CHAPTER 6
BAD REVIEWS
“That brass thing in Marcus’s hands was in the room when Sebastian died.”
Leo’s finger stayed against the enlarged photograph.
Romy looked at the brass plate-warmer, then at the folded burgundy felt over Marcus Fenn’s arm.
At 6:52, Marcus had carried both toward the Blue Study service corridor.
At 6:57, Sebastian had entered.
At 7:01, Sophie Trent had seen him alive.
At 7:03, he had messaged Vivian Cross that he had found the real story.
By 7:05, Marcus was publicly visible in the courtyard.
By 7:36, Sebastian was dead.
Romy closed the photograph.
Leo looked startled. “That’s it?”
“You’re closing it.”
“Yes.”
“We just worked out that Marcus carried something into the room that might matter.”
“We worked out that he carried it toward the room.”
“And Ellis practically confirmed it was recovered inside.”
“Practically is not evidence.”
Leo sat back. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Killing the satisfying version.”
“Good investigations are mostly the murder of satisfying versions.”
“That should be on the office wall.”
“No.”
Romy took both mugs to the kitchen.
Marcus bothered her. So did the felt and plate-warmer. But Sebastian had been alive after Marcus’s private window had almost closed, and she still did not know what produced the carbon monoxide, when the transfer grille was blocked, or whether the plate-warmer mattered.
A man could carry an object into a room shortly before a death and still be innocent.
When she returned with fresh tea, Leo had reopened the timeline.
“Where now?”
“Motive.”
“We have Celeste.”
“We have conflict.”
“She called Sebastian vicious in front of half the preview.”
“That is not murder.”
“He was about to accuse her of stealing another designer’s work.”
“That might be motive.”
Leo brightened. “So Celeste.”
“No.”
His expression fell.
“We find out who Sebastian threatened recently, who stood to lose something, and whether any of them had access to Asterleigh.”
“That sounds much wider.”
“It is.”
“I preferred Marcus.”
“Most people prefer one suspect.”
“Why?”
“Less work.”
Her phone buzzed.
Nina.
Romy answered. “Tell me you have good news.”
“I have cake.”
“That is good news.”
“I also have three people in my pub discussing Sebastian Pryce as if they personally attended his autopsy.”
“That is less good.”
“Depends how useful you find gossip.”
Leo was already reaching for his jacket.
“If you want the last month of Sebastian’s enemies, The Fig & Thistle is currently operating as an unauthorized archive.”
“Half an hour.”
“Bring Leo. He owes me for those chips he stole in July.”
Leo mouthed, I paid.
Romy said, “He claims innocence.”
“He would.”
At eleven forty-five, The Fig & Thistle held three occupied tables: two Show House volunteers and a florist, a local property developer pretending not to listen, and a woman Romy recognized from a design magazine with a man wearing a scarf indoors.
Nina stood behind the bar.
“You’re late.”
“It has been twenty-eight minutes.”
“Emotionally late.”
Leo pointed at the cake stand. “Is that lemon drizzle?”
“You have excellent instincts.”
“He is on placement,” Romy said. “Don’t encourage him.”
Nina cut two pieces anyway.
“Right,” she said. “Sebastian.”
Romy glanced toward the tables.
“They’ve already said worse than anything I’m about to tell you.”
“What are they saying?”
“That Celeste killed him.”
Leo nearly choked.
“Why?” Romy asked.
“Because he humiliated her publicly, because he was preparing something nasty about her, and because half the industry apparently knew she was terrified of it.”
“What exactly was he preparing?”
“One version says plagiarism. Another says professional appropriation. Another says she stole an entire hotel concept from an assistant and built her career on it.”
“Sophie?”
Nina’s eyes sharpened. “You already know.”
“Know what?”
“That Sophie Trent worked for Celeste.”
Romy stared. “No.”
“There we are.”
Leo sat straighter. “How long?”
“Nearly three years. Left eighteen months ago.”
“Why?”
“Officially? Creative differences.”
“And unofficially?”
“According to the designer drinking pinot at table three, Sophie resigned after Celeste presented a textile-led hotel suite as entirely her own work.”
“Reliable?”
“No,” Nina said. “But informed.”
Leo asked, “Did Sebastian know?”
“Apparently he’d been calling former Arden staff for weeks.”
Romy thought of the notebook and Sebastian’s message to Vivian.
Found the real story.
“Who else?”
“Hugo Bell.”
Romy knew the name. Hugo had designed Asterleigh’s Green Salon.
“What about him?”
“Sebastian destroyed him last year.”
“Destroyed?”
“Don’t become literal.”
“What did he write?”
The woman at table three turned. “I remember.”
Nina looked at her. “Of course you do, Clara.”
Clara Jessop wrote for House & Line.
“Sebastian reviewed Hugo’s Carden Street hotel,” Clara said. “Called the work derivative, overfurnished, and visually insecure.”
Leo winced. “That bad?”
“That was the gentle section.”
“What happened afterward?” Romy asked.
“Hugo lost a second hotel commission. Then a restaurant. Two staff left when he cut salaries.”
“Because of one review?”
“Not solely. But Sebastian’s review became the quote everyone repeated.”
Nina said, “Humiliation has legs.”
Romy looked at her.
“You keep trying to find the cleverest motive,” Nina said.
“I’m trying to find the strongest.”
“No. You’re trying to find the one with machinery. Money trail. Professional scheme. Secret ownership. Something neat you can diagram.”
“And?”
“Sometimes somebody ruins you in public and you hate them.”
“That doesn’t make Hugo a killer.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“You implied it.”
Nina smiled. “Now you know how Celeste feels around Sebastian.”
Leo focused on cake.
Nina’s expression softened.
“You do this because sophisticated lies make sense to you.”
“What does that mean?”
“You think if somebody planned a murder, the motive must be equally complicated.”
“That is not what I think.”
“It is a little. Money is powerful. Secrets are powerful. So is shame.”
The annoying thing was that Nina was right enough to be dangerous.
Sebastian’s career depended on public judgment. His praise could sell. His contempt could cost. If he had threatened Celeste’s authorship, Hugo’s reputation, Sophie’s professional history, or anyone else’s standing, the damage did not need to be financially precise.
People killed over pride.
Romy finished the cake.
“Where is Hugo?”
“Green Salon. Complaining that the police won’t let him collect his lamps.”
Asterleigh remained closed when Romy and Leo arrived shortly after one. Police vehicles filled the drive, and a barrier blocked the entrance.
Nell Ashby stood outside with two committee members and looked displeased when she saw Romy.
“I thought I asked you not to speak publicly.”
“I haven’t.”
“You were at The Fig & Thistle.”
“That is not public speaking.”
“In Merewick, a pub is essentially broadcasting.”
Romy said, “I need access to my project records.”
“Ellis said you could use the ground-floor site office under supervision.”
“Thank you.”
“And please, Romy. No statement.”
“I know.”
Inside, the house felt wrong without guests. The Blue Study corridor remained closed.
Hugo Bell was in the Green Salon arguing with an officer about lamps.
“They belong to my studio.”
“They remain part of the documented installation until released.”
“They are lamps.”
“So were the other objects photographed in the house.”
Hugo saw Romy. “Excellent. Tell him.”
Romy looked at the officer.
“He should leave the lamps.”
Hugo stared.
“I thought conservators protected movable property.”
“We do. Currently I’m protecting yours from becoming evidence you removed before release.”
“That is absurd.”
“Then wait for the paperwork.”
The officer almost smiled.
Hugo did not. Compact and immaculate, with a geometrically trimmed beard, he looked as though he had not slept.
Romy said, “Can I ask you something about Sebastian?”
He laughed once. “No.”
“All right.”
She turned.
“That was easy,” Leo said.
“Wait.”
Hugo said, “You’re unbearable.”
Romy looked back. “So I’ve been told.”
“What do you want?”
“Did Sebastian cost you work?”
His expression changed.
Anger.
Real enough that Nina’s point returned immediately.
“He cost me nothing.”
Romy waited.
Hugo lasted five seconds.
“Clients cost me work.”
“Because of his review?”
“Because clients are cowards.”
“What happened?”
“Carden Street had problems before Sebastian reviewed it.”
“What problems?”
“Budget. Procurement. Client indecision. Same as every hotel project.”
“But his review hurt.”
“It was intended to.”
“Did you confront him?”
“Of course.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Recently?”
“He asked for comment three weeks ago.”
“About what?”
“My former design director.”
Romy’s attention sharpened.
“Why?”
“He wanted to know how authorship credit worked in my studio.”
Leo said, “Because of Celeste?”
Hugo looked at him. “You must be the new one.”
Romy said, “Answer.”
“Yes. Probably.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That every studio works collaboratively and Sebastian knew that perfectly well.”
“Did he threaten you?”
“He threatened everybody.”
“With publication?”
“He called it giving people the opportunity to clarify. If you didn’t clarify the way he wanted, he printed the uglier version.”
“Did you want him dead?”
Leo shifted.
Hugo stared at Romy.
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then he added, “Last November, for approximately four days.”
“Why four?”
“Because then I got busy.”
“Where were you between six forty and seven ten last night?”
“I told the police.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I was in the Green Salon until around six fifty, then downstairs speaking with a lighting sponsor.”
“Witnesses?”
“Several.”
“Photographs?”
“Probably thousands. This entire event existed to be photographed.”
Hugo said, “If you’re looking for somebody who hated Sebastian, you’ll need a larger notebook.”
“I’m beginning to understand that.”
In the stair hall, Leo said, “You asked if he wanted Sebastian dead.”
“It worked.”
“He said yes.”
“He said he had wanted him dead last year.”
“Still.”
Romy stopped.
“What did you hear?”
Leo considered.