The Magic Square: The Eli Marks Mystery Series, #7

By John Gaspard

A Puzzling Clue to an Unconventional Murder…

 

"You will just LOVE these books!" VANISH Magazine 

 

★★★★★

 

When an old family friend is arrested for murder at a magic convention, Uncle Harry urges Eli to step in and solve the bizarre homicide. 

Eli's attempt to sort through all the suspects is stymied after a second murder and then a third murder attempt–or was it merely an accident? Is someone trying to knock off the top mentalists in the country? And if they are, why do the clues keep pointing to Eli's friend? 

 

As the body count rises, Eli must race against the clock to trap this clever killer before becoming the final victim.

 

Grab this fun and funny mystery today!

 

★★★★★

 

Praise for the Eli Marks Mystery Series

 

"I loved this book. From beginning to end I was hooked. The story is fantastic and the cast leaves you wanting to know more. I can't wait to read the next book in the series."  – Bookschellves 

 

"This is an instant classic, in a league with Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett and Arthur Conan Doyle." – Rosebud Book Reviews

 

"Has as many tricks up its sleeve as its likeable magician-hero. As the body count rises, so does the reading pleasure." – Dennis Palumbo, Author of the Daniel Rinaldi Mystery Series

 

"The author does a fantastic job juggling the separate plots and keeping readers' minds thoroughly engaged…and the pure entertainment of the industry will leave all readers hoping that there will be a 'number three' very soon." – Suspense Magazine

 

"The Ambitious Card is intelligently written and...entirely engrossing." – Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Gaspard
• Release date: May 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201374952

John Gaspard

John is author of the Eli Marks mystery series as well as three other stand-alone novels, "The Greyhound of the Baskervilles," The Sword & Mr. Stone" and "The Ripperologists."He also writes the Como Lake Players mystery series, under the pen name Bobbie Raymond.In real life, John's not a magician, but he has directed six low-budget features that cost very little and made even less - that's no small trick. He's also written multiple books on the subject of low-budget filmmaking. Ironically, they've made more than the films.Those books ("Fast, Cheap and Under Control" and "Fast, Cheap and Written That Way") are available in eBook, Paperback and audiobook formats.John lives in Minnesota and shares his home with his lovely wife, several dogs, a few cats and a handful of pet allergies.

Book preview

The Magic Square

THE MAGIC SQUARE

AN ELI MARKS MYSTERY

JOHN GASPARD

Albert’s Bridge Books

THE MAGIC SQUARE

An Eli Marks Mystery

First Edition | 2020

Albert’s Bridge Books

www.elimarksmysteries.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Copyright © 2020 by John Gaspard

This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Special Thanks: Joe Diamond, Derek Hughes, Joe Gaspard, David Parr, Scott Wells, Suzanne, Jay Johnson, David Regal, Jim Cunningham and Max Maven.

CONTENTS

THURSDAY

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

FRIDAY

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

SATURDAY

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

SUNDAY

Chapter 25

The Self-Working Trick

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Books By John Gaspard

About the Author

A magician is just a guy who didn’t learn ventriloquism and can’t juggle.

Harry Anderson

THURSDAY

1

I s that Eli Marks? I thought you were dead!

I didn’t recognize the voice; however, the sentiment was becoming increasingly familiar. I had been hearing variations on it all morning long. It was, I assumed, because it had been quite a while since I’d attended a magic convention. I wasn’t even sure how many years it had been. And, to be honest, I wasn’t entirely certain what I was doing at this one.

I smiled and nodded at the vaguely familiar face and kept moving. It was the same smile and nod I’d been giving to everyone I had sort of recognized since we’d arrived.

I had borrowed a bellman’s cart from the hotel’s concierge and immediately realized I must have grabbed a faulty one. I was really having to fight the wobbly right front wheel as I pushed the heavy cart across the mezzanine’s thick carpet. The cart was loaded down with eight heavy boxes, each one filled with an equally heavy two-book set called The Magic of Harry Marks, Volumes One and Two. If my uncle Harry ever decided to add a third volume to the series, I was going to need to invest in a portable dolly. And some serious weight training.

As luck would have it, someone was just coming out of the Dealers’ Room as I arrived. They kindly held the door for me as I wrestled the cart into the bustling chamber.

The Dealers’ Room was actually one third of the long, narrow ballroom which took up most of the hotel’s mezzanine level. An airwall had been pulled, creating two distinct spaces, and both were undergoing a flurry of activity. I could hear pounding and drilling (and muffled cursing) on the other side of the airwall. Over there, crew people were frantically finishing assembling the stage and hanging the lights for the scheduled kick-off event later that afternoon.

There was an equal volume of noise and activity on our side of the airwall. Fifty or sixty magic vendors were putting the finishing touches on their booths. These were really just a series of eight-foot rectangular tables, each separated by well-worn black curtains. I struggled past these quickly assembled stalls, each full of old and new magic props, the latest tricks, books, gaffes, and posters. In short, a shopping nirvana for your average magician.

Probably because my uncle was a special guest, Harry had scored a coveted corner spot for us in the Dealers’ Room. This provided increased table space for the products, as well as some extra breathing and storage room behind the tables. But it also meant we were positioned at the far end of the large space, which required a more prolonged battle with that wobbly front wheel as I slowly schlepped my way across the room.

Harry was holding court behind the table (as he had been doing all morning), spending less time on helping to get things set up than I might have liked. I had long ago recognized my uncle was what I liked to call an Occasional Rock Star. In a room full of normal people, he appeared to be simply an old, somewhat cranky white-bearded man. Like Santa Claus on a bad day. But put him in a room full of magicians and suddenly it was as if Mick Jagger or the Pope (or both) had stopped by to chat. He was a magician magnet and—no matter his level of crankiness that day—they were all inextricably drawn to him.

One of the men in the small crowd spotted me as I began to unload the heavy cartons. I was struggling to get them positioned efficiently with all the other boxes I’d carefully stacked behind the table.

Ah, more books! Perfect, he said with a wide grin. He was Victor Radke, the publisher of this and many, many other magic-related books. He clapped his hands together in a manner which suggested he was about to jump in and help with the unloading. But as it turned out, it was instead merely a gesture of pleasure at seeing his product had arrived safely. Volunteering didn’t appear to be part of his agenda.

There’s plenty more where these came from, I offered as I hefted another carton from the cart. I was working hard to get a grip on the bottom of the heavy box, without jamming my fingers, as I stacked it with the rest. "My hotel room still looks like the last shot in Raiders of the Lost Ark, but more cluttered."

I think this reference was lost on Radke. He picked up one of the several unboxed books from the table and turned it over, casually checking for travel damage. He was a trim, well-dressed and neatly coifed man in his fifties, far better dressed than most of the vendors in the room. For the morning’s load-in, T-shirts and shorts seemed to have been the outfit of choice, despite the cold November winds which buffeted you anytime you stepped outside the hotel. But as with most magic conventions, the majority of attendees wouldn’t actually venture outside at all until they headed back to the airport on Sunday, exhausted, exhilarated and loaded down with their thrilling new purchases.

The attendees who were going to buy Harry’s new book might regret not having brought an extra suitcase, for the set was the very definition of a tome. It consisted of two hardcover volumes, each one running just shy of six hundred pages. It weighed in at around twelve pounds total, although after an hour lugging them around the hotel, I would have sworn it was twice that. The books spanned Harry’s entire career, detailing virtually all the tricks and routines he’d created and popularized over fifty-plus years. It also included in-depth essays on a variety of magic-related topics. In addition, there were photos from throughout his career, as well as new full-color pictures which walked the reader through each routine. It was like a master’s degree in magic, neatly bound in two volumes. At a hundred and seventy-five dollars, it was considered a bargain.

Victor Radke had been after Harry for years to undertake this daunting project. Harry had finally acquiesced when a writer who’d done a cover story on him for Genii magazine offered to lead the project and assist on all fronts. That was a mere eighteen months ago. And now here was Harry, surrounded by cartons of books which Radke hoped to sell over the next three days.

I was praying for that outcome as well, if for no other reason than any unsold books in my room would probably need to be shipped back to our shop in Minneapolis. And, odds were, I would most likely be the de facto lead on that project. So, I—and my back—were really hoping to sell all the books before we left.

Victor Radke continued to page absently through the book as I hefted the last carton off the cart. I then turned and began to organize the items on our draped table. In addition to the display of the new book, we’d also brought several of Harry’s most famous retail tricks, copies of his popular kids’ magic book Harry’s Magic Emporium, as well as reprints of his most requested lecture notes.

So, when do I get a book out of you? Victor Radke asked jovially as he placed Volume One gingerly back onto the stacked display.

I looked up, genuinely surprised he was asking that question of me.

A book? From me? I said with a laugh.

Sure. Harry’s told his story. Now you can tell yours.

I picked up the first volume of Harry’s book. Thanks, but if I wrote a book on my career, it would end just about here. I flipped several pages into the book. Page twelve, if we’re lucky. Assuming we used really wide margins. Plus an index, to add some bulk.

Don’t forget, you could always put an ad for my book in the back, Harry offered. His admiring mob had dispersed, and he appeared to have a rare hole in his social schedule, if only momentarily. That would certainly add a couple of pages.

The three of us laughed at his quip, but I didn’t join in to the same degree as the two older guys. Instead I looked down at my two products I had brought along to sell: The remaining supply of my Card Presto, a device for magicians which helped to flatten out well-used decks of cards and prolong their use. And a small stack of lecture notes for my one marketed card trick, The Ambitious Dog.

I was going to decide after this weekend if it was worth getting more of the Card Prestos produced. It depended on the demand, which to be honest, had fallen off sharply in recent years.

As for the lecture notes on The Ambitious Dog, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever reprint them again. I’d added a sticker on the last page of this current print run, acknowledging similarities between my trick and one David Regal created years before. His was called The Puppy Trick.

When the parallels between the two routines had been pointed out to me, I was mortified at inadvertently copying portions of his trick. I had quickly contacted David, to beg forgiveness for this obvious transgression. He was a good sport about it, although the last two times I had bumped into him at The Magic Castle, he had frantically patted his pockets to check for his wallet. Probably just to make sure I hadn’t stolen from him again.

I compared my two small stacks of product to Harry’s prodigious output—which took up the majority of the table—and shook my head. I was once again experiencing a feeling I’d had a lot lately, but was having trouble putting into words.

Oh, those silly badges. We should have gone ahead and printed the names on both sides! Idiots!

An unfamiliar voice snapped me out of this self-pity-filled reverie. I looked up to see a tall, thin man in front of our table. He clutched a stack of stapled papers and a clipboard in one arm. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, but another glance at him and I realized he could still be in his twenties. He had that kind of face.

I’m sorry, there’s something wrong with the darned lanyards. That’s what we get for going with the low bid. Excuse me, he explained as he reached toward me and flipped my name badge over. The darned clasps keep flipping the badges over, so no one can see your name. Which I can now see is Eli Marks, he added with a grin. He looked down at his notes. Booth 17, correct?

That’s us, I said with a bit too much perkiness, unconsciously mirroring his energetic demeanor. I twisted my name badge back and forth, noting it did have a tendency to flip over.

See what I mean? he said with a laugh as he looked up from his notes. "Just one more thing to add to my Change List for next year, which is already two pages long."

And it’s only the first day!

Tell me about it. He put out his hand. I’m Neal Lantz, one of the convention’s co-chairs.

Yes, I’ve seen your name on emails.

And of course, I’m familiar with our special guest. He gestured toward Harry, who was once again in conversation with a small circle of admiring magicians. Your father?

I shook my head. My uncle. Although he did mostly raise me.

Well, we’re thrilled to have him here, Neal said brightly. And you of course, as well, he added quickly. He glanced at Harry again, then shyly looked away.

Would you like to meet him? I offered. I assure you, he’s one-hundred percent interruptible.

Neal shook his head. No, I don’t want to bother him. There will be plenty of time this weekend, I’m sure.

He turned his attention back to the stack of papers in his arms. Hot off the presses. This is the complete convention attendee list, which I’m distributing to all the vendors. He pulled a small packet of stapled papers from his pile and handed them to me.

Thanks. I glanced down at the sheets. They consisted of several columns of names and numbers and email addresses.

We’ve found vendors find this list really handy, he continued. "You’ll talk to so many people over the next couple of days, it’s sometimes impossible to remember who asked what. So, this list allows you to make a quick note by their name or registration number for follow-up later on. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you about the importance of post-convention marketing," he added with a laugh.

Oh, you might be surprised, I said.

And did you both get checked in without any problems? Neal continued, once again glancing at Harry. Get your room keys and everything okay?

Absolutely. The check-in desk was a breeze. In and out in two minutes.

"Fantastic. That’s good to hear. We used to do check-in through the hotel’s front desk, but it took forever, Neal said, giving the last word about six extra syllables. Having our own reservation desk has been a huge help. Did you have any other questions?"

Actually, I do. It had suddenly occurred to me he might be able to solve a problem I’d had since our arrival that morning. Cell service here in the hotel— I began, but Neal quickly cut me off.

Oh, it’s dreadful, isn’t it? he said with a sad shake of his head. The Wi-Fi is robust as all get out, but just between you, me and everyone you know, the cell service is the pits.

I nodded in agreement as I took out my phone, checking to see if the No Service indicator was still lit. It was.

There’s an area outside the restaurants which seems to work sporadically, he said. And also—oddly—outside by the pool. Other than that, forget it. Sorry about that.

I shrugged. No problem. I can make do with Skype and email.

The thing is, the room rates here are so low, Neal continued as he leaned in closer. We’d look elsewhere in a heartbeat, but we just can’t beat the rates.

I completely understand. And let me know when you want to meet Harry, I added in an attempt to shift the subject.

Later, for sure, he said. Anyway, got to get a move on before the doors open. He offered a quick wave as he headed onto the next vendor.

I flipped my name badge around a couple more times and then once again scanned our table to see if we were ready for our first customers.

A few minutes later, the Dealers’ Room was officially opened for business.

The next two hours rushed by in a blur of shouted conversations and frenetic sales activity. My friend Nathan had joined us to help out, unpacking books while I handled the credit card transactions. For his part, Harry was fully occupied the entire time, greeting magicians, shaking hands and answering a continuous flow of questions. And he accomplished all this while quickly autographing each of the books I slid in front of him.

This is a little crazy, Nathan huffed at one point. A terrific children’s magician, Nathan would normally be found working the counter at my magic store in Minneapolis. That was, essentially, his only retail sales experience. He clearly wasn’t prepared to deal with more than one customer at a time, let alone a continuous stream. For that matter, neither was I.

Victor Radke stood off to the side, clearly pleased with the steady flow of customers. It looked to me like the publisher was calculating profits in his head and couldn’t help smiling at the figures he was coming up with. He was joined by Harry’s friend, Abe Ackerman, a mentalist who was part of the Minneapolis Mystics. They were a loose band of aging magicians and variety performers who met regularly back home.

Less famous than Kreskin or Derren Brown, Abe Ackerman was still a towering figure in the mentalism community, esteemed in their ranks the way Harry was revered by magicians. Like his peers, Max Maven and Bob Cassidy, Abe was not only a stellar performer, but also a renowned creator of classic mentalism effects. Although well into his seventies, he still worked regularly.

Next to him I recognized a long-time friend of his, a mentalist who went by the stage name Mr. Memory. He was a stocky man with a round face, slightly balding and nearly always smiling. Ironically, even though I had met him a number of times over the years, my brain refused to retain his actual name. I glanced over at his badge, hoping it might offer up that often-forgotten tidbit of information. However, as with my badge, it was flipped around the wrong way.

Now that Harry’s book is a hit, you should do one with Abe, Mr. Memory was saying to Victor Radke over the din.

We’ve talked about it, Abe said with a simple nod. Nothing quite as grand as Harry’s two volumes, of course.

There have been discussions, Radke agreed. Let me see how we do with on-line sales for Harry’s book. Margins are razor thin on these things, you know.

A book full of Abe’s secrets would sell like hot cakes, Mr. Memory continued enthusiastically. I mean, they’d fly off the shelves. He added a little whoosh sound effect, designed to help drive home his point.

If you didn’t know the history between Abe Ackerman and Mr. Memory, it might have seemed odd for him to be selling Abe so ardently. But for years, Mr. Memory had been Abe’s number one go-to guy for gigs that didn’t fit Abe’s schedule. If Abe wasn’t able to say yes to a client for a particular date, he’d always recommend Mr. Memory. Over the years, I don’t think Mr. Memory’s had to do much marketing, due to the steady stream of gigs he got because Abe was so in demand.

Actually, you should do two books, Mr. Memory said suddenly as he turned to Abe. One for mentalists, filled with your routines. And then another book for the general public, about your run-ins with Gerhardt.

Victor Radke seemed to perk up at this suggestion, although I could tell he was using his best poker face.

That’s an interesting idea, was all he said.

It was an interesting idea, I agreed. Abe Ackerman’s long-time feud with the supposed-psychic Gerhardt