Free So Much For Buckingham: The Camilla Randall Mysteries #5 by Anne R. Allen

gave him a grateful smile and told the saga of his iPhone disaster.
    "I feel as if I'm a time-traveler from another century," he told Alfred. "I'd forgotten what it's like not to be able to look up trains or call cabs with one's own phone."
    He went on to explain that he might not be back until Monday or Tuesday. Not that anybody was likely to ask about him, but now that he had no phone, he wanted somebody—anybody—to know where he was.
    "There's a pub my friend told me about called The Merry Miller. It's near the company I'm going to visit. I think I remember they have a few rooms. I might get one if I need to stay overnight.
    Alfred gave a small smile. "After your bit on the Beeb last night, it might be wise to escape the London press for a day or two."
    "My bit?"
    "You warmed the hearts of many Ricardians when you spoke to the BBC reporter, Mr. Smith." Alfred said. "There's no agreement on whether it was a bomb or an accident, but everybody loved your suggestion that Richard's ghost might be stalking that piece of Tudor propaganda Will Shakespeare wrote. And we certainly welcomed what you said about Richard's burial. It's shameful they've dumped him back in Leicester. Westminster Abbey should have taken him, but at least he might find a more appropriate home at York Minster."
    Alfred got more animated as he spoke—more like an eager college student than the Downton Abbey-style servant he had seemed earlier.
    Not that Plant was pleased with his revelations.
    "I, um, was just making a joke really. Not a particularly good one. I think I was more in shock than I realized."
    How awful his offhand remark had made its way onto the BBC news. And he found it disconcerting that Alfred mentioned York Minster. Wasn't that the place Neville had made a toast to?
    "Richard of York Belongs in York," he'd said.
    Things did continue to be surreal. He wondered how long it took to get over jet lag.
    "Do you think the media might come looking for me?"
    "They already have." Alfred pointed toward the street. "Quite a few. They're herd animals, reporters. I made them wait outside, of course."
    He indicated a knot of people with camera bags outside the hotel's glass doors.
    "Good god," Plant said. "I had no idea. I'm sorry I've made so much work for you."
    "Happy to help. Your work is brilliant. Wilde in the West is one of my favorite films."
    "I'm amazed you recognized me." Plant basked for a moment in this glint of the fame he'd once enjoyed. "Nobody ever recognizes the writer." 
    "I do. I'm a screenwriter myself." Now Alfred's stiff-upper lip butler's smile broadened to a big, toothy grin." Might I show you my work? The Kingdom of Perpetual Night . I think you'll find it's very timely, given the events of last night. If you showed it to the right people, it could make us both rich."
    Plant's spirits fell as Alfred pulled a dog-eared script from under the desk. This happened in Southern California all the time, but he hadn't expected it here.
    He gave a shrug that didn't quite say yes or no and glanced through the lobby toward the street, hoping to see his taxi.
    "Um, maybe you could email it to me? Just send it as an email attachment. I can give it all the attention it deserves when I get home to California."
    All the attention it deserved would probably be scrolling past the alarm clock opener through the first five pages of desultory dialogue, then relegating it to the trash.
    "The title is a line from Richard III ." Alfred continued, undaunted. "The Duke of Clarence talks about 'that grim ferryman which poets write of' which takes us 'unto the kingdom of perpetual night'. When I think I wrote my screenplay before any of this happened! But now, it's like I predicted the future. Anything related to Richard III should be pure gold after last night..."
    What was it with gay Englishmen and Richard III? Was it some sort of code?
    "I'd afraid I don't have much clout in Hollywood anymore." Plant did not want to have to carry the script all the