Ashok was still top of their list for interrogation, but on their way back towards the house they found Heather and Harry at one of the stalls on the West Lawn, inspecting jars of chutney.

‘You know you won’t eat that one,’ Heather was admonishing her husband. ‘It’s got chilli in it. And you know what that does to your digestion. No, it’ll sit in the fridge, going mouldy, until I throw it out or Jenson comes by to eat it.’

She sounded so like Annie, reminding Caro that she shouldn’t eat things with green peppers in, that Caro felt a sudden pang of longing to be home with her wife, only worrying about fictional murders again. Or the lack of any acting jobs involving fictional murders, mostly.

Posy nudged her in the ribs, and Caro nodded to her and Rosalind. They’d take their investigative chances where they found them – and this one was ripe for the questioning.

Grumbling under his breath, Harry put the jar back, and the couple turned away from the stall – and right into the three Dahlias.

‘Heather, Harry!’ Rosalind, smiling her most delighted smile, took Heather by the arm before she could protest.

‘Just the people we were looking for,’ Posy added, taking Harry’s arm. From the pink spots on his cheeks, he didn’t mind being escorted by a beautiful twenty-something actress.

That left Caro following behind, but it was okay by her. Charm and tact had never been her strong suit.

But investigations … well, that was where she was going to come into her own.

They followed the path that led to the folly, pausing at a bench overlooking the crumbling stone fake ruin so Harry could catch his breath.

‘You said you were looking for us.’ Heather’s forehead was creased with suspicion. ‘Why, exactly?’

Rosalind and Posy looked to Caro; she was the lead investigator, it was only natural. With a steadying breath, Caro considered what Dahlia would do in this situation.

Would she obfuscate, like she did in Rosemary and Remembrance, pleading ignorance until the suspect confirmed all her suspicions in their attempt to exonerate themselves? Or would she come at it blunt like a hammer, as in The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea?

The latter, Caro decided. Dahlia was always at her best when she was being brutally honest with people.

‘Here’s the thing, Heather. Harry.’ Caro perched on the warm wooden arm of the bench, one hand on Harry’s as he sat beside her. ‘We have reason to believe that Marcus’s death might not have been entirely natural.’

She’d expected a gasp of horror, or at least a little surprise. But Heather just nodded sharply and said, ‘I thought as much. Aconite, you think? Like in the book? Probably in the coffee, I suppose.’