A Date With Death: Cozy Private Investigator Series (Flora Lively Mysteries Book 2) (13 page)

Celeste’s face showed no emotion whatsoever. ‘Clever,’ she said. ‘Too clever. You’re more observant than I gave you credit for. Anyone else would have been too focused on seeing a dead body in the middle of the room, but not you. But why are you assuming it was me? It could have been Raquel. I left her when I went into the bathroom, she could have done it then.’

Flora shook her head. ‘It wasn’t Raquel. I was there, I saw her reaction. She was too shocked to even think straight.’

‘She’s an actress.’ Celeste emphasized the word as though Flora were incredibly stupid.

‘Fine, maybe she was pretending to be shocked and horrified at finding her husband with an antique sword plunged into his torso. But she had nothing to gain by tampering with the evidence.’ Flora paused, just for a second. ‘Unlike you.’

There was silence. Celeste stood at the edge of the clearing, her empty glass dangling from her long, elegant fingers. She was in costume – a floor-length dress in ivory and pale blue – and her hair was piled high on her head, with the odd ringlet falling over her face. Flora could see her as a Hollywood starlet, could see that she had a future in this odd, shark-infested world she’d chosen to make her own. She wondered how deep her feelings for Eduardo ran, and whether she had done this thing solely for him, or whether there was another reason entirely.

Like taking the tiara, for example.

She couldn’t think it of her friend, not really. But then she thought about those designer handbags, the expensive lifestyle Celeste seemed to be living. Did she really earn enough for all that from acting? Or had she got herself into debt, into some kind of trouble? And maybe that was at the heart of Alberto’s blackmail … maybe there never had been any photos at all.

‘Fine,’ Celeste said finally. She lifted her chin and tilted her head slightly to the side. Her tone was mocking. ‘Flora Lively the detective strikes again. Yes, I tidied away the glasses while Raquel was in the bathroom, and yes, I knocked into the painting and threw things around a bit. I was thinking on my feet, it just felt like the right thing to do. The sword … Eduardo had been holding it to Alberto’s throat only hours before. I knew what people would think.

‘The balcony doors were already open and I thought … I thought it would seem like a robbery, just like you said.’ She stopped, and for the first time, Flora thought she could see real fear in her friend’s eyes. ‘I’d planned to get the tiara and throw it out of the window, to make it look as though the killer had dropped it while he escaped. But it was already gone. You have to believe me, Flora. It wasn’t there when I opened the bureau. I swear it.’

Flora jumped down from the log. ‘You’ve got to tell Jack. You know that, right? You’ve muddied the evidence. He needs to know.’

‘I can’t. Not now the bloody tiara really is missing. How will that look?’

‘Did you take it?’

‘No! Of course not. How can you even ask me that? I just figured it had been moved, that maybe Raquel had found a better hiding place for it. I had no idea it had been stolen already.’ Celeste’s eyes flashed angrily.

‘But you knew where it was kept?’

Celeste shrugged. ‘I’m not the only one who knew it was there. Alberto boasted about it, but he joked that Raquel hardly ever took it off her head anyway.’

Flora remembered Jack saying pretty much the same thing. She clenched her teeth together, picturing Celeste creeping around the room, stepping over Alberto’s body, setting the whole thing up. It was disgusting and pathetic. It also sounded infuriatingly true. Flora forced herself to take a breath, to calm down. For one upsetting moment she wondered whether Celeste had planted Marshall’s cap there as well, but then she dismissed that idea as ridiculous.

‘At least Alberto can’t send those photos to your dad now,’ Flora said. ‘Or tell Eduardo about them.’

‘What photos?’ Celeste looked puzzled for a second or two, then her expression cleared. ‘Oh, right. No, well, every cloud and all that.’

‘How is your dad doing?’

‘No better.’ Celeste sighed. ‘But thanks for asking.’

Neither spoke for a moment, then Flora said, ‘Where did Eduardo go after he left your room? Did you find him?’

Celeste sighed. She made to run her fingers through her hair, realised she couldn’t because it was up in a bun, then began to pull the pins out one by one. ‘He was out on the set, just sitting there on his own. I tried to talk to him but he was too angry. So I went to see Sidney to ask him about dinner, then I came back up to my room. I was at the top of the stairs when I heard Raquel screaming.’

‘Do you remember seeing the sword earlier than that? When we came back from filming in town, I mean?’ Flora had been racking her brain to try and remember whether they’d taken it to the props room or not, or whether Gabriella had put it back in her trunk with the sling. Celeste shrugged. She said,

‘This probably isn’t a good time to ask, but I need a favour.’

‘A favour.’ Flora returned her gaze, keeping her expression neutral.

‘Okay, so I really need to get some things taken over to Calais. When this is over, Eduardo and I are going to ditch Rojo and go on to Paris. Nick’s kind of … well, I don’t really want him to know just yet. It’s complicated.’

‘Complicated,’ Flora said.

‘Right. And I was thinking, with your van and all, maybe you could do a Channel run for me. When Marshall gets back, I’m guessing you won’t be sticking around, and I don’t blame you after all this.’ She laughed as though Flora and she were in come kind of cahoots. ‘I won’t hold you to the contract, don’t worry. And I’ll pay you. I mean, I’ll make sure Nick pays you for the work you’ve done here, and I’ll pay you really well for the Calais trip.’ She’d finished dismantling her hair now, had a pile of pins in her hand. She looked around, flashed Flora a rueful smile, then dropped them onto the greenish earth by her feet.

Flora was thinking hard. ‘When Marshall gets out – if he gets out – I’ll have to ask him to do it.’

‘Oh, he’ll be back in no time – Jack can’t really think it was him. He’s just going through the motions, you know how dogged he’s always been. But can’t you do the Channel run yourself? I thought you’d passed your test. Finally,’ she added, smiling again.

‘Don’t have a passport,’ Flora said.

‘Seriously? Jeez, Flora, you are such a bumpkin.’

‘I’m going back to the house.’ Flora slid off the log again, and headed across the clearing. She had an odd feeling, something nagging at her, pulling at her memory. She wanted to talk to Sidney. She needed to talk to him right now.

‘And tell Jack what you did,’ she called over her shoulder. Celeste watched her, her mouth hanging open. ‘Because if you don’t, I will.’

***

‘Sidney, can you spare a minute?’

Flora found the butler in the dining room, setting it up for their evening meal. He looked glum – even more so than usual. She asked him what was the matter.

‘It’s not your concern, Miss Lively,’ he said. ‘Just something else for me to worry about.’

She got it out of him, though – Nick had refused to pay the bill for the extra staffing on the night of the gala dinner.

‘Said the agreement was between me and Alberto, and that he didn’t have to honour it.’ Sidney’s eyes showed the strain of this latest blow. ‘If I don’t pay the local companies, they won’t work up here again. And there’s nothing in the coffers to cover it.’

‘I’ll help you get the money out of him,’ Flora said.

‘How?’ He stopped placing the silverware and stared at her.

‘I don’t know. But I’ll think of something. Sidney, you mentioned something about a message? Earlier today, just after Marshall was arrested. What was it?’

‘Just that I gave it to him. You know, the note you left for him. I found it in the letter rack in the main hall. I gave it to him after breakfast.’ He picked up a glass, polished it with his sleeve, then said, ‘It did seem a bit odd at the time.’

‘Well, that’s probably because I didn’t leave him a note. What did it say?’

Sidney turned around, his mouth tipped down at the corners. ‘It had your name on it, Miss. Said something about meeting him in the storeroom. Well, what you lot call the props room. It said it was important, and he was to go there right away.’

Flora’s pulse began to race. ‘Sidney, that’s where Marshall was arrested – that’s why they arrested him. He was in the props room holding the … the scabby-something. What they keep swords in.’

‘Scabbard?’

She nodded. Her eyes couldn’t stay still in her head. ‘Bloody hell. Someone lured him there. I bet it was the murderer. Do you have the note? Oh, no –’ she bashed the side of her head with her palm ‘– of course you don’t. You just said you gave it to him. But that’s okay, isn’t it? It means he’ll still have it. He’s probably shown it to Jack by now.’

In which case, why wasn’t he already back here?

The butler crossed the room and picked up a round silver tray. He held it to his body like a shield. ‘I didn’t actually show him the note itself, I just gave him the message.’

‘You mean, verbally?’

Sidney nodded.

‘Well, what happened to the note?’

‘If I remember rightly, I put it in my pocket. I had a lot to carry,’ he added, a touch defensively.

‘That’s okay,’ Flora said, thinking fast. ‘Do you still have it?’

He shook his head. ‘I put it in the bin, Miss.’

‘Which bin?’

‘It would have been the one in the kitchen.’ Sidney’s face took on a pained expression. ‘The kitchen bins were emptied at lunchtime.’

Flora’s shoulders sagged. ‘If we had that note, we might be able to tell who the murderer was. Was it handwritten?’

Sidney nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘Well, then. Do you think you could look for it? I know you’ve got enough to do, running this place and all, and I know it’s a long shot …’

‘I’ll try.’ He straightened his shoulders and tapped the tray to his chest. ‘If it’s still around, I’ll find it.’

‘Thank you.’ Flora started to leave, then had a thought. ‘Have you mentioned this note to anyone else?’ Sidney shook his head. ‘Then I think we should keep it just between us for now. I don’t mean Jack, of course – I’m going to tell him about it right away. But I don’t think we should tell the others. I think it will be safer that way.’

She left him in the dining room, standing with his back to the bank of dusty windows, the low sun turning his nearly bald head bright orange. She just hoped that she was right about it being safer that way. Poor old Sidney had enough on his plate.

***

‘I’d like to speak to Detective Jack Harding, please.’

Flora realised she didn’t really know his official title, only that he worked for CID. Right now, she couldn’t for the life of her think what those initials even stood for. She looked around the small reception area, wondering where in the building Marshall was being held. The green painted blockwork walls and the orange vinyl seating were depressing enough – she couldn’t imagine what an actual cell might look like.

The small police station at Ashton Castle was about fifteen minutes from Hanley Manor, situated in the middle of the town on a roundabout and opposite a rough-looking pub. Flora had borrowed Celeste’s hire car – a small white Citroen, so full of empty water bottles and crisp packets and discarded sweet wrappers, Flora could barely see the pedals. Celeste had always been a slob. Or maybe the mess was Eduardo’s doing. As she drove, Flora had reflected on how little she knew about Celeste’s new boyfriend, and wondered whether her friend knew him much better.

The desk sergeant gazed at her implacably. ‘He’s busy,’ he said, resting his thick hands on the counter.

‘Okay.’ Flora felt flustered, but she wasn’t going to give up so easily. ‘Could you … Could you tell him it’s very, extremely important. That it might be a matter of life and death.’

‘Life and death,’ he repeated, sounding as though they were the two most boring words in the universe. ‘Right. Leave it with me.’

She perched on the edge of one of the sticky chairs and chewed on a nail. The desk sergeant disappeared, and a female officer took his place. She stared at Flora, her expression completely blank, then dropped her gaze to an old-style computer monitor that sat on a desk to one side. Flora let out a breath. Police stations – horrible places. She’d spent some time in one last year, writing up her account of the attempt on Joy’s life, and of her own pretty bungled investigation into the charity scandal that had rocked the aged population of Shrewsbury for months after. She’d hated every second of it. Marshall might have joked about her becoming a private detective, but Flora knew she didn’t have the disposition for it. Detective work – real detective work – was carried out in places like this, in airless holes and sitting at computer screens, or else hounding people for information. She preferred to read people, to follow a hunch. Which was what she was doing now, of course. And she could only hope it would pay off.

After about ten minutes, Jack came out to see her. He looked strained, with the pallor of someone who hadn’t seen fresh air for a while. He sat on the chair next to hers, stretched out his legs, and sighed.

‘He’s fine. He’s not cooperating, which is why it’s taking a lot longer than I’d hoped, but he’s not being beaten up or anything.’ He looked at Flora and raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s why you’re here, right? Make sure I’m treating him okay?’

Flora was just waiting for him to stop talking. She said, ‘First of all, have you spoken to Celeste?’

He shook his head. Annoyance pricked at her, like a needle slipping under a nail.

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘we’ll come back to that. Has Marshall told you about the note I’m supposed to have sent him?’

‘
Supposed
to have sent?’ Jack sat up, alert. Flora was nodding furiously.

‘I’ve just come from Sidney. There was a note, a message, left for Marshall this morning. It had my name on it, but it wasn’t written by me. Jack, listen – the note said to meet him in the props room. Don’t you see? Whoever sent that note was trying to set him up.’ She was practically panting, trying to get it all out.

‘Come on,’ Jack said, standing. He held out his hand. ‘We need to do this somewhere more private.’