English Tea Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

announced, standing on the steps in front of the hotel. “Barfields, you’re in room seven,” she said, handing over two keys. “The larger one is for the outer door, the smaller for your room.”
    The bus drove off and the group on the sidewalk gradually dispersed as Pam distributed the keys until only the four friends remained. “Here you go,” she said, handing a set of keys to Sue. “You and Lucy are in room twenty-seven and Rachel and I are in twenty-six. I think that means we have a bit of a climb.”
    Once inside, Lucy found herself in a small hall with a steep flight of carpeted stairs directly opposite the front door. The entry was homelike with a small console table holding a lamp, guestbook, and vase of fresh flowers. A narrow hallway ran alongside the stairs, ending in a small office, where a middle-aged man was talking on the telephone in a Cockney accent. Following Sue, Lucy began climbing, dragging her suitcase behind her up four flights of stairs until they reached the top floor and their rooms.
    Room 27 was small, but it had two large windows overlooking the street, two twin beds with white coverlets, and a very tiny bathroom with a shower. It was also very hot, so Lucy headed straight for one of the windows, which was sealed with an inner storm panel. She’d never seen anything like it before, but it opened easily and soon a cool breeze was lifting the white net panels that hung behind the wildly flowered drapes.
    Sue emerged from the bathroom. “Good thing we’re both slender,” she said. “Otherwise we couldn’t fit between the sink and shower to get to the toilet.”
    Lucy poked her head inside the bathroom and discovered Sue wasn’t exaggerating. “It’s a tight squeeze but very clean.”
    “And we each get a whole towel to ourselves,” said Sue, pointing out the neatly folded bath towels resting on the foot of each bed. Extremely small, thin towels, judging from their flatness.
    “And we share the soap.” Lucy was holding up the tiny pink rectangle she’d found on the tiny white sink.
    “It’s not exactly the Four Seasons,” said Sue.
    “It’s not even a Holiday Inn,” said Lucy, sitting on the end of a bed.
    “Well, sweetie, when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Shopping, that is. And since it’s Saturday, we can go to Portobello Market!”
    “But I want to take a nap,” said Lucy, falling backward onto the bed.
    “Worst thing you can do. Come on, up you go! We’re in London! You can sleep tonight.”
    Slowly, very slowly, Lucy dragged herself to her feet. From the street outside, she could hear the roar of traffic, the voices of passersby. It was true. She wasn’t in quiet little Tinker’s Cove anymore.
    Downstairs, they met Pam and Rachel. In response to Pam’s inquiry, the proprietor, a short and stocky fellow in a worn olive-green sweater vest, gave them directions to Portobello Market. “Just walk up the street to the Euston Square tube station, take the Circle Line to Notting Hill Gate, and follow the Pembridge Road to Portobello Road. You can’t miss it.”
    “I’m so excited,” declared Sue as they headed up Gower Street. “I’m so glad you’re not going to miss Portobello.”
    “What is it exactly?” asked Pam.
    “A giant street fair. There’s antiques and junk and all sorts of stuff. Kind of like a giant flea market.”
    Rachel was consulting her guidebook as they walked along. “It says here you shouldn’t be afraid to bargain. The dealers expect to come down at least ten percent.”
    “Sounds like my kind of place,” said Lucy as they descended the stairs to the Euston Square station.
    There they gathered in front of the machines that sold tickets and tried to figure out the system for payment.
    “In Boston you have to buy a CharlieCard,” said Pam, who often returned to her hometown to visit her mother.
    “This Oyster card is new—they didn’t have it last time I was here,” said Sue.
    Looking around, they found a cashier