“We’re not going inside,” Gideon said the next morning as he and Tempest rang the doorbell at Lavinia’s house.
They were bringing a basket of Ash’s cardamom cookies along with a savory lentil stew and freshly made chapatis. Tempest shivered as they waited on the porch, both from the cool breeze and from her fear that someone was framing her grandfather.
She’d called Detective Rinehart and told him what she’d remembered about the lights that had flickered on during the séance, suggesting he check out the remote control. From his non-reaction, she couldn’t tell if he already had that piece of information or whether he wasn’t showing his hand. It was doubtful it would tell them anything regardless, since anyone in that room could have innocently handled the remote. Tempest missed Detective Blackburn more than she thought possible. Blackburn had been the one who worked the case of Tempest’s missing mom. The vanishing, he’d called it. He hadn’t told her everything, but he at least reacted like a human and told her what he could.
Even when others gave up quickly and said Emma Raj had a mental break and was either dead or had run off, Blackburn kept working all the angles. He’d shut down the Whispering Creek Theater for such a long time that the chief of police had to step in to release the crime scene. He hadn’t known Emma’s disappearance was related to proving her sister was murdered. Tempest hadn’t known it at the time, either. Blackburn hadn’t been perfect, but he cared. What would they have been able to find out if they’d known what was really going on?
“You okay?” Gideon asked.
No, not really. Her grandfather was probably going to prison. Her mom was probably dead. Her own life was only slightly more put together than a hot mess.
“Just chilly,” she said instead. It was true as well. Just not the whole story.
“I’m surprised Ash wanted to give a sympathy basket to Lavinia,” Gideon said softly, “since she’s one of the prime suspects.”
Tempest avoided his gaze.
Gideon groaned. “Ash didn’t put this basket together, did he? This was your idea to question the suspects. This is a terrible—”
“I’m not stupid enough to go alone. I have you.” She gave him the most charming smile she could muster and rang the doorbell again.
Lavinia Kingsley’s home was far up the Hidden Creek hillside from Tempest’s family’s house, with a view of the San Francisco Bay, the Bay Bridge, and the Golden Gate Bridge—as long as it wasn’t foggy. Today, it was foggy. And cold enough for Tempest to see her own breath.
Hidden Creek’s hillside was filled with idiosyncrasies, courtesy of an earthquake early in the previous century, which had sent much of a natural creek underground. It could be a jarring experience, if you weren’t used to it, to be out to dinner at a restaurant or on a morning stroll and hear the lapping water of the creek when there was no running water visible, regardless of where you looked. The creek showed itself here and there, nestled into the hills near especially lush vegetation.
It was Kumiko who answered the door.
“Some food from my grandfather.” Tempest held up the basket. “I’m sure you’ve heard about his arrest, but he didn’t—”
“Of course he didn’t harm Corbin,” Kumiko snapped. “We all know that. He had the audacity to try to help that undeserving man. Ashok’s heart is too big.” She looked curiously at the basket. “What did he send?”
“Various breads, a stew, and cardamom cookies.”
“Ash sent me his cardamom cookies?” Her face lit up. She opened the box of cookies on top, took one out, and took a bite, clearly not worried about poison like she had been when she thought her son-in-law had broken into her daughter’s home. “He remembered I love them.”
“For both you and Lavinia.”
Kumiko’s face fell. “She’s still sleeping. Or trying to. It’s been a terrible ordeal.”
“We don’t want to disturb her,” Gideon said. “We’re just dropping off food and extending our condolences. C’mon, Tempest.”
They walked back toward Gideon’s car. Kumiko closed the door behind them.
“Don’t even think about it,” Gideon said as they approached the car.
“What?”
“You’re looking at the basement door.”
“It’s called ‘Lavinia’s Lair.’ Not a basement.” Tempest failed at pulling her eyes away from the crime-scene tape.
“It’s also an active crime scene.”
“I haven’t done anything.” She still wasn’t looking at Gideon.
“Now you’re gravitating toward that basement door.”
“Am I?” She took a couple more steps toward the door. Bright yellow tape crisscrossed the frame, blocking the entrance. They’d know if she went inside. The door was probably locked anyway. “And it’s a lair, remember?”
“Let me take you to get a new tire. Then I need to get to work.”
Tempest sighed and spun on the heel of her ruby-red sneaker to face Gideon, who was leaning against the rounded hood of the car with his arms crossed. “Kumiko doesn’t think my grandfather killed Corbin.”
“She could have been acting polite. She could also still be watching us.” He nodded toward the main house.
“Kumiko isn’t polite,” Tempest answered once they were safely inside the car. “And she took a bite of that cookie. She knew it was safe.”
“You think she killed her son-in-law?” The idea flustered him enough he dropped the keys at his feet.
Was that a flutter of curtains coming from the house? “Or she knows who did.”