‘Incoming,’ she murmured to Kit, as she heard a voice reading the plaque outside the Murder Spiral aloud. It sounded like Christmas jumper guy – Ashok.

‘Are you going to kiss me again?’ Kit asked.

‘Is that a problem?’

‘Hell, no. I just want to be prepared. I can definitely do better than last time, now I know it’s coming.’

Eight sets of detectives – and eight kisses – later, the clock over the stables chimed quarter to three, and Posy knew it was time to make her move. She had to figure out how to do it without Kit tagging along with her.

‘Where are you off to?’ Kit asked, as she grabbed her bag.

‘Do you think I’ve got time to nip to the portaloos before the next set of investigators arrive? We must be nearly done by now, right?’

‘I’d wait, if I were you. Those things looked grim. At least inside the house is clean.’

Posy shrugged, and edged towards the exit. ‘When you gotta go.’

Kit’s eyes started to narrow with suspicion, and she bolted out of the spiral before he could stop her, hurrying past the deadly flowers with her hands clasped to her chest again.

‘Wait!’ His voice echoed after her, but she ignored it – instead grabbing a passing fan investigator and yelling, ‘He’s in there!’

The fan rushed into the spiral, followed by everyone else within earshot. Posy smiled to herself, and pulled her map from her bag, tracing her route to the folly. It took her across the West Lawn at the side of the house, where many stalls were set up, past the stables and then towards the river, and the alder trees the house was presumably named for.

She set out, keeping one eye on the people around her. She spotted a man in a red hat across the way, surrounded by more wannabe detectives. She saw Marcus, walking towards the Murder Spiral, and ducked out of view in case he tried to send her back. And she saw Caro, still regaling a few last detective fans by the cake stall, probably with more of her stories of TV series gone by.

Away from the main convention area Posy passed the stable block, surrounded with vintage vehicles on display. She paused for a second, watching the day visitors inspecting the impeccably maintained cars, and Caro’s motorcycle.

Clementine was in the stables, pretending to be dead; if Posy popped in there now she could beg for her phone back. Call … someone for help with this whole blackmail thing. But who? Her parents? Uncle Sol? Her agent? Damon?

Hell, no.

Despite the anxiety eating up her insides, she wasn’t that desperate yet.

She walked through the stable yard, though, and saw Clementine lying prone on her bale of hay, pretending to be dead. The illusion was ruined when Posy realised she was whispering to the last couple of detectives, telling them to head to the Murder Spiral.