Page 47 of Seven Reasons to Murder Your Dinner Guests
“I need your help with something,” she messaged him.
He turned up armed with his laptop, presuming she’d meant help with her website.
Once they’d ordered their pot of tea and some cake to share, Vivienne pulled out her notebook.
“What’s that?” Tristan asked, pointing to a list of names going down one side of the page.
“Devils,” she told him, surprised to feel herself blush.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been thinking about possible suspects linked to the dinner guests,” she says.
“Sir Cooke, Gareth, Bill, Giles…” Tristan read. “So Stella’s father, Matthew’s bully, Janet’s husband…and lover.”
“Just ideas, but I couldn’t find a way to link any of them to theother dinner guests,” Vivienne admitted.
Vivienne had initially been cautious about bringing up the topic of Serendipity’s with Tristan, but lately, it had crept into their conversations more and more. Tristan tended toward his original suggestion of self-fulfilling prophecy, believing that Janet jumped in front of the taxi after becoming obsessed with her number. But Vivienne wasn’t so sure.
“So I was hoping you could help with some investigating today.”
He was taken aback when she told him her plan.
“You’re going to knock on every door on Salvation Road?” he cried.
“No,we’regoing to knock on every door,” she corrected him. “I used to do this all the time as a junior reporter.”
“What are you hoping to find?”
“To see if anyone saw the ‘devil’ lurking around,” she told him. “Or if they have any footage from the night of the dinner party.”
Vivienne assigned Tristan the even-numbers side of the road and she was taking the odds, including the Serendipity’s building itself.
“Being back here gives me the creeps.” Tristan shuddered, before plodding over to number 2.
After an hour, they were no further forward. Most of the doors were slammed in their faces, often accompanied by choice language. The people who did listen couldn’t remember a random winter’s night from two years ago. As for CCTV, those that were working had had their tapes wiped after just a few weeks.
Finally, Vivienne had one more house to try: number 13.
Knocking on the heavy wooden door, she pictured herself standing there with Tristan two years before. Just two years, and yet so much had changed since then. She thought of the people who had come into her life and improved it beyond recognition: Cat, Charlie, Tristan. The people whom she’d met inside this building and were now gone: Stella, Matthew, and Janet.
To her surprise, the door creaked open.
A short, stocky man with messy white hair, a worn tweed blazer, and thick glasses peered up at her.
“What?” he snapped.
“Sorry to bother you,” Vivienne said. “I think a police officer named Melvin Williams has spoken to you. I attended a dinner event here two years ago, and I’m just trying to contact the host to…thank them. Do you happen to have their details?”
“I haven’t heard from any police officers,” he said. “We used to hire the place out but don’t anymore. A company dealt with it all—the boss was a fella called Brookbanks or Brookham or something.”
With that, he slammed the door. Suddenly, Tristan appeared next to her.
“What did he say?”
“He hasn’t heard from a police officer, but Melvin told me he’d spoken to him,” Vivienne said as they made their way to the tube station. “He gave me the name Brookbanks or Brookham.”
They walked together in silence, both lost in thought.
