The Final Crumpet Read Online Free PDF Page A

Stuart turned to Flick. “What would your response have been, Dr. Adams?”
    Flick spoke confidently. “That’s a very interesting question; we want to know the answer, too. When the police have completed their investigation, we intend to look into the matter.”
    “An excellent reply!” Stuart nodded approvingly. “Short, responsive, noncommittal—yet wholly satisfying to the questioner.”
    Nigel whispered, “Suck-up!”
    Flick poked her finger into his ribs; no one in the audience seemed to notice.
    “Ouch!”
    “Do you have something to add before we move on, Nigel?”
    Stuart asked.
    “No.”
    “But I do,” Philip said smugly. “We should call Mr. Owen’s attention to the second item on the list of forbidden subjects—specifically, the pistol found buried with the body. While the police have yet to make the information public, they have positively identified the weapon as a Soviet-made Makarov automatic, caliber 9.2 millimeters. The magazine contained seven cartridges. It can hold a maximum of eight.”
    “Thank you, Philip,” Nigel said. “Now I know what I have to forget by Monday morning. I don’t anticipate any difficulties.”
    Nigel watched a furrow form on Philip’s brow, but before the reporter could say anything, Stuart tapped his arm with the little boat horn. “Proceed.”
    Philip retrieved his cards. “Another question for you, Mr. Owen. Do you have any idea why Mr. Makepeace was buried in the museum’s tea garden?”
    Nigel grinned at Philip. The man had asked a sensible question, one that deserved to be answered, one that the reporters were likely to pose on Monday morning.
    The trick is to come up with a suitably hollow reply.
    “I have no idea why a murderer would choose to vandalize a museum,” Nigel said, “but the fact that it happened here makes me furious. We are a family museum, dedicated to helping people understand the extraordinary history of tea in Great Britain.”
    Nigel held his breath, waiting for Stuart to blow his bloody horn. But Stuart set the noisemaker down. “An acceptable answer, Nigel. You seem to be getting the idea.” He signaled Philip with another wave. “Carry on.”
    “Dr. Adams, Etienne Makepeace had an interesting nickname when he was alive—England’s Tea Sage. Had you heard anything about him before his body was unearthed in the museum’s tea garden?”
    Flick shook her head. “Surprisingly, given his fame in England, I had not heard of Mr. Makepeace until the events of last Friday.” She added, “Of course, I’ve learned a good deal about him since then.”
    “Well done, Felicity!” Stuart gushed. “A perfect answer.”
    “Show off!” Nigel hissed. Before he could move away, Flick poked her finger into his middle again. He couldn’t help wincing; the spot was getting tender.
    “I have a follow-up question for you, Dr. Adams,” Philip said. “Please apply your newfound knowledge and give us your opinion of Etienne Makepeace’s expertise. Did England’s Tea Sage know his stuff?”
    Nigel expected Flick to answer quickly. Instead, she hesitated—and he could sense her growing distress. But why? Philip’s question seemed simple enough. After several seconds of silence, he realized that she hadn’t “learned a good deal” about Makepeace at all. Her previous reply had been a fib.
    “Ah…well…” Flick paused to catch her breath then finally began to speak in earnest. “I’m not really sure, although everyone says that he knew his stuff.” Another hesitation. “Uh…what I mean to say is that…”
    Honk!
    “In other words, Felicity, you don’t have a good answer, so all you can do is blither at us.”
    Flick sighed. “I’m afraid that’s true, Stuart. I’m sorry.”
    He frowned. “ Sorry doesn’t cut it at a news conference. And you were ill-advised to claim knowledge you don’t possess. Please remember that our objective is to get you widely quoted, to establish Dr. Felicity Adams as a nationally known