Chapter 8

Elizabeth stared into the box.

Bernie and I exchanged glances. Did either of us dare ask this elderly lady if she was sure she’d put them in there?

“Are you sure you put them away last night?” Rose asked.

Elizabeth turned around, her face drawn and pale. “I’m sure. I will readily admit some things escape me these days, but I would never lose track of the Frockmorton Sapphires. I distinctly remember putting them into the box, because I reflected as to how that would be the last time anyone in the Crawford family would wear them. The fourth earl would not be pleased. But, by all accounts, he was a brute and a scoundrel, so who cares what he thinks.” She reached for the phone on the dresser, lifted the receiver and pressed 0. “This is Elizabeth, Beth. I’m in my personal suite. I’m going to have to ask you to call the police, please. I fear I’ve been robbed. What do you mean, they’re on their way? I’ve only just discovered they’re missing. Very well.”

Elizabeth hung up and spoke to Bernie and me. “My receptionist tells me the police have been called regarding Julien. No doubt some minor form needing to be filled out. I don’t move as fast as I once did. Will you please go and find out what’s happening, and let me know if there’s any news as to how he’s doing? Tell Tony I need to speak to him as soon as possible.”

I glanced at Rose.

“Go, love. Elizabeth and I are perfectly fine here. Unlikely the thief is hiding behind the drapes. I see no toes sticking out.”

Bernie and I hurried back to the main wing of the house. “If the cops have been called because of Julien, that means he didn’t have heart attack,” Bernie said.

“Let’s not speculate, until we know more,” I said.

“Like that’s ever stopped us before.”

We reached the reception area as two police cars, painted in a bright checkered pattern of yellow and blue, pulled up to the front of the house, followed by a plain car. The driver didn’t worry about searching for a parking spot. Two people got out. The woman wore black trousers and a blue leather jacket, the man was dressed the same, but his jacket was black. They were both in their early forties, and I recognized the no-nonsense expression on their faces. They were not late-arriving party guests, and they were not here to check in.

The detectives came into the hotel, followed by one uniformed officer, while the other remained with the cars.

Tony was waiting for them, and he stepped forward, hand outstretched. “I’m Tony Waterfield, hotel manager.”

“DI Ravenwood, and this is DS Capretti.” The man spoke but both detectives shook Tony’s hand.

Bernie and I stood quietly in the shadows next to a bookcase in the comfortably furnished sitting room tucked next to reception.

“My cousin was taken to hospital a short while ago,” Tony said. “Has something happened?”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you,” Ravenwood said, “but Mr. Julien Crawford—”

“Viscount Darnby,” Tony said.

“Whatever,” DS Capretti said. She was short and stout, with dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin hinting at her Italian heritage. In contrast, her partner was tall and lean, with deep-set hazel eyes, hair a mass of ginger curls, and a face full of freckles.

“Your cousin died a short while ago,” Ravenwood continued.

Tony dipped his head. The woman behind the reception desk stifled a sob. Bernie and I exchanged glances.

“We have some questions,” Ravenwood said.

“What sort of questions?” Susannah climbed the two stairs from the restaurant and bar area.

“These people are here about Julien,” Tony said. “But I don’t know why. There can’t be any doubt about what happened. He had a heart attack. In front of more than a hundred people.”

“That remains to be seen. You are?” Ravenwood asked Susannah.

“My sister,” Tony said. “Susannah Reilly.”

Jacqueline and Emma were next to arrive. “Someone said the police are here.”

“Uncle Robert has gone to the hospital.” Emma’s eyes were red, and she clutched a cotton handkerchief in her hand. “He got word that Julien died. I can’t believe it.”

“He wasn’t exactly known for healthy living,” Susannah said.

“That was uncalled for,” Jacqueline snapped. “My brother is—was—fifty-one.”

Susannah lowered her head and mumbled something indecipherable.

“Has someone told Granny?” Emma asked.

“No,” Tony said, “Not yet. Far as I know.”

DS Capretti looked around the room, taking everything in. The cousins, snapping at each other, the weeping receptionist, the sounds of laughter coming from the bar, light conversation from the dining rooms. The comfortable furnishings, the patina of old money and gracious hospitality. A young couple holding hands came down the hall, nodded to Tony, paid no attention to the police detectives, and walked out the main door. A uniformed waitress passed by outside, giving the police officer by the car a curious glance.

The detective also noticed us. “Help you?” Her intense stare focused on Bernie and me. Her Yorkshire accent was very strong.

“Thanks, yes.” Bernie stepped confidently forward. I sort of slunk along behind. “Bernadette Murphy. I’m a guest here. Lady Frockmorton would like to speak to you about another matter.”

“American, are you?” Capretti said, not entirely approvingly.

“As I said, we’re guests of Lady Frockmorton.”

“That’s right,” Susannah said. “Her grandmother is . . . something.”

“You can tell Lady Frockmorton we’ll get to her in due course.” Ravenwood turned back to Tony. “First, I want to see the scene where Julien Crawford took ill, and then we’ll need to speak to your guests and staff.”

“I don’t see any need to disturb everyone,” Jacqueline said. “Not tonight. Can’t your questions wait until tomorrow? The news is spreading, and people are very upset.” She flinched as a sudden burst of male laughter came from the bar.

“People are here for a party, we’ve been told,” Ravenwood said. “They’ll be on their way home soon, but aside from that, I will ask questions when and to whom I see fit.”

“But Julien had a heart attack,” Susannah said. “In front of a hundred and sixty some guests. No mystery about it.” Her eyes widened. “Is there?”

The detectives said nothing. The phone on the desk rang, but the receptionist made no move to pick it up. It rang again. Tony whipped his head around and snapped, “For heaven’s sake, Beth, answer that. We still have a business to run here and a house full of guests.”

She flushed and picked up the receiver, silencing it mid-ring.

“I realize you have matters to attend to,” Bernie said, “but Lady Frockmorton wants to report a theft.”

“As you so astutely noticed, madam,” Ravenwood said, “we have other matters to attend to. Her Ladyship can wait.”

“Considering today is her hundredth birthday, maybe she can’t wait all that long,” Bernie said. “Her necklace and earrings have been stolen.”

“Old ladies are losing stuff all the time,” Ravenwood said, with a tired sigh. “Tell her to look under the bed, and if she still can’t find them, phone the station and make a report.”

“Stolen?” Susannah said. “You don’t mean—?”

Tony stared at Bernie. “What necklace?”

Bernie glanced at me. I didn’t know why it was suddenly up to me to speak up, but I did so. “She took us and my grandmother to her room to see the Frockmorton Sapphires. They’re gone.”

Tony swore. Beth, the receptionist sucked in a breath. The three other women looked more shocked at my words than they had at news of the death of their brother and cousin.

“Like I said—” Ravenwood began.

Interest flicked behind Capretti’s dark eyes as she took in the look on the faces around her. “Sapphires? Sapphires that have a name? Would you say these are items of some value?”

“Millions of pounds,” Tony said.

“Tens of millions, likely,” Jacqueline said.

That finally got Ravenwood’s interest. “Do you think this has something to do with the death of Mr. Crawford. I mean, Viscount—whatever.”

Everyone stared at me. “I don’t know,” I said. “All I know is Lady Frockmorton wore them last night, put them in her jewelry box upon retiring, and didn’t open the box again until she wanted to show them to us.” My voice trailed off. “So she says, anyway.”

“Meaning,” Capretti said, “that at the time of this birthday tea, when Mr. Crawford took ill, the jewels were unaccounted for?”

“Yes,” Bernie and I chorused.

Jacqueline dropped into a chair with an audible moan.

“Surely she’s just misplaced them,” Emma said. “With all the excitement, she got confused.”

“Granny doesn’t get confused,” Tony said. His face had gone even paler.

“DS Capretti,” Ravenwood said. “You go with these people and check it out. I’ll see about the other matter. Take a uniform with you and call for more backup. We might have to secure the lady’s rooms.”

“Wait here,” Capretti said to us, before slipping outside.

“I’m going to check on Granny.” Susannah headed to the private wing at a considerable pace. Jacqueline leapt out of the chair and followed.

“Mr. Waterfield, if I may have your attention once again,” Ravenwood said. “Are dinner preparations underway in your restaurant?”

Tony almost visibly shook himself off in an attempt to pull himself together. “Yeah—I mean, yes. We have a hotel full of guests.”

“Put a stop to that, please. A forensics team will be here shortly, and they need access to the kitchen.”

Bernie and I exchanged glances once again. We knew what that meant. My kitchen at Tea by the Sea had once been closed for a police investigation. The police must believe it was possible Julien had been poisoned. Accidentally or otherwise.

“For what possible reason?” Tony asked.

At that moment two white vans pulled up out front, followed by another yellow-and-blue police car. Capretti crossed the forecourt to speak to them. People had begun to notice the official activity. Windows opened and heads popped out. Guests wandered in from the garden, glasses in hand. Staff hesitated in doorways.

“Emma,” Tony said, “can you speak to Ian? Let him know what’s happening, and tell him to stop dinner prep.”

“Sure.”

“Thank you,” Ravenwood said, as Emma hurried away.

“Detective Inspector, before this goes any further, I must ask why you’re here.” I wondered if Tony was genuinely not understanding that the police were conducting themselves as though they believed Julien’s death to be suspicious, or if he simply didn’t want to admit it to himself. Even a hint that a diner had been killed by something prepared in the restaurant could destroy the hotel’s reputation permanently.

Seeing that Capretti was distracted by the arrival of the forensics team, Bernie gave me a jerk of the head and edged slowly back into the shadows. I followed.

“The doctor who treated Mr. Crawford on arrival at the hospital,” Ravenwood said, “found clear indications that the man suffered an allergic reaction. His mother told the paramedics he was severely allergic to tree nuts.”

“That’s right,” Tony said. “It was no secret. My chef would never have used nuts.”

“An autopsy has been ordered, and tests will be conducted. In the meantime, I’ve opened an investigation. Even if”—the detective paused to give his words dramatic emphasis—“it’s determined the nuts were added to the food inadvertently, I’d think you’ll want to know that. Wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yes. But that’s impossible.”

“Which is what we’re here to find out.”

Capretti came into the hotel, followed by a uniformed officer and two people in plain clothes, lugging bags of equipment. “I’ve sent the other team round the back with one of the waiters who can describe the layout and show them where the deceased was sitting at this tea. We’re securing the garden area.”

Ravenwood nodded. “Find out about those jewels. You people come with me. I want the kitchen secured and searched.”

Tony groaned.

Quite the crowd had gathered on the small staircase. “What’s happening?” a man called.

“Someone said Julien died. Do you think he was murdered?” another asked.

People gasped at the word “murder.” A young woman lifted her phone and snapped a picture of the police. Ravenwood ignored her and turned to address his audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll ask you to go about your own business, please. You will all be interviewed in due course, but if you have anything you think we’d like to be apprised of, please speak to one of my officers. Thank you.”

Everyone stared at him.

“By ‘go about your own business,’ I mean now,” he said.

A few people slipped away. I couldn’t blame others for being curious. After all, Bernie and I were attempting to remain concealed behind a bookshelf. Although, I told myself, I was needed to take DS Capretti to the scene of the missing sapphires.

“I want the names and contact info of everyone at this party,” Ravenwood said to Tony. “I assume you can get me that.”

“I can,” Tony said, and the two men moved out of earshot.

“If you don’t mind, ladies,” DS Capretti said to us.