Read Pirate Vishnu (A Jaya Jones Treasure Hunt Mystery) for Free Online

theater.”
    “But—” Grace and I protested at the same time. 
    “Children!” Raj cried, popping his head into the break room. “You have no sense of time tonight.” He tapped his wristwatch. “The diners are waiting.”

    “That set nearly killed me,” Sanjay said when we were done with our second set of the evening. Grace had gone home to pack, and Sanjay and I were back in the break room.
    “No kidding,” I agreed.
    During our set we played a raga that made me think of northern India, and by association, my thoughts had returned to Lane. Earlier that summer, his research on northern Indian art had been instrumental in piecing together the history of an Indian artifact with a mysterious history.
    “You have to show me that treasure map,” Sanjay said.
    “First you have to tell me why on earth you thought you could volunteer me to be your magician’s assistant.”
    “You’re the same size as Grace.”
    “Why does that matter? I can’t do the contortions she does.”
    “I’m used to working with someone her size,” Sanjay said, “and I planned these acts around having an assistant.”
    “But—”
    “It’s a great cause, Jaya. A benefit for a San Francisco homeless shelter.” On his phone, he pulled up the website with details about the benefit and handed it to me so I could read about it.
    “You know why it’s important,” Sanjay said.
    I did know. Sanjay had dropped out of law school to become a magician. His parents hadn’t been pleased. For the two years it took him to establish himself, Sanjay lived in a fleabag motel. A lot of his neighbors from that time never made it out of there. Because he knew what it was like to live so close to homelessness, he was exceedingly generous and also didn’t have any guilt about enjoying life’s luxuries.
    I scrolled through the information, but I wasn’t retaining anything I read.
    “Isn’t there a magician’s guild or something you can go to for emergencies like this?” I asked.
    “I trust you,” Sanjay said.
    He spun his bowler hat in his hands as he spoke, then flipped it back onto his head and met my gaze. “I trust you with my secrets.” His almost-too-large dark brown eyes had won over many an admirer. But I know the true Sanjay, the one with the maturity of an eight-year-old boy.
    “No need to be so dramatic.”
    Sanjay fiddled with the collar of his shirt. A nervous habit from the days when he was starting out as a magician, he told me once. He never did it on stage anymore, but I’d seen him tugging at his starched white collar a few times.
    “There’s nobody else,” he said.
    “You mean besides Grace.”
    “I made her sign a confidentiality agreement when she came to work for me.”
    “Seriously?”
    “I told you there’s no one else.”
    My resolve started to waver. Time to change the subject.
    I was about to get the map out to show Sanjay when Raj walked in. He was there to retrieve us for our next music set. He ushered us out of the break room onto the little stage, muttering about how there was something in the stars that made us forget all sense of time that day.
    By the time we finished our final set of the evening, the kitchen was winding down for the night. Juan and his staff turned on the TV in the kitchen.
    “The suspense is killing me,” Sanjay said, but I barely heard him. On the TV screen in front of me was a photograph of Steven Healy.
    I pushed my way past the kitchen crew and turned up the volume on the set to hear above the rain that had started to fall outside. The rain sounded like a tin drum as it hit the kitchen vents.
    “What are you doing?” Sanjay asked.
    “That’s him.” I swallowed hard. “The man in the photograph on TV. That’s the man who came to see me today.”
    A fair-haired reporter with carefully styled hair stood in front of an upscale San Francisco Victorian house, holding an oversized black umbrella in one hand and a microphone in the other.
    “Steven Healy was found dead in