‘Yes, it was.’ She must make sure to spend more time with Juliette. She’d failed badly as Serena’s godmother, but maybe she could do better by her daughter. Whatever happened next, they were family – more or less all the family she had left, these days.

‘At least you don’t have to worry about whatever Marcus’s big plans for the closing ceremony were,’ Posy said.

‘That’s true. But to think I’ve been texting a dead woman for the last day and a half!’ Juliette shuddered. ‘At least she never replied. That would have been so creepy.’

But Clementine had texted Hugh, Rosalind remembered suddenly. She’d messaged him about the car, long after she must actually have been dead. So who had Clementine’s phone?

‘I don’t know what I’m meant to do now,’ Juliette said, a hint of a whine in her voice.

‘Well, there’s still the clean-up.’ Caro pointed to a volunteer with a clipboard loitering by the edge of the terrace, obviously waiting to ask a question.

Juliette sighed, but jumped to her feet. ‘Tidying up is always my least favourite part.’

As she descended the terrace steps to help the volunteers, Isobel appeared beside their table in her place, her beautiful face looking older, drained of its usual pink and white colour. ‘Rosalind. Do you have a moment? Please?’

Rosalind took a final sip of her coffee, then followed Isobel down the terrace steps onto the path that wound around the gardens.

‘At least DCI Larch cancelled the rest of the convention,’ Rosalind said, after a few minutes of silence. It would seem Isobel needed to work up to whatever it was she wanted to say. ‘That’s the last thing you needed to deal with today.’ Rosalind may have found the body, but Isobel had to live here, forever, where the woman had been killed.

‘Yes. Not surprising, really. But he also informed me that I have house guests until he tells me otherwise.’ Isobel sighed. ‘He seems to think this will be a quick job to solve. Although I can’t imagine why …’ she trailed off, shaking her head.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Rosalind tried not to sound reluctant in offering. Friendship had to come before investigations, she supposed. Although if she found herself having to put on some sort of Dahlia skit with Posy and Caro to entertain the guests, she might rethink that.

Isobel glanced over her shoulder towards the terrace, even though they’d walked far enough to be sure no one could overhear them. Her hands were clasped in front of her stomach, the skin around her pale pink nail polish red and raw.

‘I need you to … I need you to talk to Hugh.’

A cold, creeping sensation started in Rosalind’s stomach, winding its way towards her throat. ‘What about?’

‘Clementine.’