“Yikes.” Bixby shivered. “He had access, right?”

  Belle nodded. “He knew a lot about Xavier. He knew about the nightmares and the sleeping pills. He knew early morning would be the best time to sneak into the room. So yes, he had access.”

  “But what about the fact that Xavier had a high dose of the drug in his system?” Lucas shifted on the couch, leaning his elbows on his knees. “How would he have managed that without the help of Shana or Samantha?”

  “Or, it’s coincidence, and due to the nightmare, Xavier took more that night,” Belle said.

  “How about fingerprints?” Bixby asked. “Were there any? How about on the pillow?”

  Lucas smirked. “Really? Fingerprints on a pillow?”

  Bixby blushed. “I meant to say the pill bottle. What about on the bottle?”

  “None. They must have worn gloves,” Lucas said. “Now let’s do Shana.”

  “She has been very reticent to share about her past. I never felt like I could push her on that,” Belle said.

  “She evaded it when I asked, by pretending to not understand the question. She kept talking about him, Brett, standing over the body and hissing, with clenched fists.”

  “I could see it,” Belle said. “I mean, after that video, I could see Brett doing that.”

  “How about Samantha?” Bixby asked. “Motive?”

  “She doesn’t have much motive,” Lucas said. He corrected Shana’s original statement. “Samantha’s father and Xavier parted ways on good terms. She left home to work for him to see the world. More importantly, to escape a controlling father.”

  “Were you able to confirm that with the father?” Bixby asked.

  Lucas shrugged. “Officer Rob’s had no luck. Any number we found had been disconnected.”

  “Brett definitely seems the most likely,” Bixby said. “He’d have the strength to hold the pillow down.”

  “But if Xavier was drugged…” Belle added.

  “Both Officer Rob and I will be there tomorrow evening, not as cops per se, but as part of the event. We’ll be watching. My hope is that the night will pass without mishap. I can question them all again the next day now that we have their stories straight. Especially, Shana.”

  Belle couldn’t help but think about all the ways the night could go wrong. If Brett was the killer, then Shana or Samantha might be mad. They might be out for vengeance.

  If only they could find the white nightgown.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After another restless night’s sleep due to overthinking the mystery and the events of the coming evening, Belle stumbled to the kitchen the next morning. There was information and clues, facts, that were missing, the glue that would keep this mystery from falling apart.

  She flipped on the coffee maker.

  “Intruder! Intruder!” It was Sir Jack.

  Belle panicked for a moment. Was someone outside the door? If so, why weren’t they knocking or calling her name. She grabbed the ugly vase from the table. Yes, it was large. Yes, it was heavy. Yes, a weapon in its own right, it was a strong line of self-defense. Pity the soul who took it to the shoulder.

  Straining with the weight, she held it higher and crept into the living room. After sweeping the room for anything out of place, she saw the envelope in front of the door. Relieved, she put the vase back.

  Another letter. It unsettled her.

  She knew it was from X. It had to be. Who else slipped notes under her door? With relief, she put the vase back in its place.

  Belle ripped open the letter.

  Meet me behind the stage before the show. I have information.

  X

  Signed X. The same as before; it could be Octavian X, aka Brett, but anyone might sign their name with an X, as if to remain anonymous.

  She brought her coffee with a replenished supply of Bixby’s magical mix of chocolate raspberry over to a chair she’d set up next to Sir Jack’s cage. While caffeinating, she talked to Sir Jack, slowly feeding him pear pieces through the bars. She thought about Brett, and she thought about Xavier. Magicians all had that secret, dramatic way about them. For some reason the talk of wills and inheritance through magician handshakes had gotten to her. She felt like she had that kind of agreement with her Aunt Eliza. Maybe she felt like a poser, like an illusion herself, because she hadn’t followed through yet. She hadn’t called in someone to fix the front steps. She hadn’t gone back to visit the lawyer to see what other contingencies Eliza had attached to the inheritance.

  Yes, she had to live in Everly, in the house, for a year and use funds to fix it up. She had to keep supporting The Beanery and Bixby. Those were easy.

  It was time.

  She sat, once again, across from Eliza’s lawyer, Walt Whitfield. Once again, his poof of thinning white hair that stuck up off his head, contradicted the serious, shrewd lawyer she knew the man to be. But he was kind. Eliza never would have worked with him, if he were cruel or dishonest.

  “How can I help you, Belle?” he asked, fingers steepled.

  “A little over a month has gone by.” The clock was ticking, time passing faster than she thought it would. If she waited too long, a year would be upon her. Deep inside was the fear of being out on the streets again, sleeping in her car. Even though a part of her resented Eliza for all this, and she didn’t understand her aunt’s reasoning, she didn’t want that to happen. She kept all that to herself.

  “Are you ready to hear what else Eliza wanted you to do?”

  “Yes, I think I am.” She ignored the sudden panic that welled in her chest.

  “Belle, take a deep breath. You will find that most of these contingencies are nothing to fear.”

  Most, Belle thought. Meaning there might be one or two she wouldn’t be happy about. “Okay, I’m ready for one or two easy ones.”

  Whitfield studied his notes. “I have the perfect ones.” He cleared his throat. “Eliza Baron has set aside the sum of fifty thousand dollars for you to use at your discretion.”

  Belle gasped, shocked. Fifty thousand?

  “She wants you to find someone who could use investment, someone down on their luck, someone who will use it for a fresh start. An act of kindness.”

  Yes, Belle thought. She could do that.

  “There is a note attached,” he said, “that once the gift is given, you are not responsible for how that person uses the money. If they use it for the fresh start or if they waste it. After you give the gift, it is their choice.”

  Belle understood right away the parallel situation—that she was in that same situation, given a gift, a chance for a fresh start. It was up to her what she chose to do with the gift. She also had a strong idea of someone who could use the fresh start.

  “You have someone in mind?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then here you go.” He handed over his card. “Explain to whomever it is, they must stop by my office and we’ll enact the transfer of funds.

  “It’s so much money,” she whispered.

  He looked back at his notes. “She’d also like you to start attending church, the one she attended. She’d like you to give it a chance.”

  “I can do that,” Belle said, as she thought about the lovely church with the stained-glass windows where the funeral was held for Aunt Eliza. Belle wasn’t a spiritual person, but she wouldn’t mind a visit.

  As soon as she got home, Belle called Bixby. “I need your help… Yes, tonight.”

  They were at the big event. It was all set with Bixby. While Belle finally met the mysterious X, Lexie would help Bixby at the coffee table.

  Belle wore all black with an ugly purple top she found in the depths of Eliza’s closet. It was a patchwork of purple, varying shades. It was perfect. She used a wide black headband to push back her hair, and applied slightly more make-up, black eyeliner, light purple eyeshadow, and red lipstick.

  “You look beautiful,” Lexie said, staring up at her in awe. She had on the black dress of the witch’s costume, and carried a somewhat crooked stick, as if she was old, like she was an accused hag from medieval times.

  “Now you just need a wart on your nose.” Belle smiled at her, then at Lucas standing behind her. He was also dressed in black, with a heavier coat. She didn’t ask about any hidden weapons.

  “Uncle Lucas, can I wear lipstick?” Lexie asked.

  “Absolutely not.” He caught the look Belle gave him. One that said, It’s just makeup. It’s just a costume. He must have gotten the message, because he said, “Fine. Only because it’s part of the costume.”

  “I might have something a lighter shade than red. Anyway, we’re going to help solve a murder tonight,” Belle said, using a mysterious tone for the young girl, to get her excited.

  “Yes, but which one?” Lexie asked.

  “You are entirely too smart for your age,” Lucas said. “We’ll stick to the murder mystery event. The night will go well. You’ll be fine. You’ll stay with Belle. Forsythia’s big night will go off without a hitch.”

  Belle didn’t want to point out that he said it like he could will it to happen. She offered him a bright smile. “We’re good.” She shooed him away. “Go do your thing.”

  “Thanks.” He disappeared into the growing crowd of guests.

  They all dressed in similar dramatic fashion, some in dark colors, others in fancy dresses of silver with tassels that shimmered when they walked. Some men were in suits; a couple wore tuxedos. Forsythia’s house had been transformed into a magician’s fantasy world. It was perfect.

  She looked to Bixby. “We’re off to explore and solve a murder. You all set for tonight?”

  “Of course.” He winked, meaning yes, he knew that thirty minutes before the show, Belle would bring Lexie to the coffee bar—part of her promise to keep Lexie safe—while she met the mysterious letter writer behind the stage.

  The next couple of hours went by fast. They snacked at the buffet. Guzzled the magician’s punch, unsure of what was in it, she suspected ginger ale and fruit punch. They had fun picking out the main characters.

  Minnie Kratz, dressed as a gypsy, introduced herself to people as Miss Wanda Wandering. For a while, they tailed her, watching who she would approach and engage in conversation. She usually offered them a dramatic fortune. She’d gasp, roll her eyes, then say in a low, theatrical voice, that she saw trouble ahead for them, or they would soon have a choice to make or to watch out, there would be a betrayal.

  Belle and Lexie had fun debating which one of the people who received a fortune would be the victim, and possibly, the killer.

  Alice, one of the organizers, was the gossip, Miss Kathy Chatting. When they followed her, they noticed she spoke behind her hand, in whispers. Surely, giving clues to the coming crime. They watched her fake-faint in shock at what others had to tell her; they watched her point the finger and make accusations. They spent time listening to the murmurs.

  Some acted well; others were awkward and stumbled with their lines, but overall Belle felt it was moving along according to plan. Guests were laughing; they were problem solving, and discussing clues. They were moving about chatting with people they wouldn’t usually talk to—it was wonderful. Forsythia should be happy. She was like the mother hen, waltzing through the crowd, listening to conversations, encouraging more questions when needed. She stood out in her fancy, flashy dress and seemed to be everywhere at once.

  Belle tried not to keep an eye on the time, but she felt an anticipation, the growing sensation of wings fluttering in her belly, nervous at the confrontation to come. “Okay, Lexie, Bixby let me know he’d need your help for a bit.”

  Lexie eyed Belle, suspicious. “Sure, no problem.”

  Once they arrived at the coffee bar, Bixby pulled her aside. He slipped a butter knife into her pocket. “Just in case. It’s all I could find. I’d go with you if I could.”

  A butter knife? “I know. And thanks. It’s going to be fine.”

  She convinced herself of that as she made her way through the guests—the talking, the fainting, the pointing, the laughter—and walked behind the stage. It was darker back here. She had to wait a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. At first, she was alone. It was creepy, hearing the muffled echo of voices and laughter. Also the nearby sounds of the night, the rustling, the noises of night animals. She couldn’t help but think of Betty the snake.

  It was Samantha who rounded the corner first, dressed in plain dark clothes. Obviously, not one for the drama. She seemed surprised to see Belle. “It was you?” she asked.

  “What?”

  Then, Shana arrived, dressed as a magician’s assistant, with skirts of satin and gauzy drapes of material. Her makeup was even darker, more dramatic than usual. “Which one sent letter?”

  Belle realized it first. “We all received letters. We just have to wait for the main attraction.”

  A few minutes later, Brett slipped through the curtains at the back of the stage and onto the grass. He also wore black. Xavier’s cape hung from his shoulders and swirled at his knees. Shana had done his makeup. The black eyeliner transformed Brett into Octavian X. “Ah, thank you, to all of you, for coming.” He smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile, it was a grimace, a toothy grin. His eyes were hard, like ice. “I want the book. The real book.”

  His words were a clap of thunder, startling, shocking. His sentences, short stabs. His voice, serious. Dead serious.

  Belle didn’t doubt in her heart for one second that he was the killer. Both Samantha and Shana seemed to be thinking the same thing as they inched away from him.

  His gaze darted to Belle. “Sorry to include you in this, but Xavier had some kind of weird connection to you. Did he give it to you?”

  “I don’t have it. No.” She had a connection to Xavier, but it was brief. Not the kind where he would trust her with his most valuable asset.

  “I’m not asking for much.” He puffed his chest. With a flip of his fingers, he tossed the cape behind his shoulders, revealing a flash of the crimson velvet lining. “Just the book,” he muttered, cursing. “It was his final prank. He left me everything, all of it, but without the book, without his solutions and written instructions, it’s useless.” He went from tall, intimidating and angry, to desperate, bordering furious. “I know one of you has it, or knows where it is. One way or the other I will have it.” He pointed a finger, nail painted black, at Shana, then at Samantha, then at Belle. “One of you killed him in the dark of the night. Like a magic trick. I have collected evidence on all of you—poof!—like magic it will appear. I will hand it over to the detective tomorrow morning, unless the book is put back in its place. When I find the book, I will burn the evidence, then disappear into the night.”

  Belle found herself breathless, the shock sucking air from her lungs and scrambling her thoughts. Were these the words of a killer? Was he trying to make himself look innocent? Was this all an act—his final magic act?

  “Ridiculous,” Shana muttered. “You ridiculous. Check our rooms like detective. No book.” Then she laughed, deep and guttural. “You right. It was final prank. Maybe he thought you kill. He play one last trick on you.”

  Octavian flushed scarlet, hands twitching, until he shoved his hand into the back of his pants and pulled out a gun. “Just so you know, I’m not playing games. Tomorrow morning. Or—”

  Shana let out a heart-rending screech. It shook the trees, the leaves; it scared the birds. They rose from the branches in a whoosh. She danced, lurching to the left, to the right, practically clinging to Samantha. “It is snake. I saw the red, the black. There it is!”

  She screamed again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lucas made sure to catch sight of Lexie and Belle every so often, to ensure they were safe and sticking together. As the sun set, it was getting harder to see through the flickering glares of the tiki torches and strung lights. Everyone was part in shadow.

  He peered between the guests in their costumes. A sigh of relief escaped at the sight of Lexie in her old witch’s dress. The stick she found in the yard. Then he smiled at the sight of Belle’s short, dark hair, the normal spiky ends swept back in some kind of headband. He ignored the subtle thump thump of his heart.

  In between making sure they were okay, he roamed the crowds, listening. He watched. He studied. He was on full alert, his senses primed and sensitive. He picked up every snarky, unkind comment or look of disdain. Most had to do with the murder mystery event, which he didn’t care about. He didn’t care about solving that murder.

  He cared about the murder of Xavier the Astonishing.

  This was what he lived for, what he was good at, the rush, the feeling that it would soon be solved, but he didn’t like that two people he cared about were in the room, at the event. They’d convinced him. It was just a fundraising event. There was no need for drama.

  He walked the perimeter. He cut through the center. He checked in with Officer Rob. When Brett fussed on the stage, appearing, then disappearing, he made notice of Samantha and Shana. Where they stood. What they did.

  But it was impossible to be everywhere at once. He grew uneasy. More backup. That’s what was needed. But it was based on a feeling, not a solid reason. When he’d pushed for more backup, the higher-ups said no.

  He wasn’t sure how long it had been. Maybe thirty minutes, maybe more, but he no longer could see the old black witch’s dress, the stick from the backyard, the short hair swept back with a headband.

  He panicked.

  He swept through the event, searching, searching. Nothing.

  Then he picked up the faint sound of a scream.

  No one else seemed to notice. He beelined inside to the coffee bar, to Bixby, who always seemed to know where to find Belle. That was where Lucas found Lexie, standing by his side, helping. But she was alone. She wasn’t sticking by Belle.

  “Where is she?” he growled.

  Bixby covered Lexie’s ears. “She…she received a secret letter…signed X…she wasn’t sure who wrote it—”