He followed me. “Did you learn anything useful?”

  “Nothing I didn’t know already. But it can be helpful to have my impressions confirmed.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The shop closes early on Sunday; after bidding Donald adieu and locking up, I went over to Jayne’s. Andy opened the door to my knock and let me in.

  I found Jayne sitting in her living room, her feet on a stool, mug of tea in hand, looking totally adorable in a pink dressing gown. Her face was scrubbed clean and her hair piled loosely at the back of her head.

  I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You look good.”

  “I feel perfectly fine, Gemma.” She gave Andy an affectionate smile. “Everyone needs to stop fussing over me. Neither Mom nor Andy will let me do so much as make myself a piece of toast.”

  “You had a scare,” he said.

  “And now I’m recovered. Gemma’s here, so you can go to work.”

  “I’m not sure …” he said.

  “But I am. Off you go.” She made shooing gestures.

  “You’ll call me if you need anything, Gemma,” Andy said, “or if there are any … developments.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “You mean if I feel sick again,” Jayne said. “Which, I can assure you, I won’t.”

  Andy gave her a chaste little kiss on the top of her head, and I walked him to the door.

  “Now you’ll call if—”

  “’Bye.” I slammed the door.

  “Enough of this tea,” Jayne called. “There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge. Help yourself and bring me one.”

  I carried two glasses into the living room. “I wasn’t planning on staying long. Do you need me to?” I handed her a glass.

  “No. But don’t tell Mom or Andy you’ve left me alone.”

  “Shall I order something in for dinner?”

  “No need. Mom stocked the fridge with more than I’ll eat all month.”

  “You’re lucky to have people around you who care so much.”

  Jayne gave me a radiant smile and lifted her glass. “I am lucky. And I know it. Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” We clinked glasses.

  Jayne took a sip and then said, “So, who tried to kill me?”

  “What makes you think anyone did?”

  “A year ago, the very idea wouldn’t have crossed my mind. I guess I’ve been spending way too much time around you. The doctor was full of questions about where and what I’d eaten, and he was specifically interested in the lemonade I had at the tennis game. Then Ryan and Louise came in and asked the same thing, so I’m assuming the lemonade was poisoned somehow. It was full of stuff—slices of lemon and some herbs or leaves.”

  “How did it taste?”

  “It tasted like lemonade. Lemony. The leaves were mint, I think. Obviously, you think there was more in there than lemonade.”

  “I do.”

  “So who tried to kill me? Or at least make me sick?”

  “No one. It had to have been aimed at me. The glass had been poured for me, if you remember.”

  “I don’t remember, but that doesn’t matter. Who gave it to you?”

  “Mike. Which doesn’t mean he added the … whatever it was. I put the glass down and left it unattended for several minutes. Mrs. Ramsbatten was there the whole time, but she fell asleep. As for who it might have been, I don’t know, Jayne. Any one of the people who were at Lauren’s tennis match might have put something in the drink when no one was looking. Except for Sheila, who was with us when the … whatever was added.”

  Jayne sipped her wine in silence. I studied her face. She looked fine, as she kept saying she was, but someone had tried to kill her. Even if they intended to get someone else—that is, me—it had still been a traumatic event. “Why don’t you take a few days off? Maybe go up the coast with Andy, stay in a nice B&B, walk on the beach, eat at nice restaurants.”

  I should have known better than to even make the suggestion. Jayne’s eyes widened in horror. “It’s the middle of the season, Gemma. Andy has a restaurant to run. I have Mrs. Hudson’s. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, it’s too late now. I called Fiona and Jocelyn earlier and told them we’d be opening tomorrow, regular hours. Enough of me. How was your day?”

  I filled her in on Donald’s attempts to be a salesclerk. “I suspect he has plans to eliminate everything he doesn’t think relevant to or respectful of the Great Detective and his creator.”

  We drank our wine and then moved to the kitchen, where Jayne popped a chicken casserole into the microwave and pulled a premixed salad and bottle of homemade dressing out of the fridge. Over the meal, we talked about everything but the Anna Wentworth killing.

  By the time I was scraping my plate clean, Jayne was smothering a yawn.

  “Bed for you, ducks.” I got to my feet and gathered the dirty dishes.

  “It’s barely past seven o’clock, Gemma.”

  “Your body has had a shock. If you’re planning to be at work at the usual time tomorrow, you need a lot of sleep tonight.” I put the dishes in the dishwasher and the remains of the casserole into a plastic container. “Promise me if you don’t feel well or start getting tired tomorrow, you’ll go home. Even if you have to close the tearoom early.”

  “I promise,” she said.

  “Liar,” I said.

  * * *

  Violet greeted me in her usual exuberant fashion. I greeted her in return, although perhaps not quite so exuberantly. Greetings over, I served her dinner and settled down to read for a while. Unless and until there were more developments in the murder investigation, I didn’t know what I could do. It was probably too early for Ryan to have the results of the tests on Jayne’s stomach contents, but that didn’t matter. I knew she’d been poisoned and was almost certain the poison had been meant for me; what had been used didn’t matter all that much, although it would be worth knowing if the intent had been to kill me or only to make me sick for a few hours.

  I didn’t think I could ask Ryan outright if he’d heard from Manuel. If he hadn’t, he’d demand to know what I was talking about. I’d promised Manuel I wouldn’t reveal what he told me if he went to the police himself. I had to give him some time.

  So I curled up in my favorite chair and fell into my book. Violet wandered into the den to keep me company. When I next looked up, it was dark outside and Violet was snuffling in her sleep. I checked my phone. Ten o’clock. Time to take the dog for a quick walk and then myself to bed.

  “Walk,” I said.

  Violet scrambled to her feet and ran for the mudroom door. I didn’t plan to go far, so I slipped on a pair of thin ballet flats rather than the trainers or sports sandals I usually wear for our walks.

  We stood outside under the light over the mudroom door for a few minutes, taking in the surroundings. The scent of basil and the other herbs Mrs. Ramsbatten had planted filled the air. Cars went by, not stopping nor slowing. Violet nosed around the ground at my feet, but nothing attracted her attention.

  I kept my senses alert and my attention on Violet as we walked through the dark streets. I couldn’t forget that someone had tried to kill me—or warn me off—yesterday. They’d failed, and that might have frightened them from trying again. Or not.

  Violet sniffed at every lamppost and bush while I enjoyed the peace of the night. A strong wind was blowing inland, ruffling my curls and the fur on Violet’s back and bringing the delicious scent of the sea with it. Lamps burned in a few windows, and the blue glow of a TV shone behind curtains.

  It was, I realized, exactly a week, almost to the minute, since Anna Wentworth had died. I turned at the next corner.

  We walked past the empty park. The children’s swing set squeaked in the wind as we approached the small wooded area. It was late, and not many people or cars were out. Gradually, I became aware of footsteps behind me, keeping pace with mine. I slowed, turned slightly, and peered into the darkness, but I could see nothing and no one. The footsteps stopped. I looked down at Violet, sniffing at a patch of grass that looked no different from any other patch of grass.

  “Violet?” I said softly.

  The dog didn’t look up. Her nose twitched and her tail moved. She appeared to be sensing nothing out of the ordinary. I increased my pace and she abandoned whatever scent had proved to be so interesting to trot beside me.

  Footsteps again. Getting closer. Firm and strong and purposeful. Not a dog walker or a wanderer. I was nearing the darkest spot on the street, and that burnt-out streetlamp had not been replaced. I took a deep breath and slipped my free hand into my pocket and grabbed my phone. I stopped, muttering a curse, and leaned over as though to tie my shoe. I took a deep breath, summoned all the energy I could; then, in one swift movement, I stood upright and whirled around, the hand gripping my phone held out in front of me, the other holding the leash loose.

  “Nice night, isn’t it?” The woman behind me was dressed in jogging clothes and bright pink and yellow trainers, earbuds in her ears and a white wire trailing into the phone strapped to her upper arm. She pushed a button on her phone as she passed me and, with a burst of speed, disappeared around a corner. I let out all the breath I’d been holding.

  Violet, who’d sensed no danger, looked up at me, her head cocked to one side in a question.

  “Sorry. Looks like I’m somewhat jumpy tonight.” I let go of my phone and the dog and I stood in the gap between the streetlights, listening to the sounds of the town of West London at night. The sky was clear, with no moon, and even in the reflected glow of the city, a scattering of the brightest stars shone in the sky.

  I stepped off the sidewalk and entered the darkness of the woods. Violet ran ahead of me as far as the leash would allow her, sniffing the ground. The lights and intermittent noises of the street fell behind us. A small animal scurried through the undergrowth and dead leaves, and small branches crunched under my feet. Violet woofed softly. I didn’t switch on the flashlight app on my phone. I wanted to experience the dark. I wanted to feel what Anna Wentworth had felt in the moments before she died.

  I was concentrating so hard on my feelings of darkness and solitude I didn’t watch where I was putting my feet. I stepped on the edge of a small rock and it slid out from under my foot, throwing me off balance. I grabbed at a branch, missed and, getting no traction from my shoes, fell backward. The back of my head met the hard ground, and the world went dark.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Something warm and wet rubbed my cheek, and a high-pitched whine came from my right, close by my ear.

  Confused, unsure where I was, I opened my eyes. I was lying on rough ground. Leafy branches swayed overhead in the gentle breeze, and I could see a few pinpricks of light shining through them. It was very quiet. My head swam, and then the whine came again. I recognized Violet’s long nose and liquid brown eyes and I remembered stepping into the copse, slipping, and falling. I remembered the footsteps I’d thought had been following me, and listened for the sound of breathing or the crunch of dead leaves: for an indication that someone was close by, watching me. But other than Violet, I sensed nothing. I lifted one hand and rubbed her ear.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “I think.”

  The dog yelped in relief and began licking my face with a vengeance.

  I mentally checked myself out. The back of my head hurt, but nothing else seemed to be damaged. I wiggled my feet and flexed my wrists, and to my infinite relief my fingers and toes moved as commanded. I groaned and slowly sat up. Violet danced backward and yipped at me. I gave the back of my head a tentative touch and felt a lump already forming. The patch of hair over it was wet and sticky. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the time: 10:35. I’d been unconscious for maybe five or ten minutes.

  A car drove past on the road, but the woods were all-concealing, and no one stopped to see if I needed help.

  Violet whined again, and I gave her a thorough rub. “You must have been scared. Aren’t you a good girl to stay with me.”

  She barked in agreement. I struggled to my feet. I wasn’t too sure if my head was going to remain steady, so I didn’t lean over to pick up the end of the leash. “Let’s go home,” I said. “If I pass out again, you need to go for help.”

  She ran on ahead, her leash dragging behind her. When she reached the sidewalk, she stopped and looked behind her to check I was following.

  Go for help.

  I made a phone call. “Sorry to bother you so late, Manuel, but it is important. Do you have Anna’s dog?”

  “Anna’s dog? You mean Peony? No, why would you think that?”

  “I’m wondering where he is.”

  “Peony was Anna’s dog, and she loved him a great deal. I would have taken him if I could, but I live in an apartment building with a no-dog rule. When I was at the house for the last time and Mike told me I was fired, I asked about Peony. Mike said he was moving so he’d given the dog away. I don’t know where he went. Is something the matter?”

  “Nope. Nothing at all. Good night.”

  I hung up and called Sheila Tierney. I asked her about the people who’d come to watch Lauren’s tennis game.

  “It’s late for a call,” she said rather rudely, I thought. “Why do you want to know anyway?”

  I wasn’t in the mood to make polite small talk. “Because I do. I’ll come over there and knock you up, if I have to.”

  “You’ll do what?”

  “Get you out of bed.”

  “Whatever.” She told me what I wanted to know, and I hung up as she yelled, “Wait! What—”

  The next number I needed wasn’t in my phone. That call would have to wait until I got home.

  I then called Ryan, who answered on the first ring. “Good evening, Gemma.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at home. About to go to bed. Why do you ask?”

  “I know who killed Anna Wentworth. I’m out walking Violet. We’ll be home in about ten minutes. Meet us there.”

  “Are you going to give me a hint?”

  “No.”

  Violet and I made it home in eight minutes, but Ryan’s car was already parked in front of the house. He’d dressed in a hurry, probably pulled clothes out of the laundry hamper or off the floor.

  “What’s going on?” he asked as we walked up the driveway.

  “Let’s go inside.”

  The motion sensor lights had come on, and Ryan stood behind me as I unlocked the mudroom door.

  “Hold on.” He touched the back of my head. “There’s blood in your hair. Gemma, what’s going on? Did someone attack you?”

  “I tripped over a rock, slipped, and fell. It was a total accident caused by nothing but my own carelessness. I passed out for a few minutes. No damage was done other than a sore noggin and a big lump, but the blow knocked some sense into me.”

  “It doesn’t look that way to me. You’re making absolutely no sense.”

  Now that I’d arrived home, delayed shock hit me. I dropped into a kitchen chair and put my head in my hands. Violet headed for her water bowl and drank deeply.

  Ryan crouched in front of me and folded my hands in his. He looked into my eyes. “You okay, Gemma? If you hit your head, you need to go to the hospital.”

  “I’m fine. A bit unsteady. I just need a minute.”

  “Tea?”

  I gave him a heartfelt smile. “I’m turning you into a worthy partner for an Englishwoman. Yes, please. Tea would be perfect.”

  He filled the kettle and plugged it in.

  “Don’t forget to add the tea bags to the pot,” I said. “In trying to make sense of this case, we neglected to take into account the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime.”

  Ryan whirled around. Worry filled his lovely blue eyes. “I’d better get you to the hospital.”

  “I’m not reciting lines from “Silver Blaze” in some sort of Sherlock-inspired delirium. I’m telling you what happened not far from here last Sunday.”

  “As I recall from the story, the curious incident of the dog in the nighttime is that the dog did nothing in the nighttime. But Anna Wentworth’s dog did do something. It went home.”

  “Exactly. And I realized a few minutes ago when Violet stayed by my side when I was unconscious, that her behavior was the norm for a loyal dog. Leaving their owner lying on the ground and trotting off happily home would have been a curious thing for a dog to do. I was out cold for maybe five or ten minutes.”

  He sucked in a breath. “That’s a long time to be unconscious, Gemma.”

  “Never mind that now,” I said.

  “Okay. I’ll worry that you need urgent medical attention later.”

  “Sarcasm does not become you. I suspect if I’d been unconscious all night, Violet would not have left my side.” She put her chin on my lap, and I rubbed her ears.

  “That’s entirely possible but not necessarily applicable to Anna’s dog, which is what I assume you’re trying to get at. Your dog didn’t have anyone to go to for help. Arthur’s away. Violet’s never been to my place. She might not know how to get to Jayne’s or Irene’s on foot. Anna’s dog went home to her other owner.”

  “Anna’s dog. That’s the entire point, Ryan. The dog was not Mike’s dog. Mike didn’t like the dog. The first thing he did after Anna died was get rid of it.”

  I glanced at Violet, her huge brown eyes so full of loyalty and, dare I say it, love. Poor Peony. His owner dead, and him abruptly sent to an uncertain fate. I shoved aside a thought of the dog wondering what was happening to him and why Anna hadn’t come to get him. “No, that dog would not have left Anna’s side after she fell. Which means he didn’t go home, alert Mike that something was wrong, and lead him to his wife’s body. Mike didn’t need the dog to take him to Anna because he knew exactly where she was. He killed her. He would have realized that no matter how careful he was, he would leave some DNA or other evidence in the woods along with his wife’s body. I’m assuming you found such?”

  Ryan nodded.

  “What better way of accounting for his presence than pretending to find her? He would have told you he’d dropped to his knees beside her, wept and wailed and cradled her lifeless body in his arms as he vainly attempted to perform some sort of resuscitation. He couldn’t say he’d gone looking for her when she didn’t come home, as the body was out of sight of the road and she hadn’t been gone all that long anyway. He couldn’t leave her there for an appropriate length of time, as someone might come across her and call nine-one-one, and after the police and ambulance arrived, he wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near.”