Free The Stargazey by Martha Grimes

Inspector.”
    Jury pocketed the photo, smiled. “It’s Superintendent, actually.” Ordinarily, he didn’t bother to correct the mistake, realizing that “inspector” was merely a generic term to most people, covering any policeman who wasn’t “constable.” But the Fabricants were too damned blasé and condescending to allow him to let the demotion stand.
    â€œAh,” said Ilona, inclining her head in lack of apology. He doubted she apologized for very much. “Did you see Mona Dresser? You would, of course, the coat having belonged to her. It is a lovely coat. I know Russian sable. I own one.”
    Olivia turned to Nicholas. “Nicholas, you remember going to collect the money for the sable coat? The shop in the Old Brompton Road?”
    â€œYes, of course.” He looked at Jury. “Why?”
    â€œI thought the shop assistant, or whoever you talked to, might have said something that would help us find her, something that might identify the buyer,” Jury said.
    â€œIt might have been a different person,” said Olivia.
    Jury nodded. “Did the shop assistant say anything, Mr. Fabricant?”
    Nick gave the impression he was thinking this over. “No. Except she did remark on how quickly it sold. They hadn’t had it very long; it had been in the window only a day. Surprising, she said, considering how much money was involved.” He scraped back the hair that had fallen across his forehead.
    â€œYou didn’t tell me that, Nicholas,” said Olivia.
    He shrugged. “Didn’t think it was important.”
    â€œNikolai,” Pansy said, rising again to the challenge of names, “not Nicholas.”
    Jury thought Pansy might even have called him “Superintendent,” given half a chance.
    Sebastian said, “Nick likes to claim his Russian provenance, you could say.”
    â€œLike the coat,” said Ilona Kuraukov.
    Nicholas looked embarrassed. “Oh, it’s only a joke.”
    Ilona raised her eyebrows theatrically. “I don’t thank you for that, my dear!” She said to Jury, at the same time fixing a cigarette into a long ebony holder, “You know, Superintendent Jury, this business of the sable—it’s a very slender thread you’ve got hold of.”
    â€œI don’t know, Madame Kuraukov. After all, it led me to you.” He smiled.
    She stopped in the lighting of the cigarette, looking stunned by both the smile and the compliment. At least, she took it as a compliment. Probably she did most things. She seemed born to deserve them.
    Jury rose and handed Sebastian his card, took Sebastian’s and his brother’s in return. He looked at all of them, at the strangely united front they presented—despite what internecine battles might go on between them—said good-bye to Olivia (who had risen to go with him) and that he could see himself out, and left.

7
    T he fish are arranged, whole, to break through the crust, the dead eyes staring upwards .” Melrose Plant stole a covert glance over the top of the cookery book. He knew she would say it was disgusting and that he was making it up.
    Said Agatha, “That is absolutely disgusting.”
    (Right.)
    â€œNo one would eat that. You’re making it up.”
    (Right again.)
    â€œIt’s right here, word for word” (although he himself had added the garnish of “dead” fish eyes). He tapped the book. “Starry-gazey Pie. That’s what they call it.”
    She was marmalading another scone. “Instead of spending your time sitting around all day trying to think up nonsense to fool me with, you would do better to attend to that neglected garden”—she poked her head forward in the direction of Ardry End’s extensive grounds—“and do some planting. You hired that Momaday person, remember, and all he does is wander about.”
    Melrose put the book between the chair arm