Free 6.The Alcatraz Rose by Anthony Eglin Page B

didn’t necessarily begin with
R
. In the case of the latter two, the inscription was already in the book. Does that help?”
    “Hardly at all,” he replied, smiling. “Although I hadn’t thought of her husband. But from what we know about him, that would make even less sense, wouldn’t it?”
    “You’re probably right,” Emma replied.
    Small talk continued over glasses of chilled Sancerre until their hors d’oeuvres plates were brought to the table. During the natural lull in the conversation, while the waiter was fussing with the silverware and topping up their wineglasses, Kingston decided this was as good a momentas any to tell her the story of the Belmaris rose and how he’d stumbled on the unsettling news about reclusive rose fancier, Reginald Payne. She would probably ask soon, anyway. If she showed more than just a passing interest—and he couldn’t imagine otherwise—then he would broach the delicate question of whether she would be willing to find out more about him and why someone might have wanted to murder him. There, he knew, he would be walking on eggshells. If he was also going ask for her help in solving the Alcatraz rose mystery, he had to make very clear from the start that his interests were solely with regard to that and nothing to do with Reginald’s murder.
    Resting his fork for a moment while taking a sip of wine, he glanced at Emma. There was no doubt that she was enjoying herself. He appreciated her healthy appetite; her appetizer was disappearing more quickly than his.
    Emma saved Kingston from having to devise a way to segue into the story of the rose. “So, Lawrence,” she said, raising her wineglass to her lips and holding it there for a moment. “Tell me what happened after you and Andrew took off the other day. As I recall, you were off to Belmaris Castle to see your friend. Why so mysterious on the phone?” She smiled and took a sip of wine. “I’m waiting to be ‘amazed.’”
    Over their entrees—asparagus risotto for Emma and seared scallops for Kingston—he told her what had transpired that afternoon, being careful not to make it sound too dramatic, which he knew wouldn’t go down well with her. As he was talking, he noticed that—though she was clearly listening to what he was saying, looking at him all the time while she was eating—she hadn’t interrupted him once and furthermore had shown no signs of either surprise or curiosity. He shrugged it off it as most likely having something to do with her police training. It wasn’t until he got to the part where Clare Davenport had told them about the postmortem and suspicion of foul play that she set her knife and fork aside and gave him her full attention.
    What followed wasn’t at all what he’d suspected, particularly since he’d taken great care to stick with the facts and treat Payne’s suspicious death with the gravity it warranted. She looked at him across the table, an inscrutable smile crinkling her face.
    “As I live and breathe,” she said. “A firsthand account of how Dr. Kingston gets himself tangled up in other people’s misfortunes. What did Andrew have to say about that?”
    Kingston shrugged. “Very little,” he fibbed.
    “I can see why going to Payne’s house to find out if he could provide you with information about the rose was a logical decision, but I have to be honest with you, Lawrence, your going back to the pub had nothing to do with the rose. It had everything to do with finding out about Payne’s demise.”
    “I’m surprised you see it that way. It was nothing more than natural curiosity on my part. As a police officer, wouldn’t you have done the same?”
    “In all probability, yes. Any law enforcement officer or private investigator would have. The problem is, that you’re neither—not anymore.”
    Realizing that he was on the losing side of the discussion, Kingston decided to retreat as graciously as he could. Trying to find the right words to save further loss of