Belle was an hour late arriving at Forsythia’s. She received the huff and the scolding look she expected, but all she offered in return was, “Apologies.”

  Forsythia tasked her with hanging accordion-paper decor in the shape of hearts, spades, and diamonds. She was given a step stool, along with fine thread to hang them. She soaked in the decor already taking shape. June, the vice president of the organization, worked on draping red velvet swag on any kind of side table or mantle. The crimson red was dramatic. Perfect for the murder mystery. Alice, the woman Belle had recognized from Aunt Eliza’s funeral, worked on setting up a table piled with magic props. There was a top hat, a stuffed rabbit, a deck of cards, handcuffs. Minnie and several other women were setting up a photo booth and decorating the food table. Everything was in black and red.

  “It’s looking fabulous,” Belle said.

  “Why, thank you. We’ve put a lot of thought into it. It’s been a tremendous effort.”

  “Where’s Brett setting up?”

  “In the backyard. There are poles staking out the edges where you can hang your items.”

  Belle headed to the backyard.

  It was slowly being transformed into an outdoor theater, the stage set with more scarlet swag covering the front. Similar to the welcome breakfast, there were small tables, except, this time, they were taller, closer to bar tables, so everyone would be standing, drinking, and chatting. Belle could easily envision the coming evening, with the mystical aura of dusk, the slow coming of night. Hopefully, the stars and the moon making their presence.

  She hung the paper accordion decorations while keeping an eye on Brett. She couldn’t believe the change when he became Octavian; he went from simple to extraordinary, but it wasn’t just the dramatic change in appearance, it was the darkness, the rage, the glint in his eyes, like this had gone way past pranking, far beyond practical jokes between competitors. It was the sound of his voice, no longer light and friendly, but lower, filled with gravel and ice. That person she could see holding a pillow down on someone’s face, no remorse or regret. Waiting for the struggle and flailing to stop, for the life to end.

  She watched Samantha as she patiently went through Xavier’s props, explaining some to Brett, who, in the way he acted, the jerking, the twitching, seemed to be running on a short fuse. Samantha was a mystery, the nice, plain woman, who kept Xavier’s magic show up and running, moving forward. Out of the two women, she couldn’t picture Shana wearing a long white nightgown, but definitely Samantha. Lucas said neither of them owned the mysterious nightgown. So who did Brett see in the doorway?

  Someone was lying.

  She looked to Shana, who acted like she was helping. In reality she was floating about, barely speaking, watching; Belle assumed her skill and talent would come out in the performance tomorrow evening.

  Lucas had tasked Belle with certain questions to ask of the people she was studying. She sidled closer to Samantha, now standing to the side as Brett and Shana went through positioning on stage. “I suppose you heard.”

  Samantha peered at her with curiosity. “Heard what?”

  “About Betty.”

  “Um, yes.” She bit her lip. “Brett mentioned that. I’m hoping we’ll spot her. If not...”

  If not, what? A snake that looks poisonous escapes into the local woods to terrify hikers or ends up in someone’s backyard. Belle added, “It might add a little excitement, don’t you think?”

  She frowned. “I don’t think most people would see it that way, a poisonous snake slithering through the grass.”

  “You don’t think it’s a real coral snake, right?”

  Samantha glanced about as if the snake were near. “You never know with Xavier. He wouldn’t tell the truth. He danced on the edge of admitting it but wouldn’t commit. He liked his secrets. He liked people on their toes.”

  “What about you?” Belle asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you kept secrets? Have you told the truth about what happened that night?” Belle figured she’d strike out with such a bold question, but really, there weren’t many options left.

  Samantha bit her lip. “We are all allowed secrets.”

  “Of course, but not during a police investigation. The sooner you come clean with whatever you’re holding back, the better. It might help the police. Right now, you are all suspects.”

  “What?” she said, alarmed. “I said I didn’t leave the room. I was just as surprised as everyone else the next morning.”

  “Yes, but someone’s not telling the full truth. Lucas will figure it out eventually.”

  “Fine.” She cast a nervous glance at Brett and Shana, then moved further to the side, away from them. “I said I heard Xavier’s cry but stayed in bed.” She paused, as if not wanting to tell what happened, but she gave in with a sigh. “I heard the cry and did go to check. When Xavier had nightmares, I always checked on him. It was obvious he had taken his pills, they were open on the side.”

  “Were they spilled out on the nightstand?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “Was the pillow on the floor?”

  “I don’t think so. I wasn’t there long, but…” She trailed off.

  “What?” Belle encouraged. “Did you remember something?”

  “I checked on Xavier and then left, went back to bed.”

  “You didn’t see Brett in the window?”

  “He might have been there, but I didn’t look that way.”

  Belle put the pieces together. It had to be Samantha in the nightgown. There were no other options; it would be a matter of finding it, catching her in the lie. Maybe tomorrow night during the event, she’d have to take a bathroom break upstairs. She might have even put it back in her drawers. If it existed and it was Samantha’s, then she must have had a good hiding spot or Lucas would have found it.

  “So what was up with the video of Octavian the night of the prank?” Belle had a lot of questions about that, but she was most curious to see Samantha’s reaction.

  Samantha froze, like she knew exactly which video, then the fear eased into curiosity. “Oh, which one?”

  “The one where you filmed Octavian coming off stage.” The fear returned to Samantha’s eyes. “Yeah, I was watching Xavier’s streaming videos. That one kinda popped out at me. Octavian was…furious.” Belle didn’t say, angry enough to make threats, but maybe angry enough to follow through with those threats.

  “Oh, that one.” She laughed but it was forced. “Xavier wanted me to catch him in his moment of fury.” She paused, then said, “That’s the way it was between them. That was a normal reaction. I’ve seen Xavier respond with as much anger, but Xavier was more controlled about it. His came out in the form of clever videos and snarky comments. It came in his drive to be dramatic to draw in more fans, and in his planning the next prank.”

  “They threatened to kill each other?”

  Samantha nodded. “Yup. More than once. More than twice.”

  Belle wasn’t sure what that meant for the seriousness of the threats. It could have become a habit, to respond that way, but it might not take much to push one of them over the edge. Lucas had tasked her with one more thing. For this, she decided to be even bolder.

  She chose her words carefully, using vague words, using harder words, and spoke in a loud voice, loud enough for Shana to hear. “You think Shana was the nefarious force behind the subterfuge? Behind the ultimate act of betrayal?” She raised her voice.

  It didn’t take long for Shana to stride over, eyes slanted in anger and betrayal. “What did you say?” she demanded of Samantha. “I no kill Xavier. I work for him. Why kill him?”

  “Thanks Samantha,” Belle said cheerily, brightly, then turned to Shana. “She didn’t, but now you can tell me why you’ve been pretending like you can’t understand English. What are you hiding? What will the detective think? Because lies only make you appear guilty.” Then, she waited.

  “It is easy to pretend. I understand better than I talk.” She relaxed, less angry, now that she knew Samantha hadn’t betrayed her; it made Belle realize they might have a closer relationship than she realized. “Then why do you avoid answering questions about yourself? Why”—she looked to Samantha—“did you paint Samantha as a possible suspect?”

  Belle didn’t expect an answer, didn’t want an answer; she left Shana and Samantha to work it out. They stood, stiff, impossibly angry, staring one another down. Belle simply walked away, heading toward Brett.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Any sign of the snake?” Belle asked Brett as he fiddled with blood-red swag that lined the edge of the stage, like he needed to do something he had control over.

  He huffed. “Not yet. I don’t care as much about that stupid snake. Without his real magic book I won’t be able to do any of his signature illusions. It’s probably hidden in that van somewhere. I’ll figure it out.”

  “There wasn’t anything, any sort of clue, in the fake book?” Belle imagined that would be the perfect place.

  “There was some weird code and symbols. So yes, a message, but I don’t have the key.”

  “Could I take a look at it?” Belle asked, because while trying to survive and make money living with her aunt and uncle, she had worked for an older gentleman who was obsessed with codes and cyphers. Due to his failing eyesight, he needed someone to type for him, but it had led to Belle to doing her own fascinating research.

  “Sure. You can have it. Maybe it will crack this case.”

  Belle spent the next few hours finishing the decorating while keeping an eye out for Betty, for the flash of the red, black, and white bands, but she was dying to have a go at the code in the fake magic book. What if it was the key to solving all of this? What if Xavier had left behind a message that would solve his murder?

  She spent the afternoon at the kitchen table with paper and pencil working on the jumble of letters. The paper was filled with starts and stops, with scrawls and scratches. Straight dark lines crossed through entire series of letters. It was frustrating work and didn’t come as quickly as she’d hoped.

  It didn’t happen all the time, but it was always the down times when the voice of her aunt, the one she lived with for years, crept in. Her uncle’s too. You might as well give up. You’re a quitter. You’re a slump. A chump. You’re lazy. That’s why things go wrong.

  Belle knew in her head they had spoken out of spite; the words weren’t truth, but somehow they wouldn’t go away.

  Finally, she came to the conclusion the secret code itself was a prank. Made up gibberish. She’d fallen for it.

  There was a knock on the door, then a cheery hello. Bixby swept into the house, greeted Sir Jack, and waltzed into the kitchen. “Chop. Chop. We have plans.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes, dinner at Detective Graystone’s.” He held up a hand to stop her from talking. “Lucas and Lexie came into The Beanery at closing. Lexie was a gushing fountain of exuberance, inviting us both.” He lowered his voice. “We’re going to play a nice game of Clue and solve a murder.”

  Belle shoved all the papers into a somewhat neat stack and placed the fake magic book on top. She’d work on it later that night or tomorrow morning.

  They arrived before dinner. Lexie threw open the door, enthusiastic, but then she calmed, straightening her back, adopting a sincere, almost snooty look. “I have put out appetizers.”

  Bixby took the cue, bowing low. He took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Sounds lovely. Will there be tea? We must have tea with”—he peered beyond Lexie to the coffee table— “cheese and crackers.” Somewhere along the line he adopted a British accent.

  Lexie responded in kind, giggling. “Why yes.” She clapped. “Father, we must have tea!”

  Bixby held out his arm, which Lexie accepted. They walked toward the cheese and crackers.

  “While you converse and snack, you should challenge his Lord Bixby to a game of backgammon,” Belle said.

  “Yes, let’s.

  Seeing that the two of them were set, Belle sidled into the kitchen. “What’s going on in here?”

  “Spaghetti and meatballs.” He stood by the stove, apron tied around his waist. It had the usual effect on Belle, a bit of a wishy-washy, wibbly-wobbly in the knees effect.

  “How can I help?” She eyed the counter. “I can chop the salad.”

  “Sure.” He lifted the lid. Steam bellowed out, then he added the pasta. “How did this afternoon go?”

  Her thoughts immediately went to the cipher in the magic book waiting back at her house, but then she revisited the earlier events and the conversations. “Unfortunately, I can report that Betty is nowhere to be seen.”

  She kept to herself that Samantha wasn’t convinced it was the non-venomous kind; but, from what she knew of Xavier, she could see him holding back important information, teasing. It would be ludicrous to have a real coral snake. Deadly, even.

  “Hmm,” was all he said.

  “Stop questioning your decision to let Lexie attend the show. I can see it in your twitchy mouth and your non-existent response.” She decided to change the subject. “I can say that Shana does indeed, understand a lot more English than we thought. She admitted it. Samantha was at the doorway to Xavier’s room, so she could have been the ghost-like figure, but there was no mention of a white nightgown. She didn’t see Brett at the window. Sadly, I had no opportunity to ask Forsythia what she wore for night clothes to bed.” Even if she had, Belle could imagine the shocked gasp, the huff, and then Forsythia marching away.

  “She probably wasn’t looking at the window, either, and it was dark.”

  Belle swiped the chopped salad into the bowl, then started on the cucumber. “I didn’t get much of a chance to ask Shana about the pranks or the video, but Samantha made it sound like the pranks were normal; the threats to kill each other were normal; the lies, all of it, were normal.”

  “Yes.” He leaned against the counter. “When I talked to Shana yesterday she said all magicians were liars.”

  Bixby popped into the kitchen. “I hope we’re not discussing in too much detail what I think you’re talking about, because you’ll have to repeat everything.”

  “Lord Bixby, I know exactly what they’re talking about,” said Lexie.

  “Oh, and what is that?” Lucas swooped across the room to tickle her.

  She squealed. “Stop it. I’ll scream.”

  “By pain of tickling, what do you think we’re talking about?”

  “Duh, the murder.”

  They laughed, then it was time to eat. Each person helped carry the meal to the table and spent the time talking about the big show the next evening.

  “So what exactly is your role?” Lexie asked Belle. “Especially if I’ll be hanging with you.”

  She offered Lexie a pout. “Nothing exciting. I’m just part of the audience, but there’s no reason we can’t dress dramatic, in black or purple or velvet.”

  “What about your fortune teller costumer from last year?” Lucas asked. “That might work.”

  “Perfect, Uncle Luc. If it fits. Lord Bixby, what is your role tomorrow evening?”

  He bowed his head. “I shall be descending to the rank of servant. I’ll run the coffee table.

  Belle didn’t know anything about parenting, but she knew enough that the final decision had to fall on Lucas. No bamboozling him into letting Lexie go. Yes, he’d already made it sound like Lexie could attend. After all, he’d suggested a costume. Belle wanted to be sure. “Lexie, I know you really want to go tomorrow night.” She winced as Lexie’s mouth drooped. “But your Uncle Lucas has the final decision. He has to be okay with it.”

  There was a silence, the kind that mushroomed. Belle wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

  “Oh, please, Uncle Lucas. I promise to never leave Belle’s side. We’ll stick together.”

  “Don’t forget,” Bixby added. “She can help serve coffee, too. I will not be moving from my station the entire night, unless I want to be drawn and quartered by the master at arms.”

  Belle couldn’t help but laugh at his reference to Forsythia, because it worked. That woman wanted absolute perfection from everyone.

  “I’ll even go to bed right away so you can all talk about clues and dead bodies.”

  He sighed. “Fine. I’ll allow it. I guess we did talk about costumes.” A look passed between him and Belle; his look said I’m trusting you on the snake thing. You promised.

  After the table was cleared, the dishes washed, and Lexie had said goodnight, they gathered in the living room.

  “Catch me up,” Bixby demanded.

  Belle told him about Shana’s English. Lucas filled him in that both women mentioned magicians could lie, cheat, and threaten to kill each other on a regular basis.

  “Though,” Lucas said, “Shana conceded that as much as Brett might easily kill Xavier, Xavier would just as easily kill Brett. I keep hearing how much they respected each other, but I’m not sure they knew the meaning of the word. The kind of pranks they played on each other. That’s not respect.”

  “I feel like we’ve all learned a mix of things,” Belle said. “Let’s take each one at a time. Let’s focus on Brett or Octavian X. What would be his motive?”

  “Inheritance,” Lucas said. “Samantha told me when I searched for the nightgown that over a magician’s handshake they came to an agreement, which I guess is a thing, that Brett would inherit all of Xavier’s magic, and vice versa.”

  “I’m not sure we even need that as motivation, given the video of the last prank, which, when I brought it up to Samantha, she didn’t think it was a big deal.”

  “Wait. What?” Bixby asked.

  Lucas showed him the video. Belle watched again the darkness that fell over Brett, the murderous gleam, the uttered threats.