No Escape (8 page)

Lauren thought about that, surprised by the question.

“I’ve seen some of those guys work when Janet and I first started looking into Gibson as our doer. Some magicians work the same patter and stunts. Some try to come up with new acts every time you see them. But it’s all about the magic, about the performance.”

“Do you think that’s what Gibson is about? The performance?”

“You know his magic better than I do. Which kind of magician is he?”

It only took Lauren a moment to realize that Heath had a point. Gibson did a round of shows, then he dropped out of the public view. When he reappeared months later, he had a whole new elaborate production ready to go. Sometimes the show was intimate magic for a group or a pay-channel broadcast. Other times it was escapology, a feat that taunted human endurance or even death itself, such as when he’d sat in an immersion tank for over seven minutes before breaking free of his shackles. He was well short of other magicians’ time, but anytime a feat like that was done, it was impressive. The pay channels had eaten it up. Another time, he’d levitated himself in an effort to get out of a notoriously haunted house that burned down around him while malign spirits tried to keep him within the fire. Lauren didn’t believe in malign spirits, but the performance had been nerve-racking all the same.

No one knew what Gibson would do next.

“He doesn’t like to repeat himself.”

Heath didn’t say anything to that.

“You could be wrong, you know.” Lauren spoke pointedly, getting her words across like hammer blows. “You’re focusing on Gibson because he was in a photograph with Megan. The whole time you’re doing that, telling Inspector Myton that Gibson is Megan’s killer, the real killer could be getting away.”

Heath’s clean-shaven jaw bunched, and the muscles stood out in sharp relief. His words were soft. “Gibson is the killer, Miss Cooper. Maybe if more people believed me, we could put him where he belongs more quickly. Either way, I’m going to get him. You can bet the farm on that.”

“There’s nothing to tie Megan to the White Rabbit Killer.”

He hesitated. “Yeah, there is. Two days ago, Inspector Myton received a black card with a white rabbit embossed on it. The Kingston police just aren’t telling anyone yet.” He looked past her. “You should go back to your mom. She probably needs you.”

Looking over her shoulder, Lauren checked on her mother and saw that most of the family members had gone. She couldn’t just leave her mother sitting there at the gravesite. Hurting and feeling guilty about being gone so long, she turned back to address Heath.

Only he wasn’t there. He was already several long strides away from her, moving with deceptive speed through the graveyard.

Lauren considered going after him, but she didn’t know what else to say. He was set on his course, and there was nothing she could do to break him of that.

He’s not your problem.
She concentrated on that, then turned and walked back to rejoin her mother.

Chapter 6

“Y
ou need to eat, Lauren. I can fix you something if you’d like.”

“I’m all right, Mom. You should rest. Or, if you’re hungry, I can make you something.” Lauren perched uneasily on the edge of the couch in the living room where she’d spent the best years of her life. She didn’t know what to do with herself. She was exhausted from the funeral, but she knew she couldn’t rest. Thoughts of Megan’s murder and Gibson kept whirling around inside her head. And Atlanta, Georgia, detective Heath Sawyer was in those thoughts way too much for any degree of comfort.

“No, honey. I’m fine.” Her mother didn’t look fine. The days since Megan’s murder had sapped energy from her that she didn’t have to spare. Her skin was pale and blotchy. Now that they were back home, at the house where Lauren had finished growing up in, her mother had taken off her wig, pulled on a crocheted cap to cover her bald head and sat in her favorite chair.

The television was blank, but the street noise drifted in through the closed windows. Outside, children played in yards, celebrating the arrival of summer and the end of school. Lauren didn’t have many of those memories of playing in the neighborhood at that age. She’d been older when she’d arrived, but she could remember the other, younger kids in the neighborhood doing that. Whitman Park was only a couple of blocks away.

Lauren sat on the couch and felt alone. As heavily medicated and as tired as her mother was, she was barely there. The pain between them was so raw that it couldn’t be touched.

After a little while, her mother slept in the chair. Unable to sit there any longer, Lauren got up quietly and retreated to the kitchen to fix a cup of tea. It felt good going in the kitchen, finding everything in its place where it had always been.

What was unaccustomed was the silence. Even after her dad had passed away, there had always been joy in the house. Megan had been the center of it, of course, because she had been the chatterbox. Lauren hadn’t realized how silent the house could be without her sister.

The tears came while she waited for the water to heat. For a time, she let them fall, grateful that she’d been composed throughout the service. She didn’t like showing emotions in front of others. She’d never felt comfortable doing that.

A few minutes later, the kettle whistled. She took it from the stove and dried her tears, then filled a cup and added a tea bag. As she waited for the tea to steep, she walked through the house, finally going upstairs to the rooms she and Megan had lived in when they’d been there.

Megan had been the first to leave, the first to get a “grown-up” job because Lauren hadn’t been able to let go of the job at the magic store. She hadn’t been ready for freefall among strangers then, and magic was—and still remained—her passion. There was something about magic, something about the illusion of being something else, or maybe
someone
else, that appealed to her in ways nothing else did.

Megan’s room had been a mess after she’d departed in a whirl of excitement, littered with cast-off clothing, keepsakes from junior high, high school and college, books and rock star posters. It had taken Lauren and her mom three days to clean everything up, and they’d threatened to box it all up and send it to Megan to deal with, but neither of them wanted to think about finding the boxes sitting in Megan’s apartment unopened when they went to see her.

The bed was neatly made. Trophies lined one wall. Pictures of Megan as a cheerleader, a business leader and in speech competitions, as well as on family trips and vacations, covered the wall. A person could stand in the middle of Megan’s room and watch her grow up in the spotlight. Lauren had always thought that was weird, the growing up part. As for the spotlight part, there just hadn’t been any other place for Megan.

Lauren’s room, on the other hand, had been freshly cleaned and neat the day she’d left it. She’d stayed in the house till she’d gotten through college, to help her dad with her mom’s first bout with cancer. Then, when the job at the magic store had become full-time, once Mom’s cancer was in remission, Lauren had moved out and claimed her own space.

Even four years later, that apartment still felt like a temporary way station, a brief shelter from the turbulence that had claimed the rest of her life. Nothing before had been permanent.

This,
this had been home. And now it was withering away.

She sat on the edge of her bed and glanced at the walls. Compared to Megan’s, they were empty. The Taylors had adopted her when she was eleven, young enough that she could share a lot with Megan, but old enough that she could never really escape the experience of getting shuffled between foster homes.

Pictures of her at that age and older were on the walls. She’d played softball and ran track and swam competitively. All were sports more or less recognized for individual effort. Only in the family photos did she look like a team player, and that was primarily because Megan had always been right there to pull her in.

On the chest of drawers, Lauren’s early magic kits sat in boxes and pouches, as if a magician would be along any moment to put them to use. Lauren was surprised that her mother hadn’t thrown them away, but Mom had always maintained that magic was the one thing that seemed to make Lauren come alive. A magician had to have an audience, she’d always said, and that was when Lauren had shone.

Lauren had let her believe that was true, but the actual truth was that she had sat in her room and performed magic all the time. Megan had watched in fascination at times. On other occasions, Lauren had used her tricks to bother Megan when she was on the phone. Especially after she developed an interest in boys. It was hard to focus on a conversation when coins and scarves and other small items kept appearing and disappearing.

Walking over to the chest of drawers, Lauren picked up the white-tipped black magic wand. It had been her first. When it was popped the right way, it became a bouquet of flowers. When she’d been eleven, she’d thought it was the coolest trick ever.

Now she just wished it had real magic in it so she could bring Megan back.

* * *

“What do you know about Gibson?”

Warren Morganstern lifted his head from the deck of cards he’d been shuffling and regarded Lauren. He was in his seventies, comfortably possessing a potbelly and a wrinkled face that still showed all the handsomeness of the posters Lauren had seen of his magic days. His hair was iron-gray and neatly parted on the left. Laugh wrinkles surrounded his blue eyes. He wore a pressed white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to midforearm. His jacket dangled from the back of his chair. A steaming cup of coffee sat to his right on the small table.

He eyed Lauren. “How are you doing, kiddo?”

“I’m okay.” Lauren leaned on the load-bearing pillar behind the table. She knew she didn’t look good. She hadn’t slept well last night. Her mind was too full of Megan and Gibson and Heath Sawyer. Everything was getting twisted up in there.

“You don’t look okay.” Morganstern’s voice was gruff and hoarse, an old man’s voice now and not really strong enough for stage shows. He still had the hands and reflexes of a master, though. He just needed an assistant who could carry on the verbal part of the act. Lauren had been that assistant a number of times.

“Thanks.”

“I call ’em like I see ’em, kiddo.” Morganstern waved at the chair on the opposite side of the small card table.

The magic store had four little rooms where magicians could rehearse tricks and illusions. In those rooms they could practice with the tricks to see if they would work for them, or they trained with other magicians to make the trick their own.

After a brief hesitation, knowing that Morganstern was wanting to talk to her and knowing that she didn’t feel like talking to anyone, Lauren went around the table and sat.

Morganstern shrugged. “I thought about coming by, after the funeral.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I know. You always liked to be alone with the hard stuff.” Morganstern shuffled cards again. “Your mom okay?”

“With the cancer or with Megan?” Lauren knew she sounded angry. She
was
angry, but she didn’t mean to take it out on Morganstern.

He didn’t flinch, though. He’d known her too long. “Both.”

Lauren let out a tense breath. She loved that she didn’t always have to be polite with Morganstern, and that he didn’t take it personally when she wasn’t. “She’s doing okay.”

“You asked about Gibson. I’m assuming we’re talking about the magician, not the guitar.” His eyes twinkled just a little.

“Yes.”

“Something on your mind?” The cards danced in Morganstern’s capable hands, flitting from palm to palm like flickering doves.

“I need some time off.”

Morganstern nodded. “Sure, sure, kiddo. Me and the missus expected that. That’s why I’m here this morning. Take all the time you need. We cleared our schedules, not that there’s much to clear these days. That’s what retirement is all about.” He smiled.

“I don’t know how much time that will be.”

Morganstern shot her a curious look. “It’s okay.” He paused. “You just do what you gotta do.”

Lauren paused, not knowing how much to tell him. Warren Morganstern was a good man. He’d looked out for her for years, another father figure, but this one had led her into a realm of make-believe possibilities and a way of forgetting so many of the bad memories.

“One of the last people Megan saw down in Jamaica was Gibson.”

Morganstern nodded and reshuffled the cards. He laid them on the table in a row, then made them dance from side to side. “How’d that happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did Megan tell you about it?”

“No.”

“Seems like that’s something she would have told you about.”

“It is. I think she just didn’t get the chance to.”

Morganstern nodded and was somber and silent for a moment. “Something must have happened pretty quick for her not to tell you something like that.”

“I know.”

“So you’re wanting to talk to Gibson? See if he knows anything about...your sister?”

“Yes.”

Morganstern shrugged. “Gibson isn’t exactly a helpful man. As far as I know, he doesn’t have any friends. No one in the business here that I know, and I know a lot of people.”

“But he has a home down in Jamaica?”

“Rumor would suggest so. He spends a lot of time down there.”

“Why?”

Morganstern sighed. “I don’t know, kiddo. Most magicians like a place they can retreat to in order to design their illusions. Operate under the radar till they get the bugs worked out. I can make a few calls, see what I can find out.”

Lauren nodded, getting more comfortable with her course of action. She couldn’t sit back because the police weren’t obviously going to carry the investigation very far. “I need this to be kept quiet. I don’t want Gibson to know anyone from the magic community is looking into him.”

“All right.” Morganstern frowned. “I gotta say, I don’t like the idea of you going down there and talking to that guy. Especially not if you think you gotta do everything on stealth mode.”