"Yes, Mr. Parks," said Schell, "this is often the way. Many doors are opened when the dead pay a visit."
DUBIOUS RIGMAROLE
A mile down the road from the entrance to the drive that led into the Parks estate, Antony pulled off the blanket that had concealed him and sat upright in the back seat of the Cord.
"Sorry I had to clip Georgie," he said, removing the powdered wig from his glowing head.
"It was probably for the best," said Schell, the first utterance he'd made since we'd gotten in the car. I could tell before we left the mansion that something was wrong with him. His not having reacted when Parks opened the terrace doors was unthinkable. I was reminded of my statement to him a few days earlier that he never made mistakes and now felt badly, as if I'd jinxed him-a concept Schell himself would scoff at.
"Parks wants us back as soon as possible," I told Antony to assuage his guilt.
"There's something not Jake about that guy."
"That's an understatement," I said.
Schell spoke no more for the entire ride home, and Antony and I both sensed it was better to leave the silence alone. When we arrived at the house, the boss said nothing but left us in the living room and went down the hall to the Bugatorium.
"Is he pissed off at me?" asked Antony.
"No," I said. "I think he's upset with himself."
"What happened in there?" he asked. "All I saw was Parks come through those doors like gangbusters."
"Once he saw you done up like the old lady, he knocked me over and was gone."
"Where was Schell?" he asked.
"Standing right there behind him, but it was like he couldn't move."
"That's not right." He shook his head. "I'm gonna get a bath and get this crap off me," he said, referring to the phosphorescent makeup we'd painted on his face, neck, and arms.
Normally, I'd have wisecracked about his dress, but everything was off-kilter. Antony retired to his room, and I went in search of Schell.
I found him in the Bugatorium, sitting at the table amid his plants and beloved butterflies, a bridge deck in his hand and a large Taygetis echo hovering above his head like some dark thought. He was repeatedly doing one-handed cuts with the deck. I sat across from him, knowing full well that he would not speak for a long time. I'd seen him like this before. He fanned the cards, closed the fan, and then subtly crimped one. That card, the jack of spades, kept reappearing in all the tricks he ran through. The graceful flourishing of his hands, and the popping, flipping, and sailing of the cards was hypnotic.
Just when I thought he might be winding down, another deck appeared as if out of thin air in his free hand, and he now worked two decks with the facility that any normal sharp might only one. He was completely lost to his thoughts, and I knew I might as well go to bed. Sleep didn't come easily that night, for it was a certainty that something was very wrong.
I was just dozing off when I heard a knock on my door. The door opened, letting in a sliver of light. From the size of the silhouette, I knew it was Antony. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, bringing the darkness back.
"I really botched it this time," he said.
"What?" I asked.
"When I was running for the car, the old lady's hat musta flown off my head. I can't find it anywhere. Can you imagine?"
"I wouldn't worry about it," I said. "Parks doesn't seem to be that with it. Even if he finds it, he'll think it's like the bear; a gift from his mother."
"I hope so," said Antony. "Hey, how's the boss?"
"He's in the bug room doing his card thing. He'll probably be at it all night."
The next morning, Antony and I had already eaten breakfast and washed the dishes by the time Schell appeared. He poured himself a cup of coffee and joined us at the table.
"Get much sleep?" asked Antony.
Schell shook his head.
"I guess we really mucked it up yesterday, huh?" asked the strongman.
"On the contrary," said Schell, "I think we improvised like true pros. Your downing Parks was actually a stroke of genius. Diego and I set it right with him, and all's well that ends well. Don't worry, you'll not get out of reprising your role as his mother."
"Christ," said Antony.
"Why were you so silent last night?" I asked.
Schell took a sip of his coffee and then reached across the table to steal one of Antony's cigarettes. It was a rare happenstance when the boss smoked and usually signaled something was awry. He lifted the lighter, used it, and returned it to the table. After taking a long drag, he seemed to compose himself before answering. "You two have to be honest with me," he said.
Antony and I both nodded.
"Were you playing a game with me last night?"
"What do you mean?" asked Antony.
"Don't get defensive," said Schell. "I simply need to discount that possibility. Yes or no: were you two up to some scam last night?"
"No," I said, and Antony said, "Never on a job, Boss."
"As I thought," said Schell.
"Why do you ask?" I said.
"Because I saw something last night I can't explain," said Schell. "I've gone over it and over it in my mind, but there's just no explanation, unless of course Parks was playing us, which I hardly would believe possible."
There was a silence during which Schell took another drag of the cigarette.
"Well," said Antony, "are you gonna tell us or do we have to guess?"
"After Diego and I ran the levitation with the bear, and Mrs. Parks stopped by to gently tongue-lash her son a bit," said Schell, "we got up and moved toward the glass doors to watch your command performance amid the hedges. Diego was to the front and left of Parks as we approached, and I was behind and to the right. As we came up to the doors, I distinctly saw, on the right-hand panel of glass, the image of a child. It was as if she was inside the glass. About six or seven, somewhere around that age, curly, chestnut hair, large eyes, wearing a simple dress with a flower pattern." He stubbed out the cigarette and rubbed his forehead with his opposite hand.
"What was she doing?" asked Antony.
"Just standing there, looking at me," said Schell, a vacant look in his eyes.
"Eerie," I said.
"She remained there until Parks finally flung open the doors and took off after Antony. How do I explain that?" he asked.
"Now I know why you didn't react," I said.
"It's really no excuse," said Schell, shaking his head. "I should have stayed with the job at hand, no matter what."
"So what do you think it was?" asked Antony.
Schell shrugged.
"Maybe with all of our sйance business we actually called over a ghost," I said.
"It's almost too easy to believe that," said Schell, "but I don't buy it. There are no such things as ghosts. Houdini may have been someone who could have made life very difficult for us if he'd ever caught wind of our operation. But I have to say I had the utmost respect for him, because he was right: the spiritualist phenomenon is all sleight of hand, relying one hundred percent upon gullibility. I dare say it doesn't end there, but you can throw in religion, romantic love, and luck as well. No, this was something else."
I was timid about bringing it up, but I offered, "Maybe your mind played a trick on you."
Schell turned, and I thought at first he was going to rebuke my suggestion, but instead he said, "I've considered that. It seems the only thing possible."
"Look," said Antony, "we've done a dozen jobs in the last two months. That's an awful lot."
"True," said Schell.
"Hows about a vacation?" said Antony.