Darius wasn’t answering his phone. He didn’t immediately return Tempest’s text, either. She looked at their shared work calendar and saw where he’d be today. He was only a few miles away. She could easily go to him. She hurried through the grandfather clock with the book and grabbed her car keys.
“I’ll take the book,” a voice said as she reached the driveway. Detective Rinehart. He was waiting near her jeep, next to Gideon. Why was Gideon there with the police? He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking helpless.
“Book?” Tempest’s heart thudded in her ears.
“The police in Forestville received a call reporting a theft,” Rinehart said. His dark eyes bore into her. Judging her. He knew. “A window the homeowner was sure she’d locked was open, and a trunk with her recently deceased boyfriend’s important keepsakes had been moved. A boyfriend who happens to be Corbin Colt. And a homeowner who happens to be someone we’ve already interviewed extensively regarding his mysterious death.”
Tempest didn’t speak. She could barely breathe. They’d been so careful, all for two tiny details to have tipped off the audience. On stage, she’d never have been so sloppy. But she’d never have performed with only one day’s practice compared to a hundred.
“Miss Bello was already suspicious because she couldn’t find any information online searching the name of a supposed girlfriend of Corbin’s who’d visited her home,” Rinehart continued. “She looked to see if anything was missing from the trunk, and it was.”
“A trunk?” Tempest spun around and dropped the book from her hand into her bag. She wasn’t defeated yet.
“Don’t walk away from me,” Rinehart said.
“I’m not walking away.” She turned back around. “You said there was a missing trunk. We’ve got a lot of steamer trunks in our house. I was leading you inside to look at them.”
“A book. I’m looking for a book. It was stolen out of a trunk. I want the book.”
“I don’t know what—”
“Don’t make it worse for yourself. You were holding a book a second ago. You’ve got the Agatha Christie book in that bulky bag of yours. I expect Torres here knows what’s going on. When I got here, he was banging on your front door.”
Gideon had been trying to warn her. She’d been so obsessed with reading Corbin Colt’s character assassination that she’d done this to herself.
She hesitated before reaching into her bag. Rinehart had said the Agatha Christie book. Not the manuscript. Was it possible he didn’t know the hardback book was a secret hiding spot?
“I can come back with a warrant if I need to,” he added, though the words weren’t harsh. They were almost regretful. Detective Rinehart was keeping up appearances, dressed in a serious and well-pressed suit similar to the one he’d been wearing that fateful night of Corbin Colt’s murder, but the self-assuredness she’d seen in his raven-like eyes the other night was gone. The case was getting to him.
“That won’t be necessary. I’ve got it somewhere in here.” Tempest fumbled in her bag for several seconds. “Sorry … I’ve got so much in here.…” She popped a piece of gum in her mouth—one of the many things in her bag—then handed Rinehart the book with the manuscript inside.
He slipped it into a plastic evidence bag. “Why go to all the effort for an old book?”
Anything but the truth about what it says about Papa. “It’s worth a lot of money now that he’s dead. There’s a bookplate with his signature inside the cover.”
Rinehart shook his head. “From what I’ve heard about you, I didn’t take you for a person who’d steal something valuable to make a quick buck.”
“It was my idea,” Gideon cut in. “All of it. It’s tough to make it as a stone-carving artist. I didn’t think anyone would miss it, but it would really help me.”
It was a good lie. Gideon was skin and bones these days. Obsession and lack of sleep got him there, not lack of funds for food, but he looked the part of a starving artist.
Rinehart shifted his gaze from Tempest to Gideon. “I could arrest you for that admission.”
Tempest opened her mouth, but Gideon was quicker. “Maybe that’ll drum up interest for my creative work. All publicity is good publicity.” He held out his wrists.
The detective sighed, but didn’t make a move. “Miss Bello doesn’t wish to press charges. She only wants to retrieve a book she knows Corbin Colt cared about, since he’d mentioned it to her.”
“Why’d you put the book in an evidence bag?” Tempest asked. “Aren’t you just going to return it to Hazel?”
“Until the murder is solved, it’s evidence.”
“You’ve already arrested my grandfather,” Tempest snapped.
Rinehart’s frustrated expression shifted. Sadness? Regret? “My hands were tied. The district attorney felt there was enough evidence.…”
“Does that mean you’re still looking at other suspects?”
“As far as I’m concerned, we don’t yet know what really happened. There are too many things that don’t add up.”
“So you’re—”
“You did the right thing handing over the book. Don’t make this worse. I’ll be in touch.”
Once the detective had gone, Tempest studied Gideon’s face. “Why’d you say it was your idea?”
He shrugged. “You’re the one whose life it would ruin. You’ve already been dragged through the press and social media. You have your farewell show coming up before you get to start your life here for real. I don’t even own a cell phone. Is someone not going to buy one of my sculptures because I have a criminal record?” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter much to my life. But it matters to yours.”
“He could have arrested you.”
“Don’t get me wrong—I’m glad he didn’t. I don’t think my heart has ever beat quite that quickly. But you’re the one who’d be ruined if you were arrested.” Gideon was watching her closely. “Hang on … You were chewing gum a minute ago.…”
“Is that a crime?”
“That’s why you were looking so flustered when you went through your bag. You weren’t flustered. You were creating misdirection.”
“Plan B.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I never should have put the manuscript pages back inside the book, but I wasn’t expecting to be found out. I tried to dump the pages out into my bag before handing over the book, but they were wedged too tightly inside. I couldn’t get them out using sleight of hand. My only hope was if the detective didn’t realize there was something hidden inside the book. It sounded like he doesn’t know that. Yet.”
“You used gum to keep the book shut.”
“I don’t know if it’ll work, but I had to try.”
“Why? They already know your grandfather had a reason to be angry at Corbin. How can the manuscript make it even worse?”
“Because Corbin Colt spells out exactly how he believes my father killed my mother.”
“So if they open that book and read that manuscript—”
“Even if they free my grandfather, based on what’s in that manuscript they’ll turn their attention to my dad. I need to figure out the truth about who killed Corbin Colt before the police figure out exactly what they have.”