vi.

“The book was right there.” I rushed forward, but stopped myself before I got too close. I was still in bare feet. “I’m not imagining it.”

“But where could it have—” Kenny began.

“The fire,” Tamarind shrieked, lunging toward the hearth.

I grabbed a hefty iron poker and pulled the burning book from the fire. Rosalyn ran for a fire extinguisher, but it was too late. The remains of the book crumbled into ash. The pages were gone. All that remained was the shell of the green spine.

“Looks like the ghost doesn’t want its secret to be discovered,” Tamarind said.

“You did this,” Kenny shouted at her.

“None of us did this,” she countered. “None of us had a chance. Only an invisible ghost could have moved it.” Tamarind’s eyes darted around the room, which looked alive with the flickering light of the fire. “There must really be an avenging library ghost. Because we’re all right here. Together.”

“Sort of,” I said. “We were all in the library, but we were distracted. We were all turned away from Simon and the fire as Rosalyn spoke. Any of us could have picked up the book.”

Kenny crossed his arms but spoke without raising his voice. “Seems awfully risky.”

“I agree,” I said. “There must have been a good reason. We need to find out what that was. I need my shoes. Which means you’re all coming with me.”

As we crept up the stairs, I considered the faint sound of our footfalls. Could there be someone hiding in this house? I paused and gripped the railing as I thought back to the curtain I’d seen fluttering in my room.

“You’re freaking me out, Jaya,” Tamarind said softly. “It’s like you’re in a trance or something.”

“Just thinking…”

We reached my room, and I found my heels at the foot of the bed. Instead of leaving, I turned my flashlight toward the window. I saw what I expected I might find. I climbed onto the wide sill and looked up.

“Don’t jump!” Tamarind cried. “The ghost has gotten to your head, Jaya. Someone stop her.”

Kenny reached me first. He pulled me over his shoulder.

I squirmed, but he was strong. “I’ll kick you if you don’t put me down.”

He set me down harder than was necessary, muttering, “That’s what I get for trying to help.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” I said. I pointed toward the ceiling. “Wires. That’s our ghost.”

“You think Rosalyn made a manifestation to frighten Simon to death, and then used wires to swing the book into the fire?” Kenny shone his own flashlight over the wires. “It’s true Simon wasn’t as brave as he looked, but I don’t know...”

“Hold on,” Rosalyn said. “I admit there are hidden wires. Those wires are how I keep up the act of a haunted hotel. Look at how obvious they are. They’re not to kill anyone, or elaborate enough to pick up random objects. They’re just to make the curtains flutter. That sort of thing. It’s fun, like a haunted house. People love being scared. This doesn’t have anything to do with what happened to Simon Quinn.”

“It’s freezing in here,” Dot said. “Shall we resume in the library?”

We trekked silently down the stairs. When we reached the library, none of us seemed certain what to do. Dot resumed her knitting by the fire, and Ivy joined her on the couch. Kenny sat at the séance table and lifted his injured foot onto a second chair. Rosalyn checked the light switches again. Tamarind ran her hands over the spines of the hardback books near the door.

“That’s it,” I said. I knew what had been off about the library. All of the books were treated so haphazardly, even ones that looked expensive. But not Murder on the Orient Express. I could understand wanting to protect the famous Agatha Christie novel from theft, but the removable locked glass case didn’t achieve that. The book was already damaged, and its value lay in its history rather than condition. What history was the book hiding?

“The poison,” I said. “I know how Simon was poisoned.”

“Ixnay on the oisonpay,” Tamarind whispered.

“He wasn’t poisoned in his coffee,” I said. “Simon Quinn was poisoned by the Agatha Christie book.”