FAMOUS LAST WORDS

Mackenzie Owens Mysteries

Book 7

JASMINE WEBB

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

About the Author

Also by Jasmine Webb

Chapter 1

“I need you to solve my murder,” the woman in front of me announced. Simply. Coolly. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. To the point where I thought I’d misheard her.

“We have a number of murder mysteries,” I replied in a chipper voice. “In fact, there’s an entire section at the back dedicated to the genre. Would you like me to show you?”

“No,” the woman replied. “You misunderstand. I’m not here looking for a book. Someone is trying to kill me, and I want you to find them when they do.”

I blinked a couple of times. Okay, I hadn’t heard wrong the first time. She said she wanted me to solve her murder.

But that was insane, right?

I took a good look at the woman standing in front of me. She was tall, at least five foot seven, maybe five foot eight. And she was in her sixties, at least. Maybe her seventies. Her hair was white, but it was glossy and thick, cut short in a fashionable style. She had on a simple, pastel-pink blouse and a pair of light-blue jeans. A white Chanel bag hung from her shoulder, and the quality of it convinced me that the string of pearls around her neck was just as real.

This was the kind of woman who had money. A lot of it. And knew exactly how to get what she wanted in life. But why this? And why me?

“Okay,” I said slowly, figuring I could at least see where this conversation was going to go. “Let’s start with the basics. What’s your name, and who’s trying to kill you?”

The corner of the woman’s mouth crinkled into the tiniest smile. “My name is Elizabeth Stevens. And frankly, the list of people who want me dead is too long for a conversation in which we both have to be on our feet. That, perhaps, is part of the problem. There are a lot of people who might want me dead, all for different reasons.”

My brow creased slightly. “Elizabeth Stevens,” I repeated. The name was familiar to me, although I wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Yes. I’ve been told that in this part of the world, when it comes to murder, you’re the woman to go to.”

I smiled at that. Aksel, who I was now calling my boyfriend and local private investigator extraordinaire, hadn’t made the cut. I was totally going to shove this fact in his face, later.

“You haven’t heard of Aksel Evans?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. His name came up also. But I don’t trust men.” Again, Elizabeth’s voice carried no emotion. She said it like a plain, simple fact. “I was told you’re the best. The woman to see.”

“That’s me,” I replied. After all, she wasn’t wrong. I had been responsible for finding quite a few killers in Cornwall over the past few months. I didn’t realize that meant people were going to start seeking me out to help solve their murders in advance, though. “So, if the list of people out there trying to kill you is that long, can we meet for coffee during my lunch break? Or do you feel like your demise is imminent, and we don’t have that kind of time?”

A gentle peal of laughter escaped Elizabeth. It wasn’t mocking; it was genuine amusement. “Not to worry about that. I’m quite certain I can make it through to the end of the afternoon.”

“In that case, why don’t we meet at the Ugly Mug?” I asked, glancing at the clock on my phone’s screen. “Shall we say at noon?”

“I look forward to seeing you then,” Elizabeth replied. “Thank you.”

And with that, she turned and left the store without another word, leaving me more confused than ever.

“It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning yet,” I muttered to Toast, who was dead asleep, using a pile of paperbacks on the table as a mattress.

Toast didn’t so much as move. Obviously, the early morning declaration of an impending murder I was supposed to stop wasn’t exciting to her.

“Who in the world is she?” I asked myself, but before I had a chance to look her up on the computer, a customer came in. So, instead of typing the name into Google, I messaged Maggie really quickly.

Do you know Elizabeth Stevens?

Then, I turned my attention to my new customer. My phone pinged about five seconds later, but Maggie’s reply was going to have to wait. I helped the man who had walked in find a couple of new books for his girlfriend, who wanted a few fun romcoms for her birthday, then I rang up his order, and only a few seconds after he left, the bell above the door rang again.

Another customer.

Only it wasn’t. This time, Maggie walked through the door.

“You didn’t answer your messages,” my grandmother said, accusingly.

I gestured around. “I have a job. I can’t be at your beck and call all the time. I had a customer.”

“Who is more important to you? Your customer or your grandmother?”

“Given as one of them pays the bills, and one of them is just a pain in my ass, I have to say it’s the former.”

“It’s quite early in the morning to be so rude. I’ll forgive you, though, if you tell me all about your interaction with the legendary Elizabeth Stevens.”

“Legendary, you say?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Oh, so you haven’t even opened my messages, then?”

“Again. Customer. He would have passed you on his way out,” I said, motioning to the door. I strode over toward the counter and grabbed my phone off of it, unlocking it with a swipe and looking at Maggie’s messages.

Elizabeth Stevens? Are you joking? You must be joking.

I knew she lived in the area, but you’ve met her?

Answer me, Mack. This isn’t funny. This is serious business!

I’m calling 9-9-9 if you don’t respond immediately.

“Okay, now you have your answer. I wasn’t kidding. Who is Elizabeth Stevens?”

Maggie pretended to faint dramatically at my question. “Who is Elizabeth Stevens?” she repeated. “Why, I’m surprised they let you into the country without being able to answer that question.”

“I’m waiting,” I said, tapping my foot against the floor impatiently.

“She’s only one of British television’s most important figures. Elizabeth Stevens is an icon of the small screen in this country. She played the title detective on Wendy, one of the earliest detective television shows in the country to feature a woman as the main character. She played that role for twelve years. It was legendary. She won the BAFTA nearly every single year for playing that character. And then, when it was finally canceled, she retired.”

“Wait. She quit the industry?”

“Completely. She said she’d had her fill of it and that she wasn’t going to be one of those people constantly chasing that second role. She had played Wendy, she had been Wendy, and that was enough for her. From time to time, Elizabeth would appear on panel shows. But after about a decade, that stopped as well, and she’s been practically invisible ever since.”

“What kind of time frame are we talking about, here?”

“Wendy aired back in the late eighties and the nineties. Elizabeth must have left public life completely around fifteen years ago.”

“Did you know she was living in Cornwall?”

“Yes, it caused quite the commotion among the local population when she first moved here. She purchased a large estate a little ways outside of town. It offered her quite a bit of privacy. In fact, in all the years she’s lived here, I’ve never actually seen her out and about. She keeps to herself, and has her staff come into town to purchase everything she needs. I suppose I’d feel similarly, if I were to be swamped by admirers every time I left the house. No, actually. I think I’d embrace it.”

I nodded to myself. “And now someone wants to kill her,” I muttered.

“What?” Maggie asked, sharply.

I had completely forgotten that while I was gathering information from Maggie, I’d neglected to include the kind-of-crucial information Elizabeth had given me during her visit.

“That’s what she told me. Someone’s trying to kill her. That’s why she came in this morning. She wants to meet with me at lunch time, so she can give me details. Like who it might be. I think she wants me to stop it from happening, or solve it if it does.”

“Elizabeth Stevens has invited you to lunch,” Maggie said, the high pitch of her voice sounding a mixture of wistful and disbelieving.

“You think celebrity worship is a waste of time,” I said, eyeing my grandmother carefully. “I once saw you watch an interview with Cillian Murphy, and you asked why they were interviewing cancer patients.”

“He looked rather poorly,” Maggie replied. “How was I to know he was wearing makeup for some film role? Anyway, that’s correct. Most celebrities don’t interest me in the least. But Elizabeth Stevens is different. When I was single, raising Carl on my own, times were different. Representation of women on television was different. You had shows like One Foot in the Grave, where Victor Meldrew’s wife, Margaret, was constantly suffering due to her husband’s antics. And he was unquestionably the main character. And of course, there was In Sickness and In Health, because apparently the misogyny and racism in its predecessor, Till Death Us Do Part, wasn’t enough for some people.”

Maggie smiled, looking wistful as she continued. “Wendy was one of the first shows on television that had a strong woman as the main character. Someone women could look up to, rather than someone who was simply meant to be the object of scorn and ridicule. Someone I could see bits of myself in. As a strong woman, not as a broken one. She was the star of the show. Unlike all the others, where women were only there to complete the life of the male main character. She was funny. She was witty. She was smart. It meant a lot, back then. You can’t understand, and I’m glad you don’t. When you were growing up, there was more and more television made by women, for women. Showing us as people, not as accessories. But back then, there wasn’t. Wendy was the first. You can’t know how much it meant to see that.”

“And it wasn’t really all that long ago,” I muttered, a sad knot growing in my stomach.

“No, it wasn’t. Television is far from perfect, but it has certainly improved in that regard since those days. Detective Inspector Wendy Carlisle was even divorced.”

I could understand, now, why Maggie admired the woman so much. She represented more than just a television character. She represented hope. She had broken through the glass ceiling—or the glass TV screen, if you will—as the main actress on a show that had finally allowed Maggie to be seen in the media, in her own little way.

“Well, she was here. And someone wants to kill her.”

“Who is it? I’ll kill them myself,” Maggie said, and I knew she wasn’t kidding.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll tell you after I meet her at lunch.”

“Why did she come to you?” Maggie asked. “Why not the police? Oh, sod it, don’t answer that. I know bloody well why she didn’t go to the police. Because she’s not an idiot.”

I smiled. “She also told me she doesn’t trust men.”

“Smart woman. I know she’s not Wendy Carlisle in real life. But I did enjoy that show so much when it was on. You have to do whatever she tells you. We can’t lose her.”

“I’ll do my best to save her life,” I promised Maggie. “Don’t you worry about that.”

Chapter 2

Maggie left soon afterwards, and I continued helping customers through the rest of the morning. Things had slowed down considerably in the bookstore over the past week or two. September had come and gone, and with it, the tourists who spent their summer holidays in Cornwall. The long, lazy, warm days were now noticeably shorter, and when I left for the bookstore in the morning, more often than not there was a little bit of a chill on the breeze that passed through town.

People replaced tank tops and shorts with light sweaters and pairs of jeans. It wouldn’t be long before the leaves began to turn, and all around people commented on the weather more than usual. Which, for British people, meant a lot.

“We’d best make the most of it before the winter fog rolls in,” was a sentence I heard uttered at least five times a day.

Every local who had lived here their whole life warned me that in winter, business would dry up to nothing more than a trickle, and that I had to make all of my money in the summer months, as someone who primarily served the tourism industry.

And that was fair. I wasn’t about to discount the life experiences of everyone who had lived here their entire lives and come in like the stereotypical brash American, telling them all about how, in fact, I knew better than they did. I fully believed every single person telling me there was virtually no tourism here between September and May. But, at the same time, I also believed in doing what I could to make sure that when there was an offseason, I was still offering a cool experience for locals.

After all, there was still a permanent population in Cornwall. A population of people who loved to read. Who loved to experience life. And who would need something to do on those chilly, winter nights that were in fact perfect for curling up with a cup of tea—or, in my case, a hot mocha—and a good book while looking out at the fog over the water.

That meant I was changing some things up for the winter. I was thinking about trying a book club again. This would give people someplace to convene during the cold winter months, where they could get together and socialize over some hot chocolate and snacks and chat about a fun book. Even though the actual reading of a book was an individual experience, ultimately books created community. And I was going to create one of my own.

Hopefully, this time, no one would use said book club as a great opportunity to kill someone.

At the same time, I was focusing on making this place even cozier than normal. I wanted locals to come in and enjoy browsing through the shelves, maybe spend a few hours hanging around. I changed a lot of the décor from being bright and summery to darker and more fall-themed. I changed the lighting to be warmer. I added blankets to the chairs for people to wrap around themselves while they checked out books in the shop.

Still, there was no question that my daily customer base had shrunk. While a few weeks ago I would have easily had fifteen, twenty customers an hour, almost overnight that figure dropped to three or four, and it was continuing to drop by the day.

By the time lunch time rolled around, I could still count on one hand the number of customers that had passed through the doors. That was fine. I expected the downturn, and I could plan for it. I could make changes that would help.

But, as I closed up for lunch, there was only one thing on my mind, and it wasn’t books. It was murder.

I walked down to the Ugly Mug. Elizabeth hadn’t arrived yet, so I walked up to the counter, where Sophie was looking a little bit down.

“Hey, Sophie. What’s wrong, babes?” I asked, using her own nickname for everybody, thinking that might cheer her up.

She cracked the corner of her mouth into a small smile, but that was it. “I overheard a couple of people talking,” she explained. “They were looking at my stickers that we have on sale here. I don’t think they realized they were mine. They said they were lame.”

My heart sank for my friend.

“I know I shouldn’t let it get to me,” Sophie said. “But I do, you know? I made those stickers. I designed them. I drew the picture. There’s a piece of my soul in that art. For them to think it’s lame, it hurts, babes.”

I reached across the counter and took Sophie’s hands in mine. “Look at me,” I ordered.

Sophie did as I asked, and I continued. “Not everything is for everybody, okay? That’s what makes it art. I think the Mona Lisa is an overrated piece of trash. That doesn’t make me right. There are still millions of people that go to the Louvre every single year and line up to see that tiny little dinky painting.”

This made Sophie laugh. “You are the only person I know who thinks it’s terrible.”

“And that’s okay! That’s normal. It’s art. Not everyone is supposed to like everything. Besides, I bet those women sucked. I think they’re lame. The important thing is, people are buying them. Right?”

“Sometimes,” Sophie admitted. “I’ve been surprised. Most people really like them. Even if they don’t buy them, they giggle at the pictures.”

I grinned. “See? Most people love them.”

“So they say, at least. They’re not necessarily buying.”

“But they’re enjoying them. That’s the opposite of calling them lame.”

“That’s true,” Sophie said.

“And that’s something. Have you thought about doing a line of coffee-inspired ones to sell here?”

I glanced over at the small display next to the cash register. There were five different styles of stickers for sale. All nature themed. All very sarcastic and funny, and I loved every single one. But they didn’t necessarily scream “coffee shop.”

“I hadn’t thought about it, but maybe you’re right,” Sophie mused.

I waved a hand. “Actually, I’m probably just overthinking it right now. You’re a new, small business. It’s going to take some time for you to find your feet. Find your fan base. Your customers who will buy everything you have to offer.”

“True. And I’m not going to lie, babes. I’m making a few sales a week, and that’s more than I ever could have dreamed of. I cried when I made my first sale. I should be grateful for all of this.”

I smiled. “Sure. But you can be grateful for what you have and also want more. That’s okay too. It’s addictive, running your own business. Seeing the limitless possibilities on offer.”

“I think that now, when I’m too scared to have mucked anything up too badly,” Sophie said. Then, she scrunched up her nose. “And because I haven’t had to file any tax forms yet.”

“You could always go the illegal route and not file taxes at all,” I suggested.

“Okay, Al Capone,” Sophie teased.

“But seriously, take it one step at a time. You’ve opened your online store! You’ve got a bunch of shops in town stocking your stickers.”

“I’ll always be so grateful to Maggie,” Sophie gushed. “I’m pretty sure she threatened everybody that’s carrying my items into bending to her will, but I’ll take it.”

“She definitely threatened people,” I agreed. “And you’re right. It means your stickers are in their shops now.”

“You’re right, though. I want more, and I can get more, but I can’t get ahead of myself, and I should focus on the real problems at hand and not the imaginary problems that may or may not ever come to fruition.”

“Exactly,” I said, tapping my finger on the counter. “That’s exactly it.”

“Now, what can I get you?”

“Just an iced caramel latte, thanks,” I replied. “I’ll grab a cheesecake after I’m finished. I’m meeting someone.”

Sophie wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Aksel?”

“No,” I replied, a slight flush crawling up the back of my neck. It was stupid. I was a grown-ass adult. It was normal for me to be in a relationship. But there was still that little part of me that felt fifteen again every single time I thought about it. Thought about him. “I’m actually meeting an old TV star. Do you know Elizabeth Stevens?”

Sophie’s mouth dropped open. “Are you serious, babes? If you told my mum you were going to meet the Elizabeth Stevens, she’d just die. I knew she lived around here, but I’ve never seen her.”

“You should soon. Assuming she shows up, but I think she will.”

“What does she want? Some sort of business agreement?”

I leaned forward. “Okay, you can’t tell anyone about this, but she thinks someone is trying to kill her. She wants me to help her figure out who.”

Sophie’s mouth was practically hanging to the floor now. “No!”

“I wish I was kidding. But I don’t really know any of the details yet. That’s why we’re meeting.”

“Mack, this is big. Are you going to go to the police?”

“I don’t have a clue yet. I don’t think she wants to.”

Just then, Sophie’s eyes darted behind me. She whispered in a low voice, “Oh my God, Mack, she just walked in here.”

“Then act casual,” I implored. “Let me pay for my coffee.”

Sophie rang up the order but every couple of seconds kept glancing behind me at Elizabeth.

“You would be the worst spy of all time,” I hissed at her as I waited for the electronic payment to go through.

“I’ve never pretended otherwise, babes,” Sophie hissed back.

“Well, don’t tell her what I said,” I muttered as the payment went through, and I walked to the other side of the counter to wait for my coffee.

I could overhear the conversation between her and Elizabeth as I waited.

“Hello,” Sophie squealed, her voice a full octave higher than normal. “How can I help you?”

If Elizabeth realized there was anything weird about Sophie, she didn’t let it show. She smiled kindly. “I’ll have a pot of tea and a slice of triple-chocolate cheesecake, please.”

Sophie let out a giggle then looked over at me. She pointed to the cheesecake with a big grin on her face, like it was the coolest thing ever that Elizabeth had ordered a slice.

I rolled my eyes at her and mouthed, “Natural.”

Sophie rang up the order then walked to the coffee machine to make my coffee. “Would you like it in a to-go cup?” she asked.

“Not when my favourite mug is sitting up there, waiting to be used,” I replied with a grin.

Recently, the Ugly Mug had acquired a new drinking vessel. To call it a cup wasn’t fair. It was designed to look exactly like an octopus, with a hole in the top of its head for the coffee. Underneath, eight legs surrounded the main part of the mug, allowing it to stand upright. The whole thing had been painted a bright red, with the tentacles—each made from pottery, sticking out from the legs—painted white.

And, just to top it all off, whoever made the mug had put googly eyes on the face. It was perfect, and I loved it.

Sophie grinned as she grabbed the mug. “I thought you might say that.”

A minute later, I had my coffee, and I headed for the far corner of the coffee shop. There were a few tables in the back that were especially tucked away compared to the rest of the store, and I figured someone like Elizabeth Stevens would appreciate the privacy. Especially after I saw the reactions from both Sophie and Maggie.

I sat down, and Elizabeth followed after me, slipping elegantly into the chair across from me with her coffee and a plate with a slice of cheesecake.

I nodded toward the slice. “This is the best cheesecake this side of the Atlantic.”

Elizabeth cracked a smile. “Good. I must admit, for quite a few years, I was too careful about what I ate. Now, I figure I might as well enjoy myself while I still have the chance.”

“Right,” I said, pulling a notebook and pen from my bag on my lap. “You think someone is trying to kill you. Let’s start with who, and why.”

Chapter 3

Elizabeth was clearly in no rush. It was weird, really. If I knew someone wanted to kill me, I would be screaming it from the mountaintops so that everyone knew. I’d want to make sure if I dropped dead in that moment, someone would know to look for a killer. And I would make sure I wrote the killer’s name down ten thousand times, too. Just so people knew where to look.

But Elizabeth acted like she didn’t have a care in the world. She took a small bite of her cheesecake then placed the fork down on the edge, tines down. Very classy. “The why is very simple. Money. I happen to have a lot of it, and there are a few people in my life who would prefer to have it for themselves.”

“Like who?”

“My two children, for one. Monica and Jeffrey. I know they resent me for refusing to give them the money they want to live the lifestyles they’re after. They’re both young. In their mid-thirties.” As someone in my early thirties who was starting to feel like I was hurtling toward middle-age, hearing Elizabeth describe her children who were older than me as “young” certainly felt good. “They’re reckless. I did not make all of this money just to have my children wither it all away. And while I would prefer not to think that either one of them would want me dead, I’m rather afraid they do. Or at least, one of them does.”

I tilted my head to the side. “That’s not something most mothers would say about their children without proof.”

“No,” Elizabeth said, sighing. “It isn’t, is it? I do have the proof.”

She pulled out her phone, deftly tapping the screen and then turning it toward me. It was a screenshot of a text conversation between two people. The contact information on the top said “Jeffrey,” so I inferred the sender was Monica.

The text at the top was sent from Jeffrey to Monica.

Are you sure you can’t help? It’s not for long. I just need it for the down payment on a bigger house. I’ll pay you back.

I would if I could, Jeff, but I don’t have that kind of money. Have you asked Mum?

You know how she is about money. She won’t give me a pound.

You could just wait for her to die, you know? We’ll inherit it all eventually.

Eventually doesn’t help me now, does it?

I raised my eyebrows. “How on earth did you get this?”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Monica meant to send it to one of her friends. She sent it to me by accident, with the caption that Jeffrey was being annoying, and she didn’t know how to tell him she didn’t want to give him any money.”

I let out a low whistle. “That’s a hell of a missent text.”

“You’re not wrong. And it makes me wonder if she perhaps sent it on purpose.”

“Tell me about your kids.”

“Jeffrey is the older one. He’s thirty-seven. He lives in London with his wife and three children. He works as a financial advisor in the city, but it’s not the glamorous life one might imagine from the job title. Mostly, he instructs people richer than he is how to invest their money. It’s not a bad living, and he does well for himself, but Jeffrey has always been the kind of person who wanted to keep up with the family next door. He’s always wanted to be richer than he is. He’s always wanted more than he has. More than he can afford to pay for.”

“Okay, and so he’s buying a new place?”

“It appears so, although true to his words to Monica, he hasn’t told me anything about it. I don’t really see why. He owns a four-bedroom house already. I did give him the down payment for it. When his wife Lucy was pregnant with their third, I thought they needed an upgrade from the one-bedroom flat they’d been living in. While I do believe that the children need to make their own way in the world, and that I shouldn’t be spoiling them, I’m not a monster. I saw that my family had a need, and I helped them take care of it. Yes, he’s further out from London than he would like, and yes, he has to take the train in to work every morning. But so do millions of other people. And this way, his family lives in a nice community, with each child having a bedroom of their own. If Jeffrey wants more than that, he could give up the new Mercedes he purchases every two years or give up the overseas holidays every couple of months. He’s not inherently struggling. His decision-making is causing him to struggle.”

“Okay. And yet you think he might be able to kill you.”

“Don’t let my composure fool you, Mackenzie,” Elizabeth said across the table, and I noticed her just gently toying with the edge of the fork. “The idea horrifies me. My own child. My flesh and blood, that I birthed myself, wanting me dead? I’d much rather not believe it. But I am a pragmatist, and when I realized someone was trying to kill me, I immediately knew that the most likely suspects are the two people who stand to gain the most from my death.”

“What about Monica? Tell me about her.”

“Monica is, and always has been, what one might call a free spirit. She’s never appeared to care as much about the money, although she has needed it more than Jeffrey at various times in her life. She moved from home at eighteen, abroad to Spain, and then France, and then Monaco, where she met a man and got married. She divorced him within the year, and spent all of the money he gave her in the settlement over the next five. Then, she moved to the country. She bought a little house there, and she works as some sort of artist. Or so she tells me. I suspect Monica makes her money in other ways, although she won’t tell me what those are.”

“And you think she would kill you over money?”

Elizabeth considered the question for a minute before answering. I could see the pain in her eyes. Clearly, having to wonder if your children were willing to murder you for the money was not something she was enjoying.

“I don’t know,” she eventually said. “I’ve thought about it, and I don’t know. I don’t really think she would do it. But at the same time, this is my life. Can I really take that chance? Monica likes to spend money, but she also doesn’t care about having it. That’s how she lost it all the first time. She seems just as happy living in her small cottage that might not have running water as she was living on an estate on the French Riviera. Monica is just so mysterious, and she won’t talk to me about these sorts of things. While I don’t believe she would do it, I really can’t say for certain, and this isn’t the sort of thing I can take a chance on. She might also have another, non financial reason.”

“And have you given her that reason?”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “Was I the best mother? Not always. But I do believe my children love me.”

“What about their father? Is he in the picture?”

Elizabeth grimaced. “No. Not anymore. He left when the children were thirteen and fifteen. Decided he’d finally had enough. He couldn’t stand living in my shadow any longer.”

“Who was he?”

“Donald Salinger. He was an actor as well. The two of us met when we were still teenagers, just children, really. We attended the same acting school. For a long time, we were just friends. Then, we became more than that. He proposed. We were always living in poverty, but it didn’t matter. We had each other. And our struggle, which I didn’t realize at the time was the basis for our marriage. We would scrounge by, getting little jobs here and there. Just enough to pay the bills, and no more. Then, one day, I was cast in Wendy, and everything changed.”

Elizabeth’s gaze was far off in the distance, but a small smile crept across her face at the memory. “Suddenly, we had money. Just a little bit, at first. I wasn’t promised more than a single series, but it was a steady paycheck, which was more than we’d had up until then. And most people thought it wouldn’t last more than that. Donald scoffed at the idea of the woman being the main character. He thought no one would watch it. But I knew he was wrong. And he was. Wendy was an instant hit. And with it came the money. It wasn’t just the salary. Then, the next thing I know, I was doing ad campaigns for major companies. Lloyd’s Bank. Marks and Spencer. Visa. They all wanted me. My face was everywhere. I was successful. I had request after request for interviews.”

“And Douglas didn’t like that very much?” I asked dryly.

“No,” Elizabeth said, her voice suddenly short. “He pretended to, at first. And he certainly enjoyed the money. Oh, he liked having that around, without question. But over time, the jokes about his name being Mr. Stevens, the constant attention I would receive while he was reduced to the background, it all got to him. We had always dreamed that we would be successful together. We had always said if one of us made it, the other would support them. But, when the time came, and it had to be him supporting me and not the other way around, it turned out he didn’t quite have it in him to do so.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. It was the most difficult thing I’ve ever been through, without question. But it taught me so much, mostly about me. That I didn’t need anybody else. I had myself, and I had my children. And ultimately, that was what got me through. It’s what’s gotten me here, now.”

Elizabeth was clearly a no-nonsense woman.

“Do you still speak to Donald?”

“On occasion. We’re not close, but we’re not enemies, either. We do still have two children together, even if they are grown. We’re cordial to one another.”

“Does he get anything if you die? I assume no.”

“No. He got half of the assets we had when we divorced. He tried to petition the courts to allow him further access to the money I made in the future, but they were having absolutely none of it. Especially when my solicitor showed evidence that Donald had auditioned for hundreds of roles during that time. He was clearly willing to work, he simply wasn’t being chosen for it.”

“Do you suspect him at all?”

Elizabeth bit her lower lip gently. “Yes and no. I think he would kill me, if he thought he could get something out of it. He truly despised me at the end of our marriage. I do wish I had seen the signs earlier, you know. He had been so kind, so supportive up until then. Until I was more successful. Then, it was as though he’d turned into a monster. I do believe he felt that way our entire marriage. He was simply able to better hide it so long as I wasn’t noticeably more successful than he was. Yes, I think he would kill me if he thought it could net him my money. But it won’t. My will makes it clear: all of my money is going to my children, with a couple of exceptions.”

“What are those exceptions?”

“My personal assistant, Claire Baker. I’m leaving her a million pounds. She does everything for me, and she’s just so lovely. She deserves all of it. And I’m leaving a hundred thousand to the rest of the staff. There are seven of them. I don’t believe any of them would do this, though.”

“How long has Claire been working for you?”

“Twelve years. Since I moved here.”

“You keep saying that someone is trying to kill you. Let’s get back to that. What’s been happening?”

“Oh, I am quite certain that someone is trying. The first attempt on my life was about three months ago. I was out in the woods, along one of the paths. I take a regular route every day, at the same time. A branch fell from one of the trees and nearly hit me. If it had, I’d have been killed immediately. It was only by chance that the song I was listening to ended, and I was able to hear the crack in the second before the next one began. I saw the branch coming down, and I ran out of the way just in time.”

“And you know that was done on purpose?”

“I’m certain of it, though at the time I believed it to be an act of nature. I rushed back home immediately, of course. I phoned the National Trust to report it, and as I did, I told my gardener, Ralph. It was rather a large branch, and I knew it would be blocking the trail. Ralph offered to go down with a chainsaw and cut it up so it wouldn’t block the path. He said it would be faster than waiting for the National Trust to get onto it, and he was right. The two of us headed back out, chainsaw in hand, and went to break up the branch. Ralph wanted to have a look at the tree; he said if it looked unhealthy, we should report that as well, as it might drop other branches onto people. But then, he stopped. I asked him what was wrong, and he motioned to the branch. It hadn’t been torn off the tree. It had been cut cleanly three quarters of the way through.”

“You’re sure of this?”

“Couldn’t have been more certain.”

“And at that point you thought it was someone out to get you?”

“Initially, no. I thought it was a poorly-thought-out prank. Local kids, cutting through the branch and leaving, expecting it to fall eventually, without realizing what horrible consequence it nearly had. I didn’t think anything of it. I told the Natural Trust when they followed up with me, and that was the last I heard. But then, about a month later, I was driving to an appointment in Truro when I pressed on the brakes, and my car wouldn’t stop. It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced. Luckily, I wasn’t traveling very fast. I was able to shift down into a lower gear until I was traveling slowly enough, and then I drove into a farmer’s field. I mowed down his fence, but that was enough to stop me. I explained what had happened, and he was very understanding. He called a tow truck and promised The Sun wouldn’t hear about this from him. All he wanted in exchange was an autograph. Which I gladly gave him, of course.”

“And let me guess: the tow truck came, took your car to the nearest garage, and they told you the brake line had been cut.”

“Precisely.”

“And you don’t have a driver?”

“I do,” Elizabeth admitted. “But I also have my own car that I drive. Sometimes I like to go out on my own.”

“And it’s a different car?”

“Yes. John drives me in a Mercedes E-series. It’s far too large for me. I have a little Smart car that I like to zip around in. The gearbox leaves something to be desired, but it’s fine for me when I just want to get out and about.”

“So, the brakes were definitely cut.”

“They were. I asked the mechanic if it could have been a rodent that had gotten in and chewed the wire. At the time, I wasn’t thinking of murder. But he told me, clear as day, that someone had cut the line on purpose. He offered to call the police for me, but I told him to hold off, that I would deal with it. He fixed up the car and sent me on my way, looking rather worried for me, I must say. It wasn’t until I was driving back home that I remembered what had happened with the tree branch, and I began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, someone wasn’t really after me.”

“So what triggered your visit to me?”

“Two days ago, someone attempted to run me off the road. I was walking along the side of the street, heading toward the path where I like to walk, when I heard a motor speeding up. I turned to see a car rushing toward me. We were on an isolated road. There was no one else around. I leapt into the ditch, and they sped away.”

“Did you get a look at the car?”

“I couldn’t tell you anything more than it was white,” Elizabeth said ruefully. “It all happened so fast. When I fell, I hurt my ankle a little bit as well. It took me a moment to get over that and to manage to scramble up and see the car. I’m afraid I didn’t catch the number plate. I could just tell it was white.”

“Are you okay now?”

“I am, but one thing is clear: that car didn’t come even remotely close to stopping, and it had to go out of its way to get to me. Whoever was behind that wheel did so on purpose, and it’s only by chance that I’m still here. It was clear to me then. Someone is trying to murder me, Mackenzie.” Elizabeth’s eyes bored into mine as she spoke that last sentence. There was a quiet confidence there. But there was also fear.

I nodded. “Yeah, I agree with you.”

Elizabeth let out a deep breath, and with it, her shoulders seemed to relax. “I’m glad you agree. I’ve told a couple of people, and they all seem to think I’m insane. They told me I watched my own television shows too often.”

“No. People don’t want to think there are killers out there because it makes them uncomfortable. They’ve never had any experience with having someone try to kil them, because, well, they’re still here, aren’t they? So, to them, the idea that there might actually be someone out there trying to kill you seems impossible. But it isn’t. I’ve seen far too many bodies since moving here to believe otherwise.”

“This kind of perspective is why I came to you. And don’t put undue pressure on yourself, Mackenzie. I don’t expect you to find the killer before they get to me.”

I swallowed, hard. “I’m going to do my best.”

“I know you will. But if you don’t succeed, please don’t feel guilty about it. Human nature means you will. But I’m telling you, I have spent a lot of time reading about murder, and there is one thing I know: if someone is determined to kill you, they will eventually succeed. It’s a lot easier to successfully kill someone than it is to thwart multiple attempts at it. There’s a famous quote from the IRA about it, although they never eventually succeeded in getting that old witch Thatcher. Of course, I would be eternally grateful if you were able to find out who is doing this before they managed to get to me. But if you don’t, please do not feel that I blame you in any way.”

I had to admit, I liked Elizabeth. She was more pragmatic than almost anyone I had ever met. Here she was, prewarning me about survivor’s guilt and doing her best to clearly tell me she wouldn’t consider it my fault if I failed.

“Okay, I’ll start trying to get to the bottom of this.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ve got the perfect opportunity all sorted. I’ve planned a party, and I expect the killer to murder me there.”

Chapter 4

“You’ve… planned a party?”

Elizabeth laughed lightly. “A little bit macabre, I know. Planning a celebration where you expect to die. But I always did have a flair for the dramatic. It’s the actress in me, I suppose.”

“On that note, before we talk about the party, can I ask why you removed yourself from public life after Wendy ended?”

Elizabeth smiled. “There were three reasons. For one thing, I didn’t want to be the kind of person who had a single phenomenal role, the sort of thing that comes around once in a lifetime, and then spend the rest of my life trying in vain to replicate that success. I was content with being a one-hit wonder. What would have been so much worse would have been a string of failures afterwards. But more than that, I was tired, Mackenzie. You’re still young. You’re clearly successful. But me? I was none of those things at your age.”

Elizabeth leaned back in the chair, clearly thinking back to the past. “When I was cast as Wendy, I was already in my late thirties. Since I was eighteen, this had been my dream. But working towards my dream meant my day-to-day life was a nightmare. We were always scrounging for money, ever since day one. I’d never owned a car. I had small children who constantly needed new things. I shopped exclusively at thrift stores. I knew how to make a tenner buy a week’s worth of groceries for the whole family. I was tired, Mackenzie. Not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep can fix, either. My soul was tired. Wendy was a godsend, in more ways than one. And when it ended, I had the luxury of not needing to work anymore. I was single. Recently divorced. I had the luxury of finally—after so long—having some time to myself. My entire life was mine once more. I was beholden to no husband. No boss. My children were at university.”

“That must have been nice.”

“Oh, you cannot even begin to imagine. Donald was gone. All of the snarky comments, the pouting looks whenever I’d get attention he didn’t receive. The tension I’d feel in my chest every time my success was mentioned, knowing how angry it made him. How I knew he would yell when we were alone. The children were grown, and I could pay for them to go to university. I was alone, for the first time in my life, and I no longer had to struggle for money. I embraced it. Mackenzie, you cannot believe how happy it made me. I moved out here, since it’s where my family used to summer when I was a child. And while I used to go up to London from time to time to be interviewed, or take part in panel shows, eventually, I decided to give that all up.”

“I can understand that. What’s the third reason?”

“This one is, in a way, the most important reason. Going by your accent, I’m going to assume you never saw Wendy? At any rate, even if you had grown up here you’d likely be too young to remember it.”

I shook my head no, and Elizabeth continued. “It was a groundbreaking television show in many respects. It was one of the first to show women as strong, as capable, as good as men in every way. To this day, I have women who come up to me in the streets and tell me how important it was to them. But it was even more important back then. I didn’t think about it initially, when we were filming. I took every advert that was offered to me. I thought of all the roles I would take on after the show was canceled. But as we got closer to that date, I began to think about the legacy of Wendy. I know that as an actor, I’m supposed to believe that I can re-create a new character in every role. But at the same time, Wendy was so important to so many people that a part of me didn’t want to ruin that illusion for women by taking on another role. Retirement was, in its own small way, my method of immortalizing the character. Because the woman who played her would never be seen in another role on someone’s television ever again.”

The respect I had for the woman in front of me grew. She had clearly thought all of this through.

“So there wasn’t some sort of secret stalker? No bad experience with a TV executive that made you decide to hide away?”

“No,” Elizabeth replied simply. “Nothing of the sort. Just an old woman who was tired of life and decided to run away from it all. Mostly successfully, I might add. I’m not sure there’s anyone from the entertainment industry who bears me any ill will, and I don’t consider anyone from that life to be an enemy. There were people I didn’t like, of course. But that’s all.”

“Okay, tell me about this party you’ve got planned, then.”

“It’s going to take place on the weekend. Saturday afternoon, into the evening. I’m inviting everyone that I think could possibly have a hand in this.”

“Extend the invitations,” I said instinctively. “One thing I’ve learned about killers: it’s not always who you think. Invite anyone you still have contact with. And then more people after that. You’re more likely to have them arrive that way. You say you don’t have enemies from back then, but I’m betting you do. You just don’t realize it. You’re a smart woman. You must know all too well that you make enemies in this world just by daring to exist, be a woman, and be successful.”

Wendy gave me an appraising look, then nodded. “All right. I will. You’re right. There will be catering. Free drinks. My birthday was a month and a half ago, so I’m calling it a belated celebration. But in reality, it’s a trap to find a killer. I’ve installed security cameras all over my home. I’ll make sure you have access.”

“You’ve clearly thought this through.”

“I know whoever is doing this will take the opportunity to try again. If they’re successful, I want it on camera.”

“I’ll bring my grandmother,” I said, knowing that Maggie would very likely murder me if she knew I’d gotten this invitation and wasn’t going to take her.

“Anyone you’d like. I’ll introduce you as a new friend I’ve made in town.”

“Great. Can you email me your guest list? I’d like to look into who will be there before I go.”

“Of course. And Mackenzie?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for taking this seriously. Far too often, women aren’t believed when we speak of things like this. I’m very glad you’re not one to act like that.”

“Never,” I replied.

“In that case, I will send you all of the information you need. I will see you on Saturday.”

“Stay safe,” I implored, and Elizabeth just gave me a small smile in return.

“I will try.”

As she left, I bit my lip, thinking about what she had just told me and what she was asking of me. There was no doubt in my mind Elizabeth was right. Someone was trying to kill her. Three attempts on her life already made that clear. But who? And was I going to find them in time? I certainly hoped so.

* * *

“What do I wear to a party run by one of the most famous women in the country?” I asked an hour before we had to be at Elizabeth’s home, bemoaning my wardrobe of jeans, graphic T-shirts, and not too much else.

It was the middle of the day on a Saturday, and I had taken my lunch break. Ada, being the absolute queen she was, had offered to keep the store open for a few hours while I was at the party. I had told her it was fine, and that I didn’t get a lot of customers anyway anymore, but she insisted, claiming that she could just bring her laptop and get some work of her own done during the downtime.

“It’s a country party,” Ada said, rummaging through my closet. “There’s going to be something here that works.”

“You can actually pull off a pair of dark blue jeans,” Sophie said. “Pair it with a nice sweater. That would be fine. Add a nice necklace or something.”

“I’m not an accessories kind of person, most of the time.”

“Well, today you’re going to have to be,” Sophie said, taking the long, gold necklace with a brooch on the bottom and handing it to me. I slipped it over my neck, grateful for the help, while Ada eventually emerged from the pile of clothes that were—let’s be honest here—mostly on the floor, with a pair of straight, dark blue jeans and a black knit sweater with white hearts embroidered across the front.

“Here,” she said. “This will be fine.”

“Thanks for the help,” I replied, grabbing the clothes and heading down the hall. By the time I’d come back, Ada had managed to scrounge up my old pair of tan ankle boots that I had, quite frankly, forgotten I’d even owned.

“What if I have to chase a killer?” I complained, looking at the thick, two-inch heel on the back of the boot.

“Then try not to lose your balance,” Ada suggested. “But you’re going to stand out if you show up to the party in a pair of runners, and the last thing you want to do is stand out.”

“You’re right,” I admitted. “Although I’m pretty sure that’s going to happen anyway. I’m going to a party hosted by one of the most famous people in England. Of course I’m going to stand out.”

Elizabeth had emailed me the day before. After our conversation, she’d decided to increase the guest list significantly. Maggie was now coming along, not only to meet Elizabeth, but also to act as my own, personal Google search. She was going to help me navigate a party where some of England’s most famous people were unquestionably going to be.

“You don’t have a designer purse or anything, do you?” Ada asked.

“I had a fake Louis Vuitton back in high school. One of the ones with the cherry blossoms. I bought it on Canal Street.”

“Oh, I loved that series,” Sophie gushed. “It was all I wanted when I was a kid.”

“Present day, Mack.”

“No, it fell apart after a few months because, well, it was a Canal Street fake. I’ve only got the one bag.”

“Too bad. Oh well. It’ll have to do.”

“I didn’t expect to have to be mingling with rich people when the week started,” I protested at Ada’s tone.

She turned and gave me an unimpressed look. “Have you seen the kind of situations you get up to? You need to have the kind of closet a CIA agent would be proud of. I’ve never met anyone who can find themselves in more insane situations than you.”

Okay, maybe she had a point there.

“Give me the CIA’s budget, and I’ll take us all on a shopping spree at Louis Vuitton. Vintage cherry blossom bags for everybody. But the real thing this time.”

“I’d be okay with that,” Sophie said. “If you save Elizabeth’s life, that’s the least she should offer you.”

“Yeah, I’m going to do my best,” I said quietly. There was no doubt about it; I was nervous. Elizabeth was convinced whoever was trying to kill her would do so at this party.

And while she was more concerned with bringing whoever was going to do it to justice, I wanted to make sure she stayed alive. Period. I just hoped I would be successful.

Chapter 5

Just after two o’clock in the afternoon, Maggie was pulling her car up to the main driveway of Maggie’s estate, and I was starting to feel like my heart rate might finally come down from its highs in the two hundreds from the drive.

I had asked—okay, I had begged Ada to drive us there, but Maggie made the unfortunately excellent point that if we needed to go after the killer in a chase, we would need a car.

And that meant she was driving us there.

Maggie’s driving skills had not improved since the last time I was unfortunate enough to need a ride from her, and I was pretty sure I had actually gotten a sneak preview as to what my death would look like as we careened toward a stone wall at fifty miles an hour that Maggie somehow managed to avoid at the last second.

Now, however, I looked at the rows of cars parked along the side of the long driveway leading up to the expansive house. It was basically a who’s who of luxury cars. Mercedes. BMW. Audi. Jaguar. There was even a Maserati parked off to one side. Crookedly, I couldn’t help but notice.

Maggie’s old yellow mystery-brand vehicle that was certainly never on the cutting edge was now not only behind the curve, but behind at least three or four curves, didn’t exactly fit in.

“I feel like someone is going to come over as soon as we get out of the car and comically blow it up or something, just for daring to be so close to these other cars,” I muttered.

“Well, this one gets us from A to B just as well as any of them,” Maggie replied. We got out and headed to the main part of the house. I tried not to gape at it as we walked toward the front door.

The house was huge. It was rectangular, made from white stone that shone brightly in the beautiful late-summer sunshine. It was like a full moon, bright and imposing. All around it was a perfectly manicured lawn, mowed in the style that made it look like there were two different colors, in perfectly even strips. Farther away from the house, lush trees, whose leaves were just starting to go from bright green to brilliant oranges and yellows, dotted the landscape, giving the area farther from the house a more wild, natural look.

At the entrance was a man dressed in a full suit and tie, with a list in hand.

He nodded as we approached. “Miss Owens, and Mrs. Summers,” he said, not waiting for us to give our names. “Ms. Sallinger is waiting for you inside.”

“Great,” I said, immediately feeling out of place. I really wished I had a real Louis Vuitton right then. A few months ago, I had found myself in the middle of a fancy rich-people party in the middle of London while trying to solve a murder, and this had the exact same vibes.

Maggie and I walked into the house, although calling it a house was probably doing it a disservice. It wasn’t quite a castle, but it was more than just a house. The ceilings were high, at least twelve feet, and ornately decorated with cornices and small accent pieces that would have made house renovators on HGTV salivate.

The floor was hardwood, shining so brightly I was worried I was going to slip over like it was ice. The entrance was actually a lot less grand than I had imagined. Almost immediately, on the right-hand wall was a staircase leading upstairs. A long, scarlet runner ran along the length of the hall leading to the sound of voices. A woman motioned for us to follow her, and we did, being escorted through the home while I tried not to stare.

We were led into an enormous living room, although I wasn’t sure that was the right word. Ballroom, maybe. It was expansive and must have taken up the entire back side of the house. There were four enormous bay windows, nearly floor-to-ceiling. In between them was a set of French doors that opened onto the lawn at the back.

On the walls on both sides of the room were two matching fireplaces. The walls were painted two shades of blue: robin’s egg at the top and a deeper azure color below the chair rail. Two large chandeliers made of crystal cast a brilliant glow onto the room, the light dancing off the crystals.

Against the back wall, immediately to my right, stood a large table laden with a buffet-style spread of food. My eyes immediately landed on the caviar. Just sitting there. At a buffet.

I couldn’t believe it.

But I wasn’t here to gape at the way the ultrarich lived. I was here to find a killer.

“Ah, Mackenzie,” Elizabeth’s voice said smoothly as she walked toward me, looking radiant in a form-fitting, floor-length emerald-green dress. She had paired it with a simple string of pearls and wore a pair of flat, white sandals. She looked stunning. “Thank you for coming. This must be your grandmother.”

“Maggie Summers,” Maggie introduced herself, holding out a hand. One look at her face, and I knew how much this moment meant to her.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Elizabeth said, shaking her hand. “Thank you for coming. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate Mackenzie taking this on for me.”

“You look gorgeous,” I pointed out.

“If I’m going to die this afternoon, I’d prefer to do so while looking my best,” Elizabeth replied with a wink.

I pulled her aside slightly. “So, you really think it’s going to happen here? Today?”

Elizabeth’s expression turned serious. “I do. You got all of the camera footage I sent you?”

I nodded. Elizabeth had installed state-of-the-art, high-definition cameras all over the property. Every room was covered. If someone tried to kill her in the house, or outside on the lawn, it was going to be recorded.

“You seem very… okay with it, if it happens.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I’m fine with whatever happens. I just want whoever does this to me caught. You have free rein of the party. Please feel free to interact with whoever you’d like and tell them you know me from your store. I’ll go along with anything you say.”

“Thanks,” I said, feeling a little bit more confused than ever. Why was Elizabeth so okay with someone murdering her? She seemed to care so much more about them being caught than in trying to prevent her own death.

I walked back to the buffet table and picked up a plate from the end. It was made from fine china, far from the usual flimsy paper plates on offer at less fancy venues. Maggie was already eating and had started a conversation with a man I didn’t recognize.

I filled up my own plate then wandered outside. There had to be at least fifty, sixty people here, between the lawn outside and the large interior. Elizabeth hadn’t been kidding when she said she was going to invite a large number of people. And then, it clicked as to why.

She wanted her potential killer to feel safe. She wanted them to feel like there wouldn’t be much suspicion falling on them, if they chose this party to commit murder.

My eyes landed on Monica almost immediately. She was easy to spot in the crowd. While everyone else was clearly the definition of quiet luxury—Loro Piana shirts, purses from designers I’d never even heard of—Monica floated through the crowd, wearing a bohemian skirt with frayed edges and an oversized sweatshirt. She wasn’t speaking to anybody, but instead walked through the mass of party guests until she reached the far end of the lawn. She passed through, like a ghost, invisible to nearly everyone else until she reached the planters at the far end of the lawn, meant to mark a natural delineation between the outside lawn and the expansive estate.

She stood near the wall by herself, vaguely watching the partygoers.

I walked toward her. If Monica was surprised to see me approach her, she didn’t show it. She simply offered me a small smile, almost as ghostlike as she was.

“Hello,” she greeted me as I got closer.

“Hi. I’m Mack. I’m a new friend of your mom’s.”

“So I’ve heard. She told me you’d be around. You’re here to find out which one of us is trying to murder her for the money, aren’t you?”

I was completely taken aback. “She told you?”

“No,” Monica said, waving a hand easily. “But it’s very clear. I looked into you. I always look into people Mum gets close to. Everything I’ve read about you places you at crime scenes or involves you in their solving. You might not be a private investigator, but you’re certainly the type of person Mum would trust to look into things for her. And she needs someone like that right now.”

“Okay,” I said, hedging that Monica was as blunt as she said. “Then what about you?”

She raised an eyebrow then took a small sip of her drink before answering. “Me? Why would I possibly want to kill my own mother?”

“Well, for the money, as you said. You’re one of her two living children. You inherit half of it.”

“Oh, but my dear,” Monica said, not unkindly, “I don’t have any need for it.”

“I was told that you inherited a bunch of money from your divorce, but that you spent it all, moved to the country, and live a simple life now.”

Monica threw her head back and laughed, and the sound was surprisingly beautiful. It rang out like a bird’s song. “Do you know what the worst thing about the rich is?”

“Oh, believe me, I have a long list I can go through.”

Monica gave me an approving look. “So, you’ve interacted with them before. They cannot possibly contemplate that someone might not want the life they want. I love my mother, with all of my heart, but she is one of them. Yes, I moved to the country. Yes, I live in a cottage with an old-style thatched roof, with an oven that would have been considered a modern luxury when Queen Anne ruled this country. I don’t have a stainless-steel fridge, I don’t jet around the world in lie-flat seats, and yet, I am happy. I’m living exactly the life I want, and contrary to what many people believe—including my mother—I actually do have millions of pounds in the bank. They just can’t believe that I would choose to live a life like this, so they assume I’ve spent all of my money.”

I smiled. “We might be a bit more alike than you realize. I lived in New York City, intent on climbing the corporate ladder, until I moved here.”

“So you understand.”

“I do. Certainly more than most people. But I have to say, for someone who’s worried someone might be out there trying to kill your mom, you’re not very panicked.”

“What good would panicking do? I’ve told Mum what I think. She should go to the police, if she thinks someone is out to kill her. She should take a long holiday overseas, without telling anyone. Remove herself from the situation entirely. But that’s not Mum’s way. Instead, she does this. Throwing a party, where the person who’s out to kill her is likely enjoying themselves out on the lawn.”

Monica grimaced as she motioned. “Every single one of the people here is pretending to be her friend, but one of them wants her dead. More than that, someone here has already gone to a fair bit of effort to make sure she winds up that way. That’s rather morbid to think about, isn’t it? It’s one thing to investigate a murder after it’s happened. You find the killer, they admit to what they did, and then you remember in hindsight the interactions you’ve had with them in the past. This is altogether different, don’t you think? There’s probably a killer out there, somewhere in the crowd. We’re looking at the situation in the present. We don’t know who the killer is. We just know that he’s out there.”

“I’ve never thought about it that way,” I admitted. “But in a way, what difference does it make? A killer is a killer. Whether we know they are at the time, or only in hindsight, does it change anything?”

“You tell me. Will you be acting the same way around everyone, knowing one of them is trying to murder our host?”

“Who do you think it could be?” I asked. “You seem to know most of the people here and their relationship to Elizabeth.”

Monica smiled. “Oh, believe me, I know who wants her dead. I’m related to most of them.”

Chapter 6

“My brother is the obvious prime suspect,” Monica said, frowning slightly. She motioned with her head toward a group of five people standing about fifty feet away. “That’s him there, looking like a right twat in that yellow shirt.”

Instantly, I knew who she meant. Jeffrey Stephensen was in his forties. He was starting to go bald on top, and the rest of his brown hair was going white at the tips. He wore a pastel-yellow long-sleeved shirt with a pair of brown corduroys and a pair of leather shoes that shone so brightly small children could probably use it to reflect the sun and set small bits of paper on fire.

He laughed easily at someone’s joke, a drink in hand.

“He asked you for money.”

“He did. He’s always looking for more money. And I am not unsympathetic. He has a family. Small mouths to feed. But Jeffrey has enough. He simply always wants more. He’s been that way since he was a child. He can never be content with what he has. If he’s the killer, he’ll kill Mum thinking the inheritance will solve all of his problems, and then six months down the line, he’ll have spent it all and realize he, in fact, needs more money to be happy.”

Monica let out a grunt of disapproval. “He never understands that his problems don’t stem from not having enough. They stem from him not being enough. He’ll never learn that he needs to find happiness within, not from exterior validation from other people. He’ll also never realize that the kinds of people who will think better of him because he has a brand new Mercedes and not a ten-year-old Honda are not the types of people whose opinion he should be giving a rat’s ass about.”

“And you really think he would kill your mother?”

“I do,” Monica answered simply.

“Who else here has a reason to kill your mother? Whether it be for the money or for anything else?”

“Well, there’s father, of course. That’s him over there.”

Monica pointed to the far end of the lawn, where a man in his seventies stood. His suit was about half a size too big for him, and his back was just beginning to stoop. He was speaking with a woman who kept darting her gaze to the side, as if trying to find a way out of the conversation.

“He resents Mum. Always has. She was successful, whereas he never was. He was the kind of man who couldn’t handle a woman like her. And to this day, while he still does his best to leech off her, that’s all he is. A leech. Someone who does his best to suck all the good from her because he doesn’t have anything to offer himself.”

“I have to say, you don’t seem to be a big fan of most of your family members.”

“I’m not,” Monica said, airily, as if my comment didn’t affect her in the least. “I also think Mum’s a nutcase for isolating herself from every single person she’s ever known and refusing to so much as be seen in public. I have sympathy for her. I saw growing up how much attention she got whenever she left the house. But the world isn’t the same. She’s a lot older now. She could very easily change her appearance enough that she would be able to get by without being constantly harangued by fans. Or she could move overseas. No one would know her there.”

“I get the impression your mother is living life exactly the way she would like to.”

“Oh, she is. And I suppose I can’t fault her for that. After all, I’ve done the same thing, and I’m all too aware that most people in my life believe me to be nuts for doing so. Or poor. Which, in their mind, is worse. But she’s not perfect, and I don’t think pretending everyone’s lives are is beneficial to anyone. Especially when it’s clear someone is out to kill Mum.”

“Has she told you about it?”

“She told me about one incident that she wrote off as being an accident. I was less certain, and I told her to be careful. Then, she told me about the brakes. I told her she should go to the police. Of course, she didn’t want to. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Because her most iconic TV role is that of a police woman?”

“Exactly. But no, she came to you instead. Isn’t that funny. What did you say you do?”

“I run the local bookshop,” I replied. “But I’ve also solved a few murders here in my free time. Which, one could argue, makes me better than the police, especially given as that’s their whole job.”

Monica laughed. “Yes, perhaps you’re right.”

“Who else is here that might want to see your mom dead? What about Claire, her assistant?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’m afraid. I haven’t seen much of Mum these past few years, but she’s never had a bad word to say about the woman. Now, on the other hand, do you see that woman over there? In the green dress?”

Monica pointed with her eyes. The woman she motioned to was tall, around the same age as Elizabeth. She looked vaguely familiar. She was speaking with a small group of people, but she was clearly the center of attention. How could she not be, in a form-fitting emerald-green dress that shone in the sun, thanks to attached rhinestones.

“Yes.”

“That’s Beatrice Wellsley. She and Mum have known each other since they were in school. They were best friends, for a long time. Beatrice made it big almost straight away. Not in the movies or anything like that. But she was a main character on Corrie for a long time.” My confused look made Monica chuckle. “I forgot, you don’t really get that over in America. Coronation Street. It’s one of the biggest soap operas in Britain. And it was even bigger forty years ago. Anyway, Beatrice had a great role in that, and she got used to the fame it brought. But, eventually, she was written off the show after ten years, and that was right around when Mum started doing Wendy. Beatrice never really got another job that was quite as good as Corrie, and she started to resent Mum’s status as an icon. Of course, Mum also spent half our childhood resenting Beatrice and the fact that she had a steady paycheck and was recognized in the street. I never quite understood how the two of them were friends. They were both so competitive with one another. But here they are, all these years later. You can still see it. I bet Beatrice bought that dress specifically for the next time she’d be at a party hosted by Mum. Her whole goal is to outshine her.”

“Do you think she would kill your mother?”

Monica shrugged. “I don’t know. But there’s certainly a lot of history there, and a lot of bad blood to go with the good. She wouldn’t have any financial incentive, and she wouldn’t need one. But there are many other reasons one might kill. She might finally have had enough of her.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“If you need anything, I’ll be out here on my own. No one ever comes to talk to me. It’s as though they’re afraid the poor might leak onto them or something,” Monica said dryly.

I laughed. “Got it. I appreciate the help.”

I walked back toward the action, leaving Monica behind. I figured I should probably talk to Jeffrey first, so I walked toward the group he was speaking to.

The group were all significantly older than me, the youngest member looking to be in their forties. Plus, the clothes they had on were clearly collectively more expensive than my entire net worth. The woman standing next to Jeffrey had a Birkin 25 hanging loosely in the crook of her elbow. That alone was worth over ten grand.

But, if there was one thing I’d learned in this world, it was that acting the part was more important than looking the part. I did a quick Google search, then I sidled up to the group as if I belonged, and immediately, everyone turned to me.

“Sorry for interrupting. I just wanted to ask if that’s the Bleu Saphir. I’ve been dying to see the color in person. I haven’t had the chance to go up to London.”

“It is,” the woman said, immediately brightening. “I’ve been dying to get this color for ages, and I made sure to give my sales associates in both London and Paris instructions to call me immediately the instant they had one available. I was so lucky. Heather—she’s the woman in London—called me two months ago and told me they’d finally got one that she’d set aside for me. I was at the store within the hour.”

“You’re so lucky,” one of the other women gushed. “I’ve been waiting for a Birkin 35 in the color I want for two years now. Last month, I got a call that I’d been chosen, but the bag they had for me was bright pink. Do I look like a woman who would be carrying a bag like that in bright pink?”

The woman was dressed entirely in neutrals. She was definitely not going for the Barbiecore look.

“I told Alice to make sure she got the bag she wanted,” Jeffrey said, sidling closer to his wife and wrapping an arm around her waist. “Whatever it took. My wife wants a Birkin? She gets a Birkin.”

Alice stiffened slightly at his touch, although a smile spread across her face. “He treats me so well.”

I was a little bit surprised. Given as Jeffrey was prone to asking his family members for money, his wife showing up with a five-figure bag was an interesting choice. I wondered what Monica thought about it, given that she was one of the people Jeffrey had hit up for some cash. It kind of made the cry of poverty ring a bit hollow.

“Do you get down here to see your mother much?” I asked, turning to Jeffrey.

“Not as much as I’d like to, unfortunately. We live up in London, see, and what with the children and all of their school and extracurricular activities, it’s hard to make the time to come down here more than once every few months. We do our best, though. The children love their grandmother. But this is only our second trip down to Cornwall this year, sadly.”

I nodded. “Understandable. Kids these days have such a busy schedule.”

“It’s as though they have something on every single day,” Jeffrey’s wife said with a chuckle. “I’m Alice, by the way.”

“Mackenzie,” I said, opting to use my full government name in front of these strangers. It gave off snobbier, rich-people vibes compared to Mack. “I’m a local friend of Elizabeth’s.”

“I’m Jeffrey, Elizabeth’s son.”

“Iris Labelle,” the woman in neutrals next to me said, holding out a hand. She didn’t explain her connection to Elizabeth, so I assumed she was a celebrity here in England that I just didn’t recognize. She was clearly someone whose name everyone knew without explanation.

“Nathan Labelle,” the man next to her said. “Or, as I’m better known in this world, Iris Labelle’s husband.”

His eyes twinkled good-naturedly as he made what was clearly a regular quip.

The conversation moved on, and slowly, the group split apart, until Jeffrey and I were a bit farther apart from the others.

“I know why you’re interested in my mother,” Jeffrey said in a low voice once we were somewhat out of earshot from the other three. “And let me tell you right now: it’s not going to work. You’re not going to get her money.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that it, is it?”

“Do you know how many people like you have passed through her life? Vermin, who see her as a free source of income? I can spot you people from a mile away. Well, if it’s ingratiating yourself to her and expecting a spot in her will that you’re after, I can tell you right now to quit wasting your time. My sister and I are inheriting everything. If you try anything, I have dinner with the best solicitor in London once a week. I’ll make sure you come out of the legal battle poorer than you were going in.”

“Hmm, that’s funny,” I said. “Of the two of us, you’re the one who seems the most obsessed with your mother’s money. I haven’t mentioned it once.”

“No, but you wouldn’t, would you?” Jeffrey snarled. “You’re pretending you’re her friend. What would she see in you? You have nothing in common with her. Nothing.”

“Maybe you’d know a little bit more if you saw her more than once every few months,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him. “It’s a bit funny, isn’t it? You coming here and threatening me to stay away from your mother’s money, when you don’t actually put the effort to see her all that much.”

Jeffrey’s nose twitched as he hissed at me. “How dare you speak to me like that? You have absolutely no idea what my relationship with my mother is like. Stay away from her. And from me.”

And with that, he stormed off, back toward the rest of the group.

I was just about to turn and see if I could get into the conversation with Beatrice Wellsley when suddenly, everything stopped.

Chapter 7

All the conversations in the yard came to a standstill. The music had stopped. The lights that had been hanging around the patio area had all gone out, though the afternoon sun was still bright enough that they weren’t fully needed. It would be a couple of hours still before the sun set.

My eyes immediately scanned the outdoor area, looking for Elizabeth. As soon as I laid eyes on her, I breathed a sigh of relief. A surprise power outage was the sort of thing someone would do to get the opportunity to kill someone.

I rushed toward her and saw Maggie coming from the other side of the yard to do the same.

“What’s going on?” Elizabeth asked nobody in particular.

“It’s a power outage, Lizzie,” Donald Salinger said, coming over. “That’s all it is. Probably a blown fuse. But I’m sure all the staff you’ve got working for you here can take care of it.”

“I’ll go have a look,” Jeffrey said quickly, a little bit like a puppy trying its best to gain approval from its owner. I didn’t stop him; if Jeffrey was in the house away from Elizabeth, it meant he wouldn’t be able to kill her.

“You should go with him,” I said to Donald.

“And who are you to tell me what to do?” he asked with a sniff, but he followed after his son all the same. I looked around the patio, carefully. Beatrice was where she had been standing before, failing to conceal a smile at the interruption.

For her part, Elizabeth stepped forward, holding up a hand. “My apologies for the interruption, everybody. It looks like we’ve had a little bit of a power outage. Not to worry. My son, Jeffrey, is taking care of things. Hopefully, we’ll have everything back up and running shortly. And in the meantime, the bartender has plenty of ice to keep the drinks cold.”

A hum of polite laughter rose up from the crowd. Elizabeth turned, and everyone went back to what they were doing.

“Are you thinking something suspicious?” Maggie asked me.

I bit the corner of my lip. “I mean, when it first happened, yes. It’s almost a classic, isn’t it? You cut the power, then in the dark someone gets murdered. But it’s not dark out. Two of the biggest suspects have gone to see what’s happening. And no one seems to be coming around with a giant knife.”

Elizabeth inhaled sharply through her nose. “It’s a little bit stressful, not knowing when it’s coming. That’s the worst part, really. Having that sword constantly hanging above you, like the sword over Tantalus. But I think Mack is right. This feels like a simple power outage.”

A man approached then, wearing a dark suit. He was in his fifties, if I had to guess, and carried himself with the confidence of someone who knew he belonged there. “Elizabeth, do you need help with anything? Janet told me the power had gone out.”

“Thank you, John,” Elizabeth said. “But it appears we have it under control. Jeffrey and Donald have gone into the house to see what is going on.”

“I’ll go and make sure they find their way,” John said. His accent had a Scottish lilt to it.

“Thank you.”

John nodded to Maggie and me then turned on his heel and strode back toward the house.

“He doesn’t trust Jeffrey not to get lost and help himself to a bit of jewelry or something else,” Elizabeth remarked. “Not that he’s wrong, mind you.”

“That’s your driver?”

“Yes. He does a number of other things around the place when he’s needed. John has been with me since my divorce. I am so grateful to him.”

Someone appeared then and began speaking to Elizabeth, and I turned to Maggie and said in a low voice, “I’m sticking close to her for now, but I don’t think this was some sort of elaborate ruse to trap her.”

“I agree,” Maggie said. “If the killer is planning something, it’s going to be another time.”

A couple minutes later, Jeffrey and Donald returned outside. “It’s nothing too bad, but one of the fuses blew completely. I’ll pop out and get a new one and be back soon,” Jeffrey said.

“Are you sure? John can do it,” Elizabeth replied.

Jeffrey waved a hand. “Nonsense, Mum. It’s just five minutes down the road. I’ve got it.”

“All right, then,” Elizabeth said.

Jeffrey kissed his mother on the cheek quickly then headed back into the house. On a whim, I decided to follow him, staying far enough behind that he didn’t realize I was there. He left through the front door, and I turned into a living room, watching through the window as he got into one of the bright, new BMWs in the driveway.

Pulling out my phone, I snapped a quick picture of his license plate then opened up my messages and sent it to Aksel, along with a text.

Hey, babe. Can you do me a favor and run this license plate for me? I know you have friends who can tell you how often they crossed the toll bridge.

Aksel’s reply came through a moment later. You got my heart skipping a beat when I saw you sent a photo, but alas. I can do that for you. Do you want the camera footage for when they cross into Cornwall or just the payment record of when they leave?

Both, if you can get it for me.

You got it.

Thanks, I typed. Might send you the kind of picture you’re actually after later, if you come through for me on this.

Do I get to know who you’re stalking? And should I be worried that you seem to be pushing in on my turf?

I’ll catch you up over dinner tonight, if you want.

Deal. Seven?

Sounds good.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket as I watched Jeffrey drive off.

I turned, and I was about to head back toward the party, when all of a sudden, I spotted a familiar face.

It was Barry Wilkerson, asshole extraordinaire. He was walking through the house, looking around, as though trying to make sure he wasn’t spotted.

Instinctively, I dove behind a large couch in the middle of the room so that he wouldn’t see me. There was something weird about him. He looked suspicious.

As he passed, I peeked out from underneath the couch, watching his feet. He turned and started going up the stairs to the second floor, groaning as he ducked underneath the rope meant to keep partygoers from heading upstairs.

What was he doing? Clearly, whatever it was, he wasn’t supposed to.

As soon as he started to climb the steps, I got back to my feet. As I glanced out the window, I saw his car. It was at the very far end, but it was unmistakably his. The vanity plate read “BARRY.” Another brand-new Ferrari.

This guy bought new supercars the way most people bought new pairs of shoes.

As soon as he was at the top of the stairs, he turned to the right. I glanced around, making sure no one was about to see me doing the same thing, and I climbed over the top of the rope and padded up the stairs, keeping my footfalls light so that I wouldn’t be heard.

Once I reached the top floor, I peeked around the corner as I watched Barry walking down the hallway. He looked into the first room and stepped inside.

I followed after him. He hadn’t completely shut the door behind him. It clearly a bedroom. The primary one, if I had to guess.

This was Elizabeth’s bedroom. And Barry was just wandering through it. What the hell, dude?

This was supercreepy. If Barry was about to go into Elizabeth’s underwear drawer, I was totally calling the police.

But no, as I glanced through the door, he wasn’t. He was standing near her dresser, and he had his phone out. He was taking pictures. Pictures of the inside of her bedroom.

Why?

And then, it hit me. He was going to sell them. These were pictures of the most intimate part of Elizabeth Stevens’s life. And one of the reasons she lived here in Cornwall, practically as a hermit, was that as much as she wanted to avoid it, she was still a public figure.

Tabloids in the UK, I’d learned, were even worse than their American counterparts. There had been lawsuits over hacking into voicemail accounts. The invasion of privacy could be intense. And that had to be what was happening here.

Barry was taking private pictures from inside Elizabeth’s home. And I expected he thought he was going to sell them.

Barry tousled up the made bed a little bit then snapped another picture. I watched in semihorror as he continued to take pictures of the most private parts of Elizabeth’s home.

There was no way I was going to let him get away with this. I snuck away and back from where I came. I looked through all the doors. Next to the stairs, there was a closet.

And when I say closet, I mean a rich-person closet. It was walk-in, at least five feet deep, with shelves on either side. Tons of space. If this had been New York City, someone could have stuck a bed in there and charged a couple grand a month for it as a bedroom.

I wasn’t sure how long I had before Barry was going to leave the bedroom. This closet was full of cleaning supplies. I needed something more.

I left the closet and checked out the next room. As soon as I opened the door, I grinned. This was perfect.

Chapter 8

This was a bedroom that had clearly been transformed into a storage space, keeping all of the costumes and acting wear Elizabeth had collected over a lifetime as a thespian.

This. This was exactly what I wanted.

There were rows of costumes on racks. The entire left wall had shelves built along it, with white Styrofoam heads each holding a different wig.

On the right side was a large credenza with dozens of drawers, probably containing all the small accessories like earrings, necklaces, and that sort of thing.

But I didn’t have time to look for any of that. Right now, I needed something fast.

I headed straight for the first rack and began sliding hangers to the side, frantically looking for the perfect option. I found it almost immediately.

It must have been for some sort of old commercial. There was no reason anyone would ever have worn this outfit otherwise.

This was a mascot outfit. It looked like a human-sized, sentient Pepto Bismol pill with chicken pox. It was pink—somewhere between a pastel and neon—with bright-yellow polka dots all over it. The costume was split into two parts. The lower half and the upper half, which included the face.

The face was one of the creepiest things I’d ever seen. Big eyes that somehow seemed to look in opposite directions. A perfect C-shaped smile that was less “I’m a happy mascot” and more “I want to eat your brains.” And, since it was looking up at me upside down, hanging on the rack, it also had an air of “I’m actually coming back from the dead to haunt you forever.”

Below the smile was a limp, yellow bowtie.

I quickly grabbed the costume and hoped against all hope that it would fit. Elizabeth was slim, more than I was, and also taller. But luckily, the thing about creepy mascot costumes was that they generally were made to be one size fits all.

And that was what happened here. I was able to slide into the bottom half of the suit and do up the tie cord around the waist meant to hold it up. Then, I grabbed the upper half and began my half run, half waddle back to the door. I had to be in position by the time Barry finished his photo shoot.

I went back to the closet and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. Luckily, all of the door handles in this home were press-down, so even while wearing the mascot costume, I’d be able to open it without too much trouble.

I slipped the top half of the mascot over my shoulders and immediately began to regret everything that had led me to this moment.

For one thing, the inside of this mascot smelled like someone had eaten an entire box of car air fresheners, pooped them out into the suit, and let the turd sit there for a couple of years. I immediately fought back the urge to vomit.

And, in true mascot fashion, this was one of the least breathable things I had ever encountered. I immediately began to sweat, even though it wasn’t especially hot in the house. I adjusted the top of the costume, until I was finally able to see outside. I was pretty sure I was looking through the creepy mouth. I wasn’t entirely certain. The hole to look through was barely more than a little slit. I felt like a medieval knight getting ready for the world’s most ridiculous joust.

Even Heath Ledger in A Knight’s Tale wouldn’t have looked sexy if this had been his armor.

Then, with nothing left to do, I waited. I stayed near the door, keeping my ears on high alert. If Barry was coming, I needed to know. Otherwise, I was going to be sitting in this giant closet, wearing the world’s most ridiculous mascot suit forever.

The smell would probably kill me within the hour.

It probably only took about ten minutes before I heard Barry’s footsteps once more, and as soon as he passed by me, I pressed down on the door handle and burst out of the closet.

I didn’t really have much of a plan, beyond hoping to scare the crap out of Barry. Was I trying to get the photos back? Scare him into running away? I wasn’t sure.

What I did know was that I jumped out and immediately said, in the lowest voice I could manage, “Come and give Uncle Pepto a hug.”

I wished I had a better view of what happened next than looking through a tiny, dark slit in the costume. What I did see was Barry turning around, his eyes widening as I walked toward him, arms held out. His mouth dropped open as he stepped backward.

The phone he was holding in his hand dropped to the ground.

And then, he took a step back. His horror turned to sheer panic as he must have felt the ground underneath him giving way. He had reached the stairs. Barry reached out, his hands waving in the air, scrambling for an invisible hold before he fell backward.

On his way down, he managed to grab the railing somewhat, but it wasn’t enough to stop his momentum. It just allowed him to turn around, so that instead of falling back and hitting his head, Barry slid down the stairs on his stomach, like a penguin going for a ride on a very bumpy, downhill iceberg.

It took everything in my power not to laugh as a thump sounded every time Barry hit another step. I realized the funniest thing to do was to get out of here before he reached the bottom.

I ran back into the costume room, immediately folding myself over and wiggling out of the top half of the costume.

I inhaled a beautiful, large breath of fresh air that didn’t smell like air freshener mixed with turd, and undid the bottom part of the pants. Then, I quickly headed back out into the hallway. Barry’s phone was still sitting on the floor where he had left it.

There was no way I was letting him get away with those pictures. I slipped the phone into my pocket, deciding it was going to take a long bath in the toilet tank when I got home. The invasive pictures Barry had taken of the inside of Elizabeth’s home were never going to see the light of day.

By the time I reached the landing, Barry was long gone. He must have scampered away as soon as he got to the bottom, for fear of getting caught by one of the staff.

Good. If I was lucky, he would wonder if he had imagined the whole thing. And wouldn’t notice his phone was missing for a while, either.

Still, Barry hadn’t been punished enough for what he’d just tried to do, I decided.

It wasn’t just that he had taken pictures of the inside of Elizabeth’s home, with the likely intention of trying to sell them off to the nearest bidder.

It was also that he had forced me to get into that suit to stop him from getting away with it. That was even worse because he did it to me.

And I was going to make him pay.

I headed back down the stairs, careful to avoid seeing any staff. After all, right now, it would be hard to explain why I was up there all by myself, and even if Elizabeth would back me up, I didn’t want to have to be the one to tell her what Barry had done.

Instead, I would just destroy the phone, and she would never be any the wiser.

How had he gotten an invitation to a party like this, anyway? I supposed he must have known some people who knew people. Barry Wilkerson was a big name in these parts. I knew he had a lot of friends, even if those friends had their fingers in some of the worst of the stargazey pies Cornwall had to offer. I’d never gotten any exact details, but Barry was definitely a shady character.

I slipped out the front door and found myself in the parking lot. I walked to the end, where Barry’s Ferrari was sitting. It was black, sleek, shiny. I could have used the side panels as a mirror to do my makeup if I wanted to. The interior leather was red leather. The car was a convertible, the top down. I looked up at the sky, hoping for a rain cloud to come and ruin his day, but no. There wasn’t as much as a whisp of white in the sky.

Unusual for this time of year, I’d overheard at least three people saying on the lawn outside.

I walked away from the car and around the side of the house. But instead of going toward the waiting crowd, I started walking the other way, toward the cluster of trees at the far end of the property. There was a small barn in the distance. I walked toward it, not entirely sure what I was going for.

When I got close, a familiar smell reached my nostrils. It smelled kind of like the inside of the mascot suit, but not exactly the same.

I glanced down and found myself looking at a fresh pile of manure. I had fully grown up as a city girl, but even I was confident this came from a horse.

I grinned to myself as I got an idea. I raced toward the barn. I let myself in through the unlocked doors. I said hello to the two horses, each in a large stall, and rummaged around until I found what I was looking for. A simple plastic bag, the kind used to pick up garbage.

Heading back outside, I scooped up the pile of manure and walked back toward the house with it. When I arrived back at the area where the cars were parked, I dumped the load of horse manure right onto the driver’s seat of Barry’s new car.

Now, he’d have to smell what I did. This was justice. I quickly shoved the plastic bag into a nearby garbage can then headed back inside, toward the back of the house and the party.

Chapter 9

Elizabeth was walking toward the bar, Maggie sticking to her. I couldn’t tell if it was because she was protecting her in case anyone tried anything, or if it was because Maggie was trying to spend every second she could next to her idol.

I couldn’t exactly blame her. Once, when I had just moved to New York City, before I realized it was normal to just pass by celebrities, I walked past Tina Fey. I didn’t realize it was her for a second, but as soon as I did, I spun around and followed after her for six blocks.

She went into a cupcake store, and I followed her in. Obviously. Tina Fey and cupcakes? What could be better?

I ordered a $7 red velvet cupcake, which was an insane amount of money to spend on just a single cupcake, but Tina Fey turned to me and said, “Good choice.”

I was too starstruck and too shy at the time to say anything other than “Thanks,” but I lived off the high of that experience for weeks afterward. Weeks.

So, I could only imagine how Maggie felt now, getting to attend a party at Elizabeth’s home. But, I also knew Maggie would be like a rabid dog if anyone so much as looked in Elizabeth’s direction the wrong way.

I approached the two of them just as they reached the bar.

“A glass of champagne, please,” Elizabeth said.

The man behind the bar obliged, pulling out a bottle and popping the cork. He pulled a glass from the rack and placed it on the bar, smoothly pouring Elizabeth a glass of bubbly, then looked at Maggie.

“I’ll have the same, thanks,” Maggie said, and the bartender obliged. When he looked at me, I held up a hand.

“No, thanks. Actually, maybe just a glass of water, if you don’t mind.”

As much as I desperately wanted to down the entire bottle of champagne in the hopes of forgetting what had just happened, I was here to work. And that meant keeping a clear head while I tried to find a killer.

“Still or sparkling?”

“Still, please.” This was the kind of fancy place that offered the spicy water as an option, but there was no way I was touching that.

The bartender pulled out a large bottle of Evian and poured it into a glass for me, added some ice cubes, and handed it over.

I smiled in thanks, then the three of us headed back toward the patio.

“Hey, so out of curiosity, would you happen to know about a pink mascot costume? It might have been an old role you played?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Ah, you’re talking about Mr. Blobby.”

“Mr. Blobby? I guess that’s not the worst name that thing could have. What is it?”

“He was a character who originally appeared on a BBC One show called Noel’s House Party. The only words he could say were “Mr. Blobby,” and the voice was altered electronically. It was almost always me in the suit, although someone else did the voice. It was quite horrible, really.”

“I can imagine.”

“Being in that suit for hours on end was just torture. And the longer it went on, the worse it smelled. But Mr. Blobby was a hit. He released a Christmas song in 1993 that went to number one in the UK.”

My mouth dropped open. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

“The eighties sound like a weird time.”

“Oh, they were. But at the time, I was grateful for the extra income. This was before Wendy. It was a paycheck, and no one ever knew who was behind the suit.” Elizabeth laughed. “Not even after Wendy came out. I think so few people ever saw me, they barely knew who Mr. Blobby really was. Why are you asking about him?”

“I overheard someone talking about the character and wanted to know if it had anything to do with you. No real reason. Anyway, I have a few other people I’d like to talk to,” I said to Elizabeth. I left her with Maggie as I walked to where Donald Salinger, her ex-husband, was standing. He was by himself now, not having joined another group after retuning to the party from downstairs.

“Hello,” I greeted him, and he looked at me, his brow furrowing slightly, clearly trying to decide whether or not he knew me. “I’m Mackenzie. I’m a friend of Elizabeth’s.”

“Donald,” he said. “Nice to meet you. I, famously, am not a friend of Elizabeth’s.”

I chuckled. “Well, we can’t all get along, can we?”

“No, although I did for quite a few years.”

“It was nice of you to go help Jeffrey out with the power outage. Especially if, as you say, you’re no longer a friend of Elizabeth’s.”

“Yes, well, I do what I can. We’re not friends, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care for her. When you were married to someone for that long, raised children with them, there are still feelings there. They’re not love, anymore. Goodness knows that disappeared a long time ago. But there’s a link.”

“Is that why you came to the party today?”

“I suppose it is. I haven’t seen Lizzie in quite some time.”

I was taken aback by the nickname. Elizabeth always carried herself so regally, I never considered that she could have a nickname. It was like giving a nickname to the queen herself.

“How long has it been?” I asked casually.

“At least a year.” Donald scoffed. “I only live forty minutes up the road, but it’s not as though she invites me around very often.”

“You still live in the area?”

“My ex-wife didn’t get the whole county in the divorce,” Donald said dryly. “Yes. I quite like it in this area. It’s a little bit out of the way. It’s a quiet life, but it’s what I want now, in my retirement.”

I figured I’d poke the bear just a little bit. “Is it really retirement when it’s just living off the half of the money your wife left you?”

A low growl escaped Donald’s throat. “Who the hell do you think you are, asking questions like that?”

I shrugged casually. “It’s just what everyone says. I mean, it’s true, isn’t it? You were an actor, but it’s not like you had any roles as big as Wendy. What would you be doing if you didn’t have your wife’s money?”

“I deserve every single cent of that money,” Donald snapped at me. “And more. It should have been mine. Do you know how she got the role of Wendy? Because that day, when she went to the audition, I agreed to babysit Jeffrey and Monica, so she could go.”

“I think that’s just called parenting,” I pointed out.

“If I hadn’t been there for her, if I hadn’t been there the entire time, she never would have gotten that role. And she won’t tell you this. She’ll tell you I was jealous of her. That I didn’t want her to succeed. It fits her narrative better, as to why I left her. But it’s not true, you know. I left her because she became intolerable. Everything was always about her. About Wendy. She was constantly doing everything for that show. Working. She was never home. And when she was, she would only talk about what she was doing. How successful she was. What newspaper, television show, radio program she was interviewing for. It was exhausting, and she became more and more arrogant about it. Plus, she wouldn’t even use her newfound fame to help me get work. It was like she enjoyed seeing me pushed aside. It took time, but I started to see it. Wendy was a bitch, and so was my wife. I left her, and I wish I’d done it so much earlier. You know, it’s awful to say, but I wish she’d never gotten that role. I miss my wife. The woman I married.”

Yeah, the woman who didn’t have any money and therefore had to rely on him, I thought to myself.

“Do you get alimony from Elizabeth?” I asked.

“We call it spousal maintenance,” Donald replied, in that snooty way that made it sound like he was about to refer to America as “the colonies.” He continued, “And no, I don’t. Elizabeth and I split our assets down the middle, and we’re each free to spend them as we do, but as neither one of us were employed at the time of our split, she doesn’t pay me anything. I live off my investments.”

I sighed inwardly. If Donald had been getting alimony—sorry, spousal maintenance—from Elizabeth, it would have meant he’d have one less reason to want her dead. That would have dried up as soon as she passed and her money went to her children.

“Why are you asking so many questions, anyway? Are you just after Elizabeth’s money?”

I laughed. “Something like that.”

“Well, it won’t work. She’s stingy like that. Always has been.”

I looked around at the house and grounds. “I dunno. This doesn’t look like the kind of place someone stingy would buy.”

Donald waved a hand. “I don’t mean when it comes to herself. As I told you, Elizabeth is arrogant. She spends on herself. But not on anybody else. You just need to ask her children. Monica is practically in the poorhouse. And poor Jeffrey has a family, and they have needs, and every time he asks his mother for money, she turns him down.”

I bit back a smile. Monica, as I knew all too well, wasn’t in the poorhouse at all. She just let everyone in her life think she was.

“And you?” I asked. “You give him money?”

“When I can. But it’s hard. I’m not made of the stuff.”

“But you think Elizabeth should give him some? I thought you said you split everything fifty-fifty during the divorce.”

Donald huffed. “We did, of course. But it’s different. She’s choosing not to make more money. It’s her decision to stay out of the limelight. Why should I have to suffer because of the choices she’s making?”

“You could always go back to work,” I pointed out.

“And do what? At my age? That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re the same age.”

“It’s not the same. Elizabeth could take on an easy gig. Film an ad. It would take an afternoon. Maybe two. She’d make a couple hundred thousand. Maybe a million, with the right deal and the right agent. She could very easily give Jeffrey everything he wants, but no.”

“Got it,” I said. This guy was unbelievable. He wasn’t helping Jeffrey out either, but thought that Elizabeth should be the one going out and working so that she could pay for the lifestyle her son in his late thirties wanted to live? I was really starting to see why Elizabeth was so glad to get away from him. This guy was more entitled than a billionaire’s toddler.

“So, you know a lot about electricity. How about cars?”

Donald shrugged. “Sure. Enough to get by.”

Enough to know how to cut a brake line, I wanted to ask. But I didn’t. It wasn’t the hardest thing in the world. A man of his age who knew enough to get by on cars definitely knew how to cut a brake line.

“Why did you come today, if you hate Elizabeth so much?”

Donald looked taken aback. “I don’t hate her.”

“Everything you’ve said to me about her today tells me otherwise.”

“No. No, I don’t hate her. I’m not in love with her. I might even dislike her. I certainly dislike parts of her. But that’s all it is.”

The worst part was, I was pretty sure he was telling the truth. Donald didn’t believe he hated Elizabeth.

“So, even if you dislike her, why agree to come today?”

“Her invitation said it was important. And frankly? I was curious. I hadn’t seen her in a year.”

“And you wanted to see if you won the divorce?”

Donald pressed his lips together. “Elizabeth has made it very clear to me over all of the years we were together that she is the only one of us who wins at anything. Why would she stop doing that when our marriage ended? Yes, I admit it. I wanted to come here to see how she is looking.”

“And what do you think?”

“She’s fucking radiant,” Donald replied, his voice so low it was halfway between a growl and a whisper. I glanced down at his hand. His glass was clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white, and I was half worried it was about to explode. “How dare she? How dare she rub it in my face that she’s doing so well? Can’t she just fucking fail at something, for once in her life?”

Yes, this was a man who would be willing to kill Elizabeth. I could see it. He was right when he said there were still feelings there and that they weren’t love. The feelings were jealousy. Hatred. And, I realized, hatred of Elizabeth, but also of himself. He very clearly felt himself inferior to her. I couldn’t blame him. He very clearly was.

I was just about to make my leave and speak with Beatrice Wellesley, when suddenly I heard a cry. I turned and saw the woman in question. Her emerald-green dress shimmered in the sun even as she yelled out. “Help! Someone call an ambulance! It’s Elizabeth!”

Chapter 10

Donald forgotten, I dropped my glass and rushed forward. Sure enough, Elizabeth was lying on the ground, convulsing.

“What happened?” I demanded, trying to keep her steady. Elizabeth’s eyes were rolling into the back of her head.

“I don’t know,” Beatrice cried. “We were just talking, and she… collapsed.”

“Elizabeth,” I said. “Elizabeth, it’s going to be okay.”

I knew I was lying. If she could hear me, she knew I was lying. But I didn’t know what else to say. I could only watch, along with all of the other partygoers, as the life drained from Elizabeth. She stopped moving. I checked for a pulse. She was dead.

When I knew it was over, I sat back on my haunches, taking a few seconds to try and compose myself. I wasn’t alone. It was as if someone had cast a freezing spell on the yard. Not a single person moved. Everyone was exactly where they had been, standing in silence, everyone’s eyes on Elizabeth.

And then, the gravity of the situation hit me like a freight train. It was happening. Elizabeth was dead. She had known someone here would kill her, and it happened.

She had depended on me. She wanted me to find who did this.

Instantly, I jumped into action. I grabbed my phone and did the last thing anyone would have expected from me in that moment: I stood up and took a video, spinning around in a circle, trying to see where everyone was standing in this moment.

It was one of the most surreal things I’d ever done. I felt like the worst influencer of all time.

And then there came a cry.

I turned to see Jeffrey standing at the entrance to the patio. He had clearly just walked back in; he was accompanied by one of the staff members and was carrying a plastic bag in one hand. He dropped it and rushed forward.

“Mum,” he cried out, practically shoving me out of the way and kneeling next to his mother. “Mum, Mum.”

I watched as he stroked his mother’s hair, tears flowing freely. Then, I took a step back and walked to where the woman who had accompanied him still stood, her hand pressed to her mouth in shock as she realized what had happened.

“This is important,” I said to her quickly. “Did you see Jeffrey arrive just now?”

“Yes.” The woman nodded, her voice quiet, but firm. “He had gone out to get some items for the power line downstairs. He drove back up just a couple of minutes ago. I saw his car arrive. He got out, and I said I could take him back to the basement. He wanted to grab his father to give him a hand, first.”

I nodded then sprang into action. I walked over to the table with the food, and grabbed a napkin. Then, I headed back to where Elizabeth’s body lay. Jeffrey was still there, but a larger crowd had gathered.

I ducked down to where the glass Elizabeth had been drinking from was dropped. Most of the champagne had spilled onto the grass, but there was still a little bit left.

I used the napkin to sop some of it up. Then, I walked back to the woman. “Can you get me some sort of sealed container? An empty jar?”

She rushed away and returned about thirty seconds later. I thanked her with a smile then shoved the napkin in it. Then, I immediately pulled out my phone and texted my group chat with Sophie, Ada, and Maggie.

Hey all. I regret to announce that we have another murder to investigate. Ada, can you test a napkin for poison?

Her reply came through a minute later. Holy shit! Are you serious? Yes, I can, as long as we know what we’re testing for.

Okay, well, that’s a bit of a problem. I don’t know. And I don’t really want to lick the napkin to tell you how it tastes.

I cannot believe these are words I have to type out to a grown woman, but Mack, please do not lick the poisoned napkin.

Sophie’s reply came through next. OMG Elizabeth? Please don’t tell me it was her.

It was, unfortunately. I was right there. She was right. Someone did want to kill her at that party. I should have stopped it.

Maggie replied then. This is not your fault. Elizabeth specifically told you if it did happen, it wouldn’t be your fault. Now, stop texting like a millennial and get yourself back out here. There’s an entire party of suspects, and the police will be here shortly. I called them.

I replied with a salute emoji then put my phone back in my pocket and put the jar carefully inside my bag. If that’s where the poison was, I needed to keep that sample in as good shape as possible, for as long as possible.

I walked back out to the patio. Everyone seemed to have gotten over the shock of the event. Most people were huddled in groups together. Eyes wide, talking in low, hushed voices.

Jeffrey was still kneeling next to his mother’s body, his wife now standing next to him, rubbing his back. She was trying to comfort him, clearly, whispering something quietly to him.

Elizabeth’s driver, John, was standing a couple of feet away, looking down at Elizabeth, trembling as he stood in place. Behind him was the same staff member I’d been speaking to. She looked shaken, but she must have felt my eyes on her because she looked up at me.

“It might be a good idea to get everyone inside,” I said to her quietly. “You know, away from Elizabeth. While we wait for the authorities.”

“You’re right,” she said, her voice shaky. She coughed once then called out over the crowd. “Everybody, it’s time to move inside. Please, come back inside the house in an orderly manner. The authorities will be here soon, and they’ll take care of everything.”

In true British fashion, everyone automatically lined up in a perfect queue, filing toward the entrance to the house. The only people left outside were Jeffrey and Alice, and she was slowly leading him back toward the house as well.

“I don’t want to leave her,” he was saying.

“She’s not going to be outside for long,” Alice replied, her voice soft and sympathetic. “The authorities will be here soon. The best thing you can do to help now is to step away.”

Jeffrey nodded then and let himself be guided back inside. I followed after them, the last person to leave the lawn area. Once we were inside, the woman who worked there closed all of the doors then went to a small metal box at the corner and pressed a button. A set of fancy blinds were drawn suddenly across all the doors, blocking everyone’s view of the area outside. And of the body.

People in the room were trembling, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. I spotted Beatrice standing by herself in the corner, staring into her drink. I walked toward her.

“I need you to tell me everything you can about Elizabeth,” I said. “It’s important. What was she doing when she collapsed?”

“We… We were just talking,” Beatrice replied, her eyes fixed on the liquid. She didn’t even look up at me. “It had been a little while since I’d seen her last, you know? We weren’t always in touch. Lizzie and I had a bit of a tempestuous relationship.”

“That’s what Monica told me.”

“She did, did she? She’s intelligent, that one. None of her family ever saw it. They think she’s just a free-spirited hippie. But she’s not. She’s clever. She knows what she wants from life, and she gets it, without drawing attention to herself. She learned from the rest of us. A life in the limelight can ruin you. A life spent looking for every cent can ruin you too.”

“Is that what happened to Elizabeth?”

Beatrice barked out a laugh. “Yes. It’s what happened to all of us, isn’t it? We were just children when we started. We had dreams of creating beauty. Of being artists. And then the realities of adulthood sucked all of that from us. Then it became about the money. And the fame. The competition. It’s funny. When you’re eighteen, nineteen, and you’ve found someone you like to go up against, you never think about how it’s going to end. You think of everything like it’s the movies. There’s a happy ending. A neat tie-up. But real life isn’t like that, is it? The only true ending is death.”

“Is that what you and Elizabeth were like? Competitors?”

This time, Beatrice looked up at me. “We were. Ever since the first day we met. We were great friends, but we were both very competitive with one another. You can understand why. We looked similar. And we were both very good at what we did. We were constantly in competition for the same roles, and when you have two people as ambitious as us, it could become heated. We were simultaneously best friends and mortal enemies. I would have died for her, but I also would have tripped her down the stairs if it meant she was late for an audition.”

“That… doesn’t sound healthy,” was the only thing I managed to say.

“Oh, it wasn’t. But so long as we weren’t talking about our jobs, we were the best of friends. I was the first person Lizzie told about her engagement to Donald. I was the one who stood outside the bathroom when she took the pregnancy test and watched the lines appear with her. I would have gone into the fires of hell for her and those kids.”

“But not Donald?” I asked, tilting my head sideways.

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Lizzie was always too good for him. I told her that too. She thought I was jealous, but I really wasn’t. He was a lazy, lazy man, right from the start. His one talent was spotting greatness in others. He saw what Lizzie would be, that he could never be, and he attached himself to her. Like one of those viruses, sucking the life from her, slowly. He let her carry her upward, using her strength to get to where he wanted to be while simultaneously taking from her everything that made her so formidable. I was thrilled to hear they had divorced. Lizzie didn’t deserve that.”

“What about when she got her role in Wendy? How did you feel about that?”

Beatrice stiffened. “Did you know I auditioned for it? I would have been perfect. I was so sure I was going to get the part. I manifested every night. I could see myself in the role. I fully believed I was getting that phone call. Then when I heard it was Lizzie? Oh, I won’t lie to you. I was steaming mad. She took what should have been mine. And then, what was worse? It was a smash hit. Of course it was. Lizzie was good. As good as I was. And me? I was doing bit characters. Sure, I had a run in Coronation Street. I had gotten rave reviews for it. But it wasn’t the same thing. I was nowhere near as successful as Lizzie was in Wendy. And yes, I was mad about it. Furious. How dare she have that much success, when it was supposed to be mine? I needed my space, and Lizzie understood. Of course she did. She knew she would have felt exactly the same way if it was me. She gave it to me. And these past few years, I’d been making a new push to be seen again. There are more roles for older women out there, nowadays. We’re not longer always cast as the doddering old fools and nothing more.”

Beatrice sighed. “But of course, it’s done now. The story is over. It no longer matters. Even if I got the role of a lifetime, Lizzie is dead. She’ll never see it. Our competition is over. But it didn’t end nicely, like in the movies. It ended here, with Lizzie’s heart giving out in the middle of a party she hosted. Terrible bloody ending, if you ask me. But then, that’s why movies are just stories. Real life isn’t nearly so clean. Because if this was a movie, Lizzie would have been the main character. She was the successful one. In the end, she won.”

“You say her heart just gave out?” I asked. “Why do you think that?”

“Well, she just collapsed, all of a sudden. I suppose she did that awful convulsing for a bit, but maybe she had a seizure?”

“Did you know about any medical conditions Elizabeth had?”

“No,” Beatrice said. “But I admit, I wasn’t the best friend to her over the past few years. I was still nursing my wounds over Wendy. I was surprised to receive her invitation to this party. I thought maybe Lizzie wanted to be close to me again. And for the first time, I felt like I might be able to meet her there. So, I came.”

“And how did you feel?”

The corner of Lizzie’s mouth curled upward. “I thought she was showing off. I still live in a one-bedroom flat in London. To come here and to see all this? Well, it was a lot. But at the same time, she deserved it. We were both great at what we did. The best. She got lucky. There is a part of this industry that is luck, I can’t deny that. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have gotten that luck. I was worried she would rub it in my face. It had been so long. But, to make things worse, she didn’t.”

“That was worse?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“I know, it sounds insane. But, to me, it was. For decades, this was what Lizzie and I had been competing for. The success. The money. For her to treat me nicely, to act like she hadn’t won? It meant she had. She could be the bigger person now. She could act like we were on even keel, when we both knew all too well that was no longer the case.”

“I guess I can understand that.”

“She made it clear it was over. I had lost. And we both knew it. She was so nice too. She didn’t mention it. But she didn’t have to. And I had to stand here, surrounded by all of her success, and see that no matter how hard I worked, no matter what I did, it didn’t matter. Lizzie had won. You know what the worst part is?”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve been auditioning for a new role, in another television show. A spy series, set to be a hit, by all accounts. Phoebe Waller-Bridge is producing it, along with Fiona Shaw. I thought I had more time. I thought maybe this was going to be my chance. But now, it’s all over. It doesn’t matter. Even if I become the world’s biggest star, Lizzie will never see it now.”

If this was Beatrice trying to tell me she hadn’t killed Elizabeth, it was one of the wildest reasons to consider her innocent I had ever heard. There was clearly some sort of psychotic history between the two of them.

“Listen, Beatrice,” I said. “I have reason to believe that Elizabeth might have been murdered.”

Beatrice gave me a scolding look, as if I was a child who had misbehaved. “Oh, come off it. That’s ridiculous. Who in the world would possibly want to murder Lizzie?”

“I was hoping you might be able to help me with that.”

Beatrice waved a hand. “It’s nonsense. Everyone loved Lizzie. Hell, I loved Lizzie. I should have hated her. But that was who we were. Who she was. She never had a bad word to say about anyone, even when she should have.”

“You don’t think she had any enemies?”

“I wouldn’t know. As I told you, it’s not as though the two of us were close anymore. But Lizzie was the sort of person who always put everyone ahead of herself. Donald was the perfect example. She should have thrown him out years ago. Didn’t.”

“What about someone killing her for the money?”

Beatrice shrugged. “Maybe. I wouldn’t know. As I said, we’d fallen out of touch.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, at the exact moment that Sergeant Peters walked through the door.

Chapter 11

I sighed, waiting for the inevitable confrontation. Sergeant Peters looked like a snowman with a sunburn, but the red sheen of his face appeared to be permanent. He waddled into the room, his fingers through the loops of his belt buckle, and looked around, followed by a few other officers. Behind him were some EMTs, ambulance workers who were too late to do anything.

Still, one of the staff members led them to the door and outside, where the body lay.

“Not a single person leaves this room without my say-so,” Sergeant Peters ordered. “I want interviews with everyone here. Understood?”

A murmur rose from the crowd; clearly people were surprised to see the police presence.

Sergeant Peter’s eyes landed on me. “You. You’re always here. Why?”

I shrugged. “Bad luck, I guess.”

Sergeant Peters motioned for me to follow him, and I did. He left the main room and led me back to the room from which I’d seen Jeffrey drive off.

“I can only assume your grandmother is also here, somewhere,” Sergeant Peters muttered. “The two of you are always involved.”

“Yes,” I said as we stopped, crossing my arms. “And for good reason. Elizabeth Stevens was murdered.”

Sergeant Peters let out a weary sigh. “And why would you think that?”

“Because she told me someone was going to kill her. She hired me to find them. And now she’s dead. You need to take this seriously.”

“What makes you think you can tell me what to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that this woman told me she was going to be murdered, and then she dies less than a week later? I know you don’t like me. I don’t care. What I do care about is making sure you don’t waste any time pretending I don’t know what I’m talking about. Elizabeth was murdered. You need to test the glass she was drinking from for poison. You need to test her blood. And then you need to make sure you have a record of every single person who was in this room today.”

“Are you telling me how to do my job?” Sergeant Peters asked, clicking his jaw in annoyance.

“Yes. Because clearly you barely know how to put your pants on the right way around, and I have a head start. At this point, we both know I’m right. So, stop wasting both of our times, get your investigation going, and maybe you’ll have a chance at finding this person who killed Elizabeth.”

“This is why everyone hates Americans,” Sergeant Peters muttered under his breath.

“I’d rather be annoying than incompetent,” I shot back at him.

“All right, well, if Elizabeth was so certain someone was going to kill her, who was it?”

“If she knew that, she probably wouldn’t be dead, would she? And I’d tell you the name. What I do know is she thinks it was someone after her money. Her son, Jeffrey, is constantly in financial trouble. I’d look at him first.”

Sergeant Peters stared at me for a long time then nodded. “Go and join the others. I’m going to start taking statements.”

I nodded and left without looking back. Sergeant Peters didn’t accuse me of doing this even once. That was a start, at least. Now, I just had to find the killer.

I headed back into the room and found Maggie at the far end. “How is Sergeant Peters taking the tragedy of having to do some work for once?”

I smiled. “About as well as can be hoped for. He hasn’t accused me of killing Elizabeth and hasn’t completely written off the idea that she’s been murdered. How are things out here?”

“Everyone is clearly annoyed at being told what to do. This is not a crowd of people who are accustomed to being ordered around. But, in true British fashion, nobody wants to be the person to make a public stink, either.”

“You spoke to Elizabeth before she died, right? What did she tell you?”

Maggie shrugged. “I’m not sure it’s anything that would help. She told me Monica, Jeffrey, and Alice arrived early this morning. Jeffrey pretended to help with the setup then asked her for money once again. When she denied him, he told her it was too bad the grandchildren couldn’t make it today. Elizabeth understood the implication.”

I let out a low whistle. “That’s cold.”

“She was disappointed, of course, but she also told me she wouldn’t be blackmailed. Then, she changed the subject. I don’t think she wanted to talk about it. We spoke about our lives. She was a very interesting woman. I’m really quite sad that I didn’t get to know her better.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it. Elizabeth had been one of Maggie’s heroes. This had to be hard for her.

“Me too. But if there’s one thing keeping me going, it’s the knowledge that we’re going to find whoever did this and make sure they’re punished.”

“That we will,” I agreed.

* * *

While the police collected statements, I found John, Elizabeth’s driver, standing just outside the room. He kept a stoic expression, but the pale tint of his face told me the day’s events had hit him hard.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” I asked him kindly. He nodded and motioned for me to follow him, leading me through the maze of hallways until we found ourselves in a dining room.

Like everywhere else in this house, the room was big, but the table was enormous. Twelve chairs were set up around a thick, mahogany table. The walls were painted a dark blue. To the right, an enormous, minimalist gold clock stood out as an accent piece, and across from it was a buffet on which sat some Japanese vases, filled with fresh flowers.

“She was just here this morning,” John said, pacing around the table. “Eating breakfast with Monica, Jeffrey, and Alice. She told me afterward that it had been nice. It had been a long time since she’d done that.”

“Elizabeth told me you worked for her since the divorce,” I said.

“That’s right. She was in need of someone to drive her around, and over time, I began to run errands for her as well. More and more of them, as she gained my trust. It was an honor to work for her. She was really quite a kind woman.”

“Did you know her kids well at all?”

“No. They rarely came by. Monica comes by a few times a year. Never for very long, usually just a day or two. Jeffrey about the same. Normally around the holidays. He’s always complaining about how they don’t have the time to come by with the children’s school schedule.”

I dropped my voice. “Listen, did Elizabeth tell you she suspected someone of trying to kill her?”

John pressed his lips together. “She didn’t say as much to me, but I knew. After the incident with the car, I suspected. I watched out for her. She was a good woman. She didn’t deserve that. But she also kept a lot close to the chest. More than she should have, I think. Is that what happened here?”

“I can’t say for sure. The police will do an autopsy, I’m sure. But, given what happened, I suspect that’s the case.”

John let out a sigh, one filled with emotion. Regret. Sadness. Pain. “Elizabeth was a good person. But because of who she was, so many people tried to take advantage of her. It’s why she ran away and secluded herself here, I think.”

“Did she see her husband often?”

“No, almost never. I know he lives in the area, but he’s almost never stopped by her. Tell you the truth, I was surprised she invited him today.”

“I told her to invite along anyone she thinks might have reason to kill her.”

“Ah.”

I paused for a moment, waiting for John to continue talking. “Well, yes, I can see that now. There are some people there who I don’t think had Elizabeth’s best interests at heart.”

“Who are you thinking?”

“His son, Jeffrey,” John said immediately. “It’s got to have been him. I overheard him speaking with his wife.”

“Oh?”

John glanced around, double-checking to make sure we weren’t about to be overheard. “This can’t come back to me, but this morning I overheard Jeffrey speaking with Alice, his wife. They were in the sitting room, and I’d just walked in to ask if they needed anything. They were in the middle of an argument. Near the window. They didn’t see me. Alice was complaining about money. Something about a relative of hers getting married on St. Bart’s, and how she needed to go, but they couldn’t afford it. Jeffrey told her not to worry. He said that he was fairly certain his mother was in poor health, and she would die soon. Then, as soon as she did, they’d inherit half her money, and they’d be all sorted.”

I raised my eyebrows. “How did Alice react to that?”

“She pursed her lips and told Jeffrey he couldn’t count on something like that happening. Then, Jeffrey assured her it was okay. He said he knew what was happening, and they would have the money soon. He said he would ask her for some in the meantime, but that it was coming. They would inherit it all, and soon.”

“That’s mighty suspicious.”

“It certainly is. I told Elizabeth about it immediately. After all, she wouldn’t tell me what was going on, but I’d figured it out. I thought this was a good chance for her to know. Elizabeth thanked me for telling her. She said she would keep an eye on Jeffrey throughout the day.”

“She didn’t tell me about it,” I muttered.

“She may not have thought much of it. From what I gather, it’s rather normal for Jeffrey to ask for money from his mother. And you know how so many children these days are practically salivating as they wait for their parents to die so they can inherit their estates. There are articles written about it in the news all the time.”

“Well, that might be because back when Elizabeth was young, you could buy a three-bedroom house for a couple hundred pounds and a platter of lasagna,” I pointed out.

John chuckled. The sound was low, deep, and seemed to come from the depths of his soul. “Well, being slightly older than you, I can’t say I entirely disagree with your assessment. You’re quite right that it’s much more difficult for kids these days to afford anything, let alone something that might be large enough to allow them to comfortably raise a family. All the same, I can’t say the feeling of wanting to off your parents for the money is entirely exclusive to your generation. Back when I was a lad, people were thinking about it all the same. Human nature, I suppose, in a way. Wanting more than what you have. It’s quite sad, isn’t it, though? Putting your financial wants ahead of your family’s health and well-being. And now? Well, he’s a killer, isn’t he?”

“He might well be,” I said. “Can you tell me where he spent the day? You say he arrived early?”

“Yes. He and Alice arrived just after nine o’clock this morning. Alice’s parents came in from out of town to take care of the kids, he said, and they decided to spend the night in Devon to be able to be here all day. They were just in time for breakfast. The three of them ate together, and Monica arrived just as everything was being packed away. Then, everyone went their own ways. Jeffrey and Alice went to one of the spare rooms to get ready for the party. I saw Jeffrey walking around. Monica went and got ready as well. Then, before I knew it, other guests began arriving.”

“What do you think of her?”

“She seems all right, actually. Not nearly as stuck-up as most of the people here. She’s one of the few to actually acknowledge me.”

“I imagine most people here think you’re invisible.”

“They certainly do,” John replied. “It’s why I was able to overhear Jeffrey. He wouldn’t have considered me at all.”

“If you manage to overhear anything else that might help, would you mind giving me a call?” I asked, handing him a card. “Elizabeth wanted me to find the person who killed her. It sounds like you cared for her.”

“I did, and I will. She was a good woman. I understand why she wanted to leave that world behind. She wasn’t like them. She was simple, at heart. She just wanted to live an ordinary life. Did you know, all of those planters at the back of the property, she was the one who took care of all of them.”

“Oh,” I replied.

“She loved gardening. Said it took her mind off things. It’s strange, talking about her in past tense like this.”

“It is,” I agreed.

“I’ll let you know if I hear of anything that can help.”

“Thanks,” I replied.

Just then, there came a noise from outside. But it wasn’t from the back of the house. It was coming from the front.

Chapter 12

John motioned for me to follow him, and he led me through the halls of the house to the front, where the ruckus was happening. As soon as I saw what was going on, I laughed.

It was Barry Wilkerson. He was standing next to his car, screaming. “I know she did this! It was her! It’s always her, that American bitch!”

John glanced over at me and offered a smile. “Speaking of people who seem to believe I’m invisible.”

I grinned. “Not a big fan of Barry Wilkerson either?”

“If I was, I might have said something when I saw you dumping the manure into the front seat of his car,” John said. He winked, and I laughed as he strode forward and out of the house.

“May I ask what the disturbance is?” he asked, his voice commanding, rising above the murmur of the small crowd that had gathered. “Let me remind you, a woman has just died.”

“Maybe, but she’s dead and can’t do anything about this. I’m here, and my car seat has been ruined. Ruined! And I know it’s that American bitch that did it. Mackenzie Owens.”

A smile crept up my face as I stepped outside and gave Barry a finger wave. There was something I absolutely loved about being called a bitch by a terrible man. It was satisfying. It meant I had ruined his day, and he had totally deserved it.

“You,” he snarled, taking a step forward. John pressed a hand on his chest, and Barry looked up at the man, as if not having realized he was there. “She’s the one who did this. I want her arrested. Where are the police? Where is Sergeant Peters?”

“The police are dealing with the much more serious incident of Elizabeth’s death,” John replied, coldly. “As for your vehicle? Ms. Salinger owns four horses, which she allows to roam free on the grounds during the day. Incidents happen. This is why you were told when you entered that leaving your car’s convertible top down was not ideal.”

“No one can tell me what to do with my own car,” Barry snapped at him.

“Just like no one can tell the horses where to shit,” I called out with a self-satisfied smile.

“You,” he snarled. “I know it was you.”

“Are you calling me a horse? I had nothing to do with your dumb car.”

“I know you did,” Barry said, stomping his feet in a way that was eerily reminiscent of a toddler’s tantrum. Looking around, I could tell Barry wasn’t attracting the kind of attention he was hoping for. The couple of women looked at his with an air of disgust, and a few of the men looked like they were getting ready to intervene if it became necessary. “You did this. And I know you’re the one who stole my phone too.”

I smiled sweetly. “If you want to prove that, you’ll have to tell everyone exactly what’s on it. Or maybe I will, instead. Might ruin it a bit. The Sun won’t be as pleased if they find out other people have seen the photos first, will they? They won’t pay the same premium.”

Barry bared his teeth at me, like a fat, balding wolf.

“You’re going to have to leave,” John said, his tone firm, stepping between us.

“Leave? How do you expect me to leave when the seat of my car is covered in… in this… crap?”

John shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s not up to me. I’m certain someone can offer you something to remove the manure, or a plastic sheet to sit on until you’re able to have your car properly detailed.”

“This all happened on your watch,” Barry said, stamping his feet “You need to take care of this for me. It’s not my responsibility.”

“The staff here have more important things to deal with at the moment, like the death of Elizabeth, the woman of the house. As I said, we can give you help, but you were warned on arrival not to leave your car open to the elements.”

“This is bullshit,” Barry muttered under his breath.

“Horse, actually,” I said, and the man glared at me as I laughed and turned away.

“I know you did this,” Barry called to my turned back. “I’ll make you pay for it.”

I replied by flipping him the middle finger without so much as turning around then walked right back into the house.

* * *

As it turned out, the guests were all allowed to leave by the police, and I watched as everyone slowly got into their cars and left. From the living room, I took a video of Barry trying to get all the manure out of his car, scraping it away as he swore under his breath. Then, I sent it to the group chat, and once he was gone, I found John.

“Thank you again,” I said. “For everything. Including dealing with Barry.”

“It’s not every day someone drops karma in the form of horse droppings onto a man like that.”

“I like to make my own karma,” I said with a wink.

John laughed. “Well, I wish you luck in your endeavours. Especially in finding who did this to Elizabeth. I suspect it will take a few days before the police are even able to determine whether or not she was murdered. If anyone can do this, it’s you. I’m glad Elizabeth had the presence of mind to call you in before she passed.”

“Me too. I liked her a lot. I’m not just saying that.”

John shook my hand solemnly, in that male way, and gave me a nod of approval. Maggie appeared at my side then, and the two of us left, climbing back into her little yellow car, which did not have any horse manure on the passenger seat.

* * *

I sent a text to the group chat, and to Aksel, and by the time we got home, Sophie and Aksel were waiting by the front door. Ada had texted that she would be there soon, but given as she was at the university, it would take her a few more minutes than the others to arrive.

“I can’t believe it’s really true,” Sophie said as Maggie opened the front door and we all piled inside. “I mean, I know that’s what she told you, and that was what she hired you to do, to find out who was going to kill her. But for it to actually happen?”

“I should have been there with you,” Aksel said.

I shook my head. “No way. Everyone around here knows that you’re a private investigator. It would automatically have looked suspicious. You’re not exactly the type to have known Elizabeth Stevens normally.”

“Oh yeah?” Aksel asked, a smile of amusement flittering on his lips. “And what kind of type is that?”

“Barry Wilkerson,” I replied.

“You’re right, I’m nothing like him,” Aksel said, laughing.

“If you were, you wouldn’t be in this house right now, I can tell you that much. You’d be yelling at some poor, underpaid employee, complaining about an American bitch who got horse poop all over the driver’s seat of your new Ferrari.”

Aksel’s laughter grew. “Now that sounds like you.”

“What can I say? He deserved it just by existing. Plus, I saw him being rude to the staff. You should never be rude to the staff. This is just me doling out what people deserve, from back in the day when I was the staff.”

Just then, there came a knock at the front door. I went to answer it and let Ada in. “I came as fast as I could.”

“Thanks. I have some of the drink that Elizabeth was drinking from in a jar,” I said as Ada followed me to the dining table, where the others were sitting. I grabbed my bag and pulled out the jar with the bit of napkin. “Is that enough to test for poison? I couldn’t really grab more. Most of the champagne spilled on the ground, and I didn’t want to leave zero evidence for the police.”

“Given as having this already probably constitutes a crime, that was good thinking,” Ada replied.

I waved a hand. “It’s not a crime if you’re doing it to solve a murder.”

“It is if you aren’t the police,” Ada pointed out. “But, so long as you have this, yes, it’s enough to test. But we need to know what we’re testing for.”

“What were Elizabeth’s symptoms?” Sophie asked. “Maybe that can help us narrow it down.”

“There weren’t a lot,” I said with a shrug. “She had complained to me that she was feeling a little bit hot and sweaty, but she chalked that up to nerves. Then, Beatrice said she’d been looking a little bit faint while talking to her.”

“It was her own party. She probably didn’t want anyone to think anything was wrong,” Ada pointed out.

“And maybe she didn’t want to believe something was really wrong,” Maggie added quietly. “It’s one thing to theoretically know someone is trying to kill you. I imagine it’s entirely another to be physically dying.”

We all sat at the table in silence for a moment, absorbing Maggie’s words. She was right, of course.

Ada was the one who broke the silence. “I think the most likely culprit here, given what you’ve told me, is digitalis.”

“I’ve heard of that,” Sophie said. “They use it in mystery novels a lot.”

“Exactly. It comes from the foxglove flower, which is pretty common. It grows all over the UK, in fact. It’s tall, with bright-pink flowers. Flowers that hide how deadly it is. Although, if you’ve heard of digitalis, it might be because it’s used as heart medication.”

“I’d need two hands to count all the people I know who take it for their hearts,” Maggie said.

“Right. But the line between helping and hurting is very thin with digitalis. A small dose can kill a person fairly easily.”

“What would the timeline be like?” I asked.

“It depends on the dose that was given. If it was just a small amount, it can actually take days for symptoms to start. But a lethal dose like the one that was clearly given here? It could be anywhere from half an hour to about six hours before. There’s no real way to know.”

“And you can test for it?” Sophie asked.

“Yes, no question. I’m not entirely sure how to test for that specific toxin, but I know we have labs set up for it at the university. If you give me that sample, I can find out for you tomorrow if there’s digitalis in it. I’ll try and use as little of it as we can, so that if we need to test for other things, we’ll still have part of the sample.”

“Thanks,” I said, handing the jar to Ada. I was eternally grateful to her and her magical powers, which she insisted was just called “knowledge of science.” I was still convinced it was actually magic.

“Who do you suspect?” Sophie asked. “Does anyone stand out?”

“Her son, Jeffrey,” I said immediately. “He’s been after his mother’s money for years. She even listed him as someone who would want her dead. And, John, Elizabeth’s driver, overheard him telling his wife this morning that soon Elizabeth would be dead and they would inherit.”

“Morbid,” Ada said, grimacing.

“Did he mean it in the sense that it would be immediate because he would be making sure of that, or in the sense that his mother was old and therefore more likely to collapse and die at any minute?” Maggie asked.

“I get the impression it was the former. Plus, not a single person I spoke to had anything nice to say about him. And I spoke to his father too.”

Sophie raised her eyebrows. “Both parents think he could be the killer?”

“It sure sounds that way. Although, I wasn’t a fan of Donald, either. He seems to blame Elizabeth for everything in his life. And then there’s Beatrice. That woman carries so much hatred. If she killed Elizabeth, it wasn’t for the money. It was entirely out of jealousy. And while I’m not sure it was her, it wouldn’t surprise me, either.”

“Hopefully, we’ll know more after I get the results back from this,” Ada said.

“I’m looking into Jeffrey’s vehicle too,” Aksel added. “We’ll see if he’s been in the county recently, without telling anybody.”

“Great,” I said, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion coming over me. “I guess that’s all we can do for now.”

“I have a full list of everyone who was at the party,” Maggie said. “Including the staff. Starting tomorrow, we can look into their backgrounds, as well. I recognize a few names. I should be able to ask around and get a bit of information.”

There was no network that truly worked as well as the old ladies’ network in St. Albinus. If any of the staff members on that list had grown up here, by tomorrow afternoon, Maggie would know everything about them, down to what age they stopped wearing diapers.

The others left soon afterward. As soon as they did, I turned to Maggie. “Thanks for the help today.”

“I just wish we could have gotten ahead of it. She should have come to you sooner.”

“She really seemed to accept her fate. I feel bad for her.”

“In her own way, Elizabeth went out on her terms. She had a beautiful party. She was the center of attention. All eyes were on her. And then, she went out in a way that will be spoken about for decades. I think Elizabeth set up the stage for her own death like only a woman of the screen and stage could do.”

“You’re probably right, but still. She could have been alive right now.”

“She could have, yes. But I think Elizabeth was tired. We’ve known about this for just a few days, but for her, it’s been her life for months. I think regardless of what happened, she just wanted it to be over.”

“I guess so. I just wish we could have been there sooner. Done more for her.”

“Now, all we can do is carry out her last wish: we find the person who did this.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “All right, I’m going to bed. I’m exhausted.”

“Kids these days. No stamina whatsoever.”

“Excuse me, I am thirty,” I muttered as I climbed up the stairs. “I have to take an Advil if I sleep wrong these days.”

I headed upstairs to the bathroom and started the shower running then collapsed into bed. Toast woke up and mewled her displeasure at me interrupting her presumably sixteenth hour of sleep in a row. She curled up in the crook of my legs, and the two of us were asleep once more within seconds.

Chapter 13

When I woke up the next day, the memory of the party hit me hard. I lay in bed for a few minutes, thinking about Elizabeth. About the kind of woman she had been. I hadn’t known her long, but she had been formidable. She had been the type of woman who knew what she wanted and who got it. She had been the kind of woman who accepted the realities of the world but didn’t let them break her.

Even when she knew she was going to die, even when she knew someone was going to do it to her, she still took steps to make sure that she was in control. Even after she had passed. She wasn’t going to leave this investigation to the police. She must have known they were borderline incompetent.

No, she made sure that she was in charge, even after her death.

And that was the definition of formidable, in my opinion. The kind of person who wouldn’t let being murdered stop them from being in control.

My heart felt heavy, like a stone had been dropped on it, dragging it down toward my feet, but I forced myself to get up. The best thing I could do for Elizabeth now was to grant her dying wish and find her killer.

Stifling a yawn, I headed downstairs and said good morning to Maggie, who was already up and eating some toast with a cup of tea at the dining room table.

Maggie said, “Word’s gotten around already. I woke up to messages from three people.”

She picked her phone up from the table next to her then read aloud. “Did you hear? Eddie Izzard died.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Eddie Izzard?”

“She’s a comedian.”

“I know who she is. But she’s not Elizabeth.”

“No. But that’s who Dianne means. She pretends she doesn’t need her glasses when she texts and lets autocorrect take care of everything.”

“Have you googled to make sure Eddie Izzard isn’t also dead? Because that would be a huge tragedy.”

“I have,” Maggie confirmed. “Then, in case you’re worried that my network of friends doesn’t have the scoop, both other messages mention that they heard I was there, and wanted me to confirm.”

“Oh, you’re going to be popular today.”

“That’s why I’m only having a piece of toast right now. Ellen Haggerty has invited me to go get tea later, and if she wants the details, I’m going to make sure she’s buying the scones.”

I laughed. “Good plan. Hey, can you send me that list of attendees you’ve got? I want to do some background Google searching while the shop is slow.”

“I’ll send it to you now.”

I said goodbye to Maggie then headed out the door. My first stop was to the Ugly Mug, where Sophie was doodling on a notepad behind the counter.

“Morning,” she greeted me.

“How’s the gossip mill going over here?”

“You’re customer number six for the day, and number six to mention Elizabeth’s death.”

“Technically, I haven’t actually mentioned that she was killed,” I pointed out.

“That’s true. You’re also the only one who thinks that. Everyone else seems to believe she died of natural causes. Heart attack is the word going around.”

“It makes sense. From the point of view of everyone else at that party, she collapsed all of a sudden, and by the time help arrived, she was dead. It wasn’t like Elizabeth made it known that someone was going to kill her. She didn’t want people to know because she didn’t want the killer to get scared. And John, her driver, figured it out, but I spoke to him. I don’t believe he would have told anybody. He’s definitely loyal to Elizabeth. He would keep that secret.”

Sophie nodded. “Yeah. It’s just weird, listening to people talk about it like that and be completely wrong.”

“I know.”

“I’ll keep an ear out for any gossip that might help. But right now, there isn’t much of it. No one knows they have to be looking out for a killer.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it, as always.”

I placed my order, got my coffee, and walked back to the Broken Spine, where I had dropped Toast off quickly before getting my drink. I let myself back in and set about getting ready to open shop for the day.

I went through my opening routine, and just as I was finished, the bell above the door rang. I was just opening my mouth to say, “Sorry, we don’t open until ten,” when I saw Aksel walking through the frame.

My words melted on my tongue, and instead I broke into a smile. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Aksel replied. “Now, I know you’re happy because I’m here, but I actually have something even better for you. A friend of mine looked at all of the logs of cars going across the bridge into Cornwall.”

“Ooh, you’re right. While it’s always nice to see you, potential proof of a murder is better.”

Aksel laughed. “Well, you’re going to enjoy this, then. It turns out, Jeffrey Donaldson’s car, with the number plate you gave me, has been in Cornwall four times in the past three months.”

I arched an eyebrow skyward. “That’s such good news I’m not even going to give you crap for saying number plate instead of license plate like a normal person.”

“Is that because it is called a number plate?”

“Sorry, no. No one calls it that.”

“Everyone in England does. You know, the country you happen to be living in?”

“Everyone knows Americans actually make all the rules, so you’re doing it wrong,” I said, sticking my tongue out at him.

Aksel laughed. “Yup, that sounds exactly like something an American would say.”

“Do you have dates for those trips?”

“Naturally.”

Aksel pulled out a notebook and read the dates aloud to me. I wrote them down then compared them with the dates Elizabeth gave me. As soon as I saw them side to side, I gasped.

“All of the dates Elizabeth gave me coincide with Jeffrey being in Cornwall.”

I looked up at Aksel, and his eyes were hard. “He’s obviously your prime suspect, then.”

“Yes. Without question. He was before all of this too. John, Elizabeth’s driver, told me he overheard Jeffrey telling his wife that soon Elizabeth would be dead, and they would inherit all of his money.”

“So now you just need to prove it.”

I nodded. “I do.”

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“I will. Thanks. Right now, I just have to think it through. I don’t think he’ll admit to doing it. Having the license plate data is a good start.”

“Number plate,” Aksel corrected.

I stuck my tongue out at him as I continued. “But it’s not evidence. It’s not enough to convict. I have to get something more.”

“Sounds like someone is going to take part in her favorite hobby: breaking and entering.”

“We’ll see. I’m not sure it’s going to work out in this case. I kind of need a car.”

“If you’re asking for a ride, the answer is yes.”

“You don’t get to make fun of my proclivities for petty crime in the name of justice if you’re willing to offer your services as an accomplice that easily,” I said, crossing my arms.

“All right. I take back the offer.”

“No, you don’t get to do that, either. My other option is asking Ada, who will do it but won’t really want to. And Maggie. And as we both know, driving with her is like playing Roadside Roulette. I don’t like driving down the street with her. I’m not sure I’d survive a drive all the way to London. So that leaves you.”

“Good to know I was choice number three,” Aksel teased.

“I already said why you’re actually choice number one. Besides, you have good snacks in your car. And that is ultimately the most important thing. If you were an Uber driver, that would earn you five stars.”

“I’d be getting five stars as a driver for so much more than just my snacks.”

“It’s true,” I admitted.

“Okay. So it’s settled. Let me know when you want to go take care of it.”

“I will.”

At that moment, my phone dinged. I picked it up to find a message from Ada. Just finished testing the champagne. Sure enough, there was digitoxin in it.

I looked up at Aksel. “Actually, scratch that idea. My entire theory has just been flushed down the toilet.”

Chapter 14

“What’s the matter?” Aksel asked, noticing the expression on my face.

“My plans for a casual evening spent breaking and entering have been canceled. I just got a reply from Ada. The glass Elizabeth had been drinking from just tested positive for digitoxin. We know what the murder weapon was. Poison. But it can’t have been Jeffrey.”

“Why not?”

“He wasn’t on the property when the drink was poisoned. Believe me. I saw him drive off. That was when I took the picture of the license plate and sent it to you. There had been a power outage. Something to do with the electrical box. Jeffrey and Donald went downstairs to look at it, and when Jeffrey came back, he said he had to go into town and get some items to fix it. He was gone for, I don’t know, maybe an hour? He returned just after Elizabeth had died.”

“Maybe he poisoned her drink before,” Aksel suggested, but I shook my head vehemently.

“Nope. He couldn’t have. I saw Elizabeth order that drink of champagne. I watched the bartender pick up a completely empty glass from the very front of the row he had set up. I watched him open the bottle. I watched him pour the drink. There is absolutely no way that glass was poisoned before Jeffrey left.”

I chewed my bottom lip in annoyance as I talked myself through. “That means it narrows down the time frame someone would have had to be able to kill her. But it opens our suspect pool back up. Because the one guy I was pretty much convinced had killed Elizabeth is the one person at that party who couldn’t have done it.”

“And you’re one hundred percent sure that he didn’t come back and somehow sneak the poison into his mother’s drink?”

I nodded. “Someone would have noticed him. Hell, I would have noticed him. He was wearing a bright shirt. Everyone knew he had gone out to get supplies. If he had come back, he would have been noticed. He would have been asked about the power. And I’m pretty sure Elizabeth didn’t leave the patio for a single second afterward. Maggie can confirm that. She kept a close eye on her the whole time.”

Aksel nodded. “All right. So it couldn’t have been Jeffrey. Who does that leave?”

“I guess everyone who got close to Elizabeth between the time when she got the glass of champagne and when she collapsed. It took about half an hour, I think. Maybe a little bit longer. Forty minutes? I was off doing my own thing for a bit, but Maggie might know for sure who was around. And of course, I know she was talking to Beatrice when she collapsed. So she’s definitely a suspect.”

“Beatrice Wellesley?”

“That’s her. Do you know her?”

“Only by reputation. She’s an actress as well. Had a small role on Coronation Street for a while. My mother was a big fan of hers.”

“She and Elizabeth were basically the definition of frenemies. I could totally see her trying to off Elizabeth. But at the same time, I kind of don’t think she would have.”

“Oh?”

“It was something she said to me while we spoke. ‘Now Elizabeth won.’ For Beatrice, the whole point was being better than Elizabeth. The idea wasn’t to kill her. The idea was to show Elizabeth that she was better. And when Elizabeth died, that took away any chance Beatrice would ever have to do that. So funnily enough, while I do think that in her own way, Beatrice hated Elizabeth, I don’t think she killed her.”

“I see what you mean.”

“Humans have too many emotions,” I declared. “Life should be less complicated. Look at Jeffrey. He’s a keep-up-with-the-Joneses type who wanted his mother dead so that he could inherit her money and pay for a new house, or car, or whatever he was after. That’s a very neat and tidy reason to want someone dead. I mean, it sucks, and he’s a terrible person for caring more about his inheritance than his mother, but at least you know what you’re getting. Beatrice’s emotions are way more complicated.”

Aksel laughed. “If people were simple, I’d be out of a job. And you wouldn’t have been hired to solve this.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“I have to get going. I have my own case that I’m working on. But if you need anything, let me know. I can make some time to help out.”

“What’s your case?”

“Nothing important. Just an old friend with the police who wants to meet up and ask me some questions about some people he thinks are bad news.”

I nodded. “Let me know if you’re free later. If we can’t go committing crimes together, maybe we can at least get dinner?”

Aksel’s face spread into a grin. “That sounds like a much more legal plan.”

He gave me a quick kiss then headed back to the door. As he left, the bell tinkling behind him, I pursed my lips and stared at my phone. I was sure that I’d solved this. Jeffrey was the perfect suspect. But it just couldn’t be him. So who was it?

I sent Ada a reply. I’m guessing you don’t have anything else beyond the fact that it was digitoxin?

Sorry, no. It had to be a fairly concentrated dose if it was going to kill Elizabeth, though. That’s all I know.

And it can be found in a flower that grows all over Cornwall?

All of England, even. Yes. It’s also common in heart medication.

Why can’t people use poisons that require some sort of supersecret certification to get a hold of?

Because then it would be easier to catch them?

Yeah. Which is what I want.

I have bad news for you when it comes to your desires and the desires of criminals.

I sent a couple of annoyed emojis then added I just don’t understand why everyone can’t do what makes my life easier. So basically, it’s going to be hard to find proof of who did this.

It sounds like it. But if anyone can get to the bottom of this, I know it’s you.

Thanks, Ada.

You’re just going to have to actually work for it.

I retract my thanks.

Ada replied with the emoji blowing a kiss, and I slipped my phone back into my pocket then leaned against the counter with my elbows and bent over, stretching my back as I let out a groan. Ten minutes ago, it had all seemed so easy. Jeffrey killed his mother for the money. It would have probably been fairly easy to prove too. He didn’t seem like the brightest fluorescent light in the warehouse, and I figured a simple break-in when the whole family was at work and school would have probably netted me enough evidence to nail him.

But Ada had ruined all that, with her facts and her science. Jeffrey couldn’t have poisoned the drink. So who did?

I turned to the list of attendees Maggie had sent me. She had written it out by hand, in a notebook, and around the names she’d scribbled notes of things she had noticed.

The last entry said, “Beatrice – spoke for ten minutes before collapsing.”

From there, I went up the list. And my blood froze. “Alice – quick chat, two or three minutes.”

Alice was Jeffrey’s wife. I had suspected him as the killer and written him off because he couldn’t have done it, but what about his wife? Maybe she had tired of waiting, tired of Jeffrey’s promises that his mother would come through, without any follow-up.

People had certainly killed for less.

Maybe they were in on it together.

But then, that didn’t make total sense, either. Why would Jeffrey have to tell Alice that Elizabeth would be dead soon if they were planning on killing her together later that day? And why wouldn’t Alice believe him? She would know, if she was in on the plan with him.

That didn’t mean she hadn’t planned this on her own, though. She still would have acted confused in front of her husband, so that he wouldn’t think anything of it. She could very well be the killer.

Above her on the list was Donald. According to Maggie, he spoke to Elizabeth for about three minutes then left. She didn’t overhear the conversation.

Then, Monica’s name was on the list. Monica and Elizabeth spoke for about ten minutes. And finally, the name on the list above that was one I didn’t recognize. Olive, one of the staff members. Before that, the bartender was listed, as well as my name.

That had to be when Elizabeth had gotten the champagne. Which meant one of these people—Beatrice, Alice, Monica, Donald and Olive—had killed Elizabeth. I just needed to find out who.

My primary suspect, of course, was Alice.

After all, the main evidence I had for Jeffrey’s involvement, apart from the overheard conversation, was his car’s location. He had been in and out of Cornwall multiple times in the past few months, and every incident Elizabeth had in which she was nearly killed corresponded with one of those trips.

What if I’d gotten the right car but the wrong suspect? Alice could have taken Jeffrey’s car, driven it here, and tried to kill Elizabeth. That was the theory I was going to start with.

I pulled out my phone and texted Aksel. Our felony date is back on. Same place. We’re just going after a different target.

His reply came through a moment later. Just let me know when and where.

Will do. Just need to do a bit more research first.

I put down the phone then opened up Google. It was Sunday, which meant most people around here didn’t get going until late morning or early afternoon. I wasn’t expecting customers for a little bit longer. So I typed “Alice Salinger” into Google, just to see what I found.

Unfortunately, the search results were dominated by a woman who had been some sort of online influencer who founded a law firm that had gone defunct a few years ago.

I searched a little bit more and was able to narrow it down to the woman I was looking for. I found her LinkedIn, as well as a Facebook account, and an Instagram account set to private.

Alice Salinger worked as a marketing consultant for a company that appeared to have clients all over the world. I clicked through everything I could find.

On her Facebook account, she posted public pictures of her winning awards. Of her in Dubai with Angelina Jolie. Of her in New York, next to Tina Fey.

Her LinkedIn account showed her as having worked for the same company for the past ten years.

I went to the company’s website and scrolled through the information. It was fairly bare-bones when it came to the profiles on the people who worked there.

Then, out of curiosity, I did a search for Jeffrey. He had much less of an online presence. Not even a headshot on the website of the company where he worked as an accountant. I couldn’t find a Facebook account for him. Only a LinkedIn page with minimal information.

This wasn’t a ton of information, on either one of them. I wanted more, but I just wasn’t sure how to get it. It wasn’t as if they were local. They didn’t live in Cornwall; they lived in London. It wasn’t as thought there was anyone here who would know much about them.

I eventually figured my best shot was to call the office and see who I could talk to.

I looked through the information I had until I found the names of a couple people who looked like they worked with Alice. Then, I dialed the main line and got a receptionist.

“Hi. I’m looking to speak to Elaine Matterly,” I said. “Could you put me through to her, please?”

“Yes, just one moment.”

There came a pause on the other end of the line, and a moment later, a woman answered. She sounded friendly. Good. She looked friendly in her photos too. I hoped that meant she’d be willing to talk to me.

“This is Elaine.”

“Hi, Elaine,” I said, as perkily as possible. “My name is Sarah. I went to university with a coworker of yours, Alice Heffernan.”

“Oh, Alice, of course. Her name is Salinger now. What can I do for you?”

“Well, here’s the thing. You can probably tell by my accent that I’m not from London.”

This was a test, and Elaine passed it. She laughed, but not in a mean way. “I had an inkling.”

“I did two semesters with Alice at King’s College.” Bless the internet and people posting their personal information on it. “Then after my time abroad was over, I returned to Canada. I’ve lived in Toronto ever since, but I’m coming to London for my first visit since then in a few weeks. I was hoping to catch up with a few old friends, Alice included. But I wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“Ooh, a surprise,” Elaine said in a conspiratorial voice. “I love that. But you know what? When did you say you were coming?”

“Four weeks from now.”

“Oh, I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help to you. Alice put in her resignation three weeks ago. She’s going on a work trip to hand in her final documents with a brand, and then she’s moving on.”

Well, this was a surprise. “Oh,” I said. “That’s too bad. It looks like Alice loved her work.”

“Yes, she’s been so great. I love working with her so much. But you know, she’s got the two young kids. She took a year off when they were first born to take care of them, and when she came back, she was just working part-time, you know, so she could spend more time with them. I think she figured once school started for them it would be easier, but it hasn’t been.”

“That’s too bad. I’m glad she’s able to take the space for herself and her family.”

“Me too. Her husband does very well, and she’s lucky to have his support. It’s very good for the both of them. They have plenty of money.”

It didn’t surprise me in the least that Alice would talk up her family’s financial situation to coworkers.

“Oh yeah? That’s great. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her.”

“She’s a wizard with advertising. I’ve never seen someone who really understands the human psyche like Alice. And she’s such a hard worker too. Even though she just works part-time, she takes specific projects, and she gives them her all. We’re really going to miss her here.”

“All right. Well, I’ll probably reach out to someone else she knows from outside of work, then, and we’ll figure something out. Hey, do you mind doing me a favor? Don’t tell her I called. I still want to surprise her.”

“You got it. Enjoy your trip.”

I ended the call and frowned at the phone. So, Alice had quit her job a few weeks ago. Why? Because she knew she was going to be coming into some money soon? This was more information, but it still wasn’t enough information. I bit my lip as I tried to figure out what to do. Figure out who might know more.

And then, my phone pinged in my pocket. It was Maggie in our group chat.

It’s official. Well, not official yet. But, I heard from a friend whose daughter’s wife’s best friend works at the coroner’s office that Elizabeth’s death is going to be ruled a homicide.

Do they know what killed her?

Yes. She confirmed it was digitoxin.

I inhaled sharply as I read those words. It was something I already suspected, of course. But now we knew for sure.

About thirty seconds later, another message came through, from a phone number I didn’t recognize.

It’s Monica. I need to meet you.

Chapter 15

I arranged with Monica to meet her during my lunch break at the Ugly Mug. When I got there, she was already sitting at one of the tables near the window, her hand on her chin, watching the world outside.

I walked to the counter and placed an order with Sophie.

“That’s Monica,” I said to her quietly.

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Elizabeth’s daughter?”

“The very one.”

“I feel bad for her. Unless she’s the killer. In which case, she can go to hell.”

I gave a little laugh. “Right now, it’s looking like the former. But you never know. She’s one of the people who had access to Elizabeth’s glass.”

“A few people have been saying that it’s murder, since Maggie messaged all of us. It looks like word is getting out. But I haven’t heard anything that might be remotely useful. Just gossip. No one seems to have actually known Elizabeth.”

“That makes sense. She was pretty much a hermit on that giant estate, from what I’ve heard. Let me get a coffee, and I’m going to speak with Monica. Maybe she can shine more of a light on things now.”

Sophie nodded and made my iced caramel latte, sliding it across the counter. I thanked her with a smile and walked to the table where Monica was sitting. She had a cup of tea in front of her and an untouched Biscoff slice.

“Hi,” I said quietly, taking the seat across from her. Monica jumped, startled, as if she’d forgotten she’d asked me to come.

“Sorry,” she said. “Lost in my thoughts.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. It’s funny how life is, isn’t it? We spoke at the party. We both knew someone was going to kill my mother. Or at the very least, that they were going to try. I rationalized it. I told myself it was coming. I tried to prepare myself for my mother’s death. But it doesn’t really work that way, does it? No matter how much I tried, when it actually happened, it was like I’d stepped in front of a train.”

“Grief hits hard.”

“Oh, that it does. I don’t even know what day it is. How long it’s been since the party. It’s as though my brain stopped working the instant I saw Mum lying there on the ground. And now, confirmation. She was murdered. The police are investigating.”

“They are.”

“And so are you.” Monica’s eyes rose to meet mine for the first time during this conversation. “That’s why I came. I need to know what you know. I need to know that you’re on track to finding the person who killed Mum. And if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Yes, your mom hired me to find the person who was going to kill her. I’m going to do right by her. I’m actively looking into it.”

“Have you heard it’s murder? The police called an hour ago to tell me and Jeffrey. They found poison in her system.”

“I have. Digitoxin.”

Monica shook her head. “The policeman, the sergeant, he didn’t tell me that. He just said Mum was poisoned.”

I had a decision to make here: how much to share with Monica. After all, she was one of my suspects. One of the five people who had access to Elizabeth between when she got the glass of champagne and when she collapsed.

“When your mother collapsed, I was able to take a little bit of the champagne that was still in her glass. Not a lot of it. I left enough for the police to test. A friend of mine tested it. It came up positive for digitoxin. The last glass of champagne that she drank is what killed her.”

Monica inhaled sharply but kept her eyes on me. “What does that mean?”

“It means one of the people she spoke to in the last forty five minutes or so of her life killed her. And, full disclosure, you are on that list.”

Monica’s nostrils flared, but she hid her anger at this well. “I didn’t kill Mum.”

“I believe you,” I lied. It wasn’t that I suspected Monica. But I also had no reason to write her off completely. Sure, she had been the most helpful person to me over the course of this investigation so far, but that could have just been a trap, to try and fool me into thinking she was on my side.

“Who else is on that list?”

“Beatrice Wellesley, Alice Salinger, your father, and a woman named Olive who works for your mother.”

Monica’s brow furrowed. “Alice is on the list but not Jeffrey?”

I shook my head. “It was when he went into town. I was with your mother when she ordered that glass of champagne. I saw the bartender open the bottle and grab a clean glass to pour it in. Jeffrey had already left by then. I saw him drive off with my own eyes.”

“I would have been sure it was him,” Monica muttered, almost to herself.

“What about his wife, Alice? What can you tell me about her?”

“Alice works part-time for a company in the city. She took a step back from her role after the kids were born, but she didn’t want to stay out of the workforce entirely. And I suspect it’s in part because the money is very good. She works in marketing, for one of the better-known companies. They have clients all over the world. And she’s very good at her job. Back in the day, when I was married, my husband ran one of the companies that Alice did some work for. She was truly talented. But she also clearly wasn’t happy with her life. Still isn’t. There’s a reason she and Jeffrey were so attracted to one another.”

“A love of money that was stronger than their love for each other?”

A small smile curled in the corner of Monica’s mouth. “Precisely. It’s the one thing that keeps them both going. Jeffrey makes a good living on his own. If Alice wanted to, she could stay at home with the kids. But she doesn’t want to. For two reasons. One, the one I understand, is that she wants her own independence. However, the second reason is that this way, they get to hire a nanny. They get to tell all of their friends and family about the woman who comes and raises their children while they’re away. They get to pretend that they’re old money, hiring Jayne Eyre as their governess. I don’t think they can afford to do that much without Alice working.”

“Do you think she could be the killer?”

“I do think so,” Monica said slowly, as though formulating her own thoughts in her head. “Alice has always been a ladder climber. And she’s the sort of person who would stop at nothing to get what she wants. Honestly, I was a little bit surprised that she chose to marry Jeffrey.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

“Because while Jeffrey is always in want of money, and making more of it is his primary goal in life, he’s also always been quite lazy. The two really do not go hand in hand, and I’ll be honest: it’s why I thought Jeffrey must have done this, and I was stunned to learn he hadn’t.”

“So he wants money but doesn’t want to have to work for it.”

“Precisely. He takes after our father a bit that way. Although Dad is a little bit different. He didn’t mind working so much. He could just never find work, and rather than trying to focus on himself, he decided it was everyone else’s fault. Jeffrey could just never be bothered. He felt like he should always have everything, no matter what. And that he shouldn’t have to work for it.”

“I’m curious: Were the two of you spoiled, growing up?”

Monica pursed her lips on one side of her mouth as she considered the question. “Yes and no. We did have access to the best schools. We were given the best education money could buy. Jeffrey went to Eton, and I was sent to Switzerland for a couple of years. We had a large house, we had staff, we never wanted for anything. So in that sense, yes, we were spoiled. But at the same time, it’s not as though we were gifted cars on our seventeenth birthdays. I had a friend at school whose parents bought her a Jaguar to celebrate. That wasn’t us.”

“Do you think that’s what led Jeffrey to being how he is about money?”

“In part. But there’s more than that. Being around the rich doesn’t automatically make you envy them. Look at me.”

“You married a rich man first, though, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it had nothing to do with his money. I loved Jacques for his mind. He was a scientist, at heart. He might have owned his company, but Jacques wasn’t a businessman, and he knew it. He hired the right people to run the operations, and it allowed him the time to work on the science, which is what he really loved. Yes, he stayed in the public eye. He did interviews, and he stepped out to all of the events he was supposed to attend. But that’s not who he really was. I married for love, Mack. And yes, my husband died. A heart attack, in the middle of the night. It turned out he had an undiagnosed condition. It was tragic, and I inherited all of his money, but I didn’t want it. I’d give it all back a thousand times over if I could just have Jacques back.”

As Monica finished the last sentence, her eyes began shining, tears threatening. She blinked them back, looking at me with a firm expression. “I didn’t kill Mum. Not for the money, which I don’t need. Not for who she was, because she was wonderful.”

“And Alice?”

“She might have. Alice is, unlike Jeffrey, not lazy in the least. She’s a hard worker. So on the one hand, while I could see her deciding to take action and kill Mum, on the other, I’m not sure she would have. She might have seen it as an easy way out.”

I thought back to John telling me about the conversation between Jeffrey and Alice. Nothing in his story told me that Alice seemed opposed to taking on that money. But there was a difference between accepting an inheritance that came from a natural death and taking steps to make sure that death happened unnaturally.

“What about the others? You told me about most of them the other day. Is there anything you’d like to add? Did you notice anything suspicious?”

“No. Not that I know of. I did meet Olive, the employee. She’s nice. Young. Quite timid, but appears to be a hard worker. I can’t imagine why she’d want Mum dead.”

“Could Jeffrey have hired her to kill Elizabeth?”

“I can’t imagine so. For two reasons. One, I don’t think she’d accept, and I think she’d be the first person to run to Mum and tell her all about it. And secondly, I don’t think Jeffrey would want to give up a single pound of that inheritance. If he’d done it, he would have done it himself.”

I decided to change tracks. “Does anyone on that list have heart issues, that you know of? Or knows anybody who does?”

“Dad does. About five years ago, he was diagnosed with something. Maybe angina?”

“Do you know what he takes for it?”

Monica shook her head. “He doesn’t like to talk about medical stuff. I’m surprised he went to the doctor at all. I don’t know his prescription.”

“Okay. Anyone else?”

“No.”

“All right. Thanks, Monica.”

“If you want to speak to Olive, you can come back to the house with me,” Monica suggested. “I haven’t gone home yet. I won’t until we have more answers.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.” I wanted to speak to all of the staff. See if any of them noticed anything.

“Do you want to do that now?”

“If you don’t mind. I’ve still got about forty minutes left in my lunch break, and business has been slow enough that no one will notice if I’m a few minutes late in opening back up.”

Monica stood up. “The shops back home are the same. Most of the money has to be made in the summer months, when tourists flood the area.”

I followed after her, giving Sophie a quick wave as the two of us left. Monica and I walked through town to the large main parking lot, where people left their cars before exploring the pedestrian-only zones in town. She directed me toward a dark-blue Toyota sedan. It was on the newer side, but still a base model car. I climbed into the seat next to her, and Monica drove back to Elizabeth’s estate.

Chapter 16

While the exterior of the home looked identical to how it had the day before, the vibes were completely different today. Police tape flapped in the wind at the side, denoting that no one was allowed outside. Inside the house, only the staircase was open. The rest of the ground floor was completely sealed off, with a police officer stationed at the tape to make sure no one snuck past.

The officer guarding it gave me a suspicious look as I followed Monica up the stairs.

“They’ve been here since I left,” she explained quietly. “They were just setting up then. They’ve declared the entire lower level of the house a crime scene. Upstairs is okay.”

I nodded. “Are all the staff here?”

“All the ones who were scheduled. John is taking care of all of that. He says that everyone is getting paid no matter what.”

As Monica came up the stairs, a woman emerged. I’d seen her yesterday; she was short, just barely over five feet tall, and slim. She was clearly nervous and seemed to be trying to make herself smaller just standing in front of us.

“Olive,” Monica said warmly. “This is Mack. She was hired by Elizabeth before she died, and she wants to ask us about Elizabeth.”

“You were one of the last people to see her alive,” I explained, not wanting to scare the woman even more. She looked like she was about to faint as it was.

“I was, wasn’t I?” Olive asked, her big, hazel eyes widening as if she’d never considered that possibility before. “The whole day is like a blur.”

“Why don’t you come in here and tell us about it,” Monica said, gently leading Olive into a side room. It was a library, but it wasn’t stuffy and dark like all the rich-people libraries I’d generally seen. Instead of dark woods and mahogany carpet, this room had honey-colored flooring with creamy white rugs over the top. The built-in bookshelves matched the flooring. At one end of the room, near the large windows that let in copious amounts of natural light, there was a white leather chaise lounge. Around the room, comfortable-looking armchairs were scattered around, ready to be occupied by someone wanting to spend a cozy afternoon curled up with a good book.

In the window, a suncatcher spread colorful dots of light all around.

This was the most perfect library I had ever seen in my life.

But I couldn’t enjoy it. Alas, I had a murder to solve. No wonder someone had killed Elizabeth. Hell, if I had been on the list to inherit this place, I probably would have considered it just for this room alone.

Monica led Olivia to one of the armchairs. She sank into it and seemed to sink even further, as if she was trying to get it to swallow her up. I tried to give her a reassuring smile. “You’re not in trouble or anything,” I told her. “We’re just trying to find out what happened.”

“I spoke to one of the police officers yesterday,” Olive said. “I told them everything already.”

“We know, but I’m not with the police. Elizabeth personally hired me to find out who killed her. She knew someone wanted her dead.”

Olivia gave me a sad look, like one might give a puppy they know is sick. “That’s heartbreaking.”

“It really is,” I agreed. “I was hoping I’d be able to get to the bottom of things before they succeeded. Elizabeth was convinced it was happening, and she was right.”

“How horrible must it be, knowing someone out there wants you dead?” Olivia said. “I wish I could help more.”

“How long have you worked for Elizabeth?”

“About a year. It’s a good job. She pays well. I just do general chores around the house. Sometimes Chantelle—she’s Elizabeth’s private chef—has me go into town to buy groceries she needs. Anything that’s needed, really, that’s what I do. Claire does the more important errands.”

“That’s Elizabeth’s personal assistant?”

“Yes.”

“Was she at the house yesterday?”

Olivia shook her head. “No, she normally would have been, but her mother had a fall a couple of days ago. She’s been up in Newcastle taking care of her.”

“So you were here yesterday. You spoke to Elizabeth? It would have been somewhere between thirty and forty minutes before she passed.”

“Yes. It was right after you left her, in fact. She’d gotten a phone call on the land line. It was from her banker. He wanted her to call him back straight away, which was why I went out to see her. Elizabeth wasn’t concerned. She told me she would take care of it on Monday.”

“That’s right. The party was on Saturday,” I mused. “There’s not a lot of banks that are open that day, are there?”

“Not around here, not really,” Olive said.

“Still, Mum had enough money I’m sure some people worked around the clock for her,” Monica replied. “If I need something done on a Saturday, I can do it.”

“Do you have the name and phone number of that banker?” I asked Olive.

She nodded. She pulled out her phone, tapped at the screen for a moment, and handed it to me. She’d written down the message on her Notes app. The banker in question was Ryan Palmer. There was a phone number at which to call him back. I jotted that down.

“Did you notice anything else about Elizabeth?” I asked as I reached across to pass her phone back to her. “Anything strange in how she acted?”

“Not really,” Olive said, frowning. The more we spoke, the more comfortable she was becoming. She looked less like she was trying to melt into the fabric of the couch. “She looked a little bit tired. But I chalked that up to the party. It was a lot, after all. I noticed a couple beads of sweat on her brow. I thought maybe she was overexerting herself. This was a big day for her. She’d never had this many people on the property before.”

So the poison had started acting quickly. There had to have been a lot of it in that glass.

“What are you going to do now?” I asked. “I mean, in terms of employment?”

Olive shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’ll stay on as long as John tells me to. He’s told all of us that we don’t have to worry about not getting paid—that’s all going to be taken care of. And after that, I suppose I’ll find a new job.”

“Did you like working here?” I asked.

Olive shot a glance toward Monica.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me,” Monica said, with a wave of her hand. “I’m well aware my mother wasn’t a saint. But I do care that she was killed. If you know anything that might help, don’t spare my feelings by leaving anything nasty about Mum out. I won’t hold it against you.”

Olive gave a relieved, awkward chuckle. “That’s the thing. Elizabeth was a good employer. She was kind. She never made anybody work too hard. And she paid well. Better than any comparable job around here would. She seemed to understand that the cost of living was ridiculous. If any of us were ever sick, she would insist we stay home, but she would still pay us. She never yelled. Even if we made a mistake. I really liked her. I’m sad about her death because she was a nice person, but if I’m perfectly honest, I’m sad about her death because it means I’ll have to find another job. And I liked this one.”

There wasn’t anything in Olive’s demeanour, or anything I’d seen from the other staff here that made me think she was doing anything other than telling the truth. John had also clearly been fond of Elizabeth. She had let her personal assistant travel to Newcastle on very little notice to take care of her sick mother. As far as I could tell, Olive didn’t have a motive for killing Elizabeth.

Elizabeth had told me Olive wasn’t going to be getting anything from the inheritance anyway. All she was getting from this was losing her job. That wasn’t much of a reward for anything.

“Did you notice anything after you left Elizabeth that seemed off? Or anything weird at all, during the course of the day? It doesn’t matter how small you think it might be. Everything is important.”

Olive frowned, looking down at her clasped hands in her lap as she considered it. “You know, there is one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You know when the power went out? Before all of this happened?” Olive looked up at me, and I nodded, urging her to continue. “Well, my brother’s a sparky.”

“A sparky?”

“Electrician,” Monica translated.

“That’s right,” Olive continued. “He’s six years older, and he started right after he left school, but he was still living at home with us. He would show me the things he learned. He thought they were important. Anyway, with everything going on yesterday, I wanted a moment to myself. After I gave my statement, I went downstairs. And that was when I realized the power still hadn’t come back on. I went and had a look at the fuse box, and I was surprised. It looked like someone had tampered with it.”

My eyebrows rose. “Tampered?”

“Well, it had to be. I checked behind, and the wires were messed up. One of the wires that should have gone to the kitchen was connected to the circuit powering the back end of the house.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means that once someone used too much power in the kitchen, it would blow the fuse to the back of the house. Which is what happened. It shut down all the power.”

“And it needed more than to just be turned back on?” I asked.

Olive shook her head. “That only works with older circuit breakers. Elizabeth had a fuse box. Fuses are safer. They’re made of a metal that essentially melts if it gets too hot and breaks completely. One-time use. That’s why Jeffrey had to go into town. He had to buy fuses to fully replace the ones that broke.”

“And you don’t think this could have been done by accident?” Monica asked.

“Certainly not. No respectable electrician would have done that. Even I knew right away there was a problem, and I have no formal training. Someone set that up to trip on purpose. And it worked.”

“How long would it have taken to trip?” I asked. “I mean, when do you think it would have been tampered with?”

“Given how much power was being used around the house, it had to have been that day,” Olive said. “It would have tripped the day before, otherwise. But I don’t understand. This doesn’t have anything to do with Elizabeth’s death, does it?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Was there any risk of a fire being caused by the tampering?” I asked.

“No. Not really. That’s the advantage of using a fuse box over a circuit breaker. A circuit breaker is prone to creating fires, as one can simply override it by turning the breaker back on. A fuse, however, will melt when it gets too hot and cannot be overridden without completely replacing the fuse. It makes it much less likely that a fire will break out. That’s why Elizabeth had the wiring in the house changed. She did it just after I was hired.”

Olive had worked for Elizabeth for about a year, which meant that had happened long before she suspected anyone was trying to kill her. The two things couldn’t have been linked.

So, if it wasn’t to create a fire, why had someone tampered with the electricity? And how?

“Did you notice anybody going down into the basement who shouldn’t have been there, during the party?” I asked.

Olive shook her head. “No. But I’m not sure I would have. I was all over the place. Cleaning up. Guiding people. I wouldn’t have noticed unless someone happened to go down there at the same time as I was passing by.”

“All right. Thanks,” I said. “If there’s anything else you can think of, do you mind giving me a call? Or even a text. It could be important.”

Olive nodded, taking the card and placing it carefully in the pocket of her pants. I stood up and said goodbye to her.

With the police keeping the entire lower level under wraps, there wasn’t much else to do, and Monica drove me back into town.

“It’s curious what she said about the tampering with the fuse box,” she said as we drove off. “Who would have done that? And why?”

“I agree,” I said. “It’s strange. Maybe they just didn’t understand how electricity worked. Maybe they planned on starting a fire and were going to kill Elizabeth during the kerfuffle that caused. Then, when it didn’t happen, and the power just went out, they decided to poison her instead.”

“That’s possible. They were clearly determined, if that’s the case. They brought a backup murder weapon.”

I sighed. “Yeah. It seems unlikely. But whoever this is has failed a few times now. They were probably getting sick of not managing to kill her.”

“You’re probably right.”

Still, something wasn’t sitting with me properly. I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.

Maggie dropped me back off in St. Albinus, promising to let me know if she heard anything else. I went back to the bookshop and opened up, pleased to see I was only running ten minutes behind my regular reopening time.

I was less pleased to see there wasn’t a lineup of people out the door begging to be let in so they could spend their money here, but it wasn’t like I was expecting that. Still, a girl can dream.

I entered the bookshop, made a couple little adjustments, then pulled out my phone and called Ryan Palmer.

Chapter 17

“This is Ryan,” he answered.

“Hi. My name is Mackenzie Owens. I work for—worked, I guess—for Elizabeth Stevens.”

“Ah, yes, Elizabeth. It’s tragic what happened to her.”

“It is. But she also knew it was going to happen. She hired me specifically to find the person trying to kill her. It sounds like you were trying to get in touch with her about something important.”

“I was,” Ryan replied on the other end of the line. His tone was wary, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to give away Elizabeth’s secrets to a stranger.

“I understand you have privacy laws, but Elizabeth is dead. I’m sure you’ve heard someone killed her.”

“I have.”

“So, if there’s anything you can tell me that might help find who did it, I’m sure that would be acting in Elizabeth’s best interests, don’t you think?”

“I suppose that’s true,” he said slowly. “Still, you’re not with the police, are you?”

“No,” I admitted. Although I briefly considered lying and saying yes. After all, it’s only a crime if you get caught. But Ryan also seemed like the kind of guy who would totally report me if he figured it out.

Besides, Ryan sounded like the kind of guy who could be convinced even if I told him the truth.

“But I have experience with this sort of thing. I’m discreet. As I said, Elizabeth hired me.”

“That might be why…” Ryan started, but then he broke off.

“I know there were people in her life who were after her money,” I said. “Is that what the phone call was about?”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. Too long. It was getting awkward, but I refused to talk. If Ryan wanted to take a few seconds to think about it, then that was cool. I just wished it was a reasonable few seconds and not, like, a solid fifteen. That was just weird.

I closed my eyes, sending a message to the universe that I wanted him to tell me what was going on. And finally, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “Yes, that is what the phone call was. Elizabeth had phoned me on Friday. She wanted to have conditions put on all of her accounts. If she was incapacitated for any reason, she wanted to make sure that only one person was able to access any of her funds and make any sort of distribution.”

“What person did she choose?”

“Her assistant, Claire Baker.”

“Did she tell you why she wanted Claire to be the one with access?”

“No. And I’m discreet. I didn’t ask.”

“All right. Thanks. Can I ask one thing: Has Claire touched any of the money since Elizabeth’s death?”

“No. I spoke to her this morning on the phone. She’s up in Newcastle, dealing with a family emergency. She asked me to ensure all of the money was being paid to staff as normal and that she would deal with any other payments that had to be made when she returned.”

I ended the call, feeling like I hadn’t learned much. It wasn’t the biggest stretch to understand why Elizabeth had made that decision. She almost certainly wanted to make sure that none of her family members would be able to access her money if she had been killed at that party. Well, it had been a smart move.

Not only was Claire not even on the right side of the country, but she clearly wasn’t helping herself to Elizabeth’s fortune, either. She couldn’t be the killer.

So, the phone call probably didn’t have any link to the murder. But still, the fact that the electrical box had been tampered with was bothering me. What did that have to do with the murder? Could it really have been some sort of backup plan? Or initial plan? Had the killer meant to set the property on fire, and when that didn’t work, settled on poison?

It felt unlikely to me. Those were two very different methods of killing someone. Besides, a fire wouldn’t automatically mean Elizabeth would die. Most of the party was taking place outside. The guests that were indoors were near a large exit.

So why tamper with the electricity? What was the point?

Or, was it something entirely unrelated to the murder? And in that case, who had done it? And why?

My meeting with Olive only left me with more questions. Hopefully, when Aksel and I were able to sneak into Jeffrey and Alice’s home, we’d be able to find something that could give us a few more answers.

The problem was, I didn’t know what that evidence was going to look like.

Aksel messaged me halfway through the afternoon, letting me know that we had an opportunity the next morning. Alice was going away on business to New York for three days, which meant that the house would be empty while the kids were at school and Jeffrey was at work.

That would work well; Mondays the bookstore was closed, so I had the day off anyway.

I replied that it sounded good, and while I had a plan, I still found myself feeling antsy. Eventually, I messaged Sophie.

Come on over here with some of your stickers and stuff when you’re done. We need to come up with a social media plan for you.

It sounds so professional when you say it like that, she replied a minute later.

That’s because you are a professional now. Sorry to have to be the one to break it to you.

I don’t feel like a professional.

And I don’t feel like cheesecake should have calories. Doesn’t make it true.

You eat cheesecake like it doesn’t have calories.

That’s because I refuse to let science ruin my life with its rules more than Mr. Edwards already has.

Who’s Mr. Edwards?

My high school chemistry teacher.

He sounds hot.

He wasn’t. He was a dick who wouldn’t give me points for creativity when I made my entropy vs. enthalpy chart.

Rude.

Very. My chart may not have been correct, but no one else used the chart to draw a cute elephant. I still feel ripped off to this day.

So you should.

Anyway, stop changing the subject. Bring your stuff over. We’ll take some videos. Get you some content going. You’re making some sales locally, but now that the winter season is starting, it’s the perfect opportunity to look outside of Cornwall.

Okay. I’ll be there as soon as you close up for the night.

You won’t regret it!

I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to be nervous about it.

I sent some reassuring emojis to Sophie then spent the next hour doing cataloguing and working on my own plans for the winter season. After all, books were shippable too. There was a local post office. If I wanted to, I could make a store online that would allow me to sell my books all over the UK through the winter. That might bring in some additional income.

I began looking at the options I had, trying to keep my mind off the murder. There was nothing to be done about that until tomorrow, when Aksel and I would drive to London to have a look inside Jeffrey and Alice’s home.

Two minutes after I flipped the sign on the door from “Open” to “Closed,” Sophie appeared, carrying a large cardboard box. Behind her was her boyfriend, Shaun, carrying a second box under his arm.

I rushed over to the door and opened it, holding it for the two of them as they entered.

Shaun and Sophie had been dating for a few months. He was one of the most popular artists in Cornwall, with his works on sale in many local galleries. He was the closest thing an artist around here could come to being a celebrity.

Today, he had on dark blue jeans and a close-fitting gray sweater. He smiled at me as he entered. “I’ve been enlisted to help with setup,” he explained. “Sophie here has been telling me all about her little stickers, and how the two of you are going to promote them.”

“Well, I don’t really know much of the details,” Sophie explained. “But Mack knows what she’s doing.”

“I do. We’re going to come up with a hook, we’re going to film some videos, we’re going to create your accounts, and it’s all going to be glorious.”

Shaun chuckled. “I’ll leave the two of you to it, then. They’re certainly the sort of thing made for selling on social media.”

Maybe I was imagining it, but there seemed to be just the slightest edge to Shaun’s tone. I wasn’t imaging it. Shaun was supportive, but he also didn’t believe that Sophie’s silly little stickers, with sayings like “you’re either a smart fella or a fart smella” printed on a sticker of a skunk wearing a cowboy hat, were art.

Frankly, I thought they were more artistic than Shaun’s work, which usually just looked like he randomly splattered paint onto a canvas with a brush.

“It’s going to be great,” Sophie said enthusiastically. “Mack is so good at this sort of thing.”

“I’m sure she is,” Shaun replied. “Okay, have fun. Call me when you’re done, and we’ll go to dinner.”

He gave Sophie a quick kiss then turned and waved at me. I returned it then turned to Sophie.

“All right, what have you got here?”

Sophie reached into the first box and pulled out a smaller box. “There’s one of these for all the stickers I have. One hundred of each. I don’t know what kind of videos you want to make.”

“The cool thing about social media is that it’s free. You don’t have to spend a ton of money testing each individual campaign you come up with. We can make a ton of videos, we can test them all, and we can see what people respond best to. Then, we make more of that. So, right now, we’re just focusing on making a variety of videos that show off your stickers.”

“Got it,” Sophie said, nodding. She pulled out more boxes, stacking them one on top of the other. “We have a lot to work with here.”

“Great,” I said, smiling. “Let’s start off doing some research. We’re both going to look at all the videos we can find. See what ones have the most likes. Write a list of what their hook is. When we’re done, we’ll try something similar.”

For about twenty minutes, Sophie and I lay sprawled around the store. I took one of the beanbag chairs, letting myself sink into it as I opened up TikTok and began scrolling. Sophie took one of the armchairs, leaning her back against one arm and propping her legs up over the other. Toast quickly decided Sophie’s lap looked comfortable and jumped up on top of her, curling herself into a little ball and quickly going to sleep for her fourth nap of the day.

Or maybe her fifth.

After a bit of time had passed, we had some ideas.

“I found someone with data,” I announced. “They said they polled their customers and found that thirty percent of their customers don’t use their stickers at all.”

“I can understand that. People just like having the stickers. And they don’t want to use them because what if you put them somewhere wrong?”

“A very real problem,” I agreed. “Anyway, why don’t we make videos of us putting stickers on things? We can take them off afterward, but people might like to see that. Plus, it’ll show them that the quality is good. And if someone can see an item physically being used, they’re more likely to buy it.”

Sophie grinned. “Sounds good.”

“Your nails are nicer than mine, so I’ll be behind the camera. You can peel off the stickers. Make sure you’re doing it slowly. We want to get that good visual and audio ASMR going.”

“I love a good sticker peel,” Sophie agreed.

The two of us spent a little while trying to figure out where we wanted to place the stickers. We eventually gathered my water bottle, a couple of notebooks from the store that I could use to jot things down in afterwards, and Sophie’s MacBook.

Even though it was a simple process, I found myself getting into the flow of directing. We did a practice run-through of what we were planning, without actually putting the stickers on. Then, we shot our videos.

It took us about thirty minutes to get all of our footage. We filmed about fifteen, twenty short clips, which we could put together to make short promotional videos.

Once we were done, I uploaded them all to the computer, and Sophie and I started editing them. We ended up with ten videos that we could put online.

“This is amazing, Mack,” Sophie said with a grin when we were finished. I had just played through the final version of the last video, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the screen. “It’s so… it’s overwhelming. I know I say that a lot. I say it at every stage, really. But it is. This looks like the sort of thing a real business does.”

“You are a real business,” I reminded her. “You designed the stickers. You paid for them. You have them in a handful of stores in the area, and they’re selling. Even if you’re not doing it full time yet, even if you’re not striding up to the bank with a wheelbarrow full of cash, you’re still a business. Everything you have done is hard. But you’ve pushed through, and I’m proud of you.”

Sophie reached over and wrapped her arm around my waist, pulling me close to her in a half hug. “Thanks, babes. You’re the best. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Once or twice.”

“Shaun is taking me out to celebrate after this,” she continued. “He’s been great. I know he doesn’t really see what I’m doing as art—not the way he thinks of it, and not the way he would want me to go—but he’s so supportive.”

“That’s good. You deserve someone who doesn’t bring you down.”

“And his advice is so valuable too. After all, he’s been doing this for years.”

“He has. You should listen to what he has to say. Unless it’s different to what I tell you. If that happens, listen to me instead.”

Sophie laughed. “You got it.”

I helped her pack up her stuff. “Do you want to just leave this here overnight and you can come pick it up tomorrow sometime? The store is going to be closed, so you can come in whenever. I’ll give you a key.”

“That would be great. Thanks, Mack.”

I closed up for the night, piled Toast into her carrier, said goodbye to Sophie, and headed home.

When I got there, I found Maggie in the kitchen, making some sort of soup for dinner.

“Smells delicious.”

“No poison in this, either.”

“You know, when you open with that, it makes me feel like there’s definitely poison in it.”

“Good. I want it all for myself. Irene Kurlowe gave me some courgettes and potatoes from her garden. I haven’t decided what I’m going to do with the former, but the latter makes for some very good soup.”

“I’m sure I’m going to regret asking this, but what in the world is a courgette?”

Maggie motioned to the counter, where three large, green zucchinis were resting.

“Ah, that’s called a zucchini.”

“If you’re Italian, maybe.”

“Or American. Courgette isn’t English either. That’s clearly French, and I thought they were your enemies.”

“Not since World War Two ended, but if you give it long enough, I’m sure they will be again.”

“That’s the spirit. The English language is just German, French, and Latin wearing a trench coat, anyway.”

“That’s why you should call them courgettes. No one said anything about Italian.”

“Italian is basically Latin.”

“I weep for the American education system.”

I stuck my tongue out at her. “I can’t argue with that. Anyway, tomorrow I’m going to go with Aksel up to London. We’re going to break into Jeffrey and Alice’s home and see if she’s the killer.”

“I’m coming with you,” Maggie announced.

“What? Why?”

“Because I never get to do anything fun.”

“Three days ago you went to a surprise birthday party and started a food fight,” I pointed out.

“That wasn’t my fault. Henry Helms started it.”

“One, I don’t believe you. Two, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t fun. You told me how you nailed Henry in the face with a slice of cherry pie four times already.”

Maggie grinned. “He kept complaining about how a bit of it got in his eye. Well, maybe it wouldn’t have if he didn’t divorce Linda as soon as she was diagnosed with cancer because he couldn’t handle taking care of her for a few years after she’d spent decades doing it for him.”

“I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it. I’m saying you enjoyed it.”

“I’ll admit that’s true.”

“See? So you do have fun.”

“I do. But I also want to come and hunt this killer. Besides, you need a chaperone.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I didn’t realize it was still the Victorian era. The mint needs to update their coins. There’s just some old man on them.”

“Or maybe I just want to come along and help.”

“All right. But, if we have to run away from the cops, I’m not waiting for you.”

“What would make you think I’d be the one left behind?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The fact that you’ve been slower than me every single other time we’ve done this.”

“I have not.”

“And also, you’re like, ninety years old.”

“Say that again and you won’t see thirty-one.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ll have to catch me first. But fine. You can come. If Aksel says it’s okay.”

“He will. He likes me. Everyone who’s worth anything does.” I let out a weary sigh, and Maggie pointed at me. “Exhibit A.”

“Oh, just take the W, will you?”

It looked like we were going on an adventure together.

Chapter 18

Aksel came to pick us up early the next morning. Too early.

“Humans weren’t meant to be up at this hour,” I said, stifling a yawn as I opened the door for him. Aksel, of course, looked like he’d gotten a solid eight hours of sleep in. His eyes were shining and bright, his clothes fresh, while I looked like someone had reheated the corpse of a person who had died of the plague in the microwave.

“Kids these days. You’re always complaining. Did you know back on the farm, this was when we’d wake up every day?” Maggie said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe. It’s true.”

“This is totally a walked-to-school-uphill-both-ways situation.”

“I like this time of day,” Aksel said, smiling as he watched us bicker. “It’s nice. No one’s awake. I feel like I have all the time in the world to think. I get some of my best work done at this time.”

“See?” Maggie said, shooting me a triumphant look.

“You’re supposed to be my girlfriend, not hers,” I said to Aksel.

He shrugged. “I’m just saying. This is the best time of day to get things done. No one’s going to call you at four thirty in the morning, unless it’s a real emergency.”

“You’re both psychopaths,” I pronounced, flouncing past the two of them and down the street. We reached Aksel’s car.

“We could always take mine,” Maggie suggested.

“I don’t have a death wish. Aksel is driving.”

“No fighting over the front passenger seat,” Aksel warned.

“No need. I will happily be in the back, enjoying the spacious ride,” Maggie said. Aksel looked relieved that this wasn’t also going to be a battle to the death.

Before I knew it, we were on the road. It was a long drive to get to London. We crossed multiple counties, leaving Cornwall behind and eventually finding ourselves on what I would actually consider a highway.

After a few hours, it became clear that we were getting close. The towns and villages we passed by were getting closer and closer together. Slowly, we started to see housing creeping upward from single-story buildings. Eventually, Aksel pulled off the highway and through what looked to be a sleepy little village.

“Where are we?” I asked, pulling out my phone and opening Google Maps.

“Cobham,” Maggie replied.

“Oh yeah, cool. That’s just down the road from where I grew up, in Cornbacon,” I replied. “Seriously, do you just make up these place names?”

“Just because our country has a longer history of permanent settlement by Europeans than yours does, doesn’t mean our names are to be made a mockery of,” Maggie said. “It’s ancient.”

“It sounds ridiculous,” I muttered.

“It does,” Maggie admitted with a shrug. “But it’s also one of the most desirable postcodes in the country. Property here is about as expensive as you’re going to get. We’re technically in Surrey, and at a guess I’d say it’s likely about forty minutes to an hour to get into central London by train here.”

“Wow, and property is still that expensive?”

“This is where people go to build their gated communities,” Aksel explained. “You’ll see a lot of them here. And all the shops will be high-end as well.”

“Marks and Spencer and Waitrose. No Iceland or Aldi,” Maggie agreed.

“It fits with what we know about Jeffrey and Alice that they would live around here. They’re the type of people who would rather have a small place in the town they can brag about than a mansion in a suburb for normal people.”

“Exactly,” Maggie said.

We drove through the street of town. It was basically a small town—there were cars on the road, it wasn’t completely quiet, but there was also no major traffic jams, either. Aksel drove slowly, not drawing attention to ourselves, and I realized this was yet another reason why his car was a better choice than Maggie’s.

In a place like this, a mid-range BMW fit in perfectly. While there were a few smaller and older cars here and there, this was exactly the kind of car that most people in this area seemed to drive.

Eventually, Aksel pulled into a cul-de-sac lined with houses. They were the closest thing England had to cookie-cutter houses, as far as I’d seen in my time here so far. While they all had their windows placed differently, and the roofs all seemed to be made of different materials, they all had the same basic structure. Two stories, with the lower one being made of redbrick, and the upper one being painted in white stucco. They were all built close to the road, with each having a small laneway to the right of the property to park a car.

“That’s it there,” Aksel said as we drove past one of the houses. To my immense relief, Jeffrey and Alice had installed a large hedge in front of their property, right behind the low, redbrick wall that butted up to the sidewalk. That would block us from view from any passersby if we tried to get in via the front door.

Aksel pulled the car over on the street in front of the house, and the three of us got out. I stifled a yawn. It was just about ten o’clock now. The street was quiet; there were only a handful of cars on it. No pedestrians around.

The three of us headed toward the front door, each trying to look as natural as possible. We were all pretty good at this now.

When we reached the front door, Aksel knocked then began checking out the lock. Once about thirty seconds had passed, he pulled a small case out from his pocket. Lockpicking tools.

“I’ve always fallen for men who know how to get into locked places,” I said, shooting him a wink.

Aksel grinned. “Normally, I’m willing to take my time, but here I think we’re on a clock.”

“Oh, keep it in your pants, the both of you,” Maggie muttered. “Get in there. And fast.”

“You got it,” Aksel said, turning back to the lock. He made quick work of it; within a minute, he was in. The three of us piled into the house.

“What are we looking for?” Maggie asked.

“Anything that might be the murder weapon. Old flowers. Maybe look in the garden at the back. They grow in Cornwall, but they might also grow here. Anything that might indicate Alice was the killer.”

The three of us split up. While on the outside, the house looked old and a little bit worn, the interior was definitely where all the money had been put. It looked as though everything had been renovated in the last ten years The house opened into a small cloakroom with a million children’s clothes hanging on the hooks. Aksel opened the large, wooden door beyond, which led to a beautiful living room. It was on the smaller side, but certainly the kind of place money had been put into. On the left-hand side were a set of stairs, and the rest of the room featured built-in bookcases, a large television on the mantel above the fireplace, and a large window that took up most of the wall at the front of the house let in copious amounts of natural light, even on an overcast day like today.

Aksel immediately headed up the stairs. I walked toward the doorway at the back of the living room that led into an open plan kitchen and dining area. This back end of the house was beautiful. The entire back space was similar to Elizabeth’s, in that a large set of French doors opened onto a cute little backyard.

A cute little backyard, I couldn’t help but notice, that was filled with flowers.

The kitchen was large and bright. Everything was new. The stainless-steel appliances glimmered in the light coming in through the back. The cabinets were painted a trendy navy blue, and the quartz countertops were white.

Past the kitchen was a dining table. The one baby chair and booster seat showed that young children lived in this home.

I decided to look through the kitchen first, just in case Alice had decided to cleverly label one of the spice jars as “poison to use on Elizabeth.”

But I had no such luck and soon decided to move onto the back garden.

I exited the home. The first part was a small patio made of stone, extending about ten feet from the doors. The rest was a long, narrow strip of lush, green grass, with flowers growing on either side.

Children’s toys were strewn around all over the yard. I opened the door and stepped outside. I probably should have googled what foxglove looked like before we got there. Or dragged Ada along with us.

I opened Google and searched for “foxglove flower.”

Sure enough, the internet had hundreds of results. They looked exactly the way Ada had described. Like someone had stacked a bunch of bells together and painted them pink. There were a few in other colors too. White, pink, and even yellow. Some had an ombre thing going, with the flowers on the bottom of the plant being yellow and the top ones being pink.

Regardless, I knew what I was looking for.

And I also knew I was staring right at it.

I snapped some pictures of the plant in front of me. There was no question this was foxglove. It would have been so easy for Alice to take part of this flower and poison Elizabeth with it.

I pulled out my phone and texted Ada. What part of the foxglove plant is the poisonous one? And how would you make the poison? Would it have to be swallowed whole?

Looking at the plant, I realized it would be hard to hide. Ada had said ingesting a small amount would be fatal. But how could enough of this plant have been hidden in the champagne without Elizabeth noticing?

Luckily, Ada replied a minute later. The whole plant is poisonous, I believe. Roots, flowers, leaves, all of it. Obviously, eating it whole is the easiest way to go, but it’s possible the poison could have been extracted as a liquid. That would have taken a bit more work.

So, someone with chemical experience.

That would help. Although these days, there’s so much information on the internet, I’m sure someone has written a guide on how to extract the poison from the plants.

There’s a nice thought. So, she wouldn’t really need professional training?

I don’t think so.

In that case, I think I might have found the murder weapon.

I pulled out my phone and took a bunch of pictures. Then, I had a closer look at the flowers. There were definitely some missing flowers here and there. I took pictures of each slot where it looked like there should have been a flower, but it was missing.

Were these flowers missing naturally? Had a gust of wind taken one out? Was it simply that because it was coming to winter, the plants were beginning to die before they would inevitably regrow the following year? Or was there something more sinister behind the missing flowers? Was one of these slots where the poison that had killed Elizabeth grew from the ground?

I continued further down the garden. At the end of the property, there was a large hedge, and, I was surprised to see, a little shed.

“What have we got here?” I muttered to myself as I got closer to it. The shed was made of wood, and, as I looked closely, was more like a small studio than a shed. There were windows, it was painted a beautiful dark blue, and it was clearly well taken care of.

I decided to go inside and have a look.

I pressed down on the door handle, but the shed was locked. I swore under my breath. I didn’t have any lockpicking tools with me, and I didn’t want to have to go back to the house to ask Aksel for his. Instead, I reached up to the top doorframe and ran my hands along it. No key.

I looked down at the ground and picked up three rocks near the door. Nothing. Then, I picked up the potted plants on the other side.

There was a key under one of them. Perfect.

Sliding it into the lock, I twisted, pressed the door open, and looked inside.

What I saw made me gasp.

Chapter 19

There were dicks. Dicks everywhere.

This was a studio, as I’d suspected. The walls on both sides were floor-to-ceiling shelves. One side had a bunch of boxes stacked up, I presumed with clay. The other side had finished items. And I never in a million years would have guessed this family’s side hustle.

They were dick mugs. That was the only way I could describe them. And teapots. I was never going to be the same again after seeing this.

There were a few different styles. The ones closest to me were designed to look like normal mugs, only the handles were shaped like penises. Curved penises. They were all different shades. Some of the main parts of the mugs were plain, just glazed various colours. Others had writing on them. Clearly, some were custom. One had “Bridget’s Bachelorette” painted on the side before having been glazed in a shimmering pink.

Another was someone who clearly lived up to a level of petty I aspired to. Pink hearts had been painted around the text, which read: “Tony: eat a dick.”

Spending a bunch of money on a custom penis mug to send to someone who had done you wrong was exactly the kind of revenge plot I could get behind.

Next to those were teapots. And they were maybe the most horrifying thing I’d ever seen. The bodies were all painted to be flesh colored. The spouts were the penises. The covers were decorated with brightly colored flowers.

“What in the Ron Jeremy?” I muttered to myself. I stepped closer and saw some normal-looking mugs. Finally. But, when I looked inside, I realized I was still wrong. While those mugs looked normal on the outside, they were actually peek-a-boo mugs, with penises on the inside.

I was starting to think the murder weapon plants were actually the second most horrifying thing on this property.

I tore my eyes away from the dick mugs that all seemed to be staring at me and checked out the rest of the shed.

In the center of the room were a small chair and a spinning table. Scattered around were a few different buckets, all stained with gray and brown bits of clay. One seemed to be half filled with water. The other had scraps.

At the far end of the room was a computer monitor and a printer setup, along with a giant stack of empty boxes. This was some sort of side business. Going by how low the chair in front of the computer was set up, I assumed this was Alice’s project. Jeffrey would have had it set higher.

Next to the computer was a large kiln.

I stepped carefully past the spinning wheel, making sure not to rub past any of the clay on my way past, and sat down at the computer. I turned on the monitor in front of it and wiggled the mouse. The computer came to life. It was already logged in.

Honestly, I didn’t really have a good reason to be snooping in here. It’s not like anything here was going to be related to the murder. The flowers were all outside. But there were dicks on mugs, and I was wildly curious as to how much money Alice was making from them.

I had custom pottery being sold at the Broken Spine regularly. A local woman, Grace Potter—yes, fantastic name given her line of work—and I worked together to sell them. Hers were adorable. They were nature themed. Mushrooms. Badgers. Foxes. Leaves. Flowers. Not dicks. Dicks on a mug was crazy!

I had to snap some pictures to send to Sophie. The Ugly Mug probably wouldn’t go that crude, but she would laugh at them.

I easily found the app Alice was using to track her sales. And when I saw how much money she was making, my mouth dropped open.

“Holy balls,” I said out loud. Each mug was selling for between fifty and one hundred pounds. The teapots were selling for a hundred and fifty.

And she was selling a lot of them. It became clear that Alice was selling in batches. Every two weeks, she would get another chunk of sales coming in. They were all within two minutes of each other. I very quickly realized how she was operating her business.

Alice was, for the most part, creating her mugs in batches. She would then post them on her website all at the same time, where it would become a mad scramble for her fans to get a hold of one. She seemed to also do custom orders as well; she probably had a waiting list for those.

Every month, Alice was bringing in about ten thousand pounds, give or take. That was certainly not a small amount of change. She was making good money.

And then I realized, that was why she had been pulling away from her regular job. It wasn’t because she was planning on killing Elizabeth and getting her inheritance. It was because she was doing this, and it was making her good money. This allowed her to work from home, too, instead of taking the train into London.

She was making a full living selling mugs with penises on them.

The internet really had opened up a whole new world for people.

But that also removed one of her reasons for killing Elizabeth. I had considered that Alice quitting her job had been an indication that she thought she was going to come into the money shortly. But maybe I was completely wrong about that.

This fit with everything I knew about the woman. That she was the kind of person who worked hard. That she put time and effort into making sure she was successful. And there was no doubt that she was. I wondered how long she spent out here, making all of these mugs.

I jotted down all the information I could about her business. She called it “Just the Lip Pottery.” I laughed. It was clever.

I wrote down her sales numbers for the past few months. London was expensive, but she was making good money here selling these. It also explained why the door to the shed was locked, but not too carefully. She probably wasn’t super worried about thieves—there was clearly no cash or anything extremely valuable that was easy to remove— but she would be worried about her kids coming in and seeing what was going on in there.

Then, I left and went back to the house. Maggie was in the kitchen, and I could hear Aksel coming back down the stairs.

“Did you find anything?” I asked when he joined us.

“There’s no digoxin in this house that I found, but I do have something. Alice’s schedule. She’s marked down that she needs to join her father for his appointment with his cardiologist in two weeks.”

I raised my eyebrows. “A heart problem that might be treated with digoxin.”

“Exactly,” Aksel agreed.

“There are foxglove flowers in the garden. I took a lot of pictures. Also, Alice has a side hustle.”

“Oh?” Aksel asked.

“She makes mugs with penises on them.”

Both the other looked at me flatly, blinking, like they were both trying to figure out if I had just really said those words out loud.

“Yup, they’re real. And they’re flying off the shelves, apparently. You know, everyone’s complaining about the cost of living these days. And I get it. Times are tough. But times are not too tough for a lot of people to be buying a penis mug, and I don’t know how I feel about that,” I said.

“Do you have her website? I’d love to get my hands on one of those,” Maggie replied.

“Yeah, I bet you could really wrap your hands around it,” Aksel said with a grin.

I groaned. “She’s my grandmother. Don’t say things like that in front of her.”

“You’re such a prude,” Maggie said to me. “If I was as big a prude as you, you never would have been born.”

“And at least then I wouldn’t have to be involved in this conversation, so it’d be win-win for everyone. But I am, and so we’re going to get off that topic and back on track. I thought Alice deciding to quit her job was possibly because she knew she was going to come into Elizabeth’s inheritance soon. But I think it’s this. She’s clearing ten grand a month selling those mugs.”

“Ten grand?” Maggie said. She spluttered. It was the closest thing I’d ever seen to her being speechless.

“That’s gross,” I replied quickly. “I don’t know what her expenses are. I’m sure it’s on that computer somewhere. But she’s definitely making a chunk of money. Probably more than enough to cover what she was making at her regular part-time job. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if that Birkin she bragged about Jeffrey buying her actually came from selling penis mugs.”

“What about the foxglove plants?” Aksel asked, looking toward the outside.

“I took a ton of pictures. There are some where the flowers are missing. I texted Ada. She said it would be possible to take the toxin and concentrate it.”

“So, we have some more information that could lead toward it being Alice. Her dad has heart problems. She could very well have been warned by his doctor that if he took too many of his pills, he risked a heart attack himself. That could have given her the idea. Then, she could have looked it up online and figured out what the lethal dose was. From there, she took the flowers from her yard, made up a poison concentrate, and slipped it into Elizabeth’s glass. She probably hoped that it would look like a simple heart attack, and no one would think anything of it.”

“But, of course, enough stuff had been going on that the police were told to look for poison,” Aksel finished.

“Exactly. John certainly would have told them, if no one else. He was very loyal to Elizabeth.”

“So we have gained means and opportunity, but lowered our motive,” Maggie summarized. “I’m not sure I’d call that a win.”

“Sometimes investigations aren’t all wins and losses,” Aksel pointed out. “Sometimes, it’s just about pushing through and gathering as much information as you can, when and where you can, and putting the pieces together afterwards.”

“And on that note, let’s get out of here. As much as I’m enjoying this cozy little kitchen-table chat, we are still in the middle of committing a fairly serious crime,” I said.

“I want to see some of the penis mugs first.”

“You can look at pictures online.”

With that, the three of us left the house and piled back into Aksel’s car.

“I took photos of Alice’s schedule, with the appointment at her father’s cardiologist. Just in case we need it for evidence, later,” Maggie said.

“Cool. You never know. Aksel is right. Sometimes a case just eventually gets solved. I still think it’s got to be her. The car being in Cornwall on the exact dates that something happened is just too much of a coincidence, in my opinion.”

“I agree,” Aksel said.

Still, as he drove back down the road toward the highway leading back to Cornwall, I couldn’t help but feel like something was still bothering me about all of this.

Was Alice really the killer? What was I missing?

Chapter 20

When we got back to Cornwall, we headed home.

I was exhausted and decided to have a nap. When I woke up, I posted all the pictures I took to the group chat. Including the mugs.

It turns out Alice has a bit of a side hustle going on. That’s why she quit her job.

So it wasn’t because she knew she was going to murder Elizabeth and inherit her money? Ada asked.

It might have been a porque-no-los-dos kind of situation. I’m not one hundred percent sure. But it’s certainly a point in her favor. And it fits what we know about her. Hardworking. I’m not surprised that she managed to build her own successful small business.

Here’s the information about her father’s doctor’s appointment, Maggie added, attaching a photo. We’re not likely to get much from him, but if one day he has to testify in court that he said to Alice’s father in front of her that an overdose of his pills would kill him, it might be useful to have.

Maggie attached the photo, and I double tapped it. Sure enough, it was a picture of a page of a monthly planner. There were items listed all over. Today had NEW YORK written all in capital letters across the whole page. A week from when she came back was the cardiologist appointment. There was a parent-teacher interview at school. And another name, which I didn’t recognize.

I pulled out my phone and typed it into Google. And I gasped.

Hey, do you all see the appointment on September 23rd? I typed.

Sure. A. Meldrew.

I just googled the name. There’s an Anthony Meldrew who works in London, a couple blocks away from the offices where Alice works. And he’s a divorce lawyer. Which kind of changes everything.

If Alice had been planning on divorcing Jeffrey, then it completely wiped any sort of motive. If she was divorced, she wouldn’t inherit half of Elizabeth’s estate. And if she had killed Elizabeth, and was planning on benefitting from the death, why not wait until after it had all been settled?

See that puff of smoke? That’s Alice’s motive, disappearing right in front of us, Ada said, mirroring my own thoughts.

Well, shit.

I opened my chat with Aksel and sent him Maggie’s photo, as well as the implications of it.

He replied a moment later. Interesting. So, it probably wasn’t Alice.

No. And I’m right back at square one.

I’ll see what I can find out about the lawyer.

Thanks. Appreciate it.

I tossed the phone to the side, accidentally hitting Toast with it. She let out a mewl of displeasure.

“Sorry, baby,” I muttered. I hadn’t realized she was there. Whoops.

Leaning back against the bed, I stroked Toast’s fur while staring up at the ceiling. I had no idea what to do with this case.

By all accounts, Jeffrey should be the killer. He had the means, and the motive, but was missing the opportunity.

His wife had the means and the opportunity, but no motive. In fact, if she was divorcing Jeffrey, she had negative motive.

So, was I completely missing someone else? Was Donald responsible? Sure, he could have been. I wouldn’t put it past him. But Jeffrey’s car was the one that had been in Cornwall every single time someone tried to kill Elizabeth before the party.

Could it really have just been a coincidence? Could he really have had a legitimate reason to be in the county all those times?

I just couldn’t see it.

And of course, if anyone was going to ask him that, it would have to be the police. He wouldn’t talk to me about it.

There was also Monica, Beatrice, and Olive. I immediately wrote Olive off. She had no reason to want Elizabeth dead. Her death actually made her life harder since she needed a new job. And Beatrice and Monica? Sure, it was possible.

But that didn’t explain why Jeffrey and Alice’s car had been in Cornwall. Really, it still made the most sense for Jeffrey to be the one to have killed her.

Then, a new message came through. It was from Sophie. Hey, on a different note, I posted some videos to TikTok. Do you all mind taking a look and giving me a like? You know, for the engagement.

Sophie’s message was immediately met with affirmative replies. Even Maggie said, I suppose this is what’s going to make me download that app. Don’t know what all the fuss is about, really.

Welcome to the decade, Grandma, I teased.

I opened up the app and found Sophie’s account without too much trouble. Glitter and Giggles was the name of her company, and that was how she’d registered the account.

Sure enough, Sophie had posted three videos. Two of them had about five views so far. I clicked on both and let them play through, then tapped the heart on the right-hand side of the screen.

They were videos of the stickers being placed on Sophie’s MacBook.

Then the third video was Sophie putting stickers on one of the notebooks. It was well done; she had slowed the pace down just slightly, and I had really focused in on the stickers being placed. I wanted to appeal to that crowd that liked stickers, and liked having stickers, but never wanted to actually use them.

To my surprise, that video was already up to five thousand views.

Wow, Sophie, one of those videos is doing great! I messaged.

Her reply came through a minute later. I know! I’ve had about five orders already! I wasn’t expecting that!

Ooh, fun! Hopefully, it takes off some more!

Fingers crossed!

I lay in bed for a little bit longer then finally forced myself to get up. It was now early evening; I had definitely messed up my sleep schedule thanks to that nap. Oh well. That was a Future Mack problem.

Heading downstairs, I found Maggie on the couch, scrolling up on her phone.

“What’s up?” I asked, taking the chair on the other side of the room and leaning back. “Discovering TikTok?”

“I suppose some of these videos are quite good,” Maggie admitted. “I don’t quite understand the appeal of Sophie’s videos. They’re just stickers.”

“People like watching other people put stickers on things. It’s relaxing.”

“I’ll never understand your generation.”

“You’re scrolling a lot for someone who just said that.”

“I said I didn’t like Sophie’s video. And don’t worry, I’ll never tell her that. But, as it turns out, there are other things on this app I’m quite enjoying. I just saw a video of a cat who was so fat his window seat collapsed from under him. Don’t worry. I read the caption. The cat was unharmed.”

“That’s good, at least,” I said with a chuckle.

“And there was another of a dog going for a walk who rolled himself around in a large mud puddle. He went in a golden retriever and came out a chocolate retriever. Who knew there were such funny videos on the internet?”

“Everyone, now that you’ve found out about it.”

“You’ll have to show me how to save some of these videos to my phone. I’ll be able to show them to all sorts of people who will enjoy them.”

“It’s very easy,” I said, jumping up from my seat and plopping down next to Maggie. I ran through the instructions with her, and before long, she was tapping away at dozens of videos.

I grinned as I watched my grandmother become the latest TikTok addict in real time.

Eventually, Maggie went to bed. I checked on Sophie’s video. She was up to over ten thousand views. Not too shabby at all. Sophie had gone viral with one of her first videos. I couldn’t wait to see how many sales she woke up to in the morning.

As it got late, I went back up to bed, turning out all the lights even though I was wide awake. I figured maybe if I could trick my body into thinking it was time to sleep, it would actually go to sleep.

I knew it was pointless. I would be staring up at the ceiling until three o’clock in the morning, wondering what I could have possibly done in life to deserve this, and swearing at Past Mack for deciding she needed a nice nap in the early evening.

Still, it was worth a shot. I changed into a pair of pajamas and lay down in bed. Next to me, Toast started purring contentedly, happy for the extra body heat as she lay on top of the covers.

I refused to let myself check my phone as the minutes passed. Instead, I thought about the case. What was I missing? I was so sure this morning that Alice was the killer. But if she was meeting with a divorce lawyer, that couldn’t be the case. She would wait until after she’d killed Elizabeth and the full probate had gone through so she would get half the inheritance. There was no point in visiting a divorce lawyer before then.

Then, all of a sudden, I heard a noise downstairs. A small scratch, at first. I didn’t think anything of it. Then, another scratch. My ears pricked up at this; it was more than just an animal outside.

Then I heard the front door squeak open. Someone was in the house.

Chapter 21

My instinctive reaction on hearing the sound of the front door opening was to dive underneath the covers.

Terrible survival skills, honestly. If someone was here to kill me, I was exactly where they would expect to find me. I forced myself to pause and think. Who could be here? What were they trying to do? It didn’t take a genius to figure it out.

Whoever had killed Elizabeth knew I was investigating the murder and was now coming to take me out for good.

The realization chilled me to my core. I realized in that moment how cool and collected Elizabeth really was. She knew in the weeks leading up to her death that someone was trying to kill her. And now, while it was happening to me, my heart was racing faster than an antelope trying to escape a lion. I couldn’t breathe. My blood had turned to ice in my veins.

I forced myself to exhale then inhale again. Breathe. There was no point in dying from oxygen deprivation and doing the killer’s job for them. A couple of seconds passed, and I could hear the killer coming up the stairs.

I had one thing on my side: the element of surprise. They wouldn’t know I was awake. They had probably seen all the lights in the house being out, and assumed, given as it was close to one o’clock in the morning, that both Maggie and me were asleep.

It was official: naps could save lives.

I looked around for something to use as a weapon, but there was nothing, unless you counted the dirty underwear in the laundry basket next to my dresser.

Instead, I stood by the door, listening, waiting. The footsteps came closer, and when they were just outside the door, I yanked it open, jumping out and screaming as loudly as I could.

My plan worked. Whoever the intruder was let out a shriek. They had a flashlight in their hand, which they immediately shone into my eyes, blinding me. But they didn’t attack. Instead, they spun around one hundred and eighty degrees and immediately sprinted down the stairs.

I tried to get a look at them as I followed, but it was no use. There were spots in my vision from where the flashlight had temporarily blinded me, and they were already well ahead of me by the time I was able to blink them away.

“Stop!” I shouted uselessly after the retreating figure. I followed after them, but by the time I got down the stairs, they were already out the front door, and when I reached it myself, there was no sign of them. I briefly considered choosing one way or the other and starting to run, but then thought better of it.

“What’s going on?” Maggie called from upstairs when I reentered the house, slamming the door closed behind me.

“The killer just tried to take on two more victims—us.”

I went from room to room, turning on all the lights downstairs. My heart was still pounding in my chest. Nothing like the fear of death to get a little bit of a cardio workout.

“Are you sure?” Maggie asked. I could tell from her voice that she was at the top of the stairs now.

“Yeah. He came in. She. They. I don’t know who it was. I was lying awake, and I heard them. They came up the stairs, and I scared them. They ran away.”

“They dropped something,” Maggie said. “Just a second.”

I rushed up the staircase. Sure enough, there was a knife lying on the ground.

A knife I recognized from Elizabeth’s home.

Maggie returned from the bathroom with Ziploc bag. She carefully picked up the knife with the bag folded outward, like she was scooping up dog poop, so as not to touch it.

“Do you recognize it?” she asked.

“It’s from Elizabeth’s kitchen. I saw the set there that day.” I frowned. “But this one wasn’t part of the set. Or at least, there was already a knife missing when I was there. I can’t say that it was this one for sure. But I noticed at the time that there was a missing knife. I didn’t really think much of it in the moment. After all, there was a big party going on outside. There were a million reasons one of the staff might have been using that knife.”

“That makes sense. But in fact, someone took it. Probably not with the intention of killing us.”

“No,” I agreed. “It would have been way too early. Besides, no one knew we were there to hunt a killer.”

As I said those words, a chill ran through me.

One of our suspects knew. She had told me when we first met. Monica. Monica, who was still in town. Monica, who had led me into her mother’s home. Monica, who had arrived early that morning and had breakfast. It would have been nothing for her to go into the kitchen. She was one of Elizabeth’s children. No one would have thought anything of it.

I thought back to her. She had seemed almost ethereal in the presence of all the others. Like a fairy, floating above all the chaos of the world. Living her quiet, simple life with a full bank account no one realized she had. Was I all wrong?

Had Monica lied to me? It was certainly looking like it, right now. And if she had, what did she lie about? Was she in fact in financial dire straights and needed the inheritance? If not, what had occurred between her and Elizabeth that would lead to murdering her own mother? Surely Elizabeth would have known about any sort of rift that deep, and she hadn’t mentioned anything.

I bit the bottom of my lip.

“What are you thinking?” Maggie asked.

“It can’t be Alice or Jeffrey anymore. We wasted a good old-fashioned crime on two people who are innocent. Let me confirm that, though.”

I strode into the living room, where my iPad was still sitting on one of the side tables. I picked it up and found the social media accounts for the company Alice still worked for. Sure enough, they had posted an image a few hours ago of a few people in New York. They were standing in front of their client’s offices, with Alice shaking hands with a man, both smiling, advertising the deal that had just completed.

The picture was tagged as being in New York City. Just to be one hundred percent sure, I did a google search for the company that was listed in the post. Sure enough, I found an image of their offices. Alice wasn’t in Cornwall because Alice wasn’t even in England. Or Europe.

Short of teleportation, there was no way Alice was the killer. And I was ruling out magical powers. Not because I didn’t believe in them, but because if she had them, she could have made herself invisible before killing me.

“Okay, I was right. It can’t be Alice. And we already know it can’t be Jeffrey. So that leaves us with Monica, Beatrice, and Olive. I really, really don’t think it’s Olive. And honestly, I don’t think it’s Beatrice, either.”

“You don’t? I spoke to her at the party for a little bit. She doesn’t just have a chip on her shoulder, she has a whole field of potatoes.”

“That phrase cannot be referring to French fries, surely.”

“I have no idea. But that’s not the point.”

“You’re right. And I agree. But I think that’s also why she didn’t do this. Beatrice sees her life as a story. She’s not the main character unless she wins, and as soon as Elizabeth died, Beatrice lost for good. Because it doesn’t matter anymore what she does. Elizabeth will never see it. And to Beatrice, that’s a fate worse than any other.”

“So that leaves…”

“Monica,” I finished. “Monica, who has had access to the house since Elizabeth died. Monica, who was there that morning and had breakfast with the family. Who could have easily gone into the kitchen and stolen a knife.”

“So, how do we prove it?” Maggie asked.

“I don’t know,” I said slowly.

“We have to call the police. I know you don’t want to, but someone just broke into our house and was probably going to kill us. We need to report it.”

I sighed. “You’re right. Okay, let’s do that.”

“That way, if it was Monica, maybe they can prove that,” Maggie pointed out. “She might not go to jail for Elizabeth’s murder, but she would for trying to kill us.”

“As long as she’s in jail, that’s the important thing,” I said, pulling out my phone. Maggie motioned for me to hand it to her, and I did. She dialed the police, and I walked to the front door to see how Monica had gotten in.

I studied the lock. Like the rest of the house, the front door was old enough that it probably saw Henry VIII walk past on his morning stroll at some point. The lock was a little bit newer, but it wasn’t fancy. Petty crime wasn’t a big issue in St. Albinus, and people weren’t putting dead bolts on their doors or barring their windows like they would in a big city. I thought back to how easily Aksel had gotten into Jeffrey and Alice’s home. It was probably just as easy to break into our place. There were a few shiny scratches on the weather-dulled copper lock, but Monica had clearly made easy work of it.

Maggie made her phone call, and the adrenaline was slowly starting to wear off.

It wasn’t the first time I was almost killed while investigating a murder, but usually killers tried to do it as I apprehended them. Having them break into my home in the middle of the night to kill me in bed was next-level, somehow. It felt worse.

I forced myself to take a few deep breaths. It was fine. Luckily, I’d been awake. I didn’t want to think about what would have happened if I wasn’t.

About fifteen minutes later, a very groggy-looking Sergeant Peters knocked on the door.

“It’s always you two, isn’t it?” he muttered as Maggie opened it up and let him in. “Couldn’t this have waited until morning?”

“Apologies. The next time, we’ll leave a note for our would-be murderer asking them to be kind enough to operate during regular business hours,” Maggie replied dryly.

Sergeant Peters looked around the entranceway. “Nothing looks out of place here. It wasn’t a robbery.”

“No,” I said. Then, I sighed. Sergeant Peters wasn’t going to be happy with this. “The person who did this came here to kill us because it’s the same person who killed Elizabeth.”

Sergeant Peters’s face darkened. “You have got to be joking.”

Chapter 22

“I’m very funny, actually. If I was joking, you’d be laughing.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Maybe there’s a problem with your sense of humor, then. But I’m dead serious. This was the work of Elizabeth Stevens’s killer.”

“And why would they want to kill you?” Sergeant Peters asked.

“Because she hired me to find the person who was trying to kill her before she died,” I admitted. He was so not going to be happy with this story. Oh well. I wasn’t happy that I had to look at his face, so we were both suffering.

Sergeant Peters stared at me, huffing hard, like he was a bull trying to decide if it was going to launch itself at a target. I could practically see the hamster wheel inside his head trying to spin, even though the hamster in there clearly had asthma and only three legs.

“What did you say?” he finally asked.

“I said Elizabeth Stevens asked me to investigate who was trying to kill her,” I repeated. “This wasn’t the first time someone targeted her. She gave me a list of the others. It’s why I was really at the party. She knew this was going to happen?”

“That makes no sense. She would have come to the police if that was the case.”

“She didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You’d have to ask her,” I said dryly.

“So she just asked you, an amateur, to look into this for her?”

I shrugged. “Doesn’t reflect super well on you, does it?”

If Sergeant Peters had more than half a brain cell, he would have made a comment that Elizabeth being dead didn’t reflect well on me. But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out another puff of air. “All right. So, let’s say you’re telling me the truth. You think the person that killed her was here?”

“Yes.” I recounted the entire story to Sergeant Peters. When I was finished, he asked to see the knife. He took it into evidence. Then, he stood up to leave.

“I knew you were involved in this somehow,” he snarled.

“Yeah, but you keep hoping one day you’ll get to throw us in jail.”

“What you did counts as interfering with a police investigation.”

“No, it doesn’t. There was no police investigation before Elizabeth was killed,” I replied. “And we haven’t done anything afterward.”

Of course, I’d left out the part where we’d gone to visit Jeffrey and Alice’s home. So, not knowing that had happened, there was no way for Sergeant Peters to refute what I’d said.

He snarled and left.

“I don’t think he likes us very much,” I said to Maggie when she closed the door behind him.

“Nobody that has ever disliked me is someone whose life I would trade for mine, and I think that is very telling,” Maggie replied.

I grinned. “Love that way of looking at it. Although I will say, I disliked you when we first met.”

“Yes, you did.”

I scowled as I understood what she meant, even though her eyes glimmered mischievously. “You should want to trade lives with me. My life is awesome. I’m awesome.”

“You also came to your senses eventually. So that’s all right. I’ve known Sergeant Peters for a long time. He’s never come around to me.”

“His loss.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Now, while you had a nice little nap this afternoon, I did not, and I’d like to go back to bed.”

The two of us went back upstairs. I left all the lights on, just in case.

As I lay in bed, I stared up at the ceiling, incapable of sleeping. But this time, it had nothing to do with my earlier nap. Now, my ears were on high alert. Was the killer coming back?

Did Monica really sneak up those stairs with the intention of killing me and Maggie? I knew by now that it was unwise to assume anyone was incapable of killing another person. I’d seen the most unlikely people be killers.

But it was still something else to find out that someone you’d had a pleasant conversation with, someone who drove you around, someone who appeared to want to help you, was in fact a cold-blooded killer. And that they would have stabbed you through the heart without a second thought if they’d had the opportunity.

I eventually pulled out my phone. I wanted to text Aksel. He wouldn’t see it until the morning; I knew that. But it would make me feel better.

Someone tried to kill me and Maggie tonight. I think it was Monica.

To my surprise, about ten seconds after I sent the message, three dots appeared. And a few seconds later, he replied. I’ll be there in five minutes.

It’s okay. We’re fine. Just trying to get some sleep now.

Are you sure?

Yeah. Thanks, though.

If you need ANYTHING, you message, okay?

Got it. Thanks. I added a few heart emojis. And I meant them. The fact that Aksel had answered my middle-of-the-night text and was willing to drop everything to be here meant a lot.

A few minutes later, I got up and looked outside. A familiar form was standing outside on the road. He was looking up and down the street. Guarding us.

My chest filled with a warmth I didn’t quite recognize. I’d never had anyone be willing to protect me like this.

I slipped back downstairs and opened the front door. As soon as he heard it open, Aksel spun around, ready to pounce. When he saw me, his expression changed to one of relief. “You’re okay.”

“I am,” I confirmed. “Come on. If you’re going to watch over us, you can do it from inside. The couch is more comfortable than standing out here.”

Aksel followed me in. He walked to the dining table, sat down in one of the chairs facing the door, then smiled at me. “You should try and get some sleep.”

I was too tired to argue. I walked over and kissed him, a deep kiss that I hoped conveyed the gratitude I felt for him in that moment, then headed back upstairs.

It didn’t matter. I was so tired, but I was never getting back to sleep.

By the time the sky outside began going from black to dark blue, and the first rays of light started streaming through, I gave up completely. I had spent hours just staring at the ceiling, thinking and overthinking the case. Trying to find proof that it could have been Monica. Because even if I knew it was her, how was I going to show it? The knife at our place was purely circumstantial evidence. I was sure Monica would have been smart enough to wear gloves, so she wouldn’t have left any fingerprints.

So, how was I going to get that evidence? I was going to have to convince her to confess to me.

With a groan, I rolled out of bed. My head hurt. I was exhausted now, after a completely sleepless night, half of which had been spent cowering in bed, wondering if I was going to be brutally murdered.

I never thought I’d be grateful for slow days at the bookstore, but this was going to be one of them.

I got dressed and headed downstairs. Aksel was still in the kitchen, not looking like he’d stayed up half the night to guard our home.

“Monica didn’t come back?” I asked, wiping my bleary eyes.

“No. You didn’t get any sleep?”

I shook my head. “I should have invited you up.”

Aksel grinned. “As much as I would have enjoyed that, there was no way. She could have returned. Why do you think it was her?”

I walked Aksel through everything. “That makes sense, then. She probably nicked the knife that morning, as you said.”

“Maybe her plan was to stab her mother if the poison didn’t work. Between that and the attempt at an electrical fire, she sure was being thorough.”

“We need to gather the evidence to put her away. You’re in danger until we do.”

My heart sunk at Aksel’s words, but I knew he was right. Maggie and I were in Monica’s sights.

I had a quick bowl of cereal for breakfast then packed Toast up into her carrier and said goodbye to Aksel. After dropping Toast off at the bookstore, I walked to the Ugly Mug to order a coffee big enough that it would put 7-Eleven’s largest cups to shame. Did the Guiness Book of World Records track how much coffee a person could drink in twenty-four hours? Because if so, I was willing to see if I could break that amount today.

When I walked in, I saw Sophie behind the counter, along with Sean. She was showing him something on her phone, excitedly.

Sean didn’t look quite as enthused about it.

“It’s great,” he said, although his tone didn’t quite match the words. “It really is, Sophie. I’m happy for you. But you have to realize, it’s just one video, right? This is very cool, and I’m glad you’re selling, but you can’t think it’s going to keep going on like this forever.”

Sophie’s shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. She said quickly, “I don’t. I know this isn’t permanent. I just went viral one time. But still! Look at all these orders. Isn’t that so great? All these people buying my art.”

“Stickers,” Shaun corrected. “Yes. It is great. I’m very happy for you, Sophie. Especially since if you keep selling like this, it’ll allow you to create more real art.”

Sophie frowned. “This is real art.” Then, suddenly, she realized I was there. “Oh, hi, babes. How’s it going? Look, Mack, come see this.”

I stepped forward, purposely stepping on Sean’s toe as I walked to the counter. I intentionally stepped on just the tip of it, knowing that would hurt the most. He let out a bark of pain, and I smiled sweetly at him. “Oh, I’m so sorry! How clumsy of me.”

“It’s all right,” he said, annoyance tinging his voice.

“You all right?” Sophie asked.

He nodded. “Fine. Just surprised me, that’s all.”

“Great. Mack, look at all the orders that came through last night.”

She handed me the phone, and I read the summary. My eyes widened as I looked at the screen. “Wow! Three hundred?”

Sophie nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! And the average order is over ten pounds. This is insane. I’m going to have to place another order just to get through all of these.”

I grinned. “Congratulations. I knew this was going to happen for you.”

“I keep refreshing the page, expecting that the next time I do, it’ll go blank, and I’ll come back to life and realize this was all fake,” Sophie admitted.

“Not going to happen. Sorry. You’re a successful bitch now. Time to embrace it,” I said. “How many views is the video up to?”

“Three hundred thousand. It’s insane. I never thought my art could sell like this.”

“I’m really proud of you,” Sean said. “You worked really hard for this.”

“I could never have done it without my whole crew,” Sophie said, beaming at us. “You’ve all made this so much easier.”

“That’s what community is,” I replied. “We all come together and we help each other where and how we can.”

“Right. Now, it’s my turn to help you. Coffee and cheesecake. Whatever you want, it’s on me today.”

“Don’t tell me that when you’ve got an entire caramel apple pie cheesecake on display there,” I replied, laughing. “But I will take a slice of that. And the biggest coffee you have, with double the espresso.”

Sophie arched an eyebrow skyward. “Date night?”

“No,” I spluttered, my face reddening. “Monica tried to kill me. Very different.”

Sophie’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously, babes?”

I nodded and recounted the whole story.

“I’m glad you called the police,” Sean said when I was finished. “That’s horrifying. Are they going to be able to arrest her?”

“Not without evidence,” I replied with a shrug. “We’ll see if they can get some.”

“I’m just happy you’re okay and not dead,” Sophie said, shaking her head. “That’s crazy, babes. How is Maggie holding up?”

“You know her.”

“She’s fine.”

“Totally. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if she has some sort of plan to hunt down Monica by herself this morning.”

“You won’t be going with her?” Sean asked.

“I have the bookstore to run. And I need a full night’s sleep before I’m ready to actually take on a killer, I think. I need evidence.”

Sophie nodded as she passed the compostable box with the piece of cheesecake in it across the counter and started working on my coffee. “Can’t do anything without it. Even if you know who the killer is.”

“I’ll figure it out. Cheesecake always helps.”

“That’s science,” Sean said with a smile.

“It sure is. Carbs make the brain work.” Sophie slid the finished coffee across the counter to me, and I picked it up, holding it up to her in thanks. “I’ll be around if you need anything. And congratulations again. You’re crushing it.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, babes.”

I said goodbye to Sophie and Sean then headed back out into the day.

Walking back to the bookstore, I found Aksel pacing in front.

As soon as he saw me he rushed over, taking me carefully into his arms so that I didn’t spill my coffee or—heaven forbid—drop my cheesecake. “I’m worried about you.”

“I can handle myself,” I replied.

“I know. But that doesn’t stop me from worrying. Shit, Mack. Someone tried to kill you.”

I managed a smile. “The way things are going, you better get used to it. That seems to happen a lot.”

Aksel barked out a laugh that was clearly half amusement, half fear. “I suppose so, right? Seriously though, how are you feeling?”

I shrugged. “Honestly? Too exhausted to really feel anything right now. I’m hoping this coffee helps. And that much like a vampire, Monica will be avoiding trying to attack me in broad daylight.”

“I don’t think she will. She wouldn’t have been expecting to be scared off like that yesterday. She’ll either try again immediately if she thinks she was identified, or she’ll probably lay low for a little while. We hope for the latter.”

“Agreed.” I walked to the door and Aksel held my items while I unlocked it. I stepped back inside, and he followed after me.

“Are you going to be all right here, or do you want me to stay?”

“I’m always happy to spend the day with you. You have comfortable chairs. And the best company.”

“You’re going to have to fight Toast for your favourite one,” I said, motioning to the armchair I knew Aksel liked, which was currently occupied by my kitten.

As if she could understand what was being said, Toast woke up with a little mewl, yawned, then leapt gracefully off the chair and wound a figure-eight shape around Aksel’s legs. Then, when he went to sit down on the chair, she jumped back up onto his lap, meowed contentedly, and fell asleep.

“See? No problem. We can share,” Aksel said with a grin.

I smiled. “Glad to see it.”

Aksel spent the morning sitting in the chair, being a seat warmer for Toast. We chatted most of the time. Aksel read some of a book. I helped the three customers that came in before lunchtime. And as noon rolled around, I looked around the store.

My boyfriend was sitting on an armchair, patting a cat while reading. We’d just had a long discussion about The Lord of the Rings. The sun was filtering in through the window. I’d just gotten an online order that I was filling at the counter.

Life was good. Life was really, really good.

Chapter 23

About ten minutes before my lunch break was supposed to start, Aksel got a phone call. Toast jumped up off his lap as he went to take it, and when he returned from outside a couple minutes later, his face was grim. “I’ve just had a work thing come up. Are you going to be okay if I leave?”

No. “Yes,” I said. All my life I had thought the best moments of my life were going to be ones where I had succeeded. Where I had won. And I always thought there would be awards. Promotions. Prizes. Recognition for a job well done.

But no. This morning, sitting in my little bookshop by the sea in Cornwall, with a man that I was very much beginning to fall in love with, chatting while he pet my little cat, I realized that while I had won, it was a different kind.

This wasn’t winning trophies. It wasn’t an award. It wasn’t a promotion, it wasn’t a raise. I won because I had a life that fit me. I won because I had people around me that I cared about and who cared about me back.

This morning was going to be a memory that would stay with me forever because I had gotten the ultimate prize. A life I was happy with.

“I should be back within the hour,” Aksel said, coming over and kissing me. He looked down at the book I was packing up. It was a special-edition version of The Lord of the Rings, which was what had started our conversation about it in the first place. “I’m jealous of whoever’s getting that.”

“Me too,” I admitted.

“All right. I’ll see you soon.”

Aksel left, and I turned to Toast, who was already curled up in the warm spot recently vacated by Aksel. “Looks like it’s just the two of us for the moment.”

I was just about getting ready to close the shop for the lunch break when the bell above the front door jingled, about five minutes after Aksel had left.

I looked up and, to my surprise, found Jeffrey standing there.

“Hi,” I greeted him with a chirpy smile. “How are you?”

“Good,” he said. “Listen, I wanted to thank you. I know you were helping my mother with something. I don’t know what. But whatever you were doing for her, I know she would have appreciated it.”

There was something weird about how Jeffrey was acting. I couldn’t quite place my finger on what it was. Maybe his shoulders were a little bit too tense. Maybe his voice had a touch of nervousness that shouldn’t have been there. Maybe he was just a touch too frozen. Whatever it was, it made me very uncomfortable.

“Oh, it wasn’t much. I was just helping her with some errands around town,” I lied. “That’s why she invited me to the party, as a thank you.”

“And your grandmother?”

“I got a plus-one.”

I had no idea if fancy-people parties came with a plus-one in the same way weddings did. Surely yes, though. Right?

“So you weren’t trying to figure out who killed her?”

I frowned, feeling nervous. “No.”

“Liar,” Jeffrey snapped. He yanked a knife out from his pocket and ran at me.

I let out a yelp, acting instinctively. I grabbed the Lord of the Rings book that was still on the box on the table in front of me and held it up. Jeffrey’s knife plunged into the pages, stabbing it. I immediately yanked the book to the left, and he let go of the knife.

Before I had a chance to grab it myself, Jeffrey launched himself at me. He grabbed the book, but he had too much momentum, and it flew from his hands across the bookstore, over a couple of the low shelves.

I heard it land with a crash farther away.

“You,” I snarled. “But it couldn’t have been you. You weren’t there when the poison was administered.”

Jeffrey grinned, a deranged smile that got crazier as it reached his eyes, which popped wide in their sockets. “That’s the beauty of it. They’ll never suspect me. Once you’re dead, you can’t tell a soul.”

He reached over the counter and grabbed at my throat. I immediately struggled for air. I hit out at him, but the angles were all wrong. His arms were protecting him. I reached down in between and aimed for his face, but he was taller than me. His arms too long. I could barely reach him, which meant I was doing virtually no damage.

Meanwhile, I was quickly running out of air. My vision was going dark. I reached around the counter, mashing my hands around as I tried to find a pen, scissors, anything I could use as a weapon.

Suddenly, there came a shout, and Jeffrey’s grip on my neck released. I paused, gasping for air, filling my lungs over and over. Then, when I looked over and saw what had saved me, I gasped again.

Toast had jumped onto Jeffrey’s head, all of her claws buried deep into his skull. She was hissing in a way I’d only seen once before, when a guy dressed in a giant bear suit had walked past the shop while doing a promotion.

He flailed around, trying to get Toast off of him. I looked at the counter then my eyes landed on the scissors. I grabbed them, right as Jeffrey managed to get his arms around Toast’s body.

He screamed as he ripped her off him, her claws taking copious amounts of hair and flesh around with them. Then, he hurled her into one of the bookshelves.

“Toast!” I screamed. My cat’s body fell limply to the floor, and I was suddenly filled with a shaking, trembling rage unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life. The expression “seeing red” didn’t even begin to describe it. I didn’t see red. I saw black. My vision focused in on one thing and one thing only. Jeffrey.

I ran toward him, no longer caring about my own safety. Scissors in hand, I watched him as he raised his arms to protect himself. Watched as I moved the scissors at the last second and stabbed him below where he was expecting. I got him in the stomach.

I pushed the scissors in as hard as I could. He had hurt Toast. Had he killed her? If he had, there was no way he was leaving this bookstore alive.

Jeffrey’s mouth was open, but I had no idea if he was screaming. I looked down. Blood was pouring from the scissors, onto my hand, but I couldn’t feel it. Right now, I couldn’t care less if he died.

I pushed him away, the scissors coming out of him with a squishing sound that normally would have been gross but that I couldn’t care about at the moment.

Jeffrey collapsed, and, confident that he wasn’t going to be giving me any more trouble for the moment, I rushed over to Toast.

She had hit her head on something. She was bleeding. As soon as I scooped her up, she let out a soft mewl.

“It’s okay, baby,” I said softly. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Tears stung my eyes as I rose to my feet. Jeffrey wasn’t moving. I didn’t care if he never moved again. As I ran toward the front door, it opened again. Aksel was standing there, wide-eyed.

“Call the police,” I ordered. “Toast needs to go to the vet.”

To Aksel’s credit, he didn’t so much as flinch. “Got it. Go. I’ll take care of everything here.”

I raced through the streets of St. Albinus, running as fast as I could. My tears flew out of my eyes and behind me. They blurred my vision; I could barely see where I was going. But, before I knew it, I was at the vet’s office. I opened the door and rushed in.

I was met by a horrified expression by the receptionist. “You have to see Toast. You have to save her,” I gasped.

“Come this way,” the woman said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I snapped, not understanding why that mattered. It wasn’t until I was in the examination room with Toast and I put her down that I realized why the receptionist had reacted the way she did.

I was covered in blood. The front of my shirt was stained red. My hands too. I looked like a toddler who went finger painting with hemoglobin.

“It’s not hers,” I said quickly when the vet entered a moment later. That didn’t seem to alieve the woman’s concern as she looked at me. “Or mine. But you have to look at her. She was attacked.”

The vet stepped forward and took a careful look at Toast. She examined her then looked at me and smiled. “She’s going to be fine.”

I was so relieved I felt like I could have collapsed right then and there.

Chapter 24

The vet gave Toast a careful look-over and took her to the back for X-rays. It turned out she had a broken leg and a likely concussion. I was sent home with strict orders to limit her movement for the foreseeable future, but that she should heal up fine.

“Luckily, she’s young. Kittens are resilient,” the vet assured me. “And you… you should get yourself looked at.”

“Sorry,” I said with a shrug. “It’s not my blood.”

That didn’t seem to make the vet feel any better.

I left the vet’s office with Toast and headed back to the bookstore. I arrived at the same time as Sergeant Peters. His eyes widened when he saw me. “I should arrest you.”

“Nope. This one was self-defense. You want to arrest him,” I said, jerking a thumb toward the inside of the store, where Jeffrey was still lying on the ground. There were two EMTs attending to him. That meant he wasn’t dead, yet. I couldn’t decide if I wanted him to live or not.

Aksel stood off to the side. As soon as he saw me he rushed over. “Are you all right? Is Toast?”

“We’re both fine. She’s got a broken leg and a concussion. She saved my life.”

Aksel reached down and stroked the top of her head. She let out a small, weak meow of satisfaction.

“Why did you come back?” I asked.

Aksel shrugged. “Instinct. I was on my way, and I just felt like I shouldn’t leave you alone. So, I called the person I was dealing with and told them we’d just have to reschedule. I guess that was the right call.”

I smiled. “You could make a full-time job out of taking care of me.”

“I’d like that,” Aksel replied.

* * *

Jeffrey did survive. By the time I’d finished giving my statements to the police, it was late afternoon. Word had gotten around town, and Maggie, Sophie, and Ada were all waiting outside the bookstore, along with a crowd of onlookers.

They quickly formed a circle of protection around me and Toast, and the four of us as well as Aksel headed home.

I was immediately sent up to shower, during which time I finally got to process what had happened for the first time. It had been Jeffrey. He had killed his mother. But how? He wasn’t on the premises at all when the poison was put into her glass.

But everything else pointed to him. Everything else made perfect sense.

And then, it clicked.

I got out of the shower, feeling fresh for the first time in hours. I was going to have to throw out the clothes I’d been wearing, but that was fine.

I changed into a new set of clothes and headed downstairs. Immediately, Aksel led me to the living room couch, and Maggie brought me a cup of tea. “I know you hate this, but you’re British now. It’s mandatory.”

Toast was curled up in her bed on the floor near the fireplace. I looked over at her, incredibly grateful for my cat. She was getting a whole lot of Churu for the foreseeable future.

I laughed and placed the teacup on the side table, thanking her. “I figured it out,” I said. “How Jeffrey did it. We were right all along. It was supposed to be him. It had to be him. But we found the poison in the glass. The glass that was served after he had left. He didn’t come back until after Elizabeth died.”

“Right, so how did he do it?” Ada asked.

I grinned as I revealed the trick I’d figured out. “He put the poison in the glass after Elizabeth died.”

Sophie frowned. “Wait, so it wasn’t murder?”

“Oh no, it was. The tests came back positive. She died of poisoning. But it wasn’t the poison in the glass. Now, the rest of this is speculation, and I’m sure it’ll come out at trial. Or when he confesses. Whatever. But this is what I think happened, and it makes the most sense. Jeffrey and his wife arrived at Elizabeth’s home early that morning. They had breakfast together, all of them. It would have been so easy for Jeffrey to slip the poison into Elizabeth’s food or drink then. Maybe not as big a dose. Big, but not big enough to kill her immediately. It took a few hours for it all to take a hold of her. Jeffrey was the one who tampered with the power, knowing that during the party it would blow. Then, he would have a reason to leave the party. It also had the advantage of turning off all the cameras Elizabeth had set up.”

“I get it,” Ada said. “But still, it was risky. If Elizabeth had died before he left, he was done for.”

“He must have decided it was a risk worth taking. After all, he must have figured that regardless, there would be a lot of people around at the party who could have also been suspects. And if his plan worked, he would have the perfect alibi. He came back and found his mother on the ground. He rushed over, pretending to be a grieving son. And in that time, he put a massive dose of the poison in her glass. An amount that would kill her much faster than the dose he gave her that morning.”

“And he almost fooled everyone,” Aksel said.

“Yeah.”

“He must have had some sort of security camera setup at his home,” Maggie said. “He would have seen us in there. Thought we were after him and not Alice. And decided to kill us so we would stop investigating him.”

“Precisely,” I agreed.

Sophie shivered. “That’s horrible. I’m glad you’re both okay.”

“Me too,” Ada agreed. “Horrifying.”

“I just can’t believe it took me that long to figure it out,” I said, my shoulders dropping slightly. “It made perfect sense for it to be him. Every piece of evidence we had pointed to him. Up until the very end. Even the knife. We thought it was Monica because she had been having breakfast there, but it could just as easily have been Jeffrey. I should have realized him being next to his mother was important earlier.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Aksel said. “The case is solved, and you’re alive. That’s the important thing.”

I leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close. I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent. Then, I looked around.

Just like earlier today, I was surrounded by my people. And my cat. My community. My group. My home. And I couldn’t be happier.

* * *

Book 8 - Go for Gold: Halloween is here in Cornwall, and while it’s immediately clear to Mack that it’s not nearly as big a deal as it is back in America, someone decides to take advantage of the night to steal a display of gold jewelry from the art museum.

The museum’s curator calls in both Aksel and Mack to solve the case, and they’ve got to work together to get to the bottom of things. Meanwhile, Sophie’s sticker business is taking off, and Ada has a decision to make about her future.

But as Mack gets closer to solving the case, she soon uncovers a conspiracy that’s much bigger than she could have ever imagined. Will she find the thief in time, or will she be too late to stop an even bigger disaster?

Click here to preorder Go for Gold (coming September 2025)

About the Author

Jasmine Webb is a thirty-something who lives in the mountains most of the year, dreaming of the beach. When she’s not writing stories you can find her chasing her old dog around, hiking up moderately-sized hills, or playing Pokemon Go.

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