“Just tell me where she went,” Lucas ordered, fighting the panic that surged through him.

  “Behind the stage.”

  He took off, not running because he didn’t want to cause alarm, but he strode through the house, to the backyard, toward the stage. Something was about to happen. He felt it in his bones.

  She received a secret letter. She wasn’t sure who wrote it.

  What was she thinking? She should have told him. Secret meetings? Strange letters? Neither of those led to a safe and innocent event. Anyone could see that. She should have seen that. He would have kept Lexie home.

  The anticipation, the fear, it coursed through his body. It pumped through his arteries. His heart rate, skyrocketing. He prepared for danger. For confrontation.

  He truly believed the murderer could be any one of them. Brett, Shana, Samantha, but all the evidence led to Brett.

  He rounded the corner just as another scream, this one much closer, ripped through the night. He pulled his gun. It was a small space between the back of the stage and the edge of the woods. They were all there.

  He saw the other gun.

  He saw Shana lurching back and forth, crying out about the snake. Belle had promised him it was harmless. Then why was Shana screaming? Wouldn’t she know?

  “Lucas!” Belle gasped.

  Was that a butter knife in her hand?

  It happened fast. It only took seconds. He flashed her a look. It was harsh. It was accusing. Seconds. She withered and shriveled under his glare.

  Then he was back. He was shouting. “Toss your gun to me, Brett.”

  Brett raised his hands, shaking. “I promise—”

  “Toss it now.” He stepped close, prepared to shoot him. In the knee, the foot, anything to bring him to the ground.

  “It’s not real. It’s a prop.” He tossed it to the grass and stepped back.

  Something had happened here, a conversation, threats. It didn’t matter what. It seemed irrelevant. He studied them, fast. He looked in their eyes. He took in their posture, their expressions. He knew what to do.

  It came like lightning, in a micro-second. It was the way he worked.

  He turned to Samantha, so plain and innocent, but he learned long ago that killers came in all shapes and forms. It isn’t always the obvious suspect. “Samantha, you’re under arrest for the murder of Xavier Wellington.”

  He tucked in his gun and whipped out the cuffs. He let the hardness, the steel, the silver, flash in the night with a little drama of his own.

  Belle gasped. Shana said nothing. Brett said nothing.

  Samantha’s words whispered out, like the hiss of a snake. “I didn’t kill him!”

  “You were the one to make sure he took his pills every night. You were the one to always check on him. You were the one who cared…cared enough to kill.” He jerked her arms back and slapped on the cuffs. “You were the one with access. You were the one who owned a long white nightgown, then conveniently got rid of it.”

  “I…I hid it downstairs in the laundry room,” she admitted. “I was scared.”

  “There’s only one reason to do that. Guilt,” he stated. “You can call your lawyer at the police station.”

  “I-I…” she stammered, the words tripping over themselves. “Fine! I confess. I’m guilty.” She hung her head, shaking and crying.

  Brett stepped forward, the cape swirling. “That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Samantha wouldn’t hurt a flea. She will not take the fall for something I did.” He spoke loudly. His words clear. It was his stage voice. “I confess to the murder of Xavier Wellington. I did it. I knew he had nightmares. I knew he took pills. I knew the perfect time to climb through the window, when he would be too drowsy to fight. I smothered him with a pillow.”

  Officer Rob arrived on the scene. “Need help?”

  “Cuff the magician. They’re both going away for a long time.”

  “No.” Shana stepped forward. “You two don’t get credit for me.” She was somber. Her voice, flat. “I kill him. I kill Xavier.”

  “Officer Rob, cuff the two women together. I’ll take care of Brett.”

  He would lead them to the station. He would take statements from all of them. Maybe they were in on it together.

  “Detective Graystone, we could hear this hullabaloo from the house.” She swaggered forward in her fancy dress. It was Forsythia. She also wore a cape of sorts. “I demand to know what is happening.”

  “Your guests confessed to killing Xavier. They are all arrested.”

  She softened her swagger, her expression, and her voice. “Oh, please, Detective. They are the key to this entire night. Think of the kids, the young kids, who have worked so hard to attend college. Some of them will depend on this scholarship. Surely, they can head to the station after the performance.”

  Lucas knew it was the closest to begging Forsythia would ever get. He thought about the pros and cons.

  What all of them didn’t know was that Lucas didn’t know for sure which one was guilty. He doubted they were all in it together. He wasn’t sure they would tell the truth in the small white room at the station. But maybe… “Okay, they can do the performance. As soon as it ends, we leave for the station. I’ll keep an eye on Brett and Shana on stage. Officer Rob, keep Samantha at your side.”

  Forsythia’s words came in a rush. “Oh, thank you, Detective.” She clasped her hands to her chest. “You are the hero of the night to our young students.”

  He stood to the side of the stage and watched the performance. He couldn’t look at Belle right now. He might crack. He needed to keep up the performance for this to work. He couldn’t talk to her right now, because he wasn’t sure how he felt about this evening. If he talked to her, then he couldn’t keep an eye on his suspects. He’d be distracted. He didn’t want to say anything he’d regret. He didn’t want to see the hurt flickering in her eyes. Hurt that he caused.

  But he was mad.

  The crowds oohed and aahed so it must be a good show. He didn’t have time, but he wanted to call Mrs. Whitmer to come pick up Lexie. He hoped she stayed with Bixby while watching the show.

  The show was almost over.

  There was Octavian X on the stage, his theatrical voice booming. He held power over the audience as he led them to the brink, then gently led them back just to do it all over again. He was a master. It was like a different person took over when Brett was on stage.

  It was time for the disappearing act. Octavian made the announcement.

  Lucas straightened, watching.

  Shana was in a cage. Octavian invited members of the audience up to test the bars, to see there was no trap door in the floor. Then he yelled the magical words. “Abracadabra.” He waved his black wand, the audience on the edge once more.

  A puff of smoke, the fog. It spread and billowed onto the stage. When it dissipated, the cage was empty. The crowd went wild, clapping, hooting, and whistling.

  Shana was gone.

  He waited, tense. Octavian went on to the next act.

  It was only a few minutes. Then he heard the sputter and growl of an engine. It revved. He swore he heard the spinning of the wheels. Lucas took off sprinting toward the driveway. If Shana was making her escape in the van, she had to come this way.

  He arrived, breathless. He saw the headlights, the van, heading straight toward him. He heard the footsteps of the crowd as some of them followed the drama, probably thinking it was part of the show.

  Lucas didn’t bend. He stood in the road and he pointed the gun.

  He shot at the wheel; there was a pop. The van swerved. He shot the other tire. Then he pointed at the driver. He didn’t want to do this. He was playing a game. It was dangerous and possibly foolish.

  He stood his ground, unmoving.

  The van swerved back on track. It headed straight toward him, beams flashing right on him.

  Someone screamed.

  He wavered, but he didn’t move.

  In seconds, the van would hit him.

  A terrible screeching, a burning of rubber on pavement, the squeal and grind of brakes.

  The van shuddered to a stop inches from Lucas. The creaky noises of the engine were what he could hear. The front of the van sagged to the ground on the flat tires.

  There was a breathlessness, not only for Lucas, but to the ones who had followed him. He breathed, briefly closed his eyes, said a prayer, even though he hadn’t been to church in years.

  The door swung open. Shana appeared. She stepped out, pale and shocked. Octavian and Samantha arrived with Officer Rob. In his periphery Lucas saw the black witch’s dress, the stick, and the headband. Fury spiked again. They shouldn’t be here, watching. He pushed that away, to the side, to deal with later.

  Right now, he had a murder to solve. It was truth time.

  Shana stumbled to the front of the van. “I could have killed you,” she cried.

  “Why did you run away?” He kept his voice quiet, just a casual question, but it cut a path to the real question of murder.

  There was a rustling, a hiss, then a scream. “Snake!” At the same time, a large rope of red, white, and black shot between the two of them. Shana was frozen, paralyzed, her eyes on Betty.

  He had several courses of action in that moment. Yes, he could have trusted Belle’s intuition the snake was harmless. That a magician would never travel with a poisonous coral snake. The falsity, the mimicry was illusion, nature’s magic. But he didn’t.

  Shana was terrified.

  “Why so scared?” he stepped closer to the snake, now hissing, now scared, encircled by a crowd.

  “Poison snake!” Shana managed to say. The circle grew larger as everyone stepped back.

  “Yes, it is. Poison.” It was Belle and her calm, rational voice. She had the stick, that tall crooked stick from his backyard. She used it to herd the snake away from the people, especially away from Lexie. “I thought for sure it was the harmless scarlet kingsnake.”

  Shana shivered and let out a cry.

  The snake rattled its tale. It hissed. Its head jutted forward as if to bite. There was a gasp from the crowd. Belle pushed at it with the stick. Like lightning, Betty shot forward, there was a cry. Shana crumpled.

  Betty slithered away under the van.

  “It bite me!” she cried, holding her ankle. She groaned. “I die. I know it.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Belle rushed to her side to examine the wound. “It is definitely a bite. You might”—Belle paused as if thinking—“have a few minutes left.”

  Shana’s face twisted with rage. She shook her fist at the sky. She cursed at Xavier. “You are the death of my family, you scoundrel, you scourge on earth!”

  “What do you mean?” Belle asked, her voice soft, almost lulling.

  Lucas wanted to hustle her out of the way, but he allowed her questions, curious to see if Shana answered.

  “Xavier, that beast, that devil…he tricked my father out of money. All the money. His plan sounded so good and glamorous. He left my father with nothing. I was young girl, but I watch. I see it happen.” She sucked in a breath. “My father died of a broken heart. No other explanation.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Belle said. “I understand how hard. My parents died when I was young.”

  Tears sprang to Shana’s eyes. “Then you understand. I grow up. I change and when I go to work for Xavier, he not know. I didn’t plan to kill him, to get revenge. I enjoy work and see Xavier work hard to take care of me and Samantha.” She winced with pain, her hand on her ankle.

  “What happened, Shana?”

  The crowd fell silent. The night air was clear, a slight breeze winding its way through everyone. Now this was a performance, Lucas thought.

  She talked. Like a valve releasing, it was slow, then the words came, rolling from her mouth. “I stand over his bed at night and I hiss and clench my fists staring at him...I dream about killing him…sometimes knife, sometimes bathroom sash around his neck, sometimes I see I reach into his chest and squeeze his heart until it stop. But I don’t. I don’t kill.”

  “What about that night, Shana?” Belle nudged.

  “I stood over his bed. I see him weak and vulnerable. I see him struggle with dreams. I think maybe that is enough revenge. I about to leave when I hear someone at window. The fool cry out as he almost fall. I hide in the closet. Octavian come through window…he steal magic book. When Octavian leave, he see someone. I stay in closet…Samantha came to check. I stay in closet. She leave.” She stopped talking, eyes flat, soulless. “A voice speak to me, a tiny voice in my head…it say now is the time…to kill him…Brett and Samantha were there. I question the voice. I stand by his bed and I think of my papa in the grave, in the ground. I pick up pillow. I think of Papa dead. I think of his bones and skeleton. I think of his body, the bugs, the beetles eating away at him and I push pillow over his face. He struggle. Then”—her voice trembled—“I think of smile and how it is no more…the songs he sang to me at night…the jokes he told…the beef stew he made…he not perfect papa but he was mine. I press and press and press hard. I think of Papa and I cry and I press harder and I think of his stories, his smile, his song. I cry, and I press, and I press, and I cry, and I press, until there is no more struggle.”

  Then Shana wavered as if to faint. “I feel poison reaching my heart…but killing him…it make no difference…I still mad. Papa still dead. No more stories. No more songs or smiles.”

  Belle touched her arm. “I’m sorry, Shana.” Then she stepped back and looked to Lucas, like job done. Now it was his turn. There was no more need for the gun or theatrics. It was over.

  Lucas read Shana her rights and led her to the squad car.

  He finished up at the station and called to check in on Lexie. Belle had driven her home, then contacted Mrs. Whitmer to come stay with her. Belle had left.

  “Uncle Lucas, you need to go talk to her,” Lexie begged. “Please.”

  He didn’t make any promises but said he’d check in on her when he was home. Then he drove to his sister’s grave. For the first time, in a long time, he wept.

  He stayed, in the cold, kneeling in the grass, forehead pressed to the hard granite. He welcomed the uncomfortableness of it. In a way, he had failed Abby by letting Lexie come to the event. He was mad that in the middle of it he had blamed someone else besides himself. He had blamed Belle. When he learned about the mystery note. When he found all of them behind the stage. When he realized Belle kept that from him, in that one moment of fury, he had cut her with his glare and his harsh tone. It didn’t take much, but it was on him. It wasn’t on Belle.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, then kissed the stone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Belle took Lexie home right away, the car was silent, an uncomfortable quiet, and she didn’t know what to say to the girl, especially if she was feeling anything like Belle was, in the aftermath of the shock. Lucas standing in front of the van as it screeched to a stop just in time.

  She knew he was doing his job. That was exactly why he didn’t want Lexie there, because his job required dangerous situations. Lexie should have stayed home.

  That fact was obvious; Belle had figured it out too late.

  They headed inside where she went to the kitchen to find comfort food in the form of hot cocoa with marshmallows, then they sat on the couch.

  “How are you doing, Lexie?” she asked, tentatively.

  “Okay.” Then she sipped her cocoa and leaned against Belle.

  You loser. What were you thinking? Once again, it was the voice of her uncle raiding her mind, hissing like that snake. It was your fault the poor girl watched her uncle almost die. And after losing her parents. You are filth. You are nothing. You should slither away like that snake. Crawl in the dust.

  In a way, this time, the voices were right. It was her fault that Lexie was at the event. What if he had been hit by the van? She had not been truthful about the mystery letters. After the dramatic confession, Bixby had told her Lucas knew about the letters. All reasons to cut off a friendship. She felt it building in her chest, the way her throat ached, the sweat forming. She needed to cry, for it all, not just what almost happened, but the way the words in her head made her feel. It brought back the grief. There was new grief, the coming loss of two of her friends in Everly.

  “I’m sorry, Lexie.” She hugged the girl, the tears forming. “I have to go.” She went to the phone and called Mrs. Whitmer. She waited outside.

  When the older woman arrived, she gave the briefest of explanations and escaped to her car. It wasn’t a long drive home. She drove and she cried and it was ugly, the sobbing. Grief at it all, at how fast it happened, how quickly a wrong decision derailed the situation. Sorrow at what she was about to lose.

  You deserve it.

  It took several minutes, but her tears were spent when she pulled up to her house and saw Samantha standing on the porch. Fresh tears sprang. She wiped them away, not believing there were more to be cried, but these tears were different. They came from a different place. It felt…better. This was not how she pictured this conversation. Bixby had given Samantha her message.

  Now or never, she told herself and walked up to the porch. “Hi Samantha. Come inside.”

  “Is the killer? She did it,” squawked Sir Jack.

  “Oh, a parrot.” Samantha went to the cage, crooning at him.

  Sir Jack lowered his head, feathers puffier, wings flapping. He shifted on his perch. To Belle, he seemed almost happy.

  “I guess he likes you,” Belle said.

  “My father had a parrot. An African grey. Birds like me.”

  Belle made hot cocoa for a second time, ignoring, pushing down the memories and emotions of the past few hours. She had a job to do right now. At the table, she passed the envelope over to Samantha. Inside was a letter explaining everything, the lawyer’s card tucked inside.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s for you, if you want it. It’s for a fresh start. If you want to stay with Octavian, I’m sure you could work for him, but you have a lot of potential. I believe you don’t want to return home.”