Death in an Elegant City: Book Four in the Murder on Location Series Read online

  “Come in, all of you.” She tucked the crutch under her arm and turned with an economy of motion and swiftness that made it clear she had mastered the use of her crutches.

  The bright light of the entry highlighted Annie’s ginger-colored curls as she said, “Welcome to Bath Spa Hotel. You’ll have the whole place to yourself for the next few days. Please let us know if you need anything at all.”

  The wainscoted entry was quite small. Annie thumped her way over to an interior door that separated a tiny office from the entry area. A window had been cut into the wall that separated the office from the reception area and I could see a desk and filing cabinet through the opening. Annie put her crutches aside and deftly switched places with Dominic, who had been collecting keys from a row of pigeonholes behind the desk. Annie hopped on her good foot and took a seat behind the desk. She waved a hand toward the adjoining room. “Breakfast service begins at seven in the dining room, which is beyond the parlor there, and we can help you book a table at a restaurant or a tour, but it sounds as if you’ll be quite busy.”

  Because the entry was so crowded, Alex and I stepped into the connecting room. The parlor was more spacious with bow windows that overlooked the cobblestoned street. Club chairs and small tables were scattered around the room. A kitchen was the next room on the ground floor, and beyond it, I could see women moving around a dining room, setting up for breakfast. The rich smell of coffee permeated the air, and my mouth watered.

  Cyrus tapped Felix on the shoulder and pointed to the back of the parlor where a small wooden bar filled one corner beside a door to what looked like a courtyard garden. “There’s your bar,” Cyrus said as he finger-combed his hair that had been tossed around by the wind off his high forehead. “What did I tell you? Everything you need. And we all know you need a bar to be fully functioning.”

  Felix looked perturbed at this statement. Cyrus’s tone was joking, but there was something else there, too, a cutting, almost malicious undercurrent as well. Felix was a grouch, but I’d never known him to have any sort of problem with alcohol, which seemed to be what Cyrus was insinuating. I glanced at Alex, and he lifted a shoulder, his expression conveying that he didn’t know what Cyrus was trying to say either.

  Dominic handed the bundle of keys to Elise, who had also moved into the parlor area where she was consulting with Paul. Paul had his ever-present clipboard balanced on his computer tablet. He took the pencil from behind his ear and checked off room numbers as Elise distributed keys. “Cyrus,” she said, “you’re by yourself in Room Two. I have Room One. Paul, you’re in the single, Room Four. Alex, you and Felix have Room Three. Kate, you’re in Room Five, with Melissa—whenever she shows up,” Elise finished, her tone indicating that Melissa might never arrive.

  “She’s already here in Bath,” I said. “She texted me yesterday. The Fashion Museum wanted them to begin setting up yesterday.” Melissa had worked in Continuity during the first three episodes we’d filmed, but she was interested in fashion and wanted to move to Costuming. Her personal wardrobe was inventive and quirky, and I’d told her shifting over to Costume was a perfect fit for her. She’d rolled her eyes at my pun, but said that she felt more in her element than she ever had in Continuity.

  When Elise mentioned that she had a contact at the Fashion Museum in Bath who was interested in running a special exhibit related to the Jane Austen documentary, Melissa had jumped at the opportunity to be a liaison between the Fashion Museum and Parkview Hall, a stately home that was one of our go-to shooting locations for the documentary. Parkview Hall had an extensive range of period clothing tucked away in their storerooms, some of which they had kindly let us borrow when we’d filmed several scenes depicting Regency life on location there. They were just as generous to the Fashion Museum, lending them several examples of Regency attire for the exhibit. I didn’t expect to see much of Melissa since the preview party for the exhibit was scheduled for Saturday evening, only two days away.

  “Good,” Elise said shortly then looked at Paul. “Get in touch with Melissa. See if everything is on-track. We’ll need to go there, probably tomorrow, and see if we can use the exhibit for a Jane in the Modern World feature.”

  Paul nodded, switching to his computer tablet.

  Elise turned to speak to the group. “Drop your bags in your rooms and meet me back here in ten minutes.”

  Dominic’s large figure moved through the parlor to the area that opened to the kitchen. He clasped his hands together. “Before you scatter, a few things…we are a Grade II historic building, so that means we haven’t been able to install an elevator. Insert groans here,” he said with a smile. “However, Annie and I—”

  “You mean Mia,” Annie called out from the reception area as she waved her crutch and used it to point to a young woman in her late teens who appeared from the kitchen. Mia wore an apron over a polo shirt with the hotel’s name embroidered on it. Her thick chestnut bangs ended just above her bright green eyes. The rest of her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, except for two curling tendrils that framed her dimpled smile.

  “I’m staying put right here with my book,” Annie said, gesturing to a paperback copy of Northanger Abbey that rested on the ledge of the office window. “I’m getting quite a lot of reading for my book club done lately,” Annie said ruefully.

  “Right. Mia and I,” Dominic said, “are happy to carry your bags to your rooms. Just a couple of things before we do that. Here is your code for the night latch.” He handed out slips of paper to all of us with a short string of numbers. “Use that to get in, if you’ll be out after eleven. That way, Annie and I don’t have to wait up for you until the small hours of the morning. You’re free to party until dawn, if you like. Dining room, here.” He gestured behind him. “Bar in the back. WC down those stairs there in the basement.”

  He pointed to a set of iron circular stairs in a corner of the parlor. “If you have extra bags or equipment, we can store it in our storage room down there.” He paused, glancing around our group. “No takers on that? Right, then. Let’s begin the climb.” He picked up Elise’s bag and moved through a kitchen area with two counters, a sink, and an impressive-looking cappuccino machine to another set of narrow circular steps. “We had to make the most of every bit of space,” he said over his shoulder, “so the path to the rooms takes you through the kitchen. We only serve breakfast and have quite a few locals who stop in for breakfast or coffee, but after about ten we won’t be in your way too much.” The staircase he trotted up was wooden and carpeted.

  Mia snatched up my bag and said, “Room Five?”

  “Yes, but I can carry that.”

  “Oh, no worries. I do it all the time.” And she must have, because she skimmed up the tapering circular steps quickly to the top floor. Along the way, we passed Cyrus and Elise, who had stopped at their separate rooms on the first floor above the ground floor. We also left Alex, Felix, and Paul behind on the next floor. One more twist of the staircase brought Mia and me to the top of the building and Room Five.

  After stooping over to reach the keyhole set low in the door, Mia set my suitcase down at the foot of one of the two single beds. A bright wallpaper of butterflies filled one wall. It was so dazzling and busy that it was hard to look away from it, but I managed to scan the rest of the room.

  A dressing table stood in one corner and a small window seat completed the room’s decor. There wasn’t room for anything else. I’d read enough Regency literature to know that the sloping ceiling meant that this was a former servant’s room.

  “The loo is through here,” Mia said, pointing to a door with a raised step, which opened into a tiny bathroom. “Oh, and I’m to remind you that there isn’t a safe in the rooms, but if you have something valuable—watches, jewelry, something like that,” she said, her gaze darting from my wrist to my earlobes to my tiny, rather beat-up suitcase, “Dominic will put it in the vault downstairs…if you have anything,” she finished uncertainly. “Perhaps your camera? It doe
s look expensive.”

  I’d forgotten I had slipped the camera strap around my neck. I used my camera so often that it was almost a part of me. “It is, but I’ll keep it with me.” I stepped to the side so she could get by me to leave the room.

  She paused on the landing. “I know it’s the smallest room and at the top of the stairs,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper, “but it’s also the quietest because it’s at the back of the house…less street noise. And at this time of the year, no worries about it being too hot.” She smiled, deepening her dimples before clattering down the stairs.

  I closed the door and went to kneel on the window seat, pulling back the shutters from the window. I peered down to the small square of concrete that must be the courtyard garden, but my stomach fluttered, and I transferred my gaze to the rooftops. I couldn’t see much of Bath—mostly other rooftops, but it was Bath, a part of England I’d never explored. The sun was higher now, spreading a golden light across the city, and I wanted to get out there.

  I tucked my room key and a map of the city into my tote bag, checked that I had some spare batteries for the camera, an extra memory card, and my Moleskine notebook, then stepped into the hall. Feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland, I stooped over and locked the door with the real key—no key cards at a Grade II listed building, apparently—then headed for the stairs and a cup of coffee.

  Chapter 2

  I TOOK THE STAIRS A bit slower than Mia. The steps were quite narrow, and I wasn’t as sure-footed as she was. The foot of the stairs opened into the kitchen area where Dominic, Annie, and Mia were working. I crossed through the kitchen and was the last to arrive back in the parlor. Elise hadn’t waited for me. A few locals had arrived, and Mia was busy at the cappuccino machine. I heard the clink of silverware from the dining room and wanted to slip in there to search for coffee, but Elise was already speaking.

  “We need to get started straightaway. The weather forecast is not good. It’s supposed to cloud over and rain this afternoon. We’ll split up so we can cover as much ground as possible.”

  Alex stood on the outskirts of the group. He tilted his hand away from his leg as I approached, and I slipped my hand into his.

  Elise said, “Felix, I need you to take a look at Pulteney Bridge and the river, see if it would be feasible to shoot there.” Elise consulted her list. “Alex, you have the northern area, the Crescent and the Circus. Get exterior shots while the light is good. If you have time, also go by the Assembly Rooms.”

  Elise glanced down at our linked hands as she said, “Kate you have the central area, the Abbey, the old town square bit, and the Roman Baths. Again, concentrate on exteriors while the light is good, but get some interior shots of the Baths as well.”

  I nodded and gave Alex’s hand a squeeze before pulling away. Elise seemed to delight in separating us. Since we’d become a couple, she rarely assigned us to the same task. Maybe she was afraid that we wouldn’t get anything done if we worked together, but Alex and I were professionals. We always got our work done, and it wouldn’t be different if we worked together—if she’d give us a chance. But it didn’t appear that we’d get that opportunity this morning.

  Elise folded the piece of paper she’d been reading from and turned to Cyrus. “You’ll come with Paul and me to the meeting with the mayor’s office, then we’ll check the pedestrian walkways…although I don’t have much hope of being able to shoot anything historical. Too many modern street lamps and red telephone boxes—which have been converted to wifi points,” she added with an exasperated shake of her head. “But they might work for a feature or a backdrop for an interview. We need a meeting point. Let’s see, the Pump Room is fairly central. Meet there at noon. Paul, Cyrus, let’s get going.”

  Cyrus, who had been lounging in a club chair at the back of the parlor near the bar, stood. “I won’t be joining you for the meeting with the city’s illustrious mayor.”

  “Of course you will,” Elise said as she flung her black wool cape around her shoulders and worked her fingers into black knit gloves. The early November day was slated to be cold with the temperature only about ten degrees above freezing.

  “No, I won’t.” Cyrus’s tone was firm.

  Elise, who had turned toward the door, slowly rotated back to face him. “You need to be there. You’re the director. You’re Cyrus Blakely. That’s the reason the backers insisted you be part of the project. You have a cachet,” she said with a sneer. “The mayor and his people will be much more amiable to working with the great Cyrus Blakely. You’re coming, and you’re going to be charming so that we will be able to get whatever permits and permissions we need.”

  Cyrus shook his head. “No. I don’t work that way. I need to get out and,” he waved his hand in a circular motion, “absorb the atmosphere. Soak in the place. It’s part of my process. Paperwork is not. That’s your area.”

  “You can’t just go out on your own. We have a schedule to keep. Appointments. You must be there.”

  “I’m sure you’ll handle everything beautifully.”

  “You—you are…” Elise sputtered, “insufferable. I cannot believe I have to put up with this. You are simply being difficult and…and contrary. I won’t stand for it. You must come to the meeting.”

  “Or what? Would you care to contact Gerald and discuss it with him?” Cyrus transferred his gaze to the ceiling. “I seem to remember a conversation in which Gerald clearly said I was free to do as I liked.”

  A pink shade had suffused Elise’s face, and she had been leaning forward, clearly ready to make her next point, but at the name “Gerald” she drew back. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed through her nose for a few seconds. “Very well. Have it your way,” she snapped. “When things fall apart because we can’t film where you’d like, the blame will be on you.”

  She whirled toward the door, the fringe on the cape flying, muttering about disasters and Cyrus’s head. Paul slipped out behind her. I didn’t envy him, having to bear the brunt of Elise’s anger.

  A moment of uncomfortable silence filled the little parlor, then Felix, who looked a little less disheveled with his hair combed and shirt tucked in, put two fingers at his temple and saluted Cyrus. “Impressive. Not many people get their own way with Elise.” Felix buttoned his coat and wrapped a scarf around his neck. It was looped unevenly and had one short end that only came to his collarbone while the other end dangled down his back to almost his waistline. “Well, friends, I am not so brave as our director. I’m off to meekly complete my commission. To Pulteney Bridge.” He crammed a newsboy hat on his head and exited, pausing to hold the door open for Annie, who was now bundled into a coat. She crossed the room quickly, her crutch swinging, and called out to Dominic that she was off to the market. Dominic popped his head out of the kitchen area and said that they needed more oranges. The aroma of sausage and bacon had filled the air and my stomach growled.

  “Too bad we can’t stay for breakfast,” I said to Alex, “but if Elise found out…” I shuddered.

  “No,” Alex agreed. “That wouldn’t be good. But she couldn’t object to a cup of coffee.”

  “Excellent idea. We better get it on the way, though, not here,” I said, thinking that if Elise had to double back to the hotel for any reason and found us lingering over a cup of coffee she wouldn’t be happy. She was already in a bad mood. I wasn’t about to take the chance of making it worse, despite the tempting aroma of coffee wafting out of the dining room.

  “Agreed,” Alex said then patted his pocket and checked his camera case. “I left my phone upstairs. Let me get it.”

  He climbed the wooden circular staircase two steps at a time.

  Cyrus, who was pouring himself a cup of tea from a pot that had been placed on one of the tables in the parlor along with sugar and cream, said, “Kate, I was sorry to hear about your mother. Distressing for you, I’m sure. So devoted of you to return to the States and nurse her back to health.”

  “She needed me.” I frowned at him
. While the words themselves were nice, his tone was disdainful and his glance was knowing.

  “I’m sure she did,” he said. “The…ah—issue—she has to deal with is…difficult.”

  “Yes, pneumonia can be scary.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “That’s what they’re calling it these days, pneumonia?”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked. “She was hospitalized for several weeks.”

  Cyrus stirred his tea, then put it down on a nearby table. He stepped closer and wrapped one hand across his stomach, then propped his elbow on his arm, and put his index finger over his lips. He spoke quickly, his finger still on his lips. “Let’s just say that I know the truth about your history and your mother’s unfortunate…struggle.”

  I knew in an instant what he was insinuating, and I felt a hazy mist of anger sweep over me. My mother had struggled with an addiction to pain medicine, but that had been years ago, and she hadn’t had a relapse.

  “I don’t know where you get your information, Mr. Blakely, but it couldn’t be more wrong. My mother was sick…and not in the way you mean.”

  “Ah, but she has had…problems, shall we say…in the past. I wasn’t sure, but now I know. Your reaction confirms it.” He smiled and unfolded his arms.

  I clenched my hands into fists, then shoved them in my coat pockets. Do not hit the director, I mentally chanted.

  Cyrus picked up his tea and said casually, “I only want you to know that I’m familiar with your background. Backgrounds are a hobby of mine. Some people collect antiques or cars or salt shakers. I’ve found people’s histories—particularly their secrets—much more interesting.”

  The intellectual, cooler-headed part of me, which was divorced from the anger that was fizzing through me, realized that I couldn’t respond as I wanted to. He wanted to get a rise out of me. I burrowed my hands deeper in my pockets. “What an unrewarding pastime.”