There's a Murder Afoot Page 6

  Inside the hotel we divested ourselves of coats and umbrellas and followed the hum of conversation. The hallway was wide and thickly carpeted, with banqueting rooms leading off one side and smaller meeting rooms at the end. A portrait of the Queen was prominently placed high on the center wall. The doors to the banquet room hadn’t been opened yet, but a bar was set up in the hallway outside. More than a few of the guests, women as well as men, wore formal Victorian attire ranging from the hastily put together to outfits that could appear on stage or in a movie. I saw lush gowns, plumes of ostrich feathers, and rows of glittering diamonds, fake or otherwise, as well as plenty of pasted-on whiskers, top hats, and pocket watches.

  “Excellent.” Donald rubbed his hands together in glee and plunged into the crowd. He stopped to give his compliments to a short man with a big round belly wearing Victorian men’s formal wear and a fake black beard that covered the bottom of his face halfway down his neck. He held his head so high and his chin so stiff, he looked as though he was peering down at the world beneath him. I grinned to myself, thinking the Victorian mannerism was perfect but he was in danger of straining his neck.

  “Can I get you a drink, Gemma, Jayne?” Ryan said.

  We both said yes, and he headed for the bar as Grant called, “I’ll have a beer, thanks.”

  Grant searched the room, peering into corners and trying to see past pillars.

  “Expecting anyone in particular?” I asked.

  “No,” he said too quickly. “Pippa told me your parents are coming tonight. Holmes lovers, are they?”

  “Dad likes the stories and the modern adaptions. Mum couldn’t care less. They’re coming to support me and see me accept Arthur’s award. As for Pippa, she’s never shown any interest in Holmes.” Or in me, for that matter. I didn’t say that out loud.

  “I see someone I want to say hi to,” Jayne said. “I sat next to her at one of the panels, and she was telling me about a Sherlock Holmes–themed tea at the Taj Hotel in Westminster. I probably don’t have time to go myself and check it out, but I’d like to hear more. Maybe she has some ideas we can use at Mrs. Hudson’s.” Jayne wandered away.

  “About Pippa …” I said.

  Grant turned and faced me. “What about Pippa?” His voice was eager, his face open, like a puppy hoping for another treat.

  I sighed.

  “She isn’t … uh … married or anything, is she?” Grant asked.

  “Married to her job, I’d say.”

  “Her job. You mean as an admin assistant?”

  Time to change the subject. “Have you purchased any books yet?”

  “Books?”

  “Yes, books. The reason you’re here. Remember?”

  “Oh, right,” he said. “Books. I haven’t bought any yet, but I have my eye on a couple of Conan Doyle first editions I have buyers for back in the States.”

  I caught sight of Ryan, attempting to weave his way through the crowd with two glasses of wine and two beers. “Our personal waiter needs help,” I said to Grant, who hurried to relieve Ryan of some of his burden.

  Ryan handed me a glass. “Where’s Jayne?”

  “She went to talk to someone.” I took the extra drink from him. “I’ll hold on to this.”

  “Your parents have come in,” he said.

  I turned. My mother was lovely and elegant in a black cocktail dress with restrained gold jewelry, and Dad wore a gray business suit about twenty years out of date. They spotted us and headed our way. I handed Mum the spare glass of wine.

  “That’s excellent service,” she said. “Thank you.” She took a sip and studied the room. “Good heavens, I do believe that’s Marian Forrester over there. Henry, isn’t that Marian? What on earth is she wearing? I never would have taken Her Ladyship for a Sherlock fanatic. I have to go and say hello.”

  Mum hurried off.

  “Is … uh … Pippa coming?” Grant asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.

  “She’s taking care of the coats,” Dad said.

  At that moment Grant’s entire face lit up, and I didn’t have to turn around to know my sister had arrived. She wore an electric-blue dress with a deeply cut curved neckline, fitting snuggly at the top and flaring abruptly at the waist in a spray of stiff satin. Her shoes had sharp heels and she carried a small, plain blue bag over her shoulder. The bag was similar to mine. Like me, Pippa didn’t like to have her hands occupied with a clutch purse. Grant hurried toward her without a word of goodbye, leaving me between Dad and Ryan. Pippa smiled when she spotted Grant.

  “I’ve been wanting to ask you,” Dad said to Ryan, “are you getting much anti-terrorism training in your department?”

  I left them to talk shop. It was after seven. The doors were late opening. I stood against a wall, looking out over the crowd. I spotted Randy, close to the bar, glass of smoky liquid in hand. He was with a large group of people, talking and waving his hands in the air. He lifted the glass to his mouth and took a drink. He looked over the sea of heads between us, caught my eye, and gave me a nod. I didn’t return it. He was drinking, as was almost everyone here, and I didn’t know if he got aggressive when he drank. More aggressive, I should say. It might not have been a good idea for my parents to come tonight, but I hadn’t said anything, thinking my dad knew what he was doing.

  The woman I’d seen with Randy in the bar, the one who’d thrown her drink in his face, was on the far side of the room. She sipped from a glass of wine and laughed uproariously at whatever her companions said. She so pointedly didn’t look in Randy’s direction I knew she was fully aware of exactly where he was and what he was doing.

  Randy’s companions moved on, and he was left standing alone. He was now watching my mother, chatting to a woman dressed in an elaborate scarlet dress of the sort seen on the cover of the historical mysteries I sell at the Emporium. Mum’s back was to her brother, and I hoped she hadn’t seen him.

  He made no move to approach her, and so my gaze traveled on. The man who’d accosted me in the hallway was here, dressed in an expensive suit that fit him well but didn’t look like the sort of thing he was comfortable in. He was facing away from me, but I recognized that bald, bullet-shaped head and thick neck. He did not have a drink in hand and didn’t appear to be with anyone.

  My father continued chatting with Ryan, but his gaze moved constantly between his wife and her estranged brother.

  The small dreadlocked woman who’d accused Randy of stealing her ideas headed his way. He saw her coming, and his face darkened. He slipped into the safety of the crowd and disappeared from my view.

  The horde was getting restless, and I was debating finding myself another glass of wine when I saw the bullet-headed man moving. He crossed the room as fast as he could, almost pushing people out of his way. The moment I realized where he was heading, I also moved. Unfortunately, at that blasted moment, the doors of the banquet room were thrown open and the crowd surged forward. I fought my way through the mass of hungry people, feeling like a salmon swimming upstream.

  “Gemma, I’m glad I ran into you. I own a small souvenir store in Edinburgh, and we stock a lot of Conan Doyle items, but I’m thinking of …”

  “Sorry, no time. Gotta run. Talk later.” I pushed my way past the man from Edinburgh, who said to his companion, “That was rude.”

  By the time I reached my mother, she stood alone. Her perfectly made-up face was pale. “There you are, dear. I’ve just had the strangest encounter.”

  “What did he want?”

  “I scarcely know. He told me people had sent him here. I assumed, at first, he represented someone on the opposing side in a legal case I’d won. That does happen sometimes. Don’t tell your father.”

  “That wasn’t it this time?”

  “No. He told me to tell my brother to watch his step. I have absolutely no idea what that means, and I have no intention of telling my brother anything. I attempted to tell him so, but he walked away.”

  “Did you sense a threat from him?”

  “Not directed at me, no. He was simply delivering a message. A message I failed to understand. Do you know something about this?”

  I shook my head. “He said much the same to me earlier.”

  Except for the bartenders at their station and a couple of men getting themselves another drink, the hallway was empty. Everyone had gone into dinner. “Are you going to tell Dad?”

  “This time, yes, I am. Randy’s problems are not ours, but if they threaten to become so, Henry needs to know.” She slipped her arm through mine. “Shall we go in?”

  Fortunately, the seating was preassigned, so I didn’t have to worry about Randy trying to push himself into our group. The big round cloth-covered tables seated ten. The eight of us—Grant, Donald, Ryan, Jayne, Mum, Dad, Pippa, and me—and a German couple dressed as Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler. Donald immediately recognized kindred spirits and fell into intense debate as to whether or not Irene Adler, had she not just hastily married Geoffrey Norton, would have remained in London to be with Sherlock.

  Dad explained to Ryan, in great detail, the organization of police forces in the United Kingdom. Mum and Jayne chatted about shopping and afternoon tea opportunities in London, Donald and his new friends went on to discuss Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s interest in spiritualism, and Grant remained enraptured in every word that came out of Pippa’s perfectly lipsticked mouth.

  I was left to my own devices. I couldn’t see much, as I was sitting down and the room was full. Forty tables with ten chairs at each, and all the seats were taken. Conversation filled the air, and people had to shout into their neighbor’s ear to be heard. The waiters began to serve the first course—an insipid green salad—and the clamor of dishes and cutlery added to the cacophony.

  The room, as well as the meal of tough chicken and overdone roast potatoes followed by a chocolate cake so dry it had me longing for the delights of Mrs. Hudson’s Tea Room, could have been in any hotel in the Western world.

  At last the meal was over, plates were cleared, coffee and tea served, and the program of speeches began.

  I was called upon to be the first speaker. The host announced the award and mentioned that Arthur Doyle was not able to accept it in person but I, as his partner in the business, would do so on his behalf.

  I made my way to the front to polite applause. The host shook my hand and gave me the foot-high glass statue of the Great Detective, complete with pipe and deerstalker, which was Arthur’s award. We posed for a picture and then I began my speech. I kept my remarks short and to the point. I thanked the committee, on Arthur’s behalf, for the honor. I told them, to murmured approval, about my attempts to ensure that a proper cup of tea was served in Mrs. Hudson’s Tea Room. I invited everyone here present to visit the Sherlock Holmes Bookshop and Emporium on their next visit to the United States.

  As I babbled on, I took note of what was happening in the room.

  Randy sat with a group consisting mainly of vendors from the dealers’ room. The woman who’d thrown cheap champagne into his face was at his table, but seated on the opposite side. She pointedly avoided looking at him. I suspected they’d been assigned their seats before the spat and she hadn’t been able to change her table at the last minute.

  The dreadlocked woman was at a table shoved into the back corner, next to the kitchen. I didn’t see the bullet-headed man anywhere. It was possible he didn’t have a ticket for the dinner. Anyone could wander into the reception, but not to the dinner itself.

  I thanked everyone once again and left the podium, to another round of polite applause. Rather than me, they’d hoped Martin Freeman would appear tonight, as had been rumored, but he hadn’t. Even I was disappointed at that.

  Ryan, Grant, Dad, and Donald stood up when I approached our table. “Well done,” my father said. I put the statue in the center of the table.

  “Good job,” Ryan said, before excusing himself and leaving the room. A minute later, I felt my bag vibrate. I checked my phone. A text from Ryan: CAN WE BLOW THIS POP STAND?

  I didn’t know what a pop stand was, other than a place to purchase soda drinks, but I got the reference. SOON.

  I put my phone away and looked up to see my sister watching me. Naughty, naughty, she mouthed.

  Mum’s friend was the next speaker. She talked at length, with detailed references to the Canon, about Holmes’s occasional tendency to skirt the finer points of the law. As a judge, she didn’t approve. She droned on and on in a relentless monotone as though she were delivering instructions to the jury in a shoplifting case. I felt my eyes getting heavy. Jayne yawned.

  Ryan came back, and my dad was next to excuse himself, digging in his pocket for his phone before he’d finished pushing back his chair.

  Jayne leaned across Ryan and whispered to me, “Want to come to the ladies’ room?”

  “Anything to get out of here,” I said.

  “We’re not leaving yet, are we?” Donald asked. “This is so fascinating.”

  “We’ll be back in a minute,” I said.

  Ryan, who’d been ready to eagerly leap to his feet, sank back into his chair.

  Jayne and I made our way between the tables. I noticed my Uncle Randy’s chair was empty.

  “I think Grant has a crush on your sister,” Jayne said.

  “It would appear so. Good thing he’s coming home with us on Tuesday.”

  “Why’s that a good thing? She’s a couple of years older than him, but that doesn’t matter these days.”

  “No reason,” I said.

  “After all, you ditched him for Ryan. Which I still maintain was the right thing to do. Grant’s searching for solace elsewhere.”

  “I didn’t ditch anyone. Grant and I were never officially dating.”

  “No, but he wanted you to be,” Jayne said.

  In the hallway, the bartenders were clearing up, and a handful of people chatted over a last drink.

  On our way into the ladies’ room we passed the dreadlocked woman coming out, drying her hands on the seat of her skirt. Her face was set into a deep frown, and she pushed briskly past us without giving us a glance.

  Jayne and I lingered at the sinks as long as we thought polite and then went back to our seats. As we came in, Mum’s friend finished, to relieved applause. Next up was the conference organizer. He pulled out, to almost audible groans, a sheaf of papers and began to read. A few people started to gather up their belongings and say their goodbyes, but most were too polite to leave midspeech. Ryan’s hands were under the table as his thumbs rapidly moved. My father hadn’t come back. Grant smiled at Pippa and she smiled back.

  At last the organizer thanked everyone for coming and his voice ground to a halt. The noise of chairs being pushed back and people leaping to their feet was deafening. I picked up the statue. It wasn’t at all attractive, and I didn’t think Uncle Arthur would care what we did with it. I’d make room for it on a shelf in the shop. It wasn’t any more tasteless than some of the things we sold.

  Before we could move, Mum’s friend swept down on her. “Anne! How did you like my talk? I worked so hard on it.”

  “Very interesting,” Mum said politely. “Marion, I don’t think you’ve met my daughters, Phillipa and Gemma. Henry’s around here somewhere.”

  Introductions were made, and polite chat commenced.

  Finally Marion said, “We must have lunch one day soon, Anne,” and left.

  Mum picked her clutch bag off the table. She smiled at Ryan. “I hope you weren’t too dreadfully bored.”

  “Not at all,” he lied.

  “Because I was. If I never hear the words Sherlock Holmes again, it will be too soon. Anyone for a nightcap? The bar here will be dreadfully crowded, but the Bentley should be lovely and quiet.”

  We agreed enthusiastically and headed for the doors, me lugging Uncle Arthur’s award. Donald lingered to exchange email addresses with his new friends, and then he ran to catch up with us.

  We stood in a circle in the hallway as all around us people made their way to the elevators or the exits. My father was nowhere to be seen. The bar had been removed and the dirty glasses and crumpled napkins cleaned up.

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” Mum said, “if your father snuck off to a nearby pub. The rat.” She pulled her phone out of her bag. “I’ll let him know where we’re going.”

  We’d come out through the far doors of the banquet room, near the end of the hallway, next to the guests’ business office and a couple of small meeting rooms.

  “We might as well wait here for a minute,” Ryan said. “Everyone and their dog will be collecting their coats.”

  I went to stand beside him, and I slipped my free hand into his. “Sorry we’re not getting much of a chance to be together,” I whispered in his ear. “I’d love to show you all my favorite places in London, but …”

  “But you brought half of West London with you on this trip,” he said. “Not a problem. Plenty of years yet to come back to London together.”

  My heart dropped to my shoes. Was Ryan suggesting we were now back on a permanent basis? That we had a future together?

  We’d been a couple once before, on the verge of getting formally engaged. The relationship had not ended well, all of which was my fault, and he’d left to take a job in Boston. Now he was living and working in West London again and we were together again. I was taking things as they came. Taking it slowly.

  Did he have other ideas?

  Did I mind if he did?

  I looked away to see my sister watching us. She wiggled her eyebrows in amusement.

  The hallway was steadily clearing out. Only about twenty people were left milling around, and Mum said, “It should be safe to go for the coats now.”

  A woman barely out of her teens, dressed in the uniform of the hotel’s waitstaff, approached the door to one of the meeting rooms. She carried a large empty tray, and Grant held the door open for her. She muttered her thanks and went inside. He let go of the door and it swung shut behind her.

  Seconds later the door flew open with such force it hit the wall and the waitress ran out. Her eyes were round and wild and she gasped for breath. She glanced around the room, rapidly emptying out as everyone headed for their rooms, the bar, or the coatroom. My group was the closest to her.