The Sleepwalker(22)

“Always play to your strengths.”

I tried not to be self-conscious. I would have untied my shirt and covered my stomach, but I feared that would only draw more attention to what I was wearing. “At first, I went with a sort of Merlin the wizard vibe. This was before Harry Potter, so he was the gold standard for me. I got a church choir robe and dyed it black. But I looked like I really was wiccan. And I couldn’t move the way I wanted. I need very free arms and very free hands.”

“Which do you practice more? Your sleight of hand or your stories?”

“Sleight of hand. I could ad-lib the patter if necessary—especially when my audience is second and third graders.”

“I liked the stories and I am way older than the kids on the floor. Some of your stories reminded me of Indiana Jones.”

I smiled. “When I was a junior in high school, I actually toyed with an Indiana Jones persona. But the safari jacket I tried on looked kind of ridiculous on me.”

“So you went with something less ridiculous: harem pants.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m kidding you! I’m teasing. They’re perfect—especially for Lianna the Enchantress.”

I took a sip of my lemonade.

“What do you wear on your feet when it’s too cold to be barefoot?” he asked.

“I have a pair of beaded slippers. They’re supposed to be Persian.”

“Supposed to be?”

“I’m pretty sure they were made in China.”

“How many shows a year do you do?”

“Eleven or twelve during the summer when I’m home. Maybe three or four during the semester when I’m at college.”

“And you told me you do a couple of clubs,” he said.

“Wow. You have a good memory.”

“It’s okay. It helps, given what I do. What about when you’re home in Vermont? Any clubs here?”

“Nope—though I did do a country club on the Fourth of July. It was just outside of Burlington. I entertained the kids on a patio near the barbecue.”

“In your harem pants.”

“You really are fixated on them.”

He shook his head. “Nah. You just don’t see them much around here.”

“What was your favorite trick?”

“I think when you made the ball levitate behind the scarf.”

“Why?”

“I liked the story you told. ‘Believe in ghosts,’ you said. That was it, right? You said you found the ball at a haunted minor league baseball stadium.”

“Yup.”

“And I never could see the wire.”

“Not a wire.”

“Oh, you really are magic?”

“A magician never reveals the secret behind a trick.”

From the other room we heard a crash—a table overturning—and then the detective’s sister saying it was okay, not a big deal. In seconds, Gavin’s brother-in-law was in the kitchen with us, grabbing a dishtowel off the handle of the stove and the entire roll of paper towels on the counter. “Fruit punch spill,” he said. “Nothing to worry about, unless you care about the beige upholstery on the couch.”

“Need help?” the detective asked.

“No. We can’t fit another person in the living room. Would be a fire code violation.”

When he was gone, I said, “You just can’t have a kid’s birthday party without a spill. Trust me, I know.”

“You’re good with kids.”

“I like them. You couldn’t do what I do, if you didn’t.”

“I got the sense the day I came to your house that you’re good with your sister, too.”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Oh, sometimes she’s still her own search party. She’s still out there looking for clues.”

“Find any?”

“Nope.”

“What else?”

“She tries to get on with her life, I guess. She goes to school and does homework. She sees her friends. She swims.”

“And you?”

My answer was brutally honest. “Me? I just wait.”

“For your mom to walk in the front door…”

“Maybe. I don’t know. But I wait for something.”

“You wish you were back at college?”

“Yes and no. I miss my friends. I miss classes and studying. I miss my life. But I want to be here for my dad and Paige. I need to be here for them. I mean, it hasn’t even been a month yet since Mom disappeared. And, I have to admit, I don’t think I’d be able to focus away from home right now.”

For a moment we were quiet. We had both felt the air in the room grow heavy. Then I took a breath and asked, “Is there any news about her? Any new leads?”

“We get fewer new leads now than the first couple of days. A lot fewer. But someone will spot a homeless woman who looks even a teeny bit like your mom in Rutland or Albany, and we follow up. Someone will see something in the river or the lake that they think might be your mom, and we follow up.”

“But it’s never her.”

“No. It’s never even a clue.”