The Ambitious Card (An Eli Marks Mystery) by John Gaspard

It doesn’t matter where we put it, people always find it. It also doesn’t seem to matter that the store is packed to the gills with some of the greatest magic illusions ever made. People are always drawn to the damned gag gift rack.
    On that rack are all the staples for a classic gag gift: chattering teeth, fake dog poop, fake vomit, the coughing ashtray, exploding golf balls, joy buzzers, rubber chickens, and the ever-popular fart spray. We had actually sold out our supply of fart spray and I was just in the process of unpacking the new shipment we had recently received when I heard the tinkle of the bell over the front door, signaling that a customer had entered the store.
    I set the fart spray aside and turned my attention toward the door, assuming it was Nathan returning with another question. One glance told me it wasn’t Nathan. The guy was backlit by the late morning sun and he almost completely filled up the doorframe with his bulk. But I immediately recognized that big, dumb square head. It could only be one person—my ex-wife’s new husband, Fred Hutton. Or, as I always referred to him, Homicide Detective Fred Hutton, because it annoyed him. Or, at least I hoped it did.
    “Marks,” he said in that raspy voice of his. That was the extent of his hello. I had discovered that Fred worked best with words of one syllable, or fewer if possible.
    “Good morning, Homicide Detective Fred Hutton,” I said. “What brings you by on this fine day?”
    “This is not a social visit,” he said, stepping into the shop. Another man—another detective I assumed—followed him in.
    “Well, that’s too bad,” I said. “Because personally I don’t think we socialize nearly enough.”
    “Yeah, right,” he said, recognizing my subtle sarcasm and returning it in kind. For a moment, it was as if we had been transported back to the Algonquin Round Table, circa 1925. And then, just as quickly as we had gone, we slammed back to present day.
    “I need you to come downtown,” he said. He shifted his ubiquitous toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, although to be fair it was unlikely he would have used the word ubiquitous.
    “Is it about Deirdre?” I asked. The hairs on the back of my neck were beginning to stand on end. “Is she okay?”
    “This isn’t about her,” he said. “It’s about this guy named Grey.”
    “What about this guy named Grey?”
    He scowled down at me. “There’s this guy named Grey. And he’s dead.”
    I certainly hadn’t seen that coming. “How did he die?” I asked the question like I had a right to know.
    “Stabbed. Through the eyes, among other places.”
    I tried to remain cool.
    Fred stared at me for what seemed like a long time.
    “So, you’re ruling out suicide?” I finally asked dryly.

Chapter 6

      
    The drive downtown was, mercifully, a quiet one.
    Before leaving the shop I yelled up to Harry that I was going out for a few minutes. We were gone from the store before he had made his way down the steep stairs from his apartment on the second floor. I try to limit the number of times he has to go up and down those stairs in a day, but this additional trip couldn’t be helped.
    I was informed that I was, officially, a person of interest and was being brought in and held for questioning. If you read between the lines on that, which I was doing, it was pretty clear that Homicide Detective Fred Hutton was convinced that I had killed Grey. He was just waiting for me to break down and admit it.
    I wasn’t being charged, I was being held , which sounded like semantics to me, since either way I couldn’t go home. However, he had the gun and the badge and all I had was charm and that was waning. So I kept my mouth shut and did what I was told.
    Even though I wasn’t being officially charged, I still had to be fingerprinted and had to surrender all my personal effects at the property desk before they put me in a room and began to beat me with a rubber hose. Or