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

‘Marshall.’ Flora put her hand to her mouth. ‘Marshall, that woman … that’s Celeste.’

***

‘Celeste, are you okay?’

As soon as Marshall managed to force open the French windows, Flora raced out. The woman didn’t respond or even look Flora’s way. She pushed the short man hard on the chest and he fell, landing on his rear on the manicured lawn.

‘Celeste!’ Flora called out again. The woman looked at her and stared for a moment, then glanced down at the man on the ground.

‘Get up,’ she hissed at him, just as Flora reached her side.

‘I saw you through the window. Are you alright?’

Celeste laughed and turned away from the man, who was being helped to his feet by Marshall. ‘Flora! I can’t believe it, look at you. And you’re here already, early of course. You always were the early bird.’

Flora’s heart was pounding. ‘Are you okay? What’s going on?’

Celeste didn’t answer. She looked Flora up and down, then nodded. ‘Well, don’t you look just so cute. Cute as a button with your red hair and that pixie crop. Gamine, is that the look you were going for?’ She flicked back her long hair so it fell behind her shoulders, then she turned to the man, who was brushing grass off his backside. ‘Alberto, this is Flora Lively. My great friend from England. Flora, this is Alberto Caro, the director of Rojo Producciones.’

Flora smiled automatically, widening her eyes at her friend’s impressive Spanish pronunciation. Alberto Caro didn’t seem at all embarrassed by the awkward situation – he bent low from the waist to kiss Flora’s hand, beaming all the while.

‘Is lovely to meet you, Flora Lively,’ he said. He pronounced her surname Live-eh-lay, and his English was clearly very good. The sun glinted off his head, and his eyes were mischievous, crinkled at the corners. He wore a grey waistcoat over a white T-shirt – the bottom two or three buttons undone to make room for that stomach – and low-slung black trousers. A tomato-coloured handkerchief poked out of his waistcoat pocket. He was shorter even than Flora.

Flora said hello, then turned back to Celeste, a question on her lips. But Celeste was looking at Marshall, whose expression, Flora was dismayed to see, remained typically unimpressed.

It was time to make the introductions she had been dreading.

‘Celeste, this is Marshall Goodman. Marshall, Celeste.’

Her friend held out her hand, palm down, perhaps expecting Marshall to kiss it the way Alberto had kissed Flora’s. But Marshall was no Spanish charmer; he gave Celeste’s hand a cursory shake then came to stand behind Flora’s back. Flora sighed. This job was going to be just as difficult as she’d expected, that was pretty clear.

‘Ah, you found each other.’

Sidney joined them on the lawn, now wearing spotless white gloves and carrying a starched white cloth over his suited arm. He announced that lunch would be served in the dining room in fifteen minutes, bowed a little, then backed away. Flora tipped her head and smiled at Marshall. He would be getting a real kick out of this English butler thing, she just knew it.

‘That’s perfect,’ Celeste said, linking arms with Flora. She began to lead her back towards the house. ‘Gives us girls time for a quick catch up. Sidney, would you show Morgan where he’ll be staying? I’m sure he wants to freshen up before lunch.’

‘It’s Marshall,’ Flora corrected quickly.

‘Whatever. Wait till you see my room, Flora. The view from the balcony is to die for.’

Flora threw Marshall a helpless look over her shoulder, but his darkening expression didn’t register a response. Oh well, perhaps he would be in a better mood after he’d unpacked and had a bit of time to himself. And he did need to freshen up, as Celeste had put it, although it hadn’t been very tactful of her to say so. She watched Marshall and Sidney cross the lawn. They were walking away from the house, not towards it.

‘Where is he taking Marshall?’ she said. ‘Is there an accommodation block over there?’

‘Kind of. Now, let me look at you again.’ Celeste stood back, holding Flora at arm’s length, her fingers gripping her shoulders. ‘Well, you don’t look too bad. A little thin, as usual, and still the same old Flora when it comes to personal grooming, right? Still a stranger to a bit of make-up and the odd manicure. Still preferring these hobo clothes to proper designer gear.’

Flora laughed. ‘Right. And you’re still milking the long blonde hair and blue eyes vibe. Looks like it’s not doing too badly for you.’

‘You mean the acting job?’ Celeste held a door open and waved Flora into the manor house. They were in a sort of boot room, with high-backed wooden benches lining the walls and racks for hats and coats and wellingtons. Celeste strode across the flagstones and Flora trotted to keep up. ‘I’ve landed on my feet, no denying it. Although Alberto … Well, he’s a pig. You saw what happened just then.’

‘I saw you push him over, yeah.’

‘Only after he hit me! You did see that, didn’t you? Don’t be coy – I can tell when you’re freaked out. Okay, it’s complicated, but I’ll explain later. First of all, tell me your news.’

In the time it took them to mount the curving staircase, Flora did as instructed, filling Celeste in on the sale of her parents’ bungalow, the purchase of her flat in Shrewsbury’s town centre, and her failure to extricate herself from Shakers Removals just yet.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t around when your folks died, Flora. I got your letter, it caught up with me eventually in Australia, but it was impossible for me to get back to England. You do understand, don’t you?’

Flora said she did. Celeste stopped outside a white panelled door and rested her hand on the ornate handle. She regarded Flora for a moment, then said, ‘You ever think about tracking down your real parents? You know, now your adopted ones are gone.’

It wasn’t that Flora was shocked exactly – Celeste had never been what you’d call tactful, or even sensitive – but for a moment or two she couldn’t respond. She felt dislocated, as though the long carpeted corridor was carrying Celeste away on some kind of conveyor belt. Then she felt her friend’s hand on her arm.

‘Sorry. I did it again, didn’t I? Oh, Lord, will I ever learn?’ Celeste opened the door to her room and shepherded Flora inside. ‘It’s just like when we were at university – I open my big mouth and upset you, and then you go all quiet and sad and I feel like a complete cow.’

‘Really,’ Flora said, with effort, ‘it’s fine. And no, actually, I’ve never thought about tracking down my birth parents.’ She made sure to correct Celeste’s terminology, but was doubtful that her friend would pick up on it.

‘Okay, gotcha. Will never mention it again. Drink? There’s a minibar.’

Flora glanced at the clock on the mantel. ‘It’s ten to one. Bit early.’

‘Not in the film industry. You’ll see – they’ll just be getting started.’

‘I’m looking forward to meeting everyone.’ Flora sat on the end of a bed at least as wide as it was long.

‘Ha! They’re a motley crew. Well, all but one of them …’ Celeste’s eyes narrowed just a fraction and she smiled. Flora jumped to her feet.

‘I recognise that look,’ she said with a grin. ‘This will be the hunky new boyfriend you mentioned on the phone, right? What’s his name again?’

‘Eduardo,’ Celeste said, rolling her lips over each syllable.

‘And? Come on, don’t hold out on me. How did you meet him?’

Celeste walked over to the dresser and regarded herself in the mirror. ‘He’s an actor, natch. We met in Mexico. He’s Spanish, was already working with Alberto, told me there was a part going in their new production. That was it, pretty much.’

‘Wow. After all that extras work you did, I knew you’d hit the big time one day.’

‘Those were crap roles,’ Celeste said. She tilted her head and met Flora’s reflected eyes. ‘This is the real thing. An actual film. Okay, it’s only small fry, but Alberto has pedigree. Of a kind,’ she added, back to looking at herself. She picked up a lipstick and applied it, finishing off by putting her index finger in her mouth and sucking. ‘Gets any stray lippy off your teeth,’ she explained to Flora. ‘An old modelling trick.’

‘Tell me more about the film,’ Flora said, bouncing back down onto the bed. She smoothed out the grey satin bedspread, admiring its quilted design. It looked vintage, the kind of fabric you couldn’t buy anymore. ‘Hey, I hope my room looks like this one. This house is really cool.’

‘If you like faded grandeur,’ Celeste said with a grimace. Flora smiled. She loved faded grandeur, but knew Celeste couldn’t see the charm. Her friend poured herself a gin and tonic from the minibar, then sat on the bed and crossed her long legs.

‘So you want to hear all about
Una Cita con la Muerte
?’

‘Come again?’

‘It’s the name of the film we’re shooting. In Spanish, of course.
A Date With Death.
Nick says it’s going to be a big hit in Cannes next year.’

‘Nick?’

‘Gibson. He’s our producer and money man. You’ll meet him later. He and Alberto hate each other, but then everyone hates Alberto, even his wife.’ Celeste roared with laughter, spilling her gin and tonic on the quilt. Flora jumped up to get a cloth, but Celeste waved her down. ‘Leave it, the staff will clear it up. I’m sure they’ve seen far worse. This place has been used as a location for tons of films. Even Bollywood stuff, apparently.’

Flora ignored her and fetched a wet flannel from the en suite bathroom. She mopped up the stain as best she could, then looked again at the clock. ‘Shall we go down to eat now? It’s after one.’

Until that point, Celeste had been jiggling her foot, or tapping her fingernails on the side of her glass, or fluffing out her hair. Now she became quite still. She looked at her drink, then said, in a tone that struck Flora as falsely bright, ‘Hey, let’s us girls have lunch up here. Doesn’t that sound like fun?’

‘Well, yes, but –’

‘I’ll ring for Sidney and tell him to bring up a plate of something. Hold on.’

‘But what about Marshall? He’ll be expecting me to go in for lunch with him. He doesn’t know anyone here.’

‘Sure he does. He’s met Alberto, and he seems the type to fit right in wherever he goes.’

Flora tipped her head to meet her friend’s eyes. ‘Are you being funny, Celeste? Because if you are –’

‘No! Of course not. I just meant, he’s American. And Americans are really friendly, aren’t they? Nice people. Warm.’

‘Yes,’ Flora said. She looked across the room to the door that led out onto the balcony. From her position on the bed all she could see was the relentless blue sky. ‘He is friendly,’ she said. ‘But even so, I’m not sure he’d appreciate being left on his own.’ But Celeste wasn’t listening – she was talking on the phone, ordering smoked salmon sandwiches and a bottle of Champagne and ‘Some of those little egg things we had yesterday.’

‘Champagne?’ Flora asked when Celeste had finished putting in her order.

‘Well, I’m celebrating, even if you’re not. Best friends, reunited after two years apart – isn’t that a cause for celebration?’

‘Of course it is.’ Flora got up and held out her arms for a hug. ‘I’m sure I’ve missed you more than you’ve missed me. After all, I’ve been here in boring old England. You’re the one who’s been travelling the world.’

Celeste allowed herself to be held, patting Flora on the back with one hand, then she sat on the dressing table stool, this time facing Flora.

‘So, what’s going on with you and this Martin bloke?’

‘Are you doing that on purpose?’

‘Okay, sorry. Marshall. What kind of a name is that, anyway?’

Flora shrugged. ‘An American one, I guess.’

‘“I guess”,’ Celeste mimicked. ‘You’re even picking up the accent. Do you spend a lot of time with him? I thought he was the hired help.’

‘He is. I mean, he’s Shakers’ manager. You know all this, I explained it on the phone.’

‘Right. But you told me last year – you said in that letter I got – that you didn’t like him and you were going to get rid of him.’ Celeste’s eyes narrowed. ‘Doesn’t look so much that way now.’

Flora said nothing. In fact, she was surprised Celeste had picked up so much from such a short exchange. She decided to change the subject.

‘Tell me more about Eduardo. Is he gorgeous?’

Celeste shook her head. ‘Not falling for that old one. Marshall first, then Eduardo. Are you sleeping with him?’

‘No!’ Flora felt her face grow warm. ‘No, I’m not. I’m his boss, for goodness sake.’

‘Sorry, Mrs Prim. He’s hot, though. In a rough, downbeat way. And he clearly likes you.’

‘You think so?’

‘Okay, so you just blushed when you said “you think so”, so I know you like him. You always were crap at keeping your feelings to yourself.’

Flora laughed, relieved to hear a knock on the door. Sidney wheeled in a covered trolley, then went back out for the Champagne bucket and stand. He set them both by the window, and arranged a straight-backed chair on either side.

‘The gentleman you arrived with said he would meet you in an hour at the Nook,’ Sidney told Flora.

Flora nodded and gave him a solemn smile. She found the older man’s formality a little uncomfortable. As soon as the butler had gone, she turned to Celeste. ‘The Nook?’

‘Sure, it’s where you and Marshall are staying. It’s cute –
real
cute, as your American would no doubt say. You’ll love it.’

‘Hold on.’ There were so many things wrong with this, Flora didn’t know where to start. ‘Marshall and I are staying in the same room?’

‘Well, it’s not a room, exactly …’

‘And it’s not in the main house? What is it, some kind of annexe?’

Celeste gave her shoulders a tiny, uninterested shrug. ‘Hanley Manor isn’t a proper hotel. They do weddings, and they put up film crews, natch. But there are only a few guest rooms in the main house because it’s still used as a family home for some of the year. Vinny’s staying in the grounds too.’

‘In the grounds?’ Flora was standing now, holding a limp sandwich in her hand. ‘And who the hell is Vinny? Is he sleeping with Marshall and me as well?’

‘You wish.’ Celeste threw herself back on the bed, laughing delightedly. ‘Vinny is pretty hot, but I think you’d have competition from Alberto’s wife.’