Travellers in Magic by Lisa Goldstein Page B

interrupted by the waitress, bringing food for Mickey and Ms. Green and a teapot and cup for me. “So,” Mickey says. He reaches over and pours me some tea. “What have you found so far?”
    â€œI can’t discuss it without my client’s permission,” I say.
    â€œOh, Mickey’s family,” Ms. Green says. “You can tell him anything you tell me.”
    I sip my tea, enjoying the warmth. My stomach feels fine now. I remember the first time I met Ms. Green, when she came to my office to hire me, and how the nausea had disappeared then too.
    I tell Mickey about my trip to Carolyn’s old apartment, my visit to the university. He’s still smiling. I’m almost certain he’s hiding something, that Ms. Green is wrong to trust him. He seems to feel very little concern for his missing cousin.
    He pours me another cup of tea. “What do you plan to do now?” he asks.
    It’s a good question. I’ve pretty much run out of leads, but it doesn’t do to say so in front of the person paying your salary. I take a sip of tea. “Did you know her husband?” I ask him.
    â€œA little,” he says.
    â€œDid you like him?”
    Mickey laughs. “Like him? The boyfriend from Hell?”
    â€œWhy do you think she married him?”
    He shrugs.
    â€œThey seem very different,” I say, pushing him.
    He pours more tea. I look at the small teapot; it can’t possibly hold that much. I lift the lid. It is filled to the brim.
    I look up quickly at Mickey. He’s grinning, as if daring me to confront him. “How did you do that?” I ask.
    â€œDo what?” he says.
    He must have switched teapots somehow, maybe while I was looking at Ms. Green. “Got to fly,” he says. He stands and kisses Ms. Green on the cheek. “It was good seeing you.”
    I watch him go. My earlier suspicions of him become a certainty: he knows something he’s not telling. “I’ve got to go too,” I say. I stand and hurry through the restaurant, trying to keep him in sight.
    He hasn’t gotten that far ahead of me. He turns left out the door and heads east. A few miles farther on is Carolyn’s old apartment. I drop back a little, keeping him in sight. Surely he doesn’t intend to walk the entire distance.
    He continues on for about a mile. The neighborhood slowly changes: the shopfronts here are dingier, and several of them are boarded up. Some of the buildings are painted three or four colors in a vain attempt to cover the graffiti; they look as if they have mange. A man moves to block me, his hand held out. “Spare change?” he asks.
    I sidestep him and continue on. Mickey is still in front of me. He is hurrying a little, as if he’s getting closer to his destination.
    He comes to a corner. He stops for a moment, as if trying to make up his mind. Then he turns and looks directly at me, grins, and goes right.
    I take the corner after him. I’ve never had anyone spot me, never, not in any of the dozens of tails I’ve done. How had he known?
    There is no one at all on the street. Grimy warehouses face each other, some protected by corrugated doors or iron gratings, all of them locked. One warehouse has rows of tiny windows on the second floor; about half of them are broken, as if they’d been the target in some game. Trees with branches like sticks line the street. No one seems to work here.
    I walk up and down the street for over an hour, looking for Mickey in likely and unlikely places, but he is gone.
    I go back to my office to get Ms. Green’s phone number. I need Mickey’s address, need to ask him a few questions.
    The phone rings as I’m paging through my files. I pick it up. “Liz Keller, Private Investigations,” I say.
    â€œLiz?” the voice at the other end asks.
    It’s my mother. I don’t need this right now. “What?” I say.
    â€œDid you get my