‘Well, I guess this is where we find out fact from fiction,’ Hugh joked, further along the table. He added cream to his coffee, stirred in a sugar, then reached for the sugared flower, popping it in his mouth. He took a sip of his coffee. ‘So far so good!’

Posy tried to smile, but the tension knot in her stomach wouldn’t let her. I’m going to confront a blackmailer tonight.

She looked across at Caro and Rosalind again. At least I don’t have to do it alone.

‘Right,’ Marcus said beside her, dropping his own cup back into its saucer. ‘Time to get this lot to bed before they drink tomorrow night’s wine as well as tonight’s.’

He lurched to his feet, one hand on the table to steady himself, and bellowed, ‘If I may have your attention!’

The room quietened, gradually. Posy caught Caro’s gaze and nodded. It was time.

‘Today has been a marvellous celebration of the life and writings of Lettice Davenport.’ Marcus swayed slightly as he spoke. Posy suspected it wasn’t just the other guests who’d overdone the wine. ‘Thank you all for being here, and being a part of it.’

Wait. Was he slurring his words, too? And beads of sweat were popping on his forehead, as his clammy hand clutched at the table.

‘Tomorrow–’ He stopped, and swallowed visibly. ‘Tom-To—’

His other hand flew to his chest as he staggered backwards, and Ashok jumped to his feet to catch him before he fell into his chair.

‘My pills,’ Marcus managed, one hand pawing at his jacket pocket.

‘Marcus?’ Ashok asked, but the man’s eyes were already fluttering closed. ‘Marcus!’

‘Where are his pills?’ Isobel asked, her voice shrill as she jumped to her feet. ‘He needs his pills!’

Gasps filled the air as people gathered close – calling for ambulances, doctors, or shouting well-meaning but useless advice. Ashok felt Marcus’s pockets and pulled out his medication, but Marcus wasn’t conscious enough to take any.

Because Marcus was dead. Posy knew that as surely as she knew there was a stolen, jewelled magnifying glass hidden in her wardrobe.

‘It’s just like in the book!’ Felicity said, her whisper harsh in the suddenly silent room. ‘Poison in the coffee.’

And suddenly, no one was talking about Marcus’s heart condition or medication. In that moment, everyone around that dining table was looking at their companions with suspicion.

Her fingers trembling, Posy reached out and picked up Marcus’s empty cup, sniffing it. She didn’t know what she was smelling for, beyond Marcus’s usual herbal tea, but that didn’t seem to matter. It was what Dahlia would do.

There was no proof, no evidence, but somehow Posy knew in her gut that Felicity was right. This was murder.