Page 38 of Seven Reasons to Murder Your Dinner Guests
But when Tristan had walked toward the Albert in Elephant and Castle a week later, a feeling of dread started to work its way upward from his toes. As he got closer to the pub door, he found his legs carrying him past the entrance. Tristan quickly glanced through the window to see Dave sitting at their usual table, two pints of beer in front of him. His arms folded, long legs splayed out, although no one would call him “lanky” these days, and clearly finally able to grow a beard, but Tristan would have recognized him anywhere. Later, when Dave messaged to askWhat happened to you? I waited for an hour,Tristan just deleted the message. The following Sunday, Vivienne asked how it had gone, and he assured her they’d had a brilliant night and planned to see the other two the following week.
“The taxi driver said that Janet stepped out in front of him. Hewasn’t speeding or driving dangerously. No one else was involved,” Melvin says now.
“Any CCTV in the area?” Vivienne asks.
“Not on that road,” Melvin says with a hint of irritation. “It’s not on every street in London, contrary to what a lot of people think.”
“So you’re claiming it’s another accident? But how could anyone have possibly known?” Vivienne queries.
But Melvin isn’t listening; he’s focused on the tray of cocktails. Having polished off his first, he takes his time choosing a second one. Finally, he picks up a bright-blue drink with a yellow umbrella, takes a long sip from the twisty straw, then pulls a face and coughs.
“Too sweet,” he splutters.
“Melvin?” Vivienne snaps. “You told me you’d look into Janet’s background after Matthew’s memorial. And the CCTV on the street.”
“Not much point now, is there? With Janet dead too,” Melvin says. “You can’t pin it on her anymore.”
“I do feel bad about accusing her,” admits Vivienne. “She did seem to be the most likely candidate, but perhaps I was too quick to point the finger at one of the guests. These numbers are just getting to me, I think.”
“I understand,” says Melvin, reaching across to take Vivienne’s hand. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot too.”
Then Melvin’s mobile beeps. He drops Vivienne’s hand, and Tristan sees his expression switch in an instant from sympathy to frustration. He pulls the phone from his pocket, quickly reads themessage, then drops it roughly onto the table.
Vivienne meets Tristan’s eye; then her gaze shifts to the window behind him. He watches her face suddenly freeze, her eyes wide with shock. She gasps, pointing at the window.
Melvin and Tristan spin around, but there’s nothing to see, just the usual Sunday-afternoon shoppers marching by.
“What was it?” Tristan asks.
“A face looking through the window. Its mouth and head were covered. I just saw these menacing eyes staring at me,” Vivienne explains, taking a large sip of her cocktail.
“I wondered if I would find you three here.” A man wearing a bright-white tracksuit with his hood pulled up and a white scarf wrapped tightly across his mouth is suddenly standing over them.
“It’s you!” Vivienne cries.
“Gordon?” Tristan says, recognizing his Edinburgh lilt.
“Yes, it’s me,” Gordon replies, keeping his hood up but pulling his scarf down slightly to reveal red, cracked lips and alarmingly sharp cheekbones. “So that’s three correct predictions now. How are you going to explain that then, Melvin? Vivienne?”
Before either of them can respond, Bill ambles up to the table.
“I presume you’re friends of my Janey?”
They all look up at him, and Tristan sees that his previous bonhomie was merely an act. Up close, Bill is cloaked in sadness, pulled down by it. As he shakes their hands, his movements are heavy and labored. This is a grieving man.
“We’d just recently met Janet, actually,” Vivienne starts to explain, smoothing down her hair with her fingers—but Bill isready to talk, not listen.
“Married for seventeen years, hardly said a cross word to each other,” he says, beginning a speech he’d apparently been performing all day. “The key to a good marriage is to have your own interests; that’s what I always say. My Janey, she loved to socialize. She was always at one work party or another, whereas I prefer a quiet whiskey at home…”
“So she’d been at a work party on the night of the accident?” Gordon asks. Vivienne sighs loudly and Melvin glares over at him, but it’s clear Gordon is oblivious.
“Actually, I don’t think so,” Bill mumbles, his sails suddenly empty, his hull momentarily unsteady. “Her colleagues hadn’t known about a party. She was in Notting Hill, but no one’s sure why. Must have been visiting a new friend. She had so many, I couldn’t keep track.”
As Gordon glances around the others, Tristan sees his face change as the truth emerges. The tiny silver ball dropping into the hole on a pinball machine.Oh. Janet had been with another man on the night she died.
“We’re so sorry for your loss, Mr. Tilsbury.” Melvin stands up to shake Bill’s hand. “She was a lovely lady.”
Bill takes the larger man’s hand, and he opens his mouth to respond—but then closes it again. He looks at Melvin and nods.
