Before the show could begin, there was one unanswered question Tempest had to make sure she was right about. Because for an illusion to work, you have to know all the angles. You can leave nothing to chance.
She had the address she was after in the Secret Staircase Construction files. The house wasn’t far.
“I know you don’t want to see me,” Tempest said to Lenore as the front door swung open, “but I need to ask you one more thing.”
“I knew I shouldn’t have opened the door.” Lenore didn’t welcome Tempest inside, but she didn’t slam the door in her face either. Unlike the architecture of the Whispering House, Lenore’s main residence was a midcentury ranch-style home, with a low-pitched roof over its single sprawling story. Asymmetrical picture windows with neat shutters flanked the front door. Where the Whispering House was imposing, this house was cozy, giving Tempest the push she needed to confront Lenore. Again.
“I think I know why you let yourself be questioned at the police station.”
“That was your doing, if you recall.” Lenore’s words were clipped and her expression hard. She didn’t stand aside. But then again, she still hadn’t slammed the door.
“You could have easily set the record straight about what was preserved in the rat’s nest,” said Tempest. “But you didn’t want to for some reason. You didn’t want to let us know that it was a piece of Chester Hill’s original missing blueprints.”
In her shock, Lenore’s anger fell away. She gave Tempest a wry smile. “Floor plans, technically. But they serve the same function here. How did you know?”
“There were multiple clues. First, the fact that the section of the paper I saw was covered with lines, not writing. Then, as soon as you zoomed in closer and we saw the one bit of text that wasn’t just lines, you closed the screen. You didn’t want us to see what you did.”
“No,” she murmured. “I didn’t.”
“And then there was the date. The only word on the page: 1901. A date when Chester was already living at the house but before the additional exterior buildings were completed. That’s what you didn’t want me to see.”
“You could tell that my headache was faked?”
“You’re not a good liar, Lenore. Officer Quinn and the rest of us could tell you were hiding something, which is why he took you in for questioning. But why would you keep an old floor plan secret, even if it meant you’d be accused of murder?”
“I knew I’d get released since I wasn’t involved.”
“You must have paid a fortune to get your lawyer to meet you there.”
Lenore shrugged. “Some things are worth spending money on. As well as a few hours of inconvenience. It was better than the alternative.”
“But why?”
“Can’t you guess?”
“The only thing that makes sense is if the floor plans were Chester Hill’s and they showed different ideas about his intent for the house from what we’re doing. I can understand you being upset if you miss your early window for a historical home designation if it takes us longer to complete renovations. But is the timing that big a deal?” Tempest studied the dignified woman. Unlike Julian, Lenore wasn’t fixing up her house to impress other people. She believed in architectural history and wanted to celebrate both the first architect in her family and her own contributions.
“It’s worse than that, Tempest.” Lenore sighed and wiped her glasses on her blouse. “I got it wrong. That gazebo I tore down in the back because I thought it was a 1950s addition done along with the tiki bar and the tacky renovations done inside the house? I was wrong.” She pursed her lips. “The gazebo was original. Conceived of and built by Chester Hill. And I tore it down.”
“And you don’t want that to come to light because you want that historical designation for the house.” She’d done so much work to restore it with all the original elements along with her own touches that her research showed were part of Chester Hill’s original intent.
Lenore sighed. “You’re too young to understand this, but I don’t want my legacy to be undone by a stupid mistake. I admit I’m being selfish by covering up the findings. I worked so hard to get taken seriously in a man’s profession. Things aren’t perfect now, but they were even harder forty years ago. I’m proud that I’ll be a minor footnote in architectural history. I don’t want to be a footnote because I ruined one of Chester Hill’s last standing creations.”
“I understand,” said Tempest. Because she did.