"Edghill,.Rosemary.-.SS.Collection.-.Murder.By.Magic.v1.0.txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Edghill Rosemary)

"MagЧ" Then I got the reference. Laughing, I lay down as ordered, sprawled on my back. Heard the rustle of torn paper peeled away. Felt the nubbly surface of a granola bar shoved into my hand.
"Eat it. Then eat another. In a few hours you may feel like getting up. It's just backlash from the energy expenditure. It's always best to do this on a full stomach, but, well. . . sometimes it doesn't work out that way."
1 bit off a hunk of granola bar. "What about you?"
Her words were distorted. "I'm already eating mine."
1 lay there a moment, chewing. Contemplating. "Will my life ever be normal again?"
"Nope."
"Didn't think so." I finished the first bar, accepted a second from her. "It's a curse, isn't it?"
"Sometimes. Now you know what happened that night in front of the condo when two people lost their lives because of an ex-husband's jealousy. You will never be able to forget it. But it's a gift as well."
"How is it a gift, when you can experience something like that?"
"It's a gift when you call tell a frail, terrified old woman who's had nightmares for years that her beloved husband did not die in pain and wasn't afraid because he was alone. It's a gift when you offer peace of mind." Her smile widened. "A piece of mind."
I considered it. "Maybe that'd be all right." I sat up slowly, steadying myself against the floor. "I need to leave. But I want to come back . . . talk to you more about all of this."
She watched me stand up, noted my unsteadiness. Refrained from suggesting 1 wait. "Where are you going?"
"Cemetery," I said. "There's someone I need to visit. To tell her I know the truth." I glanced back. "That we know the truth. Finally."
She nodded. "Peace of mind."
I paused in the doorway, stretching open the screen door. "Never found a man who could understand you, huh?"
"Not yet."
"Yeah, well . . . my wife didn't understand me, either. Maybe it's better if we stick to our own kind."
"Maybe," she said thoughtfully climbing to her feet. She paused in the doorway, caught the screen door from my hand as I turned to go. "Excuse my bluntness, but, well . . ." She plunged ahead. "You're bitter and burned-out, and dreadfully out of shape. Now that you know what you are inside, what you can do, you need to clean up your act. It takes every piece of you, the"Чshe paused, smilingЧ"magic. You need to be ready for it."
I grimaced, aware of my crumpled shirt, stubbled face, bloodshot eyes, the beginnings of a potbelly. She wasn't ultrafit because she was a narcissistic gym rat. It was self-preservation in the eye of the hurricane.
I turned to go, grimacing. "Yeah."
"My name, by the way, is Sarah. Sarah Connor."
I stopped short and swung back. "You're kidding me."
Color stole into her cheeks. "I take it you saw The Terminator."
"Hell, I own the movie. On DVD."
She thought about it. "I guess if your name isn't Arnold, we'll be okay."
I laughed. "No, not Arnold. That I can promise you."
"Well?" she asked as I turned away again. "What is it?"
I threw it back over my shoulder as I reached my little sidewalk. "Clint EastЧ"
"No!" she interrupted, wide-eyed. "Really?"
"Just East," I said. "But the guys in the department, well ..." I grinned. "They called me Woody."
Sarah laughed aloud.
As she closed her door, still grinning, I stuffed hands in my pockets and went whistling next door to mine, feeling good about myself for the first time in months.

Special Surprise Guest Appearance by...
Carole Nelson Douglas
Ex-journalist Carole Nelson Douglas is the award-winning author of forty-some novels, including nine fantasy and science fiction titles. She currently writes two realistic mystery series with light fantasy content. Good Night, Mr. Holmes introduced the only woman to outwit Sherlock Holmes, American diva Irene Adler, as a detective, and was a New York Times Notable Book of the Year. The series recently resumed with Chapel Noir and Castle Rouge, a two-book vampirish take on Jack the Ripper. Douglas also created hard-boiled feline PI. Midnight Louie, whose part-time first-furperson feline narrations appear in fourteen novels set in contemporary Las Vegas. Cat in a Leopard Spot and Cat in a Midnight Choir are the latest titles. Douglass short fiction has appeared in seven Year's Best collections.
She collects vintage clothing as well as stray cats (and the occasional dog) and lives in Forth Worth, Texas, with her husband, Sam.


agic is a man's game," he told the reporter for the Las Vegas Review-Journal who sat beside him in the audience.
"In this town, for sure," she answered. "Except for Melinda at the Venetian, a female illusionist has never headlined in Vegas before. That's why I'm interested in your take on this one."
His "take" on this one was he could take her or leave her, and she had left him, long ago, not on her terms.
"Even you must admit," the reporter said, eyeing him slyly, "that her Mirror Image trick is a winner."
"It's all mirrors," he answered, snorting ever so slightly. No sense in demeaning his own act while dismissing that of a rival. Rival?
Chardonnay LeSeuer was one of those tall black women with a whole lot of cream in their coffee. Looked like a freaking supermodel.
Now she was "Majika" and making hay by playing both the sex and the race cards: not just the second woman ever to headline on the Strip but also the first black magician.
She was also an ex-assistant he had sent packing years ago for packing on a bit too much poundage. Sure, she looked pretty sleek now, but usually it was all downhill with women once the weight started piling up. How was he to know she'd get over putting on fifteen pounds because her kid had gotten that annoying disease? She'd missed a lot of rehearsals with that, too.
Time had added assorted swags and sags to his six-foot frame as well, as if he were an outmoded set of draperies, but his magician's costume could be designed to hide it, as did the ignominy of a custom corset that doubled as a handy storage device for assorted paraphernalia that shall remain nameless, at least to readers of the Review-Journal.
"Actually," he added, trying to sound affable, "1 haven't seen this infamous Mirror Image trick yet."
"Why do you say infamous?"