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Sanjay and Gideon didn’t want her to go alone, but they knew they were short on time, so when she promised not to go into the house, they grudgingly agreed.

They had to stay on schedule, because Milton and Kira confirmed they were on board. They’d never gotten their full rehearsal, and if the crime scene was released in time and Blackburn either solved the murder or gave in to pressure from the city council, they’d be performing the play tomorrow night—unless one of them was the killer.

Enid was the only one to outright decline the invitation, because she was busy with an event at her own library. Tempest was inclined to believe Enid wasn’t guilty. Not only because she knew her, but because Enid had been truly frightened that it might have been Harold’s ghost. Although, Tempest had to admit, perhaps Enid’s fear stemmed from guilt that Harold’s ghost had seen what she’d done. Until they knew what had happened, everyone was a suspect.

So Tempest headed to see Mrs. Hudson, the last person they needed present.

“A peace offering.” She held up the platter of cardamom shortbread cookies as the door opened.

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips but didn’t slam the door in her face. Tempest caught a glimpse of binoculars on a side table next to the front windows.

“You know my grandfather, Ashok Raj,” said Tempest. “He’s been baking up a storm the last couple of days, staying busy with the stress of everything that’s happening. He wanted you to have these.”

Mrs. Hudson narrowed her eyes but still didn’t shut the door.

Tempest sighed. “Fine. He really does want you to have the cookies—which are phenomenal, by the way—but I’m the one delivering them because I wanted to invite you to our dress rehearsal tonight. Not at Gray House, of course. But we’re doing a full run-through at my house. We’d like you to be in the audience.”

Mrs. Hudson’s face lit up with a smile.

That wasn’t the outcome Tempest was expecting. She thought she’d have to try much harder to convince her.

“You’re gathering all the suspects together?” Mrs. Hudson chuckled. “It’s rather precious how naive you are, thinking that’ll work. However misguided you are in that regard, I know you’re not foolish enough to come inside if I invited you in right now— Oh, don’t look so surprised! I know I’m one of your suspects. How could I not be? Come on. I’ll join you on the porch.”

Mrs. Hudson grabbed her binoculars before stepping outside. She popped one of Grandpa Ash’s cookies in her mouth, shut the front door behind her, then walked around Tempest and sat down on the porch swing. She gave a contented sigh as she finished chewing the cookie.

“You’re welcome to join me here on the swing where we can see the house,” she said, “but you might be more comfortable on the corner bench so you’re not worried that I’ll secretly stab you with a knitting needle—not that I have one.”

Tempest looked from Mrs. Hudson to her house behind her. She hadn’t been talking about seeing her own house. Mrs. Hudson was watching Gray House.

Tempest set the platter of cookies on the bench but remained standing. “You’re still watching the house across the street?”

“Of course. Whatever is happening there isn’t over yet.”

“You really believe it’s Harold Gray’s ghost?”

Mrs. Hudson laughed once more. This time, it was wholehearted laughter that shook her entire body. “Oh, dear. That’s what you thought when we were trapped in that horrible room?”

“ I didn’t think it was his ghost,” said Tempest. “It was you who said—”

“I said no such thing. What I said was that it was Harold .”

As Tempest stared across the street at the crime scene tape blocking the entrance to Gray House, the full force of Mrs. Hudson’s words hit her. The house filled with mysteries Harold Gray had read since he was a boy. The vision for a library that would begin with a murder mystery play and a game. All conceived of by a man who loved mysteries and games…

The answer was right in front of them. And it did come from one of the six books Ivy had selected. The solution that explained everything.

Tempest groaned. “You don’t believe it’s Harold’s ghost .”

“Of course not.” Mrs. Hudson picked up another cookie. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“There’s a reason you’ve been watching the house this whole time. You’ve been watching to prove that Harold Gray is alive.”

“What else would I have been doing?” Mrs. Hudson popped the cookie into her mouth, a look of satisfaction on her face.

“You mean,” said Tempest, feeling as if her brain was about to explode, “Harold Gray faked his death.”