In that minute, with Joel’s kindness and his smile, she felt relief that Oliver wasn’t around. She might as well just put it out there. “As you know, Forsythia, the leader of the Women’s Charitable Organization, is hosting the big event, Murder at the Magic Show this coming weekend.”

  “Oh yes, I purchased my tickets.”

  “Well, you know that Xavier the Astonishing is performing within the context of the murder mystery?”

  Joel nodded, giving her his full attention. “Yes. That should be a great show.”

  She nodded toward the corner table where he sat. Joel’s eyes widened. “He’s rather picky. Forsythia demands a welcome breakfast and wants only the best, so she sent me to inquire about it.”

  “For when?”

  “Tomorrow morning?” she squeaked, knowing it was late, way too late, to be asking for that sort of catering.

  “Oh, dear.” He stroked the beard, adding more of a dusting of sugar, but then smiled. “We’ll do it.”

  The doors to the kitchen swung open. Oliver burst through, like he couldn’t wait to speak his mind. “Dad, that’s way too late of notice.” He turned on her with his icy glare, his demeaning look, which made it clear he didn’t like Belle. “That is ridiculous. Cater a welcome breakfast and you let us know the day before?”

  Xavier appeared out of nowhere, like magic, as if he always knew she was there, even though he was in an intense conversation. She peeked behind him, but the other man was gone.

  With a dramatic flourish of his arm, his voice lowered, his stage voice, he said, “Yesterday, this young woman was given the task of the welcome breakfast by spicy older women, who felt threatened by her youth and beauty. It was unfair. It was unnecessary. They should have contacted you a week ago. It is not this young lady’s fault.”

  His tone was scolding, almost condescending. Oliver bit his lip. After all, he owned a business. Wasn’t the customer always right?

  “Son, I’d like you to meet Xavier the Astonishing, in town for the big show,” Joel said. His words were a wish. They were a prayer that Oliver would recognize the name and know this was a big influencer. Catering a welcome breakfast would be a huge opportunity.

  Oliver nodded, tried to smile, but it came across a grim version of one. “I suppose we could do it, for the Women’s Charitable Organization. Our effort to support the youth and higher education.” He stopped, then added. “But this late in the game, we’ll need you to trust us in what to serve and…it will be our coffee.”

  “Yes,” Xavier replied. “Your coffee but you’re missing out on Belle’s new chocolate raspberry flavor.” He added, “They are absolutely divine, sent from heaven.”

  It was a challenge. Xavier pierced Oliver with a glare that took the bull by the horns, like I dare you to say no.

  “Isn’t that wonderful,” he said. “Dad, why don’t you work out the details?”

  Ten minutes later, they left the shop, Belle and Xavier, together. Joel had given her the bag of croissants.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she said, almost mumbling. No one had ever stuck up for her like that.

  “Say nothing but thank you, because that man was positively disrespectful. Nothing but a jealous worm, squirming in the dirt.” He placed his finger under her chin, lifting her head so she could see him. He smiled. It felt like the real Xavier, not Xavier the Astonishing, the performer. Normally, it would feel creepy, maybe inappropriate, but somehow, it didn’t. Instead it had the opposite effect; her throat ached, her eyes burned, but Belle refused to cry in front of other people.

  It was like Xavier could see that, knew that part of her, recognized a piece of himself in her response.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, close to the edge. Times like this hit her unaware. All it took was a kind gesture to send her spiraling. No build-up. No time to find composure. Boom. Tears.

  He withdrew his hand. “I will tell you something no one else knows about me. That I would never tell anyone. No one knows the number of times I awake to tears, to find myself crying for no apparent reason. Something inside of me, raw pain, rising up when it can.” He paused, then cleared his throat as if it were a segue. “I’m sure it will be a tremendous breakfast.”

  Then he whirled around and strode away, leaving Belle gasping and floundering. It was like Xavier knew her. It was like he knew what she was thinking, without her speaking, then responded in kind.

  She’d wanted to ask him about the man he’d been talking with, and the security, before he sidetracked her with kindness. She wanted to know if his life was really in danger or if it was part of the show.

  Chapter Four

  “Murder, I tell you! Murder!” squawked Jack Sparrow, the Amazon parrot she’d inherited from Madeleine Calypso.

  It was early in the morning, the day of the welcome breakfast. Belle had to leave soon. She didn’t want to be late for such an important event, according to Forsythia.

  “Murder!”

  He was a strange bird, vocal, at times annoying, but overall felt like a friend. She’d done her research; they could be loyal birds. Like dogs, they needed attention or they could fall into bad manners and habits. What Belle wanted to know was why he loved to say the word murder.

  “I’ll tell you something about murder, Jack Sparrow.”

  “Not a sparrow. Not a sparrow.”

  Belle huffed. “It’s your name, not your species.”

  “Call me Jack. Jack.”

  “Okay, fine, Jack.” Was she about to argue with a bird? “I’ll be going to a murder mystery event and there will be murder.”

  “Who did it?” he squawked.

  The invitation to the event, surely sent at the last minute, sat on the kitchen table. They were impressive, luxurious, printed on thick paper, with calligraphy and flourishes. Just enough sparkle to denote something magical. The premise of the event was laid out.

  Join us for a magical night of murder and mayhem. The great magician, the amazing and astounding, Xavier the Astonishing, disappears in the middle of the show. Poof. Is it a trick? Or is it murder? Talk to suspects and uncover clues to reveal the guilty before it’s too late.

  Belle knew she signed on too late to receive a big part. She was part of the audience, part of the crowd. She didn’t mind. The show would go on. While everyone else struggled to say lines, feeling silly, she would enjoy the magic show. Maybe even sit with Lexie.

  She walked over to the cage. “I don’t know who did it, Jack. I’ll let you know.”

  “Don’t leave. Don’t leave.”

  This bird would have her stay all day if he had his way. “Apologies, Jack. Things to do!”

  When Belle arrived at Forsythia’s home, the cars already filled the driveway and lined the road. Panic fell on her as she wondered if she was late. She was in charge of ensuring the breakfast was in place.

  Did she miss something?

  She wouldn’t put it past them to give her the wrong time. Come to think of it, Belle wasn’t sure Forsythia ever admitted to excluding Belle from the Women’s Charitable Organization’s meetings. The one where they planned the murder mystery.

  She parked and went inside, ready to hear the scolding and the huffing about her tardiness. Belle didn’t know half the people roaming and wandering the house. Forsythia must have invited her entire contact list. It would certainly be a welcome, probably more than Xavier wished for or wanted. If only she could find a way to give back to him, something meaningful, like he had given her, the gift of words, the confidence, of being seen.

  Belle heard the high-pitched screeching from the backyard. Forsythia must be entering full panic mode.

  She hurried to the backyard only to stand in amazement; it was decorated like a wedding feast, all bows and ribbons and sashes, everything magical and sparkling. People dressed in their Sunday best stood talking in groups, coffee in hand. Small tables dotted the yard, covered with white tablecloths. Then there was the breakfast buffet: silver platters kept warm by a small flame underneath. Forsythia had to be happy with Belle’s job with the breakfast, all thanks to Xavier. And Simmons Bakery.

  But no wonder Forsythia was stressed. Belle watched her fly and buzz and hum from person to person, from the table to talk to Oliver, then back to the table, fixing and pulling and tucking as she went, making everything perfect.

  It was Alice, the older, church-going member of the charitable organization, who found her. She wore a flowered dress, her silver hair pinned up. She was like an elegant fairy queen. “Wonderful job on the breakfast. Or should I say, astonishing?” She was smiles and kindness, nothing sharp or barbed hiding between her words.

  “Thank you.” Belle continued to soak in the backyard. “The decorations are amazing.”

  “That’s all Forsythia. She is talented at it. A perfectionist, if you couldn’t tell.”

  “Oh, I can tell. Still, amazing.”

  “Yes. We tried to help but she finds enjoyment in it all.” She touched Belle’s arm. “Are you sure you want to sign up for all this?”

  Belle knew right away what she meant. Did she really want to deal with Forsythia Wright and her passive aggressive nature? No, she didn’t want to deal with it, but it was something Eliza had asked her to do, to give it a try. She said, “One of Eliza’s requests.”

  “Ah. I understand. Well, welcome. It won’t be easy at first, but Eliza found a way through it. I’m sure you will, too. I’ll make sure the invitations and emails are personally forwarded to you from now on, with correct times.”

  “Thank you. I’m late, aren’t I?” Belle asked.

  “Not by much. You more than made up for it, hiring Simmons Bakery at such a late date.”

  “Yes, Simmons is doing a great job.” All thanks to Xavier. She fully expected him to be here, with billowing cape and velvet shirt, the dramatic makeup. At least some eyeliner. She hoped to talk to him, ask him about the man at the bakery. If they wanted to ask Lucas about security, she needed to know what Xavier wanted during the upcoming event. “Where is the man of the hour?”

  Minnie showed up next to them. Her blonde hair brushed and gleaming, falling at her shoulders; definitely the teacher-look gone, and the young, available woman in its place. Not that Belle blamed her. “Now that is a mystery.”

  “What do you mean?” Belle asked.

  “No one has seen him yet. To be honest, Forsythia is starting to panic.”

  “Where are Shana and Samantha?” Belle studied the crowds, looking for their familiar faces. When Minnie seemed puzzled, Belle added, “His assistants.”

  “Oh, would you talk to them? See if they can check on him. I’m sure he’s still fussing with makeup or something like that. I’m waiting for a guest.” With a sly smile, she said, “Lucas said he’d meet me here.”

  “Sure, I’ll go.” She nodded to both of them and went in search of Shana or Samantha. It shouldn’t bother her that Lucas would meet Minnie here, whether it was a date or not. The guy was too old for both of them anyway. She shook it off.

  It felt like forever that Belle searched the people, darting around groups, trying to find Xavier’s assistants, all the while hoping the trumpets would blare and he would make his appearance. It was Forsythia who found her first.

  “Belle Baron, just the person I need.” There was a note of panic in Forsythia’s voice. Desperation in her eyes. The way they widened. The slightly frantic look to her normal polished appearance. “He should have already made his entrance. Thirty minutes ago. Please see if you can talk to his assistant. She doesn’t speak English, or refuses to with me. See if you can work your magic.” Then she walked away.

  That had to be the nicest, roundabout, compliment she’d ever received from Forsythia. After talking to Alice and knowing how much this meant to the leader of the organization Belle was now a part of, she would do her part. She found Shana on the edges, watching.

  “Shana! Hello. Have you heard from Xavier?” she asked.

  First, there was a blank look, then, “Xavier, yes. Xavier.”

  “Yes? Do you know when he’ll be down?”

  Samantha rushed over, with a roll of her eyes. “What Shana is trying to say is that we are under specific orders not to enter his room until he lets us know he’s ready.”

  “Nothing yet today?” A feeling of unease rolled over Belle like a storm cloud, dark gray and heavy with rain. “Is that normal?”

  “Yes and no. Yes, in that his schedule and wake times can be erratic. But no, in that he doesn’t like to be late for appearances. Bad for the brand.”

  “You need to go knock on his door. Especially if he doesn’t like to be late, because he should have been here a while ago.”

  Samantha took in the crowds. If one looked closely, there was a restlessness, a wondering. In the few, annoyance. Most likely, hunger at play. There were murmurings and subtle glances toward the buffet table. “Okay, I’ll check. Hope I don’t get fired.”

  Belle waited at the periphery. The more time passed, the more uneasy she felt. Xavier cared, almost too much, about his brand, his appearance. Arriving late wouldn’t look good. He probably had planned his entrance, and it would be live on social media. Her thoughts tossed, waves on a stormy sea, until she couldn’t just stand there, waiting. She followed the path into the house and up the back stairs.

  It took a couple turns down hallways to find Samantha standing outside the door. Just standing. Unsure. Shifting on her feet.

  Belle approached. “Did he respond?”

  Samantha bit her lip. “I knocked but there was no answer.”

  The feeling, the wrongness, all reached a peak moment, where Belle didn’t care if she incurred the wrath of the great and amazing Xavier. She flung open the door.

  Immediately, the cool draft from an open window hit them.

  It didn’t take long for Belle to see Xavier on the bed, his arms and legs strewn to the side as if he didn’t sleep well. The covers twisted and rumpled. Slippers on the floor, the bottle knocked to its side, the pills, the water, more pills on the nightstand and the floor. The pillow thrown to the carpet.

  “He has nightmares,” Samantha whispered. “Night terrors.”

  Belle studied the scene more closely. That’s when she noticed the bathrobe sash next to the slippers.

  The way his mouth dropped open.

  His chest, the chest that didn’t move at all, no rise and fall.

  No breathing or sighing.

  Once upon a time, a magician with a troubled past, had trouble sleeping. The dreams haunted him, they came with regularity, fast and hard. The doctor prescribed pills to help him sleep. One night, the night terrors visited. Even though the magician had already taken his dose for the night, he reached, he grasped for the bottle in the night, just wanting the demons to leave. He wanted the cackling, the fear, the sweats, and the terror, to subside. On that one night, in desperation, he took too many. He never woke.

  Once upon a time, a magician, great and amazing, envied by all magicians, visited a town for a performance. He was followed by a man, perhaps a stalker or a crazed fan, or maybe a competitor. This man knew about the nightmares and the pills, he knew the schedules, and he knew the room where he stayed. Somehow, he climbed through the second-floor window. While the man slumbered, he wrapped the bathrobe sash around his neck and strangled him. With no mercy, he watched the terror, the bulging eyes, the gasping for breath. He felt the struggle, the kicking, the flailing, until…it stopped.

  Once upon a time, a magician, who was a mystery unto himself, with a great heart, but also a cold demeanor; a man who was a survivor, a man complicated by his very nature, and not without enemies, died.

  Murdered in his sleep.

  Chapter Five

  Lucas was convinced he could enjoy an early breakfast with his parents, then still make the welcome breakfast, the one he had no desire to attend. But Minnie had asked nicely, and she was Lexie’s teacher, working hard with his niece.

  As usual, his mom went overboard with the food, serving an egg casserole, muffins, and a fruit salad.

  “You can take all of the leftovers home for you and Lexie,” his mom said. He didn’t argue. He never had time to cook a big breakfast. It was cereal, oatmeal, or frozen burritos. “Where is the darling, anyway?” his mom asked.

  “Home with Mrs. Whitmer because I need wisdom.”

  His dad settled back in his chair at the worn farm table. Lucas was neither the spitting image of his mother nor his father, but a combination. His father’s height and lanky build; his mother’s face, her nose and eyes. Of course, he’d disappointed them when he chose criminal justice and detective work over the real estate business, but they didn’t hold it against him too much.

  “We’re listening, son,” he said.

  Lucas didn’t quite know how to describe the pressure he felt being a single parent. The pressure to provide the female influence. There were always the looks of pity behind the questions, the concerns, like somehow he was quite incapable of providing everything Lexie needed. Underneath it all was the pressure to get married.

  “Everyone thinks I should get married,” he said, just spitting it out. Of course, that was the blunt end of all his concerns, all summed up.

  “Who thinks that?” his mom asked, her kind smile she always had for him.

  That was the problem. He couldn’t say exactly, because no one said the words out loud. “No one says it, but they’re thinking it.”

  “How do you know they’re thinking it?” his dad asked, frowning. “Or are you assuming what they think?”

  Lucas shoveled eggs in his mouth, unable to answer. Then, he bit into his muffin. Then, he drank orange juice. Then, ate the fruit salad.

  “Lucas,” his mom said. There was so much unsaid behind that one word. “You are a fine parent. Your sister…”—she blinked back the tears and took a moment—“your sister would be proud of what you’re doing with Lexie.”

  “I hope so but it doesn’t always feel it,” he muttered. “Sometimes, I wonder why though. Why me? When she could have chosen the two of you, Lexie would have that female influence all the time, every day. She’d have a mom. She’d have experienced parents.”