“Once again, for the benefit of Detective Ashburton, can you go through the events of last night that led you to attempt to rescue Tina Armstong?”

  I did so. I remembered nothing new, and nothing I’d seen or heard since had taken on any fresh significance.

  “Thank you,” she said when I finished. “Any questions, Detective Ashburton?”

  “Why were you and Jayne outside?” Ryan asked. “You didn’t have coats and it was cold.”

  “Allow me to follow a train of thought first. The restaurant deck can be accessed from the restaurant itself, the dock below, and the boardwalk.”

  “I see where you’re going,” Ryan said. “The gate leading off the boardwalk is secure and it has a solid lock, opened by a code. It was locked when officers arrived last night, and one of the restaurant staff opened it for them. Same for the gate from the public boardwalk to the dock, which is normal for this time of year.”

  In return for that information, I answered Ryan’s question. “I wanted to warn Jayne that Robbie Ellis might be intending to cause trouble for her and Andy.”

  “You didn’t tell me that last night,” Estrada said.

  “I didn’t want to confuse matters at the time. You were impatient to examine the scene again and to get to the hospital.”

  “Who’s Robbie Ellis?”

  “A former boyfriend of Jayne’s. He was working as a waiter last night. Late thirties, middling height, pudgy around the middle and the face, scruffy goatee. Could be moderately good-looking, if he dropped the sneer, which rarely happens. He was overheard bad-mouthing Jayne. At her own birthday party. I didn’t think that was nice.” I smoothly threw Robbie under the bus. I didn’t think Robbie had anything to do with Tina’s death, nor was I suggesting so, but this seemed like a good time to mention my concerns about him.

  “I remember him,” Ryan said. “Haven’t seen him for years.”

  “He left. He came back. As they so often do. Including, if memory serves, you.” No need to remind Ryan he left West London to get away from me. He returned a few years later and found me still here. “Tina had her little crossbody bag on her when she was pulled out. I saw her put her phone in it. Did you recover it?”

  “We did,” Estrada said. “Obviously totally soaked in salt water. We’ve been told not to even try to open it for at least forty-eight hours, and even then, it might never come back to life.”

  “That would appear to negate my idea of an ill-considered evening swim. Who swims with their phone on them?”

  Ryan chuckled. “I’ve known guys to leap in and then remember, halfway down, their phone’s still in their pocket. Mighty funny to see the expression on their faces.” His own face twisted with the memory. “Or so I’ve been told.”

  “Are you talking from personal experience?” I asked.

  “Not telling.”

  Even Estrada smiled at that. She considered it necessary to go through the motions of telling me the police didn’t need my interference, but once that was done, she was okay with listening to what I had to say. She managed to choke out, “Do you … have any … thoughts on the matter?”

  “Nothing new. It’s been mentioned Tina was a swimmer and a diver, so it’s possible she tried a dive from the railing and misjudged the angle with the dark and the amount she’d had to drink. Whether an ill-considered midnight swim or a deliberate attempt at ending it all … I can’t say.”

  “What about the unlatched gate?” Ryan asked.

  “It remains an interesting part of the puzzle. Could have nothing to do with what happened. Plenty of people were around that night.”

  “Louise asked Andy about the gate,” Ryan said. “Andy said it was secure when he checked the place out prior to the first guests arriving, and he didn’t check it after that. The lock isn’t really even a lock, just a latch requiring some minor dexterity to open. Enough to keep little kids in and send a message to late-night revelers, but not much more.”

  “I’m of the opinion her death was by misadventure,” I said.

  “I disagree,” Estrada said. “The open gate. The blow to the head. The intense coldness of the water. Her phone still being on her. We’re looking at a murder here.”

  “I’m not ruling that out,” I said, “simply exploring all possibilities. If we want to talk deliberate murder: a strong young man might have been able to catch her unaware and throw her over the railing. But an out-of-shape man or an older woman? No. They would have needed to get her through the gate and then give her a good solid shove down the steps.”

  “An interesting choice of words there,” Ryan said. “What older woman or out-of-shape man are you thinking of?”

  “No one in particular. Just speculating.”

  He studied my face, perhaps looking for clues there.

  Estrada stood up. “I trust you’ll contact us immediately if you think of anything at all relevant.”

  “I will,” I said.

  “We will be in touch.” She left, followed by a black shadow.

  Ryan also got to his feet, but he lingered after his partner and Moriarty left. I went up to him and he wrapped his arms around me. When we separated, he said, “Your thoughts?”

  “I’m not as convinced it’s murder as Louise is, but I don’t want to rule it out, and she knows more of the finer details about this than I do.” I smiled up at him, waiting for him to fill me in on those finer details. He did not.

  “Have you spoken to Tina’s family to ask if anything, or anyone, was bothering her recently. About her state of mind?”

  “We have,” Ryan said. “And that is absolutely not something I am going to share with you.”

  * * *

  Estrada and Ryan were focusing on Tina’s death being a murder, and that made me waver in my own previous conviction it was death by misadventure.

  The number of smokers popping in and out of the deck area that night complicated things considerably. Once again, I mentally ran over the list of those who might have gone out for a cigarette: as well as Tina, among the guests this included Andy’s mom, Madison, and Audrey. Anyone else could have gone out for a breath of air or to admire the night. Even to speak in private—Jayne and I had. Of the staff, one of them might have gone onto the deck for any reason. Andy didn’t smoke, but he was everywhere that night, all the time, ensuring everything was running smoothly and his guests were having a good time.

  In any murder investigation, the first question to be asked is qui bono. Who benefits?

  I knew nothing at all about Tina and her life. She might have enemies crawling out of the woodwork, for all I knew. But she died at Jayne’s party, and that meant a limited circle of suspects, if we needed to be looking for suspects. And some of them were people I did know and whom I cared about.

  Theoretically, person or persons unknown could have accessed the restaurant deck directly from the boardwalk or from the dock via the boardwalk. The larger, heavier gate from the boardwalk had been locked, secured by a proper lock with a code, and it did not appear to have been breached. Access to the small dock was also locked at night, and that gate was secure when the police checked. Meaning, other than down the steps from the outdoor restaurant, access to the dock could only have been by boat. Getting a boat, driving it to the dock in the dead of night, tying it up, and lying in wait for the right moment would require a good deal of planning for a not-guaranteed result. The deck might have been packed with smokers when Tina took her break.

  If I wanted to consider the possibility that Tina’s death had not been an accident or self-inflicted and someone from the restaurant, either staff or guests, followed her outside, qui bono?

  Decision made, I ran downstairs. I was pleased to see we’d had some customers while I was otherwise occupied, as a few books had been removed from the center table and the stack of World of Sherlock jigsaw puzzles was shorter than it had been. Ashleigh was ringing up CDs containing Sherlock Holmes: The Definitive Collection audiobook, narrated by Stephen Fry, for a customer.

  “Love your outfit,” the customer told her. “You need to stock more Golden Age detective stories: Christie and the like.”

  “I keep telling the owner that,” Ashleigh said, “but she insists we stick to our Sherlock Holmes mandate. I’ll convince her someday. Hi, Gemma. Everything okay?”

  Ashleigh never tries to pretend she doesn’t have any shortage of ideas as to how I should be running my business.

  “You okay to watch the shop for a while? I have an errand to run.”

  “I don’t know why you bother to ask, Gemma. You know I’m fine here.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure I liked the sound of that. Was I so surplus to requirements in my own shop?

  Couldn’t be helped now. I usually walk to work, but it was a cold day and I was preoccupied by the events of the previous night, so I’d brought my car. The sporty little red Miata I’m so fond of didn’t quite suit the winter weather, but no snow was in the forecast and the streets were well plowed after the last fall. Uncle Arthur’s 1977 Triumph Spitfire, even less suited to this climate than my car, spends the winters in our garage.

  I prefer not to warn people of an impending visit, thus allowing them time to compose themselves and prepare what to say. But that can lead to a good deal of time wasting because if I don’t ask if they’re home, they sometimes are not.

  The person I was interested in talking to first worked from her home as a bookkeeper, so I decided to take a chance on finding her in.

  * * *

  Trish Whitehall opened the door with a look of surprise. “Gemma. Is everything okay?” She peered over my shoulder. “Jayne?”

  “Everything’s fine. When I left her, Jayne was happily scooping dough for oatmeal cookies.”

  “Best oatmeal cookies I’ve ever had. And that includes my mother’s.”

  “Can’t argue with that, particularly as my own mother never made a biscuit in her life. She’s never even owned a baking sheet.”

  “Is that true? You must have had a severely deprived childhood.”

  “In matters of home baking only. Can I come in? It won’t take long, and there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  She eyed me warily but stepped back, and I entered her house.

  The Whitehall home was a standard midcentury bungalow on a huge heavily treed lot. Clean, tidy, but never extensively renovated. A long corridor led to the back of the house, doors opening off it. I slipped off my boots, and Trish showed me into the living room. Soft beige leather couch, numerous red and white cushions, much-loved damask wingback chair, low coffee table. Trish and Pete’s wedding picture, baby photos, plenty of pictures of Andy and his three sisters over the years. Souvenirs of trips to Europe and Arizona covered the side tables, and pieces of nice, but inexpensive, art hung on the walls.

  I quite deliberately had not told the police, either Ryan or Louise Estrada, what Trish said to me last night about Tina. I also didn’t tell them Trish smoked, but they should have been able to figure that out for themselves.

  She didn’t take a seat or offer one to me. Instead, she lifted her chin and said, “Are you here to accuse me of killing Tina?”

  That certainly caught me off guard. “What? I mean, no. I’m not. Why would you think so?”

  “It’s no secret around town you’ve often been of help to the police. According to my son, it’s more the opposite. The police are occasionally of help to you in solving crimes.”

  “I wouldn’t quite put it that way.”

  “Why then this unaccustomed visit in the middle of a workday? I don’t believe you’ve ever been to my home before.” She was no longer smiling.

  “Please, can we sit down?” I, however, did smile.

  “Please, make yourself at home.”

  I took the wingback chair. The fabric on the arms was heavily worn, torn in places, the colors faded. Obviously much used and much loved. The book on the low table next to it was a paperback historical romance, the cover all lurid purple and heaving bosoms and bulging muscles. This was Trish’s chair, and she was off-footed having to sit on the couch, where she perched uncomfortably on the edge, ready to leap up at a moment’s notice.

  I made myself comfortable. Noticeably, Trish did not offer me refreshments. “Tina Armstrong,” I said, watching for a reaction.

  “What about her?”

  “She and Andy were in a relationship for a long time. It ended, as these things do, and they went their separate ways. You were not at all happy to see her last night. No need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that. You told me so yourself.”

  “I didn’t know the girl would end up dead.”

  I decided to back off. I was coming on too hostile and such had not been my intention. “I’m not here to accuse you of anything, Trish. Truly. I have no authority to do so even if I wanted to. I thought we could talk about it. For the record, I didn’t tell the police what you told me.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “You didn’t ask me to keep our conversation confidential, but I assumed that was your intention.”

  She let out a long breath and fell back into the cushions. “Not confidential, no. It was no secret I didn’t like her. When she and my son were together, I never said so out loud, but he knew. I wasn’t the only one. Pete was no fonder of her than I was. Yes, I was relieved when Tina was out of the picture, and nothing but delighted when Jayne came into it. I adore Jayne.”

  “That’s obvious.”

  “She’s absolutely perfect for Andy.” Her face clouded. “You don’t think this unpleasantness will delay the wedding, do you?”

  “I don’t see why it should. I know this is none of my business but humor me. I’m the curious sort. You smoke. Did you nip out for a cigarette over the evening?”

  “I did. A couple of times.”

  “Tina also went out for a cigarette. Did you talk to her then? Smokers have a way of falling into conversation, I believe.”

  “I saw her there on one occasion, and it was some time before she died. Pete’s aunt Audrey was having a cigarette break when I came out, so I joined her. Tina made no attempt to engage me in conversation, and that suited me fine.”

  “When she went outside that … last time, did you see her there?”

  “No, I did not. The party was winding down, and I was ready to go. We would have left by then, but Pete wanted one last beer. I was about to offer to help Leslie and Jayne carry the gifts out to the car when the commotion started.”

  I said nothing. Trish looked at me steadily. I’ve been wrong before, but I was positive she had nothing to do with Tina’s death. If Tina had threatened Andy’s happiness, I’ve not the slightest doubt his mother would have taken whatever steps she thought necessary to ensure that didn’t happen. But she didn’t need to. Andy was with Jayne now, where he wanted to be, and nothing Tina could say or do would change that. Trish knew it.

  She had nothing to gain by Tina’s death.

  I stood up. “I apologize for barging in on you like this. I’m trying to put together a picture of what went down last night. I’ve found people sometimes speak more freely and openly to me than they do to the police. Detective Estrada can be … intimidating.”

  Trish gave a genuine laugh. “More like absolutely terrifying.”

  I smiled back at her. Precisely. Estrada could be so terrifying, potential witnesses were so fearful of incurring her wrath by wasting her time, by saying the wrong thing, by somehow accusing the wrong person, they could clam up around her. No one was ever terrified of me.

  Once, I would have confidently told the good detective that. And likely found myself behind bars for my trouble. But over the years since I’ve known her, Jayne’s tried to get me to understand not everyone appreciates hearing my opinion of them.

  I have told Ryan, and he replied that sometimes Louise Estrada terrifies potential criminals away from taking up a life of crime.

  I left the Whitehall home, firmly crossing Trish off my suspect list.

  Not that I had a suspect list. But in the early stages of an investigation, a negative is as good as a positive.

  Chapter Thirteen

  If I was right, Tina’s death had been an accident or suicide. If the police were right and it was murder, then unless someone parachuted onto the deck to throw Tina over, the killer had been at the party. Whereupon the question remained: Who would benefit from her death? Qui bono?

  And that’s where I was stuck. Until I learned more, I couldn’t think of anyone who benefited. I simply didn’t know enough about Tina and her life to make any assumptions.

  Ryan called as I was driving back to Baker Street, and I answered on Bluetooth.

  “Free for dinner tonight?” he asked.

  “It just so happens that I am. Are you? What about the case?”

  “I can take a few hours off, and as I’ve been away for a couple of days, I’ve missed you. We’re reading through statements and waiting for additional forensic reports to come in. We found more fingerprints on that deck railing and the gate than we know what to do with.”

  “It’s a public place. Even nonsmokers went out for some air. I did. Jayne did. Natural enough for people to gravitate to the edge of the deck to look out to sea.”

  “Yup. Tina’s prints are clear on the railing, but nothing of hers on the gate. Not that we can find anyway. A hodgepodge of smudges on the railing of the steps to the dock and on the ladder from there into the water. Fair enough, considering the number of people scrambling to get down and get you and Andy up.”

  “Did anyone see a boat tied up to that dock at the time in question?”

  “We’ve asked around. No one did. Absence of evidence, as you know, is not evidence of absence, but at this time of year when most everything on the boardwalk is closed, a boat would have stood out. Although, it was cold and late, and few people were out for a walk. You’re thinking someone targeted Tina and went to the trouble to follow her to the restaurant?”

  “Not seriously. Seems like a far too difficult and complicated way of going about killing someone.” But the idea, like most ideas, was worth considering before dismissing it.