For a moment, Charles feared that Mallory would wipe her hand on a cocktail napkin. She seemed to find the man that distasteful.

Smiling and serene, Emile St. John looked up as Charles passed him a plate of hors d’oeuvres. „Malakhai’s not here yet?“

„He’ll be in late this evening.“ Charles sat down beside Nick Prado and worked over the cork of another wine bottle.

Birdlike, Franny Futura cocked his head to one side. „Why is Malakhai coming?“

„He was invited to the festival.“ Nick reached over Mallory’s lap on the pretext of robbing the hors d’oeuvres plate. His arm brushed her thighs. Her expression was lethal, but she did nothing to harm him.

„Well, he’s always invited to these things,“ said Franny. „But he never actually shows up.“

„Malakhai?“ Riker roused from his comfortable slouch and leaned into the conversation. „I know that name – Charles’s friend. He lives in the bughouse, right?“

„Please don’t call it that.“ Charles freed the cork and poured out a glass for Emile St. John.

„Sorry – the nuthouse.“ Riker smiled at Mallory. „And you thought I wasn’t well brought up.“

She had yet to acknowledge, by glance or word, that Riker was in the same room.

„Malakhai owns the building,“ said Nick. „Quite an impressive old mansion. He leases it to a private hospital and keeps a suite of rooms for himself. Lives there with his dead wife.“

Riker sipped his beer. „So he’s still crazy.“

„No!“ said Charles.

„Oh, yes he is.“ Nick laughed. „Mad as they come, but in a very original way. The dead wife was part of his magic act.“

„Neat trick,“ said Riker. „But highly illegal.“

„There was no corpse on stage.“ Emile St. John set his glass on the coffee table. „The audience couldn’t actually see Louisa.“

„An invisible woman.“ Riker slugged back the last of his beer. „Crazier and crazier.“ He wandered off toward the kitchen in search of the six-pack he had brought with him.

Franny called after Riker, „He knows Louisa is dead. It’s an act.“

„Is it?“ said Nick. „You haven’t seen Malakhai since the war, have you? He lives with that dead woman. He sleeps with her, too.“ He inclined his head toward Mallory and flashed a wide smile. „He even makes love to her. She’s younger than you are, and he’s well into his seventies. It gives one hope.“

Riker returned with a full beer can and sat down beside Franny on the couch. „How long has this been going on?“

„As I recall,“ said Emile St. John, „he put Louisa into the act right after the Korean War.“

Mallory inched her chair away from Nick and closer to Emile. „Charles said the wife died in World War II.“

„Oh, she did,“ said Emile. „But years later, Malakhai found her again in a Korean POW camp.“

„Korea. That was my dad’s war,“ said Riker.

Mallory stared at Emile, still behaving as though Riker did not exist. „What do you mean he found her?“

„Torture,“ said Riker, insisting that he did exist on the same planet with Mallory. „My dad came out of one of those camps with a few strange quirks. So that’s how Malakhai lost his marbles. Poor bastard.“

„Perhaps.“ Emile seemed to ponder this. „But I might argue that he’s saner now. At least, he’s more at peace. Between those two wars, Malakhai was the saddest man on earth.“ He turned to Mallory. „It’s hard for an American your age to imagine the aftermath of a global war. Your cities didn’t turn into craters, did they? None of your roads or landmarks disappeared.“

Emile paused to sip his wine, and the rest of the company waited on him. Even Mallory recognized the authority of a natural storyteller. It was as old as the cave.

„In postwar Europe, so many souls were unaccounted for – misplaced in relocation camps, dead – or wandering. Refugees were on the road for years, hunting family members. You might be walking down a busy street in London or Rome, and you’d see one of these people staring into every face on the sidewalk – looking for someone lost in the war.“

„Malakhai was like that in the late forties and early fifties. It was painful to watch him perform on stage. Sometimes he just stared at the audience. He’d gone blank, lost his place in the act. And then I knew he’d seen some red-haired woman sitting out there in the dark. Louisa was long gone by then, years dead, and he knew that. But he was still looking for her in every crowd.“

„In the next war, he found her in a North Korean prison cell, five feet square. No room to stand up or lie down. They kept him in that cage for a year. He went into it alone and came out with the lovely Louisa. What a wonderful magician.“

Franny was nodding. „She was lovely, wasn’t she?“ He turned to Riker. „And a musical prodigy. Thank God, her concerto survived the war.“ He lifted his glass. „I propose a toast to Louisa and her music.“

„And to increased record sales,“ said Nick. „May Louisa’s Concerto pay royalties forever.“

Mallory joined the toast, still nursing the same wine that Nick had fetched for her. She never drank more than an ounce of alcohol at one sitting. Charles guessed she was unwilling to lose any amount of control to inebriation.

„Oliver loved Louisa, too. He adored her.“ Emile’s glass was rising again.

„To unrequited love.“

Charles lifted his own wineglass to Mallory, hoping the gesture would be lost on her, for she had been known to laugh on two or three occasions. Though she never laughed loudly, not with a fully involved set of lungs. Another control issue, he supposed.

Riker hoisted his beer in salute, and then let it hang in the air for a moment. He had suddenly remembered to ask the eternal policeman’s question.

„How did Louisa die?“

„No one knows,“ said Nick. „She could’ve been shot for a spy or hit by a bus.“

Riker was incredulous. „You never asked?“

Mallory showed no more interest in this conversation. She had already heard the punch line to this setup. Charles had told her long ago, and now he repeated it for Riker. „No use in asking. Malakhai can’t tell anyone how his wife died. That’s spelled out in his recording contract. The music company thought a mystery would sell more copies of Louisa’s Concerto.“

When they were all gathered in the dining room, Charles sat at one end of the table, directing the traffic of bowls, platters and bottles of wine. Emile St. John sat at the other end, which instantly became the head of the table. The man had an aura of authority that did not fit the magician’s trade.

Leaving this puzzle for the moment, Mallory looked across the table at Riker. He was only picking at his food, shifting with discomfort and looking sad.

Well, good.

Though never one to complain about betrayal, Mallory did keep score. She was done punishing him for siding with Coffey and the dead rat, but she would be slow to forgive. As he passed her a platter of dark meat, she met his eyes for the first time this afternoon. „That was real smart, Riker – wearing a pre-spotted tie to dinner.“

„Yeah.“ The detective looked down to admire the red stain, a souvenir of another meal. „It takes all the work out of being a slob.“ He was relaxing now, taking her sarcastic overture as a truce. He turned to Emile St. John, who was flanked by Franny Futura and Nick Prado. „So they’re letting Malakhai out of the nuthouse. Is he bringing his dead wife to town?“

„He never goes anywhere without her.“ Emile passed a salad bowl to Mallory. „She was a gifted composer, a wunderkind. I’m sure Charles has mentioned Louisa’s Concerto?“

She nodded. Charles had done more than mention it. He had raved about it, going on at great length, believing that she might be paying attention. He loved only classical pieces. She loved everything else. Thanks to her insanely musical foster father, Mallory could name every bandleader of the swing era, every jazz musician of note, all the blues artists and the stars of rock n’ roll, but she did not know a concerto from a sonata. If one could not dance to the music, it was not in Mallory’s vocabulary.