“My father gave that to me,” Nadine said.
There was a white cloth inside.
“That’s not a shirt,” Sara said. “It’s an apron.”
The inspector lifted a flap of the cloth just enough to see the end of a gun. He closed the bag. “This is evidence.”
“I guess there’ll be fingerprints,” Sara said.
“I’m sure there will be. And blood and hair and—”
Nadine gave a cry and Teddy put her arm around her mother.
“Sorry,” the inspector said.
“What about Mrs. Aiken? She—” Sara began.
The door opened and a uniformed policeman entered. “All taken care of, sir. We got her just outside Cheswick.”
Kate and Jack looked at Sara in question.
“I gave the inspector bits of the script as we wrote it. He knew what was going to happen.” She smiled at him. “And he anticipated Mrs. Aiken’s actions.”
“It was the best writer’s course anyone ever had,” the inspector said cheerfully. “To see the work in progress of two such talented, world-renowned authors was an honor. I never thought—”
Byon and Sara were smiling in such a pleased way that Jack stepped forward. Otherwise, the praise-hungry writers and the fanboy just might go on all night. “So you knew beforehand what Nicky and Mrs. Aiken did?”
“Yes,” the inspector said. “And we predicted that she’d catch on to what we were doing and she’d flee. We were ready for her.”
They all looked at Puck, who had an expression of horror on her face. Maybe her mother wasn’t a murderer, but she was certainly an accessory.
“Mind if we borrow your lights?” the inspector asked. “We need to retrieve the remains.” He looked at Sara, Jack and Kate in a way that said what he was thinking: He should arrest them for concealing evidence. Should bring charges against them. Should lock them up.
Kate gave him a big-eyed, pleading look. Jack turned as belligerent as his father often was. The infamous Wyatt temper was ready to show its ugly face. Sara did her best to smile as from one writer to another—then she handed him a business card. “It’s from my agent,” she said brightly. “He said to call him anytime. He’d love to hear your account of this.” She waved her hand about.
The inspector looked at the card and took a full minute to consider. Finally, he walked past them and left the chapel.
Sara’s legs gave way in relief and she fell against Jack. He helped her to a bench. Kate sat beside her, Jack on the other side. They held hands.
“Do you think English prisons serve afternoon tea?” Jack asked.
“With scones and clotted cream?” Kate asked.
“I never, ever, never want to know,” Sara whispered.
Byon placed himself in front of them, his hands on his plump hips. “You are not going to give that man the rights to this story! I am going to put this on the stage. No two-penny paperback novelist is going to overshadow my work. I—” He broke off because Sara, Jack and Kate were laughing.
“Extreme competition,” Jack said.
Sara grinned. “I haven’t even told my agent about the inspector.”
“You may have to promise him a book just to get him to help keep us out of jail,” Jack said. “Especially if he’s like you and thinks prison gives writers time to work.”
The others were leaving the chapel. They knew when they were being excluded, and those three were as solid as an oak tree trunk.
“Your agent can deal with the inspector,” Kate said. “Blood and Crumpets. That’s a nice title.”
“Diamonds and Tea,” Sara said.