A Tourist's Guide to Murder

by V. M. Burns

  The uniformed officers increased their hold on Dorothy.

  “Now, what’s going on?” Nana Jo asked.

  For probably the first time in my life, I channeled my sister Jenna and went into full-blown pit bull lawyer mode. “Stop it. She’s an American citizen, and I demand that you release her immediately.” I couldn’t have told you where I got the courage to demand anything from these security guards, but a lack of sleep and a rush of adrenaline had me on a high. “Release my friend immediately. She was merely defending herself. This man tried to steal her suitcase.” I pointed down at the man, who was still lying on the floor grasping his arm.

  The officers released Dorothy’s arm and directed their attention to the man on the ground. Just as a paramedic arrived, a young college student wearing a St. Catherine’s sweatshirt and leggings pulled a large backpack from the next carousel and then hurried over to us.

  She raised a timid hand. “Excuse me, but do you need an interpreter?” She glanced down at the man on the ground, who was babbling. “I speak German.”

  The officers parted and made room for the woman to come forward.

  The paramedics asked her to find out the extent of the man’s injuries.

  She squatted and had an intense but brief conversation, which resulted in a few sideways glances directed in Dorothy’s direction. After a few moments, she stood. The man’s injuries amounted to nothing more than a very sore arm. Nevertheless, the paramedics checked him over. By now, the man was sitting upright on the ground and sending laser beams in Dorothy’s direction.

  While the paramedics finished their examination, the girl directed her attention to the security officers. “He claims this woman stole his bag, and when he attempted to stop her, she attacked him.”

  “Why, the dirty, no-good lying weasel. I’ve never stolen anything in my life. This is my bag.”

  The security guards exchanged knowing glances and then most of them disbursed, leaving us with the original guard.

  He ushered us and the now standing businessman into the Baggage Claims office and hoisted the bag onto the counter. He unzipped the bag and flung the top open. Inside were several men’s suits, shirts, ties, and other garments.

  Dorothy gasped, and a red river of molten lava rose from her neck and spread across her face. “I could have sworn that was my bag.” She glanced from person to person like a drowning man grasping for a life preserver. She caught the gaze of the injured businessman. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  The man looked away.

  Dorothy yelled and spoke slowly as though she were talking to a deaf child rather than an intelligent man who didn’t speak English.

  The businessman backed away.

  The security guard closed the suitcase and handed it to the man, who babbled on in German and made his escape, making sure to leave a wide berth around Dorothy.

  The student gave Dorothy a sideways glance, leaned forward, and whispered to the security guard, “I asked, but he doesn’t want to press charges. He just wants to get . . .” She coughed. “As far away from the crazy American as possible.”

  Dorothy looked as though she would cry.

  “Well, that’s good news anyway,” Ruby Mae said. “Maybe now we can all set about finding our luggage.”

  The security guard left us filling out forms in the Baggage Claims office. We filed reports with the airline and then made our way toward Customs. Just as we got to the line, Nana Jo turned and grabbed Irma by the arm. “Listen here, you love-obsessed harpy. If you thought TSA was rough, Customs has even less of a sense of humor. Answer the questions and cut out the crap or so help me God, I’ll take this purse and shove it so far up your—”

  “Next,” the Customs officer yelled.

  Nana Jo stepped forward.

  There were multiple officials, and we each went to a different counter. Without luggage, there was little to discuss. Yes, we are on vacation. No, we aren’t bringing anything illegal into the country. We barely had more than the clothes on our backs. I was thankful that I had my laptop as part of my carry-on.

  As we each finished, we waited for the others. Irma was the last to join, but her Customs officer was a woman and she must have behaved herself because she too was allowed to enter the country.

  Once we were set, we made our way outside and stood in the taxi queue. A long line of the classic black taxis idled by the curb, and the line went quickly. When we piled into a taxi, exhaustion faded to excitement. We raced away from the curb, and I smiled as I tried to adjust to the British manner of driving on the left rather than the right side of the road.

  The cabby launched through the city. Red busses, Trafalgar Square, and monuments flashed by at the speed of sound. Far too quickly, we pulled in front of the hotel. It was hard to tell at first glance that it was a hotel, rather than a white town house, but a small, discreet sign and a liveried doorman indicated that we were indeed at the right place.

  The doorman hurried to open the car door, and we piled out onto the pavement. He looked askance at us when there was no luggage, which meant there wasn’t a need for the bellboys, who hurried outside. Nevertheless, he smiled, opened the front door, and welcomed us graciously.

  Located in the Kensington area of London, the hotel was a former town home of the Vanderbilt family. Converted from ten nineteenth-century town homes, the hotel had been refurbished but still maintained much of its original charm, including frescoes, decorated ceilings, stained-glass windows, and wood paneling. At least that’s what I remembered from the brochures I’d scoured while planning this trip. However, now that I was here, I had to admit that much of the hotel’s splendor was lost on me. The exhilaration I’d felt just a short time earlier had once again seeped out while I sat in the cab, and it had been replaced with exhaustion. The effects of being awake for more than twenty-four hours hit me. Unfortunately, that same wave of fatigue didn’t hit Nana Jo and the girls.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Nana Jo glared at me as I flopped down on one of the small twin beds that took up the majority of our room.

  “Is that a rhetorical question?” I mustered up enough energy to turn my head, but after that great endeavor, I only had enough energy left to open one eye.

  “Get up. You can’t sleep now.”

  “Watch me.” I closed my eye but was shocked awake when my butt was smacked. “What the—”

  “Get up. You have to stay awake.” She took two fingers and pried open one of my eyes.

  “Why?” I swatted her hand away. Even without looking, I recognized the silence that followed. I squinted and opened both eyes to give her what I hoped was a scathing glare. I should have known it would be wasted on my grandmother.

  “You’re the one that sent all of those annoying tips every day for two weeks before this trip.” She pulled out her cell phone and swiped several times before she found what she was looking for. “‘To avoid jet lag, force yourself to adhere to the time zone of your destination. England is six hours ahead of North Harbor, Michigan, so regardless of how tired you feel upon arrival, make yourself stay awake.’” She glanced down her nose at me with a self-satisfied smirk. After a full minute, she crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Well?”

  I have never come closer to throttling my grandmother than I did at that moment. Worse still was the fact that she was right. Actually, I was right, since it was my stupid tip. Nothing like being buffeted by your own words to bring your ego down a peg or two. I released a heavy sigh, dug deep, and forced one leg out of the bed and forced myself to sit up. It wasn’t graceful, but it accomplished my objective.

  Nana Jo nodded. “Great. Now, go splash some water on your face. We’ll meet the girls in the lobby in ten minutes.” She tapped a message into her phone and then turned and opened the door. “I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

  With more effort than it had taken to move boxes of books in my bookstore, I hoisted my body up and stumbled to the bathroom, which was roughly the size of a postage stamp but had a
ll of the necessities. I literally had to turn my legs to the side to close the door. I made a mental note to always close the door before sitting on the toilet, but smiled when I thought of Nana Jo’s nearly six-foot frame using these facilities. The entire hotel room was small, but we really didn’t need much space. We would only be here for one day. The itinerary for our trip included the option to add a day before and a day at the end of the tour, and today I was thankful.

  When I was done, I washed my hands, splashed water on my face, and then stuck my head down to the basin and drank from the stream of water. I swished it around in my mouth in the hopes of getting rid of the carpet-like film that coated my tongue. I wasn’t sure how excited I was for sightseeing, but I definitely needed to find a store where I could pick up a few toiletries and fresh underwear.

  Downstairs, Nana Jo and the girls waited, although Irma had an elderly employee backed into a corner.

  Ruby Mae shook her head. “I don’t know where she finds the energy to flirt.”

  Nana Jo mumbled, “It’s inbred in her, like a wolf bred for centuries into a domesticated house pet.”

  After a brief conversation with the concierge, we headed out in search of a chemist, which we learned was the British equivalent for a pharmacy or drugstore.

  The chemist was just a block away. The only surprise was the prices. I knew the dollar wouldn’t go far in Europe, but some of these prices were outrageous. However, nothing overcomes sticker shock faster than desperation. My need for a toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant overpowered all other emotions, and I plunked my credit card down with barely a whimper.

  Encouraged by the idea of a shower, I hiked the two blocks to the tube station, where we were able to take a subway. Within a few blocks, we were at the stop for the hop-on, hop-off double decker tour buses. We took the bus past Buckingham Palace and several other attractions. However, when the bus pulled in front of Harrods Department Store, we hopped off, intent on picking up clean clothes in case the airline failed to locate our luggage quickly.

  Even in my current state of exhaustion, I marveled at the magnificence that was Harrods.

  Nana Jo whistled. “Wow! When they say Harrods sells everything, they mean it.”

  “They used to sell exotic animals too.” I flipped through the brochure I’d picked up. “However, after the Endangered Species Act of 1976, they limited themselves to more traditional animals.”

  “They sell pets?” Dorothy asked.

  “Not anymore. Apparently, they closed the pet shop after Mohamed Al-Fayed sold the store to new owners.” I tried to figure out how I felt about that. I was a firm believer in buying pets from reputable breeders or animal rescue shelters, but when I’d come to Harrods before, the pets were one of the things I remembered.

  “Well, we can’t just stand here gawking all day.” Nana Jo pulled out her cell phone. “Okay, let’s divide and conquer. We’ll meet in the tea shop in two hours.”

  We all nodded and headed off in various directions. I suspected we’d eventually all end up in the same places: lingerie, women’s wear, and shoes. However, I was happy to have a few moments alone and headed off to shop.

  It didn’t take me long to pick up underwear, socks, jeans, pj’s, and sweaters. I found a sales rack that didn’t make my head spin when I glanced at the price tags. I grabbed a couple of dresses I could wear if any of the dinners required something a bit fancier than jeans. I even picked up a duffel bag to transport everything and was finished in less than an hour. With another hour to spare, I decided to head to the tea room early.

  I snagged a table for five, ordered tea, and pulled out my notepad to kill time until the others arrived.

  Lady Clara was the last to enter the dining room for breakfast. Everyone except Lady Penelope was already seated and enjoying a full English breakfast. The dark circles under her eyes indicated she hadn’t slept well, despite her artfully applied makeup.

  Lady Elizabeth’s eyes never left her young cousin as she filled a plate with bacon, eggs, toast, and beans. She smiled. Clearly a lack of sleep hadn’t affected her cousin’s appetite.

  Thompkins stood quietly near the buffet, ready to assist at a moment’s notice.

  Captain Jessup finished a large plate and headed back to the buffet for seconds just as Gladys entered carrying a large container of beans.

  Lady Elizabeth watched a frown crease Detective Inspector Covington’s brow as he gripped his fork and stared as Captain Jessup moved behind Lady Clara.

  “I like to see a woman with a healthy appetite,” Captain Jessup said.

  Lady Clara ignored the comment. She turned around to move to the table, but Captain Jessup blocked her path. After a few seconds, when it was clear the man had no intention of moving, Lady Clara sighed and stepped to the side to go around, but he moved so he remained in her path.

  He ogled Lady Clara with a lecherous gleam in his eyes.

  Lady Clara’s cheeks flamed and her eyes flashed. After a split second, she gave the captain a smile and then stomped down hard on his foot.

  “Oooph.” Captain Jessup bent over in pain.

  “Dear me, was that your foot?” Lady Clara said in a voice that oozed sweetness.

  She took advantage of the captain’s discomposure to sidle past him.

  Lady Elizabeth noted the frown on the detective inspector’s forehead had relaxed a bit, as had his grip on his utensil.

  Gladys finished replenishing the buffet and had just turned to leave when Captain Jessup was able to stand. A flash of anger flew across his face but was quickly replaced with a grin.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Gladys mumbled, with her eyes down as she concentrated on the serving dishes.

  With an elaborate flourish, the captain made a sudden move as Gladys tried to slide past. The maid let out a yelp.

  She turned to look back at Captain Jessup, who had a sly grin on his face.

  Unfortunately, the captain miscalculated Gladys’s balance and grace. The shock resulted in her lurching to the side, and unable to balance the serving dishes, she splattered beans over the front of the captain’s starched white shirt.

  The captain let out an expletive.

  Lord William bristled. “I say, there’s no call for that kind of language, man. This isn’t a brothel.” His cheeks flushed. “I won’t tolerate that type of language, especially in the presence of women.”

  Captain Jessup glared at Gladys, who looked like she was two seconds from bursting into tears.

  Lady Elizabeth smiled at the maid. “That will be all, Gladys.”

  The maid managed a slight curtsey and then made a hasty retreat.

  Lady Elizabeth turned to the offended guest. “Captain Jessup, I’m very sorry for the damage to your shirt, but our butler, Thompkins, is a magician at removing stains.”

  Thompkins gave a stiff bow.

  “Removing stains?” he blustered. “My shirt is ruined. There’s no way anyone will be able to get this shirt clean, and I shall hold you responsible for replacing it.” He huffed. “Why, this is handmade and cost a small fortune.”

  Lord William’s eyes narrowed, and his lips puckered as though he had eaten a lemon.

  Lady Elizabeth raised a hand in a way that reminded all who saw her of her cousin King George. “Thompkins, please help Captain Jessup change.”

  The dismissal was clear and elegantly done.

  Thompkins bowed. “M’lady.” He turned and extended a hand for Captain Jessup to precede him from the room.

  The captain paused and glanced uncertainly from Lady Elizabeth to Lord William and then Lady Clara. He ignored the police inspector. Eventually, he turned and brushed past Thompkins as he left the dining room.

  When the door closed behind them, the group released a collective sigh. After a split second, everyone started to speak.

  Victor turned to Lady Elizabeth. “I’m sorry for the way my cousin behaved.” He shook his head. “I feel horrible. If it weren’t for the plumbing—”

  Lady Eliz
abeth waved away his concerns. “It’s fine. You’re family, and I don’t want to hear anything else about it.”

  “What a loathsome man,” Lady Clara snapped. “The only reason Gladys dropped that platter was because that letch pinched her bottom.”

  “The cad,” Lord William sputtered.

  “Poor Gladys,” Lady Elizabeth tsked. “I’ll go down and check on her in a bit. However, first, I want to try an idea on you.”

  Everyone stared at Lady Elizabeth.

  “I think Captain Jessup’s . . . disposition may be a bit much for such a small group.”

  Lady Clara glanced around. “What do you mean?”

  “I think if we had a larger group, it might help to . . . dilute his strong personality.”

  Lord William said, “You can’t be serious.” He stared at his wife. “You want to host a house party for that . . .” He searched for the right word.

  “Well, I think it’s an excellent idea,” Lady Clara said before anyone else could object. “But who do we dislike enough to invite them here for an evening with him? We couldn’t possibly invite people we like, so we’ll have to invite our enemies.”

  “Now, do be serious,” Lady Elizabeth rebuked.

  “I am serious. Let’s face it, he’s so offensive that he’ll offend everyone at the party, which is why we should only invite our enemies. Or, everyone will get so fed up by his pompous behavior, they’ll kill him.” She took a sip of her coffee and smiled. “Either way, I think it’s a winning proposition.”

  Chapter 6

  “Sam.” Nana Jo jostled my arm, causing me to scratch a line through the last page I had written. This was beginning to be a problem.

  The look on my face prompted a quick “Sorry.” Then she flopped down in her seat and shoved a small mountain of shopping bags under the table. “I’m hungry enough to eat a bear.”

  The waitress hurried over and poured a cup of tea, which Nana Jo guzzled down like a skid row wino with a brand-new bottle of ripple.