Seven Lively Suspects

Book 3: Three Dahlias Mysteries

by Katy Watson

Genres: Mystery; Amateur Sleuth; Animal Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

One murder case. Seven suspects. Three amateur sleuths with the smarts to solve any mystery . . .

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It's a baking hot British summer, and the sleepy town of Market Foxleigh is staging a crime writing festival... with the three Dahlias as guests of honour.

After all, not only have Rosalind King, Caro Hooper and Posy Starling each played fictional detective Dahlia Lively on screen, but they're also making a name for themselves solving real-life murders too.

The Dahlias are anticipating a weekend of cream teas, awards dinners and warm white wine... but before long they're sleuthing together once again - this time helping a true crime podcast investigate a local cold case with a personal connection for one of the Dahlias.

It's been five years since Dahlia Lively fan Scott Baker was arrested for a murder that had eerie echoes of one of Dahlia's fictional cases. It seemed like an open and shut case at the time, but the podcast team are convinced that the police got the wrong man.

Can the three Dahlias help prove them right - and find the real killer?

Whether you've read the whole series, or are discovering the Three Dahlias novels for the first time, this is the perfect murder mystery to escape into if you love Agatha Christie, Jessica Fellowes and Janice Hallett.

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Praise for the Three Dahlias mysteries . . .

'Dame Agatha would approve' DAILY MAIL

'An absolute treat of a read with all the ingredients of a vintage murder mystery: a country house, mysterious dead bodies and three actresses all keen to catch the killer. Perfect weekend reading!' JANICE HALLETT, author of THE APPEAL

'Celebrates and gently satirises Golden Age crime novels in a hugely entertaining country house mystery' THE TIMES

'A wonderful celebration of Golden Age crime. . . a read you can sink into, just like the perfect country house weekend' S.J. BENNETT, author of THE WINDSOR KNOT

'A fun, 1930s style murder-mystery, which makes for perfect holiday reading' WOMAN'S WEEKLY

'I loved it - witty, engaging and hugely enjoyable' FRANCES BRODY, author of the Kate Shackleton series

'A cosy whodunnit told with modern flair' YOURS

Release date: July 18, 2024

Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group

Print pages: 90000

Sample

‘We could go see a movie,’ Johnnie suggested. ‘One of the new talkies, even. If you wanted.’

Dahlia sighed. ‘Oh, all right. But only because there aren’t any good murders that need solving right at this minute.’

Dahlia Lively in Murder Looks Lively

By Lettice Davenport, 1933

Caro

Caro Hooper took her date’s hand and stepped out of the car onto the red carpet. ‘Anton must be positively seething somewhere, watching this.’ Her words were almost lost in the noise of the crowd gathered in Leicester Square, but Kit was close enough to hear them.

He chuckled. ‘If you attending this premiere as my date is the only thing our esteemed director is worrying about tonight, then I reckon we’re doing okay. Don’t you?’

Given the long road it had taken to get them there – metaphorically, rather than the journey from the London townhouse she shared with her wife, Annie – Caro had to agree.

Against all odds, the movie reboot of The Lady Detective had been completed, and very soon the world would be able to watch it. Posy Starling had officially taken her place in the detective pantheon by starring as the lady detective herself, Dahlia Lively. And the original Dahlia, Rosalind King, had also managed not only to appear in the latest movie, but also survive the experience – which hadn’t seemed such a sure thing eighteen months earlier.

They’d had to recast and relocate after the murderous events of the original film shoot in Wales, but filming up in Scotland instead hadn’t been such a bad thing. For instance, the handsome laird whose family owned the estate they’d filmed at had taken a considerable shine to their scriptwriter, Libby McKinley. Caro smiled as she watched Libby and Duncan make their way along the carpet ahead of them.

‘Our turn.’ Kit tugged her hand through the crook of his arm, and they stepped forward together. He really was an old-fashioned gentleman – even though Caro knew she wasn’t the Dahlia he actually wanted on his arm tonight.

Annie had laughed when Caro told her that Kit had invited her to the premiere as his date.

‘Which one of them do you suppose put him up to that?’ she’d asked. ‘Posy or Rosalind?’

‘Probably both,’ Caro admitted. ‘But Anton can’t really complain if it’s Kit taking me, not them.’

Kit Lewis was a rising star whose brightness was starting to eclipse the rest of them. If Anton wanted him back on set for the sequel, starring as DI Johnnie Swain once more, he couldn’t afford to offend him. Which worked out nicely for Caro.

Anton hadn’t wanted her on set in Wales, and he certainly hadn’t wanted her on set in Scotland, but in the end he hadn’t had much choice in the matter. Caro wasn’t about to start letting men – or anyone – tell her where she could and couldn’t go at this point in her life. And besides, Anton knew she was writing a novel based on their first murder investigation at Aldermere – the investigation that had turned Rosalind, Caro and Posy into the Three Dahlias, each of them as famous now for solving murders as for playing fictional detective, Dahlia Lively, on screen. Given his part in the events that transpired at Aldermere … Anton really did need to stay on her good side.

Which didn’t mean he had to like it. Caro glanced around the gathered celebrities and film people on the red carpet to try and spot him, intending to give him a rather smug smile, but he must have already headed inside as he was nowhere to be seen.

It had been a long time since Caro had been on display like this. Ever since her TV series, The Dahlia Lively Mysteries, had been cancelled, she’d not exactly been in high demand for premieres and parties – or for parts, either, as it happened. The lack of roles for forty-something women in TV and film was just one of the reasons she’d turned author.

But she hadn’t forgotten how this all worked. She smoothed down her green silk dress, smiled her brightest smile, and raised a hand to wave to the crowd as they walked towards the cinema entrance, and the photographers and reporters waiting for them. Tomorrow, her photo would be in the papers beside Kit’s, forever connected with Dahlia Lively and this movie – and there was nothing that Anton could do about it.

Revenge really was a dish best served cold.

‘Not that I don’t appreciate you inviting me,’ she said to Kit as they walked. ‘But can I assume that you’ll be going home with a different Dahlia tonight?’

Posy had been frustratingly cagey about her relationship with Kit – whether it was on, off, serious or imaginary was the subject of much gossip online and on the film set. The fact that Kit had spent so much time out of the country filming new projects over the last year couldn’t have helped matters, though.

Posy was very protective of her privacy – and for good reason – but really. She could at least put Rosalind and Caro out of their misery and give them the details. Even Rosalind shared the basics of her developing relationship with her old friend, ex-detective inspector Jack Hughes – although she’d just smiled beatifically when Caro had asked her how the sex was.

If Posy would give her the same, Caro wouldn’t have to interrogate Kit for the gossip.

As it was, he just shook his head. ‘That’s entirely up to her.’

‘Hmm.’ Caro cast a glance back over her shoulder to where Rosalind and Posy were making their way along the red carpet, both looking utterly stunning in their own ways, as usual. ‘Well, if she doesn’t, she’s a fool.’

Kit squeezed her hand in gratitude for her support. ‘Not a fool. Just … cautious.’

It would do Posy no harm at all to throw caution to the wind every now and then, in Caro’s opinion. But then, she hadn’t been around for the period of Posy’s life where she’d had no caution – or common sense – at all, so what did she know?

Still, the most rebellious thing Posy had done in a while was to buy a flat in an area of London that might – or might not – be on the cusp of regeneration. Caro hadn’t had the opportunity to visit yet, but she was bracing herself, all the same. Rosalind, she knew, had continued sending Posy listings for flats long after the sale had gone through.

Kit stopped for photos and to sign autographs for many of the fans who’d waited probably hours to see him. They waved their phones and notebooks, and Kit just smiled and posed, camera flashes brightening the summer evening around them. One or two of the fans wanted to catch Caro’s eye, too, which was gratifying.

They’d barely made it halfway along the red carpet when she heard another voice calling her name – this one with rather more insistence than the others.

‘Caro! Caro Hooper!’

Best smile in place, Caro turned to try and find the fan, scanning the crowd.

When she saw her, Caro knew in an instant that the woman wasn’t there for an autograph, or a selfie. She wasn’t even there for the movie.

She was there for Caro. Her own past coming back to haunt her.

‘Caro!’ the woman called again, waving wildly.

It was the eyes she recognised first. The pale blue eyes so like her brother’s. She was older now, of course – it had been over four years since Caro had seen her, across the courtroom, staring accusingly at her.

Her fluffy blonde hair hung around her shoulders, the summer evening sunlight making it glow like a halo. She’d pushed her way to the front of the rope line, so Caro could see she wore a long, embroidered dress with flowers on it. And this time, there wasn’t accusation in her gaze.

There was hope.

Caro turned away.

‘Everything okay?’ Kit murmured, as he tucked her hand through his arm again. At the front of the cinema, the security team were starting to beckon them in.

‘Fine,’ Caro lied. ‘Your fans done with you?’

‘For now.’ Kit gave her a wink. ‘What about yours?’

‘Oh, this is your crowd, not mine,’ she said, as casually as she could. ‘I’m saving my hand strength for all the books I’ll need to sign at festivals and such this summer, now The Three Dahlias is published.’ The release had been cunningly timed by her publisher to coincide with the premiere of the new movie, and she’d held her launch event the night before.

‘Probably a good idea. From what I’ve heard, it’s going to be a huge hit.’

‘That’s the idea.’

As they stepped towards the foyer, Caro comforted herself with that thought. Soon her name would be back on everyone’s lips, not because of a film she didn’t even appear in, but because of something of her own. A book she’d written, herself, and a murder she’d solved – with a little help from her friends.

This was going to be her year, and no face from the past was going to change that.

Behind her, she heard the desperate voice call again.

‘Posy! Dahlia! Please! I need your help.’

A chill settled in Caro’s chest, despite the summer evening, and her steps slowed. She didn’t turn, though. Just listened.

‘He didn’t do it! You have to help me prove it.’

Of course he did it. Who else could have?

‘Caro?’ Kit asked, frowning.

She waved a hand to shush him. ‘One moment.’

Reluctantly, she twisted halfway round. Behind them, her fellow Dahlias had almost reached the doors, too – Posy sparkling in the silver dress from some up-and-coming London designer, and Rosalind elegant in a russet gown that looked too warm for the British summer but perfectly fitted her classic brand.

They’d stopped on the red carpet, staring out into the crowd at the rope line. And Caro knew exactly who they were looking at.

Sarah Baker.

The security team were ushering Rosalind and Posy inside now. But Sarah’s last words echoed in behind them.

‘The real murderer is still out there. You have to help me find them!’

Caro grabbed Kit’s arm and started walking again.

She might be a part-time private detective and part-time crime author now, but the case Sarah Baker was talking about wasn’t one she had any interest in revisiting.

Ever.

Rosalind

The movie was good.

No, it was better than good. It was everything Rosalind had hoped it would be.

She’d seen snippets before the premiere, of course. But she hadn’t wanted to watch anything much until it was the finished article, complete with the music score and credits and everything. The way audiences would watch it, around the world.

And they were going to love it.

She smiled as she considered the individual performances. For herself, her turn as Aunt Hermione came across well – at least well enough to forestall having to move into voicing funeral-plan adverts any time in the near future, she hoped.

But more importantly, Posy’s performance as Dahlia Lively shone. Oh, she wasn’t the Dahlia Rosalind had been, or even the Dahlia that Caro had embodied. She was her own Dahlia, a Dahlia for now, and she was perfect.

Which, Rosalind had to admit, was a relief. Not least because it meant Posy might stop squeezing her hand so hard now the credits had rolled.

‘It was good,’ Rosalind murmured to her, while around them the theatre burst into cheers and applause. ‘You were perfect.’

Posy let out a long breath, as if she’d been holding it for the entire one hundred and ten minutes. ‘Thank God for that.’ She looked up at Rosalind with a shaky smile. ‘Now we just have to make it through the after party.’

Because, of course, the film was only the start of it.

Rosalind hadn’t planned to attend the premiere alone, but Jack had little to no interest in being photographed on the red carpet and, besides, he had some sort of plumbing or guttering emergency to deal with back at his cottage in the hills of Llangollen. Rosalind might have finally learned to say the name of the town where he lived, but she drew the line at assisting with home maintenance when Jack could easily have paid someone else to fix it. But he liked to believe he was still a jack of all trades, so she ignored the fact it was clearly an excuse to avoid the cameras and went without him.

It did occur to her, as she travelled home from Wales, that there were rather a lot of things they were ignoring in their fledgeling relationship – like the two hundred miles that separated them most of the time, and kept the relationship perpetually in those early stages, even more than a year after their first official date.

Posy probably would have come with Kit, Rosalind assumed, if he hadn’t been bringing Caro. It was fun to see Caro on the arm of the hottest young actor on the block, though. Rosalind imagined Annie was in stitches, watching at home.

They were led out of the cinema, past more fans and more cameras, to the cars waiting to take them to the after party. Rosalind had hoped to catch up with Caro, to see what she’d made of it, but she and Kit were too far ahead, and there were more autographs to sign, anyway.

She saw Posy scanning the crowd, and guessed what she was looking for – the woman who’d called out for Dahlia’s help before the movie started. Heaven only knew what that was all about. These days, the three of them were almost synonymous with amateur murder investigations – although whether that was because they’d solved two genuine murder cases together, or because they were famous for playing Dahlia Lively, Rosalind wasn’t entirely sure. Either way, the papers had enjoyed coming up with pun-filled headlines for both.

‘Any sign?’ she asked.

Posy shook her head, without Rosalind needing to elaborate. ‘She must have gone.’

‘Perhaps.’ Except, why would she leave after so desperately calling for their help, when she knew they’d be coming back out this way again?

Probably just a crank, Rosalind decided. Or a ploy to get their attention for a photo or autograph. Nothing to waste time worrying about.

She ignored the strange feeling in the pit of her stomach that suggested otherwise.



The after party was being held at a museum space not far away, and sprawled over several floors and rooms, all well stocked with champagne and canapés. The museum itself seemed to specialise in crime memorabilia, which was presumably why it had been chosen, but Rosalind wasn’t entirely sure that all of the rooms really fitted with the Dahlia Lively vibe.

Almost as soon as she was through the door she was collared by an old acquaintance for a chat, and lost Posy in the melee. It was a very boring five minutes before she was able to escape and explore the rest of the party.

She spotted Posy looking cosy with Kit in a far corner as she passed through one of the side rooms, and the sight made her smile. She was about to move on through the archway to the next exhibit space when Posy looked up and noticed her. She placed a hand on Kit’s arm, murmured something to him, then broke away to head towards Rosalind – only to recoil at the exhibit she had to pass close by to reach her.

Looking at it even from a greater distance, Rosalind didn’t blame her.

‘Okay, I could have lived without ever seeing that,’ Posy said, as she stepped around the display of a murder victim’s severed head rendered in alarming – and hopefully not authentic – detail. Really, the death and gore theme didn’t go so well with the designer dresses and diamonds filling the rooms.

Rosalind tugged on her arm and led her back through to the main atrium, where the displays were less, well, niche. ‘Come on. I want to find Caro.’

‘Me too.’ Posy worried at her lower lip with her teeth. Rosalind had a fairly good idea what was bothering her.

‘Stop worrying. She’ll have loved you, too.’

‘Then where is she?’ Posy murmured, as they moved through the crowd.

Rosalind didn’t have an answer to that. She’d expected Caro to be waiting at the door, ready to congratulate their Dahlia protégée on a stunning performance – just like they’d both been there at Caro’s book launch the night before, to celebrate with her. But so far, their third Dahlia was nowhere to be seen.

The problem with a party like this one, especially when in the company of the star of the movie, was that it was almost impossible to get anywhere quickly. There were too many people who wanted to stop and chat – to pay compliments or, more often, fish for opportunities. Several women stopped Posy under the pretence of asking who had designed her dress, when they had to know that information would be on the gossip sites the next morning. Still, Posy took the chance to promote the work of Kit’s up-and-coming designer friend, and Rosalind kept a fixed smile on her face as they made their way around the gathered horde.

Ignoring the waffling of a film critic who was apparently trying to suck up to Posy with some barbed backhanded compliments about other actresses, and occasionally Posy herself, Rosalind scanned the crowd again. She didn’t find Caro, but she did spot someone who put a real smile on her face this time.

Across the marble hall, Libby McKinley waved from the sweeping staircase, and her companion gently grabbed her arm to stop her from slipping.

‘Sorry, you must excuse us,’ Rosalind said, not really caring she’d cut the critic off in the middle of a sentence. She slipped a hand through Posy’s arm and led her towards the stairs.

‘Libby! And Duncan. It’s so good to see you both!’ Posy leaned in to hug both Libby and her Laird-of-the-Manor boyfriend, and seemed genuinely relaxed and happy for the first time that evening.

Rosalind gave them her own embrace, then stood back. ‘So, how did it feel, Libby? Seeing your story up there?’

Libby laughed. ‘It’s hardly my story, Rosalind. It will always be Lettice’s.’

‘Your interpretation, then.’ Rosalind thought that the scriptwriter wasn’t giving herself enough credit. Yes, she might have adapted the story from Lettice’s original novel, but she’d certainly made it her own, adding touches and twists that brought it up to date for a modern audience. And that was before she got started on Anton’s request for five possible endings.

In the end, Rosalind suspected that everyone would be satisfied with the one he’d chosen for the final cut. Libby certainly seemed to be; she was glowing as she gushed about how good they’d both looked up on the screen, how beautiful the cinematography was, and how the cast had brought her script to life.

Or maybe that glow had to do with something else.

Rosalind reached out to grab Libby’s left hand as she waved it around for emphasis as she talked. ‘Never mind the film – tell us about this!’

‘This’ being the giant diamond sitting on Libby’s ring finger. Posy gasped and wiggled closer for a look, while Libby blushed a delightful shade of pink.

‘Oh, well, yes. I wasn’t going to steal anyone’s thunder by announcing it tonight but … invitations will be in the post!’ Libby smiled up at Duncan soppily, and even Rosalind’s creaky old heart was warmed by the look they shared.

‘We’re thinking of a Christmas wedding, up home in Scotland,’ Duncan added.

‘It sounds perfect,’ Rosalind said, approvingly, wondering how Jack would feel about spending Christmas in Scotland. ‘And I want to hear all about it later. But first …’

‘Have you seen Caro yet this evening?’ Posy finished for her.

‘Oh, she was just upstairs in the detective fiction display room,’ Libby said, waving a hand in the general direction of where she’d last seen Caro.

‘Of course she was,’ Rosalind muttered. ‘Probably looking for an exhibit about her personally. We’d better go find her before she starts giving tours to the guests. Congratulations again, you two. Come on, Posy.’

From the balcony level at the top of the main staircase, Rosalind could see out over the whole party. Camera flashes sparkled off champagne glasses, and the volume of the conversation rose well above whatever music was being played over the speakers. But the buzz was good. The buzz spoke of a successful movie, one everyone had enjoyed. Even the producers and the investors were looking relaxed.

Only Posy still looked tense. And Rosalind was sure that as soon as they found Caro, and the other Dahlia told her she’d done a good job, Posy would unclench.

‘There you are!’ Caro emerged from a side room, glass of champagne clutched in one hand, beaming as she leaned in to kiss Posy’s cheek. ‘Kiddo, you were amazing.’

Rosalind bit back a laugh as she watched Posy’s shoulders visibly relax at her words.

‘You weren’t bad either,’ Caro continued, as she embraced Rosalind.

‘For an ageing relic?’ Rosalind asked, pointedly, one eyebrow raised.

‘For a national treasure,’ Caro countered.

‘What are you doing up here, anyway?’ Posy asked, looking around them at the mostly empty balcony.

Rosalind frowned as she followed suit. There were a few small clusters of people up there talking more quietly than the raucous conversations downstairs, but this definitely wasn’t where the party was.

And Caro was always where the party was.

‘Oh, just checking out the amateur detective display, to see if we’re mentioned,’ Caro replied, too casually.

Posy clocked it, too, if Rosalind read her look right.

Something was going on with Caro. But finding out what it was would have to wait until after the party, she decided, as Anton was moving purposefully in their direction.

‘And here they are. Our three Dahlias.’ Posy and Caro both turned as one at the sound of Anton’s voice behind them. He gripped hold of the banister as he took the last two steps, followed by three women – one Rosalind recognised, and two she didn’t. ‘I’ve got some people who’d like to talk to you three.’

Rosalind glanced across at her friends, and saw all the colour drain from Caro’s face.

Maybe they wouldn’t have to wait, after all.

‘In my experience, there’s nothing so dangerous, or more insidious, than an open-and-shut, cut-and-dried case,’ Dahlia said, slamming the file closed. ‘They’re always the ones that turn out to be far more complicated than anyone expected.’

Dahlia Lively in A Secret To Tell

By Lettice Davenport, 1959

Posy

Posy stepped forward, her hand out, conveniently blocking Caro from view as she greeted the women. She cast a hurried glance at Rosalind, but from her barely perceptible shrug she had no idea what was going on with Caro either. Which meant they’d just have to distract Anton and his friends from her strange reaction until they were alone and could quiz her properly.

All Posy knew was, this wasn’t the Caro she’d expected this evening – or the one who’d spent a fair portion of her own book launch the night before fishing for details about what was going on with her and Kit, and why he wasn’t there. She didn’t recognise this Caro at all.

She did recognise the first of Anton’s companions – a twenty-something black woman in a stunning scarlet dress.

‘Posy Starling,’ Posy said, shaking the woman’s hand. ‘And you’re Eleanor Grey, right? I watched your recent TV programme on …’ Dammit, what had it been on?

‘The Devonshire Ripper Theory,’ Eleanor finished for her. ‘What did you think?’

‘It was … a fascinating theory,’ Posy said, diplomatically. In fact, as far as she could tell, there was practically no genuine evidence linking the series of eighteenth-century murders across Devon to one serial killer, but what did she know? She had enough to worry about solving crimes that happened on her watch, without travelling back in time to solve ones where the murderers were already long dead too.

She’d only watched the documentary in the first place because she’d been alone for the weekend and determined to chill out and not leave her tiny, new London flat unless absolutely necessary.

But Eleanor, with her intelligent brown eyes and engaging manner, had been strangely compelling to watch, as she linked the cases across the county. Even if Posy hadn’t quite believed it, the presenter had made her want to believe, which was quite an achievement in itself.

‘It was a stretch,’ Eleanor admitted, with a self-deprecating smile that made Posy like her more, all of a sudden. ‘But it made a good story.’

‘It definitely did that,’ Posy agreed, turning to Eleanor’s companions.

The second woman she didn’t know at all. She was of an age with Eleanor, wearing a simple black dress with heels, classic rather than standing out. She kept a comforting hand on the back of the last woman, who Posy felt somehow that she should know. She was a few years older than the others, white, slender, and with fl. . .