A Three Book Problem by Vicki Delany

Author:Vicki Delany
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

* * *

I insisted that Jayne join us at the table for breakfast. To my surprise, everyone, including a bleary-eyed, pale-faced Irene, had come down. Donald and Jennifer were again in costume—walking suit for him, floor-length shirtwaist dress with rows of buttons up the sleeves for her—but the rest of us wore our street clothes.

We’d laid the platters of food out on the sideboard, next to the coffee and juice, and people helped themselves.

“Next time we do this,” Steve said, “it would be nice to have a couple of footmen standing stiffly to attention, waiting to attend to our every need, don’t you agree?”

Annie snorted. “Dream on, buddy. There will be no next time. Unless you’re prepared to fund it. Are you?”

He didn’t take offense. “Out of my price range, I’m afraid. Cliff, what about you? You do a nice little trade, I hear.”

“Oh yes,” Miranda snapped. “Cliff’s antiques. It’s all about business for him. Isn’t that right, Cliff?”

“Gotta take advantage of every opportunity in my line of work. It’s not personal, Miranda.”

She didn’t reply.

“I can’t say this hasn’t been fun,” Cliff said.

“Well, I can!” Jennifer protested. “A man died. Our host died, need I remind you?”

Cliff lifted his hands. “I haven’t forgotten. Other than that, it’s been fun, I mean.”

“And,” Jennifer looked from one person to the next, “someone in this room murdered him.”

No one said anything. This was the first time that word had been said aloud, but everyone had to have been thinking it. Before switching off the light and putting my iPad away, I’d checked the West London news. As Ashleigh told me, the police were reporting that someone had died at Suffolk Gardens House. They’d updated their statement last night to provide David’s name, and said he was renting the house for the weekend with a “group of friends.” The death was described as “under investigation.” The cause of death had not been released. I studied the faces around the table.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jennifer,” Miranda said. “No one murdered David. He had a heart attack or something. The police are overreacting.” She turned to face Estrada. “Small-town cops have nothing better to do. They need to create something out of nothing. Helps justify their budget.”

Estrada calmly ate her frittata.

“Jayne and Gemma, you were there when he died. That was it, right? His heart?” Miranda said.

“His heart certainly gave out.” I spread butter and jam on a scone. Jayne made scones the traditional English way, small and light and buttery, which she served with afternoon tea at Mrs. Hudson’s. I loved them.

“David was over fifty at least,” Cliff said. “Goes to show, doesn’t it?”

What it went to show, he didn’t say.

“I suppose,” Jennifer admitted. “Even the strongest of men’s hearts can give out no matter their age.”

Miranda threw her a quick glance. The edges of her mouth turned up and she looked at Rebecca. Her smile grew even wider. At last Miranda realized what had been going on between David and Jennifer. I was only surprised it had taken her this long.

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