A Grave Waiting. Jill Downie

right, through the narrow opening that had once been the Landsend lobster’s kingdom, she could see the restaurant was doing good business with the suit crowd. Most of the diners were male, with a sprinkling of women who looked as if they were part of the same world as the men. Glass and cutlery clinked, an occasional laugh rose above the discreet murmur of voices, and Liz thanked heaven she was not the young woman sitting opposite the diner who bore a striking resemblance to the life-size lobster. The financial business had been the direction in which she had been heading before taking a detour into police work.

      “Liz Falla! What can I do for you?”

      Gord Collenette was a big man and his generous proportions overflowed the narrow space between the desk and the doors. His dark hair and eyes reflected his Norman roots and, although outgoing by nature and relaxed of personality, he had a reputation as a sharp businessman.

      “Hi, Gord. I want to have a word about a possible customer last night.”

      “Hang on, I’ll get the reservations list. It was busy — silver wedding anniversary party.”

      “You won’t need it — if she was here, you’d remember. Lady Fellowes.”

      “She was here, and you’re right, I don’t need any list to remember. As my Sally said, ‘All heads turned when that outfit walked in.’ According to my daughter, Gail, who was on the desk, when she was told we were booked solid she said she’d be quite happy to sit at the bar. Which she did, drinking Manhattans.”

      “Do you know what time she arrived?”

      “Late-ish, after ten. Looked at her watch a lot. Everyone thought she was nervous and already tipsy, to use my wife’s word.”

      “Who is everyone?”

      “Me, for a start. Sally the waitress, Gail, Steve the barman — he’s married to Gail.”

      “Do you know when she left?”

      “Around midnight, I think, but I’ll ask Steve. He’s off-duty at the moment, but he’d have a better idea.”

      “Was this the first time she’d been in?”

      “No, but it was unusual. She used to come with her husband, Sir Ronald Fellowes. War hero, I was told. But she’s been in rarely since he died.”

      Gord Collenette gave one of those apologetic half-laughs that, in Liz Falla’s experience, some males made when they were about to make an uncharacteristically intuitive or sentimental observation.

      “He was a nice man, crazy about her, you could see it in the way he looked at her. I’m not one for fanciful stuff, but Sally once said it was like he still saw her the way she was, when she was a star.”

      “Interesting,” said Liz Falla, amused to hear herself use Moretti’s default response in similar situations. “When it comes to fanciful stuff, you must hear a lot of it in your business. Did you ever hear any gossip, anything at all out-of-the-way about the Fellowes?”

      Gord Collenette thought a moment. “Well, I was told by a couple of people that Sir Ronald lost a heap of money at one time. ‘Been taken’ was the expression used, I recall.”

      “Really? Did anyone ever say who did the taking?”

      “No. It was more like island gossip. You never know how these things get started.”