English Tea Murder Read Free Page B

aircraft comes to a complete stop and the fasten-seat-belt light is turned off. And we must ask the following passengers to remain in their seats: Laura Barfield, William Barfield, Randall Cope, Jennifer Fain, Sue Finch . . .”
    Lucy’s and Sue’s eyes met and the voice continued: “Rachel Goodman, Autumn Mackie, Ann Smith, Caroline Smith, Thomas Smith, Pamela Stillings, and Lucy Stone. Thank you.”
    “It’s everyone on the tour,” said Sue as the jet taxied to the gate.
    “Looks like there’s going to be a police investigation,” said Lucy, looking past Jennifer through the oval window and glimpsing a cluster of police cars and an ambulance on the ground.
    The plane stopped, the fasten-seat-belt light went off with a ding, and people all around them were stretching and getting to their feet and opening the overhead compartments to retrieve bags and coats. The aisles were packed with people, and then suddenly everyone was gone, leaving behind crumpled pillows and blankets and newspapers—and the twelve people whose names had been called. They were all told to please move forward into the first-class cabin.
    “I was hoping for an upgrade,” quipped Sue. “But I would have appreciated it earlier in the flight.”
    When they entered the first-class cabin, which was every bit as rumpled and untidy as their own, although much roomier, they found a pair of uniformed police constables with checked caps tucked under their arms blocking the exits, as if the group was comprised of dangerous prisoners who must be kept under guard.
    “What happened? Why are we being kept on the plane?” asked Rachel as they gathered in a little group.
    Pam was looking around. “Where’s George? How come they didn’t call his name?”
    Lucy cast a questioning look at Sue, who delivered the bad news. “He’s dead.”
    Pam was stunned. “What?”
    “How on earth?” asked Rachel.
    “I knew something was wrong. There was a fuss, but I never imagined. . . .” said Pam.
    Rachel was clasping her hands together. “Was it the asthma?”
    “He was having trouble breathing at the airport,” recalled Pam, stepping aside to let a young woman in a white disposable overall pass. She was snapping on a pair of latex gloves as she hurried to the economy section.
    “Probably the medical examiner,” said Lucy, whose job as a reporter had given her some familiarity with the procedures surrounding unexpected death. She watched as a tall, rather distinguished-looking man in a gray suit entered the cabin, receiving nods from the two uniformed officers. He was soon followed by a shorter, sturdier man wearing a tweed jacket and a rather stout, red-faced man wearing a beautifully tailored suit.
    “If you’ll all take a seat, we can begin, and hopefully we won’t delay you for very long,” said the man in the gray suit. “I am Inspector John Neal of the Metropolitan Police. It is the responsibility of the Met, which you may know better as Scotland Yard, to investigate any unexplained deaths.” There was a little stir from several tour members, and he quickly explained. “Due to the configuration of the aircraft, you may not know that the leader of your tour, George Temple, expired in midflight.” He paused a moment, waiting for this information to be absorbed, before continuing. “My colleague”—he indicated the sturdy man in the sport coat—“is Sergeant Chester Luddy. Mr. William Bosworth is the coroner.” He indicated the man in the expensive suit. “Mr. Bosworth will determine from our investigation here today whether an inquest is required.” He paused again, his gaze moving from one person to another. “I need hardly point out to you all that the more helpful and open you are at this time, the sooner we can wrap this up and you can carry on with your travel plans.”
    Sergeant Luddy passed a sheet of paper to the inspector, and he began reading names. “Laura and William Barfield, please identify yourselves.”
    A slight woman