CHAPTER 15
STOLEN ROOMS
“It points straight back to Celeste.”
Vivian’s words stayed in Romy’s head as she crossed Asterleigh’s front hall with Leo behind her.
Ellis was nowhere in sight.
That irritated her, not because she needed him, but because Vivian had specifically told her to find him.
“Kitchen?” Leo asked.
“No.”
“Site office?”
“Probably.”
“Courtyard?”
“It is raining.”
“That has never stopped police.”
Romy looked at him.
“Are you learning sarcasm professionally now?”
“I thought it was part of the placement.”
“It is not in the handbook.”
“There is a handbook?”
“No.”
“Then I’m safe.”
They found Ellis in the former drawing room speaking to an officer over a laptop.
He saw them and looked resigned.
“What?”
“Vivian called.”
“I know.”
“She says the email chain points to Celeste.”
“I know.”
“You have developed a very irritating response pattern.”
“I know.”
Leo looked down.
“Where is Vivian?”
“Merewick Arms. Legal review room.”
“And we’re going.”
Ellis closed the laptop.
“We are.”
Romy stopped.
“No argument?”
“I am capable of collaboration.”
“Rarely.”
“Do not ruin it.”
Romy looked at Leo.
“You stay here.”
He frowned.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“Treating me like a colleague until something becomes interesting.”
The accuracy landed.
“That is not why.”
“It is a little.”
Romy did not argue.
“Fine. Stay with the media archive and continue the 6:31 to 6:57 visual search. That is not less important.”
Leo’s expression eased.
“Okay.”
Romy looked at Ellis.
“See? Management.”
“It looked painful.”
“It usually is.”
They drove separately to the Merewick Arms.
Vivian had arranged Sebastian’s newly indexed emails into printed bundles with yellow tabs marking dates and names.
Romy disliked the neatness immediately.
Messy things sometimes became more dangerous when organized.
Vivian sat at the end of the table.
“You came quickly.”
“You said find Ellis.”
“And you did.”
“He was difficult.”
“I was in the drawing room,” Ellis said.
Vivian looked at Romy.
“Very difficult.”
Romy sat.
“What did you find?”
Vivian slid across the first printed email.
Sebastian to Celeste, six days before the preview.
The opening lines were controlled. Sebastian stated that he intended to publish a feature examining authorship practices within high-profile design studios. He listed Arden Studio projects where early development work appeared traceable to junior staff whose names vanished from later presentations.
Brussels.
Surrey.
Marlowe Hotel.
Kendrick townhouse.
One restaurant project.
Sophie’s work appeared throughout in layouts, material pairings, panel positioning, and colour combinations. Sebastian had built the article from development files, former staff interviews, dated presentations, and image comparisons.
He had not been bluffing.
“This is bad,” Romy said.
“For Celeste, yes,” Vivian replied.
“How complete?”
“Very.”
“Ready to publish?”
“Nearly.”
Ellis handed Romy another page.
BORROWED VISION: WHO REALLY DESIGNS A CELESTE ARDEN ROOM?
Romy winced.
“Subtle.”
“Sebastian was rarely interested in subtle when the sharper version sold better,” Vivian said.
The draft was worse because the evidence looked strong.
Sebastian had reconstructed five major rooms from early concept stages.
Sophie’s sketches preceded Celeste’s presentations.
Internal credits changed between draft and publication.
Two former assistants said Celeste directed staff to remove junior names from press packs.
The article did not claim Celeste lacked talent.
It claimed she had built part of her reputation by absorbing other people’s work until it became indistinguishable from her brand.
Leo would have called it theft.
A court might not.
The industry would understand.
Celeste’s reply was short and furious. She accused Sebastian of misrepresenting normal studio collaboration, relying on disgruntled former employees, and preparing a defamatory piece. If he published, she would seek an injunction and damages.
Vivian tapped the page.
“That was the formal position.”
“And private?”
Vivian slid over a transcribed voice message from Sebastian’s phone.
Celeste, three days before the preview.
The message began angrily.
Then changed.
Delay publication until after Asterleigh.
Give her time to speak to Sophie.
Give her one month.
Give her a chance to correct credits privately.
Do not destroy the Show House.
Do not publish while sponsors and buyers gathered around her most visible room in years.
Romy stopped.
“She begged him.”
“Yes.”
“Did he answer?”
Vivian handed her Sebastian’s text reply.
No.
One word.
No negotiation.
Romy sat back.
Humiliation could be as powerful as money.
She had spent days following the more complicated story because it fascinated her.
False provenance.
Changed backing.
A vanished ownership chain.
Historic textile.
Marcus’s polished acquisition file.
The plagiarism motive was uglier and simpler.
A woman about to lose the career she had spent decades building.
A critic refusing to delay publication.
A public confrontation near the murder setup window.
“You think Celeste killed him,” Romy said.
Ellis answered carefully.
“I think Celeste has motive, access, relevant knowledge, and possession of a potential fuel source.”
“That sounded close.”
“It is supposed to.”
Vivian said, “There’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
She passed another page across.
Sebastian to his editor, two days before the preview.
The article was eighty percent complete. Sebastian called Arden’s legal threat “predictable noise” and said publication should proceed after the Show House preview because “the contrast will be useful.”
Romy looked up.
“He wanted Celeste to stand in front of the Blue Study and then publish.”
Vivian nodded.
“That is cruel.”
“Cruelty is not a defense to murder,” Ellis said.
“I know.”
But Sebastian had planned the timing for maximum effect.
Let her have the press photographs.
Let the applause happen.
Then publish a piece suggesting the woman receiving credit did not deserve all of it.
“What about Sophie?” Romy asked.
“Sebastian intended to name her,” Vivian said.
“Definitely?”
“Yes.”
“Did Sophie know?”
“Not with certainty. She suspected strongly.”
Sophie’s name appeared in the second paragraph.
The article would have changed both women’s careers.
Celeste as accused.
Sophie as source.
“This makes Celeste the cleanest motive,” Romy said.
Ellis did not answer.
Which meant yes.
Vivian removed her glasses.
“The provenance work does not disappear because the plagiarism article exists.”
“I know.”
“You look like you are about to discard one story for the other.”
“I’m not.”
“You are a little.”
Worse, it might be true.
“I may have been doing the opposite,” Romy said. “Discarding the obvious story because the panel story interested me more.”
Ellis looked at her.
“That is a better concern.”
“I don’t need approval.”
“You are getting it anyway.”
Romy stood.
“I need Celeste’s timeline again.”
“We already have it,” Ellis said.
“I need it beside the article.”
“That sentence does not make procedural sense.”
“It makes investigative sense.”
Vivian looked at him.
“Let her.”
Ellis sighed.
“I regret both of you.”
They returned to Asterleigh shortly after eleven.
Leo had filled half the whiteboard with image references.
6:43:52.
Celeste visible at the foot of the stairs.
6:44:18.
Celeste entering the Blue Study.
6:46:39.
Celeste outside speaking to a woman in green.
A fourth notation read:
6:47 approx. witness memory pending.
Romy looked at him.
“What is that?”
“One of the floral assistants came in to collect her toolbox.”
“Name?”
“Harriet Cole.”
“Not Harriet Vale?”
“No.”
“Good. One murder investigation already has enough duplicated first names.”
“What did she say?”
“She remembers Celeste coming down the upper hall angry.”
“When?”
“Just before the first courtyard call. She wasn’t sure.”
“Did you interview her?”
Leo looked offended.
“No. She saw the timeline and said, ‘That’s when Celeste nearly walked into me.’ I told her not to tell me anything else and called Officer Patel.”
Romy stared.
Perfect.
He had learned boundaries.
“Good.”
He tried not to look pleased.
Failed.
Ellis entered.
“Patel is taking the statement now.”
Leo looked at him.
“So I did it right.”
“For once.”
Romy turned.
“Do not destroy training gains.”
“Sorry.”
He did not sound sorry.
At 11:38, Officer Patel brought Harriet Cole into the old morning parlour.
Romy was not permitted inside the formal interview.
This time she barely argued.
She waited with Leo outside.
“You could have listened at the door,” Leo said.
“I am trying to model professional conduct.”
“How does it feel?”
“Unnatural.”
Fifteen minutes later, Harriet came out.
Ellis followed.
“What did she remember?” Romy asked.
“Approximately six forty-seven.”
“Celeste?”
“Yes.”
“Leaving the Blue Study?”
“She saw Celeste coming from that direction and believes she had just left the room.”
“Angry?”
“Very.”
“Why?”
“She heard Celeste say, ‘He will not do this to me.’”
Romy went still.
“Sebastian?”
“Harriet assumed so because everyone knew about the dining-room confrontation later.”
“Later?”
“Yes.”
That mattered.
The public argument came after Celeste’s private Blue Study access.
What had made Celeste angry at 6:47?
Had Sebastian already spoken to her privately?
Had she discovered something in the room?
Had it been the lamp?
Ellis cut through the questions.
“We’re bringing Celeste back in.”
Romy thought of the charcoal.
“What did forensics say about the bag?”
“Still being compared. But there is a problem with Celeste’s account.”
“What?”
“She told us she bought the charcoal for a Wednesday exterior shoot.”
“Yes.”
“The receipt is Thursday evening.”
Romy stared.
“Day before the preview.”
“Yes.”
“And the shoot?”
“Cancelled Wednesday morning.”
The answer landed too neatly.
“She bought charcoal after the shoot was cancelled.”
“Yes.”
Leo said, “Did she lie about the purchase date deliberately?”
“We know she gave an inaccurate account,” Ellis said.
“Card payment?” Romy asked.
“Yes. Thursday, 6:18 p.m., garden and home supplier outside Merewick.”