Caro surveyed the volunteers below again. Since breakfast, however paltry, had been served, she supposed that Clementine must have instructed the catering staff before she left. They were professionals. They knew the job and got on with it.

The convention volunteers were a different matter. She knew from past events that Marcus lured them in to help with the promise of a free ticket, front-row seats at the panels and talks, and maybe some special access to the VIPs for photos and autographs. Then he worked them into the ground keeping everything running, while he swanned around in his butler’s outfit.

They’d need someone to tell them where to go and what to do. Someone who knew how these things were supposed to work. Someone they’d recognise and listen to.

Basically, her.

‘Next we talk to the volunteers.’ Juliette was already halfway down the steps before she’d finished the sentence, clearly desperate for something to do. Grabbing a pain au chocolat from the basket, Caro turned to the other Dahlias, keeping her voice low in case anyone was listening.

‘Right, Juliette and I are going to go sort this lot out. Posy, you go see if the Murder Spiral can tell you anything more about aconite as a poison. Rosalind, there was a book on poisons in Lettice’s study yesterday. See if you can borrow it, will you? Then meet me in the dining room as soon as you’re done. We need to recreate last night – with less murder.’

With that, she left the others to get on with the investigation, and went to save the convention.

Being Dahlia Lively was a full-time job. Whatever Annie said.

Chapter Fourteen

‘The key,’ Dahlia said, as she paced along the patio, ‘is to create a picture. A living painting that tells us who was where, when. Opportunity! That’s what we’re looking for, Bess!’

Dahlia Lively in A Lady’s Place

By Lettice Davenport, 1934

Rosalind and Posy were waiting for her in the dining room when Caro arrived. The room had been reset since the dinner the night before, the long mahogany table now bare except for a floral centrepiece. Caro placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the scene, trying to see in her mind who had sat where, when.

‘It looks different, in the daylight,’ she murmured absently, as Rosalind draped herself over the chair at the head of the table. Or perhaps it looked different now they were searching for a murderer.

‘Oh! This might help.’ Posy said. ‘I grabbed the seating charts from the board last night.’

Caro smiled at her approvingly. ‘Good thought, kiddo.’

She ignored the face Posy pulled at being called kiddo. Dahlia called everybody kiddo, although Caro wouldn’t try it with Rosalind. ‘We’ll need those for reference.’