Page 21 of The Case of the Vanishing Valuables

Ray was silent for a few beats. He kept his eyes on the magician, clearly weighing every word. Everything about Benedict was so composed, so perfectly in control. It was like he was putting on a show even now. Then again, maybe he was.

Benedict broke the silence first. “So, Mr. Leonard,” he said, his voice cool and casual, “are you any closer to solving this little mystery of ours? Because from where I’m standing, the thief doesn’t seem particularly discouraged by your investigation.”

Ray stiffened. His voice was calm, but I could hear the edge in it. “I’m very close, Mr. Benedict. It won’t be long before I name the culprit.”

Benedict gave a slow nod, his lips curling into a practiced smile. “Good. I’d hate for this to go on much longer. You’ll keep me informed, I trust?”

Ray replied with a curt nod of his own. “Of course.”

As we stepped out into the hallway, the door clicked softly behind us. Ray muttered under his breath, “Something’s not right with that guy. Too calm, too controlled.”

I trotted beside him, my own thoughts swirling. Well, that was interesting. Was Benedict hiding something? And if so, what did it have to do with the map?

Chapter

Eighteen

We got back to the office in the afternoon, and as soon as Ray tossed his jacket onto the chair, I could tell we were in for one of those long “thinking sessions.” You know, the kind where Ray talked out loud to himself while pretending he was coming up with all the brilliant ideas. In reality, it was usually me nudging him in the right direction, but hey, I didn’t mind. Kept things interesting.

Ray flopped into his chair behind the desk, boots propped up like he was about to take a nap. His laptop balanced on his lap, the machine humming as he scrolled through whatever articles or online forums he always seemed to dig up when he was “researching.”

“Seems kind of weird that the thief stole twice in the last two days,” he muttered. “Maybe Benedict’s was about misdirection. He is a magician, after all.”

That was exactly what I was wondering, but this time, I hadn’t had to telepath it to Ray. I hopped up onto the desk and settled into my usual spot beside the ever-growing pile of papers,files, and coffee mugs. I flicked my tail lazily, watching him work, or whatever it was he called that.

“Let’s see if Benedict’s got any skeletons in his closet,” Ray said, his voice low, more to himself than to me. I wasn’t sure how much good internet digging would do on a guy like Benedict. Anything on him might be pre-internet.

I watched Ray type, and a few searches popped up on his laptop screen. He scrolled through some articles about magician acts and society performances, nothing that looked suspicious. No thefts, no shady dealings, just a guy who liked top hats and making doves disappear.

Ray squinted at the screen. “Nothing on Benedict,” he said, sounding irritated. “No criminal record, no news articles. He was doing magic shows up until fairly recently, but it looks like he’s clean.”

Clean’s relative, Ray.I stretched out my paws, settling into a comfortable position.The guy makes a living pulling tricks and hiding things in plain sight. If he’s guilty, it won’t be in some public record.

Ray rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “But he’s too smooth. Too confident. And those missing cuff links...”

He trailed off, lost in his own thoughts. I let out a low, thoughtful meow, hoping to steer him in the right direction.Think, Ray. What does a magician like Benedict do for fun? He’s not some parlor-trick amateur—he’s the real deal. Look up the acts he does.

Ray blinked, his gaze sharpening as if the idea had just popped into his head. “Maybe I should check what kind of magic tricks he’s known for.”

Yes. Now you’re thinking.I flicked my tail approvingly, satisfied that my telepathic nudge had worked.Magicians like Benedict don’t just pull rabbits out of hats. There’s more to him.

Ray typed quickly, searching for any performances linked to Benedict. A few videos popped up—old clips of the magician performing at various clubs and events. Some consisted of standard magic fare—sleight of hand, card tricks, the usual. But as Ray scrolled further, a particular performance caught his eye.

“This one,” Ray muttered, leaning closer. “The escape act.”

I tilted my head, watching the screen as Ray clicked on the link. The video showed Benedict performing one of those dramatic water tank escapes, the kind where the magician was locked in chains and submerged in a tank, only to emerge a minute later, free and dry. Benedict was younger in the video, but his confidence was unmistakable. He thrived on the tension, on making the impossible seem effortless.

“He was chained up and locked in,” Ray murmured. “And we all know magicians pick the locks to get out of the chains.”

My whiskers twitched.Exactly. Magicians like Benedict have to know how to pick locks, Ray. It’s part of the act. If he can get out of a locked tank, he could easily pick the locks in those residents’ rooms.

Ray sat back, staring at the screen, deep in thought. “If Benedict has lock-picking skills, that would explain how he could get into the rooms, even if they were locked. No need for a key.”

I let out a satisfied purr.

“But that’s a pretty standard magician trick, not really convincing evidence that he’s the thief.” Ray started typing again, searching for more instances of stolen items or thefts connected to magicians. But as he scrolled through article after article, nothing concrete popped up. No mentions of items reported missing after Benedict’s shows.

Ray sighed, leaning back in his chair. “There’s nothing on him, Earl. No history of thefts.”

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