Bloody Royal Prints (23 page)

Maybe she should start with Stephanie. Heyward's clinic was bound to be expensive. Maybe Heyward would let her pay Stephanie's way? There had to be something she could do for the poor girl. Like Dinah, she was ashamed of the way she had thought about Stephanie. She'd discuss her with Heyward tomorrow. Between them, they would come up with a plan to help Stephanie.

Saturday night, May, the London Eye

When Tony arrived at seven to pick up Coleman, the first question he asked was about Dolly.

“How is she?”

“Fine,” Coleman said. “Heyward volunteered to keep her tonight. She knows him well. Dolly and I share an office with him in New York.”

“Good. I don't want you worrying about her tonight. Let's go.”

Tony introduced the young man sitting in the back seat as Paul, who, he said, helped him with all kinds of things. “He'll be our butler on the London Eye,” he explained.

“Do we need a butler?” Coleman said.

Tony laughed. “Yes, we do. The management of the London Eye insists. If we don't take our own, they'll give us a stranger. Now, let me tell you what's going to happen. When we get to the Eye, we're going first to the 4D experience.”

“What is it?” Coleman asked.

“You pick up 3D glasses on entry and you see a film.”

“What makes it 4D?” she asked. “I've never even heard of 4D.”

“This is what management says: ‘The following special effects are used in the 4D Cinema Experience: fog, bubbles, wind, snow, strobe lighting, and vibrating flooring. There are no words, and the images are set to the music of two popular bands,
Coldplay
and Goldfrapp.'

“The film is about a little girl who visits London with her father. She wants to be higher to get a better view, so they come to the London Eye. She imagines what it would be like to see London from a bird's eye view, so the film gives us 3D aerial footage of London at different times of year—
Chinese New Year
,
New Year's Eve
, and so on.”

“I know about 3D,” Coleman said. “What makes it 4D?”

“Stimulation for your other senses, not just your eyesight,” said Tony. “They put dry ice around the seats so you feel cold when the screen shows scenes of winter. It snows and rains in the theater when it snows and rains on the screen. When the fireworks go off, you can smell them.”

“I'm not sure I want to be rained on,” said Coleman.

“We have a private capsule, and I've brought shawls and sweaters,” Tony said. “The Eye won't let you bring food, but they'll supply it. Here's your picnic.” He read from a card: “Tiny elegant sandwiches on specialty breads, including tomato and herb, spinach, brioche, and wholemeal. Fillings include lobster salad, truffled chicken, burrata, with heirloom tomato and pesto, Cornish crab with watercress mousseline, and classic cucumber and cream cheese. A special order of lemonade and hot chocolate for you, and champagne for me and Paul.”

“Goodness! I must be dreaming,” Coleman said.

“I'm doing my best to make your London dreams come true,” he said.

“So far, you're doing better than my dreams,” she said.

•••

In fact, the experience was far more delightful than she had imagined: high up in the air, the dark blue sky scattered with stars, the blue lights of the Eye, the lights of London below. Tony pointed out sights, saw that she was thoroughly wrapped in cashmere, and served her tea sandwiches and hot chocolate.

•••

Back at Heyward's late that night, Coleman and Tony stood in the foyer to say goodnight.

“It was a perfect evening. I didn't want it to end,” Coleman said.

“Good,” he said. He kissed her hand, then very lightly, her mouth.

“I've arranged the hedgehogs and the badgers for tomorrow night,” he said. “You'll see some bluebells, but not very well—it will be too dark. We'll make a daytime trip to another place to give you a better bluebell view. I'm working on the nightingale. We'll have to go out of London to get it. We'll go on Tuesday, if that suits you?”

“Of course. I can hardly wait.” Coleman, still dazzled by the London Eye experience, couldn't believe it. “No! Really? You'll have to tell me how you arranged the hedgehogs and the badgers. Didn't they object?”

He laughed. “No, not when I told them it was for you. Dress warmly, wear walking shoes, take gloves. I'll pick you up at six. We'll have an hour's drive to the place where we'll see the animals. We'll go to a pub for a meal later—I think you told me you've never been to one? There's a very good one near where we'll see the animals.”

“Sounds like a great evening,” she said.

“What are you going to do all day tomorrow?” he asked.

“Maybe shop a little. Buy some books. Write in my diary everything about the Eye. Worry about poor Rachel's problems,” she said.

“Be careful,” he said. “I'll see you tomorrow at six. When I come I'll have a surprise for Dolly.”

•••

Coleman knocked on Heyward's door. “It's me,” she said.

Dolly made a small hello noise, and Heyward said, “Come in.”

Dolly ran to greet her, and Coleman leaned over to pick her up.

“I don't have to ask whether you had a good time. You're glowing.”

“It was the best night of my life,” Coleman said.

“I bet you'll have even better nights,” he said. “Sleep well.”

•••

Coleman lay in bed, reliving the evening. Tony had said she was an unusual woman. He was unique in her experience. He seemed to think only of her wishes, her comfort, making sure she had a wonderful time. No grabs, no pushiness, no demands. She was sure he'd had more than enough of the Eye long before he met her, but he hadn't ruined the experience for her by acting bored, or talking about something else when she was trying to absorb everything.

Would he be as considerate, kind, and gentle as a lover? Or if they became lovers, would he turn possessive and demanding, like all the other men she had known?

“Dolly, I'm thinking like a schoolgirl. One date and I'm worrying about what kind of lover he would be. He hasn't even hinted that he feels that way about me. Rob was always all over me, wanting to possess me, send me to the suburbs . . . so much so I had to break off our relationship. I knew as soon as I met Jeb that we'd be in bed that night if I didn't put on the brakes.”

She sighed. “Tony is the nicest man I ever met, and one of the best-looking. Could he be gay? Or is he just being nice to me because he's a friend of Heyward's? What a fool I am, lying here fretting. What will be, will be. I'll know soon enough.”

Sunday, May, London

The telephone woke Rachel a little before seven. Who would call her so early? She reached for the phone, and was not altogether surprised to hear Julia. She was talking so fast Rachel at first couldn't understand a word she said.

“Slow down,” Rachel said. “Say it again?”

“Stephanie,” Julia said. “She's been murdered.”

“What?” Rachel said. “How—why? Where?”

Julia couldn't seem to explain. She sounded rattled, couldn't pull herself together.

“Shall I come over there?” Rachel asked.

“No,” Julia said. “No, it's chaos. Don't come, but I had to let you know. I expect the police will want to ask you some questions. You saw her yesterday, didn't you?”

“I did,” Rachel said, not asking how Julia knew this. The Little Palace was a gossip center. “I sent her home with Isobel Strange. She was upset, but she seemed glad to go. Are they sure it's murder? Who would want to kill that poor creature?”

Julia said, “I don't know, I don't
know
! I don't—I can't—I'll call you later.”

It was too early for Rachel to call Heyward, or her solicitor. But going back to sleep was impossible. The girl she had sworn to help was dead. Rachel could do nothing for her now. Rachel's guilt would never vanish.

Sunday morning, May, London

Coleman was deeply asleep and dreaming about Tony and the Eye when she heard knocking on her bedroom door. She was slow to wake, until she heard Heyward's voice: “Coleman, I need to speak to you right away.”

She called, “Come in,” and he entered, followed by Mrs. Carter with a tray of coffee and orange juice. The housekeeper set the tray down on the table near the door, and disappeared. Heyward poured Coleman a cup of coffee and handed it to her.

“I have to tell you something terrible. I thought it best to tell you right away: Princess Stephanie was murdered last night.”

Coleman sat up, and took a swallow of coffee. She had to wake up, she had to give Heyward her full attention. This was awful news. Heyward, normally so calm and cheerful, looked distressed. “What happened?” she asked.

“The usual: heroin overdose at the Little Palace. It's time for me to give you some background. We—a number of us concerned with the drug problem in London—have known for some time that Stephanie sold drugs. She had a very active social life, and knew many drug users. She went everywhere, and she was very successful at what she did, but she couldn't have been the brains of the outfit. Someone was telling her what to do.

“We hoped to learn from her who her boss or bosses were, but she wouldn't talk to us. We think she was too afraid of the people she reported to to tell us anything. Jeb was in London assisting me with some of my projects. I suggested he would be a good person to get information from her: attractive, charming, unknown in London, and able to pose as a wealthy catch. I couldn't tell you about it; we were all sworn to secrecy. I'm sorry the subterfuge made you think badly of Jeb. His association with Stephanie was very hard work.”

Coleman listened attentively, but she didn't comment. She wasn't sure Jeb saw his time with Stephanie as work. She had seen the way he looked at Stephanie. He had looked at Coleman that way during their brief association.

“Stephanie wasn't about to confess, nor was she telling Jeb anything useful,” Heyward continued. “Her behavior became more and more erratic. We feared her bosses might see her as a loose cannon and kill her to prevent their exposure. We saw her breakdown as an opportunity to put her in the clinic where we could help and protect her. As you know, she was to go to the clinic this morning, but someone made sure she didn't get there.”

“How terrible,” Coleman said. “What now?”

“Only a few people knew she was going to the clinic. Unfortunately, one of them was Rachel. I'm afraid poor Rachel will continue to be a suspect. I'd hoped we could get her off the list, but that was not to be. There's a lot to cover, and I want to discuss everything with you. Why don't you get dressed and come downstairs? We'll have some breakfast and decide what to do next.”

Coleman took a shower, and pulled on her black jeans, a black turtleneck, and flats. She'd considered a brighter outfit, which might lift her dark mood, but rejected it. She felt the need for some kind of mourning for that poor foolish girl. She took Dolly downstairs and let her out in the garden.

Heyward was waiting for her at the dining room door. They went into the room together, and sat down at the table in their usual places: Heyward at the head, Coleman on his right. A maid whose name Coleman didn't know came in and poured coffee, and waited silently by the table for their orders.

“What would you like?” Heyward asked Coleman.

“Just a muffin, blueberry if there are any, but anything will do,” she said.

Heyward ordered dry toast and scrambled eggs. When the maid left the room, he turned to Coleman. “Tony called early this morning with messages for you: He said he'd hoped to see you today—to take you to lunch, or tea, but something has come up and he may not be able to, but he'll call later. I suspect that what came up is Stephanie's death. He left a package for you. I brought it in here—here it is.” He handed her a small package wrapped in green paper.

“He also said he'll pick you up tonight at six. It's ‘hedgehogs and badgers'—does that make sense to you? And the nightingale is set for Tuesday.”

“Oh, yes, that's all great news—things I'm really looking forward to. They'll cheer me up,” Coleman said. “That poor girl's death is so depressing. How old was she?”

“I don't think anyone knows. She may not have known her own age. Maybe twenty-something? About her death: as I said, only a few people knew she was going to the clinic today. I'm sure that's why she was killed. Once she was in there, we could protect her. They'd have no control over her, and she'd probably talk to us. You, Dinah, and Rachel knew she was going to the clinic, and—what's her name?” Heyward asked.

“Isobel Strange. She says she's known Stephanie since she was a child. They were in a group home together. She accompanied Stephanie to the Little Palace yesterday. Rachel said Isobel was devoted to Stephanie—that's why Rachel called her to come over when Stephanie was hysterical. It's hard to believe she would harm Stephanie. Anyway, I'd bet everyone in the Little Palace knew Stephanie was there. She was making such a fuss at Rachel's. I'm sure she was still making a scene when she arrived at her destination,” Coleman said. “Where was she killed?”

“Her body was on her bed. The policemen I spoke to said she looked as if she was asleep. The police have interviewed everyone in the Little Palace, and they have no suspects except Julia—Lady Fitzgerald—and Rachel. The only new information they've discovered is Roberto what's-his-name's will. He, too, left everything to Stephanie. She died well-to-do,” he said.

“That's sad in a way—she was so poor all her life, when she could have enjoyed the money. Who inherits it?” Coleman asked.