Which led her to option number two: holding onto the stolen loupe and hoping it led her to some answers to the many questions she had about what was going on at Aldermere that weekend. She didn’t like it, but she liked it more than being arrested for a crime she didn’t commit or – worse – getting fired by Anton for bringing the film into disrepute.

And so, the magnifying glass was safely stashed in a shoe at the bottom of her wardrobe until she figured out what to do with it. The note that had accompanied it had joined the collection of clues she was carrying around in her bag.

NOT MY DAHLIA, it said, in block capitals so even and precise that she couldn’t tell if it was written by the same hand as the other note, which had been lower case and joined up. It looked completely different, but maybe that was the idea. Maybe Clementine was still here somewhere, playing some game that Posy didn’t understand.

There are a million places you can hide at Aldermere. What if Clementine was taking advantage of one of those places?

What if this was about something more than blackmail?

And if it wasn’t Clementine who’d stolen the jeweller’s loupe and left it for her, it had to be someone staying in Aldermere. Without one of those all-access-pass silver wristbands, they’d never have been allowed inside in the first place. Even the daytime convention staff, she’d noticed, were confined to the entrance hall, the kitchens and the rooms where meals were being served.

Which meant the thief was here, now, in this room.

She eyed the gathered crowd, all dressed in their finest vintage garb, pearls shimmering in the light from the wall lamps, feathers primped and eyes lined. She could have been looking at a film set. Her film set, or at least one of Caro’s or Rosalind’s. None of it felt real.

And yet, one of these people was a thief. And they were trying to frame her.

This didn’t feel like a prank anymore, if it ever had.

Through the doorway from the library into the Sun Room next door, she saw Marcus’s black butler’s jacket and bald head. Marcus. And he was talking to Caro – Caro who had been so sure he had to be behind the photos she’d received. With Clementine gone, he might be the only person who knew what was going on.