I pause my steps, pretending to mull over the option. “Hmm, I bet nutty lad wouldn’t eat all of my cheese or sleep on my feet. Is it too late to request a change?”
“Hrmphh.”
The college walls turn into shopfronts as we get closer to the centre. H turns down a cute alleyway, the street lined with cafes and restaurants, chairs spilling out beyond the sidewalk. A string of lights crisscrosses above, I’m sure it is achingly romantic when the sun goes down. It’s a perfect date spot, and here I am with a pet wyvern.
We duck into a colourful doorway where a life-size cow cut-out beckons us inside. Creamy, milky goodness glistens under the lights of the glass freezer case. The mound of chocolate in the back corner captures my attention. Forget about salted caramel, I need chocolate.
“I’ll have a cone please, with a scoop of, uh…” I don’t remember my local gelateria advertising this flavour. “Um, super #?*! chocolate.” I can’t help it, I blush.
“Gimme a cone of tha fig and mascarpone, will ya, Nat?”
I’m not surprised that H has found the one cheese item on the menu.
Nabbing an empty table outside, I settle in to enjoy my treat. I hope the Oxford magic will keep people from noticing that I’m sitting with a cat holding an ice cream cone.
As I watch people walk by, I have a bit of a revelation. “Hey H, maybe we’re going about all of this the wrong way.”
“Wotcha mean, Nat? Searchin’ for tha murderer or tryin’ ta find a theme fer tha gala?”
I take a few more licks of my ice cream, narrowly preventing it from falling on my skirt. “Both, I guess. We’ve been looking in all the obvious places. I thought for sure we’d find the murderer in the kitchen and an event theme in the college annals. Maybe we need to take a broader look at our problems. We could look more into the people that have come in through the gates at St Margaret, see if there is some hidden passion we’ve failed to uncover.”
H’s eyes light up, providing a momentary distraction from the ice cream smears dripping off his snout. “‘Idden passion? I know just tha missie ta ask.”
“Really?” I can’t believe it.
“Yep, and ya know her too. Catherine Morgan.”
Forehead scrunched, I struggle to remember where I heard that name before. “The portrait in the main building hallway?”
“Not tha paintin’, tha woman sittin’ inside it. Remember wot Dr Radcliffe said? Cathy knows all about ‘idden passions, plus she’s been ‘angin’ in that spot fer as long as I can remember. If she ain’t seen it, it ain’t ‘appened.”
I steal half the shop’s napkin stack to sort out a very sticky wyvern and then we turn back the way we came. This time, though, we catch the bus. I’ve got a new angle of attack and not a moment to lose.
❖
The security guard calls out my name as H and I enter St Margaret main gate.
“Ms Payne, I’m glad I caught you. Harry was in here a little while ago, looking to see if you’d left. Something about car sharing?”
Oh no! In between my hours in the library and ice cream sugar high, I’d completely forgotten about my dinner plans. Harry had invited me and H over for a roast dinner and to meet her husband. After days in the dining hall, I was craving a home-cooked meal.
Flashing him a quick smile, I call out my thanks before dashing up the front steps. “Thanks for letting me know, I’ll go track her down now. Cheers!”
I look back in time to catch him doffing his cap. “Anytime, Ms Payne. I’m always here to help.”
“Looks like our plans to meet with Catherine will have to wait until tomorrow, H.” I shoo him in the front door and clack my way down the long wooden hallway to Harry’s office. We make a quick stop in the common office to check in on my assistants.
Jill and Will look up when I stick my head in the door.
“Hiya team, any luck on finding us a caterer for the gala?”
Both shake their heads no. Jill points to a stack of post-its on the corner of her desk. “I’ve called every chef and caterer in town, but they all claim to have no availability on the night we need them.”
Will pipes up before I can formulate my next question. “We’d believe them, except some gave the excuse before they even heard the date. We’ve never seen anything like it. Normally our inboxes are overflowing with requests to arrange tastings or offering discounts.”
“Do either of you have any good news?” I ask.
“I do!” Will pipes up, shuffling through a pile of papers. “Here it is. I’ve finalised the guest list and 150 people have confirmed their attendance. The marquees are on order, tables and chairs rented, heaters…”
“Basically, everything we can do without knowing what the final theme will be,” finishes Jill, both of them looking at me expectantly.
“Not to worry, team. I’ve got a lead on a new avenue for exploration. I should have the theme nailed down in the next day or two.” I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping Catherine Morgan will come through with a genius suggestion.
Both Jill and Will grab their notepads, ready to take my next orders.
“Anything we can do to help?” asks Jill.
“I’m always happy to do background research,” offers Will.
Waving my hands, I motion them to put their pens down for the moment. “Thanks, Jill and Will, that’s generous of you to offer. However, I suspect you two will have trouble reaching of the person I have in mind. Stay focussed on the caterer challenge. You may need to broaden your reach out into the Cotswolds.”
I wish them both luck with their work and promise to check back in tomorrow. With any luck, hopefully I’ll have the theme challenge sorted.
I pop into my office to shut down my computer for the day. Dr Radcliffe is away
