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“You’re thinking it,” Ree corrects. “I’m writing it down. There’s a difference.”

Felicity laughs, and it sounds genuine despite the circumstances. “Belladonna would have appreciated your honesty, actually. She hated when people were fake-nice. She’d rather you insult her to her face than smile and gossip behind her back.”

“So she was blackmailing Gertie, too?” I press.

“I think so. Nothing overt, but Gertie always looked terrified whenever Belladonna was around. And Belladonna would make these little comments about ‘creative accounting’ and ‘cooking the books in more ways than one.’ It was subtle, but the message was clear. I know what you did, and I could ruin you if I wanted to.”

I’m already rearranging my mental suspect list, which at this point looks like a corkboard that’s running low on yarn.

Eulla Bell with a plagiarism secret. Gertie with embezzlement in her past. Both of them with powerful motives to want Belladonna silenced permanently. At this rate, the only person at this convention without a motive is Henrietta, and I’m not entirely ruling her out. And neither should anyone else.

“What about you?” Georgie asks. “Did Belladonna have anything on you?”

Felicity’s expression turns rueful. “She knew my daughter had some trouble a few years back. Nothing criminal, just typical teenage mistakes that followed her longer than they should have. Belladonna threatened to write about it in one of her books. Fictionalized just enough to avoid a lawsuit, but recognizable enough that anyone who knew us would figure it out.” She shrugs. “It was hurtful, but truthfully? My daughter’s moved past it. She’s doing wonderfully now. Belladonna could have published whatever she wanted. It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“That must have been stressful though,” Ree says. “I have children. And even though they’re grown, I wouldn’t have liked it.”

“It was stressful. But you know what I’ve learned after writing twenty-three books about murder?” Felicity smiles. “The things we think will destroy us rarely do. Life has a way of moving forward whether we’re ready or not.”

That’s either a lovely sentiment or a veiled threat, and I’ve been at this convention too long to tell the difference.

She glances at her watch and stands, gathering her props. The magnifying glass case gets tucked under her arm first. A woman after my own sleuthing heart.

“I hate to cut this short,” she says, “but I have a signing at the bookshop in Storybook Hollow in twenty minutes, and I need to grab a coffee first or I’ll fall asleep halfway through.”

Coffee means the café, and the café means snacks! Chip perks up on my lap. Ask her to bring back a muffin. For the investigation.

“Of course,” I say, standing as well and pretending my lap detective didn’t just attempt to extort a baked good. “Thank you for talking with us.”

“Anytime,” Felicity says, and she sounds like she means it. “I hope you find out what happened to Belladonna. She may have been difficult, but she didn’t deserve it.”

She gives us a little wave and heads off toward the Clockwork Café, her Victorian costume blending into the steampunk scenery as if she were one of the roving characters.

The three of us fall silent. Even Henrietta seems to be processing the conversation.

“Well,” Georgie finally says. “She seems genuinely sweet.”

“Too sweet?” I ask.

“No, actually. I’ve met too sweet. Too sweet has an agenda and a bundt cake. That woman’s just nice and murders on paper for money.” Georgie considers this. “Though that daughter thing could be a bigger deal than she’s letting on.”

“Maybe,” I say. “But I think we need to have a conversation with Gertie Gloomwood. Embezzlement and blackmail sounds like a pretty solid motive.”

“Henrietta concurs,” Georgie announces, tapping the doll on the head. “She didn’t blink at Felicity once. You know when she blinked? The second you said Gertie Gloomwood. That’s not a coincidence, toots. That’s a verdict.”

I decide not to mention that Henrietta also blinked mid-introduction, back when Felicity was the only author in range. Every legal team buries a little inconvenient evidence. I hear it’s tradition.

“Objection. The witness is a glorified keychain,” Ree says.

“You’ll thank her when she’s right.” Georgie winks at the doll to prove her point.

For the record, Fish sniffs from Ree’s lap, I cleared the suspect a full ten minutes before the doll did. But sure, give the plastic head all the credit.

Ree closes her notebook with a thoughtful expression, and I catch a glimpse of the page before it shuts. Beneath a truly impressive amount of underlining sits the word GERTIE, circled twice, next to a small doodle of Henrietta with rays of light shooting out of her head like a patron saint of amateur sleuthing. Wonderful. The doll has a disciple. This is how cults start.

“Felicity really does seem innocent. I hope she is,” Ree says.

“Me too,” I admit. “She’s the only suspect so far whose worst secret is a teenager.”