During Yuletide 1911, a brutal Midtown murder shocks the denizens of New York City. After a mutual friend is wrongly accused of being the killer, young sleuth Nate Fuller, along with his famous mentor Harry Houdini, is determined to solve the case. For starters, Houdini and Nate are certain their friend has been framed. But why? By whom? And how can they save him?
In their new adventure, old New York's acclaimed detecting duo brave the rough-and-tumble streets of the Lower East Side, where colorful, conniving characters abound, and the only thing certain is danger every step of the way.
During Yuletide 1911, a brutal Midtown murder shocks the denizens of New York City. After a mutual friend is wrongly accused of being the killer, young sleuth Nate Fuller, along with his famous mentor Harry Houdini, is determined to solve the case. For starters, Houdini and Nate are certain their friend has been framed. But why? By whom? And how can they save him?
In their new adventure, old New York's acclaimed detecting duo brave the rough-and-tumble streets of the Lower East Side, where colorful, conniving characters abound, and the only thing certain is danger every step of the way.
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Overview
During Yuletide 1911, a brutal Midtown murder shocks the denizens of New York City. After a mutual friend is wrongly accused of being the killer, young sleuth Nate Fuller, along with his famous mentor Harry Houdini, is determined to solve the case. For starters, Houdini and Nate are certain their friend has been framed. But why? By whom? And how can they save him?
In their new adventure, old New York's acclaimed detecting duo brave the rough-and-tumble streets of the Lower East Side, where colorful, conniving characters abound, and the only thing certain is danger every step of the way.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781429953269 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Farrar, Straus and Giroux |
| Publication date: | 04/16/2025 |
| Series: | Houdini & Nate Mysteries , #3 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 219 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
| Age Range: | 8 - 12 Years |
About the Author
Enjoyed equally by adults and kids, Houdini: The Ultimate Spellbinder plunged Tom Lalicki so deeply into Houdiniana that he followed up the award-winning biography with three Houdini & Nate crime novels. They are Danger in the Dark, Shots at Seas, and Frame-Up on the Bowery, also available as ebooks.
A real-life Bruce Wayne, Houdini was the first American superhero. The world’s greatest entertainer was a secretive philanthropist who used his nearly supernatural physical and mental powers to unmask villainy and capture criminals.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The Christmas holiday was shaping up as the worst Nate could remember. He had piles of schoolwork to do before January. Worse, he couldn't even take a break to dash uptown and visit Houdini.
Of course, I can't remember ever having a bad Christmas before, Nate told himself. When I visit Ace tomorrow, maybe Houdini will drop in to his workshop and say hello. Regardless, just look at all the things I'm learning, like the furnace man's name.
Before yesterday, Nate had never thought about furnace men. Every home in New York employed these coal stokers, but their calls weren't social events. Furnace men went silently from house to house every winter night. They let themselves in through a cellar door, tended the coal fire, and left. If they didn't, the fire would go out overnight, leaving a house without heat or hot water.
Normally Marina or Bea would leave the cellar door open until the stoker had finished his work and banged the pipes to signal that he was leaving. Then they would lock up. But yesterday they both came down with the same flu that had sent Nate's mother and Aunt Alice to their beds. Too sick to stay up, the cook and maid buttoned up all the doors, drew the curtains, and took to their beds on the top floor. Luckily Nate heard Joe the furnace man's incessant banging and let him in.
"Smart thinking locking up," Joe had said after introducing himself "You're not safe in your own house these days ... with that Slasher on the loose."
Nate nodded agreement. Five days had passed, but the search for the Fifth Avenue Slasher was still the main story — practically the only story — in a half dozen newspapers. The police had a hundred men working on the case and promised that an arrest was pending. But a pending arrest didn't make people feel safe under their covers; bolted doors did.
"It's Old Sparky the electric chair for that one," Joe observed when Nate let him in this evening.
"A cold-blooded murder ... the victim slowly tortured," Nate recited from the article. "Juries show no mercy to killers who show none themselves," he added, drawing from the extensive reading about crime and criminals he'd done since meeting his friend and mentor, Harry Houdini.
Nate had met Houdini by chance — he was a customer of the hat store where Nate had worked the previous summer. Good thing, too. Otherwise the phony medium who had Aunt Alice totally conned would have taken her house, her money, and probably her life.
After letting the soot-covered furnace man out for a second evening, Nate bolted the cellar door and went halfway up the stairs before returning to test the bolt. Then he smiled at himself and went upstairs.
He was tired. Nursing all these ailing women in a four-story brownstone was no easy job. He had run up and down more flights of stairs that day than he could believe. Now that everyone was sleeping, Nate happily dropped onto the sofa and back into his studies.
We could all have frozen to death last night if I hadn't heard Joe's banging.
Well, we'd have been very cold, he corrected himself, trying not to exaggerate. Houdini had once said, "Exaggeration is the essence of publicity — but the archenemy of observation and deduction."
"Very cold" was no exaggeration. The weather was unbearably cold and windy for December. It made him shiver to think of being outside.
Casting an eye halfheartedly back to the task at hand — algebra problems — Nate felt his mood darkening. He was good at every other subject. He even liked most of them. But now that he was frantically trying to make up for a lost semester, math was an even bigger problem than usual.
Within seconds, his mind drifted. The mysterious symbols and numbers turned into tiny insects scurrying across the paper. Unconsciously Nate scratched himself — first his wrist, then his leg, then his ankles — without relief A woolen union suit — toe-to-neck, one-piece underwear — attacked his skin like an army of ants. The itch danced about his body more quickly than his hands could follow.
Raps at the front door brought him to his senses. Putting the algebra aside, Nate rushed to the entrance hall.
"Can I help you?" he asked a young girl shivering on the stoop.
"Why yes, you surely can," she replied in the unmistakable drawl of a Southerner. "Is this the home of Mrs. Alice Ludlow?"
"It is," he said, and hesitated. The girl had a frayed cotton shawl wrapped around her throat and nothing more than a canvas jacket to protect her from the piercing wind.
"Are you delivering something?"
"No, not as like ..."
Nate was stumped. The girl had none of the swagger of a New York City street urchin. And she clearly wasn't the child of one of Aunt Alice's friends. During an uncomfortable silence, Nate deduced that she had arrived in a hansom cab waiting in the street. He saw the outline of an adult passenger in the cab's rear compartment.
"Is that your cab? Are you with the person in that cab?" Nate asked, pointing at the horse-drawn carriage.
"I rightly am," she proclaimed proudly. "That's my pa in the cab."
"Well ..." Nate said, considering the unusual situation, "does your father wish to see Mrs. Ludlow? Is your father a friend, a business connection?"
"My pa has urgent business elsewhere. He has no time to visit, and came only to see that I am properly situated," the girl said stiffly, as if reciting a memorized speech.
Nate broke out laughing; he had never heard the word situated pronounced sitch-e-ate-ed before.
"Jerusalem Crickets! Is that how you treat Aunt Alice's kin up here? You horse-laugh at them?"
"Excuse me," Nate said, bowled over by the tiny creature's fit of temper. Her back had stiffened; there was flint in her voice. "Kin? You're related to my aunt Alice?"
"Your aunt Alice!" she said excitedly, her mood changing yet again. "You must be Cousin Nate." The child rushed forward, threw her arms around Nate's waist, and squeezed tightly.
A heartbeat later, Nate saw a disembodied arm hurl a carpetbag onto the pavement from the back of the hansom cab. Then, without a word or a wave, the cab took off toward Fifth Avenue.
CHAPTER 2
The girl all but disappeared inside the quilt Nate had wrapped around her. She had collapsed on the sofa, shivering, her teeth chattering. Nate let her warm up thoroughly, and drink two generous mugs of cocoa, before even asking her name.
"Allie. Course, Alice is my Christian name, but nobody ever calls me anything 'cept Allie."
"You were named after my aunt Alice?"
"That's what Pa says: 'I named you after my sister 'cause I saw at first sight you were gonna be an ornery, cussed little mite,'" Allie recalled fondly, then added briskly, "and she's my aunt, too."
"Your father is Aunt Alice's brother ... I've never, ever heard Aunt Alice talk about a brother."
"Bad blood," she said slowly, shaking her head from side to side. "Cuz, this chocolate is awful fine, but do you think I could rustle up some real food in the kitchen?"
"Certainly ... I should have offered ..."
"Don't fret. You're the most helpful man about the kitchen I ever met," she said, throwing aside the quilt and dashing toward the hall. "Let's see what I can cook up for the two of us."
Nate caught up with her in front of the icebox, where she stood mesmerized by the food before her.
"Godfrey Daniel! Ham. And eggs. Milk!" She turned to Nate in wonder and said, "I bet none of it is salted or sour."
"Well, that's the point of an icebox, isn't it?" Nate asked uncertainly. "The ice keeps the food fresh."
"I know that, silly. I've seen iceboxes before. I just never had one."
Nate nodded noncommittally.
"I'm not a cook," he said. "I'd ask Marina to make something, but —"
"Who's Marina?"
"Our cook."
"Mother of Pearl! Pa said you folk live like kings, but I thought he was jokin' me," Allie said. "A cook."
"Speaking of your father, when —"
"He's your uncle Jack. Great-uncle Jack Skinner," she clarified.
"Thank you. When do you expect Uncle Jack to join us?"
Allie giggled and smiled privately; Nate pressed her. "Later this evening? I'm sure Aunt Alice will be interested."
Now Allie laughed out loud.
"Not before spring, child," she said seriously, imitating a man's voice. "'Not before spring, child' is what he told me before I got out of that horse cart that brought us here."
"And what did you say to that?" an astonished Nate asked.
"'Spring of what year?' That's what I said to him: 'Spring of what year?'" she said with tremendous satisfaction. Nate wondered if she had truly been abandoned on the doorstep.
"You mind if I make some bacon and eggs?" she said while putting ingredients on the counter near the stove. Nate assisted, mechanically, as if in a trance. He passed her a heavy frying pan, a spatula, butter — if they had lard, he had no idea where it was. He sliced some bread, and she devoured a piece before he could suggest toasting it. The child was ravenous but happy as a songbird. She hummed with a full mouth and prepared a meal as if she had been born in a kitchen. Nate stepped aside and leaned against the far wall.
Every situation is a one-of-a-kind, Houdini had told him. Enjoy! But analyze, always analyze before you act. Because instinct usually puts you "in a stink."
Allie wore a knee-length dress of very light cotton. It was a green and red plaid with a patch in plain green fabric. Her hay-colored hair was tied in a pigtail with a pink ribbon. Her black socks showed numerous repairs. He doubted that the banged-up carpetbag she'd fetched from the street held any newer garb.
She was small and poorly dressed, but Nate recognized that she was quite a character. Allie would be ten in three weeks, she'd told him earlier. That made her the first relative close to his own age that Nate had seen since his mother's Connecticut brothers had packed their families off to Michigan.
If she is my cousin ... how ... why would Aunt Alice keep something like that a secret?
"Introduce me to our guest, please," Nate's mother said hoarsely, interrupting his speculations about family secrets. She held the doorframe unsteadily, a shawl wrapped around her robe.
"You shouldn't be out of bed," Nate said as he helped her to a chair.
"Are you Nate's mother?" Allie yelled from the stove. "I am sooooo glad to meet you."
Nate looked at his mother. "Mrs. Deborah Fuller, let me introduce you to Alice Skinner, the daughter of Jack Skinner. My cousin," he added, half questioning.
Nate's mother stared at Allie and brightened. "You are Jack Skinner's daughter? I had no idea Jack had a child."
"I'm her, in the pink," Allie said.
"I had no idea there was a Jack Skinner in the family," Nate said.
"Of course you didn't, Nate. I've never met him. Your father mentioned him before we were married. And that was only to caution me never to mention Jack Skinner to Aunt Alice."
"Bad blood!" Allie repeated with her theatrical head wagging.
"Well, that bad blood doesn't apply to me," Deborah Fuller said, "and I am thrilled to make your acquaintance, Alice. I would hug you, but don't dare for fear of giving you this horrible flu."
"I ain't scared," she said, rushing to embrace Nate's mother, "and it's just Allie."
Deborah Fuller shook and coughed, but Allie clung tightly to her.
"The thing is, Mother, that Allie doesn't expect to see her father for quite some time," Nate said.
"Not before spring," Allie said gruffly, her voice muffled by Deborah Fuller's robe.
"Excuse me?"
Nate shrugged his shoulders uncertainly.
"Allie, have you come to live with us?" Nate's mother asked. The child buried her head more deeply into Deborah Fuller's lap before saying, "My pa said he had important business in California. Said he was gonna make a fortune but couldn't do it if I slowed him down."
"That's terrible," Nate's mother said, and instantly regretted saying it.
"But it's true. I'm little ... and I'm slow compared to my pa. And makin' money is for men."
Allie unclenched and stepped back from Nate's mother. "Besides, my pa said I need some women in my life — to 'civilize me,' he said. He always promised that someday he'd bring me to meet you."
"Is Aunt Alice expecting you?" Nate asked.
"There wasn't rightly time to tell her," Allie said. "One night last week Pa came through the door and said, 'Child, Georgia's not the place for us anymore. You pack — and be quick about it.' You can bet I was. And now I'm here."
"And your father?" Deborah Fuller asked.
"He's probably halfway to California," Allie said with a smile.
Right then, Nate discovered something. He had finally found something more mysterious than algebra — families.
CHAPTER 3
"I thought I'd seen it all yesterday" Nate said, marveling at the sight of Allie being bundled up in his Christmas church-going coat and his gloves and school cap — all far too big for her. "But it just keeps getting better."
Reluctantly Nate had agreed that his cousin could accompany him on his visit to Houdini's workshop, where his friend Ace worked.
"I didn't ask to wear your stuff. My things are just fine, Cousin Deborah."
"Hush! Both of you," commanded Nate's mother. She was still quite ill, but had found remarkable reservoirs of vitality since Allie had walked into their lives the previous afternoon.
Aunt Alice had no idea that a niece she had never before laid eyes on was being hidden in her own house. Nate's mother had insisted that they weren't hiding their unexpected guest.
"Aunt Alice is far too ill to appreciate meeting you, my dear," she had told Allie. "Tomorrow — when your aunt is stronger."
And Allie had good-naturedly gone along with the deception. She and Nate ate dinner together in the kitchen, after which Allie helped prepare soup and tea for all the invalids. And while Nate spent an hour reading a Ladies' Home Journal Christmas story to his drowsy great-aunt, Allie cleaned the kitchen and dusted the parlor.
Then, at Deborah Fuller's insistence, Allie was whisked quietly up the servants' back stairway to the top floor, where Nate tucked her away in one of the servants' rooms, careful not to awaken the cook or her daughter.
It wasn't just that Nate didn't want Allie tagging along. After all, he hadn't seen Ace in months. He had never seen Houdini's workshop before. And it wasn't entirely out of the question that Houdini would come downstairs to visit himself, once he heard that Nate was there.
"But how do I explain Allie?" Nate asked his mother after Allie was asleep. "She's a cousin I never met until yesterday, when her father threw her clothes into the street and took off in a cab."
"It won't be a problem, Nate," his mother insisted. "After all, Ace was abandoned by his father, wasn't he?"
"That's true."
"On the other hand, I have no idea how Alice will react to this situation. It's better if I tell her when we are alone," she said, coughing viciously.
So Nate had agreed to bring his cousin because he couldn't deny his mother's reasonable request. Nate's mother wrapped a silk scarf around Allie's neck as final protection against the bitter cold, and they were off to 278 West 113th Street — the Houdini homequarters.
Allie was too overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of New York City to say a word until they exited the subway at 110th Street.
"So many people ... I bet I seen more people this morning than there are in the whole state of Georgia. And they're all in such a hurry, like to knock you over."
"You'll get used to it," Nate said, "if you stay here, that is."
"And that subway ... Godfrey Daniel! A whole railroad train that runs under the ground."
"Get ready to really be amazed. Here is the Houdinis'," Nate said, pressing a buzzer at the brownstone's special basement entrance. Seconds later, a voice called out, "Fuller, is that you?"
"You bet it is, Ace," Nate replied eagerly.
"All right," Ace said as the sound of chains being dragged over metal pulleys commenced. Slowly, the huge rectangular door began to slide open.
"Houdini had this door put in so we could get equipment in and out," Ace yelled, "but I think it's big enough to drive a bus through."
The noise stopped when the door was about one-third opened and Ace came bounding out.
"Nathaniel Green Makeworthy Fuller the Fourth, as I live and breathe. Put it there, buddy," he said, extending a hand. At sixteen, Ace Winchell was considerably taller than Nate. Judging by his grip, he was considerably stronger, too.
"I guess working for Houdini is tougher than being a salesclerk," Nate said, referring to the summer job where he had met Ace.
Nate considered himself forever in debt to Ace for the part his pal had played in cracking the phony medium caper, and for saving Nate's life along the way.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Frame-Up on the Bowery"
by .
Copyright © 2009 Tom Lalicki.
Excerpted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
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