Sherlock Holmes once said, "There is nothing so unnatural as the commonplace." Of course, this case seemed rather commonplace, but it turned out to be anything but.

My name is James Hamish, and I'm a high school detective!

---

It was summer. It had been a month since the kidnapping case, and my uncle was invited to a party that was to take place before a magic show. My uncle was friends with one of the magicians, and I decided to tag along, because it was a Saturday night and I had nothing better to do.

---

We stepped out of the car in our coats. It was raining, and the mud gathered on our shoes as we walked to the porch. The party was being held at someone's house, after which the magic show would begin. The dinner party began at about five-thirty and would end at eight-thirty (which was a half-hour before the magic show was scheduled to start), so we had just enough time to watch the sun set.

"Ah, Mr. Courier! Long time no see!"

The two grasped each other's hands and smiled.

"Mr. Merryl!" my uncle shouted.

"And who is this young man, Mr. Courier?"

My uncle stepped aside and introduced me.

"This is my nephew, James."

"How do you do, James?" Mr. Merryl and I shook hands. "Well, come in! We don't want you soaking out here in the rain!" Mr. Merryl's short figure and tenor voice was an odd comparison to my uncle's tall baritone features. He was a bit chubby and his cheeks were very rosy, in contrast to the cold rain pouring down. His glasses gave him the appearance of an eccentric. He was not an imposing figure by any means.

We walked inside and my uncle felt awkward running around tracking mud everywhere. I saw that everyone's shoes had been taken off because of the weather, so I followed suit. Evidently, my dad didn't notice.

We walked passed the foyer, the most useless room in my opinion. On the first floor there were the kitchen and the dining room and the living room and whatnot, and on the second floor, I presumed there would be bedrooms. We eventually made our way into the dining room.

"Who owns this house, by the way?" I asked.

"This house?" asked Mr. Merryl; "This house belongs to the great magician, Leon Galactica. He's the star of the performance tonight."

"I see."

---

We arrived in the dining room, my uncle attracting mud all the while.

"You wanna take them off?"

At the head of the table was a man with his eyes closed and his legs and arms crossed. He was wearing formal clothes with a puffy shirt. It came off as tacky, and his mustache certainly didn't add anything to the humbleness of his character.

"Take what off?" my uncle asked.

"The shoes?"

The man pointed to my uncle's feet and he scurried off.

I sat down far from him, but not at the other head, so I wouldn't be in his direct line of eyesight. They say that the first impressions are the most important. Apparently, this man had never heard the saying.

"Sorry," said the man, "I haven't properly introduced myself." He stood up and was looking for my uncle, who had already left. He waited for him to return, and apologized again.

"I'm Mr. Galactica... Er... that is, Leon."

They shook hands.

"I'm sorry about that, Mr. Courier. It's just that... I'm always nervous before showtime. If there's anything..."

My uncle held up his hand and said, "Don't worry about it. I should have noticed the shoes there anyway."

He should have.

---

Dinner was starting. Five seats were filled. I was furthest from the head where Mr. Galactica sat. My dad sat next to me. Opposite my dad was his friend Mr. Merryl. Next to Mr. Merryl sat a young lady in a blue dress. Evidently, she was the stereotypical "lovely assistant". She was introduced as Jean Clay.

At the opposite head of the table sat William Chinkerhoff, a tall but thin man who evidently had been working behind the scenes, as evidenced by his calloused fingers and torn jeans. He was the one who had prepared the meal that night.

"Where's Mr. Galactica?" I asked.

"Toilet?" asked Ms. Clay.

"Maybe he's sleeping?" suggested Mr. Merryl.

"He must be practicing again," said Mr. Chinkerhoff. "He usually practices before a magic show. Skips dinner. Runs through the entire act. He never likes to be disturbed when he's going through, so I wouldn't knock on his door..."

"If that's so, then I should bring Leon his food," noted Ms. Clay. She took up Mr. Galactica's food and drink and made her way upstairs.

I nodded and dug in. It was an elaborate dinner. Soup, pasta, duck, steak, sauce, anything. It seemed a little much for just the six of us, though.

---

"That was a little long to spend up there, Ms. Clay," said Mr. Chinkerhoff.

She was gone for some fifteen minutes before she returned.

"Mr. Galactica's room was locked. I had to wait for him to be satisfied with his next tricks to open the door," she explained. "Also, I decided to make a quick stop at the restroom afterward..."

Mr. Chinkerhoff looked at her suspiciously. Ms. Clay shot a glare and sat down.

---

It was two-and-a-half hours later. Eight o'clock. Everyone had to get ready soon.

"That's strange," remarked Mr. Merryl. "The show only runs for an hour and a half, yet Leon's still in his room practicing."

"Do you think we should check on him?" asked Ms. Clay.

"I'll check," volunteered Mr. Merryl. He laid his napkin on the table and made his way out of the room. The rest of us continued to talk and whatnot...

---

Twenty minutes later, Mr. Merryl rushed back into the room wet from sweat, rain, or both. His shoes were still on and attracting mud. He was out of breath and his pupils were very dilated. Something was seriously wrong. Silence.

"Mr. Galactica..." he said breathily. "Mr. Galactica... he's... he's... dead...!!"