“How’d it go?” I asked Jayne.
“How’d what go?” The rush of color into the tips of her ears told me she knew exactly what I was talking about.
I took a sip of my tea. I hate drinking out of a takeaway cup, but I was en route to the shop, and I’ve found through experience that balancing cup and saucer while unlocking the door can end in disaster. Moriarty seems to instinctively know when I’m least able to defend myself from flying claws.
“Your evening,” I said, “with the handsome and eligible Eddie. He is single, by the way—officially divorced with no children on record. I checked on that.”
She glanced up from the tart shells in front of her. “Gemma, I did not ask you to do that.”
“I have your interests at heart.”
She shook her head. “I asked him, okay? He told me all about it. His wife decided there were better career options for her in Hollywood than in New York, so she dumped him. At first, he was crushed, devastated. Lots of acting couples, he told me, have cross-country marriages, but she didn’t want to go to the trouble of working things out. He realized why when she set up housekeeping with some third-rate character actor the week she arrived in California.”
I decided this was not the best time to point out to Jayne that she was too trusting for her own good sometimes. No doubt Garnet would spin a different story. “Where’d you go for dinner?”
“The café. It was lovely.”
“Did you see Andy?”
“Yes. He gave us the best table and sent out a bottle of wine on the house. He’s such a nice man. I know you think he’s got a crush on me, Gemma, but we’re just friends. He was so nice to Eddie.”
If that was true, I figured Andy was a loss to the theater world.
“And after dinner?” I wiggled my eyebrows.
Jayne flushed. “We bought ice cream cones and went for a walk along the boardwalk.” She sighed. “It was so romantic. And then—not that it’s any of your business, Gemma Doyle—he drove me home and gave me a kiss at the front door. That was all.”
“He rented a Smart car? That must cost a pretty penny.”
“He likes to have his own transportation because he doesn’t want to be dependent on others for getting him around. It’s a superfun little car. Hey, how’d you know that?”
“I saw it outside the barn and figured a vehicle like that would suit him.” Here on Cape Cod, Eddie was trying to make a good impression. What better than playing the role of a responsible, environmentally conscious consumer? Not a bad look for a visiting actor. Jayne always told me I was too cynical. Maybe he really was a responsible, environmentally conscious consumer.
The soft smile faded from Jayne’s face. “I called Mom after you and I went to the rehearsal. She didn’t answer, so I left a message. She still hasn’t called me back. I’m getting seriously worried. She’s hiding something from me, something mighty important, and you know what it is, don’t you, Gemma?”
“Ashleigh comes in at one. I’ll take a break at four to take Violet for a short walk. Let’s have our partner’s meeting at my house today. Four fifteen.”
“Don’t change the subject!”
“I’m not changing the subject. I’ll invite your mum too.” I gave her a wave with my tea mug and left her to her bread dough and pastries.
Speaking of pastries, I’d had time this morning to relax over the British online newspapers with a breakfast of yogurt, muesli, and fresh berries, but one of those brownies would suit me nicely for elevenses.
It was quarter to ten, and the tea room was almost empty. The business breakfast crowd had filled up and left, the late-morning tourists were yet to arrive, and it was a long time until lunch.
Today was Jocelyn’s regular day off, and Lorraine, the part-time staffer, was taking a rare moment of quiet to adjust her shoe. Lorraine was an older woman, retired from running her own successful shop on Baker Street. She claimed she soon began to miss the human interaction of the retail trade and signed on to work at the tea room part-time over the summer. What Lorraine called human interaction, I knew, meant gossip.
While Fiona selected the fattest brownie and slipped it into a paper bag, I spoke to Lorraine. “Business has been good all over town this season. It must be the great weather we’re having. Everyone seems to be happy, particularly the store owners on Baker Street. I suppose the hotels and B and Bs are saying the same. Your sister owns a B and B doesn’t she?” As if I didn’t know.
“Yes, and she’s thrilled. She’s already booked solid for the whole season.”
“Brilliant. What’s her B and B called again?” Also, as if I didn’t know.
“Sailor’s Delight.”
“Is that so? I think I heard mention of that place only the other day.”
“Some of the actors from the festival are staying there. Judy’s absolutely thrilled. Imagine Renee Masters and Edward Barker staying in her house. She’d never heard of either of them before, but she looked them up, and now she’s bragging to all her friends. She was disappointed that Sir Nigel Bellingham was staying at the Harbor Inn—him, she had heard of—but with what happened to him, she’s glad he wasn’t with her. She wouldn’t want the police poking around her house, looking for clues. Nothing like police interest to put the guests off, or so Judy says.”
I took my brownie from Fiona and gave Lorraine a slight twitch of my head. I moved away from the counter, and Lorraine followed. I could scarcely come right out and ask what I wanted to know, but I could dangle the bait. Either it would be snatched up by ravenous jaws or left dangling. “I bet your sister has some fun things to say about her guests.”
She sniffed. “Guests are entitled to their privacy, you know.”
“Goes without saying.” I smiled at her.
“She occasionally talks to me about things in complete confidence. Nothing important, you understand.”
“I’m not interested in common gossip.”
Lorraine looked shocked at the very idea. “Of course not.”
“But, well, with the death of Nigel Bellingham, I can’t help but wonder if the guests have been acting at all strangely. Other than Renee and Eddie, who else is staying there?”
“Pat Allworth, the director, and one of the other actors, some older guy. I don’t know his name. That’s all the rooms Judy could give them. She has regular guests who come every year, and she didn’t want to have to put them off. She didn’t know what to do. She’s never been asked by the festival before, and she hated to turn them down, because they’re likely to be a reliable source of income. If we’d known then what we know now, Judy might have suggested they double up.” She giggled. If I had whiskers, they would have been twitching. Another gentle nudge, and Lorraine would snatch up the bait.
The door opened, and two women came in. Unfortunately, they took seats rather than going directly to the counter. I edged slightly sideways, putting Lorraine’s back to the room. “Double up? Has anything been said about the festival being short of money?” That might be an avenue worth exploring. Was Nigel’s contract so cast-iron, he couldn’t be fired even for being drunk and unable to perform? I couldn’t think of a way I’d be able to persuade anyone to let me have a peek. I am not, as the recent incident at the Harbor Inn showed, entirely above a touch of breaking and entering, but I didn’t need to be in possession of any more information I couldn’t tell the cops. If the festival was in severe financial difficulties, that would be something the police needed to know.
Lorraine giggled. “I don’t know about that. About the inner workings of the festival. All I mean is, some of those folks don’t spend every night in their own beds.” She gave me a wink.
“Huh?”
“Judy and I like to have a little chat every morning. Now that our kids have jobs and families and Dad and his new wife are spending all their time in Florida, we’re all we have. You’d think that as Nancy—that’s my oldest girl—is only living in Yarmouth, not more than half an hour down the highway, she’d have some time for her lonely mother, wouldn’t you? But no, not that girl, she’s too involved in her own career. Too important to have a good long chat with her mother in the mornings. Judy says it comes from—”
“Who’s not sleeping in their own bed?” I ignored Fiona, who was trying to direct Lorraine’s attention to the newcomers.
Lorraine gave me a wink. “I don’t like to gossip, dear, but if you think it’s important . . .”
“Definitely important.”
“That Edward Barker, so handsome, isn’t he? Just this morning, Judy told me that when she went to do up his room yesterday, his bed hadn’t been slept in.”
Not slept in? Was that relevant? It was unlikely he was out all night hiding evidence in the murder of Nigel or scouting out locations in which to commit other dastardly deeds.
“Oh, look,” I said, “you have customers. Better get back to it.”
Seeing she was losing me, Lorraine quickly added. “That’s not all.”
“It’s not?”
“Judy says whereas his bed wasn’t slept in, Renee’s showed signs of double occupancy. And a lot of . . . tossing and turning . . . went on during the night.”
“Excuse me!” One of the customers had gotten to her feet and was waving her napkin in the air. “Can we have some service here?”
“Be right with you,” Lorraine called. She dropped her voice. “You won’t tell anyone, will you, Gemma? That’s between you and me. Judy will have my hide if she finds out I’ve been gossiping about her guests.”
In that case, I thought, Judy would be well advised not to engage in gossip herself.
Lorraine bustled off without waiting for me to agree. Or not.
That was one tidbit of news I did not want to know. It was highly unlikely, to the point of improbably, that if Renee and Eddie were tiptoeing between rooms in the dead of night as though they were starring in a French farce, it had anything at all to do with the death of Nigel.
Unfortunately, it did have a heck of a lot to do with the romantic entanglements of Jayne Wilson.
I had learned something and, as much as I might want to, I could not unlearn it.
* * *
As planned, I went home at quarter to four. On the grounds that food and drink can be relied upon to smooth all social occasions, I popped into the market to pick up a few things. I prepared a pitcher of iced tea; arranged a selection of cheeses, bread and crackers, and plump green grapes onto a large wooden platter; and poured nuts into a bowl. I made the tea with powder from a packaged mix, although Jayne would disapprove, but we English have never learned to drink our tea cold.
I’d phoned Leslie from the store and invited her around to my house to talk over the day’s developments. She said she hadn’t heard from Estrada or Ryan again and was about to hang up on me. Leaving me with no choice but to lie and say I had something to tell her.
The only thing I’d learned today was that Eddie was dating Jayne and at the same time sleeping with Renee, but I didn’t think Jayne would thank me for telling her mum. I didn’t think Jayne would thank me for telling her either, so I decided to keep that tidbit of information to myself.
Jayne was the first to arrive. She eyed the snacks suspiciously. “Who else is coming?”
“I told you—your mum.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You’ve put enough food out here to feed an army. Or an entire theater company at the very least.”
“You think so? I wanted to be sure we had enough.”
“An entire wheel of brie, at least a pound of Stilton—and that stuff’s not cheap—and another pound and a half of cheddar. Never mind the slices of salami and ham, the hunk of pâté, a whole baguette, and two types of crackers.” Jayne helped herself to one grape. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many cashews in a single place at any one time.”
“I’m not accustomed to entertaining.”
“No kidding, Gemma.” She gave me a grin. “But thanks.”
We both jumped at a knock on the mudroom door. Violet hurried to answer, and I followed. Leslie gave the dog a pat and me a quick hug. I led the way into the kitchen. Leslie stopped so abruptly, Violet ran into the back of her legs. Her smile disappeared when she saw her daughter munching on a thin slice of cheddar. “Jayne, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Will you look at that?” I said. “Poor Violet is desperate to go outside.” At that moment, the dog had hurried to assume a polite seated position at Jayne’s feet, hoping for a piece of cheese. “Come on, Violet. Violet! Walk!” I grabbed the leash off the hook in the mudroom, snapped it onto her collar and dragged the dog out the door. “Can’t be helped, sorry. Enjoy some cheese and crackers. Don’t wait for me.”
At last, Violet got the hint, and we hurried down the driveway.
I stayed away for about an hour, and when we got back, Jayne and her mother were gone. The pitcher of iced tea was almost finished. It looked as though two, maybe three grapes had been eaten. Oh, well, I’d have a cheese and ham sandwich for dinner. And for lunch tomorrow. And probably for several days to come. Maybe the rest of the week.
Perhaps the theater crew would like some.
A piece of paper lay on the counter, tucked under the bowl of nuts.
Thanks, it said in Jayne’s neat handwriting. That was all it needed to say.
* * *
It was now coming up to six o’clock. I put the leftover food into the fridge and headed back to the shop. I wouldn’t call Jayne to ask how things had gone. I’d leave it up to her to tell me when she wanted to. If she ever did.
“I brought you a sandwich,” I said to Ashleigh.
“Gee, thanks.” She took the parcel and peered through the plastic wrap. “Hey, this doesn’t look too bad.”
“I might not be much of a cook, but I can make a sandwich, thank you very much. Why don’t you take your meal break now?”
“It’s not six yet.”
“If you go early, you can have an extra fifteen minutes. I have to go out again at seven.”
“Do you actually work here, Gemma, or just pop in now and again?”
“I have important matters to attend to. Is that a problem?”
“Nope. I’m not complaining. Although I was rushed off my feet about an hour ago. I hope we didn’t lose any customers when I couldn’t help them quickly enough.” Moriarty leapt onto the counter. He rubbed his entire body against Ashleigh’s arm, and she gave him a hearty pat. “Such a pretty boy! You might need an extra assistant for the rest of the summer. I can do the interviewing if you’re too busy with important matters. Who’s a good cat? I have an eye for serious employees.” Her tone of voice didn’t alter between praising the cat and addressing her boss.
I decided to ignore her attempt to imply that I was not a serious employee. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll manage.”
“If you say so. I hear the women’s wear shop up the street is still hiring.”
“Take an extra half hour. Be back by seven fifteen.”
Gripping her sandwich, Ashleigh scarpered before I could change my mind. Moriarty jumped off the counter.
She was right, and I knew it. I was neglecting my store, getting involved in a murder investigation that the police would say was none of my business. The bookshop had been busy this afternoon, and it wasn’t fair to Ashleigh to expect her to manage on her own. As I waited on customers and rang up purchases, I vowed to keep my nose out of the investigation into the murder of Sir Nigel Bellingham.
By the time Ashleigh returned, five minutes early, I’d changed my mind.
The police might think this inquiry was none of my business, but in suspecting Leslie Wilson, they’d made it my business.
I let Ashleigh take over the cash register and escaped into my office to make a quick phone call.
“I’m calling to apologize for turning down your invitation to dinner last night,” I said to Grant Thompson.
“I know you’ve been busy,” he said politely.
“Are you free tonight?”
“Let me check my busy schedule.” He was silent for about two seconds and then said, in a voice pitched so I’d know he was teasing, “Will you look at that? I happen to have a slot available this very evening.”
“Blue Water Café? Eight thirty?”
“That’ll work.”
“My treat, but first, I’d like your help with something.”
“Name it.” He didn’t even sound suspicious as to my motives. I like that in a man. Ryan would have immediately had his guard up. Why was I thinking about Ryan when I was setting up a dinner date with Grant, anyway?
“I’ll explain in the car,” I said. “Pick me up in ten minutes. I’m at the shop.”
“Ten minutes? You don’t give me much time to put my makeup on.”
“You don’t need it,” I said. Only after I’d hung up did I wonder if he’d think I’d been flirting.
* * *
I waved good-bye to Ashleigh as I walked through the store. Ashleigh was chatting to a customer while other people browsed the bookshelves. One woman had a heavy stack of gaslight mysteries, including books by Rhys Bowen and Victoria Thompson, tucked under her arm.
“Oh, Gemma,” Ashleigh called, “if you have a moment, this lady has a question about that second edition of The Sign of the Four.”
Grant pulled up out front. He’d taken eight minutes to get here. I like punctuality in a man also.
All the street parking in our block was taken, and I spotted Linda Novak, the town’s parking enforcement officer, heading this way, ticket pad at the ready. “No time,” I called over my shoulder.
“Sorry about that,” I heard Ashleigh say to the customer as I sprinted out the door. “Gemma’s sister must have gone into labor. She’s way overdue.”
I jumped into Grant’s Ford Explorer, and he pulled into the slow-moving traffic.
“Where to, madam?” he asked as I fastened my seat belt.
“Sailor’s Delight B and B. Do you know it?”
“I know where it is. Want to tell me why we’re going there?”
“You’re considering making a hefty donation to the West London Theater Festival for next year’s season, but first you want to talk to the people involved about the state of the festival’s finances.”
“Why am I doing that?”
My initial assumption on talking to Lorraine, that the festival was in financial difficulties, had turned out not to be true, at least not to Lorraine’s knowledge. But it was an avenue worth exploring. “You’ll think of something,” I said. Yesterday, rehearsal had ended at seven. I was hoping the same would be the case today. Pat Allworth would be likely to head back to her B and B to change before going out for dinner. Pat, I assumed, was an employee of the festival, the same as the actors, costume designers, and stage hands. Anyone who put up the money to produce the season or stood to make a profit, such as Rebecca Stanton, wouldn’t simply tell Grant all, not with five minutes’ notice that he wanted to donate. But Pat might give us her impressions. She should know if the festival was on sound financial footing or facing potential disaster.
In addition, I wanted to find out what I could about the state of Nigel Bellingham’s contract. Had he fiercely negotiated a generous compensation package, or had he taken whatever was offered out of desperation?
That might give me an indication as to his state of mind lately, which would be relevant if I were to conclude he’d killed himself.
“I suppose,” Grant said, “I could say I’m hoping the play will renew interest in first edition British novels of the late nineteenth, early twentieth century. Thus bringing me business.”
“I knew you’d think of something,” I said. He took his eyes off the road long enough to give me a warm smile. The smile soon faded.
“But that’s not true, Gemma. I don’t have extra money to invest in theater of all things. If I did, I’d rather buy books. I hate to get their hopes up and then let them down.”
“I’m sure you’ll do it gently. Oh, good! It looks as though our quarry is here.”
The Sailor’s Delight is a huge Georgian-style house surrounded by a large and beautifully maintained garden. Portico supported by white pillars, symmetrical facade, two brick chimneys, black shutters, red door. Nooks and crannies, bay windows, attic gables, and a wide side porch.
The Smart car, the convertible, and the minivan were parked outside. The trees lining the parking area threw long shadows. I touched the bonnet of each of the cars as I passed. The BMW was stone cold, but the Smart car and the van felt warm beneath my hand.
Grant rang the bell, and the door opened almost immediately. If she’d been thirty pounds heavier, Judy would have been the spitting image of her sister Lorraine. They were almost certainly identical twins, but the lines on Judy’s face were fewer and not as deep, indicating she didn’t frown quite so much, and her eyes sparked with genuine welcome. “Good evening. I’m sorry if you’re in need of a room, but I’m full up.”
Grant gave me a sideways glance. I said nothing, so he cleared his throat. “I’m hoping to catch one of your guests. Pat . . . uh . . . Pat.”
The woman in question came into the front hall. She wore a loose tunic splashed with a colorful flower pattern over black leggings and flat leather sandals, much the same outfit as she’d had on at rehearsal the other day. “That would probably be me. Oh, Gemma, hi. I just got in, haven’t even been upstairs yet. What brings you here?”
Eddie had followed Pat. He gave me a nod.
“I’ve brought someone to meet you,” I said. “This is Grant Thompson, rare book dealer and collector.”
“We met at the tea party,” Pat said. “Nice to see you again.”
“I’d like to talk to you about—” Grant began.
Pat cut him off. “Give me a minute, will you? I’ve something I have to deal with here.” She turned to Judy. “I can’t stand a prima donna, but that’s what I seem to be stuck with. I’ll see what I can do. You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you, Eddie?”
“Me?” Eddie blinked innocently.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
“Renee’s having a hissy fit over something,” Pat said. “She finished her scenes earlier, checked her text messages, and ran out of the theater in tears without so much as asking if she was free to go. To which I would have said no, she was needed in wardrobe. She came back here and locked herself in her room. Judy knocked a few minutes ago to ask if she’d like anything, but Renee won’t answer. Frankly, as far as I’m concerned, she can sulk all she wants until she’s needed at rehearsals. But she likes to think she’s a delicate flower, so I’ll say some soothing words.”
“Maybe she went out for a walk?” I said. “And Judy didn’t see her leave?”
Eddie laughed, and Pat gave me a look. “Excuse me, but creatures like Renee don’t walk. Thus she rented that ostentatious convertible to get her back and forth to the gym.”
Pat headed for the stairs, followed by Eddie. For no reason but that I like to know what’s going on, I followed them. Grant followed me. At the top of the stairs, Eddie said, “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” He continued down the corridor, unlocking the door at the far end and letting himself in.
Pat tapped lightly on the actress’s door. “Renee, sweetie, it’s me, Pat. Open up.”
Silence. I took a step closer and sniffed the air. A large bouquet of fresh garden flowers sat on the piecrust table at the end of the corridor under a window. The window was open, and the fragrance of the flowers drifted lightly on the breeze. Judy had a heavy hand with scented cleaning equipment and commercial air freshener, but something stronger lay over this end of the hall. I sniffed again. Spilled brandy and the unmistakable scent of illness.
I stepped forward and rapped loudly. I put my ear closer to the door but heard nothing moving inside the room. “Renee! Some people are here to talk to you.”
Silence.
“Maybe she’s in the shower,” Grant said.
“The shower’s not running,” I said. “The radio and TV are not on so she should hear us. If she was in the bath or undressed, she’d call out for us to wait. Something’s wrong.” I grabbed the doorknob and twisted. Nothing happened. “Judy, get this door unlocked!” I hammered on the door. “Renee! Wake up.” Judy didn’t arrive, so I turned to Grant. “Kick the door down.”
“What?”
“Do it. Now. Kick the spot immediately below the handle.”
All the blood rushed out of Pat’s face. “You don’t think . . .”
“I do,” I said, pulling her out of the way.
Grant stepped back. He braced himself. “Always wanted to do this.” His foot shot out, and the door splintered. He grunted and struck it again. The door crashed inward. I pushed it aside and ran into the room.
Renee Masters lay sprawled across the bed, facedown. I leapt over a bottle of brandy rolling on the floor to reach her. “Pat, call nine-one-one.” I rolled Renee onto her back. She let out a low moan and her eyelids flickered, but she didn’t open her eyes. A small amount of vomit was soaking into the pretty white bedcover with a trim of pink roses. “Grant!” I shouted. “Get the shower going. Keep the water cold.”
“What’s the heck’s going on?” Eddie ran into the room.
“I need a pen. Who’s got a pen?”
“You’re going to take notes?” Eddie said.
“Don’t be a fool. A pen, anything long and thin. I’m not putting my fingers down her throat, but she needs to be sick.”
“Looks like she already was,” Eddie said.
“Not enough.”
“Will this do?” Pat pressed a spoon into my hand. “It was on the tea tray.”
I pried open Renee’s mouth and shoved the bowl of the spoon in. She gagged and swatted at me. “Leave me ’lone. Go ’way. Let me die.”
I heard the sound of an ambulance approaching. “Grant, bring me a bucket of cold water.”
“Where am I going to get a bucket?”
“You’ll think of something. The flower vase in the hall.”
“I’ll get it,” Pat said.
I shoved Renee’s head over the side of the bed, and she retched onto the floor. I couldn’t help but notice that the pretty cream-and-pink carpet was a perfect match to the bedding.
Grant threw a vase of cold water onto Renee. His aim wasn’t good, and I ended up soaked.
Then the paramedics were in the room, and I left them to do their jobs.
I waited in the hall with Pat, Grant, Eddie, Judy, and other B and B guests who’d been attracted by the commotion. It wasn’t long before the stretcher came out. Renee was covered by a blanket and her eyes were closed, but her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
“Anyone here a relative?” the young female paramedic asked.
“I’ll accompany you to the hospital,” I said.
I was standing next to Eddie. As the stretcher passed, Renee’s eyes flicked open. She extended her hand toward him. He made no move to take it.
As I fell into step behind the stretcher, I heard Eddie say to Pat, “Anything for attention.”
* * *
Either we had gotten to Renee in time or she hadn’t taken much since she stayed awake on the trip to the hospital. I’d found a container for prescription pills—empty—among the bedclothes and given them to the paramedics, as well as pointing out the brandy bottle on the floor. A cell phone had been beside the pill bottle. That, I had pocketed.
“I assume the police have been contacted,” I said to the paramedic as she checked her patient.
“Yeah.”
“You’ll want to suggest they inform Detective Ashburton. This woman was recently a witness in a possible homicide.”
When we arrived at the West London Hospital, I was directed to the waiting room while Renee was whisked behind a curtain.
I took a seat and pulled out Renee’s phone. Conveniently, it was not password protected. I never fail to be amazed at how lax some people are over matters of security and privacy.
Amazed, but highly satisfied.
I checked her messages.
At three fifteen, Renee had texted Eddie, Hey hot stuff. Let’s blow this pop stand after reh
Three thirty: Dump her and we can go back to B 4 afternoon delight
Between three thirty and three forty: three outgoing texts containing significant suggestive content.
In all that time, Renee received no incoming texts.
Then nothing until six fifteen, presumably when the actors were given a break: I saw U checking messages. Answer me.
Six twenty: Don’t U ignore me, Eddie. I no U R hiding in costume rm
Six twenty-two: It’s that blond baker, isn’t it?
Six twenty-four: She’s as empty as her so-called cake
Another long gap until six forty-seven: Eddie. Please. We’re so good together. Don’t you remember?
Finally, a response. At six forty-nine, Eddie replied, Always fun to have a romp for old times’ sake. We’re still finished. Don’t make a big deal of it.
And thus ended the text messages. Poor, desperate Renee, dumped by text.
Lucky for snooping Gemma, the entire conversation laid out before her. All afternoon Renee and Eddie were in the same building, but they conducted their correspondence by text message. Sherlock Holmes would have been reduced to listening at doors or relying on third-hand accounts.
“I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. What on earth are you, of all people, doing here?”
I slipped Renee’s phone into my pocket. Louise Estrada stood over my chair, hands on hips, glaring down at me. At the end of the corridor, Ryan was talking to a nurse at the ER reception desk.
“Lovely to see you too, Louise,” I said.
“Don’t mock me, Gemma. They told us you’re the next of kin. How the heck did you manage to make them believe that?”
I lifted my hands. “I never said anything of the sort. Someone needed to be with Renee, and as I was the one who administered treatment to her when we found her, I volunteered to accompany her in the ambulance.”
“And you just happened to be there when she was found.”
“As a matter of fact—yes. That’s exactly what happened.”
“They say we can talk to her in a couple of minutes.” Ryan joined us. “She’ll be fine. They got to her in time. Or, it would appear, you got to her in time. Want to tell us about it, Gemma?”
“I’d be happy to.”
Pat and Grant burst into the room. “She’s going to be okay,” I said to the director.
Pat let out a puff of air and fell onto the lumpy couch beside me. “Thank heavens. I might have called her a prima donna, and I might not have sounded all that sympathetic, but the last thing I need is to lose another actor in this production.”
“Miss Stapleton doesn’t have too big a role in The Hound,” I said. “Doesn’t Renee have a much bigger part in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof?”
“Yes, but The Hound of the Baskervilles is our centerpiece this season. Why—?”
“Save it for later,” Estrada said.
“I need a coffee. I’ll be back soon.” Pat got to her feet and walked away.
Ryan said, “First, is there any doubt, Gemma, that this was a suicide attempt?”
I shook my head. “Not in the least. She took sleeping pills—I don’t know how many as I don’t know how many had been in the bottle—and chased them down with brandy. It’s possible someone could have forced her to consume the pills and the liquor, but obviously that wasn’t done in this case.”
“It’s obvious, is it?” Estrada said.
“Yes, it is. Aside from the fact that no one stayed in the room to wait for events to come to their logical conclusion, Renee told me to go away. She attempted to stop me helping her and resisted when I did so. In short, she did not want me to save her life.”
Estrada and Ryan exchanged glances.
“A suicide attempt is often a confession,” he said.
“But not in this case,” I said.
“Oh, please,” Estrada said. “Bellingham insulted her at the tea party, loudly and publicly. We’ve been looking into her, we’ve been looking into them all, and it’s clear that her career is pretty much stalled, if not on a substantial downward direction. His insults pushed her over the edge, and she lashed out the first chance she got.”
“Sounds reasonable to me,” Grant said. “I mean, your theory sounds reasonable. Not the lashing out part.”
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Ryan asked.
Grant stood straighter, lifted his chin, and subtly puffed up his chest. He casually laid his arm on my shoulder. “Gemma and I paid a call on Pat before going out to dinner.”
Ryan glared at Grant’s hand. He pulled back his own shoulders. For a moment there, I expected the two of them to lower their heads, paw the cracked and faded linoleum of the hospital floor, and issue bellowing challenges.
“Grant’s thinking of making a substantial donation to the theater company,” I said. “I suggested he speak to Pat to find out how the festival is doing financially. I know rehearsal ends at seven, so we’d be likely to get her at the B and B if we dropped in.”
The two men eyed each other for a moment. Ryan was the first to break the stare-down. “Gemma, do you have anything to say about the theory that this suicide attempt was a confession?”
“Why are you asking her?” Estrada said.
I ignored her. “I don’t think Renee tried killing herself over anything to do with Nigel. I notice Eddie didn’t bother to come to the hospital.”
“He said we don’t need a crowd. He told me to call when we have news.” Pat returned, bearing a cup of machine-dispensed coffee. It looked as unappealing as it smelled. “Speaking of news, I don’t want this to get into the papers. The last thing we need is word getting around that our cast is unreliable.”
“I would have thought the last thing you’d want would be another one of your actors dying,” I said.
“That too,” she replied.
“I have a feeling Renee will be happy to tell you what drove her to desperation,” I said.
“What do you know that you aren’t telling me, Gemma?” Ryan said.
I smiled at him. He did not smile in return. Not for the first time, I wished Ryan Ashburton was not a police officer. But he was. I sighed. “If I can have a word in private?”
“I don’t . . .” Estrada said.
“A quick one.” Ryan and I moved farther down the hallway.
I didn’t tell him I’d been reading Renee’s phone. “She used to date Edward Barker. They broke up a few years ago when he married someone else. And before you ask how I know, it’s common knowledge, available for anyone to read thanks to the marvels of the World Wide Web.”
“Dare I ask why you’ve been checking up on these people when you’ve been told not to get involved?”
“In this case, I’m innocent. He’s going out with Jayne. I’m protecting her interests.”
“Whether she wants you to or not, I’d guess,” Ryan said.
I ignored that comment. “Renee seems to think that, seeing as to how Eddie’s single again, they’re going to get back together. He, apparently, disagrees.”
“The oldest story of them all.” Ryan couldn’t help himself. He glanced at Grant.
“Yup.”
A doctor came out of one of the curtained cubicles. She spotted Ryan and headed straight for us. “Detective. Ms. Masters can talk to you now.”
“How is she?” I asked.
“She’ll be fine. More embarrassed than anything, I think, and she’ll have a killer headache. It doesn’t seem as though there were many pills in that bottle, so it was mostly the effects of all the booze taken at once.”
Ryan gestured to Estrada to join him, and they followed the doctor.
“Out of danger,” I told Pat and Grant.
“That made for an exciting evening,” Grant said. “Ready to go, Gemma?”
“Why don’t you and Pat conduct your business now,” I said. “I’m sure Pat will want to talk to Renee when the police are finished, won’t you, Pat?”
“Darn right, I will. It’s too bad talking is the worst I can do. That girl deserves a good spanking.”
I sat down. “I’d like to give her my best wishes too.”
“Perhaps you could call on her tomorrow. She’ll be exhausted tonight.” Grant checked his watch. “It’s after eight thirty. If we don’t leave now, we’ll lose our reservation.”
“Reservation?”
“At the Blue Water Café?”
“Do we have a reservation?”
“I assumed so. It was your idea to go there tonight, and it’s almost impossible to get a table on the deck without one. Didn’t you make the reservation?”
“I guess I forgot. Sorry.”
“No matter,” he said. “The mood’s been thoroughly ruined. I could use a coffee, though. And not something out of a vending machine. Do you think the cafeteria’s still open?”
“No idea.”
“I’ll check. Do you want anything?”
“No, thanks.”
“I’ll come with you.” Pat threw her cup into the trash.
It was a fairly quiet evening in the West London Hospital’s ER. A nearly hysterical mother came in with a girl of about twelve, bleeding copiously from the side of her head, and an elderly man was hustled past, screaming that they, whoever they might be, were after him.
While waiting, I amused myself by checking to see if Renee had had any contact with Nigel Bellingham prior to his death. According to her phone, they had never spoken or texted. She had also never been in touch with Gerald Greene. I didn’t bother to read her correspondence with Pat or anyone else in the theater group. That would be too intrusive. Even for me.
Pat and Grant came back, carrying their coffees, at the same time Ryan and Estrada emerged from the curtained cubicle.
Estrada checked her phone. “That Reynolds kid’s been brought in again,” she said to Ryan.
“You take it. I’ll finish up here.”
She pointedly ignored me as she left.
“You can go in now,” the nurse said.
Pat got to her feet.
“But only one of you, and only for a moment.”
“Tell her I hope she’s feeling better tomorrow.” I handed Renee’s phone to Pat. “I picked this up off the bed at the B and B. I’m sure she’ll want it.”
“Now can we go?” Grant said.
“I think so.”
Ryan was on his own phone, but he caught my eye and lifted one hand, telling me to wait. I wandered over to see what he wanted.
“How can I go on without him?” Renee moaned from behind the thin curtain.
“Because you have to, you silly thing,” Pat said. “Heartbreak is a part of life. I can’t see that he’s worth it anyway.”
“But I love him.”
“Pooh. Waste of time, love is. Take it from me. You know what’s worth living for?”
“Fame, that’s what. A chance at the brass ring.”
Renee groaned. “You can’t possibly mean performing in this two-bit town. In a barn no less! I haven’t been offered a good role in months. Years. I’m washed up. Finished. My mom paid for that car rental as a birthday present. I’d rather have the rent on an apartment in the city, but how can I tell her I’ve been evicted?”
“Something big is coming, Renee. Believe me. I need you to stick with me. You won’t be disappointed.”
“She’s right here.” Ryan offered me his phone.
I tore my attention away from the drama going on behind the curtain. “What?”
“Jayne,” he said. “She wants to speak to you.”
I took the phone. “Hello?”
“Mom’s ready to talk to the police,” Jayne said.
“That’s good.”
“Only Detective Ashburton though. She doesn’t trust Estrada.”
“I don’t know that she can specify the conditions, Jayne.” I glanced at Ryan. He gave me a nod.
“And not at the police station. She’s scared, Gemma. Scared and embarrassed and ashamed. The police station will only make her feel worse. I told Ryan that, and he said we could talk someplace else. She wants you there.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“I haven’t had dinner yet. How about my house? It just so happens I have the makings for a lot of sandwiches.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
“We’ll be there.”
“Oh, Jayne, one more thing. Have you heard from Eddie in the last little while?”
“He called about half an hour ago suggesting a walk along the harbor and then a quiet drink somewhere. Isn’t that so romantic? But I said I needed to be with my mom tonight. Why are you asking?”
“No reason.” I handed the phone back to Ryan.
Once we’d gotten this little matter of disabusing the police of the notion that Jayne’s mother had murdered Nigel Bellingham out of the way, I’d have to get to work coming between Eddie and Jayne.
I was not looking forward to that.