by Sara Rosett
Byron remained standing. I gulped down the bite, and put my sandwich down, ready to pretend to be searching for something on the floor when Octavia left with the inspector. I didn’t want a second encounter with the inspector so soon after meeting him. I had a feeling that he wouldn’t think our paths crossing again was a coincidence. Obviously, Elise had returned the phone to the police, and it hadn’t taken long for Byron to find the unanswered calls and the text.
“No, thank you. This conversation is more suited to a private place.”
Octavia gave an impatient shake of her head. “Inspector, I’m sure I know what this is about. Cyrus has gotten into some scrape again, and you’ve been dispatched to break the news to me gently. I assure you I’m not about to go to pieces. Please, take a seat, and tell me what you have to say.”
Byron glanced around the busy restaurant, but didn’t turn fully around, so he still hadn’t seen me. “Very well.” He sat down with his back to me. “I’m sorry to inform you that your husband died earlier today.”
After a pause, Octavia set her cup on the saucer with a click. “What happened?”
While I couldn’t see Byron’s face, I could see Octavia’s profile. She suddenly looked guarded.
“He was murdered. Hit on the back of the head. I’m sorry.”
She blinked. “Oh.”
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I’m not, actually.” She angled her head to one side as if she was running a mental diagnostic on herself. She shrugged. “I told you, he is—was, I mean—he was always getting into trouble, or more accurately, causing trouble,” she said with a grimace. “He had a way of pushing people. He must have pushed the wrong person too far.”
“So he had enemies?”
She let out a sharp laugh. “You could say that.”
“Can you give me some names?”
“How long do you have?”
Byron’s expression must have conveyed disapproval because she straightened her shoulders and became more serious. “I’m sorry to be flippant. Cyrus upset many people. It was almost a hobby of his. I could give you a long list of people he irritated or angered, but I’m afraid it would be sadly out of date. You see, Cyrus and I live—lived—separate lives. We have for many years.”
“Yet, you called him several times this morning and sent him a text as well.”
She lifted one shoulder. “Common courtesy. I was in town. I knew he would be in Bath as well. We may not live together, but we do talk.”
“So you knew he would be in Bath today?”
“Yes. He told me last time we chatted.”
“And when was that?”
“About two weeks ago, I think. I called him to tell him I was having the flat in London painted and that it would be overrun with workmen this week. He said that was fine. He would be in Bath.”
“If you live separate lives, then why did you keep him informed of your decorating plans?”
“He travels quite a bit, but when he is in London he uses the flat.”
“I see. Why didn’t you tell him about your plan to visit Bath when you spoke to him two weeks ago?”
“Because my plans at that time were a short holiday in France. My companion canceled at the last moment. I decided I would rather have a shorter trip. I didn’t settle on Bath until two days ago.”
“When did you arrive?”
“I checked in last night. About seven, I suppose. I’m sure the front desk can tell you.”
“I will verify it. Procedure, you understand,” Byron said. “And how did you spend your morning?”
Octavia gave him a long look. “Am I a suspect?” Her tone indicated she was amazed. “Really, Inspector, I find that quite flattering in a way, but I assure you that Cyrus and I have rubbed along together for years as we are. I didn’t care enough about him to murder him.”
“Nevertheless, I need to know what your activities were this morning.”
“I shopped.”
“The entire morning?”
“I’m very good at it, Inspector.” She named two exclusive stores. “I’m sure they’ll remember me. In fact,” she grabbed the strap of her leather purse and pulled it across the table to her. She unzipped it, dug around inside, then produced several slips of paper with a flourish. “My receipts from The Cottage and Celeste’s.” She spaced them out on the table.
“Thank you. This will be helpful.” Byron began to stack them, but Octavia put up a hand. “Oh, you can’t have the originals. Not right now. I might need to return something. Feel free to photograph them, though,” she said in an imperious manner.
After a beat of silence Byron said, “All right, then. This is slightly irregular, but, well…”
“I understand. It’s difficult to demand them when you’re not sure if I’m a suspect or not. Don’t worry. They will all check out.”
“But I may need them later—the originals, I mean.”
“Fine,” Octavia said.
Byron took out his phone and photographed the receipts.
During their conversation, I had gobbled my sandwich when Octavia spoke. Her voice carried and it was easy to hear exactly what she said. When Byron spoke, I chewed more slowly so I could hear his soft tone. I had finished off most of my sandwich and signaled for the bill, intending to cancel the to-go sandwich for Alex. I wanted to try to slip out while Byron still had his back to me, but the waiter brought the sandwich with the bill. As I paid, Byron asked for Octavia’s contact information and how long she would be at the hotel.
I picked up the to-go order and slipped out of my chair. As I darted through the tables, Byron commented on the flower arrangement. “Lovely flowers. Who are they from?”
My steps faltered, but I resumed my pace as Octavia said, “I have no idea. The card wasn’t signed. I think it’s a mix-up. The room numbers were probably mixed up.”
“Perhaps your husband sent them?”
“No, Inspector, I can assure you that is not what happened. Cyrus would be the last person to send me flowers.”
I hurried through the lobby and out the door that the uniformed doorman quickly opened for me. I had a bad feeling about the flower arrangement.
Inspector Byron didn’t seem like the type of person who would write off the flowers. I thought he would add them to his mental list—he hadn’t seemed to be writing anything down when he spoke to Octavia—but I bet it was an unanswered question that would bother him. I only hoped it was far enough down his list that he solved the murder before he got around to tracing the flower delivery.
Chapter 8
ALEX WAS LOITERING BY A wrought iron fence at the end of the Crescent, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. The thin windbreaker couldn’t be much protection from the cold wind that swept across the open green space. Thick gray clouds had rolled in, and a few spatters of rain hit the cobblestones. Alex caught sight of me. “You had five more minutes, and then I was going in.”
“Sorry. I had lunch.” I lifted the bag. “I brought you a sandwich.”
“Well, that’s a different story.”
I threaded my arm through Alex’s. “We’ve got to move. Inspector Byron showed up. I think I managed to avoid catching his attention, but I’d like to get somewhere a little less wide open.”
Alex looked back. “Let me guess. Byron has brown hair and glasses?”
“How did you know?”
“A man of that description is stepping into a police car parked in front of the Royal Crescent Hotel.”
“That’s got to be him. Let’s pick up the pace.”
Alex pressed my arm against his side where it was looped through his elbow, slowing me down. “Tourists don’t jog. Not normally. Unless they are caught in a sudden downpour, and it’s only sprinkling on and off at the moment.”
“You’re right,” I admitted. “But I don’t like strolling. I feel like we should put as much distance between us and the Royal Crescent Hotel as we can.”
“Why? You’ve done nothing wrong.�
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“Technically, not anything criminal.”
Alex raised an eyebrow.
“I indulged in a bit of eavesdropping. Let’s turn in here.” We reached a short pedestrian walkway lined with galleries, antique shops, and restaurants. We stepped into the curve of the bow window of one of the shops, using it to shield us from the main street. I dug Alex’s warmer leather jacket out of my tote bag. He shrugged into it, putting it on over the windbreaker.
He nodded toward the street. “There goes the inspector.” A police car cruised down Brock Street away from the Royal Crescent toward the other historic architectural landmark, the Circus, the three elegant terraced buildings that formed a circle.
“Good,” I said, and Alex and I resumed our slow pace, giving Byron plenty of time to put a lot of distance between us and him. We reached the end of the pedestrian area where it rejoined Brock Street. “Let’s go back through the Circus,” I said. “We hurried through there so quickly I barely had time to glance at it earlier.” The sprinkles tapered off as we walked, and I told Alex what I’d overheard.
We crossed the street to the round park that the buildings of the Circus enclosed. At the center of the park, a cluster of towering trees were a blaze of golden leaves. We walked around the circle and snagged one of the few park benches so that Alex could eat.
He unwrapped the sandwich. “So Cyrus’s wife is in Room Ten. I wasn’t sure if your text came through the way you intended. I thought possibly auto-correct had changed a word or something. I didn’t expect it to be Cyrus’s wife.”
“Neither did I. That’s why I wanted a look at her…to make sure.”
Alex chewed for a moment then asked, “Do you think she was telling the truth, about her and Cyrus’s relationship?”
“I think so,” I said slowly. “She didn’t seem upset at all that he was dead.”
“She didn’t hate him enough to kill him,” Alex said in a thoughtful tone.
“They were still together as a couple, in a way, which is a bit…peculiar. Why not divorce and be done with it?”
“Could be lots of reasons, like staying together for the kids—did they have kids?—or money or religious beliefs.”
“No idea on the kids.” I shook my head. “I don’t understand the sticking together, if they didn’t get along. Of course, I’ve never been good at long-term relationships.” I waved my hand between us. “This is the longest I’ve been with anyone.”
Alex shot me a sideways glance. “Really?”
I shifted on the bench. “Yes. Don’t look at me like I’m some sort of weird, undiscovered species. I just didn’t see a point in sticking around when a relationship had nowhere to go.”
“So you think this relationship is going somewhere?”
“It may have a possibility to, if you stop quizzing me on it.” Despite the cool, blustery air, I felt flustered and too warm. “We’ve been over this. No relationship dissection. I over analyze, which doesn’t usually turn out well. So, back to Octavia,” I said determinedly. “I think it’s odd that she shows up the day before Cyrus is killed.”
Alex gave me a long look. “Okay, have it your way. No relationship analysis. Well, not of our relationship—although this is the oddest relationship I’ve ever been in. Most women want to talk about ‘us.’”
“I’m not most women.”
“Don’t I know it—and I mean that in a good way.” He crumpled the sandwich wrapper. “So back to Octavia. Why were she and Cyrus still together? Why did she change her plans and arrive the day before he died? Anything else?”
“Was she actually shopping this morning?”
“That’s the most important question, right there. Elise will be thrilled that we’ve dug up another suspect for her.”
We found Elise and the rest of the scouting party in the bar area of the Bath Spa Hotel. They sat around a table at the back corner of the deserted room. Two o’clock in the afternoon wasn’t exactly a bustling time for the tiny hotel bar. I had a feeling that most of the time, the bar wasn’t that busy, probably only catering to a couple of hotel customers a day, if that.
We joined the table, and Felix shifted his chair to make room for us.
The group seemed small without Cyrus present, but then I realized another person was missing. “Where’s Paul?” I asked.
“Making copies,” Elise said. “I suppose you weren’t able to find anything?”
“The phone calls and text were from Cyrus’s wife, Octavia,” I said.
Felix sat up straight in his chair. “Octavia? Here?”
“Yes, at the Royal Crescent Hotel. Do you know her?”
“Of course I know her,” Felix said, which didn’t surprise me. The world of location scouting and film production actually pretty small.
“What was their relationship like?” I asked. “She told the inspector that she and Cyrus lived separate lives.”
Felix didn’t reply.
“Inspector Byron was already there, at the hotel?” Elise asked faintly.
“Yes, but I don’t think he noticed me. At least, I hope he didn’t.” I went on to describe the conversation I’d overheard.
“Excellent,” Elise said. “That’s…well, more than I expected. Well done.” The words came out with an uncertain ring to them. Elise wasn’t used to giving praise to anyone, much less me. I smiled back at her.
“Of course,” she continued in her normal tones, “That information has to be followed up. Here’s Paul now. You were able to make copies?”
Paul returned with a stack of papers, which he distributed. “Annie let me borrow their copier.”
A rhythmic thumping sounded, then Annie came around the corner from the office in the entry. She pounded her way across the parlor, her crutches swinging. She arrived in the bar and asked, “Do you need anything else? More tea? Something stronger?”
“No, we’re fine,” Elise said and waved her away, but Annie noticed Alex and I had joined the group and that we didn’t have anything to drink. “What can I bring you? Tea?”
“Do you have coffee?” I asked. I wasn’t a big tea drinker, despite my time in England. I’d already had a lot of coffee, but I was feeling the three-a.m. start and could use a little caffeine.
“Of course. Decaf?”
“Oh, no. The real stuff, please.”
She looked at Alex. “And for you?”
“Coffee, black, will do for me as well.”
Annie nodded and retreated, her crutches thudding.
“Hand the pages around, Paul,” Elise said, and Paul distributed a spreadsheet. It listed each person from the scouting group down the left side of the page. Times were listed across the top. “I had Paul compile the information we each have about our alibis. As you can see it’s sketchy, at best—except for you Alex. Thank goodness you ran into an old friend. We can mark you off the list.”
I studied the spreadsheet, which had a lot of white space. Only Alex’s name had my name listed from seven thirty to eight, then the name “Viv” filled the rest of the grid from eight thirty to eleven fifteen.
I tried to keep the sour expression off my face. I should be glad Alex had an alibi—it would be a lot less stressful for him, but I didn’t like seeing Viv’s name repeated along the row.
I focused my attention on the blank grids and realized that everyone else—Elise, Paul, Felix, and I—didn’t have alibis for most of the morning. Elise and Paul had been together for the meeting with the mayor, but after nine forty-five, they had gone their separate ways. Felix had nothing but a blank line of grids after seven thirty, and my line was blank as well after eight.
“You’ll have to pencil in Octavia,” Elise said, and motioned for Paul to give her the pencil from behind his ear. He handed it over, and Elise scribbled Octavia’s name at the bottom of the list. “Kate, you visit those boutiques she mentioned and make sure Octavia was there this morning.”
“I’m sure the police will do that,” I said.
“But they won’t sha
re their results with us, will they? And when will they get to it? Today? Tomorrow?” She circled the pen around the table. “I’m trying to make sure you all have jobs next week. If we can find out Octavia wasn’t at one of those stores we can share that information with the police—discreetly, of course—and take the pressure off us. You all know that appearance is everything. I have to talk to the backers later today and give them an update. If we have some solid information about other suspects who aren’t part of our group…well, we might get to make the rest of the series.”
“But the people at those stores won’t give me information about their customers,” I said.
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Elise said. “Look at what you did at the hotel. Perhaps you do have a knack for this investigation thing. You might be in the wrong line of work, in fact.” Elise smiled brightly. It wasn’t the first time Elise had hinted I should look for another type of employment. Elise noticed Annie had emerged from the kitchen and sent me a warning glance. I bit back my protests. I’d take them up again with Elise later, one-on-one.
Annie returned with our coffees. Using one crutch, she held the handle of a rolling cart with her other hand and pushed it across the room. Alex jumped up to help her, but she shook her head. “I’m fine. I’ve actually gotten used to doing this. As much as it annoys me—because I have to slow down, you know—I’ve found that I can get around quite well, despite the blasted cast.” She parked the cart then distributed the coffees and provided a new teapot with fresh hot water. As she placed my cup in front of me, I noticed that her eyes were swollen and pink rimmed.
“Thank you, Annie,” Elise said in a dismissive tone then tapped the spreadsheet. “I want each of you to find someone—anyone—a ticket seller, a tourist, a waitress who can confirm your whereabouts this morning. This is critical.”
Annie cleared Felix’s teacup, which he’d pushed away, then began thumping her way back across the parlor with the rolling tray. Before she’d gone a few steps someone with a heavy tread came down the staircase from the guest rooms, their footfalls drawing our attention.