* * *

  Around ten thirty we arrived en masse, suitcases and all, at the house on Stanhope Gardens. My mother greeted us warmly, trying not to look as though she regretted extending the invitation. She was dressed casually, for her, in cream trousers and a turquoise silk blouse. I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Are you going to work today?”

  “I thought it better not to. I told them I won’t be in for the remainder of the week. Brian will call me when he has word.”

  “What time’s the hearing?” Grant asked.

  Mum glanced at her watch. “It should be getting underway any minute.” The bags under her eyes were deep and tinged purple, and I could tell she hadn’t had much sleep, if any, last night.

  She led the way up the wide staircase, and we followed, suitcases banging against the stairs and wheels rattling. The hallway was softly lit by wall sconces and the weak winter light from the window overlooking the garden. This isn’t a small house; several closed doors led off the corridor.

  Horace followed us. He seemed to be trying to hide behind suitcases and legs, keeping himself out of view of Mum. Dad had told me the dog wasn’t allowed in the bedrooms. I didn’t rat on him.

  “Jayne,” Mum said, “I’ve given you the smallest room, but it has a window onto the garden and can be quite delightful in the morning. The last room on the left.”

  “Thank you,” Jayne said.

  “Donald and Grant, I hope you don’t mind sharing,” Mum said. “We had more bedrooms at one time, but we knocked out a wall and moved my study down to this floor a few years ago. I was grateful not to have to manage the stairs any longer. Henry’s office is still on the upper level, although he rarely uses it these days, favoring time in his workshop.”

  “Happy to share,” Donald said cheerfully.

  Grant forced out a tight smile.

  “Second on the right,” she said.

  Ryan and I got the big room at the front of the house, overlooking the street.

  “Nice,” Ryan said, bouncing on the king-sized bed, once we’d closed the door behind us. “And I don’t mean just the room. Thank heavens I don’t have to share with Donald any longer.”

  “I’m an improvement over Donald? Glad to hear it.”

  “Anyone would be an improvement over Donald.”

  I took a few things out of my suitcase and hung them in the closet.

  “Forget unpacking.” Ryan patted the bed and his eyes sparkled. “Come over and let’s try this out.”

  I grinned at him, pleased he seemed not to be mad at me anymore for standing him up at breakfast. “No time. I don’t know how long the hearing will take, but in case it’s not good news, I want to be with Mum when Brian calls. Grant and I have an appointment later this afternoon.”

  “Normally, I’d complain about you going off with Grant without me, but seeing as how he got the wrong end of the stick in roommates, I won’t mind too much.”

  I kissed him and dodged his attempts to pull me down beside him. “Let’s go downstairs and act sociable.”

  We found the others gathered in the kitchen. Mum fussed about, in a very un-Mum-like manner, pretending not to be constantly checking the clock on the wall or her iPhone on the counter. Jayne helped with the tea things and chattered cheerfully about our expedition to Whitechapel yesterday, leaving out all the bits about Elsie Saunders pilfering Randy’s art. Donald tried to interest Grant in an expedition to Speedy’s Café.

  Ryan and I pulled stools up to the breakfast bar. Jayne handed him a cup of tea.

  “Oh, good,” Ryan said. “More tea.”

  Mum’s phone rang. She threw me a frightened glance as she reached for it. Her hand shook, ever so slightly. “Anne Doyle,” she said.

  I held my breath, but only for a moment. All the tension fled from my mother’s face and she let out a long, grateful sigh. She broke into an enormous smile. “Thank you so much for calling, Brian. Yes, I’ll be here.” She hung up. “Henry has been released.”

  We all cheered. Horace barked.

  “The charges were not dismissed,” Mum said, “but the judge agreed the police acted prematurely in detaining him. DI Morrison was in court, although he was not called upon to speak. He left, Brian said, in a rage.”

  “That’s so great!” Jayne gave her a spontaneous hug. My mother is not the hugging type, but this time she returned the gesture with enthusiasm. When they separated, tears filled her eyes.

  “I’m so glad,” I said.

  Ryan lifted his teacup. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “Is Henry coming home?” Grant asked.

  Mum nodded. “They’re on their way now.”

  “Perhaps we should get out of your hair for a while,” Grant said.

  “Good idea,” Donald said. “We can go to Speedy’s. There’s a walking tour of places featured in the TV program that might be of interest.”

  Ryan groaned.

  “That’s not necessary,” Mum said. “You’re all welcome to stay. Henry will be happy to see you.”

  I dumped my unfinished tea into the sink. “You and Dad have things to talk over and he’ll be tired. He doesn’t need to play host to us. Grant, remind me what time our appointment is.”

  “Three.”

  “We have time for an outing, then. How about lunch at St. Martin-in-the-Fields, Jayne? You’ll love it. A total tourist trap, but great fun. Ryan, you and Donald can go to …”

  “Lunch sounds good,” Ryan said firmly. “I like tourist traps.”

  “No, you don’t,” I said.

  “Yes, I do,” he said.

  “Maybe Pippa would like to join us,” Grant said. “She told me her office is in the center of town.”

  “Pippa wouldn’t be caught dead in St. Martin’s,” I said. “Pippa wishes the government would move all the offices to some remote offshore island where tourists can’t find them.”

  “Doesn’t hurt to ask,” Grant said. “I’ll give her a call now.”

  I turned in time to see my mother smiling at him. Was Mum hearing wedding bells?

  “I’ll get my bag,” Jayne said. “Ten minutes?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “I’ll be ready,” Ryan said.

  “My guidebook recommends St Martin’s,” Donald said. “I’m happy to join you.”

  “Could I possibly borrow a scarf and gloves?” I asked my mother once everyone had dispersed.

  “What’s wrong with yours?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I assume it has something to do with helping Henry, so very well. I’ll get you something.”

  “Thanks. The Burberry scarf, please, and those blue leather gloves, the ones with the mink trim.”

  “The gloves were a gift. I’ve only worn them once.”

  “All the better.”

  * * *

  We were standing in a bunch in the doorway, adjusting coats and scarfs, collecting bags and phones, and making plans, when a black cab drove up. Dad and Brian got out.

  Mum flew down the steps and wrapped her arms around my father. He held her tightly for a long time. The neighbors would be shocked.

  “As long as a taxi’s conveniently arrived,” Donald said. “We might as well take it.” He ran down the steps and spoke to the driver.

  Brian joined us in the entrance hall. He looked, I thought, highly pleased with himself.

  “That was quick work,” I said.

  “Thanks to what Detective Ashburton and I learned last night, I was able to have a quiet word in police ears before going into court.”

  “Glad I could be of help,” Ryan said.

  “And you were,” Brian said, “Police, I’ve found, always talk more easily to one of their kind.”

  Mum and Dad came up the stairs together, arms wrapped around each other. He looked tired but otherwise not too much worse for wear after a night spent in the nick.

  I gave him a hug. “Do you remember anything more about what happened?”

  He shook his head. “Still a blank.”

  “Upstairs with you,” Mum said, “this instant. Have a shower and I’ll bring up tea and toast.”

  The English cure for everything.

  “We’re going out to lunch,” I said. “Unless you want me to stay?”

  He gave my mother a fond look, but he spoke to me. “I’ll be fine, Gemma. You and your friends have a nice day.”

  “We won’t be long.”

  “I couldn’t get Pippa on her phone,” Grant said. “You should call and let her know what’s happening.”

  “I suspect Pippa knew I’d be released before I did,” Dad said.

  “What does that mean?” Grant asked me.

  “She’s psychic,” I said. Then, at his look, I added, “Only joking.”

  We piled into the waiting cab. I took the seat by the window on the left next to Jayne, with Donald and Grant facing us from the jump seats and Ryan up front beside the cabby. The driver pulled into the road and drove away. As we approached the intersection with Cromwell Road, I felt a tingling down the back of my neck.

  DI Sam Morrison was standing by the iron fence surrounding the private garden. He was alone and he stared intently at the taxi as it went by. He caught my eye, and the look on his face sent a chill through me.

  The cab found a break in traffic and sped away.

  I sent my mother a quick text: MORRISON IS WATCHING THE HOUSE.

  * * *

  The restaurant in the crypt of the church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, across the street from Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery, is a tourist favorite, and deservedly so.

  The moment we entered the underground space, Jayne squealed as she caught sight of the soaring red brick arches and the rows of ancient tombstones laid into the floor. “Order me anything,” she said, “anything at all!” She ran around the room, reading the fading inscriptions on the stones.

  The place was crowded, but we managed to snag a big table as a group of German tourists, all guidebooks, sturdy shoes, and camera equipment, vacated it. Donald and I guarded the table while Grant and Ryan went for our food and Jayne rushed about, looking at everything.

  “Jolly good to see your father this morning,” Donald said. The longer we stayed in England, the more he was picking up traces of an accent. He’d be speaking the Queen’s English better than I did soon.

  “It was that.”

  “Have you given any thought to when we can go home?”

  “Aren’t you enjoying London?”

  “I’m loving every minute,” he said. “Except for your father’s problem, of course. But home is still home and I’m not accustomed to being away.”

  “You don’t have to stay any longer, Donald. I appreciate your support, I hope you know that, but I understand.”

  “I’ll stay,” he said firmly. “As long as I’m needed.”

  Once again, I felt tears forming behind my eyes. Donald wasn’t needed in the least; if anything, it was complicating things trying to keep him busy and out from underfoot, but his concern for me and my family was genuine. Donald pulled his Lonely Planet guide to London out of his satchel, adjusted his glasses, turned to the section on St. Martin’s, and settled back to read.

  I was glad Dad had been released from jail, but I was well aware the case wasn’t over yet. My father was still under suspicion for the murder of his brother-in-law, and Sam Morrison was watching my parents’ house. Brian had argued in front of a judge that Morrison had a grudge against my father and he’d been removed from the case. His presence in Stanhope Gardens this morning could mean nothing good.

  Like Donald, I wanted to go home. But I wouldn’t, not until my father was completely cleared of all suspicion. And that, I knew, might take a very long time.

  Ryan and Grant arrived with laden trays and placed drinks and sandwiches on the table and we all dug in. Donald read parts of his guidebook out loud to Jayne, and Grant checked a text under the table that left him grinning like a lovesick fool. Only Ryan’s face was dark and serious. Like me, he knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. He reached for my hand under the table and ran his index finger across my palm.

  “You need to go home.” I spoke in a low, private voice. “You’re using up all your vacation time.”

  “I called the chief and explained. He’s given me another week.”

  “Might not be enough,” I said.

  “I’m not leaving without you, Gemma. And I have the feeling you’re not leaving until this is over.”

  “You’re right about that. I’m not. I couldn’t.”

  “I called Louise this morning to check in. She didn’t come right out and say I wasn’t needed, but she did imply that the crime rate in West London has gone down considerably since you left town.”

  I harrumphed. “That is most certainly not my fault.”

  “How’s Arthur managing at the store?” he asked.

  I thought of fires and flooded computers and angry New York Times best-selling authors. “Everything’s fine, but he’ll be getting restless soon.” Great-Uncle Arthur was one of the world’s great travelers. Even approaching ninety, he never could stay in one place for long.

  I glanced at Jayne, munching her sandwich and listening to Donald natter. Jayne needed to get back to the bakery. Before we left, she’d put in long hours getting things done ahead of time and putting a week’s worth of pastries into the freezer. Her staff was competent, but they weren’t professional bakers of her quality. Donald might have said he’d stay, but I knew he didn’t have much in the way of extra money and my parents’ hospitality would eventually run out.

  As for Grant, he also had a business to run, but clearly he wasn’t ready to go home yet. Not until he and Pippa came to an understanding.

  I feared Grant would have his heart broken.

  Then again, maybe I was being too hard on my sister. She seemed to be enjoying his company.

  The very thought had no sooner crossed my mind than I saw her coming toward us. I blinked, in case I was imagining things.

  No, it was Pippa all right, tapping her way across centuries of graves in her red patent-leather shoes with four-inch heels. Wonder of wonders, she was out of the office in the middle of the day and actually smiling.

  Grant leapt to his feet, his face a picture of pure joy. “Pippa! So glad you could make it!”

  “I snuck out of the office; wasn’t that naughty of me?” She giggled. I checked to make sure this was really Pippa and not some foreign spy pretending to be her.

  “I’ll find another chair,” Donald said, politely getting to his feet.

  “No, thank you,” Pippa said. “I can’t stay for long, but when Grant said you were lunching here at St. Martin’s, I wanted to take the opportunity to show him my favorite room at the gallery.” She smiled at Grant. He smiled back.

  “Great idea,” he said. “Gemma, why don’t we meet at ten to three on the steps outside the church where we came in? We can walk from here and be on time for our appointment.”

  “Fine,” I said.

  “I’ve been wanting to visit the National Gallery,” Donald said, gathering his book and coat and putting on his gloves. “I’ll come with you. It’s always better, I’ve found, to visit these places in the company of someone who knows their way around, particularly when I don’t have time to see everything.”

  Ryan chuckled. Grant sputtered. Pippa said, “Let’s be off, then.” She looked at me. “You’ll keep me appraised?”

  “Of course.”

  “Appraised of what?” Ryan said.

  “Developments,” I said.

  “That means nothing,” he said.

  “Trust me,” I said.

  “He will,” Pippa said.

  “Two against one,” Ryan said, “I haven’t got a chance.”

  “Coming, Jayne?” Donald asked.

  Jayne glanced at me.

  “Pippa’s taste in art is not mine,” I said. “I’m thinking of spending the time at the Portrait Gallery. I always love saying hello to Henry the Eighth and Elizabeth the First.”

  “I’ll come with you, then,” Jayne said. “History is more to my liking than art”—a glance at Ryan—“if that’s okay?”

  “Happy to have you,” he said, meaning it.

  Pippa, Grant, and Donald left. I settled back to finish my lunch, and then we also gathered our things. We’d barely risen from our seats before a pack of Japanese tourists in matching red-and-yellow jackets descended on our table.

  When we emerged onto the street, the sun was shining in an unusually (for London in January) bright blue sky.

  Ryan held my hand as we crossed the busy sidewalk heading for the curb. Traffic was heavy in both directions. Behind us, I heard Jayne say, “Hold on a sec. My sunglasses are in here somewhere.” Ryan dropped my hand and stepped back. I stood at the edge of the road, waiting for the light to change. I looked across the street and felt a sudden, unexpected tug of emotion. Trafalgar Square, full of pigeons and tourists, hawkers and performance artists. Admiral Nelson standing proud on top of his column; the four plinths, one in each corner of the square. The wide bustling steps of the National Gallery, the building packed full of the greatest art in the world.

  My city.

  My city smelled strongly of fumes from delivery lorries, ancient drains, too many people crowded too close together, the occasional passing dog, cooking odors.

  And something else. Something soft, almost flowery, unexpected, unidentifiable.

  A hand on my back. A shove. I stumbled and fell forward.

  A white panel van heading straight toward me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Gemma. Gemma! Are you all right?”

  I groaned, blinked, and opened my eyes. Ryan’s intense blue ones, full of fear, were looking straight into mine. “Gemma?”

  “I’m here. I’m … I’m fine. I think. Help me up.” I lay on the sidewalk, my legs sticking into the roadway. I yelped and pulled my feet in.

  A look of pure relief wiped the fear from Ryan’s eyes, and he gripped my arm. A soft hand took the other, and between them Ryan and Jayne leveraged me to my feet. I tried to take a step, but my legs gave way and I wobbled. Pain shot through my right knee and I cried out. My friends gripped me harder.