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punctuated her exclamation with a sensuous toss of her head that brushed the wide brim of her blue hat against Flick’s cheek.
    Don’t flinch at Iona’s oversized hat. Don’t be annoyed that they’re toasting a murder victim. Act like one of the bunch.
    Flick drank some cider and reminded herself that her mission this evening was to probe Elspeth’s relationships with the trustees. The trick was to be an effective observer—part of the proceedings but also separate.
    Flick looked to her left and her right. Matthew’s toast had left the other trustees in a reflective mood. They sipped their drinks quietly, perhaps thinking about Dame Elspeth — or possibly their decidedly un-English surroundings. No oaken beams, no low ceilings and small windows, no fireplace roaring in the corner.
    Hammonds Restaurant in the Swan Hotel billed itself as an “American-style bistro”—a curious sort of eating place, Flick thought, to be associated with a hotel that traced its wholly English roots back to the seventeenth century. The party of five was on the balcony, seated at a corner table that offered a bird’s-eye view of the modern interior. The window behind Flick faced Eridge Road, but she could look completely across Hammonds’s spacious dining room and central palm court and out the front windows into the heart of the Pantiles.
    A nifty place to live.
    The first document that Flick read when she became chief curator was a site report prepared in 1960 by a consultant to the Hawker Foundation. “If you choose to locate a museum in the city of Tunbridge Wells,” the author recommended, “a most sensible location would be on Eridge Road, south of the town centre, near the Pantiles, a well-established destination for visitors.”
    Flick wasn’t surprised that the Hawker Foundation accepted this recommendation and purchased land less than a third of a mile away from the southern end of the Pantiles. She had made a similar decision on her initial visit to Tunbridge Wells and rented a second-story apartment on the Pantiles’s Lower Walk, opposite and down a short flight of steps from the famous colonnade.
    She had written to her parents, “I have ‘let a flat,’ as the English say, in the old commercial centre of Tunbridge Wells. The Pantiles is a seventeenth-century pedestrian-only shopping street (what the Brits call a ‘precinct’) that could be the ancestor of a modern American strip mall. It is about two of our city blocks long. One side has a row of colonnaded shops—mostly selling antiques, clothing, jewelry, and food — with four-and five-story buildings above them.
    “The place was named the ‘Pantiles’ when the walkways were paved with baked clay pantiles circa 1700. At the northern end is a spring, discovered in 1606, that yields iron-rich water. The stuff is supposed to be good for you, but I find it too bitter to drink. In any case, people traveled from far and wide to ‘take the waters,’ and shops grew up around the ‘dipping house.’ ”
    A waiter interrupted Flick’s recollecting. She surprised herself by ordering steak salad. “An excellent choice!” Marjorie Halifax said loudly. “A proper meal is just the ticket for you tonight.” She looked at Flick over the top of her menu. “And there is no need to apologize again. As I told you in your office, we all understand your deep feelings for Dame Elspeth. Isn’t that right?”
    There were four nods of agreement accentuated by the clinks of knives and forks against water glasses.
    Flick did her best to look remorseful. “I of course regret that I allowed my love for Dame Elspeth to get in the way of my common sense.”
    Don’t stop now! Get them on your side.
    “Challenging Dr. Clowes in public was inappropriate and unwise,” Flick said evenly. “I won’t make the same mistake again.”
    “Pity!” Iona said. “I admit it was fun to watch you push all of Sir Simon’s buttons at once. I have never seen him more exercised than he was