Rolling her eyes, Rosalind settled onto the other side of the bed. She hadn’t expected to sleep much, anyway. She had murder to think about.

And, she thought, as Caro’s first snore broke the silence, at least if she was snoring, she knew that the head injury couldn’t be too bad.

They would need her encyclopaedic Dahlia knowledge if they were going to solve these murders. Because Rosalind had a feeling it had more to do with Aldermere, and Lettice, and the Davenports, than either of the other two had guessed.

Breakfast was served late – very late – the next morning. But it wasn’t like any of them had to rush off. The police had made it clear that the current guests and occupants of Aldermere House should stay in residence until they’d had a chance to talk to everybody, but they’d closed off the grounds completely. An outer cordon at the gates, then an inner one following the path of the river, enclosing the banks on either side.

It was bank holiday Monday, on what should have been the final day of the convention. The sun had returned, and the only sign of last night’s storm was the odd patch of muddy grass.

But everything else had changed.

The buses with day delegates had already arrived – and been turned away by the police guard at the Gate House. From where they sat eating pastries on the terrace, Rosalind could see the empty marquees and abandoned stalls, the festival atmosphere of the last few days washed away in the rainstorm of the night before.

This should have been Marcus’s triumph. His climax to a thrilling three days of murder, mystery and a little light blackmail.

Instead, the news about Clementine’s murder had been common knowledge by the time they’d had their first cup of coffee. There was an officer stationed at the house, as well as the specialist teams working along the river, although Detective Chief Inspector Larch had disappeared for now. Rosalind wondered how long it would take him to figure out what she, Caro and Posy already knew.

They should probably make the most of their head start while they still had it. Especially if they didn’t want photos of their indiscretions displayed as evidence in a court room in the future.

Juliette dropped into the fourth seat at their table, scowling.

‘I can’t believe they’ve cancelled the whole thing, right when I had everything under control!’ Juliette pouted, and reached for a mini pain au chocolat from the basket.

Rosalind hid a smile as she took her seat. Yes, she was definitely Isobel’s granddaughter, if murder was more of an inconvenience to her fledgeling career in the events industry than a terrible shock.

But then she looked up at Rosalind, eyes wide. ‘Sorry, Auntie Rosalind. Grandma said it was you who, well, you know. Found her.’