‘Lakeith Randolf,’ he said, turning to shake my hand. ‘Andthis is Detective Sergeant Helen Birch.’ He gestured at the seated woman.
She nodded curtly, pen poised over paper.
Randolf continued. ‘We are here in regards to Tristan Weiss’s death. But your housekeeper, Mrs?—’
‘Harlow,’ DS Birch supplied, scanning her notepad.
‘Yes, Mrs Harlow also informed us of the unfortunate death of Mr George Weiss, just last week.’
‘That’s correct,’ said Jeannie. ‘My husband had a heart condition and unfortunately, we lost him not long before… before Tristan’s accident.’
Randolf’s eyes searched us, one by one. Waiting.
I pursed my lips together, keeping my mouth firmly closed.
‘Has anything else occurred recently? Anything else you’d like to tell us about?’
‘Well, yes, actually, Detective,’ Miles said. ‘My grandmother, she also died a few days ago. She was very elderly, ninety-eight. But yes, it’s been rather a difficult time to say the least.’
Randolf raised his eyebrows in a moment of surprise. ‘My condolences.’ He put his hand in his pocket. ‘So, forgive me, but when exactly did your grandmother die?’
‘Three days ago,’ Miles offered.
‘I see. And where did this occur?’
‘In the dining room,’ I said.
Randolf waited for us to elaborate, but the three of us juststood, staring. He continued. ‘And how did yourgrandmother– sorry, I didn’t catch her name?’
‘Toots,’ said Miles. ‘Everyone called her Toots. But her name was Thomasina.’
‘I see. May I ask what happened withToots?’
I waited for Miles and Jeannie to say something. They hesitated, so I said, ‘We had just finished eating and she had some figgy pudding and then, bam… likethat—’ I clicked my fingers.
‘What do you mean, likethat?’ He mimicked my action.
‘She just fell straight forward, into the bowl of figgy pudding. She didn’t say anything beforehand, didn’t seem in any pain…’
Birch was scribbling away feverishly.
‘Should we not call Artie Peverill?’ Jeannie said shrilly. ‘I really don’t think this line of questioning is appropriate?—’
‘I’m just asking some routine questions, Mrs Weiss. There’s no need to worry. It’s just… three deaths in a week, that’s a little unusual, no?’
‘Life can be a little unusual,’ she said tartly. ‘That’s the nature of the beast.’
Randolf weighed her words before he continued. ‘Have there been any… I don’t know, inciting incidents recently? Anything untoward that you’ve noticed? Arguments, fallings out, disruptions of any kind?’
We all looked at each other for an answer. Of course, the answer wasyes; power plays, money, alcohol, affairs… the sheer fact that when it boiled down to it, most of us loathed and detested one another.
‘Nope,’ I said shaking my head. ‘Nothing unusual that I can pinpoint.’
Jeannie was shifting her weight in front of the flames. ‘Nothing unusual,’ she echoed, her eyes darting to mine for a fraction of a second. ‘It’s just a very,verydifficult time at the moment for our family, as you can imagine.’
Miles was cutting his eyes at Jeannie, as if he was going to say something, but thought better of it.
Detective Randolf nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on each of us in turn. The silence in the room was broken only by the crackling of the fire and the scratching of DS Birch’s pen. Jeannie’s hand fluttered to her throat, her fingers toying with the string of pearls there.
