“Are you sure about this?” Maggie asked, setting down the menus.
Ellie nodded. “I could be if I proved it. The penny has dropped, Gran, and I should have paid more attention to what Zara said. That valuable penny was sold at auction the morning of the murder, at a place three miles down the road. And then it turns up in the alley where the killer fell over.”
“But why would they have it in their pocket?” Maggie wondered aloud.
“Because they’d just bought it to complete the museum’s collection,” Ellie explained, her mind racing. “And there are only two people who work at the museum connected to this case.”
Maggie’s eyes lit up with understanding. “We might be able to actually rule Charles out.”
“Or prove his guilt,” Ellie added, her expression serious. “But either way, I think I know how to find out who bought that coin and given where they left it—if I find who bought this coin, I think I can put a stop to this. Nobody else needs to die.”
Chapter 27The Butler Didn’t Do It (there wasn’t one)
Ellie hurried through the quiet streets of Meadowfield, the late-night silence broken only by the soft clicking of her shoes against the pavement. She was exhausted, but her mind refused to quiet down. As she rounded a corner, she spotted a familiar figure speed walking past the war memorial.
“Sylvia?” Ellie called out softly. “What are you doing out so late?”
Sylvia Fortescue turned, her usually impeccable appearance slightly dishevelled. “Oh, Ellie dear. The unusual. I just couldn’t sleep. Not with everything that’s happened, so I thought I’d get my steps in. Did you hear the good news?”
Ellie fell into step beside her. “The police arrested someone?”
“Oh, if only. No, Amber has been released!” Sylvia looped her arm through Ellie’s and clenched tight. “She’s resting at home, and there’s still a trial pending,” Sylvia said, her voice tinged with worry. “I simply won’t rest until this is all sorted out.”
“Maybe if Emma pulls through, she’ll have a change of heart,” Ellie suggested, trying to sound hopeful. “She might ask them to drop the charges.”
Sylvia shook her head. “That sculpture must have had to hit her quite hard for that to happen.” She paused, glancing at Ellie. “What are you doing out this late? Not going to get trapped under more graves, are you?”
“No, I’m trying to find Zara.”
“At this hour?” Sylvia exclaimed, checking her watch. “I know she’s an early sleeper, but her apartment is right above her little gift shop. Could it wait until morning?”
Ellie wondered if it could, peering up at Blackwood House as they walked past its wall. “I don’t think so. If she can find out what I need to know, there could be an arrest before sunset.”
“Are you pulling my leg right now?”
“There’s only two people it could be,” Ellie said. “Anne or Charles, and Zara might be able to split the difference.”
“Then you go and wait in your gran’s bookshop,” Sylvia urged as they sped up the closer South Street came. “You leave me to wake Zara. Brace yourself. I’m sure I once heard her say she needed eleven hours of sleep a night. Can you imagine such a thing?”
That sounded good right about now, but Ellie could sleep when this was over. She unlocked the bookshop and locked herself in. She took a minute to stare at the patch where Thomas was found. If he hadn’t died in the bookshop, Ellie might not have got sucked in, but she was, and yet, as much as he deserved justice for his murder, Ellie wasn’t doing it for him. She was doing it for this place, for her gran, to close the chapter on the riddle fever.
The door rattled and Ellie jumped before unlocking it to let Zara and Sylvia in. Zara, in a nightie of palm prints, squinting like she’d barely awakened and scowling to let them know she was furious about it.
“What is the meaning of this?” Zara demanded, her voice a shade deeper.
“I’m sorry, Zara, but I was hoping you might have a contact,” Ellie explained, stressing the importance, locking on those sleepy eyes. “You found the auction house, and you said it was somewhere you’d been, and that you knew the owner?”
“Hmm.” Zara pulled out her phone, frowning at Ellie and Sylvia while still looking half-asleep. Nevertheless, she dialled a number. “What is it you want to know?”
“Who bought the coin!” Sylvia urged, practically on tiptoes. “The housekeeper or the Blackwood?”
“Okay.” Zara put the phone to her ear and added, “Please, Sylvia. What did I say about personal space?”
“Arm swinging distance,” Sylvia said, stepping back to correct herself. “Do you think your friend will be awake?”
“How am I supposed to know that until he answers? He is probably curled up in a ball fast asleep dreaming about being married to Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson like I wa—” She stopped mid-word, and said, “Hello, Asif. Yes, I know it is late. I am not happy about this either. It’s about that coin I called you about the other day. Mhmm. Hmm. Yes, I have a shop—I know what data protection is. And you know how little I charged for your sister’s wedding decorations even though you reversed your very big car into me outside The Old Bell only three years before that. You broke my left big toe.”
Sylvia and Ellie exchanged glances as Zara listened to some muttering on the other end of the phone.
“Yes, I think I know who that is. Thank you,” Zara said before hanging up.
Ellie listened intently as Zara described the woman who had purchased the coin. Short, grey hair, open face, can’t sit still, and talked to anyone who looked her way.
“But that’s awfully like my housekeeper,” Sylvia said, clutching her collar. “It’s Anne, isn’t it?”
“When we first met, you told me all I needed was a shift of perspective,” Ellie said, turning to Sylvia. “So shift yours from housekeeper to co-writer. Invisible co-writer... for four books only.”
Sylvia’s eyes widened. “Are you suggesting Anne was Edmund’s co-writer? Ha! Jolly good fun. Now you are pulling my leg.”
“Why not?” Ellie challenged.
“Well, she’s...” Sylvia trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.
Zara shifted her weight, fixing Sylvia with a pointed stare. “She’s what? Go on, Sylvia, you are never one to be shy.”
Sylvia fidgeted. “Well, she’s... you know... she’s no Edmund Blackwood, and I’ll leave it at that.”
“But how do you know that?” Ellie pressed.
