“When you say ‘relationship,’ what exactly do you mean?” she asked. She gave him side-eye as if he’d just sprouted mushrooms out of his ears.

“Were you involved . . .” Detective Stewart paused as if looking for the correct word. “Intimately?”

Viv stared at him. It was a withering look, chillier than an arctic wind. I felt myself shrink and noticed Andre hunkered into his blazer, too. To his credit, Detective Stewart did not flinch. Instead, he met her stare and waited without blinking. I would have bet ten British pounds that it took every ounce of stamina he had to pull that off.

“No.” Viv drew out the lone syllable, making her disdain for the question clear. If Detective Stewart was smart, he’d understand immediately that she would not entertain this question again. “I know . . . knew . . . him only through Piper, who is a longtime acquaintance.”

“Forgive me,” Detective Stewart said. “There were rumors.”

“Rumors?” she asked. “Anyone who suggested that anything intimate happened between me and Dooney Portis is either trying to stir the pot, or is woefully misinformed.”

“I see,” Detective Stewart said. He rocked back on his heels as if considering her words. It didn’t matter one little bit to Viv what he thought.

“Good day, Detective,” she said. She began to walk to the castle and gestured for Andre and me to follow.

Andre and I fell in behind her. Honestly, I felt as if I were a lady-in-waiting to the queen, heading back to her palace. It was kind of cool. I glanced over my shoulder once and saw Detective Stewart watching us. I did not like the speculative look in his eye.

Chapter 12

“Ginger, I’m coming to get you,” Harry said. “It’s absolutely ridiculous that you have to stay in the castle when there’s been a murder.”

“They still won’t let us leave,” I said. I was grateful to hear Harry’s voice even if it was just over the phone. “And I’m not sure how they determined that he was murdered. Honestly, I didn’t see anything that indicated Dooney had been killed. He looked passed out drunk or asleep. It’s all very bewildering, and I think we’re stuck here until Sunday.”

I was sitting on a bench in the garden by a lily pond while Andre wandered about taking pictures of whatever struck his fancy and Viv sketched ideas for future hats. I had never felt my lack of a creative outlet so keenly. I wondered if I should take up knitting or crochet.

“But that’s rubbish,” Harry protested. “You have nothing to do with Dooney’s murder.”

“I know that, and you know that, but the detective is being very thorough,” I said. “No one is allowed to leave.”

“And yet you still managed to go and meet Dominick Falco,” he said. He sounded amused. He’d never admit it, but I think Harry enjoyed my shenanigans.