A harsh buzzing noise jarred Jett, jerking his head toward the desk in the corner of his room. He blinked at the mirror across from him, realizing he had drifted into his own thoughts. As he crossed the room, he tried to remember what he had been daydreaming about, but the memories were hazy and drifted from his mind.

Sighing, he flipped the phone over to see the screen, not recognizing the number. While he wasn’t quite as protective with his personal contact number as he was with his tricks, he generally knew anyone calling him should have his number. For a moment he considered not answering it and trying to remember what he had originally been thinking of, but he slid his finger across the green circle and brought the phone to his ear.

“Jett,” he said by way of greeting.

“Mr. Richards, I was wondering if you would be willing to talk to me now,” the deep, familiar tone of Detective Hernandez’s voice replied.

Jett’s face split into a grin. “Why, Detective, I was wondering when you would call. Since you’ve chosen to talk to me on my own time, I take it to mean I haven’t been fingered in the murder?”

“For someone who is dealing with the death of another person, you are being remarkably flippant.”

Jett rolled his eyes, glad the officer couldn’t see him while they talked. The guy was as stiff and unhappy sounding as when they had first spoken. Jett imagined Detective Hernandez would almost fit the bill for Generic Cop Number Three on a movie’s cast list. The only thing hindering this idea was that Detective Hernandez was too good looking to be an extra. The man had the good looks of an action movie star coupled with all the charm and charisma of a brick wall.

“Sometimes in life, Detective, you have to find the humor and let yourself have a good laugh.”

“Your alibis check out completely.”

Jett snorted. “Well, I didn’t need you to tell me that, since I was already quite aware of my innocence.”

“A strong alibi is a good start, yes,” Hernandez said casually.

Jett frowned at the wall across from him, not liking the less than subtle insinuation that he was still a suspect. He also didn’t know if he liked the faint amusement in the detective’s voice. Jett could swear Hernandez was gaining pleasure out of reminding Jett he wasn’t quite off the chopping block.

Jett shook his head. “So did you call me up just to tell me I was where I said I was, or was there something else?”

There was a moment of silence before Hernandez finally spoke. “I’ve been thinking about the offer you made in our interview. The one involving you coming onto the case as a consultant.”

“I believe I told you I would be your ‘private dick,’ actually,” Jett replied with a sly grin.

“Yes, though you would officially be a consultant. If you are willing to help, all I need is to put in the paperwork,” Hernandez explained, all business.

Jett wasn’t sure if the detective was really as boring as he seemed or if he possessed an unusually large store of patience. For a moment, he was tempted to continue teasing the man, raising the ante a little. The urge died before the words could begin to form in his throat. If he thought Hernandez was actually enjoying the repartee between them, Jett probably would have. Otherwise, it was only casually fun to poke at someone who refused to be goaded.

“Would it really be okay for a suspect to help you solve the case?”

“I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Richards, there aren’t many people who frequent the hotel who aren’t considered suspects at this point. The reason you were my prime suspect is the same reason I want to bring you on as a consultant, your career.”

Jett had to give the man credit, he was honest. He certainly seemed to lack a sense of humor, but at least he was forthright. Jett couldn’t even imagine what Hernandez would sound like if he laughed. He found himself wondering if the detective had laughed at all in years. He certainly didn’t seem like the type to enjoy himself, and his concept of fun probably involved a nice crossword puzzle with soothing classical music playing in the background.

“You really think one of us did it, huh?” Jett asked, fumbling through his bag to find the tablet Riley had given him ages ago.

“The suite is one of the two most protected places in the entire building, if you don’t count the money rooms. The other is the suite on the 84^th floor, but it’s more of an apartment for the co-owner and his fiancé. Neither of them have reported anything odd in the preliminary interviews,” Hernandez explained, his voice dry and efficient.

Jett found the tablet and powered it up. “Let me guess, you intend to interview them yourself at some point?”

“Mr. Herrington is the co-owner of the hotel and apparently is the reason the current security system is in place. I would be negligent if didn’t speak to him personally over the course of the investigation,” Hernandez said, as if it should have been obvious.

Jett opened up the digital notepad, bringing up the keyboard with it. “Alright, so what makes you think the murder was done by a magician?”

“As I said, the 83^rd floor is one of the most secure places in the building. The only interior entrance and exit is through the elevator doors monitored 24/7 by a camera. The camera is set at an angle so that no one coming or going would be able to avoid being recorded. While the entire outer walls of the suite are glass, there are no functioning windows. The vents into the room are small, none of them large enough to fit a toddler, let alone a full-grown adult.”

Jett looked up with a frown. “Okay, so the only way to get in or out of the room is through the elevator, what’s your point?”

“The point is, Mr. Trentwood was recorded leaving his room at 11:34 PM and never returned. He wasn’t seen again until the morning shift maid, Daisy Chambers, discovered his body floating in the pool. Mr. Trentwood had suffered a single gunshot to the chest, point blank from the looks of the singe marks around the entry point,” Hernandez explained, and Jett distantly wondered if the man was reciting everything from memory.

“Ah, so there’s the mystery. There’s only one exit, and Oliver was seen leaving it. So somehow, someone else was able to get into the room, kill him and get out, all without ever being seen by the camera.”

“Correct,” Hernandez affirmed.

Jett snorted, pushing the tablet away after realizing he wouldn’t need it for jotting down notes. Rico had given him the simple version, but it was enough to pique Jett’s interest. Jett was sure the detective had been brief on the details because he still didn’t trust Jett, and was probably still trying to find a way to pin the crime on him. It would explain the detective’s sudden willingness to allow Jett to help with the investigation. With Jett on hand, Hernandez would be able to keep an eye on him constantly.

“Well, it certainly sounds like one hell of a puzzle, and the kind of puzzle a magician would leave behind if he were to commit a murder, so I can see why you budged on bringing me in on this,” Jett said, knowing his cocky smirk could be heard over the phone.

Hernandez sighed briefly. “Mr. Richards, I had hoped you might have an idea to begin with, rather than more attempts at sounding witty.”

Jett grinned, liking the sudden spark of sass. “Consider it a complementary part of the package.”

“Do you have an idea, or should I wait for you to call me back when something comes to mind?” Hernandez asked, the dryness returning to his tone.

“Never fret, Detective, as I don’t like to disappoint. I’m betting there’s a secret path or entrance you and your men missed, one perhaps even Stephanie doesn’t know about. Show me to the room and I’ll be more than happy to poke about and find it for you,” Jett said with as little flourish as he could manage.

“Meet me at the main lobby elevators in half an hour,” Hernandez told him, the click of the line disconnecting following immediately.

Jett set the phone down, smiling at it. “I think he’s beginning to like me.”