“Do you think that got him killed?” she asked.

  I thought of the bullet-headed man. “It might have. Big money illegally obtained means ruthless methods and ruthless business partners. But I have no evidence to that effect. I have, truth be told, no evidence of anything. That flat didn’t look at all lived in, and he didn’t keep a lot of possessions in it. It’s possible his real home is elsewhere. In a desk drawer I found two months’ worth of credit card statements. If it had been one month, I’d think he was the sort who kept the most recent bill only. But two indicates the start of a habit. That’s the sort of drawer into which people stuff their bills and other papers and let them stack up until they can’t get the drawer closed. So they pitch it all and start collecting all over again.”

  “Sounds like the state of the drawers in your office back at the Emporium.”

  “Precisely.”

  “I keep expecting that one day I’m going to find a receipt for a load of coal at the bottom of my accounts.” Jayne sipped her beer.

  “Coal? Why would you buy coal?”

  “That’s my point, Gemma. I don’t buy coal. I have an electric oven. Before the electric stove, the person who lived in what’s now the tearoom would have cooked over coal or wood.”

  “Oh, right. Anyway, that leads me to conclude Randy’s been in that flat for two months. All the clothes in his closet were winter things. No summer clothes or shoes. Interesting that he bought everything new rather than just moving all his stuff. That flat is incredibly expensive, meaning he’d come into a lot of money recently so he could afford it, or someone was putting him up there. As to why, seeing the artist studio, I can only conclude he was there to paint.”

  “Paint what?”

  “An old master. Likely seventeenth-century Dutch from the quick look I had.”

  “You mean like Rembrandt or Vermeer?”

  “That time period, anyway. My knowledge of art history isn’t extensive.”

  “Probably more extensive than anyone I’ve ever met,” she said.

  “I appreciate the compliment, but modesty forces me to confess I know nothing about art other than what I saw on our annual school trips to the National Gallery when I was but one in a long line of giggling, pinafore-wearing, pig-tailed girls who’d have preferred to be just about anyplace else.”

  The waiter arrived with our steak and ale pies, hot and fragrant and steaming.

  “Ooh, this smells good,” Jayne said.

  We stopped talking while we enjoyed our first few bites.

  “Every meal I’ve had in London’s been great,” Jayne said when she came up for air. “Except for that banquet last night, which was pretty bland. I thought the English were terrible cooks.”

  “A foul rumor spread by the French.”

  “Do you have any long-lost relatives living in Paris?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Good. We can go there for our next trip.”

  I put down my fork. “I’ve ruined your vacation. I’m sorry.”

  She lifted her glass. “Vacations are overrated. Your father needs your help, and you need my help, and I want to give you what help I can. Although I still don’t quite know what I’m doing to provide this help.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Besides, I’m seeing some of the best parts of London. Things the tourists don’t usually get to. Like the inside of a really expensive apartment in Canary Wharf and a really, really expensive house in Kensington.” She put her glass down and took a mouthful of beef and chewed thoughtfully. “Gemma, are your folks rich? Like super-rich?”

  “Not at all. They both worked hard all their lives at demanding careers. Dad’s got a good pension now, and Mum’s still working. The house belonged to my grandparents, and we lived with them for many years. They’re both gone now. My parents are ordinary working people who happen to live in a great area without needing a mortgage. They’ve been talking about selling the house when they both retire. It quite likely will bring in a lot of money, so I guess they’ll be rich then.”

  “I’ve seen some of those prices. Wow!”

  “Wow indeed. But London’s an expensive city, and I don’t see them moving very far away, although I know Mum would like a country place.”

  “You don’t have any dukes or lords in your family, do you? Your dad’s pretty down-to-earth, but your mom seems the type.”

  I ate my pie and didn’t mention my second cousin three times removed—or was it my third cousin twice removed?—who was the current earl. I returned to the original subject. “I did find one item of interest in Randy’s place, but I’m going to follow that trail later. I have a plan for after lunch.”

  Chapter Nine

  I picked up the bill for our meal, telling Jayne that Pippa would pay me back.

  As we stood outside, putting on our gloves and wrapping our scarfs around our necks, I told her what I wanted to do. She grinned and said, “Lead me to it.”

  While we’d waited for our food, I’d sent a quick text to Pippa’s regular phone to say we were going for lunch and I was eager to hear about her day. My only purpose in doing that had been to let her know we were safely out of the flat. I’d tell her what I’d learned in person.

  The address on Arianna Nowacki’s business card was close enough we could walk it in a few minutes. I didn’t call ahead, hoping to catch her by surprise. If she wasn’t home, I’d have to phone, but I didn’t like doing that unless it was necessary. Always better to catch people by surprise, I’ve found.

  “Did you notice her booth at the conference?” I asked Jayne.

  “I had a look at it. She was selling Holmes-themed jewelry. I saw necklaces and bracelets with sayings from the stories or the TV show, a key chain with a key for 221B, that sort of thing. I didn’t think her stuff was anything special.”

  “I agree. We don’t need to tell her that.”

  The address on Arianna Nowacki’s card took us to an Indian restaurant. A small door was set into the wall beside the restaurant, next to which were buzzers for four flats.

  I pressed the bell marked number three. We waited. I pressed it again.

  “Hello?” said a tinny voice.

  I nodded to Jayne.

  “Hi,” she said. “I’m sorry to bother you at home, but I thought I’d take a chance ’cause I have to go back to the States tomorrow.”

  “What is this about?” the voice asked. I recognized the Polish accent.

  “I loved loved loved your jewelry at the Holmes conference. I went back to buy somethings today and you weren’t there.”

  “Come in. Second floor.” The buzzer sounded, the lock was released, and I opened the door.

  The hallway was full of the deep rich scents of curry and spices. I breathed it in as we climbed the narrow dark staircase. We came to a small landing with two doors leading off. Jayne hesitated, but I continued on up.

  “She said second floor,” Jayne said.

  “This is the first floor, the one above the ground floor,” I said.

  “Oh.”

  Up we went another flight. The staircase was narrow, the paint peeling, the light poor.

  Arianna stood at an open door waiting for us. She was dressed in a large black T-shirt over leggings, and her bare feet showed toenails painted a bright red. Her hair was pulled into a rough ponytail and she wore no makeup. Her eyes and nose were tinged red.

  “Hi,” Jayne said, all American and bubbly. “Thanks so much for this. I hope you don’t mind us barging in on you.”

  “Not a problem,” Arianna said.

  Jayne thrust out a hand. “I’m Jayne, and this is my friend Gemma.”

  “I know you,” Arianna said to me. “You gave a speech last night, at the convention. You received an award.”

  “My uncle got the award,” I said. “I just picked it up.” Arianna waved us into her flat.

  Her place was small, a cramped sitting room, one tiny bedroom, and a galley kitchen. Chaos might be the best word to describe Arianna’s decorating style. Every chair and piece of furniture was covered with scarves, afghans, and throws. Potted plants, most of them lush and healthy, lined the floor beneath the grimy window. The coffee table was hidden under a pile of magazines, and more magazines, all of which had to do with fashion or gossip—or both—had tumbled onto the floor. A table shoved up against a wall appeared to be her work space. It was covered with containers overflowing with beads, crystals, and thin wire. Necklaces and earrings lay across the table, many of the pieces unfinished, amongst a jumble of magnifying glass, tweezers, and wire cutters.

  I peeked into the tiny kitchen to see a mess of dirty dishes and pots and empty wine bottles. The bedroom door was open, and I caught a glimpse of tumbled pillows and bedclothes. Arianna didn’t appear to think clothes needed to be hung up or put in the laundry hamper after wearing them.

  “Pardon the mess,” she said.

  “Looks like my place,” Jayne said with a laugh. “Why aren’t you at the conference? Lots of people are like me. I looked at everything yesterday and went back to buy what I wanted today.”

  Arianna held a crumpled tissue in her right hand. She lifted it to her face. “A friend of mine died.”

  Jayne gasped. “How awful. You don’t mean that man yesterday? The one who died at the banquet?”

  Arianna nodded.

  “Were you close?” Jayne said.

  “We were engaged to be married.” Arianna started to cry. She wasn’t wearing the big diamond she’d been sporting yesterday.

  “I am so sorry,” Jayne said. “Perhaps we should go, Gemma. We don’t want to bother Arianna at this difficult time.”

  Arianna wiped her eyes. “Oh, no. It is all right. You’ve come all this way. Now, what can I show you?”

  While they talked, I’d studied Arianna’s jewelry. It wasn’t very good. Mostly colored beads strung on pieces of wire of varying lengths without originality or creativity. I’d barely glanced at her Sherlock-themed items in my first pass through the dealers’ room on Friday, not seeing anything I might be interested in stocking in the shop.

  “You like Sherlock Holmes?” she asked Jayne.

  “I sure do! I wanted to get a couple of those pendants. The ones with sayings from the books. Do you have any here?”

  Arianna moved a few boxes and rummaged through others. Eventually she found what she was searching for and held the box out. “Like these?” The tears were drying, leaving streaks on her cheeks.

  “Oh, yes.” Jayne picked up a chain with a metal disk hanging from it. YOU KNOW MY METHODS was carved into it. “This will be perfect for my mother’s birthday. How much?”

  “Thirty quid.”

  I swallowed a retort. I would have thought ten pounds excessive. No doubt that’s what she sold it for on a street corner on Baker Street, but she’d upped her prices for the conference. Probably upped them more for people who’d come all the way across town looking for her.

  “Your work is interesting.” I pointed to a hideous silver bracelet with JOHN & SHERLOCK written on it in intertwined letters. “If you were at the banquet, you know I own a store in America.”

  Pure greed gleamed behind Arianna’s dark eyes. “We can make deal. I give you good price.”

  “I’ll have to think about it,” I said. “Customs and duties and all that boring stuff. Do you sell in America?”

  She had to admit she didn’t. Not yet, anyway, but she’d like to expand her business.

  “I might take that piece,” I said. “Irene would love it, don’t you think so, Jayne?”

  “She’ll adore it,” Jayne said.

  “How much?” I asked.

  Indecision played across Arianna’s face. She wanted whatever she could get for the bracelet, but she also wanted me to consider carrying her goods in the shop. Immediacy won out, and she said, “Fifty pounds.”

  I almost laughed.

  “Forty then,” she said.

  “How about forty for both?” Jayne offered.

  “Fine,” Arianna said quickly.

  While Jayne counted out the money, I walked around the room, pretending to study the rest of Arianna’s things. “You do some good work.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “It’s too bad you had to leave the conference early. People love this sort of thing. The people at the hotel this morning were saying the police think your fiancé was murdered. Is that true?”

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “What did they tell you?”

  “They told me nothing. I have not spoken to them.”

  “You should give them a call. You might know something important.”

  “I cannot help them. I don’t like to get involved with the police.”

  I shrugged. “Your business, I guess. Were you and uh …”

  “Randolph.”

  “Randolph. Were you together long?”

  She shook her head as she stuffed Jayne’s money into her bra. “Not long, no.”

  “You must be devastated,” Jayne said. “Do you have any idea who’d want to kill him?”

  “I am sad, yes, that he has died.” She twisted the scrap of tissue between her fingers. “I told him only yesterday that I could not marry him.” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  Jayne wrapped her arms around Arianna and murmured platitudes. Over the woman’s shoulder she looked at me and raised an eyebrow. I made keep her talking gestures.

  “That’s awful. You must feel so guilty,” Jayne said. “Even though you had nothing to do with his death, of course.”

  Arianna pulled herself free. “That is it. You understand. I feel guilt. His last hours on this earth were not happy ones.”

  I thought of Randy at the banquet. Laughing, drinking, chatting, having a great time.

  I suspected Arianna was genuinely grieving. For now. But it was more of a self-pity party than any sadness for Randy. Jayne and I were giving her what she wanted, attention and sympathy, not to mention buying her cheap junk, and she was happy to take it.

  “Why’d you break off with him?” Jayne asked. I wanted to know that too, but I might have been a bit more subtle about asking.

  It didn’t matter. Arianna was happy to tell us. “He was a cheat.”

  “No!” Jayne said. “Isn’t that like a man? I was about to get engaged three years ago when I found out he was seeing a girl in the next town.” That, I knew, wasn’t true.

  “I do not mean cheating with another woman,” Arianna said. “He would not prefer any woman to me!” She puffed up her chest ever so slightly and patted the mess of hair. “No! He cheated with the money. I show you!” She went into the bedroom.

  Jayne and I exchanged glances.

  Arianna was soon back with the ring I’d seen her wearing in the hotel bar. She held it out to show us. Jayne squealed. “That’s gorgeous.”

  “Is not gorgeous.” Arianna marched up to the mirror over her worktable. She ran the stone in the ring across the surface of the glass.

  Nothing happened.

  “Is fake!” Her Polish accent got stronger as she got angrier. “Not real diamond.”

  “Oh,” Jayne said. “The rat.”

  “We went to jewelry store. I picked out beautiful ring. It had to be made for my size. We went back for it next day.” She spat on the floor, not minding that it was carpeted. “And I got this!”

  “Gee,” Jayne said. “Maybe he was cheated by the jeweler. You should tell the police.”

  “No police! I took it to be appraised. For insurance.” I didn’t believe that for a minute. She hadn’t trusted Randy and she wanted to check his gift out. “He laughed and said jewelry was from friend of his. He’d get real ring later. He had big job and would soon get paid.”

  “What sort of big job?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Randy always about to get rich. I had enough.”

  That must have been the scene in the bar Jayne and I had been witness to. Notably, Arianna hadn’t thrown the ring in Randy’s face. She’d taken it with her, no doubt intending to sell it for fifty quid at a street market along with her other junk.

  “And now,” she said, “he’ll never get rich.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jayne said.

  “You should talk to the police,” I said. “You might know something you don’t even know you know.”

  She shook her head.

  “Up to you,” I said. “But they’ll find out that you knew each other.”

  Panic flashed across her face. “How?”

  “Maybe they’ll find something of yours in his flat.”

  The panic disappeared and she shrugged. “He moved two months ago. I’ve not been to new flat. He said it was not in nice part of town. Temporary until he could get something better.”

  “Is that so?” I said. “Do what you want. Thanks for your time.”

  “Give me your number,” she said. “I will call you and we can talk about your store.”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want her to think I’d be buying her goods to sell in the Emporium, but if she did remember something about Randy, I hoped she’d let me know. Although I didn’t quite know how to ask that. I was supposedly here to look at jewelry.

  “Gemma stocks lots of mystery books in her store,” Jayne said. “She’s really interested in crime. Maybe you could call us if you hear anything more about what happened to your fiancé. Ex-fiancé, I mean. Just ’cause we’re curious.”

  “Uh. Good idea,” I said. I rattled off my phone number. “It’s a U.S. number, remember, so you don’t want to call if it’s not important.”

  Arianna pulled her own phone out of her pocket and quickly typed my number in.

  We left the flat and walked down the narrow stairs. When we emerged onto the street, a light snow was falling and daylight was fading.

  “It sure gets dark early here.” Jayne pulled her gloves on. I hadn’t taken mine off. It was highly unlikely the police would search Arianna’s flat, but if they did, I didn’t want my fingerprints to be found. Jayne’s prints wouldn’t be on file at Scotland Yard. Mine were.

  And not from anything I’d done illegally. I once “helped the police with their enquiries” in a series of thefts on the street where I worked. Meaning I knew who’d done it, but they, suspicious bunch, thought I was responsible. Once we’d cleared that up, they should have deleted my prints. I suspected they hadn’t.