Tempest’s friends convinced her not to break into the theater, but the argument that won out was the most mundane: none of them had time to stake out the theater and wait for an opportune time. Sanjay had made plans with a local magic builder he thought might have been approached to build a sword-holding booby trap under the pretense of being for a stage show, in case the culprit hadn’t built it themselves. Gideon had to prepare for his art show, and Ivy was due at work shortly for her second part-time job. Ivy said she’d have a bit of time to spare before she had to start work, so Tempest went with her to the Locked Room Library.
Located across the bay in San Francisco, the Locked Room Library was a lending library, museum, and meeting space that catered to people who loved classic mystery novels. It was a dream destination for Ivy, and one where she was now working part-time as a library assistant. She hoped to work somewhere like it as a full-time librarian in a few years. Before she could get there, she was taking online classes to complete her previously abandoned undergraduate degree and would soon be applying for a master’s in library science.
The library was housed on the first floor of a converted Victorian house in San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury neighborhood, where quirky businesses abounded. Two gargoyles greeted visitors at the front door, and a suit of armor stood at the information desk. The library’s curated collection filled 1,500 square feet and specialized in locked-room mysteries, as its name indicated. Roughly half of the space was a traditional library with shelves of physical books that members could check out—which meant that anyone with a local address anywhere in Northern California could sign up for a free membership.
The other half of the first-floor layout was divided between a small “museum,” which contained rare books and memorabilia that the public could view but not check out, and a narrow meeting room built in the shape of a vintage train car. Secret Staircase Construction had been hired to design the train car that paid homage to Agatha Christie’s Murder on the Orient Express. Book clubs were the most common occupants, but today Ivy had booked the room.
“How did you think ahead to book the room for us?” Tempest asked, as she climbed the steps into the faux lounge car.
“I didn’t.” Ivy locked the door behind them and rolled up the glass window on the top half of the door. “I’m giving my third library talk this afternoon at five o’clock before I work the evening shift. I still get so nervous, so I wanted time to practice beforehand.”
“I don’t want to take away from your practice time.”
“Tempest.” Ivy crossed her arms over her pink vest. “This real-life dilemma is way more important than a lecture on classic mysteries. Besides, the last time I gave my talk, only four people showed up.”
“Do you know how many people showed up for my second magic show?”
“Three. Which I know because I was one of them.”
“I bet you’ll have more than that tonight. And even if you don’t, it just means you get to practice more.”
“Where do you want to begin with research?” Ivy asked.
“Julian and Paloma Rhodes.”
“I thought you already knew everything about those two from the lawsuit.”
“That was back when we only thought they were suing us. Not when it involved murder. We need to go deeper.”
“I have a better idea.” Ivy pointed at a towering stack of books on the narrow train car table.
“We run away on a make-believe train and spend the next year reading the enticing novels we never have time to read?” Tempest asked hopefully.
“I wish.” Ivy gave a wistful sigh and picked up a skeleton key from the wall. She twisted it into place, and immediately, the sound of a steam engine chugging began. A moment later, the faux scenery behind the train car windows that faced the library wall began to move.
“These are research books?” Tempest picked up a copy of The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin. “Not one of your usual selections.”
“This mystery we’re facing isn’t exactly like the impossible crime novels I love. The four impossibilities we encountered earlier this year made sense as a series of impossible puzzles that could be picked apart. But this?”
“It’s a puzzle that’s part of a bigger game.” With the 1970s young adult mystery in her hands, Tempest spotted the book that lay underneath it. The first Three Investigators novel, The Secret of Terror Castle, with an early edition cover from the 1960s.
“A trio of friends unmasking a ghost.” Ivy smiled as she took the beloved book they’d both loved as kids with teenage sleuths Jupiter Jones, Pete Crenshaw, and Bob Andrews.
“We already know whatever is going on at the theater isn’t a ghost,” said Tempest. “But I do appreciate the books as inspiration.”
“They’re more than that,” said Ivy. “Books let us see the truth.”
“Says the librarian-in-training. I do appreciate it, Ivy.” Tempest tossed the book aside and took Ivy’s hands in hers. “I really do. But we need to look into Julian Rhodes’s life. Not reread books we loved as kids. The longer it takes to solve this, the more people out there who’ll think my mom lost it and set a series of macabre booby traps to kill people more than five years after she took her own life—neither of which is true.”
“First, it doesn’t matter what they think.” Ivy held up a preemptive hand. “I know. It hurts.”
“I can take what they say about me. I’ve had my own reputation destroyed before. I’ll survive. But I don’t want this for her memory.”
“I know. But your family already hired a private investigator to look into Julian Rhodes when he sued your dad. Do you think you’re better equipped to dig into things that even a trained professional couldn’t find?”
“Well, no.” Tempest pulled away and looked out of the train car windows at the false scenery speeding past. “There are those other lawsuits.”
“Which you said were sealed for confidentiality. You’re not a superspy, Tempest.”
“I can’t do nothing.”
“You’re not. We’re all doing what we’re best at. Even though you’re not a spy, you have stage magic superpowers.”
“Creating misdirection for a living doesn’t seem to be helping me see through this deception right now.”
“I’ve selected a series of relevant books that will give us ideas for how to look at the type of puzzle this is. Those kids’ books were for general inspiration, but here are two books that came to mind for their use of architecture and mechanical devices: Death in the House of Rain by Szu-Yen Lin, about a house built in the shape of the Chinese character for rain—so it’s got architectural misdirection. And The Crooked Hinge, a Dr. Fell novel by John Dickson Carr, with an uber creepy automaton that begins to move on its own—like that regenerating booby trap.”
They flipped through the books and filled several sheets of paper with notes. A few of them were actually relevant.
Setting—Is the Whispering Creek Theater location relevant?
Three booby traps—someone who likes twisted games, or another purpose?
Motive—a person everyone hated is dead, so motive is less than helpful.
Misdirection—Who started the ghost rumor? Purposeful distraction?
Ivy pushed a book aside and stood up.
“Time for your talk?” Tempest asked.
“Wish me luck.”
“Break a leg,” said Tempest as Ivy stepped out of the train car meeting room Secret Staircase Construction had built for the library. The train car, like the booby-trapped door, was an illusion. Tempest had spent most of her life watching and creating illusions. She knew she could unravel the multiple illusions the theater was hiding. She only hoped she could do so before the murder of Julian Rhodes became another cold case, like the last murder at the theater.