Tea? Coffee? Murder! - The Lost Diamond

Chapter One, in which a diversion does not lead to the destination

Two hours earlier

"That looks a lot like rain," said Fred Estaire, peering out the windscreen at the black clouds in the distance.

"We'll be back in Earlsraven by the time the storm reaches us," countered Jean-Louis Talradja, who was sitting in the back seat of Nathalie's car with his girlfriend, Belle. "By the time the first drops of rain fall, we'll already be in the pub and Nathalie will have bought us a drink." Nathalie Ames eyed him through the rear-view mirror and raised an eyebrow. Belle Starr then elbowed him in the side, causing him to wince. "Only after I've bought you a round, of course," he added hastily.

"That's right," Belle agreed. "We can't let our good Nathalie go to the dogs with the Black Feather just because she's surrounded by scrounging friends."

"Don't worry, guys," Nathalie rebutted. "You've all contributed to the petrol costs, so I hardly feel like I'm being taken advantage of."

"A perfect weekend," her boyfriend Fred enthused, sitting back in his seat. "We should do this every weekend."

"No problem," said Nathalie. "We just have to win a competition every week to win a dream weekend for four people. I'm sure they're a dime a dozen."

The others laughed at her ironic remark, while Nathalie reviewed the weekend in her mind. It really had been perfect. From their arrival on Friday lunchtime to their departure two hours ago on Sunday, everything had gone smoothly. The weather had been great, with sunshine and temperatures topping twenty degrees. The rooms in the tiny guesthouse in St Ives were diminutive, but were all the cosier and more comfortable for that, and the buffet breakfast had catered for every wish despite its modest dimensions.

And, despite everybody noticing that the owner of the guesthouse bore a striking resemblance to a young John Cleese in his role as the obnoxious hotelier Basil Fawlty in the series Fawlty Towers, Mr Bellward had been politeness personified, even though they hadn't been paying guests.

Secretly, however, Nathalie had imagined that sooner or later she would stumble across a corpse in one of the many narrow and winding alleyways and be drawn into a murder case. With every hour that passed uneventfully in this respect, her fears had increased a little more. But nothing had happened, and the four of them had spent a relaxing time together. They had walked along the beach, admired the rugged cliffs of The Island, where the spray splashed upwards. In the Tate St Ives, a tiny branch of the prestigious Tate Gallery, they had admired the works of contemporary British artists and then visited one of the many fish restaurants that could be found on almost every corner.

Nathalie had particularly enjoyed the hours that Fred and she had been able to spend alone. It had been good to sit close together on the beach and know that someone wouldn't come rushing in from the kitchen to report that the whole packet of salt had ended up in the casserole instead of a pinch, or that Fred, as manager of her country market, would once again have to lead an inspector through all the stalls for the umpteenth time.

They had also all agreed to switch off their mobile phones for some real peace and quiet. No matter what happened in Earlsraven, it had to happen without them.

Nathalie had learnt to remain sceptical when it came to the return of everyday life, rather than allowing herself to be carried away by the hope she would continue to be spared from crime in her surroundings. Since she had inherited the Black Feather pub with its adjoining café and hotel from her aunt, she had been drawn into a dozen or so murder cases. With this record, it wouldn't be long before there was another crime in Nathalie's vicinity.

"Or we could win the lottery," replied Jean-Louis, the coroner responsible for Earlsraven and the surrounding area. "Then we'd be able to afford a hotel break like this every weekend - and even have ourselves carried there by sedan chair."

"You do know that slavery has been abolished, don't you, J.L.?" jibed Belle.

"Of course," he assured her with a laugh. "But my ancestors come from India, so it's only fair that I'm carried in a palanquin for once."

"Oh," Nathalie said at that moment, which made the others sit up and take notice.

"What is it?" asked Fred, who knew about her fears and looked out the passenger window worriedly. "You've not spotted a dead body or something, have you?"

"No, but there's a traffic jam ahead," she replied, stepping off the accelerator and switching on the hazard warning lights to alert the drivers behind so they could brake in time.

"We could take the next exit and take the country road," Jean-Louis suggested.

Nathalie shook her head. "I'd rather avoid that because the satnav has stopped working and I don't know the area."

"Too bad," Jean-Louis said. "Lucky I've got a maps app on my phone." He tried accessing it, tapping on his phone screen before dropping it on his lap. "Damn, I can't get a signal."

"Let's just stay on the motorway and sit out the traffic jam for now," Belle interjected. "Turn up the radio and the time will fly by."

Nathalie fiddled with the dial, producing only a series of crackles. She sighed: "Reception is down for that as well."

Fred closed his eyes as Nathalie braked and the car came to a halt. "Wake me up when we're moving."

After a good half an hour, Nathalie complied with Fred's request and gave him a nudge.

He pulled himself up. "What is it? Where are we?"

"No more traffic jams," she said.

"But . this isn't the motorway!" he realised in surprise as he looked around.

"That's right. Because the motorway will be closed for hours," she explained. "There's a lorry lying across all lanes and several thousand litres of caramel have leaked out of the tank. Nothing can be done for the time being."

Belle shook herself. "The poor firefighters," she said sympathetically. "I wouldn't want to swap places with them when they have to get that sticky mess off the carriageway."

"And now?"

"Now we'll let J.L. direct us back to Earlsraven," Nathalie replied.

"Why? Is the satnav still not working?"

"Yes, plus we're stuck in a dead zone here and we can't even use the satnav function on our phones. But J.L. says he knows his way around this area."

Fred turned so that he could look at his friend in the back seat. "Is that true?"

"Don't look at me so doubtfully," countered the coroner. "I've been around here before, and I also have a good sense of direction."

"But only when it comes to the path between the right ventricle and the spleen," Fred replied with a laugh.

Jean-Louis waved his hand impassively. "You'll be surprised ."

" .how to make your way to Earlsraven and end up in Aberdeen," Nathalie added teasingly. "But seriously, J.L., everyone else turned left after we left the motorway. You sent me to the right. Are you sure?"

"The motorway takes a huge bend to the left, and if we now drive in that direction, like everyone else, we will come out at the very edge of this bend, where the next slip road is located. This means we take a huge diversion, which will cost us even more time because the motorway is hopelessly congested. We'll go round the whole thing this way and get to Earlsraven much quicker."

"Well, if you are so convinced, we'll believe you," Nathalie conceded, then added in deadly earnest: "But if it's not true, we'll tar and feather you."

Jean-Louis laughed. "Have faith," he said. "Up ahead, take the next one on the left."

The rain had started shortly after leaving the motorway and had become heavier and heavier, but with the shield of the dense coniferous forests lining both sides of the road, the downpour had still been bearable. But then the forest had ended abruptly and turned into an unprotected hilly landscape, and from then on Nathalie had felt as if she were driving through a car wash. The windscreen wipers were at maximum speed, but they were no match for the flood of water pelting her car as a violent storm closed in on them. In the end, she had switched off the wipers, which had alarmed Fred until he realised that the road was easier to see that way.

Even now, Nathalie could only drive at walking pace. They wouldn't be able to benefit from this workaround for long, however, as dusk had set in, and it would soon be even darker than it already was under the black storm clouds.

"I'd like to just park and wait until the rain stops," said Nathalie, who was beginning to find driving in these challenging conditions exhausting. "But I have no idea whether this is a safe place."

"I agree we should wait it out," Belle said hesitantly from the back seat. "The whole thing is a bit scary for me."

"The only problem is that it will soon be completely dark," Fred objected. "Maybe we should make sure we get as far as possible before we can't see anything at all."

"Fred, we haven't gone five miles in the last half hour," said Nathalie. "It's at least another forty miles to Earlsraven. Either way, we won't arrive until sometime in the night, so it doesn't matter if it's half an hour earlier or later. With the strength of the storm, it can't go on for too much longer."

Fred nodded and squinted as he peered out the...