The Final Crumpet Read Online Free PDF Page B

tea imported from China.”
    Philip piped up. “More than one commentator accused him of being a fanatical, anticommunist Red-baiter. Makepeace ignored the accusations.”
    “As did the powers that be in Great Britain.” Stuart flipped to the last page of the briefing document. “Makepeace hobnobbed with the rich and famous and was frequently seen in the company of famous royals. He was rumored to be in line for a knighthood. Shortly after he disappeared without a trace on September 29, 1966, a member of Parliament rose and said, ‘Etienne Makepeace is one of the most significant Britons of the twentieth century—a man on par with any of the Beatles.’ ”
    “A tad over the top,” Philip said, “but not that far from the truth.” He queried Stuart, “Can I share my bit of news?”
    “Please do,” Stuart said—not all that graciously, Nigel thought.
    “Well, it’s not widely known yet, but the police have used old dental records to positively identify the remains. It is Etienne Makepeace, without question. However, to satisfy people who prefer a more modern approach, the police are taking the extra step of conducting a DNA test. I understand they have taken a DNA sample from Etienne’s surviving sister to compare with DNA extracted from the remains. It’s a long process, though; we won’t hear anything more for a week or two.”
    “Most interesting, Philip,” Stuart said. “Please ask your next question.”
    “Mr. Owen, how have the museum’s pets coped with the recent events?”
    “Our pets?” Nigel fought to keep his voice from screeching.
    “Why would a reporter care two pins about our menagerie?”
    “Because,” Stuart said ploddingly, “many people know that Dame Elspeth Hawker arranged for the museum to care for her little family when she died. It’s conceivable that an editor might decide to build a human interest story around the pets.”
    “What shall I say?”
    “You’re the exalted director of this museum. Come up with something.”
    Nigel gripped the podium hard enough to make it wobble. “All creatures great and small are thriving. Cha-Cha, our Shiba Inu, is in fine fettle. Lapsang and Souchong, our two British Shorthair cats, are purring. And Earl, our African Grey parrot, would be chirping joyously this very minute in the corner of this tearoom had you not moved his vast cage into the kitchen.” Nigel looked at Flick. “Do you have anything to add?”
    “Not a blooming word!”
    Philip chuckled. “I do believe our hosts are becoming irritable.”
    “Excellent!” Stuart said. “The time has come to ask the zinger.”
    Philip cleared his throat. “Mr. Owen, please describe the nature of your personal relationship with the chief curator.”
    Nigel heard Flick gasp. He glanced sideways; she was beginning to blush.
    “Mr. Pellicano,” Nigel said, “your question is out-of-bounds.”
    “Not so, Nigel,” Stuart said. “Everyone in the museum knows you are…ah, good friends. We have to assume that a few other reporters are as clever as Philip.”
    Philip beamed at the compliment. “I’ve spoken to three different museum employees who readily” —he emphasized the word—“told me that you are ‘romantically entwined,’ to quote one of my sources.”
    “What of it?” Nigel said, louder than he intended to. “We’re the two senior executives at this museum.”
    “I have a suggestion,” Flick said softly. “It just dawned on me that whatever the nature of our relationship” —she spoke the word with a humorous lilt—“we have functioned as a team to improve the museum. Our predecessors had difficulties working together. We don’t.”
    Nigel thought about it. More than one member of the board of trustees had told him that Nathanial Swithin, the former director, rarely agreed with the priorities set by Malcolm Dunlevy, the former chief curator.
    “Flick makes an excellent point,” Nigel said. “Our friendship pays dividends to the museum. We’re on the