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Leslie Meier is the acclaimed author of sixteen Lucy Stone mysteries and has also written for Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine. She lives in Harwich, Massachusetts, where she is currently at work on the next Lucy Stone mystery.

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ENGLISH TEA MURDER

KENSINGTON BOOKS

Chapter One

Lucy Stone tapped the miniature TV screen fastened to the back of the seat in front of her, but it didn't even flicker. The tiny little image of an airplane that represented British Airways Flight 214 was still hugging the coast of the United States, and more than five hours of flight time remained before they would cross the blue patch representing the Atlantic Ocean to land on the dot symbolizing London, or more accurately Heathrow Airport.

Lucy nudged her seatmate, Sue Finch, who was flipping through a copy of British Vogue that she'd snagged while passing through the roomy first-class cabin, which was dotted with luxurious armchairs complete with footrests and privacy screens—a far cry from the cramped economy cabin where they were sitting.

"What is it, Lucy?"

"We're going to die."

"I don't think so." Sue turned the page and pointed to a photo with her perfectly polished fingernail. "What do you think of Katie Holmes's new haircut?"

"We're six miles up in the air and the temperature outside is MINUS one hundred and fifty degrees and all you can think about is Katie Holmes's haircut?"

Sue leaned over and peered at Lucy's screen. "Thirty-seven thousand feet, honey. That's not six miles."

"Yes, it is! Do the math! A mile is about five thousand feet."

Sue was now studying a photo of Victoria Beckham in minishorts. "Her legs are like sticks."

Lucy was busy recalling her multiplication tables. "Okay, I was wrong and you're right. SEVEN miles. That's absolutely crazy. And who even knew the thermometer goes down to one hundred and fifty degrees below zero. We live in Maine and the coldest it ever gets in Tinker's Cove is minus twenty or so." Lucy frowned. "And that's pretty darn cold."

"I don't know what you're so upset about. The temperature only goes up to ninety on a hot summer day, but the oven can go up to four hundred and fifty. I guess it's the same with cold."

"These planes are not as sturdy as you think," muttered Lucy darkly. "Remember the one that landed in the Hudson River? It was brought down by a goose."

"Well we're in luck, then, because it's way too cold up here for any geese." Sue indicated a photo of a top hat decorated with the Union Jack. "Look at this. There's a show of hats at the Victoria and Albert Museum. Maybe we can go."

"If we survive the flight."

"Oh, stop fussing." Sue tucked a wisp of glossy black hair behind her ear. "Flying is safer than driving. You might as well relax and enjoy the flight. That tinkling sound means the drinks trolley is coming."

Lucy might not be an experienced traveler, but she had done her homework. "You're not supposed to drink alcohol when you fly. It causes dehydration."

"Don't be ridiculous. If we're seven miles above the earth in freezing weather, we should drink every drop they'll give us."

Lucy was struggling to reach her carry-on bag, which she'd stowed beneath the seat in front of her. "How much do drinks cost?"

"They're included. And you'll get a nice dinner and breakfast, too."

Lucy fluffed her short mop of curls, which had gotten mussed when she reached for her wallet. "I had to pay for a Coke when Bill and I flew down to Florida for his uncle's funeral."

"That's on domestic flights. They take good care of you on these transatlantic flights. So relax. Watch a movie. This is supposed to be a vacation."

Sue was right, reflected Lucy as she pumped her heels up and down to avoid blood clots in her legs. This was her first trip out of the country, except for a few vacations in Canada, and she'd been looking forward to it for months. She'd always wanted to go to Europe, and now she finally had the chance. A few rows farther down the aisle, she could see her friend Pam Stillings's elbow, recognizable from the colorful sleeve of her tie-dyed shirt. It was due to Pam's job teaching yoga at Winchester College's night school that Lucy and Sue, as well as their friend Rachel Goodman, had learned about the trip. "Only two thousand dollars, and that includes airfare and hotel, admissions, everything except lunch and dinner, for nine whole days," Pam had exclaimed at one of their regular Thursday morning breakfasts at Jake's Donut Shack. "We should all go. This professor, George Temple—he's in my yoga class—is organizing the whole thing. All we have to do is sign up."

"Our kids are grown, and our husbands can manage by themselves for a week," said Sue. "Let's do it."

"I don't know if Ted will let me go for such a long time," said Lucy, who worked as a part-time reporter for the Tinker's Cove Pennysaver. Ted Stillings was the owner, publisher, editor, and chief reporter. He was also Pam's husband.

"I'll take care of Ted," promised Pam.

Rachel Goodman smiled sadly, running her finger around the thick rim of her white coffee mug; her big eyes were as dark as the black coffee. "I'd love to go, but I can't leave Miss T for a whole week." Rachel provided home care for the little town's oldest resident, Julia Ward Howe Tilley, and was very fond of her.

"Molly could fill in for you," said Lucy, referring to her daughter-in-law. "Patrick's almost a year old now. I think she'd enjoy getting out of the house, and I know Miss Tilley would enjoy seeing Patrick."

"Then I guess we're agreed," crowed Pam. "We have to put down a deposit of two hundred and fifty dollars to hold our places, so give me your checks as soon as you can."

It had seemed like a great idea at the time, but Lucy had no sooner written the check than she began to feel guilty. For one thing, unlike her friends, she wasn't an empty nester. Toby, the oldest, was married and settled on nearby Prudence Path with Molly and baby Patrick, and Elizabeth, next in line, was a senior at Chamberlain College in Boston. Sara, however, a high school sophomore, and Zoe, in middle school, were still at home. Bill, her restoration carpenter husband, would have his hands full managing his work and keeping an eye on the two girls. Even worse, she realized, she'd miss Patrick's first birthday on March 17.

"Don't be silly," Bill had argued when she voiced her concerns about leaving home for more than a week. "You've always wanted to go to England, and this is your chance—and you can find a terrific present for Patrick in London."

So Lucy had studied the itinerary and read the guidebooks and packed and repacked her suitcase several times. She'd even gone to the bank and changed five hundred American dollars into three hundred and fifty British pounds, which hadn't seemed like a very good deal at all.

"On the contrary," the bank manager had informed her. "The pound was trading at two dollars just a few months ago. You would have gotten only two hundred and fifty pounds if you bought back then."

"I hadn't realized," said Lucy, tucking the bills with Queen Elizabeth's face on them into her wallet.

"Have a good trip," said the manager, giving her a big smile.

Remembering the transaction, Lucy patted the little bulge her money belt made under her jeans, where she'd stowed her foreign money, emergency credit card, and a photocopy of her passport, just as the guidebook had advised. She checked the progress of the drinks trolley, which was making its slow way down the aisle, and glanced at George Temple, seated...