Tempest arrived outside the Locked Room Library in Flo’s classic car at 10:05 a.m.
Driving the half-century-old car that had been fixed up was a much different experience from driving her four-year-old jeep. She rather liked it. It felt real in a way that so many things these days didn’t.
After parking the behemoth car, Tempest saw that she’d missed a call from Flo, so she listened to the voice-mail message.
“That was like the most amazing thing ever, Tempest,” Flo gushed. “The look on his face when I stood up from a chair, turned around, and he saw I wasn’t you! Is this what it feels like to be an illusionist on stage? So. Feking. Amazing.”
Ivy was already at the library when Tempest stepped inside. The library had opened at ten, and Ivy wasn’t working that day, but a man Tempest had met before was at the front desk. Tempest felt a twinge of regret as he said hello. His gangly appearance reminded her of Brodie. She knew it wasn’t her fault that the killer had struck again, but she couldn’t help but wonder whether she could have prevented it.
Tempest hid out in the train car meeting room while they waited for Paloma to show up. Though it would be at least three hours, it was a safe place to lay low. They reserved the meeting room under the name of a fictional book club, Tempest kept the curtains of the train car drawn, and Ivy picked up takeout Thai food at noon.
At 1:32, their takeout long since devoured, Ivy paced the narrow length of the train car meeting room. “She’s not going to come.”
“Or she’s being cautious to make sure it’s not a trap from the police.”
At 1:42, an elderly woman stepped into the train car.
The person in front of them didn’t look anything like the woman they had worked with earlier that year. The stooped figure sported white hair hidden under a scarf, thick glasses that obscured her eyes, and a dull gray sweater and slacks.
“It’s only you two?” The voice was one Tempest recognized. Paloma Rhodes’s.
“I’m so glad you’re safe.” Tempest bolted the door and pulled the curtains over the windows facing the main library.
Paloma straightened and pulled off the wig and glasses. “My sister didn’t want me to come. But I can’t keep living like this.” She pulled a much smaller pair of glasses from her purse and ran a hand through her dark brown hair, which had only a few strands of gray.
“You didn’t kill your husband,” Ivy said, “did you?”
“Ivy.” Tempest glared at her friend.
“It’s all right,” said Paloma. “That’s what everyone reasonably thinks, isn’t it?” She shook her head sadly. “He tried to kill me. You know that, right? My sister lives in the Midwest and she’s been helping me hide from afar. She told me about that lawsuit against Secret Staircase Construction. I’m so sorry. I should have known that would happen.”
“You couldn’t have known,” said Tempest. She was glad she also now knew why Paloma’s phone had pinged in Michigan. Misdirection from an abused woman whose sister was helping her hide.
Paloma began coughing. For a moment Tempest thought she might have been ill from the effects of being in a coma. But a moment later, it became clear she was stifling sobs. “I should have seen it. And his brother will still pursue it. And he’ll press charges against me if I say anything more. I don’t know why I even came here.”
“We’re not recording anything.” Tempest placed her phone on the table in front of them. Ivy followed suit.
“It doesn’t matter,” Paloma said. “You don’t understand.”
Ivy opened her mouth, but Tempest gave her a small shake of her head. Paloma was there. She wanted to talk. She just needed time.
“Coffee?” Ivy pointed at the coffee maker at the back of the meeting room. “We already brewed some.”
“There’s whisky in the cabinet below it,” Tempest added, “if you need a shot added to the coffee. You look like you could use it.”
Paloma smiled, and Tempest was reminded of the woman she’d laughed with on the jobsite. “I’ll take it.”
Two minutes later, the three of them were seated around the meeting table.
“I didn’t know he’d try to kill me that day,” Paloma said. “But I knew he might try after he found out I was going to leave him. That’s why I was already prepared to disappear. And I should have thought it was a risk he’d sue your dad’s company. I’m so sorry.”
“Why did you think he’d use us to kill you?”
She shook her head. “You misunderstand me. I didn’t think he’d combine murder and fraud. Do you want to know how he made most of his money?”
“He inherited millions.”
“Only a couple million. Not nearly enough for someone of his tastes. And that business of his looks glamorous, but it barely breaks even these days. He made his money by suing people.”
“I know.” Tempest felt anger rising through her body, but forced herself to stay calm.
“What you don’t know,” said Paloma, “are his methods. None of his lawsuits would have held up in court. He’d threaten to sue people. And then offer to settle for an amount of money that was large but only a fraction of what he’d get if he won. And probably less than the legal fees that the person would have to pay after Julian was done with them.”
“I know that as well. He tried to dig up dirt on my family so that my dad would settle. It was getting so bad that my dad was considering a settlement.”
“He didn’t only dig up dirt,” said Paloma. “He created it. Nothing that would stand up in court, but for people who have reputations…”
Tempest didn’t think Julian could get any more despicable. “Like a small family business.”
“He used that threat to get them to pay a huge settlement,” said Paloma, “and he always settled cases with an NDA—a nondisclosure agreement that guaranteed none of his bullying would come to light.”
“That’s awful,” Ivy whispered.
And even worse than Tempest had thought. Julian Rhodes had followed the same pattern with Secret Staircase Construction, threatening Darius with a lawsuit, then supposedly calming down the next day and saying he was simply upset about his wife, but he’d be reasonable and accept a settlement—but if it also went with an NDA, Darius wouldn’t have been able to speak about the case at all, even to say they were innocent of negligence. Darius must have known it would ruin the business if he couldn’t publicly defend himself. It wasn’t only the money. Had Julian also told her papa the lies he’d make up if Darius didn’t cooperate?
“I’m probably in breach of everything by even telling you about this in the abstract,” said Paloma. “He can no longer hurt me—but his brother still can.”
“You mean you won’t go to the police?” asked Ivy.
Paloma shrank back. “I can’t. And I really can’t tell you any more. I’ve already said too much.”
“About that,” said Tempest. “I have an idea.”