“I can’t believe you didn’t wait for me to be there for your performance.” Sanjay paced the length of the outdoor dining room of the tree house, twirling his bowler hat in his hands. “And now you confronted a murderer without me? I’m wounded. Truly wounded.”
“You’re supposed to be in Canada. I didn’t want to distract you. And it wasn’t a performance. It was a press conference.”
“My Vancouver shows ended last night. I was only booked for a week. I have a few days off before Montreal. And it was totally a performance.”
“You said you’d be in Vancouver through the weekend.”
“Of course. It’s rude to bail the moment a performance ends.” Without breaking eye contact, he deftly flipped his hat onto the one empty corner of the table. “I had plans to meet up with people this weekend. See some other shows. You put me in a very awkward position—”
“I did? I didn’t ask you to do anything.”
Sanjay leaned back against the oak tree and blinked at her, as if the idea had never occurred to him that she didn’t need him.
In truth, Tempest would have loved to have had him by her side helping, but with that ego, she definitely wasn’t going to tell him that now.
The two of them were alone on the tree house deck. Ash and Darius had discreetly departed, leaving her and Sanjay with snacks that constituted a feast and enough coffee to keep them up for a week. Tempest’s dad and grandfather were now downstairs helping Morag move her paintings that would be hung in the background of Gideon’s sculptures at the gallery exhibit.
“Am I supposed to thank you for dropping everything to come back and save little old me?” She batted her eyelashes in an attempt to look demure—a state that was most likely impossible for her to ever achieve.
He reddened. “Fine. If you don’t want me here—” He broke off, snatched his bowler hat from the table, and strode toward the kitchen.
“Don’t go.” She caught him and grabbed his hand. His skin was soft. Even though he used his hands in his work and should have had hundreds of healed paper cuts and thousands of splinters, he took good care of them since they were so important to his career. She thought of Nicodemus, who would never again be able to perform sleight of hand.
“Really?” Both his voice and his big brown eyes held a question that was deeper than the single word.
“Really. Now sit down and have a dosa.”
He tossed his hat aside and sat, but he eyed the flat pancake suspiciously. “There’s nothing spicy in it?”
Sanjay thrived when performing outdoor acts under the hottest conditions in India, but the man couldn’t eat anything with the tiniest hint of spice.
“Ash even made both savory and sweet fillings for them, so you don’t have to eat a single chili seed.”
“Dosas aren’t supposed to have a chocolate almond filling option. That’s crepes.”
Tempest grinned. “Ash whipped it up just for you.”
Sanjay returned the smile and slathered the chocolate spread onto a rice and lentil dosa. “This is so good. Why doesn’t everyone do this?”
“You can give him your appreciation later.”
“Do you want my notes now?”
“Notes?”
“From your performance. I watched several of the videos, and I have notes on what you can do better next time.”
Tempest gaped at him. “Seriously? You’re giving me notes on my show that just proved a woman innocent of murder?”
“Of course. You’re a professional. Since when do you not want notes?”
He was right, not that she’d admit it.
“Am I interrupting?” Nicodemus stepped onto the deck. He was still looking weak, but he attempted a smile.
“Try a dessert dosa.” Sanjay set the platter in front of an empty seat for Nicodemus. “Ash is a genius.”
“I know. I already ate three of them earlier this morning before taking a nap.” He lifted a coffee mug, but as voices drifted up from the art studio below, the mug shook in his hand, sloshing sweet jaggery coffee onto the wooden table.
“Are you all right?” Tempest took the mug and took his unbandaged hand in hers.
“It’s strange. My hand injury and now Brodie’s death … they’ve stirred up so many memories for me. I’m imagining things from long ago.”
“That’s to be expected. You were already reminiscing about the past while getting ready for your farewell tour.”
“It feels like another lifetime ago when I was creating illusions with my Cat of Nine Lives, when I met your mom and aunt performing as the Selkie Sisters, and when Brodie gave up character acting for a life in the shadows of the stage.”
“I’ve got something to bring you back to the present,” said Sanjay. “Tempest just caught the killer.”
Instead of helping, that caused Nicodemus to knock over the mug on the table. As Tempest explained what had happened in the hours following her pop-up performance to clear Paloma and Secret Staircase Construction, Sanjay grabbed a tea towel from the kitchen and mopped up the spilled coffee. Nicodemus was even more furious than her family about her reckless behavior.
“The most reckless thing about what I did,” said Tempest, “was acting too quickly. I needed to get Gideon away from Lenore, but when I saw Officer Quinn there, I went ahead and asked my questions. She answered most of them like I expected she would, which gave her the means and motive, but … I don’t know if I was right.”
Ash stepped onto the deck. “Sanjay, I hate to pull you away, but could I trouble you to help with one piece of installation art? It’s a bit heavier than we thought.”
“I can help.” Tempest stood.
“You two can reminisce.” Sanjay tossed his bowler hat onto his head. “I’m happy to help. Lead the way, Ash.”
Tempest and Nicodemus sat in silence for sixteen seconds. She watched his face, which, without his stage makeup and stage persona affectation and with the added sadness of loss, looked like it had been stripped of its soul. “There’s something more than reminiscing on your mind.”
“I fear I share your opinion that there’s more going on than can be explained by Lenore Woods. The past keeps rearing its head.”
“About Brodie?”
“Earlier than that…” He shook his head. “I can’t be right.”
“Tempest?” Sanjay called up to the deck.
She leaned over the railing. “What’s up?”
“I’m going with them to the gallery. Back soon. Don’t eat all the dosas without me.” He grinned.
On the ground below, Ash put a hand on Sanjay’s shoulder. “I’ll make fresh ones when we’re back. You don’t need to eat stale dosas. Trina, my apologies, I didn’t offer you any refreshments. How about a snack before we head off?”
Trina must’ve been standing directly underneath the deck because Tempest couldn’t see her from where she stood.
“Better hurry,” Tempest whispered to Nicodemus as she stepped back from the railing. “Take your pick of your favorites before we’re descended upon.”
She knew he wasn’t hungry, so she meant it as a joke, but the words didn’t seem to register with him. None of the group from below headed upstairs for snacks, so they must have been eager to get to the gallery.
“Earth to Nicky.” Tempest flipped into a headstand next to the table. She wobbled more than she should have. She wasn’t nearly as in shape as she had been when performing. She still got a fair amount of exercise working for Secret Staircase Construction compared with sitting at a desk, but it wasn’t the same.
When she got no reaction and Nicodemus seemed more fascinated with a branch of the old oak tree, she flipped right side up. She landed with a louder thud than she would have liked and nearly crashed into the table, but at least it got his attention.
“This can’t be happening.” He nearly toppled the wooden bench as he stood. “I need to go.”
“What’s going on, Nic—”
“Tempest.” He took her shoulders in his hands and cried out in pain. Whatever was bothering him was so overwhelming that he’d forgotten about his injury. He cradled his bandaged hand.
“Let me call Ash to come back and look at your hand.”
“No,” he snapped. “I just need a moment.”
He rushed through the sliding door and down the stairs so quickly that Tempest half expected him to tumble down the steps. He wasn’t as nimble as he used to be, so he faltered but caught himself with the railing. Tempest caught up with him when he was only a few feet past the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I—” He broke off and cleared his throat. The mask of Nicodemus the Necromancer, the consummate performer, was back in place. “Nothing. It must have been the painkillers.”
But Tempest had seen it in his eyes before his mask was back in place. She froze for a fraction of a single second, and then she ran.