THE DOVES

  IN THE DINING ROOM

  The Doves in the Dining Room

  Laura Laakso

  2021

  Louise Walters Books

  The Doves in the Dining Room

  by Laura Laakso

  Copyright © Laura Laakso 2021

  The moral right of the author has been asserted according to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights are reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without prior permission in writing of the publisher and copyright holder.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  A catalogue card for this book is available from the British Library.

  Produced and published in 2021

  by Louise Walters Books

  eISBN 9781916112377

  ISBN 9781916112360

  Typeset in PTSerif 11pt by Blot Publishing

  louisewaltersbooks.co.uk

  info@louisewaltersbooks.co.uk

  Louise Walters Books

  PO Box 755

  Banbury

  OX16 6PJ

  In loving memory of Elon Pierson,

  whose kindness, generosity, and sparkling sense

  of humour made the world a better place.

  CHAPTER 1

  ‘Yannia!’

  At the top of the stone steps, standing next to wooden double doors, is my friend, wearing a flowing sky-blue dress. She waves, and the sun reflects off the diamonds around her wrist. Despite the chill of a clear November day, she is wearing no coat.

  ‘I’m so glad you could make it. You’re my lucky charm.’

  I smile, a little uncomfortable with the idea of being anyone’s lucky charm. ‘Thanks for the invitation, Jessika.’

  ‘How could I not invite you, when you’re the reason I found my Robbert?’

  She draws me into a hug when I reach the top of the steps, and a cloud of floral perfume envelops me. I breathe through my mouth, and the desire to sneeze dissipates. Beneath the perfume, the subtle scents of dust, noonday heat and sun-baked salt identify her as a South Mage.

  ‘Have you heard from your ex-husband?’ I ask.

  Jessika’s hand creeps up to touch a silver line along her temple that’s almost obscured by her hair. ‘Not a peep since the divorce was finalised. The threat of those photos you took going public is enough to ensure he’ll stay well away from me.’

  We met almost a year ago. Jessika was one of my first clients. She took a chance on me because there are only a few female private investigators in Old London and she didn’t trust her case to a man. I proved not just that her husband was having an affair, but that he was abusing Jessika. After she filed for divorce, we stayed in sporadic contact, though I was surprised by the wedding invitation.

  ‘Good. You’re free to move on.’

  ‘Which is why it’s so wonderful you’re here to witness it all.’ Jessika loops her arm around mine. ‘Come. I’ll show you to your room and then I want to introduce you to Robbert.’

  The inside of the country hotel matches the imposing façade. Our steps are muffled by a thick carpet as we make our way up a curving marble staircase. Large oil paintings decorate the entrance hall, and from somewhere within the building, I catch snatches of muffled conversations and soft jazz. The smell of roasted salmon and steamed vegetables reminds me that it has been some time since breakfast.

  My room matches the opulence of the building. A large four-poster bed takes up most of the space; heavy burgundy curtains are tied back with gilded, tasselled cords. Huge windows offer a view of gardens and koi ponds. Through an open doorway, I see that the bathroom is appointed in marble and chrome. My eyes are drawn to the fireplace and the stack of logs next to it.

  I set my backpack on the floor next to the bed, acutely aware of my scuffed boots and faded jeans. My clothes are clean, but far too informal for this setting. When I turn to Jessika, I smile to hide my insecurities.

  ‘You must be excited about Sunday’s ceremony.’

  ‘It’s simply wonderful! I can’t believe how many people have travelled to spend the weekend with us. The support I’ve received is more than I ever dared to imagine.’

  Jessika turns away, plucking a tissue from a box on the cherry writing desk and dabbing her cheeks. I step closer and rest my hand on her arm, just below a series of round scars that are beginning to fade.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m being silly,’ she says. ‘This has been going on for the past few days. Every small detail seems to set me off.’

  ‘There’s no need to apologise. It’s understandable that you’re emotional.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Jessika dries her eyes and drops the tissue in a waste paper basket. ‘Shall we go and meet Robbert?’

  ‘Let’s.’ I glance down at my jeans again. ‘Should I change?’

  ‘Nonsense. The invitation said to come as you are. What you’re wearing is fine, and no one here is going to say anything to the contrary.’

  We leave the room, and Jessika hands me the key card, which I tuck into the back pocket of my jeans, next to my phone.

  As we are walking down the stairs, a voice calls out to us from the ground floor.

  ‘Jessika, dear, there you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.’

  An older woman in a cream jacket and skirt looks up at us. The curve of her nose and the dimple in her chin resemble Jessika’s features, but the press of the woman’s lips is severe. She glances at me, and in a tiny flick of her eyebrow, deems me unworthy of her time. My temper flares, but I keep the emotion hidden, although I do curl my hands into loose fists to hide the silvery Fey scars covering my palms. They have almost healed thanks to Lady Bergamon’s attention, but I am self-conscious of the marks that remain.

  Although she smiles, Jessika lets out a tiny sigh. ‘I was showing Yannia to her room, Mother.’

  ‘The hotel staff could have done that. You mustn’t neglect your guests. Lord and Lady Warrengton have just arrived and they are dying to get to know you better. These are the people you should focus your energies on, my dear.’

  Jessika loops her hand through my arm again as we reach the bottom of the stairs. Her grip causes blooms of pain on my upper arm.

  ‘I’ll speak to them as soon as I have introduced Yannia to Robbert.’

  Jessika’s mother begins to object and then checks herself. ‘I suppose you will do as you see fit, though our noble guests deserve more consideration than you are prepared to extend them.’

  ‘Thank you for your advice, Mother.’

  The woman reaches to touch Jessika’s arm next to one of the marks she bears. ‘Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with a scarf or a wrap over your dress, dear? I’d hate to see you catch a chill two days before your wedding.’

  ‘I’m not ashamed of having survived Dharren’s abuse.’ Jessika lifts her chin. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Of course not.’ She spots an elderly couple entering the reception area and turns towards them. ‘Excuse me.’

  Jessika waits until her mother is out of earshot.

  ‘Mother was devastated when I announced that I would divorce Dharren. The only thing that thawed the ice between us was my becoming engaged to someone from an older and richer Mage family. Not that it was a consideration for me, of course. I would love Robbert just as much if he was a penniless Shaman.’

  I stiffen at the inference, but have learned not to bring it up. For the old Mage bloodlines, the certainty of their superiority over the other magical races runs too deep for me to disabuse Jessika of the notion. She does not notice my silence as she leads me through a set of double doors into a room with floor to ceiling windows. The view of the gardens is beautiful, but none of the people gathered around the room appear to pay it much attention. Dressed in designer clothes and with champagne glasses in hand, they chat, laugh, and make their rounds. I glance back, wondering if it’s too late to make a run for it, or at least to go change. What stops me is the conviction that none of the clothes I own would allow me to blend in.

  At the far end of the room, a group shifts to reveal a man in a wheelchair. While he smiles and nods along with the conversation, his eyes keep straying to the view, then to the rest of the room. A large golden retriever wearing an assistance dog harness sits next to him. The group surrounding the man moves on, and he spots our approach. His face lights up.

  ‘Yannia, this is Robbert,’ Jessika says as we reach him. ‘Robbert, I’d like you to meet Yannia Wilde.’

  Now that I’m closer, I find him to be older than Jessika, perhaps by as much as two decades. His dark hair and closely cropped beard are both streaked with grey, but it gives him an air of nobility. He is wearing a charcoal grey suit and an azure waistcoat with a perfect cut.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,’ he says in a quiet voice that holds an undercurrent of strength. When he shakes my hand, his grip is warm and strong. ‘Jessika has told me so much about you, I feel as though we are already acquainted.’

  The aura around him presses against mine, though I sense no active spells. It takes a mere whisper of power to ascertain that he, too, is a South Mage and a stronger one than his future wife.

  ‘Likewise,’ I say, though in truth I know next to nothing about Jessika’s fiancé.

  Robbert’s hand dips into his coat pocket and out again. The assistance dog by his side cranes its head up, and Robbert feeds it a treat.

  ‘I don’t know if Jessika has mentioned that I’m a huge fan of detective stories and the heroes of the genre, such as Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot. Perhaps you would humour me by sitting with me at lunch and telling me about some of your cases?’

  My thoughts flash to Jonathain Marsh and Tim Wedgebury, but I cover my hesitation with a nod. ‘Of course. Though I should warn you, reality rarely emulates fiction. A lot of what I do is boring paperwork, much to the chagrin of my apprentice.’

  ‘Even if that’s the case, it will be interesting to hear what your profession is really like.’ Robbert leans forward, lowering his voice. ‘Besides, it’s better than making small talk with cronies who are desperately trying to avoid the subject of my wheelchair. You’d think after all these years, they would have grown used to it, but it remains the metallic elephant in every room I wheel myself into.’

  Right on cue, a sharp pain flares in my hip. Rubbing the spot, I offer Robbert a small smile. ‘Sometimes invisible illnesses are less complicated.’

  He leans back in his chair, surprise written across his face. ‘I didn’t realise.’

  ‘It’s not something I include in my PI ads. Being one of the Wild Folk makes me enough of a curiosity in Old London.’

  ‘I understand.’

  A flash of white in the garden draws my attention to the large windows. At the far end is a wooden structure covered in chicken wire. Within it, white doves flutter from perch to perch. Robbert’s assistance dog whines, and he strokes its head.

  Behind me, a bell chimes, and I turn to see a butler in a black morning suit holding a silver bell.

  ‘Lunch will be served in five minutes,’ he announces.

  ‘Shall we?’ Robbert takes Jessika’s hand and kisses it.

  He leads the way, wheeling himself through the open doors with practised accuracy. Jessica walks next to him, hand on his shoulder, and I follow behind them. We go past the reception desk in the entrance hall and enter a large room with wood-panelled walls and burgundy Persian rugs. My attention is drawn to the large fireplace, stacked with fresh logs but unlit.

  Jessika screams.

  Chapter 2

  I leap forward, eyes roving the room for anything out of the ordinary, when I spot a splash of blood on the pristine tablecloth. As I draw nearer to the long banquet table, a detached part of my mind is cataloguing everything I see. Amidst the crystal wine glasses and silver tableware, two white doves have been arranged side by side. Their wings are stretched out, and a long gash runs from the base of the throat across the stomach. Grain from the gullet pouch and intestines spill out of the wound. Bloodied feathers are scattered around the bodies. Some have landed on the nearby plates and glasses.

  From the many footsteps and gasps behind me, the rest of the guests have followed Jessika’s screams. Without allowing my focus to drift away from the gruesome scene, I catch snippets of conversations expressing outrage, puzzlement, and speculation that this is someone’s idea of a practical joke.

  The noise has brought the butler back, and his face pales when he sees the dead birds on the table. He calls for aid, and rushes to Robbert and the sobbing Jessika.

  ‘I can’t even begin to express how deeply sorry I am about this. Could I ask you to wait in the conservatory while someone comes to clear the table and take care of the mess?’

  Dabbing her streaming eyes with Robbert’s silk handkerchief, Jessika shakes her head. ‘Who would do such a thing?’

  ‘Whoever it is, I am certain they will be swiftly found out and reprimanded.’

  ‘It’s two days before our wedding.’ Jessika turns to Robbert. ‘Do you think this is someone’s sick way of trying to scare us? Do you think someone is trying to stop the wedding? Do you think it’s Dharren’s revenge for the divorce?’

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing of the sort.’ Robbert looks past Jessika at me. ‘Though I don’t suppose it would hurt to make sure.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jessika asks, sniffling.

  ‘We have one of Old London’s finest PIs standing not ten feet away. Perhaps Yannia could assist the hotel staff in the investigation? She’s already familiar with Dharren and the circumstances of your first marriage.’

  Jessika turns to me. ‘Would you?’

  ‘Of course. It’s the least I can do.’

  ‘We’ll pay you double your usual rates,’ Robbert says.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I reply. ‘Consider this a wedding present, though you said you didn’t want anything.’

  When Jessika tries to argue, Robbert silences her by extending his hand to me. I shake it.

  ‘Thank you,’ he says.

  ‘I’ll text my apprentice to let him know I’m on a case. If we need any research or legwork done in Old London, he’ll be ready.’

  ‘That’s right, you’ve now got an assistant. Should we arrange for him to come here?’ Jessika’s eyes flicker to Robbert and back to me. ‘Unless you’d prefer help closer at hand?’

  ‘Do you have someone in mind?’ I ask, though I am beginning to see where this is going.

  ‘Robbert has read so many detective stories he is practically an expert at solving crimes. Perhaps he could help?’

  ‘I’m sure real life is quite different from the pages of a book,’ Robbert says, though he leans forward in his chair, a spark of eagerness in his eyes. ‘Besides, having an assistant in a wheelchair will only hinder Yannia.’

  ‘Not at all. I would value your help.’

  Jessika glances at the table, the handkerchief pressed against her nose, and her eyes water again. ‘I feel sick.’

  ‘Why don’t you take our guests back to the conservatory, my dear? Yannia and I will begin our work straight away.’

  With the help of the butler and two waitresses, Jessika ushers the guests back to the airy conservatory and organises fresh trays of champagne. Once the doors are closed, the butler comes to me.

  ‘May I ask the staff to clear the table and to dispose of the carcasses?’

  ‘Not just yet,’ I say. ‘I’d like to take a closer look at the birds first. But while you wait, could you find out who was in the room last and how long ago that was?’

  ‘Of course, madam.’ He executes a half-bow, and leaves.

  As Robbert wheels himself closer to the table, a grey speck on the rug near to where Jessika was standing a few moments ago catches my eye. I bend to pick up a downy feather. Twirling it between my fingers, I wonder at its meaning. Nothing leaps to mind, and I tuck it into my pocket.

  ‘What should we do first?’ Robbert asks.

  I join him by the table. ‘Let’s take a look at these birds.’ Hesitating, I glance at his suit and his manicured nails. ‘Though if you’d rather not get blood on your hands, you could take notes.’

  ‘Nonsense. Before the accident, I used to hunt frequently. I’m no stranger to handling dead animals and know a thing or two about skinning and butchering fowl. If you move a couple of the chairs aside so I can come closer to the table, I’m ready to get stuck in.’

  While I move the chairs, Robbert asks his assistance dog, whom he calls Calleigh, to settle down near the fireplace. Calleigh flops onto her side with a sigh. Together Robbert and I move aside plates and crystal wine glasses for a better view and access to the dead doves. He wheels his chair as close as he can, and takes a photo.

  ‘In case we need it later,’ he says.

  I lean over the table to look at the birds. Something about the way they have been positioned bothers me, but it’s not until I pick one of them up that I realise what it is. The head lolls to the side, more so than I’d expect. I spread out a cloth napkin on the table in front of Robbert and lay the bird on top of it.

  ‘Do you see anything strange?’ I ask.

  Robbert feels along the dove’s neck, a smear of blood transferring to the side of his thumb. ‘The neck is broken.’

 

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