see Bunny Nichol wearing a pink satin quilted bathrobe, a chiffon scarf wrapped around her head and tied over her forehead. She was in full makeup, of course. “You’re here a little early for a visit.”
“I thought—” Deirdre started. But before she could come up with a plausible excuse for being there, Bunny hooked her arm and called out, “Jackie!”
Jackie turned around as Bunny propelled Deirdre forward toward the house. “You remember Deirdre?” Bunny said. “She was at the house a few days ago?”
“Sure. You were up there.” Jackie pointed vaguely in the direction of Bunny’s bedroom. “You look . . . different. I’d never have recognized you.”
“I didn’t recognize you in that helmet,” Deirdre said.
Jackie looked down at the helmet hanging from his hand. “Pretty cool, isn’t it?”
“I’ve only seen one other like it.”
“You must know Henry Unger.”
“He’s my brother.”
Jackie narrowed his eyes at Deirdre. “You and Henry? Really. I was just over there. Small world.”
Maybe not that small. “You work with him?” Deirdre said.
“Not with him. For him. He’s an old friend of Bunny’s.”
“Deirdre,” Bunny said, “I know you need to be on your way. I’ll walk you back to your car.” She started escorting Deirdre down the driveway.
Deirdre didn’t mind being given the bum’s rush, as her father used to call it. She was as anxious to get out of there as Bunny was to be rid of her. But as they walked away from the house, she picked up her head. Was that the woop-woop of a siren?
“Shit,” Bunny said under her breath. “You parked at the pool?”
Deirdre nodded.
“You must have triggered the alarm.” Bunny gripped Deirdre’s arm tighter. “You really should have telephoned first.”
As they approached the carport by the pool, the alarm fell silent. A black-and-white car with a row of stars and SECURITY stenciled on the door was parked behind Deirdre’s car, blocking it in. A uniformed guard with a brushy salt-and-pepper mustache emerged from under the overhanging bougainvillea. “Der-dra Unger?” he said, mispronouncing Deirdre’s name. He had her wallet open in his hand and was holding her messenger bag. “That your Mercedes parked in there?”
“Yes. And that’s my bag.”
“She’s all right, Martin,” Bunny said. “False alarm. I’ll take those.”
Martin the security guard reached into Deirdre’s bag and pulled out the knife. “You sure she’s all right, ma’am?”
“She’s just returning that to me,” Bunny said, and held out her hand. Martin gave her the knife, hilt first.
Bunny turned the knife over. The blade flashed in the sun. “Did you know,” she said, giving Martin a coy smile, “that I once worked with quite a famous magician? In the early days, of course. Before I became a star.” She rotated the knife so she had the blade between her fingertips. “Can you imagine this? I’m dressed”—she poked a bent knee through the opening in her robe—“scantily.” She gave Martin a wink. “Strapped to a board. Then Jasper sets me spinning. Backs away. Looks out at the audience as if to say Dare me. Pretends he’s about to throw the knife but doesn’t. Not yet. Suspense builds. Tension thick. You can hear a pin drop.” Bunny reared back, holding the knife aloft. “Then suddenly Jasper throws the knife. The audience gasps. The board slowly stops spinning and everyone can see where it’s landed, right between my legs.” She drew her leg demurely back into the folds of her robe.
Martin exhaled audibly.
“Pure skill,” Bunny said. “Not an illusion, as so many magic tricks are.” She lowered the knife, moving it to her other hand and grasping it by the handle. “It was simply quite amazing that he could throw as accurately as he could. Frankly, I was terrified. I needed a stiff drink before each performance and kept my eyes shut from the moment he set that board spinning until it stopped.”
Bunny’s gaze softened, focused in midair. “He also used to make the knife vanish.” She blinked. “Now that’s a trick I can show you. I store some of our props—mementos, really—in the pool house. Of course, I’m not a master like the Great Jasper, but I’ve always been a quick study, and I saw him do the trick often enough.”
Bunny handed Martin the knife and let herself in through the gate to the pool. Moments later, she emerged holding a painted box. “Here we are.” She blew on it, raising a cloud of dust, and rubbed it with her sleeve. “Covered in cobwebs. Like we’ll all be ourselves one day.” The box was red lacquer, decorated with gold stars and crescent moons.
Magic. It’s all about misdirection. That was what Bunny had said when she contemplated how to costume Deirdre so she’d be invisible for her visit to City Hall.
With a practiced gesture, Bunny tapped the surface of the box with delicately tapered nails. “Tricks are so much fun when you don’t know their secrets.” She rotated the box, then twirled it corner to corner until the stars and moons painted on its shiny enamel surface were a blur. Then she held the box perfectly still. She glanced in Deirdre’s direction, then lifted the lid and opened a door in the side. Lowered her hand in through the top. Her fingers waggled, visible through the open side door against a black-and-white-striped interior. “See? Nothing whatsoever inside.” She pulled her hand from the box, closed the side door, and held out her hand to Martin. He gave her back the knife. With a flourish, Bunny dropped it into the box. It made a thump when it landed.
Bunny snapped the lid shut. Frowned and looked at the box as if she wasn’t sure what to do next. Smiled, like a lightbulb had gone off in her head, then twirled the box again. Once, twice, three times. Waved her hand over it. Murmured, “Magic words, magic words, magic words.”
Anyone who’d ever seen a magic act knew that the knife would disappear. Even so, Deirdre gasped when Bunny opened a side panel to reveal that it had. She closed that panel and opened the lid, peered in, and gave a momentary look of surprise. Then she reached in and began pulling out a shiny red silk scarf. Knotted to the end of it was a green scarf. Then a yellow one. Scarf after scarf streamed from the box until there were no more.
“Et voilà!” Bunny said with a wave of her arm, sending the string of scarves flying in a zigzag overhead before stuffing them back into the box.