Mardi Gras Parade &
Aftermath
March 4, 1924
eight
F
OUR DAYS LATER, THOM HAD YET TO FIGUERE OUT WHAT HE
HAD SEEN THAT NIGHT. The excitement had taken a toll on
Charles’s fragile health, and Thom had stayed indoors to
take care of him, despite the ministrations of all the women about.
Arthur remained elusive, and Cora never wanted to talk — since
she had woken up in his arms on that long walk home, she couldn’t
so much as look at him without blushing. He had to admit he felt
oddly exposed, too. For all the girls he’d danced with and kissed
in dark corners, there was something intimate about being there
the moment Cora had awakened after so much fright.
Minnie was no help with the puzzle of what spooked Arthur
so badly. She knew as little as Charles.
Charles, of course, was not pleased with knowing so little. It
messed with the way he organized the world. He had to figure out
how things worked, trace the patterns and connections. He did
not do well with mysteries, and Thom was worried that it was too
much strain on a fevered brain.
“What about Houdini?” Charles said, lying on his stomach on
his narrow bed, arm draped over the side to trace the wood grains
in the floor.
“What about him?” Thom leaned his forehead against the
window, his mind on the woefully out-of-tune piano downstairs.
In New York they had a man, blind but with a perfect ear, who
came round to tune their piano once a month. He’d asked Mrs.
Johnson, but no one in town knew how. Maybe he could figure it