Free Death at the Theatre: Miss Hart and Miss Hunter Investigate: Book 2 by Celina Grace

Tommy, who was chipping in with his own experiences.
    “Of course, I told them I’d never seen this mysterious woman, I was on stage for half the first act. In fact, it was just before we were due to go back on stage for Act Two that David came running in, white as a ghost – you remember, Caroline – and said the show has to stop—“
    “I was just astonished,” said Caroline. I got the feeling that they had discussed this many times before and that their respective parts of the conversation had solidified from subjective observation to fact. “Just astonished . It was—“
    “Come on, darling, you were more than astonished . You were virtually prostrated, once they told us about the murder.”
    Caroline fluttered her left hand and the ring winked and flashed in the light from above. “I was still caught up in the play, darling, that’s all. I was in a highly vulnerable emotional state. Mind you, it did give us all a turn, didn’t it? There was David, practically having a fit, the poor man, and the scene hands all for turning out and hunting down the killer—“
    “Until the police turned up and told them not to,” chipped in Tommy.
    “And the musicians completely oblivious until they were told they couldn’t go and get drunk, and the backstage girls screaming and fainting – oh, my goodness, it was a circus .” I noticed Caroline had already drained her glass and at that moment she held it out wordlessly to Aldous. He took it and refilled it without comment. I’d barely drunk any of mine – for something I’d looked forward to for so long, it was a bit of a disappointment, actually. I preferred half an ale.
    Caroline was still speaking. Even off stage, she had a way of keeping her audience spellbound. I wasn’t sure if it was her beauty or the intonation in her voice that kept us riveted. “Anyway, I saw in the paper today, they’ve finally identified the body. Aldous, be a darling—“ She clicked her fingers and pointed towards the dressing table. “Bring me the paper, would you? Oh, thank you so much. Look, look here. He was Italian, apparently. Guido Bonsignore was his name.”
    “Italian?” I exclaimed, and everybody looked at me. It was the first time I’d spoken. I fought not to blush and cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, it’s just that that’s interesting in the light of how he was killed, don’t you think?”
    Everyone was still staring at me, Verity and Tommy in a receptive way, Caroline in a sort of amazement at somebody like me having a voice and Aldous with a blank, vacant stare. I cleared my throat again and mumbled something about the fact that he’d been killed in a way that the police thought might have been a professional murder.
    “Oh, a gang killing you mean?” Caroline said eventually, when the silence after my remark had stretched on into infinity. She sounded politely incredulous. “Because he was Italian? I suppose that’s possible.”
    “You mean he was a Mafioso, Joan?” asked Tommy. He smiled at me, kindly. “Have the police said that?”
    “No, no, I didn’t mean that,” I said, stuttering a little. I could see Caroline looking at me and thought I could read her mind. What on Earth would the police be doing talking to someone like me? “I just meant that it’s a possibility, that’s all. Like Miss Carpenter says.” I threw her a respectful smile, which was not returned.
    There was a moment of silence and then Caroline snapped her gaze away from me, dismissal evident in the movement. “Well,” she said, “ I think—“ but we never got to find out what she thought because right then there was a knock at the door.
    “Come in,” Caroline called languidly. She’d finished the second glass of champagne. The door opened and a bunch of roses bigger than a small child entered. Hidden behind them, one of the stage hands said respectfully,  “Sir Nicolas Holmes is here, Miss Carpenter.”
    Caroline sat up straighter and put the champagne flute down