READ A SHORT SAMPLE FROM THE BOOK:
PROLOG
The tennis match of questions and answers was making my neck sore. And my headache.
On my left, the police detective was serving up the questions. And on my right, the suspect was returning service.
Inquiry. Reply. Repeat. Inquiry. Reply. Repeat.
I started to feel dizzy as my head spun left then right and back again.
I looked over at Harry, who was following the exchange with what appeared to be a relaxed interest. But I knew him better than that.
Question. Response. Question. Response.
And then what sounded like one final question: “Okay, tell me this: do you know anyone who would want to murder the victim?”
The suspect paused and then she stammered out a “No … I don’t.”
That response – and the fact that it felt like the room was heating up – flashed me back to a moment from my childhood.
It was a hot summer day. Maybe August. But blisteringly hot. I had just told a little white lie to my Uncle Harry about a small accident in the magic shop. He knew it was a lie. And he knew that I knew that he knew it was a lie. He stared down at me; I was awash in shame. It was a horrible feeling. I vowed never to tell another lie. Which was kind of ironic, because magicians are known for telling lies. Or as I prefer to call them, creative explanations.
I suddenly felt a sympathetic response for the suspect, because I knew she had just told a lie.
Seeing he had reached a dead end, the detective told the suspect she could go, and then he turned to answer his phone.
I watched her heading toward the door, becoming more of a blur the further away she got. In the corner of the Séance room, was Harry Houdini’s original Metal Milk Can: the prop that started his career as an escape artist. I tried to focus on one of the large padlocks that fastened the lid in place. My eyes just couldn’t quite dial in the details. All I saw was a big glob of gray.
I felt a dribble of sweat run down my right cheek and along my jawline. I reached for my handkerchief to dab at the runaway perspiration. And then I heard a buzzing in my ears. No, not in my ears. Between my ears. Wasn’t that where my brain was?
I could hear Harry next to me. He was saying something, but the words weren’t sounding like words. He moved a little closer.
I must have looked as dazed and confused as I felt, because Harry very slowly and loudly said, “Are you all right Eli? You look a little pale.”
“Uh, yeah. I could use a glass of water. It’s a bit hot in here.”
Another bead of perspiration trickled down my face. I patted myself dry and loosened my tie. I had forgotten I was even wearing a tie. I never wore a tie. Why was I wearing a tie?
Harry stood up to get a glass of water and then turned to look back at me.
He was very fuzzy. Or was it me that was fuzzy? Perhaps we were both fuzzy.
Cutting through the fog, I could hear Harry, his voice sounding right on the edge of panic.
“Eli, I think you might have been poisoned!”
As I started to pass out, oddly only one thought flashed through my addled brain: Well, for once in my life, I’m passing out not because I’d been hit on the head.
If nothing else, that felt like progress.
Then everything went dark.
