Wiped Out in Wimbledon

  Wiped out in Wimbledon

  Cassie Coburn Mystery #10

  Samantha Silver

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  A Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  A lot of perks came with being friends with Violet Despuis, but this was the best one I’d experienced so far. Thanks to her solving a case for one of the richest men in London, the owner of one of the major sponsors of the Wimbledon tennis tournament, we were currently being whisked to the top of one of London’s hottest bars, the location of the biggest pretournament event.

  “I hope Serena Williams is going to be there,” I gushed as our taxi sped toward the venue. “And Naomi Osaka. They’re both so incredible. The way Naomi took time off for her mental health when she needed it was great. Even though they tried to punish her. I think this shift in society, that athletes need to be allowed to rest too, is a good one. But of course, it’s tennis. You don’t care.”

  A small smile curled the corner of Violet’s mouth. “And why do you think I would not appreciate tennis?”

  “Because I’ve never seen you show the least bit of appreciation for any sports whatsoever,” I said with a shrug.

  “Ah, mais le tennis, it is different. It is a beautiful game. The strength and agility required to play it, combined with the mental prowess in seeing the play and the opportunities to score a point—they are unparalleled in any other sport if you ask me. It is the perfect game, and I do enjoy it. I have been known to attend Roland-Garros in the past,” she replied, referring to the stadium in Paris in which the French Open was played.

  “Well, thank you for inviting me along with you,” I said as I looked down at my dress. I hadn’t had a reason to wear a fancy cocktail dress in a while, and this was one of my favorites. It was an A-line emerald chiffon dress that complemented my red hair beautifully, with a V-neck that showed off just enough cleavage. I’d paired it with a gold clutch and matching heels. I felt totally ready to mingle with some of the best tennis players in the world.

  Okay, who was I kidding? Of course I wasn’t. They were some of the world’s biggest sports stars. But I was excited about it.

  “I have seen you watch the tennis on television, so I knew you would enjoy this,” Violet said with a smile. “It should be an interesting night.”

  Little did she know just how right she was.

  The taxi pulled up to the building known as the Gherkin for its resemblance to a pickle—that was the PG nickname everyone went with, anyway—and Violet and I stepped out. Wearing a simple black dress that showed off her figure, with her long brown hair streaming down her back, accented with diamonds in her ears and on her fingers, and wearing silver shoes, Violet looked as stunning as I’d ever seen her.

  The two of us entered the Gherkin and took the elevator to the top floor, where the Iris Bar overlooked all of London. The bar had been rented out entirely by Jeremy Flagstaff, the billionaire owner of Flagstaff International, a company with fingers in virtually every pie—banking, sports teams, musical productions, real estate, and more. Jeremy had made his initial money in the eighties, when he invested in a couple of musical productions in London’s West End that ended up making millions of dollars and being shown all around the world, including on Broadway in the States. He then reinvested that money and built himself an empire, and he now sat somewhere around number ten on the list of the world’s richest men.

  We showed our identification to the security guards at the elevators then rose to the thirty-fourth floor, where we exited and took a different elevator to get to the thirty-ninth floor. The Iris Bar was located in the very top of the building. I’d been here before but never to the peak, which offered a 360-degree view past the triangular support frames that wove their way up the entire skyscraper. I looked upward into the London sky. Twilight was just beginning—it was a little after nine o’clock—and it wouldn’t be long before the deepening blue would turn to black. Or at least, as close to black as it ever got in London. The streetlights always cast a soft orange glow into the sky.

  There were about a hundred and fifty people between me and the windows that offered a gorgeous view over London. Everyone was dressed to the nines, with waiters and waitresses walking past, carrying flutes of champagne.

  Was that Ash Barty walking past? My eyes widened as I realized that yes, it was.

  “Come on, Cassie,” Violet said, nudging my elbow slightly.

  We stepped away from the elevator and were immediately greeted by a waiter, who offered us glasses of champagne. I took one, but Violet smiled and shook her head at the waiter.

  “Let me guess: you don’t want the alcohol to go to your head and kill any of your brain cells.”

  “It is true, I generally do not drink alcohol for that reason. But no. In this particular instance, it is because we do not know the origins of the drink. The waiter has been going around, handing out flutes of champagne to anyone who asks. Who is to know what was slipped into one of the drinks without him noticing?”

  I raised my eyebrows at my friend. “Really? You think there’s a risk of something like that happening here? Tonight?”

  “If you have learned anything from me, it should be that just because one has or is surrounded by money does not mean they are less likely to become the victim of a crime. In fact, I would offer that the opposite is true.”

  “Okay, you have a point there.”

  “So no. I will not be drinking the champagne. But by all means, do not let my own hesitance stop you.”

  “I won’t, because that’s overdoing it. No one is going to poison a random glass of champagne here tonight.”

  I took a sip of my champagne, keeping my eyes locked with Violet’s the entire time. She rolled hers at me, and I laughed.

  “Come,” Violet said. “There is Jeremy. You have not met him yet, correct?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. I was working a double shift when you solved that case for him. It was a quick one, wasn’t it?”

  “Indeed. But just because something was quick did not make it less complex. It was a very interesting case. The thief who was stealing from Jeremy’s company did an excellent job of covering their tracks. But I was smarter.”

  I smiled at Violet’s complete lack of humility and followed her through the crowd. I was pretty sure I caught another glimpse of Ash Barty, the Australian superstar, talking to somebody near one of the arches of greenery that dotted the space, giving the industrial feel of the bar a more homey touch.

  We passed the bar, done up in an art deco style, and pushed past partygoers until we reached a man surrounded by people. In his fifties, maybe early sixties, Jeremy Flagstaff oozed personality from every pore. He was of average height, with a shaggy mess of auburn hair. His blue eyes glimmered with excitement as he spoke excitedly to the man in front of him, the champagne in his flute sloshing around as he gestured. Whatever he said got a reaction; the other man laughed good-naturedly before clapping him on the shoulder, saying something, and walking off.

  Violet took that opportunity to step forward, and I followed her.

  “Jeremy,” she greeted him.

  “Ah, Violet,” the man replied. “My favorite Frenchwoman. How go things in the investigative world? I’m so glad you could make it.”
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  “I wanted to introduce you to my friend and often associate, Cassie Coburn,” Violet said.

  I stepped forward, holding my hand out for Jeremy to shake.

  His grip was firm, and he looked me in the eyes as he said, “Cassie. It’s nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ve read about your cases with Violet in the news. Very impressive.”

  “Thank you very much,” I replied. “It’s nice to meet you as well.”

  “Listen, Violet,” Jeremy said, turning back to her. “I don’t mean to bring up work on a night like this, but is there any chance you could come by my office at some point tomorrow? I’ve got a little situation with someone going on. Nothing too bad, just business stuff, but I’d like to hire you so you can look into a few things for me. Would that be all right?”

  “Bien sur,” Violet replied. “I will be there. Can it wait until the morning? If you would like, I am certain we can find somewhere private to speak of the matter now.”

  “Oh no, I’m sure that isn’t necessary,” Jeremy replied with a wave of his hand. “Tomorrow morning will be more than fine. Tonight isn’t for working. It’s for enjoying ourselves and celebrating the best that the tennis world has to offer. Andy Murray just texted me; he should be here any minute. I’m going to try and convince him to have a go at darts against Raffa. That should be a blast. Although I’m not sure they have a darts board here. Maybe we’ll do a push-ups contest instead.”

  “That sounds fun,” I said with a chuckle.

  “I’m just an old man blabbing on,” Jeremy said with a wink. “Go, meet some people far more interesting than me. Enjoy yourself.”

  I laughed and thanked Jeremy again then headed off to find Violet, who had disappeared. I ended up strolling through the crowd, playing spot the tennis player.

  My knee, which acted up less and less often these days, twinged slightly. I knew why. I was in a room full of athletes, feeling inferior because my body wasn’t in peak physical condition. Yes, it was true that most of the time, I was able to live my life normally, but the fact was that my ACL had been reconstructed after I was hit by a car, along with a number of other injuries to my soft tissue. I would never be in peak physical condition like these tennis players, nor would I ever master the profession I’d chosen, as my dream of being a surgeon had been taken from me before it had even started.

  I found myself heading away from the crowd, toward one of the interior walls, as I tried to deal with my emotions. Honestly, it had been a long time since I’d felt this way. I had made a lot of progress on my own mental health. I had a career in medicine that I enjoyed now, even though it wasn’t surgery, and I saw a therapist a couple times a month.

  I was definitely going to bring this up the next time I saw Fiona.

  “Are you just as uncomfortable with small talk as I am?” a voice said next to me, and I found myself staring at Emily Connors, the Canadian phenom who had climbed the ranks of the WTA after winning the last two Grand Slams. Only eighteen years old, she was quickly being compared to the Williams sisters. Standing around five foot ten, with an athletic frame, Emily wore a long, backless dress that showed off her muscular figure, and her blond ponytail draped over the front of her shoulder. Her gray eyes scanned my face with curiosity as if wondering whether I would be a friend.

  “Well, it’s not so much the small talk as intimidation from being around all you amazingly athletic women,” I said with a nervous chuckle. “And I’m not really used to this feeling. Normally, I’m actually quite confident. But I guess there’s a lot in my brain I need to unpack.”

  “I get you. Honestly, a part of me feels the same way. I know I’ve won a couple of tournaments, but it doesn’t feel real. Only a few years ago, I was at home in Toronto, sitting on the couch, watching Wimbledon on TV, rooting for some of the biggest names in tennis. And now I’m here myself, playing against and beating the women I used to jump up and down cheering for. It doesn’t feel real. Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump on you.” Then a horrified expression crossed Emily’s face. “You’re not a reporter, are you?”

  “No,” I said with a kind smile. “Don’t worry. I’m a doctor. Here as a plus-one. I’m Cassie.”

  “Emily. It’s nice to meet you. So you don’t actually know Jeremy yourself?”

  “I just met him. He seems like a nice guy. How about you?”

  “I met him at the French Open last month. You’re right, he does seem nice. My agent has a meeting with him; we’re organizing sponsorships, apparently.”

  “Oh, congratulations!”

  A flush crawled up Emily’s neck. “Thank you. I really appreciate it. This whole thing has really blown up for me. I don’t quite get the magnitude of it yet.”

  “No, but you will. And you’ll come to appreciate it. You’re living out your dreams, aren’t you?”

  A grin spread across Emily’s face. “I am, yeah. It feels awesome, but at the same time, I constantly want to pinch myself to see if I wake up.”

  “That’s the best kind, isn’t it? The one that’s really happening to you.”

  “No kidding. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, because I’m not at all. This is the life I’ve been dreaming of since I was a little girl. It’s just all happened so fast.”

  “Definitely.”

  “So, are you American?”

  “I am. I grew up in San Francisco. Is this your first time in England?”

  “No, I’ve been here before, for tournaments. You seem familiar though.” Emily squinted at me for a moment then snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it. You’re the woman who works with that famous detective. Violet Despuis.”

  I laughed. “Yup, that’s me. She’s the reason I’m here tonight; we came together.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize the two of you were a couple. I’m sorry.”

  “We’re not. I’m straight, and Violet is… well, a robot.” I genuinely had no idea as to what Violet’s preference was for a romantic partner. I’d never seen her so much as flirt with anybody unless it was to coerce information from them.

  Emily chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  “Violet helped Jeremy out with something a couple of months ago, but I was working then and wasn’t involved in that case.”

  “What kind of medicine do you practice?”

  “Emergency.”

  “That’s really cool. What’s the grossest thing you’ve ever seen?” Emily asked, her eyes lighting up.

  I laughed at her youthful enthusiasm before telling her about the machine that basically acted as a pressure washer to remove stones from under people’s skin when they fell on their bikes. That one usually got a squirmy reaction from people.

  Emily and I continued chatting for a little while. She was nice, and I liked her. We spoke about tennis, I ended up telling her my story, and we discussed how life could take us to unexpected places.

  Suddenly, there came a crash from another part of the bar. The sound of shattering glass told me it was likely one of the waiters had dropped a tray of champagne, but the ruckus that continued afterward was too great.

  “What’s going on over there?” Emily asked, frowning.

  “I don’t know. Let’s go have a look.”

  The two of us rushed over and joined the hordes of people trying to see what had happened. Then I heard the call.

  “Is anyone here a doctor?” someone yelled.

  “Cassie,” I heard Violet’s voice say.

  I immediately began forcing my way past onlookers. When I reached the front of the crowd, I saw Jeremy Flagstaff on the ground, surrounded by gaping onlookers, his eyes staring upward. I immediately dropped to his side and tried to get a pulse, but there was nothing. I tried CPR, but it was quickly obvious that it was too late. He was dead.

  “We need to get everyone out of here,” I said to Violet quietly. “And call the police.”

  Violet nodded. “I smell it too. Cyanide.”

  Someone had poisoned one of the richest men in England.

  Chapter 2

/>   The next few minutes were chaos personified. Luckily, given the high-profile status of many of the attendees, there was plenty of security in attendance, and the guards were able to effectively clear the floor within moments, while Violet immediately began investigating.

  I looked at the body. It showed clear signs of cyanide poisoning, although the pathologist’s report would confirm that later. Jeremy’s champagne flute had shattered on the floor where he dropped it. Shards of glass lay near his feet, and sticky drops of the fluid shimmered on the ground nearby.

  “When the police come, they’ll need to test that,” I said to Violet, motioning to the champagne. “Be sure to tell them.”

  “I will,” Violet replied with a nod. She shot me a look. “Very low odds, you said.”

  “Of course, the one time someone’s champagne is poisoned at a party I attend, we had to have that conversation.”

  I looked around the room. It was amazing how still it seemed now with only the head of security, Violet, and me here on the floor.

  Violet turned to him. “Tell me about tonight. Who was here with Jeremy? Did you notice anything in particular that stood out?”

  “No,” the man replied, all business. “Mr. Flagstaff arrived around seven o’clock, before most of the other guests. I asked him whether he had private security with him, and he told me he did not. He spent the majority of the night speaking with other attendees. I don’t think I saw him alone for a moment, although I spent much of the night out of sight of him. We have taken the other attendees downstairs to the restaurant, where we’re keeping them until the police arrive.”

  “Good. You have taken contact information for all of them?”

  “I have my staff doing that now.”