CHAPTER 2 #3
Then a familiar voice behind her said, “You always look guilty when you’re about to do something you’ve decided is reasonable.”
Romy turned.
Ellis stood at the end of the corridor.
For one absurd second, relief came before irritation.
That was new.
She disliked it immediately.
“What are you doing here?”
“I hate events where people explain chairs to me.”
“That sounds like this event.”
“I was promised food.”
Romy looked at the untouched drink in his hand.
“And?”
“Tiny pastry. Excellent. No idea what was in it.”
“Mushroom.”
“That explains the mushroom.”
During the Marchmont case, conversations with Ellis had usually begun with one of them accusing the other of withholding information. Now he was making bad observations about pastry.
That was more destabilizing.
His gaze shifted to the closed Blue Study door.
“What are you doing?”
“Working.”
“That answer used to mean trouble.”
“It still means work.”
“Progress.”
She should have been annoyed.
Instead she smiled.
Barely.
Ellis noticed.
Of course he did.
Before either could make the moment worse, applause rose outside.
Romy looked toward the garden doors.
“Marcus.”
They joined the movement toward the courtyard.
Marcus Fenn stood on the shallow stone steps with a microphone in one hand and a glass in the other.
He had changed nothing about his appearance.
No plate-warmer.
No folded felt.
Romy checked the time.
7:05.
Right on schedule.
The courtyard was packed.
Marcus thanked the trust, praised the designers, joked about rescuing objects from people who called them rubbish, and managed to mention Fenn Found twice without making either reference sound like advertising.
People liked him.
Romy understood why.
He was warm without seeming needy, confident without Sebastian’s taste for punishment.
By 7:11, he had the councillor laughing.
By 7:14, he had offered a set of reclaimed garden urns for next year’s fundraiser.
By 7:17, Romy had almost convinced herself the earlier tension had been ordinary preview-night vanity.
Almost.
Then she found Adrian near the courtyard doors.
“Were you checking the rear exit at six forty-eight?”
He looked annoyed.
“I told you I was.”
“You told me you weren’t near the Blue Study.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You used the service door beside it.”
“No.”
His answer came too quickly again.
Ellis was close enough to hear.
Romy saw that he had.
Adrian saw it too.
“Is there a problem?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Romy said.
Adrian walked away.
Ellis waited until he was gone.
“Want to tell me why you’re timing people?”
“I’m not.”
“You just quoted a minute.”
“I work from photographs.”
“That sentence is exactly why I ask.”
Romy ignored him.
At seven twenty-three, the guests moved back inside.
Sebastian was not among them.
Celeste was.
She stood near the Blue Study doorway speaking to Frances Wynn, face composed and voice low.
When she saw Romy, she broke off.
“Where is he?”
“Sebastian?”
“Who else?”
“I thought he was in your room.”
Celeste’s eyes narrowed.
“My room has been closed since the speeches started.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t close it.”
Romy looked at the door.
Still shut.
“Did Sebastian come out?”
“I didn’t see him.”
Frances lifted her phone.
“I thought he left.”
“Why?” Romy asked.
“He wasn’t in the courtyard.”
That was true.
Marcus had been visible to nearly everyone from 7:05 onward.
Sebastian had not.
A photographer asked Celeste if he could get a clean shot of the Blue Study before the next group came through.
“Give me five minutes,” she said.
She turned to Romy.
“If Sebastian is inside sulking, remove him.”
“I’m not security.”
“He likes you more than he likes me.”
“He has known me twenty minutes.”
“Exactly.”
Leo joined them.
“I checked the stair rail.”
Romy looked at him.
“No drinks?”
“One.”
“Casualty?”
“White wine. Contained.”
She glanced at his camera.
“Keep that with you.”
His expression changed.
“Why?”
“No reason yet.”
At seven thirty-two, the quartet stopped for a break.
Without the music, Asterleigh seemed louder.
Shoes on timber. Glass against glass. Laughter from the dining room. Somebody arguing softly about wallpaper.
Romy looked again at the Blue Study door.
The whole evening seemed to have moved around that room while she had been busy watching everyone outside it.
Sebastian’s reaction.
Celeste’s fury.
Vivian’s warning.
Adrian’s key.
Marcus carrying the plate-warmer and felt into the service corridor.
The message on Sebastian’s phone.
His notebook.
The closed door.
None of it formed a pattern yet.
That was good.
Patterns formed too quickly were usually traps.
At seven thirty-five, Celeste was pulled away by a sponsor demanding to meet the florist.
The photographer returned carrying two cameras and the optimism of a man who still believed five minutes meant five minutes.
“Blue Study clear?”
Romy looked toward the door.
“I’m not sure.”
“I only need sixty seconds.”
He reached for the handle.
Romy almost told him to wait.
Later, she would remember that.
The tiny hesitation.
His fingers closing around the brass lever.
The click of the latch.
The door opening inward.
The photographer took one step into the Blue Study.
Then he screamed.
Romy was moving before the sound finished.