English Tea Murder (2 page)

Lucy turned and looked at Sue, grabbing her hand. They clung together, stunned by the enormity of the scene they had just witnessed.

“I know this is terribly upsetting and unfortunate, but there’s really nothing we can do,” said the steward, rubbing his hands together briskly. “So, who’d like another drink before dinner?”

Chapter Two

“A
re you crazy?” Autumn Mackie’s face had gained some color; red blotches were appearing on her pallid cheeks and tattooed neck. “You can’t expect me to sit next to a stinking corpse all the way to London!”

The steward’s expression was quite stern. “Miss, please lower your voice.”

“I will not lower my voice. This is outrageous! It’s probably illegal! There’s a health issue here!”

“Once again, I must ask you to lower your voice. I do not wish to have to restrain you, but I am empowered to do so.”

The little hoops in Autumn’s eyebrows trembled. “Restrain me? For what? What am I doing?”

The steward’s expression was impassive. “You are disturbing the other passengers and interfering with the crew’s performance of its duty.” The scent of cooked food was filling the cabin, and there were sounds from the galley of trolleys being shifted and loaded. Lucy was ashamed of herself but felt quite hungry. It was almost eleven o’clock, hours later than her usual dinnertime.

“I am not the crazy one here,” declared Autumn, stabbing at her chest. “This is a dead body. It’s unsanitary. I don’t want to have anything to do with it. Get it?”

“I understand, miss. This is an unfortunate situation, but we must make the best of it.”

“I have a solution,” said the doctor before the steward could reply. “I will change seats with the young lady.”

“Is that agreeable?” inquired the steward.

“Yes. Anything to get away from this . . . this corpse.” The steward turned to the doctor. “Thank you very much indeed.”

“It’s nothing, really. I would actually prefer to sit with my granddaughter.” He smiled at Jennifer. “I will go and fetch my things.”

“All right, miss. If you will just climb over . . .” The steward was holding out his hand to Autumn, offering support so she could clamber over Temple’s body.

“Well, move him!” ordered Autumn. “I don’t wanna touch him!”

“I’m afraid we must leave him in place for the coroner,” said the steward.

At this the two girls exchanged glances; then Autumn quickly scrambled over Temple’s still corpse, averting her face as she did so. Jennifer gathered up Autumn’s possessions—the iPod, a magazine, a paperback book, the half-empty bag of trail mix—and stuffed them in a backpack, which she passed over. The steward ushered Autumn down the aisle, passing the doctor who was already returning to his granddaughter. He paused in the aisle, extending his hand to Lucy.

“We’re going to be neighbors for the duration,” he said. “I’m Randall Cope. This is my granddaughter, Jennifer Fain. I recognized you from the airport. You’re on the Winchester College tour also, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.” Lucy took his hand, finding it strong and warm and very reassuring. “My name’s Lucy Stone. This is my friend Sue Finch.”

“Delighted to meet you both. And I am sorry about the, uh, situation.”

“You did everything you could,” said Lucy.

His expression was a combination of regret and caring, and Lucy understood that he’d faced the same situation many times in his medical career. “Well, yes, but it wasn’t enough.”

Turning and moving quite easily for a man of his age, he stepped over Temple’s body, eased himself into Autumn’s vacated seat, and fastened his seat belt. Once settled, he placed his big, comforting hand over Jennifer’s tiny white one. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he reached across his chest with his free hand and smoothed her long, wavy hair.

The motherly flight attendant returned, holding a tray with a number of miniature liquor bottles. “This has been a bit of an upset,” she said in a soothing nanny voice. “Would you care for a bit of brandy to soothe your nerves?”

Lucy certainly did, and so did Sue.

“What’s going to happen?” Lucy sipped the fiery brandy, feeling its warmth spread through her body. “He was our leader.”

Sue had polished off her brandy in a single gulp. “I don’t know. I can’t think that far ahead. Right now, all I want is something to eat.”

Crew members were already working their way down the aisles, distributing dinners, and it wasn’t long before their meals were placed in front of them and they tucked into their Tuscan chicken and pasta.

“It’s not bad.” Lucy stabbed a tiny square of chicken.

“It’s horrible, but it beats starving.” Sue was polishing off her tiny bowl of salad. “I can’t believe I have any appetite at all.”

“They say death has that effect.” Lucy lowered her voice. “It makes people hungry—and not just for food. Sex, too.”

Sue gazed at the blue lump on the other side of the aisle. “Survival instinct, I suppose.”

Lucy followed her gaze and saw that while Dr. Cope was eating his dinner, Jennifer had refused her tray and was staring at the blank TV screen in front of her. She remembered how happy the girl had seemed only a short time before, bouncing around to her iPod with Autumn and sharing the trail mix snack. Now, Temple’s sudden death had changed everything, and a carefree jaunt had turned tragic.

This was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime, thought Lucy, her first trip abroad, and now it was spoiled. She remembered how excited she’d been when Pam had told them all about the tour and how she’d almost rationalized her way out of going. “It’s too expensive; I’ll be away too long; I can’t leave you all,” she’d told Bill. But he had brushed away her objections. “You were an English major in college. You’ve always wanted to go to England. You should go.”

Lucy’s friends had backed him up. “You’re the mom and grandma. You’ve been taking care of everybody else for twenty-five years. It’s time for you to do something for yourself,” Rachel had told her when they had lunch together one day at Miss Tilley’s antique Cape-style cottage.

“You don’t think it’s selfish?”

“They’ll be glad to be rid of you,” said Miss Tilley with a wave of her blue-veined hand. “That’s what I told Rachel. We all need a break from each other once in a while. I’m looking forward to putting real cream in my coffee and eating potato chips.” She scowled at Rachel. “My keeper here never lets me have potato chips.”

“It’s for your own good,” said Rachel, placid as ever.

Lucy suddenly felt homesick, thinking of Miss Tilley and her cozy house and her own comfortable old farmhouse on Red Top Road and Bill and the girls and Libby the Labrador and little baby Patrick. She missed them all, she thought, as the flight attendant removed the remains of her meal. She latched the little folding table back in place and leaned back in her seat, letting out a big sigh. It seemed she’d been right: This trip was a big mistake.

She checked the progress of the flight on the little screen, discovering that the tiny plane icon was about a half inch into the blue Atlantic and they had more than three hours of airtime left. The lights were dimmed, and she decided to try and get some sleep, imagining she was back in bed at home, spooning with Bill.

Next thing she knew, the lights were flicked on, the scent of coffee was in the air, and the flight attendants were distributing breakfast packs containing crisp fruit salad and soggy apple pastry.

“Good morning, sunshine,” said Sue, looking at her with dark-rimmed eyes.

Lucy yawned. “Didn’t you sleep?”

“Not a wink.”

“I’m surprised I did.” Lucy glanced at the body and the sight depressed her. Dr. Cope was still sound asleep, his head thrown back and his mouth slightly open, and Jennifer was sitting in the same position as before, staring straight ahead and rigid with tension.

Lucy still felt uncomfortably full from dinner, which seemed to have settled like concrete in her tummy, so she only ate a few bits of fruit and sipped her coffee, then made a trip back to the toilet. There she splashed a little lukewarm water on her face and attempted to brush her teeth with the toothbrush and tiny tube of toothpaste provided by British Airways. When she returned to her seat, it seemed that the pace was picking up—the breakfast packs were collected, and the pilot soon announced it was time to prepare for landing. Lucy checked her watch and discovered it was 3:40 a.m. She fastened her seat belt, sniffing the refreshing green tea scent of the moisturizer Sue was applying to her cheeks and hands. The plane gave a shake and a rattle, landing with a big thump, and they were in England.

Once again, the captain’s voice came over the PA system. “Welcome to London. It’s 7:50 a.m. and the temperature is ten degrees Celsius with clouds and passing showers.” He paused. “And now I’m going to turn this over to our head steward, Ron Bitman, who has a special announcement.”

“I want to remind you to remain seated with seat belts fastened until the aircraft comes to a complete stop and the fasten-seat-belt light is turned off. And we must ask the following passengers to remain in their seats: Laura Barfield, William Barfield, Randall Cope, Jennifer Fain, Sue Finch . . .”

Lucy’s and Sue’s eyes met and the voice continued: “Rachel Goodman, Autumn Mackie, Ann Smith, Caroline Smith, Thomas Smith, Pamela Stillings, and Lucy Stone. Thank you.”

“It’s everyone on the tour,” said Sue as the jet taxied to the gate.

“Looks like there’s going to be a police investigation,” said Lucy, looking past Jennifer through the oval window and glimpsing a cluster of police cars and an ambulance on the ground.

The plane stopped, the fasten-seat-belt light went off with a ding, and people all around them were stretching and getting to their feet and opening the overhead compartments to retrieve bags and coats. The aisles were packed with people, and then suddenly everyone was gone, leaving behind crumpled pillows and blankets and newspapers—and the twelve people whose names had been called. They were all told to please move forward into the first-class cabin.

“I was hoping for an upgrade,” quipped Sue. “But I would have appreciated it earlier in the flight.”

When they entered the first-class cabin, which was every bit as rumpled and untidy as their own, although much roomier, they found a pair of uniformed police constables with checked caps tucked under their arms blocking the exits, as if the group was comprised of dangerous prisoners who must be kept under guard.

“What happened? Why are we being kept on the plane?” asked Rachel as they gathered in a little group.

Pam was looking around. “Where’s George? How come they didn’t call his name?”

Lucy cast a questioning look at Sue, who delivered the bad news. “He’s dead.”

Pam was stunned. “What?”

“How on earth?” asked Rachel.

“I knew something was wrong. There was a fuss, but I never imagined. . . .” said Pam.

Rachel was clasping her hands together. “Was it the asthma?”

“He was having trouble breathing at the airport,” recalled Pam, stepping aside to let a young woman in a white disposable overall pass. She was snapping on a pair of latex gloves as she hurried to the economy section.

“Probably the medical examiner,” said Lucy, whose job as a reporter had given her some familiarity with the procedures surrounding unexpected death. She watched as a tall, rather distinguished-looking man in a gray suit entered the cabin, receiving nods from the two uniformed officers. He was soon followed by a shorter, sturdier man wearing a tweed jacket and a rather stout, red-faced man wearing a beautifully tailored suit.

“If you’ll all take a seat, we can begin, and hopefully we won’t delay you for very long,” said the man in the gray suit. “I am Inspector John Neal of the Metropolitan Police. It is the responsibility of the Met, which you may know better as Scotland Yard, to investigate any unexplained deaths.” There was a little stir from several tour members, and he quickly explained. “Due to the configuration of the aircraft, you may not know that the leader of your tour, George Temple, expired in midflight.” He paused a moment, waiting for this information to be absorbed, before continuing. “My colleague”—he indicated the sturdy man in the sport coat—“is Sergeant Chester Luddy. Mr. William Bosworth is the coroner.” He indicated the man in the expensive suit. “Mr. Bosworth will determine from our investigation here today whether an inquest is required.” He paused again, his gaze moving from one person to another. “I need hardly point out to you all that the more helpful and open you are at this time, the sooner we can wrap this up and you can carry on with your travel plans.”

Sergeant Luddy passed a sheet of paper to the inspector, and he began reading names. “Laura and William Barfield, please identify yourselves.”

A slight woman with wispy, chin-length brown hair raised her hand. She was dressed in a pair of beige wool slacks and a brown leather jacket with a gold paisley scarf tucked into the neckline. “I’m Laura Barfield and this is my son, Will.”

Will was a tall kid who needed a haircut, his streaky blond hair flopped over his forehead. He was dressed in jeans, a white Oxford button-down shirt that wasn’t tucked into his pants, and a bright blue sweater.

“I understand you are a student?” Neal was looking at Will.

“That’s right. I’m a freshman at Winchester College.”

Neal nodded and went on to the next name on his list. “Dr. Randall Cope.”

The doctor stood up. “I am a medical doctor, and I attended George Temple in his final moments.”

“I see.” Neal made a tick next to his name. “Jennifer Fain.”

“That’s me.” Jennifer lifted her hand. She looked quite tiny and vulnerable in the roomy club chair.

“And you are also a student at Winchester College?”

She nodded.

Dr. Cope was seated beside her and patted her knee protectively. “Jennifer is my granddaughter.”

The inspector was consulting his list. “Sue Finch.”

“Here.” Sue raised her hand with a decisive motion.

Neal’s eyes seemed to flicker briefly as if he found her worth a second look. “Are you connected to Winchester College?”

“No. The tour was open to anyone, so I signed up with three friends. Just a little vacation.”

“I see.” Neal passed his eyes over the group. “Rachel Goodman.”

Rachel spoke up in a low, clear voice. “That’s me. I’m one of the friends.”

Neal didn’t smile but went on to the next name. “Autumn Mackie.”