“I don’t get it,” Gideon said as they got into his baby-blue Renault. “Ash’s got his contacts locked up where his magician granddaughter can’t get to them, but surely he knows you’ll see the people coming and going from his house.”
“By then he can have warned them not to indulge me.”
“Hmm…”
“You’re not starting the car.” Tempest shifted impatiently in the seat.
“Because there’s someone else walking up the driveway toward the tree house.”
“We already established that he was holding court.”
Gideon shook his head. He wasn’t looking at Tempest. His gaze was directed toward the tree house. They couldn’t see the structure itself from the car, yet his focus was still intense. That was his way, she’d learned. Total focus. He wasn’t of this century.
“Someone,” he said, “is already leaving. These aren’t casual visits. Ashok is up to something.”
“The woman going up to the house looks familiar.” Tempest was sure she remembered the long blond hair that stretched to the woman’s waist and the distinctive gait of her footsteps. “I know her. But not in this context.”
“You mean she’s not a friend of the family.”
“No.” Tempest thought for a moment before she came upon the memory. “She’s a circus performer. I’ve seen her sideshow act in San Francisco.”
“Why would your grandfather invite a circus performer over?”
“It’s not for entertainment.… I’m going to talk to the musician who’s leaving. You can see what’s going on with the circus performer. They’re probably sitting on the deck, so stay back, but see if it looks like anything odd is happening.”
“Odd?”
“You know. Strange. Sinister. Startling.”
“‘S’ words. Got it.”
Tempest gave Gideon a raised-eyebrow scowl, then jogged after the man she’d recognized as being one of Grannie Mor’s musician friends. She was pretty sure he played the acoustic guitar and that his wife was an artist.
“I didn’t get to say a proper hello,” Tempest said when she caught up with him walking toward the bus stop. “How are you?”
“Lovely of you to ask,” he said in a boisterous voice. “Of course I’m wishing I could reach Sarah.”
“What?”
“Oh? I assumed that’s why you were asking. My wife is on the artist’s retreat with Morag—the now-infamous unreachable retreat. Ash and I were putting our heads together to come up with how to reach them. Until the ferries are back in service, even if we could reach them, they can’t get back to us.”
Tempest wished him well after chatting for another minute, then jogged up the hillside slope in search of Gideon. The musician—whose name she still didn’t remember—had been a dead end.
She found Gideon half-hidden behind an oak tree.
“They’re speaking quietly,” she whispered. “This is too far to hear them.” From this vantage point, they could see a good portion of Ash and his latest visitor.
“As close as we can get without being observed. Did you see that?” Gideon pointed.
“He gave her a box of sweets to take with her.”
“There was a wad of cash poking out of that box of orange sweets.”
Tempest would have seen it if he’d used sleight of hand to do it. But the fact that he’d simply handed her a gift of food was so normal for Ash to do that Tempest hadn’t given it another thought.
“She’s not even five feet tall,” Tempest murmured. “She can slip through the smallest of openings and contort herself to fit inside impossibly tiny spaces.”
“Your grandfather is from a family of traveling magicians, right? You think he’s nostalgic and wants her to perform while he’s stuck at home?”
“No.” Tempest watched. “She’s going to steal something for him.”
“Wait, what?”
“Go back to the car.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Just go back to your car. I’ll meet you there in a minute.”
She followed the circus performer and caught up to her as the woman was unlocking the passenger-side door of ancient Volkswagen Rabbit parked on the street outside Fiddler’s Folly.
“Fleur, right?” Tempest smiled and extended her hand. “I saw your sideshow performance in San Francisco a couple of years ago. Your fire-eating is top notch. I’m Tempest.”
Fleur left the box of treats on the seat and turned to face Tempest with a warm smile. It seemed genuine, but her forehead was creased with worry. “That’s lovely of you to remember.”
“I didn’t know my grandfather had seen your show as well.”
“I know him from busking. Most people don’t put anything in the tip jar, even when they take a photo of me. Your grandfather didn’t take a photo, but dropped a fifty-dollar bill into the jar.”
Tempest’s heart sank. Gideon was right. He was probably only extending his generosity further. It was hard to make a living as a performer.
Fleur paused to smile at the memory before continuing, “Usually the only people who give large tips make a big show of waving a twenty-dollar bill around, so whoever they’re with will see how generous they are. But Ashok was alone. He folded the bill to make it look like a five, but I know the difference. Just as well as I know the type of person who does that. He wanted me to find it later and not know who put it there, just to be happy that I’d made someone smile that day.”
“That definitely sounds like my grandfather. I’m surprised he didn’t slip a home-cooked meal into your tip jar. He probably would have if it wouldn’t have leaked all over the money.”
“He was on his bike on his way to deliver some meals that smelled phenomenal, so he didn’t stay long. But he visited again on his ride home. He’d saved me two cookies.” She frowned. “I’m really sorry he was arrested.”
“I’m glad you came to visit him. I didn’t think his arrest had been reported by the media yet.” Tempest bit her lip, hoping she wasn’t overacting. “I’m so scared to read what they’re saying about him online that I haven’t even looked.” She broke off and stifled a fake sob.
“Don’t worry,” Fleur assured her. “I didn’t come because I saw him in the news. Your grandfather called me.”
“He did?”
Fleur frowned. She realized she’d said too much. Tempest tried not to smile. “I didn’t realize you two were close enough that he’d call you.”
“We weren’t. I mean, we’re not.” Fleur stumbled over the words. “He must’ve wanted to talk to a fellow performer.”
Tempest gave Fleur her best Cheshire-cat smile. “I know about the money. The money he gave you today. It was a lot more than fifty dollars.”
Fleur returned her smug smile with a stage smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “He’s such a generous man.”
“I’d hate for him to do something that would negatively impact his trial. He doesn’t know the American legal system like he does the Indian and Scottish systems.” That wasn’t strictly true. Morag was a huge fan of American police-procedural TV shows and he’d learned more than he cared to know about law enforcement in California when his daughter had vanished.
“I knew from your stage show, The Tempest and the Sea, that you had a wild imagination. It’s good to see your troubles last year haven’t dampened that imagination.”
“Whatever he’s asking you to do,” Tempest said, “just make sure it’s not something that’s going to blow up in his face. I’m not nearly as forgiving as my grandfather.”