Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil by Barbara Silkstone

Author:Barbara Silkstone [silkstone, barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery: Cozy - Comedy - Real Estate Agent - Miami
Publisher: Barbara Silkstone
Published: 2011-12-27T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 30

Just after nine on Tuesday morning, Roger and I stood outside 51 Buckingham Gate, a five-star hotel across from the palace. Angus had agreed to get us in and behind the scenes. The detective was running late.

My archaeologist squeezed my hand. “Do you mind if I kiss you in a public place?”

“I’d mind if you kissed me in a private place with all these people watching.”

He was still laughing when Angus strode toward us. He wore a dark blue suit; his hair glinted like copper in the sunlight. “Ready? Just keep a level head. No Yank theatrics,” he cut his eyes to me. “There are seven-hundred and seventy-five rooms in Buckingham Palace, but we’ll have access to only a handful of private rooms and the few rooms open to the public.”

“Thank goodness your screwball girlfriend gave us some parameters,” I said to Roger. “Under the Queen’s chair in public view. Here we go.”

We walked to the largest guard booth where Ian York, a pleasant looking older man with a delightful upper-crust accent, greeted us. The guys all shook hands, each avoiding my extended palm. Our IDs were scanned by security and returned to us. Following Ian into the palace, I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at the sentries in their nifty uniforms and huge black hats. I envied the discipline they showed… no way could I stand so perfectly still… I’d think about my itchy nose or potty breaks.

Inside, the security was more subtle. The guards wore dark uniforms and no hats. It didn’t appear they were armed. No one made eye contact, despite my smiling and nodding.

I leaned into Roger’s ear, “Why won’t Englishmen shake a lady’s hand? Do you guys think it’s ungentlemanly?”

“No. You scare the shit out of us,” he whispered.

I swallowed a chuckle.

“We’re headed for the throne room,” Ian said. We stepped across the threshold into the Grand Hall and up the curving marble stairs of the Grand Staircase. I was glad I’d worn flats as the stone floor was polished to a slippery sheen. I was wearing my black crepe Donna Karen dress and white pearls. I hoped I looked the part of a proper palace visitor.

The Green Drawing Room stood at the entrance to the Throne Room. The four of us walked through in respectful silence. This was the room that held the Queen’s official chair. It was dominated by an arch supported by a pair of winged figures of victory holding garlands above the throne. Angus said, “You two stay here. I’ll walk up with Ian. If it’s there, I’ll let you know.”

We spun around at the sound of clomping boots and a voice that sounded like an old vinyl record yelling, “Wendy! What are you doing here girl?”

I groaned.

It was Granddaddy Earl.

He was a head shorter than me and might break one hundred pounds after a big meal. His eyeballs moved independently of each other, but carried identical bags. A perfectly matched set of horse-size dentures dominated his face. His head looked different.

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