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

his long and illustrious career.” I felt across the top of the table, sliding the cards around with both hands to mix them up even more. I moved my right hand until I could feel the sharp point of the letter opener, carefully sliding my hand down the blade until I was able to grasp the handle.
    “I would ask that if any of you have your hands, or any other body part, on the table, please remove them immediately, as I’m flying blind on this one.” I could sense the host and Nova take a step back, but felt no movement from Grey’s side of the table. I gave a few of the cards one final push with my left hand, as I raised the blade in my right.
    “Let’s just see if we can trap that ambitious card,” I said, and then with a sudden movement, buried the tip of the blade into the tabletop. There was a surprised gasp from the crowd, which grew in volume and intensity as I pulled off the blindfold with my left hand, keeping my right firmly on the handle of the letter opener. I rocked the blade back and forth, carefully removing it from where it had jabbed the table. Several cards fell away as I lifted the letter opener, revealing that only one card had been actually stabbed. I tilted the letter opener forward, holding the face of the card up to the crowd—and, I’ll admit—to the television camera.
    It was the King of Diamonds, with the point of the blade cutting cleanly through his one eye. I removed the card from the tip of the blade and, reaching across the table, I slid it into the front breast pocket on Grey’s suit, giving it a final pat as I did.
    The host was wrapping up the show, the audience was applauding, somewhere the show’s theme music was playing as the credits rolled. All that was lost on me, though, as my attention was directed completely at Grey. He was staring at me from across the table, seething with fury, anger, and even more hatred than before.
    I was sorry to be the cause of all that and part of me considered, just for a moment, that I may have pushed him too far. And for a split second I felt bad about it, but only for a second. To be fair, though, I don’t think it would have improved his mood any if he had known that, in less than four hours, he would no longer be angry. He would instead be dead.

Chapter 5

      
    The beauty of living in Minnesota is that, upon awakening on the first day of November, you are just as likely to spend the rest of the day shoveling eight inches of snow as you are discovering that it’s too hot and sunny to rake leaves. In other words, November in Minnesota is like one of those brown-paper grab bags they sell at charity auctions, where you never know what you’re going to get, but odds are that it will at least be interesting.
    Although the weatherman had been predicting snow for days, that particular November first dawned like a quintessential Indian Summer day, with a bright blue sky and a breeze that felt warmer than it had any right to feel.
    I left my apartment on the third floor and made my way down the way-too-steep staircase to Harry’s apartment. My divorce had come at around the same time as Aunt Alice’s death and that had seemed like the perfect opportunity to come back to the apartment on Chicago Avenue and once again make it my home. Since returning, I’d made it a habit to share breakfast with Harry as often as I could. Although he never once commented on this new tradition, I suspected that he really appreciated it.
    I really can’t fathom the level of loss he experienced at her death. In addition to being his wife for over fifty years, Alice had also been his on-stage assistant for nearly as long. As many of his contemporaries had confided in me, Harry and Alice’s act wasn’t just a magic show—it was an on-stage love affair. Whether he was sawing her in half or she was helping him produce a cascade of doves, audiences sensed the chemistry they had together, which made their performance all the more special.
    “Morning, Buster,”