Marcus had bought the original magnifying glass, and it had been replaced with a replica, which someone had then stolen believing it to be the real thing.

That was the more legitimate side of Marcus’s business. Buying items of significant value to fans from the owners, then selling them on to collectors. He had all the connections he needed through the conventions he organised, and the memorabilia sales probably earned him more than any of the events did.

Sometimes the items were sold, openly and freely. Sometimes they were secretive, like with the magnifying glass. But what Marcus didn’t advertise was that sometimes, when the owner didn’t want to sell, or where the object was hidden away, undervalued by the current owner, he’d arrange for someone to steal it.

That didn’t seem to be the case here, though. Next to the sale entry was the name ‘Davenport’. Which meant that someone in the family must have sold it, then replaced it with the fake. And now they were claiming it had been stolen … An insurance fraud, perhaps? Aldermere was starting to look a little worn around the edges. But then why hide it in Posy’s room, of all places?

Something else she needed to figure out, if she wanted to solve the mystery before the police even realised there was one.

The only problem was, she wasn’t solving this mystery alone. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed Rosalind and Posy. They were better as a team. Rosalind knew the family, and they were going to need that insight. Posy knew the film lot, and this murder had been following their script. But more than that, they saw more together – more connections, more clues – than they found apart.

She might be Head Dahlia right now, but she needed her sidekicks.

Which meant telling them the truth. And hearing theirs.

This whole thing had started with the blackmail photos they’d each been sent – the one clue none of them had been willing to fully share. But now it was time.

If she ever wanted to move on from her sins, she had to confess them first. Dahlia had been Catholic; she’d known all about confession.

But in confessing, she’d become Caro again, rather than Dahlia. And that scared her more than the idea of sharing a house with a murderer.

With a sigh, Caro turned to the ledger, and looked at the other names listed next to the jeweller’s loupe. The buyers: VIP delegates, Harry and Heather Wilson.

Caro squirmed uncomfortably through another fork buffet lunch, knowing what had to come next. She had to confess, to Posy and Rosalind at least, if not the police, what she knew about Marcus’s criminal activities. Which meant admitting to her part in them, something she’d only ever done to Annie, before now.