English Tea Murder (12 page)

Lucy turned around and scanned the passing crowd. Lots of leather jackets, lots of beigy women. This was not working, she decided. There was nothing to do except to keep walking and hope she spotted them, or perhaps someone else from the tour who might have seen them. She decided to take a systematic approach and began by hiking along the wide sidewalk that bordered the beach, first heading to the left and then coming back to cover the area on the other side of the pier.

The crowd was thick, especially where portions of the sidewalk were allotted to motorcycle parking. It was a little clearer on the bike path, but there she ran the danger of being run over by a biker. She hiked on, uphill, until she reached a little covered pavilion with a couple of benches, where she sat to catch her breath and watch the passing crowd. After a few minutes, she began to feel guilty about sitting there while the Smiths were unaware of their daughter’s plight, and she got up and began walking back toward the pier. She scanned each face but didn’t recognize Tom and Ann.

At least she was going downhill, and the crowd on the other side of the pier, past the aquarium, was thinner. The aquarium, she realized, might have caught the Smiths’ interest, so she lingered for a while by the entrance, watching the people who came and went. When she noticed a woman paying for her admission with a charge card, she had a sudden brainstorm. When they’d finished their transaction, she went up to the ticket window.

“This is a bit unusual,” she began, speaking to a middle-aged woman with a pixie haircut. “But I’m here with a tour group from America, and one of our members just went off the pier.”

The woman nodded, her expresson sympathetic. “They do it all the time. It’s the number-one location for suicides in the UK.”

“Really?” Lucy was shocked. “Are they often successful?”

“They can usually save the daytime ones, but the nighttime . . .” She shook her head. “The currents are something terrible here.” She leaned forward. “Did they save your friend?”

“Yes. I think so.” Lucy realized she’d digressed. “But I’m trying to find her family, her parents. They’re on the tour, too.”

“And you wondered if they’d come in here?” The woman shook her head. “I don’t know that I’d remember them, even if I knew what they looked like. A lot of people come here. Beats me. It’s just a bunch o’ fish.”

“I was thinking they might’ve charged their tickets,” said Lucy.

“Good idea!” The woman produced a thick packet of charge slips. “What’s their name?”

“Smith,” said Lucy. “Ann and Tom Smith.”

“Couldn’t be more common if they’d made it up, could it?” The woman was flipping through the slips. “Smith, Gerald, no; Smith, Patricia, no; Smithson, William, no.” Suddenly she stopped. “Here you go, luv. Thomas Smith. Two adults.”

“Are they still inside? Can you tell?”

“Maybe. They went in about an hour ago.”

That seemed about right, Lucy realized. They’d probably split up, Mom and Dad going to the aquarium and Caroline, seizing the moment, for whatever reason, to end her life. Lucy reached for her wallet, but the woman waved her hand. “Go on in that door, the one marked ‘exit.’ Work your way through backward—and good luck, dearie.”

Lucy smiled her thanks and went to wait by the exit for somebody to come out so she could grab the door and dart inside, which she was shortly able to do. Once inside, it was dark and dank and a bit smelly. Tanks of blue and green water containing various forms of sea life glowed in the walls. Lucy waited a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, then began searching for Tom and Ann. She found them in front of a tank containing an octopus.

“Hi!” she said, approaching them and wondering how to begin. Probably the most direct way would be best, she decided. “I’ve got some bad news for you.”

Ann seemed to sway on her feet, and Tom grabbed her elbow to steady her. Behind them the startled octopus scooted into its rocky shelter. “Is it Caroline?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so. They just pulled her out of the water.”

Ann slumped against her husband, her eyes closed. “Is she . . . ?”

“She’s alive,” said Lucy. “They took her to the hospital. Quentin went in the ambulance with her.”

Tom’s face hardened. “What was he—?”

Lucy quickly defended him. “He was with me—we just happened to be there. It was very fortunate.”

Ann was clinging to her husband’s arm. “We have to go to her.”

“Yes, I think your best bet is a taxi.” Lucy was escorting them to the exit. “She’s at Brighton General.”

“Thank you, thank you for finding us,” said Ann as they made their way through the swinging doors and out into the darkening afternoon. Lucy gave the woman in the ticket booth a wave as they crossed the crowded sidewalk to the curb where a couple of taxis were waiting. She opened the door and held it for them, waiting until they were settled and then telling the driver to take them to the hospital.

Then she raised her arm in a parting wave and watched the taxi pull out into traffic, taking them to an uncertain future.

Completely drained, she sighed, then spotted Harry Ramsden’s across the way. Maybe they’d give her a cup of tea.

Chapter Twelve

T
he lunchtime crowd had long since dispersed, and only a handful of people were seated at tables inside the fish and chips restaurant, most of them with pots of tea. When a server told her she could sit where she pleased, Lucy chose a table for two near the window, where she could keep an eye out for her friends. As soon as she sat down, she felt enormously tired, as if she’d run a marathon, and her hands began to shake.

“What can I get you, luv?” The server was a spry fellow in his sixties with a military haircut.

“Just tea, please.”

“Filthy weather out there, ain’t it? Sure you wouldn’t like a bit of sweet? We’ve got sticky toffee pudding and spotted dick—fruit crumble, too.”

Lucy hadn’t the faintest idea what he was talking about.

“They come with your choice of custard cream or vanilla ice cream.”

The very thought of anything with custard made her feel queasy. “I’ll stick to tea,” she said.

“Very well.”

He left and she stared out the window, watching the people hurrying by, heads lowered against the drizzle and clutching the collars of their lightweight spring jackets. They’d been tricked by the sunny morning weather, which hadn’t lived up to its promise. Now the day had turned gray and cold, with drizzle and showers, just the way it often did in Maine.

“It’s too bad, really. All them folks hoping for a nice holiday by the seaside.” The server put a pot of tea and a cup and saucer in front of her, along with a pitcher of milk and a china box containing packets of sugar and sweetener. “I heard there was a bit of a fuss on the pier.”

“There was. They had to pull a young woman out of the water.”

“A jumper?”

Lucy considered. “That’s a good question.” She remembered teasing Pam, or maybe it was Sue, that just because she was holding a duster didn’t mean she actually used it. Everybody seemed to assume that since Caroline was fished out of the ocean that she must have jumped voluntarily, but that wasn’t necessarily the case. Maybe she hadn’t jumped; maybe she’d been pushed, although it did seem unlikely due to the sturdy, chest-high railing.

“I saw the ambulance. They took right off, so she must’ve been breathing.” He lifted the pot and filled Lucy’s cup. “They don’t rush with the goners.”

“I hope she’ll be all right,” said Lucy, wrapping her hands around the warm cup. “I heard this happens quite a bit.”

The server’s tanned, wrinkled face was solemn. “Too often, if you ask me. England’s changed, you know. Used to be everybody kept a stiff upper lip, keep calm and carry on, that sort of thing. When Princess Diana died, that all changed.” He put the pot down. “I liked the old way better.”

Using both hands, Lucy lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip. Despite her efforts to control the trembling, the sharp-eyed waiter noticed. “Don’t tell me you know the jumper?”

The cup clattered in the saucer as Lucy set it down. “I do.”

“Dear me. That’s dreadful.” He glanced out the window. “A friend of yours?”

“Not exactly. I’m here with a group from an American college. She’s a student there.”

“A young person.” He clucked his tongue. “That’s a shame.”

Lucy nodded. What sort of mind-set prompted a healthy young person to jump off a pier that was thirty or forty feet above the water? Why had her future seemed so bleak?

The waiter tapped his tray. “Tea’s on the house,” he said before turning to greet a new customer.

Lucy stirred some sugar into her cup and drained it, then refilled it from the pot. She was feeling better; the trembling had stopped and she was even wondering what spotted dick could possibly be when she saw a familiar face on the opposite side of the street, waiting at the crosswalk for the light to change. It was Autumn and she wasn’t alone. Will was standing beside her. They didn’t seem like a couple, however. Autumn was scowling, shaking her head, and Will was bent over her, talking to her, trying to convince her of something. At least that’s what it looked like. And they seemed to be coming from the pier—where else could they have been in this foul weather? Unless they’d been in the aquarium, which Lucy didn’t think was likely. The arcade seemed more their style. Lucy wondered how long they’d been there. Had they been on the pier when Caroline jumped?

The sky was darkening and Lucy checked her watch, realizing with a start that it was almost five and she needed to get over to the bus drop-off to meet the minivan. She hurried out of the restaurant and dashed across the street, but when she rounded the corner, she was surprised to discover the group had already gathered, waiting. It was a much smaller group, of course, without Quentin and the Smiths—only Lucy’s three friends, Dr. Cope and Jennifer, Laura Barfield, Will and Autumn.

“Where were you?” demanded Sue when Lucy was within shouting distance. Her tone was accusatory, and Lucy felt guilty, realizing she shouldn’t have spent so much time with Quentin. She’d enjoyed herself but perhaps she’d led him on without meaning to.

She was saved from answering when the minivan pulled up and they all hurried to get on board, complaining about the way the weather had turned so cold. When everyone was seated, Lucy delivered her little speech.

“I’m sorry to tell you there’s been an accident—Caroline Smith was taken to the hospital by ambulance. Her parents are with her and so is Professor Rea. He asked me to see that we all get back to the hotel tonight.” Lucy took a head count but wasn’t at all sure she’d got it right. “I think we’re all here. Is anybody missing except for the Smiths and Professor Rea?”

Nobody was paying attention; they were all buzzing about the accident.

Rachel came to her rescue. “Speak now or forever hold your peace,” she said, pronouncing their names and counting them up on her fingers. “I make nine. With the missing four, that’s thirteen. We’re all here,” she told the driver, who began pulling out into traffic.

“Thirteen!” Lucy slid into her seat next to Sue. “I hadn’t realized.”

“It’s unlucky.” Pam nodded seriously. “No wonder we’ve had so much trouble. First poor Professor Temple and now Caroline. What happened? Was it an accident? The traffic here is terrible.”

The group was silent—everyone was listening—but Lucy wasn’t sure how much to tell. Then again, she decided, it was a public event. It had all taken place in the clear light of day. There was no question of confidentiality here, no request to keep the incident off the record. On the other hand, she could only tell what she knew for sure. “Rescuers pulled Caroline out of the water beneath the pier and rushed her to the hospital. That’s all I know.”

Jennifer’s face was paler than usual. “Did she jump?” “I really don’t know how she got into the water. I didn’t see that part.”

Laura leaned forward, her expression anxious. “Will she be all right?”

“I don’t know that either. They were giving her oxygen when they put her in the ambulance.”

“There may well be considerable trauma, internal injuries, broken bones,” advised Dr. Cope. “It depends on how she hit the water. From a certain height, the impact can be the same as hitting concrete.”

They were all silent. Lucy glanced over her shoulder, looking for Will and Autumn. They were seated together in the very back. Autumn was bobbing slightly, listening to her iPod, and Will was staring out the window, scratching at his chin.

“Look, even here,” said Sue, pointing out the window as they passed the Gap and McDonald’s.

A little bit of home, thought Lucy. She should have been pleased, reassured, even, but she only felt depressed.

“Caroline didn’t seem like a very happy girl.” Laura Barfield’s tone was thoughtful. “But I’m sure she didn’t mean to kill herself. This was probably one of those cries for help.”

Across the aisle, Rachel caught Lucy’s eye. “I think so, too,” she said. “This may be a turning point for her. She may get the care she needs.”

“She was lucky.” Dr. Cope put his arm around Jennifer’s shoulder and pulled her close to him. “I’ve seen a number of suicides in my time, and the ones who survive always say the same thing—that as soon as they jumped or pulled the trigger or shoved the chair out from under their feet, they realized they’d made a terrible mistake. They wanted to live after all.”

They were in the countryside again, and the clouds had parted to let the last rays of sunshine bathe the green fields in golden light. Here and there, flocks of sheep were scattered like cotton balls spilled on a green carpet; many of the ewes had little lambs resting beside them. It was like something out of a Cath Kidston print or a Kate Greenaway illustration, and Lucy hoped the little lambs were being raised for wool and not the dinner table.

As if reading her thoughts, Sue covered her hand with her own. “Wool, sweetheart, they’re going to give bags and bags for the master and the maid. . . .”

Lucy managed a little smile, spotting a kid with a backpack wheeling his bike up a steep drive toward a thatched cottage, the windows blazing red from the setting sun. “And one for the little boy who lives
up
the lane.”

Dinner that night was better. Rachel had spoken with the chambermaid and learned there were a number of restaurants on nearby Charlotte Street, and since they’d had a hearty fish and chips lunch, they opted for pizza and salads at Pizza Express, along with big glasses of red wine. Back at the hotel, Lucy went straight to the lounge to check her e-mail, but there was no word from Elizabeth. Bill, however, had calculated the amount they would owe if she lost her resident advisor position: It was nearly five thousand dollars.

“Better watch your spending!” he advised, and Lucy wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. She was signing off, a lengthy process on this cranky old computer, when Autumn came in and switched on the TV. Lucy’s interest was caught by an outrageous performer with peroxide hair in a shiny violet suit, and she watched, amazed, as he welcomed an American country music star to the show. Fascinated, she joined Autumn on one of the battered red sofas.

“Isn’t that Dewey Pike?” she asked. The singer, who was wearing a red, white, and blue shirt; cowboy boots; and a ten-gallon hat, clearly hadn’t known what he was in for when he agreed to do the show. The host, Graham Norton, got right down to business, asking Dewey if he was gay or straight.

Autumn was in stitches. “This guy’s all about guns and pickup trucks and the flag—look what he’s wearing—and Graham Norton wants to eat him up!”

Dewey, however, was more sophisticated than he looked. He winked at Norton, said he was open to new experiences, and offered to sing a song. Norton was happy to oblige, setting the singer in front of a shimmering curtain for his performance. Dewey was well into his hit song about a woman who done him wrong when the glittery silver curtain opened to reveal Norton, dressed in drag, swooning and shimmying behind him. The live studio audience went wild. Dewey caught on and began singing to Norton, ending by wrapping him in his arms and planting a big kiss as they went to commercial.

“That guy was way cooler than I expected,” said Autumn.

“He’s in show biz.” Lucy shrugged. “That superpatriot persona is probably just an act. For all we know, he’s a registered Democrat.”

“No. He campaigned for McCain.”

Lucy hadn’t expected Autumn to be so well informed, but she wasn’t about to talk politics. The subject had become so divisive lately. Instead she changed the subject. “Are you enjoying the tour?” she asked.

“Yeah. England’s a lot more modern than I expected.”

Lucy wondered if Autumn had expected the England of costume dramas, then revised her thinking. By old-fashioned, Autumn probably meant Guy Ritchie films.

“Is this your first trip out of the U.S.?”

“Yeah.” Autumn snorted. “The people I was living with, my foster parents, they were mostly interested in getting that check from the state every month. They weren’t exactly into education and enrichment. It was more about keeping gas in the car and Kraft mac ’n’ cheese on the table.”

“But you got into college, right?”

“No thanks to them. The guidance counselor helped me out, made me apply and told me about scholarships and loans.” Seeing that the show was over and the news was next, Autumn clicked the remote and turned off the TV. “The Rotary Club gave me money for this trip, in case you were wondering. Professor Rea wrote them a letter.”

Lucy wasn’t surprised by her defensive attitude; it was understandable for a kid who’d been through the foster care system and had to fight for everything. “I have a daughter in college, so I know how expensive it is.” She scowled. “She’s fighting with the dean and may lose her RA job and the free room and board.”

“That job sucks. I hate my RA. She’s always snooping around, looking for drugs and stuff.”

Lucy had a sudden insight. “That may be the problem. I can’t imagine Elizabeth doing that. She couldn’t care less.”

“Where does she go to school?”

“Chamberlain College in Boston.”

“I’d like to go somewhere like that. I might transfer. Tinker’s Cove is dead.”

Lucy nodded in agreement. The little town was quiet, especially in winter. “I guess it’s pretty claustrophobic. Everybody knows everybody at a small school like Winchester.” She paused. “Did you have any classes with Caroline?”

“No.” Autumn clicked the TV back on and began watching a margarine commercial with great interest.

“I heard she wasn’t very popular.”

Autumn ignored her, flipping to another channel and a dog food commercial.

“I’m just wondering because of what happened today. Do you think she was suicidal? I’m just asking because you were both in that support group. Did she ever say anything about life not being worth it, anything like that?”

Autumn was watching a news segment about a sewage treatment plant in Manchester with great apparent interest. “She was, you know, weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“Uh, look, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Lucy wondered if Autumn had encountered Caroline on the pier, and if something had happened that might have caused Caroline to take the desperate measure of jumping. Considering the way Autumn had tormented Jennifer at the Tower of London, it seemed at least a remote possibility. “If you know anything about what happened to Caroline, you need to speak up,” said Lucy. “She could have died. She might still.”