The Last Illusion - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,13

happened to the contraption itself? I stared longingly at those tarpaulins. If I could just peek under them, maybe I’d recognize the leg of that table. Maybe there would still be evidence of bloodstains on the leg. And if it was still here, then maybe Scarpelli hadn’t run off after all. Maybe the murderer had made sure that he finished off both Scarpelli and his assistant. I knelt on the floor and attempted to lift up the bottom of the tarpaulin.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” called a voice from across the stage.

I jumped up guiltily and was relieved to find it was only one of the stagehands and not one of the illusionists. He was a big, burly man in his shirtsleeves and braces, so I decided to act the helpless female.

“Oh, my goodness, you startled me,” I said, putting my hand to my chest in a dramatic gesture. “It’s so dark back here, isn’t it?”

“The public’s not allowed backstage,” he said, still glowering. “Who let you in?”

“Your doorkeeper said I could come and look for my lost wrap. I hope that’s all right.”

“Your wrap?”

I nodded. “I was here the other night when there was the terrible accident, and I used my wrap to cover that poor girl until they found blankets for her. I came back on the off chance that it might still be here, although it probably won’t be much use to me, all covered in blood like that. However I’d like to retrieve it if I could. It came from Paris, you know. Cost me more than a month’s wages.” I hoped I was babbling on like a scatterbrained female. I even attempted a pretty smile.

“You wouldn’t find it under there,” the stagehand said, giving me a frosty stare. “Those belong to the illusionists and they’re most particular about them.”

“Oh, dear. Of course, they would be. I’m sorry.” I backed away hastily. “You didn’t find a wrap, did you? A pretty lilac color with a silky fringe, but it would have had blood on it, of course. You probably wouldn’t have noticed the color.”

He shook his head. “Can’t say that I’ve seen such a thing, and the boss had us cleaning up the stage after the tragedy. I can tell you it’s not easy cleaning up that much blood. Scrubbing until all hours, we were.”

“How awful for you. I’m sure it was a most horrid task,” I said.

“Not your favorite either, was it Ernest?” the stagehand called to another fellow who was apparently watching us from the shadows. The first stagehand turned back to me with a smirk on his face. “Gives himself airs and graces that one. Thinks he’s too good for the menial tasks. I told him why doesn’t he go back to the old country if it doesn’t suit him here?”

Ernest gave us a look of contempt. “I just didn’t like touching blood,” he said. “It’s bad luck where I come from if someone dies in the theater.”

He spoke with a slight accent, not unlike Houdini’s. “What does the young lady want?” he asked.

“She’s looking for a stole she left here,” the first stagehand said.

“Something was stolen?” Ernest asked, frowning.

The first stagehand and I exchanged a laugh and I saw his demeanor change toward me. “A stole,” he said. “You know a wrap, a shawl.”

“Ah. This I have not seen.”

I gave a shy, sideways glance toward the one who wasn’t Ernest. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll just take one last look around, just in case it’s been discarded in a corner, then I’ll be off.”

“All right, miss.” The first one was now looking at me as if he’d just noticed I was a woman. “Just don’t go near that stuff belonging to the illusionists. It would be more than my job’s worth if they caught anyone poking around it.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t go near it, I promise,” I said.

He nodded and went back to work putting a coat of paint on a pillar. Ernest gave me a long questioning stare and disappeared into the shadows again.

I started peering into corners, then I turned back to my friend. “That contraption for sawing the lady in half,” I said. “Did Scarpelli keep it locked up under one of those tarpaulins?”

“He did.”

I gave a dramatic shudder. “I saw the whole thing. It was horrible, wasn’t it? I still feel faint when I think about it. It’s not still there, is it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t see how it could be. It went

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