It was short and dramatic.

  “He definitely knew how to perform.” But Lucas wondered why that video, why now.

  Minnie snuggled in next to him as they all watched her phone. Lexie sat on her other side. He noticed the scent of perfume, the clean lilac smell, the warmth, but he felt nothing for her in that way. As interested as he was in this video, he felt dishonest being here. Like he was leading her on somehow, given her past explicit yet subtle emphasis that they could get together under the guise of talking about Lexie.

  “Uncle Lucas, they aren’t all like that. Most just show off small tricks or the sights of wherever he is, like the one he took in The Beanery.”

  “But what you need to see, Detective Graystone”—Minnie giggled. It sounded nothing like Belle’s laughter—“because I feel like this should be official police business—is one of Octavian’s live streams.” She swiped and fiddled with her phone. “Here’s an example. There are several like this, almost like Octavian was following Xavier from show to show.”

  Octavian, or Brett, walked in the park. It was the park right here in town. Lucas recognized the path and the pond. “Xavier the Stealer—oops, I mean the Astonishing—is in a new town for a new performance. If you’re lucky enough to see the show, know you are watching a copycat.” Then his expression grew dark, his tone held more steel. “Know that some of his greatest tricks were mine first.”

  Minnie stopped it. “That’s the gist of a lot of his videos. If you watch them both, it’s almost like a tennis match the way they go back and forth.”

  “Wow, this has been an extremely helpful night out,” Lucas said.

  “I hope this has been more than police business,” she said, the first hint of flirtation entering the conversation.

  “Hmm. Yes.”

  After that, Lucas steered the conversation to other topics, the school and the kids. The logistics of the upcoming murder mystery event. It was a nice dinner of lasagna, garlic bread, salad, with brownies and ice cream for dessert. He stayed until it was polite enough to leave.

  “Well,” he said, “I’d better get this kiddo home for bed.”

  “In time to do some reading before lights off, right Lexie?” Minnie asked, smiling.

  Lexie smiled back. “Of course.” Then she added, “Or maybe some more video-watching of these magicians. Anything to help.”

  That reminded Lucas to have a stern conversation with her about the details of his job. That her only job was to focus on schoolwork and play backgammon with him.

  They were at the door, when Minnie hesitated. “I’m not sure if I should tell you this.”

  He had a moment of panic, envisioning confession of attraction. “Um, what?”

  “It has to with Xavier.”

  Relief rushed through him. “Let me decide what is important or not. What is it?”

  “The day before the welcome breakfast, I was at Forsythia’s. We were ironing out the details, when Xavier arrived. Oh, it was exciting to see him, but he didn’t stay long. He and Forsythia ended up talking outside. It turned into a loud conversation. It was angry.”

  “What were they talking about?”

  “I don’t know. Probably some tiny detail. It was just loud enough that I could tell they disagreed on something, but it was muffled words. I couldn’t quite understand what they were fighting about.” She looked up at him, hopefully. “Is that helpful?”

  “Definitely.”

  Chapter Eight

  The first thing when they opened the door to Belle’s house…the first thing that greeted them was the squawking of Jack Sparrow.

  “Delivery! Delivery!” And then, “Murder! Who did it?”

  Bixby and Belle sat on the lumpy couch in her living room. He insisted he stay for a while until he knew for sure she was fine.

  “You could have a concussion, you know.”

  “I honestly don’t think I do. A slight headache, but I’m sure I’ll feel better in the morning.” She paused, thinking, this time really shouldn’t be wasted talking about trivial things when they could be talking murder. She didn’t like making it sound like it was just another challenge. It was one thing to talk murder like it was a game or a crossword puzzle, but once again, this was about a man Belle cared about. “If you had to decide right now, who do you think killed Xavier?”

  “Murder!” squawked Jack Sparrow.

  “Maybe we should bring Jack Sparrow—”

  “Jack. Call me Jack,” answered the bird. “Delivery! Delivery!”

  Belle whispered, “Oh yes, didn’t I tell you? He doesn’t like the name sparrow, because he is a parrot.”

  “My apologies, Sir Jack.” He turned back to Belle. “I’m not sure. It could easily be this Brett guy you’ve seen. They were arguing. The phone call you overheard.”

  “Yes. Seems to be enough motive. Depends on how competitive their relationship really was. Maybe more than we realize.”

  “It could also be one of the assistants. There’s something off about the two of them.”

  Belle had given a lot of thought to Shana and Samantha. “Yes, they are off. Yes, they might be hiding something, not telling everything they know, but…they also, from the sounds of it, haven’t had an easy life. There’s been hardship. Estrangement from family. How else do you end up on the road with a magician?”

  She thought about Xavier, the knowing look in his eyes when he told her the two of them were survivors. She thought about the fire, his home going up in flames, killing his parents. It was hard for her to see the cruel side to him, though she knew it to be there. There is a certain toughness that comes with tragedy. It can’t be helped. Like an emotional scarring.

  “You’re right, it could be one of them, but just because you’ve had a tough life doesn’t make someone a killer,” Belle said.

  A look passed between them, because neither of their lives had been easy. She didn’t know Bixby’s full story, but at some point, she would ask. It felt too personal, too much to ask, without it being offered. He’d share when he was ready.

  “What’s that?” Bixby jumped off the couch, pointing to the front door.

  “Delivery!” squawked Sir Jack.

  Belle turned her eyes to the door and saw a white envelope that had been slid underneath. “When did that arrive?”

  “We must have stepped right over it.” Bixby returned with the envelope. He pointed out her name scribbled on the front.

  Belle didn’t recognize the writing. Given that none of her friends communicated with her this way, she felt trepidation. With a rip and a tear, she opened it. A light green piece of paper fell out.

  The writing was in block letter, all capitals.

  Midnight. In the park at the pond by the bench.

  Come alone.

  X

  “Signed X, as in Octavian X?” Bixby asked. “Who else would sign their name, X?”

  “Someone impersonating him. Almost anyone.” She thought about that again. “On second thought, I doubt just anyone. This could be someone with information on the murder. Someone unwilling to speak to the police.”

  “Or this someone could be the killer,” Bixby pointed out. “Someone who’s been here the entire time. In plain sight, hiding. And we didn’t see them as a suspect or as a killer.”

  This could be the break in the case that was desperately needed. Even better if it turned out to be Brett Banks—Octavian, because she had a lot of questions for him.

  Bixby added, “I can see the look in your eyes. You can forget it. You need to sleep and recover.”

  It was close to midnight.

  Clouds hid the moon; the sky void of any natural light. Belle thought that might be a good thing.

  “You should be sleeping right now,” Bixby hissed.

  “You should be sitting in the car, or at home. They told me to come alone.”

  “They won’t even know I’m here. You’ll enter the park. I’ll follow and put to use my James Bond skills, sticking with the shadows. No one will see me. But there’s no way you’re doing this alone. In fact, why don’t we call Lucas? He can be here, too.”

  “James Bond?”

  He huffed. “Fine, I was one of those kids who dreamed of an action-filled life of danger as a spy. All the macho exciting stuff I wasn’t in real life.” He shrugged. “But I picked up some skills.”

  Was that a clue to Bixby’s past? It was something but didn’t really give away anything concrete. One of these days she’d find out.

  Belle entered the park first; she stayed on the main trail, assuming that X—whoever it turned out to be—was watching to make sure she was alone. She understood Bixby’s concern. Lucas would be furious at this decision, but in her moment of doubt, she thought about Xavier. The way he talked, the fire, the burning, the unquenchable boldness in his words. His dramatic style. He made quick decisions with no regrets. She could, too. She said this to herself as she cut through the darkness.

  Darkness in itself wasn’t bad; it was her imagination at the noises, the scurrying, the rattling, the squeaks, the hoot of owls, the howls—of course what must be a nearby dog and not a wolf. Definitely not a wolf or a coyote. It was all that.

  It was the thought of a killer ruthlessly taking a life. This killer, still walking around, free and unsuspected. Would they take a life a second time?

  No, she felt confident that this person, whoever had sent her the letter, had information to share. She couldn’t just stay home. It could be Brett Banks. She hoped it was. He did seem to have a different presentation than Xavier, more willing to be plain, unnoticed. It might be just like him to meet under the cover of darkness. No announcing his location, in full costume, accompanied by an entourage of employees. Then again, it could also be Shana or Samantha.

  The trail led to the park, and the path was easy to follow that led to the pond. There was only one bench.

  She took a seat, the slats cold on the backs of her legs, seeping through the denim material. She fought off a shiver. The darkness brought a stillness, a quiet, to the normally busy park, filled with walkers, joggers, strollers, and families. Maybe the scurries, the squeaks, the rattling was always there, just unnoticed. It was a still kind of beauty, like it should be painted, all in shades of grey and black and silver.

  According to the plan, after a few minutes, Bixby would enter the park, cut through the grass, staying off the trail, then hide in the bushes about twenty yards away from the bench. A hidden spot where he could keep his eyes on the bench.

  She sat quietly, the thud of her heartbeat unusually loud.

  She listened to the noises, adjusting to what was normal and not normal. There were no footsteps. She wouldn’t mind if the person said something, like, “Hey, it’s me. It’s X.” Or “Hi there, it’s me. I sent you the note.”

  Something so they didn’t just appear in front of her. She would most definitely gasp or scream.

  Belle strained to hear footsteps, the soft shuffle of sneakers in the grass, or the slight crunch of gravel on the path. She peered through the darkness, down the path, to see if she could see someone.

  Nothing.

  She thought about Shana.

  There was still a lot they didn’t know about the woman’s past. Just what Samantha mentioned, that over time she noticed passion or hate, or strong dislike, reflected in Shana’s expression at times. Usually, it was masked. On the other hand, they also knew Xavier before he grew in fame, had tricked Samantha’s parents out of money. Back when he was a con artist. Something like that could create bitterness. That feeling, once embedded in the psyche, could create the desire for revenge. It could lead to murder.

  Then, with Brett Banks, there was this thing between the two magicians; she didn’t quite have a feel as to how deep it went, how wide the chasm between them, how dangerous it was or how deadly.

  Wait.

  She sucked in a breath, listening.

  There were prickles and tingles, the feeling she wasn’t alone. Was that someone breathing? A footstep? Maybe a person or a bush?

  Then a sneeze.

  The anticipation, the desire to talk to this mystery person sank, it disappeared into nothing, because it was Bixby who sneezed.

  Then she definitely heard the footsteps. They were leaving, heading away. Running.

  She waited, just to be sure, but whoever it was, had gone. Bixby sat next to her.

  “I’m sorry. It was the bushes. They tickled my nose. I tried my hardest to suppress it but the more I tried, the worse it got. Then I couldn’t stop it.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Was it a no-show?”

  “I think, somehow, they knew I wasn’t alone.” Yes, most likely from the sneeze, but no need to rub it in. “Let’s go home.”

  Later that night, lying in bed, Belle stared into the darkness once more. The shape of the night, the shadows, the blackness, was a kind of illusion. Just like she feared her life here in Everly was, an illusion that might disappear in one poof or snap of the fingers. Darkness kept things hidden and secret. This mystery, the death of Xavier, was like that too. An illusion.

  All they needed was a new perspective, a light, a different way of looking at the case, and the killer would be revealed.

  It was just a matter of time.

  Chapter Nine

  Belle followed Bixby’s orders. She slept as late as possible, then enjoyed a leisurely morning with breakfast and coffee. Then, she spent time with Jack Sparrow, training to introduce words other than murder.

  She stood in front of his cage. She crooned and cooed at him while lifting a piece of apple to the cage so he had to lean out to get the treat. She’d learned to not place her fingers too close to his beak.

  Her goal was to coax more words from him. She had a feeling he knew more than he was sharing. She gave him another piece. “Did Madeleine read Agatha Christie to you in the evenings?” she asked.

  “Agatha Christie,” Jack Sparrow said. “Love.”

  “Okay, then. We’ll have to add that to our night-time routine.”

  “You got it,” he said.

  “Au revoir, Jack Sparrow!” she said on the way out.

  “Au revoir.”

  She headed to The Beanery. No headache or dizziness or confusion this morning. Thankfully, no concussion from her mishap with the trellis.

  Lucas had called to check in, asked all the questions. Did she need to go to the doctor? Did she still know her name? She reassured him, then he put Lexie on the phone, who had her own series of questions. Was she okay? Could they still meet for tutoring? Belle answered all the questions. Finally, they said goodbye.

  At The Beanery, she opened, then closed the door more than once; it was almost becoming a habit, or a way of telling Bixby she was there.

  “Hello, Belle!” He exited from the back room where all the magic happened. He was smiles and enthusiasm; she wasn’t surprised because he loved his work.

  “I don’t want one question about headaches or confusion or how I feel.” It was a challenge. She glared at him in faux-rage.

  “Hmm. I can see you’ve already been through the tenth degree,” he said.

  “More like the hundredth. I’m much better.” Except for the lingering disappointment of not meeting the mysterious letter-writer the night before, but she was sure there would be another opportunity. Perhaps, another letter.

  They fell into a rhythm of work; it was like a musical score, the jingle of the bell and shuffle of footsteps, the booming of the hello and exchange of niceties, the whirling sound of coffee hitting and swirling in the cup, the click of the lid and rattle of the receipt printing, then a jingle as the door closed again.

  It was a distraction, like slipping into ice-cold water, nothing else to think about but the action in front of her.

  Until there was a jingle followed by the sound of footsteps.

  Belle looked up with a smile, ready to offer a greeting, but she stopped. It was him. Brett Banks, stage name Octavian X. The man who argued with Xavier.

  “Coffee?” she asked.

  He studied her, then said, “Of course. I’ll try anything Xavier recommends. Sorry, I should say recommended. He went on and on about this place.”

  She poured him a chocolate raspberry latte. “Here you go.” This magician definitely didn’t go for the dramatic. She might as well be straightforward. “No velvet or makeup? No top hat?”

  He laughed. “That’s for the stage. That was Xavier’s shtick, being all dramatic in public.” He waved his hand around. “Not that it hurt him. His fans ate it up. Loved it.”

  So many questions—so many—were there, in her mind, in her mouth, wanting to be asked. But where to start? Ask about his relationship with Xavier? Hint about the dangers of trellis-climbing? Mention she saw their tense conversation at the bakery?

  He took his drink and found a table, making himself quite at home as he propped his feet up on a chair.

  That was when she knew where to start, because for the first time since she fell from the trellis, she remembered studying the ground, the grass, the channel of gravel, and the patch of dirt.

  There had been a distinct boot print.

  She took a page from Xavier’s book and came around from behind the counter. She sat at the table across from Brett. “Nice boots.” They were black, like combat boots with heavy tread. “I happened to see boot prints in the dirt outside the open window. The same window someone climbed through to gain access to Xavier’s room…the night he was killed.” This is for you, Xavier.

  The man paled.

  Belle found satisfaction in the power of her words. “Interesting. Someone also had climbed the trellis. It had started to pull away from the house.” She leaned forward. “The person who climbed the trellis, who entered Xavier’s room, that same person stole his book of magic, his tricks and illustrations.” She tapped her chin. “Now, I wonder who would want that magic book?”