A Date With Death: Cozy Private Investigator Series (Flora Lively Mysteries Book 2) (16 page)

By the time she’d been back to the yurt to look for Marshall – who wasn’t there, and hadn’t left any kind of note to say where he might be – it was nearly midday. She entered the manor house via the boot room, noting the pile of anoraks in one corner. If she got roped into helping Celeste search the grounds later she would borrow one of those. The rain was still hammering down onto the sun-baked earth, and Flora quite liked the idea of an afternoon spent outdoors. Keeping an eye out for Marshall, she headed into the house. So much for not letting her out of his sight while there was a murderer on the loose, she thought.

But then she spotted him, sitting on a high stool at the portable bar Sidney had set up in the music room. He waved to her, gesturing her over. She grinned, but then stopped cold when she saw Nick Gibson propped up against the bar next to Marshall.

‘Flora,’ Marshall said. ‘Drink?’

‘It’s not even lunchtime,’ she told him, looking at the clock above the grand piano. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit early for the hard stuff?’

‘He doesn’t,’ Marshall mouthed, pointing at Nick and shaking his head. The producer looked up, noticing Flora for the first time.

‘Ah, it’s you,’ he said. His voice was slurred. ‘Celeste’s friend. Friend of Celeste.’

‘Her name is Flora,’ Marshall said quietly. Flora shrugged, and sent Marshall a look that said: I’m not bothered. Let it go. She pulled out a stool and climbed onto it, facing into the room, her elbows leaning back onto the bar.

‘What’s up?’ she said. Nick peered around Marshall and stuck out his finger.

‘Up?’ he said, giggling. ‘The sky’s up. The ceiling’s up.’

Flora leaned back so Nick couldn’t see her face and raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘He’s pretty high,’ Marshall whispered.

‘You mean drunk, right? Not tripping?’

‘Tripping?’

‘On drugs,’ she hissed. ‘High on drugs.’

‘Don’t think so. Just tanked. Keeps talking about his old friend Alberto.’ Marshall pulled a sceptical face.

‘So, me old mate,’ Marshall said in his best fake-cockney accent, ‘what’s happening with this here film of yours?’

Flora kicked him, but Nick didn’t seem to get that he was the butt of Marshall’s joke. He said,

‘It’s not the same without Alberto. There’s no spark, no flame to ignite.’

‘No smoke without fire,’ Marshall put in.

‘Alberto was the soul of Rojo,’ Nick said. He was swaying now, even though he had both feet planted on the polished wooden floor. ‘The heart and soul. I was the brains, but he was the soul.’

Flora jumped down, suddenly bored. But then she had a thought. Was this guilt talking? She slipped behind the bar and poured Nick another drink. He had opened – or maybe Sidney had opened – a bottle of Merlot. Nick nodded his thanks and swilled it around in the huge goblet. The lights above the bar glimmered dully. The room felt hot, stuffy, and smelled the way Flora imagined an old-fashioned gentlemen’s club might smell. Wine, leather, polished wood, and sweat.

‘I didn’t want him to die,’ Nick said suddenly, his voice jolting Flora out of her reverie. ‘I wanted him gone, I’ll admit it, he was like an eagle around my neck.’

Marshall looked at Flora and grinned. She smiled back and shook her head. Nick certainly was pretty drunk.

‘But now he’s gone, I miss him,’ Nick said, staring into his glass. ‘It’s like he’s taken my spirit with him. When he died –’ he looked up dramatically, then turned to gaze out of the window ‘– he took a piece of me with him.’

Maybe a piece of DNA, Flora thought. She wondered whether Jack had considered Nick seriously as a suspect. He’d said they were all suspects, but then he’d focused on Marshall, and now – if Celeste’s fears were anything to go by – he was all out for Eduardo. She remembered Nick’s words to Eduardo the day before yesterday, telling him to be patient. Nick had been so angry with Alberto, angry enough to nearly strangle him in front of everyone, to practically throw him through the scenery. Surely Jack had considered that.

Of course, the evidence – the hard evidence – really did point to Eduardo. He might have gone in for a drink with Alberto after leaving Celeste’s room, planning to show him the photos, to warn him off. He could have popped down to the props room to get the sword. He’d have been the last person to see it, after all, would have known how to lay his hands on it immediately. They had a drink, Eduardo secretly fuming, and then when Alberto’s guard was down, the younger man stabbed him. Once, fatally, right in the stomach. It would have taken some force, Flora thought, which was one strike against Raquel as a suspect. Although Vincenzo could have done it, of course …

She was going around in circles. Marshall was off the hook, and that should be all that mattered. Jack was good at his job, and she should leave him to it and butt out. As if she could solve this mystery any better than him. She laughed to herself – all those emails asking for help, it must be going to her head. She tuned back in to the conversation Marshall was having with Nick. They were discussing Celeste.

‘She’s a piece of work,’ Nick said in a low voice, leaning close to Marshall. He was looking at Flora, so she let her eyes slip away as if not listening. ‘A fake, in more ways than one. If anyone wanted Alberto dead, it was her. Poor old Albie. I miss him.’

He seemed to be going back down the maudlin route again, but Marshall pulled him back. ‘Why would she want Alberto dead? She doesn’t seem the type to risk damaging her career – and if Alberto was the heart of Rojo Productions, like you say …’

Nick made a solemn face and nodded, his arm around Marshall’s shoulders. ‘He was the heart and soul, my friend. The heart and the soul. And now? I think it’s time to call it a day.’

‘Get some lunch inside you,’ Marshall said, nodding. ‘You’ve not had that much to drink.’

‘No, not that.’ Nick batted Marshall away from him. ‘Call it a day for
Una Cita con la Muerte
. I’ve decided,’ he said, staggering a little, ‘to close it down. It’s over, finished.
Terminado
! Sorry, you guys.’ He looked at Flora again, his eyes not fully focused. ‘Sorry to lose you your contract. You’ve been great. It’s been great, but it’s time to say goodbye.’ His voice rose into a kind of song at the end, then he wandered away in the opposite direction to the dining room, swaying as though on a ship in a swell.

‘That is one messed up dude.’ Marshall raised his eyebrows and smiled at Flora. She pursed her lips, still watching Nick.

‘What did he mean about Celeste, do you think?’

‘Oh, Flora. Don’t even get me started on that. Let’s just say that your friend has one more fan than she deserves.’

‘Who is that?’

‘You, dummy. You’re the only fan she has around here.’ He shook his head and jumped off his stool, then held out his hands to help her down. She shook her head.

‘You know, I’m starting to feel sorry for Celeste. She’s just a woman trying to do her best in a man’s world – in this macho, all-boys-together movie business. So she’s a little cutting at times, so she likes to look good – is it any reason to gang up on her? She’s my friend, Marshall.’ Flora looked at him meaningfully. ‘People need their friends in times of trouble, don’t they?’

‘Point taken.’ He continued to hold out his hands, and his head was tipped to the side, a sloppy grin on his face. ‘Sorry, Miss Lively. Didn’t mean to offend you, ma’am.’

‘Oh, stop it.’ She let him help her down, smiling despite herself. Her feet touched the floor, but Marshall didn’t let go. Nor did he step back. She was pressed against his chest, inhaling his scent of warmth and citrus. The woody smell of the yurt had penetrated his clothes, and it was comforting, reassuring. She closed her eyes, just for a second. She felt his hands slip around her waist, so lightly it made her skin tingle.

And then, just as she was thinking
Is this okay? Should we be doing this?
Marshall moved away and held out his arm, elbow bent. ‘Lunch, ma’am,’ he said, still putting on his English accent. Flora nodded, and linked arms with him. She said nothing, but her mind was racing – and not only with the odd mixture of emotions that fleeting moment with Marshall had produced. Tangled up with her complicated feelings and her old, familiar confusions was another, more pressing thought.

What if Celeste actually had killed Alberto? What if she and Eduardo had done it together?

Chapter 10

The rain showed no sign of stopping. After such a hot August, the moisture in the air felt steamy; there was a haze on the hills in the distance that made Flora think of rain forests, or mountains in Tibet. She hadn’t travelled, not like Celeste, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t interested in the world around her, didn’t mean she wouldn’t like to see the kinds of sights Celeste had seen. It was more to do with opportunity than inclination.

She said this to Marshall as they scampered back across the grounds to the yurt. ‘I mean, I would like to travel,’ she said, peeping at him from under her hood. She’d borrowed each of them an anorak from the boot room. Hers was post-box red, Marshall’s battleship grey. Like the sky.

‘What’s brought all this on?’

‘Nothing.’ Flora reached the trees first and relaxed a little.

‘Something has,’ Marshall said, shaking off his hood. ‘You’ve never talked about travelling before.’

‘Oh, just something Celeste said.’

She heard Marshall swear under his breath and felt the tension rise again in her belly. But before she could think of a response, Vincenzo appeared in the clearing in front of them. He was wearing his motorcycle helmet, presumably because of the rain, and had a super-sized blue sports bag slung across his broad shoulders. When he saw them he stopped and lifted his visor.

‘Hello. Enjoying the weather?’

‘Not much,’ Flora said. She gestured to the bag. ‘Are you leaving?’ In fact, she didn’t think he was allowed to leave. Jack had said as much to them yesterday – he was worried about the members of Rojo Productions trying to get back to Spain.

‘No,’ Vincenzo said. ‘Not leaving.’ The lower part of his face was covered by the helmet, but Flora could see his unusual eyes quite clearly. He seemed to be struggling to think of what to say.

‘Well, I suppose we should –’

‘I am moving into the house,’ Vincenzo said, interrupting her. He said this to Marshall, primarily. He set the bag down on the damp ground and threw back his shoulders. He seemed to be priming himself for some sort of adverse reaction. ‘With Raquel.’

‘Oh.’ It was all Flora could think of to say.

‘Is too wet out here.’ Vincenzo pointed towards the yurts. His was on the other side of a bank of trees, and Flora hadn’t thought much about him being out there on his own. Although, judging by this latest turn of events, it didn’t seem likely he’d been on his own very much.

‘Well, don’t let us stop you.’ Marshall pulled his hood back up and took Flora’s hand, practically pulling her out of the clearing.

‘Can you believe that? The bare-faced nerve of the man.’ As soon as they entered the yurt, Marshall let go of her hand and whirled around, his face a picture of outrage.

‘Oh, come on. I admit it’s a bit brazen – and a bit soon – but everyone knows they’re together. Why bother sneaking around?’

‘Sometimes, Flora, I wonder about your morals.’

Flora looked up, a sharp stab of hurt in her chest. But Marshall was grinning at her. She picked up the nearest cushion and threw it, hitting him on the head.

‘Fine, wind me up. I don’t care. But I tell you what, the next time you get arrested, don’t come crying to me.’

‘As long as I get arrested by one of your admirers, I won’t have to worry. You can just flutter your eyelashes again and get me off.’

‘I did not flutter my eyelashes! I had evidence …’ She tailed off, seeing his mischievous expression. Every time. She fell for it every time.

‘Listen.’ She sat on the bed and began to pull off her wet shoes. ‘I’ve been trying to get my head around this Alberto thing.’

‘And you need my help, right?’

She fixed him with a steely look. ‘I need you to shut up and be a warm body I can talk at for five minutes, so I can get this straight. You don’t have to
do
anything.’

‘I can do that,’ he said. He winked. ‘Warm body, the lot.’

Flora grabbed some socks from her pile of clothes and took a deep breath. ‘So, Alberto is in his room. Someone comes in, probably is invited in, and is probably someone he knows.’

‘Based on the fact of two drinks and the bottle of whisky,’ Marshall put in.

‘Can you shut up? But yes, based on that. They have a drink … Hold on, you didn’t have a drink with him, did you?’

Marshall gave her a look. ‘I went there to warn him off you, not to toast his good health.’

‘Right. Fine. So they have a drink, and then his visitor gets out the sword that he –’

‘Or she.’ Marshall shrugged. ‘You’re the one who’s always banging on about equality.’

Flora nodded, her heart sinking a little. ‘You’re quite right. Gets out the sword that he
or she
has been hiding, although I guess they’d have to have had the sword in a bag or something, and then stabs him with it.’ She paused, looking out of the open doorway to the trees beyond. The rain was like percussion on the roof. ‘Then, the murderer grabs the Infanta Tiara and opens the balcony doors, but unless they’re some kind of athlete, they don’t leave that way. They leave the way they came in.’

‘How come?’

‘No footprints in the flowerbeds below the room, no ladder marks.’

Marshall looked impressed. ‘But maybe they had a rope, tied it to the balcony, shimmied down, then –’

‘Shimmied?’ Flora grinned. ‘So who untied it? There was no rope hanging off the balcony. No, the murderer did the balcony thing as a feint, I’m sure of it. So, he – or she – leaves, and then a little while later Raquel enters the room and finds her husband’s body.’

‘With you close behind.’

Flora shuddered at the memory. ‘She was so shocked, Marshall. I can’t believe she faked that. Actress or not, it just felt real.’

‘She stands to gain a lot, doesn’t she? Money, a younger lover …’

‘But she had all that anyway. She had Vincenzo whenever she wanted him, and plenty of money.’