Ashok Raj was released on bail late that afternoon. Sooner than Tempest had expected, and she was grateful for small mercies. Her dad’s information that Ash had been arrested was correct, but a judge had let him go on an exorbitantly high bail, financed by Fiddler’s Folly as collateral—plus an ankle monitor. Her grandfather also had to relinquish his passport.
“It’s a trick,” Tempest said, pacing back and forth across the tree house deck. “As soon as we figure out how the trick was done, you’ll be cleared.”
“Tempest,” her grandfather began.
“Ellery and Sylvie never let go of your hands, right? That proves you didn’t do it.”
“None of the participants let go of each other’s hands. The detectives confirmed it with everyone.”
“Which is why it’s a trick.”
“And why Detective Rinehart and the district attorney believe I’m the only one who could have done it. I got his blood on my hands when I attended to him, which they believe I did to cover up for the fact that I’d touched him when I killed him. His body was warm. He hadn’t been dead long at all. One of us in that room killed him.”
“But they don’t even have a murder weapon. The knife was fake—”
“They found a blade inside him,” Ash said softly. “The murder weapon was never missing like they thought at first. It was there the whole time. And I have a motive.”
Tempest felt herself in danger of squeezing her fingernails so tightly into her palm she’d draw blood. Her tension eased infinitesimally when she opened the kitchen’s junk drawer and saw what she’d hoped to find. She picked up the pack of Bicycle playing cards.
“That’s why they might suspect you.” Tempest began shuffling the deck of cards. “But arrest you? Lavinia has an even bigger motive—and it’s her house. You would still be in jail if you didn’t know Judge Washburn.”
“But I do know her, so I’m home.” Ash chuckled and adjusted his Panama hat. “She has such a charming son. I don’t know why his primary care doctor hadn’t been able to properly diagnose his illness, thinking it was allergies. It was as clear as day on the Ohlone Greenway.”
Tempest remembered the story. Ash had been riding his bike from Hidden Creek to Berkeley to bring Darius and the rest of the crew a hot lunch packed in tiffins, and stopped to help a woman whose son was having trouble catching his breath. “Thank you,” the judge had said. “He just has bad allergies.” Ashok had not been convinced, and asked her to have his doctor check for Lyme disease. He wrote down his suspicion and his contact information. The judge called Ash a few days later to tell him he was right and to thank him.
Tempest would have felt marginally better if Judge Washburn had been the trial judge assigned to the case. But the ethical judge would probably have recused herself if that had been the case. She was only the judge drawn for the preliminary hearing to determine what would happen to Ash as he awaited trial.
That story wasn’t unique. Grandpa Ash had saved so many lives. Including hers. That’s what he did. When Tempest was an angry sixteen-year-old, raging at the world for its wicked capriciousness after Aunt Elspeth’s death from what they thought was a tragic accident, Ash was grieving but still managed to be her rock. She couldn’t imagine having survived that dark time without him.
“Don’t look so forlorn.” He kissed her forehead. “All will be resolved.”
“How can you say that?”
“My biggest complaint,” he said, ignoring her question, “is that they didn’t make the coverage of this beeping monstrosity extend beyond half of the yard!” He lifted the leg of his trousers and wriggled his ankle. “It doesn’t even reach your house. I can’t come over to cook for you.”
“When do you ever come over to cook for us in Papa’s kitchen?”
“That’s not the point.” Ash frowned and stepped back into his own kitchen. “I can’t go to the market, either. And your grandmother isn’t here to go for me.”
“I can go. Not a problem. Make me a list.”
Ash sighed. “I never taught you how to properly pick out fruit. You were a teenager by the time you lived with us in our Edinburgh flat. You had no interest in cooking with me.”
Tempest grimaced. “I’m lucky you never gave up on me despite how dreadful I was in every possible way.”
He pressed his nose to hers. “I would never give up on you, Tempest.”
“Let’s see if you still say that after I bring back a bag of mushy potatoes and unripe mangoes.” Tempest could shuffle a deck of cards with one hand, like she was currently doing, but she couldn’t cook an edible baked potato.
“Local California mangoes aren’t in season. No mangoes on my list.” He scribbled a few items on a piece of gridded scratch paper and handed it to her.
“You’ll be okay while I’m gone?” she asked.
“I’ll make some phone calls. I made sure my phone is set so any calls from Morag will come through even if I’m on the phone.”
Cell phones had become popular in Europe before the U.S., so Grandpa Ash had been an early adopter. Since Tempest had deleted all her social media accounts after the sabotage that had wrecked her career and after learning that most of her old “friends” had abandoned her during the scandal, she rarely used her cell phone these days. Her eighty-year-old grandfather was probably far ahead of her with the latest apps.
“Give her my love when you two are able to talk.”
“Tempest.” Ash tried to catch her eye. “You’re only going to the market, right?”
“I have a couple of my own errands to run—”
“Tempest. No investigating.”
“Did I say I was investigating?”
“You think I don’t know that look in your eye? I doubt Lavinia is a danger to anyone else, but I don’t want you to provoke her.”
The cards slipped from Tempest’s fingers. “You think Lavinia is the killer?”
Ash sighed. “I suspect so. I also suspect she’ll come forward if I’m not cleared. She’s a good person. Corbin was not. His body was still warm, you know. I can’t say as precisely as the medical examiner, but he hadn’t been dead long. Which makes sense. Lavinia had a good reason to kill him with all of us there at the party.”
“Why?”
“So nobody could be charged. But then I bungled her plan when I examined the body.”
Tempest was processing this theory when a knock sounded from the front door below.
“Time for you to go!” Ash said. “I need proper snacks for my guests. You understand everything on the list?”
“Your guests?”
“I can’t go to the world, so I’m bringing the world to me.”
On her way out the door, Tempest passed Ash’s guest, a man she’d met before, who she was fairly certain was one of her grandmother’s musician friends. She said a brief hello before leaving them to chat and heading to her jeep.
Which had a flat tire. She glanced around uneasily. She didn’t sense the presence of anyone lurking about.
The car was parked in the driveway. On closer inspection, nothing nefarious had been done to it. She found the culprit: a long nail sticking out of the tire. As careful as they were about cleaning up the Secret Staircase Construction workshop, sometimes errant screws and nails lost their way.
She groaned when she realized she’d already used her spare tire. She hadn’t replaced it.
“Can I help?”
She glanced over her shoulder and saw Gideon Torres walking her way from the workshop. She didn’t need help changing a tire. She was better at it than most guys she knew. “You don’t happen to have a spare tire, do you?”
“Not one that’ll fit your jeep. But I’m done helping your dad get the workshop set up, so I can take you somewhere if you need a lift.”
The sound of laughter floated down from the tree house.
“Is your grandfather having a party?”
“He said if he can’t go to the world, he’s bringing the world to him.”
“He’s holding court?”
That got a smile from Tempest. He was right. That’s exactly what her grandfather was doing.
“Your dad filled me in about his arrest,” Gideon continued. “I’m really sorry.”
No false platitudes from Gideon. His words were genuine. He was perhaps the most genuine person Tempest knew. When Gideon Torres spoke to you, he gave you his undivided attention. Tempest doubted he fully understood the very concept of multitasking. It was both charming and frustrating. He didn’t even own a cell phone. He claimed he didn’t need one, without considering that other people in his life needed him to have one to reach him.
They’d gone on a grand total of one proper date, after the murder business had been cleared up. It had been a good one, but they’d both been so busy with multiple jobs and travels that it had proven impossible to find time for a follow-up—especially when one of them didn’t have a cell phone and often lost track of time when carving a piece of stone. And now months had gone by. She was grateful that, surprisingly, there was no weirdness working together. Though he was a year younger than her, he had always struck her as being mature for his years.
“I hope my grandfather invites over that private investigator he knows,” said Tempest as another roar of laughter sounded from the tree house deck.
“You think he needs one?”
“Maybe. In that huge Rolodex of contacts of his, he’s got just about every occupation one could imagine.”
“You could look at the Rolodex to find the PI.”
“He’s got it under lock and key. He knows I’ll try to clear him if I have the chance. He doesn’t want me investigating.”
“But you’re not listening to him.”
“Of course not.” Tempest studied Gideon’s face. “You in to help?”