Tempest left the theater an hour later, satisfied that it had potential to work as a performance space. No creaks sounded on the stage even when she landed hard after a running flip and a backbend kickover. Part of her wished she could exorcise the memories that filled her with trepidation. But they also gave her strength.
When she stepped out of the theater back into the parking lot, the sun was high in the sky and momentarily blinded her. She wasn’t entirely certain she saw it—but she heard it. Another car was peeling out of the parking lot at high speed. Maybe it was just her imagination. The theater wasn’t on a dead-end road. It was simply on a road not frequently used that led to the steepest part of the hillside with barely any development. Still, she hurried into her car and locked the doors.
When she reached Fiddler’s Folly a few minutes later, a small woman with long blond hair divided into two braids was leaning against one of the ancient oak trees on the street in front of the house, looking like a pixie who’d stepped out of the knot of the tree. The circus performer, Fleur.
Tempest parked on the side of the street instead of continuing up the driveway.
“I didn’t have your number.” Fleur stepped away from the tree and shook loose a piece of bark from her hair, giving her an even more elfin presence. “I have no idea what your schedule is, so I almost gave up.”
“You decided to tell me what he asked you to do?”
Fleur twisted one of the braids in her hand, then watched it unravel as she let go. “I can’t do what he asked. I need to tell you, in case you can help instead.”
Tempest waited, not wanting to push. Two birds flapped their wings overhead and took flight from the tree above.
“If Ash killed that man,” Fleur continued after a full eight seconds, “I have no doubt he deserved it.”
“He didn’t—”
“If you want to help him, I’ll tell you what he wanted me to do.”
Tempest wanted to convince her there was no way her grandfather was a killer. But any argument she made would have been counterproductive. “Please,” she said instead. “Tell me what he wanted you to do.”
Fleur twisted her hair around her finger once more. “He hired me to retrieve a book.”
“A book?”
“And Then There Were None.”
“An Agatha Christie novel? Why did he want an old mystery novel?”
“I don’t know. Not exactly. He made me promise that no matter what happened, I wouldn’t look inside the book he asked me to find for him.”
Tempest shivered. What did her grandfather not want Fleur to see? This was getting more and more strange. She needed to bring the conversation back to the one thing she knew—or at least strongly suspected. “He asked you to get it because you can contort your body and get through small spaces?”
She gave a single nod. “I asked if it was a rare first edition or something. He assured me the item was nothing of value. Except to him.”
“Where were you supposed to get the book from?”
“A private house.”
“Breaking and entering?”
Fleur shook her head firmly. “No. He specifically asked me to look for open windows. People never think to close windows that they don’t expect a human body to be able to fit through.” She grabbed hold of her heel and extended her leg until it was over her head. “No breaking in. Just entering through unconventional means.”
“You’d do that for him? How much did he pay you?”
Fleur dropped out of her contortionist pose. “Not as much as he offered to give me. But hell yes. He’s a good man. I know he didn’t kill that man. I wish I could have helped, but I need to give the money back.”
“Because you couldn’t follow through.”
“I don’t do security systems. Especially high-end security like that house.”
“Where exactly are we talking about?”
“The house owned by the woman known on the internet for her Happy Hour with Hazel show.”
Tempest stared at her. “That’s Corbin Colt’s new girlfriend.” The woman involved with one of the impossibilities surrounding Corbin’s baffling death.
“I know. Ash didn’t lie to me. He told me exactly what I’d be getting into.”
Tempest swore. Why did her grandfather need an old book of Corbin’s? “You said he asked you not to look inside. And that you didn’t ‘exactly’ know what was in the book. What did you think he meant?”
“He said the book was important for this case against him.”
Tempest’s mind bounced from possibility to possibility. How could a book exonerate Grandpa Ash? “He didn’t say how it would help his case?”
“I got the feeling something was written inside the book. That’s why he’d say he didn’t want me to open it, right?”
“He’s been talking to the police with his attorney. He should have—”
“I told him exactly that. If this book would prove his innocence, he should tell the police and they could seize the book as evidence.” Fleur twisted a curl of hair around her fingers so tightly her fingertips turned white. “Ash said they wouldn’t understand what’s inside. He made me promise not to go to them. Or to look. He stressed that at least three times.”
This couldn’t be good.
“I agreed,” Fleur continued, “but I had no intention of keeping the second part of my promise. I understand not trusting the police, but if I was going to take so big a risk, I was going to see what was inside. That would be my reward. Helping your grandfather—and knowing.”
Tempest looked at this unexpected woman. “You don’t care about the money.”
“Of course not.” Fleur spoke the words as if they were distasteful. “If I did, I could have chosen a much easier profession. I also don’t care if your grandfather is guilty. Ashok is a good man. If he killed that writer, I have no doubt that man deserved it.”
“He didn’t. Whatever is written inside that book is important to proving his innocence, like he told you.”
“But I won’t ever know. Hazel’s house has a full-on security setup. If you ask me, she thinks she’s a bigger deal than she is, thinking she needs so much security to keep away fans.”
Tempest thought back on what she and Ivy had discussed about Hazel interacting with her fans. Could it have been a trick? Was her video filmed ahead of time?
“You okay, Tempest?” Fleur asked.
“I just wish I knew what was going on.”
“I wish I could help. Take care, Tempest.” Fleur turned, but instead of walking down the street to her car, she began walking toward the house.
“Don’t return the money,” Tempest said.
Fleur turned back.
“He’d want you to have it,” Tempest added. “I know he would.”
Fleur nodded slowly. “Maybe. But of more import to you, if I go talk to him, he’ll know he needs to figure out another plan. It looks like he’s not the only stubborn one in the family. Just remember, whoever retrieves that book for your grandfather, they’ll have to contend with top-notch security. Ash is treating this like a game. It’s not.”
Whatever was going on, it was certainly a game to someone. How had Hazel worked the trick with her livestream? Was Corbin’s new girlfriend involved in Corbin’s death? Tempest couldn’t ignore Hazel’s part in someone’s game any longer.