Octavian stared at her, blinking. Most likely, in a state of disbelief.

  Before he could blow her off or leave, she quickly added, “I’ll make a deal with you. Come talk to the police—”

  “No thanks.” He spoke simply, his words blunt.

  She couldn’t help but compare him to Xavier, who’d been so gregarious. It was ridiculous to assume magicians might have similar personalities just because they all loved the stage. “Listen. Do you want to fill Xavier’s spot as the magician at the big murder mystery event?”

  He cocked his head, now studying her more closely. “I’m listening.”

  “Come talk to the detective. Then, I’ll introduce you to Forsythia Wright, the woman in charge.”

  “Deal.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they walked into the police station.

  Five minutes after that, they sat in the small white room to see Detective Graystone. Brett insisted he wouldn’t talk unless Belle was with him. That was also part of the deal.

  So she sat in the room, perched at the edge of the chair, hoping to telepathically send all her questions into Lucas’s brain. She would try her hardest not to say anything.

  Lucas flashed her a look as he sat down, the message clear. She nodded. Honestly, she’d try to stay out of it. Really, she would.

  He didn’t bring in any papers, file folder, or notes, just sat back, arms folded, casual. “Xavier Wellington, the magician known as Xavier the Astonishing died at 4 a.m. two nights ago. Cause of death was not overdose but there was a high amount of valium found in his system, enough that he wouldn’t struggle too much when someone covered his face with a pillow and suffocated him to death.”

  Wow, Belle thought, there it was. Xavier was murdered. Now she didn’t need to stop by to chat with Martin Hansen, her friend, who happened to be the coroner.

  The pillow that had been so casually tossed aside was the murder weapon. She tried not to imagine the fear and spiraling panic as he woke, struggling for breath, too subdued by meds to properly fight for his life. She studied Brett, his face, his eyes, the way he sat in the chair. Did that information make him uncomfortable? Make him squirm?

  Brett sat still, said nothing.

  “I’d like you,” Lucas said, “to explain why you came here today. Are you going to confess?”

  Brett pulled back like he’d been shocked by a cattle prod, or someone held a weapon to him, the jerk backwards was quick and dramatic. “Absolutely not. I’m here to tell you what I know about that night. This young lady convinced me I should. She said I could trust you.”

  There was the look, the questioning, from Lucas to Belle: one that said I want to hear about this later. And I’m not surprised. She attempted a meager smile, but she wanted to say, You’ll thank me later.

  “Okay then, tell me.” Lucas pushed record on a small audio recorder. “What do you know about the night Xavier was murdered?”

  “Xavier and I were ruthless competitors, fierce magicians, both driven, obsessed to be the best. So yes, we had a rocky, up-and-down relationship. We’ve downed shots of vodka in bars together; we’ve growled and cursed each other. We’ve laughed until we cried. We’ve sworn to kill each other.”

  Belle wanted to kick him under the table, signal that what he shared might not be the best thing to say. But would a killer say something like that? To a detective?

  “So you climbed the trellis and finally went through with it?” Lucas asked. “Killed off your competition?”

  “Never. I respected him too much to kill him.” He shook his head, sadly. “Due to our competitive nature we enjoyed pranking each other. Small pranks. Big pranks. At times, costly pranks. Well, it was my turn to prank him. He had it coming. He knew it. He expected it. That was why he begged for more security at the event. He didn’t want anything to happen to ruin his image. He wanted the perfect live shots during the show.”

  “Describe some of these…pranks,” Lucas ordered, more stern than before.

  “They started small and grew bigger. He substituted my programs one night with a stack of his own that had the times of his shows printed at the bottom for those who wanted to see real magic. Another time, he snuck into the theater, disguised. He had the guts to make it look like I had misplaced the crucial elements to some of my acts. Then he played innocent.”

  “What about you? What tricks did you pull?”

  “The best one was stealing his famous cape. He loved that cape. Almost superstitious about it. Well, I stole it. My next show, I swaggered about the stage, flaunting it to the camera. He was furious. That was about as far as it got. Harmless fun. Like I said, we hated and loved each other, like brothers.”

  Belle studied the expression on his face, especially his eyes. He tried to hide it but when talking about the pranks, there was real fury there, a disdain, like he was so much better than Xavier. He made it sound like frat-boy fun, but she sensed it was more than that. She wished she could ask Xavier about it. Would he describe their relationship the same way? Was the security really about protection from pranks? Could be, she thought.

  “Tell me why you’re here in town,” Lucas said. “Another prank?”

  “Obviously. I was more daring with this one. It was planned for the night he died; in fact, I might have seen the killer standing in the doorway. Yes,” he said, excitedly. “I’d forgotten. Honestly I thought it was an illusion, some kind of projected ghost he’d rigged up. She stood in the doorway, practically glowing, long white nightgown. I couldn’t see her face and couldn’t tell you who it was, because I was on my way out.”

  “Slow down,” Lucas said.

  Brett took a breath. “I climbed the trellis outside the window. He’d told me about his nightmares, so I knew his deepest sleep happened in the early hours of morning. I climbed in through the window, stole his magic book by his bed, then left.”

  “What is this magic book?”

  “Every magician has one. It holds all our secrets, tricks, the illusions. It holds the answers, how to make the impossible, possible. Most importantly, it holds future ideas. It’s our bible. So yes, I was there, but that was it. As much as we’re fierce competitors, it’s also what pushes us forward, to one-up each other. We would never take out our muse. It was the fuel to our engine.”

  Unable to hold back any longer, Belle asked, “What about your argument in the bakery the day before he died? That didn’t seem even close to friendly competition.”

  “Who said our competition was friendly? We loved and hated each other. Our relationship was tense. He ordered me to leave. Went on and on about this event. How unique it was. Important. He knew he had it coming and he was mad he’d be on the receiving end. He thought he could bully me into leaving. Well, that wasn’t going to happen.”

  “Anything else you want to tell me?” Lucas asked.

  “Well, just that it was all for nothing. The trellis almost broke. I cried out. Almost got caught. And the book? It was a crank. A joke. I don’t know where he hid the real one.” For the first time, Brett sounded bitter. “Now it might be lost forever. Such genius. Gone.”

  Brett and Belle stood outside Forsythia’s home.

  “How’d I do?” he asked, grinning.

  “Um, what do you mean by that?”

  “You know, my talk with the detective. Was I convincing?”

  Convincing? Belle thought it a strange word to use when giving a statement to a detective. If you’re telling the truth, do you need to convince? Shouldn’t the truth speak for itself? Her doubts about Brett’s story were growing by the minute. Why not be truthful? “Yes and no.”

  “Why not?” he asked, astonished. “It was a good performance.”

  “Well, that’s just it.” Belle figured Lucas had the same doubts. “Talking to a detective should not be a performance. It’s just truth-telling…unless you have something to hide.”

  “Don’t we all have something to hide?” he asked, not hiding the mischievous grin.

  “Of course. But with murder it’s different.”

  “I’m not sure it is too different. My perspective on what happened will be different from yours, and different from the women who worked for Xavier. I guess it will be up to your detective friend to find the truth.”

  “Yes, it will be.” She looked toward the imposing house, the place where it happened. “Ready?”

  “Most definitely. We had a deal. I talk to your detective. When he leads me to a room, I insist you stay with me, and in exchange, you’ll get me access to Xavier’s van, and an introduction.”

  As they walked up to the door, Belle had the desire to meet more magicians. Were they all the same? As a person, a magician was like a trick. There was the man, the performer they showed the world, but beneath the surface, behind the capes and drama, were people of keen insight. She wouldn’t mind knowing more of Brett’s past.

  Forsythia greeted them with partial enthusiasm. She didn’t look as polished or put together; hair not as perfect, blush not as bright; in fact, there was a pallor to her face, rather grim.

  “Are you okay?” Belle asked.

  She waved them inside. “I am not. Of course not. The magician, the star of our event where we were to raise thousands has been sabotaged by a ruthless killer.”

  “We can still run the murder mystery part, right?” Belle asked, except now she wasn’t sure what her part would be as she was the “audience”.

  “Yes, I suppose so.” She led them into the living room. “Please sit. Though I have some of the girls coming over to brainstorm.”

  Brett nudged her. She said loudly, “I might have the answer.”

  “Oh?” Forsythia perked up, but not much, because she couldn’t see the way out, the way to make this event as big as it was with Xavier the Astonishing.

  “Forsythia, this is Brett Banks.”

  “Yes, nice to meet you.”

  Belle smirked. Brett laughed. He stood. With a flourish, he bowed. “Octavian X, at your service, Madame.”

  Belle added, “Brett is willing to take Xavier’s spot in the event.”

  Forsythia was a flower blooming, a sky opening up after a storm, her face expressive, her smile big, her eyes bright. She clapped. “You’ll do the show?”

  “I would love to.”

  Then, Forsythia looked closer, frowning. “You do seem somewhat, forgive my rudeness, but a bit plain.”

  “Ah. It just takes a costume, some eye makeup, blush, maybe a little black or purple lipstick. I’ll be transformed. You won’t recognize me. Though, I was hoping to use some of Xavier’s props. I’ll have to piece together a show with his materials.”

  “Yes, yes, his van is out back. His assistants are still staying with me. I imagine they’d be willing to help.” She fished a key out of her pocket. “One of them left it on the kitchen table this morning.”

  They wrapped up the conversation, and Belle followed Brett out to the van. He approached it with a somber awe, like it was holy ground.

  “Something feels wrong about this,” he said. “Forgive me, Xavier.”

  “I’m sure he’d rather his things be put to use.”

  “Maybe.” He unlocked the door.

  The first thing they saw was the large empty cage.

  “Where is she?” he asked, tone spiking. He shifted, dancing on his feet, gaze frantically searching the van.

  “Who?”

  “Betty.” Then he added, “Betty, the coral snake, only one of the most poisonous snakes in the world. One bite and you’re a goner.”

  Chapter Ten

  The last thing Lucas wanted to do was bring a warrant to look at Xavier’s assistant’s sleepwear, so he held off. He listened, a second time, to Brett’s answers to the questions. He couldn’t help but feel the man was giving a speech. A performance. That he took something that happened, like the person at the door to the bedroom, and called it a ghost. When really it was someone in a nightgown. White against the dark of the night.

  Maybe one of his assistants checked on Xavier after they heard a cry. Turns out the cry might not have been Xavier at all, but Brett, clinging to the trellis as it tore a little from the house.

  If Brett was willing to put a dramatic spin on the appearance of this ghost, what else did he exaggerate?

  He talked about their rocky relationship, but it was the way he described it, the words he used. Like rocky and up-and down. Like fierce and driven, obsessed. Like growled and cursed. Then, of course, in the next breath, they would both be laughing. He said they’d sworn to kill each other. But he respected Xavier too much to kill him.

  These magicians were so driven for success, propelled by greed, they pulled professional pranks. Ones that could easily get out-of-control, overboard, and dangerous.

  Lucas thought about the pranks as he pressed pause on the recording. They weren’t small pranks. They were tricks that led to professional humiliation. Pranks that could have affected reviews of the show and then potential income. Now, Brett was here to steal the book? From the sounds of it, this magic book would have been crossing a line. Going too far in this friendly joking.

  Xavier wanted security. Xavier placed a similar book, but not the real thing, by his bed. He expected it. He knew it was coming. He left the window unlocked.

  Brett’s words reminded Lucas of the thin ice that forms on water before the deep freeze. Just the start of something to come that would be much bigger. He wouldn’t be surprised if the pranks had taken a turn toward something less than friendly, more one with the potential to turn deadly.

  Time for a follow-up visit.

  With the proper papers in hand, Lucas approached Forsythia’s door, unsure as to why she housed the magician and his assistants. There were nice enough hotels in the surrounding area, but then again, she probably liked the prestige of having Xavier the Astonishing under her roof.

  Forsythia opened the door with a forced smile. “Detective Graystone, I am in the middle of an important meeting.” She bristled. “Murder at the Magic Show is almost upon us and we have so many details to iron out.”

  “You’re going forward with it?” he asked, with an upward quirk of the eyebrow.

  “Of course.” She straightened. “Our young people deserve the best.”

  “Oh, right. It’s a fundraiser.” He showed her the warrant. “Sorry to interrupt but this is police business.”

  She gasped, hand pressed to her chest. “A warrant. Why?”

  “Forsythia,” he said with a kind tone but a stern look, “a magician was murdered in your home. Two of the top suspects still live here.”

  He watched as the realization dawned. She leaned forward. “Those sweet women might be…one of them, might be a murderer?”

  “Or both. We don’t know yet.”

  She opened the door further. “Can you at least not make a big performance over it? Keep it hush-hush.”

  “I’m specifically searching the bedrooms.”

  “You can use the back stairs. This way.”

  Lucas sensed she was loving every minute of this. The drama of it. Probably couldn’t wait to get back to the other women and gossip. He nodded to her at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ll make it as quick as possible.”

  He climbed the stairs, and first entered Xavier’s room. He stood at the window and took in the room from that viewpoint. The bed. It would be easy to see from the window if there was a book on the nightstand. It would be easy to see someone standing at the door. That would confirm Brett’s story if he was telling the truth. But he’d been in this room before and it had already been processed. He’d seen the rumpled covers and twisted sheets, the bathrobe sash, the pills, the pillow on the floor. He was interested in the assistants’ bedrooms. More specifically, if one of them owned a white nightgown.

  There had been a cry.

  Why wouldn’t assistants check on their employer with a history of nightmares?

  Right now, Lucas didn’t want to know which bedroom belonged to which assistant. The information was in the reports, but he hadn’t looked at them before he left the station. Anyway, he wanted to be free from bias. The next room he entered was the start of a mess, clothes spilling out of a suitcase, a couple of paperbacks by the bed. The dresser, spread with makeup and brushes, gave away whose bedroom. This had to be Shana’s. They hadn’t been here that long. How did she make that much of a mess in such a short time?

  Shana had made a point of describing the way Brett had stood over Xavier, asleep in bed, more like drugged. He was hissing and muttering, fists clenched. That didn’t mean Brett murdered him. It could have been an angry rant before stealing the book and making a quick exit. Shana had said Xavier tricked Samantha’s father out of money, then she had come to work for him. Why? No other choice? Or a chance to wait for the perfect revenge? Perhaps work with a competitor to sabotage his career?

  She appeared humble in the way she spoke, the quiet way she was in a crowd. Lucas knew enough, had enough experience to know that all types of personalities can give into passion.

  Why did he have the gut feeling that no one was telling the truth?

  The dresser drawers were empty, but it wasn’t hard to find the pile of silk on Shana’s bed. Even more in the suitcase. He lifted one up, nightwear made of silk in a rainbow of colors. Not a granny nightgown in sight.

  He picked up a particularly interesting one, blue with barely anything to it, when he sensed someone was in the room.

  “Detective.”

  It was Shana.

  Even though he had every right to be in the room sifting through her undergarments, he blushed. The heat rose in his neck. He should have brought Officer Rob with him. He turned, negligée in-hand, then quickly dropped it.

  Shana stood, watching, taking in the room, her gaze flitting over her things. She studied him. Her black hair was pulled back. Today, she wore less makeup. No stark lines and shadows. It made her appear younger, more innocent. Maybe even scared.