“No.” Isabelle stood up from the sofa, followed by Conor at her side. “We threw the oysters out. They were raw of course and there was some concern about them going bad.”
“So no one— none of you— had an oyster last night?” The Inspector looked through the group. “Is everyone present here now who had dinner last evening?”
Conor stepped forward. “My sister and brother had dinner. They’re upstairs, sir. Shall I ask them to join us?”
“If you would.” Inspector Powe peered at Conor as he crossed the room. “Are you— hold on, do I know you? Are you the golfer?”
At the door Conor turned back to face the room. His expression was solemn. “Conor Albion, yes. Have we met?”
“Yes— well, no.” The Inspector was smiling now, eyes wide. “We played against each other ages ago, at the Welsh Boys Championship. Fourteen and under, it was.”
“That was ages ago,” Conor said. “Good to see you again.” He left the room to find his siblings.
“I’ll be damned,” the Inspector muttered. “All these years.” He turned to Evans. “You must be very proud, sir. Such a brilliant golfer in the family.”
Evans nodded unenthusiastically, sticking out his chest. Another awkward silence passed. Isabelle sat down again, with Cecily joining her on the sofa.
“So where was this oyster shell then?” Richard piped up, rattling ice cubes in his glass.
“Found near the deceased,” the Chief Constable answered.
“So you posit she ate a bad one?” Richard continued. “Keeled over in the hedges? Shame.”
Merle and Elise shared a glance. Was Richard trying to lead the investigation in that direction, or just making small talk?
“Where were the oysters thrown out— where is your bin, madam?” the Inspector asked.
“We take our rubbish into town,” Evans said. “Usually on the day before we leave.”
“And that is scheduled for—?”
“We stay until Twelfth Night. The 5th. It’s a tradition.”
“Can someone show the constable where the bags are stored?” The Inspector asked the assembled group. No one volunteered. “Is there staff? Could they show him?”
The young constable was directed to the kitchen where he was told either the chef or the maid could show him where the rubbish was stored. As a vacation home they had no regular garbage service, even if such a thing existed out in the countryside, Isabelle explained to the Inspector.
“Just as well, madam. We need to check the bin bags.”
Conor came down the stairs with Freddy and Aubrey. He introduced them to the Inspector. “My brother Duncan is asleep.”
The Inspector checked his watch. It was five-thirty in the afternoon and he’s asleep, his face said, but he made no comment. He nodded cordially to Freddy and Aubrey. “Can you tell me what your dinner consisted of yesterday, sir, madam?”
Freddy looked flummoxed. Aubrey replied, “We had tomato soup and crackers with the children, followed by cheese and some shortbread biscuits. I had a glass of wine. Did you, Freddy?”
“Yes. Wine. The children had milk.”
“No oysters?” The Inspector asked. They said ‘no.’ “Did you see oysters last evening in the kitchen?”
“Ah,” Freddy said, brightening. “In the fridge, sure. A big bowl of them on ice.”
“But you didn’t sample?”
“Not really a fan of raw oysters, if you must know,” Freddy said. “Did you have one?” he asked his wife.
“I saw them too but no. I didn’t have one.” Aubrey looked at the plastic bag still in the Inspector’s hand. “Is that what killed her? An oyster?”
“Early days, madam.”
“The one to speak to is the chef,” Freddy said. “She was in the kitchen when we were there with the children.”
“And the maid, Gini,” Aubrey said. “Dinner was still underway at that time. They were bustling around. It hadn’t yet been postponed.”
“What time was that?” The Inspector asked.
“Just after five,” Aubrey said. “We arrived back from visiting White Castle. It was nearly dark and the children were starving. We went straight to the kitchen.”
“Ah, I love the old White,” the Inspector said. “Used to scamper all over it myself when I was wee.”
“Did you see anyone or anything unusual on the drive in?” The Chief Constable asked.
Aubrey looked at her husband. “No. We were all tired.”
Chief Constable Rogers looked at his notes then at the Inspector. “Should we speak to the staff then?” The policemen left the room, pointed toward the kitchen through the dining room.
“I guess this means no dinner for us,” Richard complained. “Again.”
“Honestly, Richard,” Cecily said. “All you think about is your stomach.”
Conor stood next to Elise. “Are we free to go?”
“Where to?” Evans asked, frowning.
“Into town for some supper.” Conor said, patting his stomach pointedly, giving Richard a smirk. “Give the Inspector my number. Maybe he wants to reminisce.”
He took Elise’s arm and led her toward the door. “Oh, and you might want to check on Duncan. He’s passed out in the bathroom. Pauline said not to move him but he didn’t look terribly comfortable on the tile.”
Chapter Three
Isabelle watched Conor and his friends leave the cottage and wished she could leave too. Why couldn’t she? Her sense of duty, of responsibility for everyone here, was too strong. She even felt responsibility for her stupid cousin, Sabine, who had apparently got drunk, eaten a bad oyster on a cold night, and perished alone.
The policemen were still rummaging around in the rubbish behind the cottage. Surely they had found the oysters by now. But there were at least twelve full bin bags at this point. There were always twenty or more by the end of their Solstice-to-Twelfth-Night holiday.
Isabelle glanced at her husband. Evans was deep in conversation with his brother, Richard, heads together like they were plotting. Her sister-in-law, Cecily, paid them no attention, having extracted a novel from somewhere, kicked off her shoes, and pulled her feet up under her on an armchair to read.
Aubrey and Freddy had retreated upstairs to mind their children. Specifically, no doubt, to keep them from seeing that police were at the house. It had been
