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eyes narrowed. “A friend? Let me guess, a suspicious friend?”
    “Well, someone who thought there was a lot of bickering that night, and—”
    “Bickering? That what they called it? At each other’s throats, they were.”
    “And yet — you’re totally sure that your husband wandered to your pool house? That he had an accident?”
    The woman didn’t say anything then.
    Sarah had to wonder, did Gail King want the band to go on, get back on the road?
    Generate income …
    Despite her husband’s death.
    Not out of the question, she thought.
    “It’ll just be a few questions. We’re just trying to put everyone’s mind at ease.”
    A slight nod. “Definitely a few. Trust me. And you better ask them fast, Ms.—”
    “Sarah Edwards. And this is my colleague, Jack Brennan.”
    “Fifteen minutes. Then — if you don’t mind — I have quite a few things to attend to.”
    At that moment, the TV personality’s gaze moved past Sarah and Jack. Out to the beautiful rolling property behind her.
    Her life has been transformed, Sarah thought.
    She guessed that the woman would be talking since it might appear odd not to, especially if there were suspicions out there.
    What better way to put them to rest?
    Then, with Sarah noticing that Gail King was in bare feet, the woman backed away, opening the big door wide so Sarah and Jack could enter the dead rock star’s home.

7. The Party’s Over
    “Wait in here,” said Gail, opening the door to what looked to Jack like the sitting room.
    He followed Sarah into the room then watched as Gail disappeared back into the house.
    “Can’t really blame her being pissed off,” said Sarah, sitting down. “Place must have been crawling with journos all week.”
    Jack stayed standing and looked around the room.
    The mansion was built on a grand scale, but this room felt homely — three sofas ranged around a wood-burner. Portraits and photos on the walls. Soft colours.
    Through the windows, he could see into the back garden — terraces, a fountain, barns.
    “Quite a place,” said Jack.
    “She does lifestyle stuff on TV,” said Sarah quietly. “I guess between them, they’re not short of a bob or two.”
    “I’ve ordered us some coffee,” said Gail, appearing again at the door. Jack saw that she had got dressed — jeans, white t-shirt, Converses.
    Elegant. Casual.
    She headed for one of the sofas and dropped onto it.
    “This must have been a very difficult week,” said Jack, sitting on the sofa opposite.
    “It has, Mr. Brennan. Jack — isn’t it? I gather from my housekeeper that you two are quite the famous detectives in these parts.”
    “I wouldn’t say famous,” said Sarah.
    A young girl appeared at the door with a tray of coffee cups. Jack watched her place it gently on a coffee table in front of them then slip away.
    No shortage of staff, thought Jack. This operation must cost a pretty penny.
    “Help yourselves,” said Gail.
    Jack took a cup and sipped. It was good coffee — very good.
    “So two questions,” said their host. “What makes you think that what happened to my husband wasn’t an accident? And more to the point — who hired you?”
    “Nobody hired us,” said Sarah.
    “Oh really?” said Gail. “You do this for charity?”
    “We don’t charge a fee,” said Jack. “Usually.”
    “We take on a case if we feel the police have missed something.”
    “How very noble ,” said Gail. “So what good Samaritan asked you to investigate my husband’s death?”
    Jack caught Sarah’s eye — tell her? She shrugged — why not?
    “Will Dumford,” said Jack.
    “You have got to be kidding,” said Gail.
    “Surprised?” said Jack.
    “Will Dumford? Wouldn’t say boo to a goose … I’d have thought.”
    “You know him well?”
    “Spoke to him on the phone a few times. Met up with him finally in the village last month when Alex got it into his head to re-form the band.”
    “And …?” said Jack.
    “Not what I expected. Most drummers