Kate struggled to remain calm as she leaned the heavy ironing board against the wall. She’d thought Hugo was a killer before and had been wrong. Thought Ollie had confessed to murder, when he’d only set a bird free. This time, she wouldn’t jump to conclusions.
She drew a steadying breath and turned to look down at the sword.
It looked bigger and more deadly than it had on the wall, the handle a beautiful, burnished gold; the blade, gleaming steel where it wasn’t covered in dried blood. A real replica of a fake movie prop.
A murder weapon, hidden by Hugo.
Kate pressed her fingers to her lips, horrified.
Why would Hugo kill Lemmy?
The answer came too fast: because Lemmy knew about the fake ledger that erased Ollie’s loan. Just that morning, Lemmy had taunted Reuben about it, threatening to tell their mob boss in prison what Reuben had been up to lately. If Moe Kravitz found out, Reuben would be punished—probably killed—and Ollie would lose his house. Hugo couldn’t let that happen.
He’d killed Lemmy to save his friends.
Kate’s thoughts darted back to last night.
Hugo had told her to go to the living room while he stayed behind with Lemmy’s body. A kindness, she’d thought, but then he’d snuck out the back door before the police arrived, saying he didn’t want to be late for work. He must have taken the sword with him, not wanting the police to find it with his fingerprints. Had he carried it on his motorcycle? No, he’d probably hidden it in the backyard—or a neighbor’s dark garden—until he returned from his play and found a better hiding place.
Her gaze flickered to the tall cupboard. Why bring it back into the house? Why not leave it in some random dumpster on his way to work?
Because it was a one-of-a-kind Captain Powell heirloom, easily traced back to Ollie—and Hugo—if it were ever found. Kate had read about bullets being matched to a specific gun. Maybe stab wounds could be matched to a specific blade.
She tried to remember if Hugo had looked guilty as he’d stared down at Lemmy’s body. What she did remember was him telling her with great certainty that Ollie was innocent, even before seeing the birdcage—because he’d known he was.
But Hugo had been at Falcon Pictures with her when Lemmy was killed. She felt a spark of relief—then remembered that Hugo had been alone much of that time, at least an hour and a half, while she was at Clive Falcon’s office and watching the nightclub scene. Was that enough time for Hugo to take a bus home, kill Lemmy, and return? Probably not.
But he hadn’t taken a bus; he’d taken Bonnie’s yellow car. That’s why it was parked in a different place. They’d all heard her tell Aurelio to leave the key in the glovebox.
A telephone rang in the distance, making her jump. She heard Reuben grumble as he got up from the table and realized someone must have paid the phone bill today. She could call Detective Bassett and show him the sword.
But did she want to?
Once the detective arrived, things would move quickly, out of Kate’s control. Detective Bassett might suspect Ollie, who owned the sword and was home alone with Lemmy. And Ollie had the stronger motive—not losing his house. Even if she told Detective Bassett about Hugo hiding the sword in the middle of the night, he might think Hugo hid it to help his friend, the real killer.
It would be in the papers.
Kate groaned and pressed her fingers to her temples. She’d been wrong before. Maybe she should talk to Hugo first and give him a chance to explain. But he was on his way to Glendale and would probably drive to work after that.
“Reuben, who’s on the phone?” Ollie called from the kitchen, his chair scraping back.
She couldn’t leave the sword here, where Hugo could retrieve it. She had to hide it until she could think straight. But where? Not her own room. She whirled and saw her open trunk, half-full of summer clothes she didn’t intend to unpack. Cotton dresses and shorts. A striped beach towel. She grabbed the towel and dropped it over the sword, then knelt and picked it up, being careful to wrap the towel around the edges so her hands didn’t touch it. She glanced at the door, then lifted the wrapped sword and lowered it into the trunk, angling it to fit. She carefully worked it to the bottom and rearranged the summer clothes on top.
Kate stood and looked down, her heart racing, hardly believing what she’d done. The clothes looked innocent, showing no signs they hid a murder weapon. The sword could stay there until she’d decided what to do.
She found the kitchen deserted and followed Reuben’s voice to the foyer. He stood next to the telephone table at the base of the staircase, Ollie beside him. “Sure, Detective. I’ll tell everyone, and we’ll let you know if we think of anything.” He hung up.
“What’s going on?” Ollie asked.
“He says the wound was made by a long, sharp blade—like a sword.” Reuben gave the older man a meaningful look as he strode toward the office.
“I have a sword!” Ollie scurried after him.
“Now you’re catching on.”
Kate followed them into Ollie’s office, wondering if she should tell them what she’d found. But for all she knew, one of them was in on it. She remained back by the armchairs in front of the desk, watching as the two men approached Captain Powell’s painting and the sword box on the wall. The glass door on the box hung open by an inch or two. The scabbard was still there, supported by hooks, but the sword was missing.
“My sword!” Ollie cried. “I was in here all day and didn’t notice. Where is it?” He touched the empty hooks.
“It could be anywhere in this mess.” Reuben turned slowly, scanning the cluttered room. “Did you take it out?”
“No, no—I always keep it in the case. It’s very dangerous.” Ollie’s eyes widened. “You think the killer took it?”
“Very good, Sherlock.”
“But it’s my favorite thing! We have to tell the police!”
“That Lemmy was killed with your sword? Keep your mouth shut, or you’ll end up with a noose around your neck.”
Kate leaned a hand on the back of an armchair, drawing a sharp breath.
“But they have to find it! They won’t think I killed him. Why would they?”
“Because you look like a loony in those pajamas.” Reuben scowled at the messy room, his hands on his hips. “I don’t get it. If someone came to kill Lemmy, they’d bring their own gun. Why use your old sword?”
“It’s a marvelous weapon,” Ollie said, defending it. “Better than a noisy gun.”
And Hugo didn’t own a gun, Kate guessed. Maybe he’d planned to clean the sword and return it to the case before anyone noticed it was missing, but never got a chance because Ollie was in the office all day.
Reuben grumbled, “Nobody kills with a sword anymore. And stabbing is messy. And none of this makes sense.” He headed for the door. “It’s probably upstairs in your room somewhere.”
“It isn’t, I tell you. The killer stole it—and I want it back!” Ollie followed Reuben, leaving Kate alone.
She walked closer to the display case and inspected it. A nice quality box, but no lock, leaving the sword easily accessible to anyone who—
Knew it was real, she realized.
Her gaze dropped to the movie memorabilia on the table below the painting. Captain Powell’s dagger looked rubbery, not real. His hat was splotched with paint to give it a weather-beaten appearance. She picked up the flintlock pistol and found it lighter than a real gun would be—a fake prop that didn’t shoot bullets. Nothing real except the sword. A random intruder wouldn’t know that.
But the people living in this house would.
A small clock chimed ten o’clock. She’d been up since five in the morning, and tomorrow would be another early day. Hugo had probably driven straight to his play after dropping off his sister, so she might as well go to bed.
As she walked through the kitchen, she saw her pile of wrinkled clothes but had no energy left for ironing. She picked up the clothes, carried them to her room, and dumped them in the corner.
Clothes on the floor. She didn’t even know who she was anymore.
She lay awake for what felt like hours, listening to every creak in the house, trying to convince herself that hiding the sword had been the right thing to do. When she saw Hugo, she would watch for signs of guilt and be more sure, then give the sword to Detective Bassett.
She didn’t want to make another blundering mistake.
Her eyes flickered to her alarm clock and saw 12:05 a.m. She also saw her math textbook, which she’d ignored since arriving.
She heard the distant sound of the front door opening and closing, and sat up, her heart skittering. Maybe just Aurelio, home from rehearsal. But the footsteps came toward the back of the house, and she knew from the sound, somehow, that it was Hugo. She pushed back the quilt, got out of bed, and hurried through the short hallway to the kitchen. But when she reached the table, she halted, suddenly aware of the stupidity of confronting a killer alone in the middle of the night. She fixed her eyes on the opposite doorway, her heart thundering.
Hugo walked by in the hall, still wearing the black leather jacket, his head bowed, his posture a bit downcast. He glanced at the kitchen and kept going … then came back, his head tilting. “You’re still up.” He looked tired, his eyes shadowed beneath a tumble of dark bangs.
Kate felt a tug of attraction that wasn’t very helpful. She kept her voice cool. “We need to talk about Lemmy.”
His expression turned cautious. “Did something happen?” He walked closer, his eyes narrowing, and she was grateful for the table between them.
“I found the sword you hid last night.”
He didn’t move for a moment, then said with deadly calm, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
No denial. Her last flicker of hope went out.
Hugo took a step but stopped when she drew a sharp breath. Their eyes locked across the table, the air throbbing with unspoken fears and accusations. If she screamed, Reuben and Ollie would come running.
“Kate,” he said carefully. “I didn’t kill him, I swear.”
“You hid the murder weapon.”
“I never used it.” He lifted both hands. “It was on the kitchen floor, behind the dog. I could tell none of you saw it, so I waited until you left the room and then got it out of the house until the police were gone. That’s all I did, I swear.”
She folded her arms across her racing heart. “Why hide the murder weapon if you didn’t kill him?”
“To protect Ollie. That sword is from his old Captain Powell movies. No one else would use it.”
“Nice try, but you already convinced me of his innocence.”
“He is innocent, but I knew the police would suspect him if they saw that sword. He was still upset about leaving the house. I didn’t know about the bird yet. But I knew he was crying, and rambling about something he’d done, and looked guilty as hell. I didn’t want the police looking too closely at him—and they would if they knew his sword was the murder weapon.”
In the distance, the front door opened. They both froze, listening as footsteps ascended the staircase. “Aurelio,” Kate murmured. Home from practice at midnight, expected back at six. If she’d learned one thing after a day at Falcon Pictures, it was that making movies was a lot of work.
“Kate,” Hugo said in a gentle plea, drawing her attention back. “I didn’t want Ollie dragged into some police car with a bunch of reporters taking pictures. I just—I don’t know—panicked, I guess. I wanted that sword out of the house until I could think straight. I figured I could give it to the police later and say I found it in the backyard.”
Same as Kate. She fought an urge to believe him.
Hugo sighed in frustration, his feet shifting. “Come on, why would I kill Lemmy?”
She had an answer for that. “You didn’t want Ollie to lose his house.”
The dark eyebrows arched.
“That’s right,” she said, feeling more in control. “I know about Ollie’s loan, and that Reuben created a fake ledger to make it look paid off. And I was standing right here when Lemmy threatened to tell their boss in prison.”
“Ollie didn’t want you to know about his money troubles.”
“It’s pretty obvious when the phone bill doesn’t get paid.”
“Well, I’m glad you know. Reuben really stuck his neck out, doing that, but Ollie can’t find out. He thinks Reuben found some old bank account, and it’s better that way. I love Ollie, but I don’t trust him not to say something to the wrong person without thinking.”
“I won’t tell him,” she said. Hugo’s face softened whenever he talked about her grandfather, and she remembered his story about showing up on the doorstep with everything he owned in a pillowcase, and Ollie inviting him in for a grilled cheese sandwich. “Look … I know Lemmy was a terrible person, and I know you only killed him out of some … some twisted sense of goodness, but Hugo—”
“You know I killed him?” He gave a short laugh, looking hurt. “You can look me in the eye and say that?”
Kate tightened her folded arms, trying to hide the quivering doubt inside her. It would be easier if he weren’t so attractive in that black leather jacket, looking at her with those wounded eyes. “You said it yourself, how no one would use that sword except Ollie. Only, we both know he didn’t. So that leaves you. You knew the sword was real, and you wanted Lemmy dead.”
“Half the world wanted Lemmy dead,” Hugo snapped.
“But half the world didn’t hide the murder weapon.”
“I explained all that!” He folded his arms to match hers, his eyes on fire. “All right—if you have this all figured out—tell me why I brought the murder weapon back after I managed to sneak it away from the police.”
“Because … because you couldn’t risk someone finding it. It’s a one-of-a-kind heirloom, easily traced back to this house.”
“Wrong. I could have driven it to some dark pier and thrown it in the ocean. I brought it back here because the real killer’s fingerprints might be on it, and that’s evidence, and I actually care about that. But for now, I put it in a safe hiding place.”
“Not so safe,” she said tersely.
“It would have been if you hadn’t gone snooping around. I was going to turn it in today, except that detective came to the house and seems to think one of us did it, so I decided to wait until he focuses somewhere else. And another thing—if I’m such a murdering mastermind, why did I kill him with some old-fashioned sword that points the finger at Ollie?”
Kate’s thoughts stilled on that question. If nothing else, she knew Hugo cared about her grandfather.
He continued. “So let’s say I grabbed the sword on impulse, not thinking it through. I would have cleaned it and put it back, so no one knew—not left it all bloody on the kitchen floor, then snuck it out of the house, then brought it back to preserve fingerprints. You must think I’m pretty stupid if that’s my grand plan.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid,” she said automatically.
“Not stupid, just a murderer.”
“Hugo—”
“I’m not done. One more pertinent fact.” His eyes burned into hers. “In case you forgot, I was sitting next to you at auditions when Lemmy was killed. But maybe that cozy little chat of ours wasn’t quite as memorable for you as it was for me. And maybe lying under the stars tonight wasn’t either. Maybe you’re just playing with me, biding your time until you can get away from this house and its—what did you call us?—unsavory boarders.”
Kate swallowed. “I didn’t know any of you when I wrote that.”
“You still don’t know me—that much is obvious!”
Her head felt crowded. She squeezed her arms across her chest, wanting to believe him—wanting it so much, it scared her.
Hugo glared a moment longer, and then his anger seemed to melt. “I don’t blame you for suspecting me. I wondered about Ollie too, for a minute. He was crying, and his sword was covered in blood. But in my gut, I knew he didn’t do it, so I hid the sword to protect him. It wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t always do the smart thing; I tend to do what feels right. So I trusted Ollie. And I hope you’ll trust me, Kate. I hope your heart is telling you I didn’t do this.”
Kate knew better than to listen to her heart. She’d learned that the hard way. But right now, it was beating so loudly, it was hard to hear anything else.
She had to look away from him to think logically, forcing her emotions down.
All facts pointed to Hugo being the killer. He had motive because of Ollie’s loan. Opportunity to sneak away in Bonnie’s car. Means to kill Lemmy with the sword. And he’d hidden the murder weapon.
But her heart did murmur something else, a low hum she wanted to trust. The Hugo she’d come to know in the last few days—who calmed an old man with gentle patience, and wrote poetry, and cried when he saw his sister—wasn’t a killer. Her head saw all the evidence pointing to his guilt, and yet, somehow, she believed in his innocence.
She took a moment to be sure of her decision, then drew a breath and looked back at him. “Forgive me, Hugo. I didn’t know what to think.”
He closed his eyes and released a long, sighing breath—and for the first time, she saw how pale and shaky he was. “I didn’t kill him, Kate.” His eyes lifted to hers, begging her to believe it.
“I know.” And she did.
“I’m sorry you found that sword. And I don’t mean because it made me look bad. I mean because … you shouldn’t have to see something like that.”
She knew he meant because of what she’d been through four years ago, and she didn’t want him thinking of her as that pathetic girl in the newspapers. “I wrapped the sword in a beach towel and hid it in my trunk.”
He laughed. “You’re serious?”
“Only until I could think straight. Same as you, I guess.” She offered a limp smile. “A fine pair we make.”
“I’m starting to think so.” He let those words hang in the air, with a look on his face that stirred something inside her.
Suddenly, she was aware of her blue silk pajamas. She tightened her arms across her chest. “So … I don’t think we throw off the investigation too much if we tell Detective Bassett we found the sword in the backyard. The back door was open when we got home, so I think the killer went out that way.”
“That’s good,” Hugo said. He added in a more cautious tone, “It’ll be in the papers, I guess, that the murder weapon was Captain Powell’s sword. Reporters love that kind of stuff.”
“Yes,” Kate said slowly, seeing his point. The papers would print an old movie photo of Ollie stabbing someone with the same sword, his eyes wide and dramatic. The reporters would talk to the neighbors and find out he hadn’t left the house in years, then slant their articles to make him sound unstable—just as she was trying to convince him to be brave and leave the house.
“Ollie’s fingerprints are on the sword,” Hugo said. “And mine and Aurelio’s. We mess around with it sometimes. And Reuben’s too, I’m guessing.”
Kate was glad she’d been careful with the towel, not leaving her own fingerprints.
Hugo said, “They’ll look at all of us more closely when they know the murder weapon came from this house. They’ll figure out Reuben’s real name and make him testify against Moe Kravitz—which is pretty much a death sentence. And Aurelio spent a night in jail last summer, after some drunk guy at the club punched him because he didn’t like the way his wife was looking at the waiter. So that’ll be in the papers.”
Just as his career was taking off. And Hugo wouldn’t be spared either. Some reporter would take a picture of him on stage, raising a knife with a fiendish sneer.
And Kitty Hildebrand. What would the papers write about her? They’d love that the murder weapon belonged to her grandfather—another killer in the family. They might even throw suspicion her way, hinting that a week in a dark hole would damage anyone’s mental stability.
“It’s your call, Kate. If you want to call that detective right now, we will. I’ll even admit to hiding it, if you think that’s important. But…” Hugo waited for her to look at him. “I think it’s better if we wait a day or two until his suspicions move away from this house. That sword isn’t going to help him find the real killer, only make him waste time on us.”
Kate thought about it and nodded. “I think you’re right. Let’s leave it in my trunk for now. It has a good lock on it, and I’m done unpacking.”
“I’ll put all your luggage in the attic tomorrow. If they search the house again, I don’t think they’ll find it there.”
“Okay.”
Hugo’s lips tilted in a slow smile. “Did we just agree to hide a murder weapon together?”
Somehow, that thought was more exciting than horrifying. “You can’t tell anyone, Hugo. Not even Reuben.”
“I won’t.” He held his hand across the table. “Our secret.”
Kate hesitated, feeling a shiver of uncertainty, then reached out—and the moment Hugo’s hand wrapped around hers, the shiver flared into something new. Their hands looked good together: hers, slim and pale with a garnet ring; his, large and masculine. She felt calluses on his palm, but the skin on the back of his hand looked soft. Her thumb slid over it.
Neither of them pulled away.
Her heart thumped madly, warning of danger.
Hugo was the one to separate them. “Good night, Kate.” He walked toward the door, looked back over his shoulder with a fleeting smile, and then disappeared.
Kate went to her bedroom window and watched as he crossed the patio and entered the pool house. The light came on and the door shut—the same closed door and drawn shade she’d stared at a few hours ago, but her feelings were much different now.
She touched the windowpane and found it cold.