Shaken by Alejandro’s words, Tempest slipped back inside the library as Ivy was answering questions from the audience. Alejandro believed he’d seen something that night at the theater. But the power of suggestion in a dark, creepy building resembling a miniature Gothic cathedral, with kids scaring each other and possibly even setting out to fool each other, was a far more likely explanation.
The young girl from the audience was speaking as Tempest sat down in the back row of chairs. “You said all the classic locked-room mysteries have a satisfying ending.”
“That’s right,” Ivy said. “The expectation is that the mystery is solved. All the loose ends are tied up. That’s how we close the last page with a smile on our faces.”
“But you didn’t say it was a happy ending,” the astute girl pointed out.
“It doesn’t have to be,” Ivy answered. “Have you read any Agatha Christie yet?”
The girl nodded. “I bought way more of them than I was supposed to, which is why my mom brought me here to the library.”
“I’m glad you found us.” Ivy smiled. “You know that sometimes the guilty person Poirot or Miss Marple reveals isn’t always the person you were hoping it would be. But Agatha Christie gave us all the clues we needed for us to see that it was that person, even if it’s not exactly a happy ending.”
“Yeah, that happened with my detective agency’s first case,” the girl replied. “It was still fun.” The audience chuckled and then broke into a round of applause for Ivy when there were no more questions.
Tempest helped Enid fold chairs while the audience thanked Ivy, and the inquisitive girl asked another few questions of her.
“Sorry I missed most of your talk,” Tempest said after the small audience had dispersed and Enid had retreated to the front desk to check out books for several of the attendees.
“I didn’t hear any screams coming from the front door, so I take it you managed not to ‘accidentally’ kick that guy after you finished a round of pirouettes or a backflip?”
Her oldest friend knew her well. “For what it’s worth, he felt bad about rattling you.” Tempest held up the card he’d given her. “Alejandro Arkady, paranormal investigator. He was still sleeping his vampiric hours when the rumors began about my mom’s malicious ghost being at the theater, so when he couldn’t find a public presence for me, he tracked down people I know.”
“Sometimes I think you’re right that it would be nice to go back to a time before creepy stalkers could track people down so easily.”
“And sometimes,” said Tempest, “I wish I could have one of those satisfying endings like the books surrounding us.”
When Tempest got back to Fiddler’s Folly, the sun had nearly set. Her dad wasn’t in the main house, so she headed for her grandparents’ tree house. The front door of the tree house had previously only been locked by a brass gargoyle with a key that turned in its mouth. More whimsical than secure, it had never meant to serve as a true lock. Now they’d had a proper lock and a deadbolt installed by a local locksmith.
Normally, she would have gone straight upstairs to the main floor on the second-story level of the tree house. The stairs led directly into the kitchen, which was the heart of the house. In addition to the cooking area, it held a breakfast nook seating area, and a large sliding glass door that opened up into the outdoor dining area. The covered deck with a massive dining table was the original section of the tree house before it was converted into a functional house. The rest of the top floor contained a cozy bathroom just big enough for a clawfoot tub, Ash and Morag’s bedroom, and a private deck for the two of them.
But today, Morag Ferguson-Raj was in the ground-floor art studio with Gideon and two other women. The entire first floor of the tree house in-law unit was dedicated to Grannie Mor’s art studio.
Tempest’s grandmother introduced her to two artist friends, Tansy and Trina.
“Hello, lass!” said Tansy in a thick Scottish brogue. “We met years ago, but it’s been a tick.”
“Lovely to meet you,” said the more demure Trina, but with an equally Scottish lilt.
Tansy was a large, commanding figure with a look of mild superiority. Trina was so slight she looked as if she could be blown over by a small gust of wind, but she had a friendlier disposition.
“Trina is visiting for an artist residency,” said Morag.
“And I,” said Tansy, “am looking for art to invest in. I’m sponsoring Gideon’s art show. Such a talented young man. I cannae wait for the opening.”
“You’re embarrassing the lad, Tansy,” said Trina.
“Ach, the boy needs to learn to accept a compliment in this business. He’s got the talent, so he’d best get used to it.”
Gideon scratched his ear uncomfortably. He did need to get better at accepting compliments if he was going to be a successful artist.
Everyone besides Tempest seemed to think it was perfectly rational to proceed with normal life. With Paloma Rhodes at large, they weren’t entirely comfortable, but there was no reason to think she was a physical threat to any of the family. Only the lawsuit. Besides, after the events of earlier in the year, Fiddler’s Folly was now surrounded by a fence, an alarm system, and even a couple of security cameras.
Tempest turned her attention back to her grandmother’s friends.
“Your new landscape of the fierce waves crashing against the cliffs is stunning,” Trina was saying to Grannie Mor.
“I appreciate that,” said Morag, “but I didn’t mean to get us distracted by my studio before we have tea upstairs.”
“Nonsense!” said Tansy. “I refuse to leave until I’ve seen these older pieces I’ve not yet seen.”
Tempest left the artists and climbed the stairs to the kitchen, where Ash was happily cooking dinner. He’d put Darius to work chopping vegetables.
In South India, kitchens were an indoor/outdoor combination, and Ash sought to replicate the experience here. It wasn’t quite the same, but unless rain was pelting sideways, the sliding door was left open and the kitchen and covered deck felt like part of the same room.
Darius had repeatedly asked Ash to keep the sliding door closed when they weren’t home. With his unstable upbringing, Darius never felt truly secure. That’s why the lawsuit Julian Rhodes had instigated was especially terrible. Ash had been through a lot as well, but his own reaction to trauma was the opposite. He was adamant about enjoying each moment free from worry, saying, “If someone wants to get inside badly enough, they’ll find a way. I’m not going to live in fear.”
Morag poked her head into the kitchen a minute later. “I invited Trina and Tansy for tea, but now that it’s getting late, what do you think about two more for dinner?”
“Of course,” Ash said. “It’s no problem to whip up some more.” He turned to Tempest. “Any chance Nicodemus will be out by dinnertime?”
“I don’t think so, and Brodie is still dealing with the canceled tour.”
“I’ll tell the group downstairs they should stay for dinner,” Morag said.
“Thirty minutes,” Ash called after her, then tossed an onion to Darius. “Just a little more food, to be safe.”
The “safe” amount of food brought to the table half an hour later was a feast for at least a dozen people, even though there were only seven of them for the sunset meal.
Tempest had called Ivy and Sanjay to see if they could make it. Sanjay was having dinner with the magic builder he’d met with, who hadn’t had any booby trap inquiries lately, and Ivy was still at work at the Locked Room Library.
Tempest had fetched Abra from his hutch since he loved dinner parties. She sat at the end of the table between Gideon and Trina, and let Abra hop around underfoot. He was big enough and old enough to fend for himself among so many pairs of feet.
“You’re a painter?” Tempest asked Trina.
“Among other things.”
“Whereas I,” cut in Tansy, “am only a patron of the arts. I don’t see how you can all create something out of nothing. I own a small gallery on the water in North Bay.” Tansy clapped her hands together. “I love fostering the next generation of artists. I do hope you’re working on more creations, Gideon, since the sculptures in this show will disappear quickly.”
“Wait, you’re selling your artwork?” Tempest stared at Gideon.
“Of course,” Gideon said. “That’s what artists do. We sell our artwork.”
“His sculptures will be sure to sell,” Tansy said. “Oh!” She chuckled. “Something soft brushed against my foot. I forgot there was a rabbit underfoot.”
Tempest was done eating, so she ducked under the table and scooped Abra into her arms. He flopped his large lop-ears before settling into her lap.
“May I hold him?” asked Trina in her quiet voice.
“You’ll have to ask him.” Tempest didn’t want to lift Abra across the table, so she stood and went around to go between Trina and Tansy. “Want to make a new friend?” she asked Abra. Both women reached out to let Abra sniff their hands, Trina timidly, and Tansy more boldly.
“Aya!” cried Tansy. “The bunny nicked my finger!”
Ash clicked his tongue. “Abra’s overwhelmed by too many people.”
Morag leapt up to help her friend. “I’m so sorry. Doesnae look like the scratch is bleeding. But Tempest, it’s best you put Abra back in his hutch.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Gideon, following Tempest and Abra.
“He doesn’t usually act up,” Tempest said, as she held onto the bunny on the stairs. “What’s the matter, Abra?”
“Let me take him.” Gideon lifted the rabbit into his arms. Abra nuzzled his nose into the crook of Gideon’s elbow. “Don’t worry, little guy,” he whispered.
Tempest smiled as she opened the door. “You’re good with him.”
“I followed for you, not the bunny,” Gideon said to Tempest. “You haven’t seen my latest sculpture. Would you like to?”
“Tonight?”
“Why not? Give me a five-minute head start. I need to set something up before you arrive.”
The dinner group had forgotten all about the rabbit incident when Tempest and Gideon returned a minute later to say their goodbyes. Morag had opened a bottle of Scotch, so they didn’t seem bothered about the young people departing early. Only Ash stood, and it was to meet Tempest in the kitchen and press a picnic basket into her hands.
“What’s this?” she asked. “We’ve already eaten.”
“Gideon is far too skinny these days. I think the only meals he eats lately are the ones I bring to the job crew on weekdays.” Ash lowered his voice. “Tansy is putting too much pressure on him with this gallery show.”
“He wants to do it,” Tempest said, but she knew her grandfather was right. Gideon was working day and night, pushing himself way too hard. If he kept this up, he’d burn out. She accepted the picnic basket and walked slowly to her car, giving Gideon the head start he’d asked for and wondering what she’d find when she arrived.