by Vicki Delany
“What are you going to do about kicking Heather and her lot into the street tomorrow?” Bernie asked.
“Fortunately, that’s not my problem. Oh, be sure to tell Rose the police took the main computer. She’ll have to use the one in her rooms until we get it back. Fortunately, all the B and B data’s kept in the cloud.”
“Does she know how to access it?”
“She knows better than I do.”
I called to Éclair and we left the kitchen. It was time to get up to the tearoom and start my second job. Once again, I’d have to miss my brief morning recharging time.
* * *
A few B & B guests were walking along the top of the bluffs, enjoying the fresh sea air and the magnificent view or heading for the steep stairs that led down to the rocky beach. Sandra McHenry leaned against the fence, staring out over the water. She turned abruptly and walked across the lawn and into the dining room, her head down, her steps firm. I don’t think she even saw me.
Farther along, a lone figure sat on a bench. I considered leaving her alone, but Éclair ran over to say hi and I followed.
Trisha bent over to give my dog a scratch on the top of her head. Éclair wiggled in delight. “This is a cute dog. What’s her name?”
“Éclair, like the pastry.”
“A suitable name. I never did get the chance to thank you for the lovely tea we had on Monday. Not your fault it . . . ended badly.”
“Thank you,” I said.
She slid over on the bench. “Please have a seat.”
I sat.
“It must be nice,” she said, “to live here, to be able to enjoy this view every day. To own your own business.”
“It is. I’m so sorry about what happened.”
She ducked her head and muttered, “Thank you.” She twisted the ever-present tattered tissue between her fingers. Her nails were bitten to the quick and a ripped hangnail marked her right thumb.
“Is there anyone you can call?” I said. “To be with you? I know the McHenrys aren’t being much support.”
“To put it mildly. The French and McHenry families have never been the best of friends. I told Ed I didn’t think we should come on this trip, but he wanted to let bygones be bygones. I can’t imagine what Heather had been thinking to figure it was a good idea to get us all together. She’s moved on from Grand Lake. I suppose she thought the rest of us had, too. Not always easy to do. Where did you grow up, Lily?”
“Manhattan. About the furthest thing from a small town there is.”
“It’s kind of you to think of me, but I’ll be fine here until I”—she paused and took a deep breath—“can take Ed home. Our daughter wanted to come, but she’s just started her summer job. It’s at a lake resort and I don’t want her to leave when the season’s getting under way. She’ll be a senior in high school next year, and she’s hoping to go into hotel management, and this job’s an important step toward that.”
“Is she okay? Your daughter?”
“My brother and his wife went around to the house to be with the kids when I broke the news. They’ll stay with them until I get home. My sister and I are close, and she said she’d come if I needed her. But she can’t afford to take the time off work, even if I pay for the flight and then a hotel. Speaking of hotels, I’ve been trying to find one. I don’t want to stay here, as nice as it is. Not with her—with them—around. Everything in my price range is fully booked for the weekend.”
“Her?” I said. “Who do you mean?”
“Julie-Ann. I’m sure you noticed that Julie-Ann and I aren’t exactly the best of buddies.”
I said nothing.
She lifted her tissue to her face. “Things hadn’t been good between Ed and me for a while. Not his fault. Not my fault. No one’s fault. It’s just the way things are. But we loved each other once, and I can’t forget that. And no, despite what you might have heard, he did not spend our marriage pining for Julie-Ann. He broke up with her because she was a whining, possessive, jealous, controlling woman and he was glad to be rid of her, and he scarcely gave her another thought in all the years since.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing. When she talked about Ed, Trisha’s voice had been soft, sad. It turned on a dime when she mentioned Julie-Ann. Whether or not Ed had thought about Julie-Ann over the years, Trisha clearly had. And not fondly.
I needed to get to work, but Trisha, I thought, needed to be with someone, so I stayed with her. We sat together for a while, watching the activity on the water. Charter fishing boats bobbed in the bay and a whale-watching boat went past, headed for the creatures’ feeding grounds in the open ocean at the top of the peninsula.
“How long had Ed been drinking that tea?” I asked.
“He had a heart attack a year ago. His doctor ordered him to lose fifty pounds, reduce his beer consumption, exercise more, and cut out red meat and caffeine. The only part of that advice Ed accepted was eliminating caffeine. The police confiscated what I had left of it. The so-called tea isn’t anything special. I bought it at a health food store back home in bulk and packaged enough for this trip. The police seem to believe someone tampered with it.”
“So they say.”
“I can’t stop thinking about who would do such a thing.” The tissue in her hands was now nothing but shreds. “The only . . .”
“Yes?” I prompted.
“Nothing. Poor Ed.”
I stood up. “If you need someone to talk to, I’ll be in the tearoom all day. And there’s always Rose and Sandra.” I called to Éclair and we walked away, leaving Trisha staring out to sea.
Chapter 13
I’d been afraid that our brush with notoriety would have a negative effect on business, but Tea by the Sea was fully booked all day. We even had people without reservations arriving in hopes of being seated. We don’t take advance reservations for the patio tables, in case of unexpected rain, but today was another lovely warm summer’s day, so we were able to seat most of our arrivals. While they waited, the overflow customers were told they were welcome to tour the gardens or walk down to the bluffs to enjoy the views over the bay.
The time I’d spent in the kitchen yesterday had been worthwhile, and I was stocked with enough baking to get a start on the day. I’d told Marybeth and Cheryl not to answer any questions about the death of Ed French. Better to pretend they didn’t know anything about it.
I was folding dough for currant scones when Rose and Bernie came in.
“Where were you this morning?” I asked my grandmother. “You should have dealt with the police, not left me to do it.”
“I decided discretion was the better part of valor,” she replied.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Bernie said, “she was still in bed and didn’t want to make an appearance without preparing herself for her public.”
This morning, Rose was fully made-up, with dark red lipstick, slashes of blush across her cheeks, thick black eyeliner and purple eye shadow, her short steel-gray hair sprayed into spikes. She wore a pair of voluminous black pants printed with huge yellow sunflowers, topped by a red and yellow T-shirt featuring a hummingbird sipping from a purple flower. Her feet, clad in orange socks, were stuffed into a pair of sturdy Birkenstocks.
“If you walked up from the house,” I said, “you should have brought your cane.”
“I don’t need it. Bernie’s with me.”
“I told her that,” Bernie said, “but she said not to fuss. She tells me she’s not that old yet.”
“Maybe not,” I said, “but her bones are.”
“Please don’t talk about me as though I’m not here,” Rose said. “I’m pleased to see you’re putting currants in the scones. A proper scone is made with currants. Not that ridiculous stuff they add these days. Imagine, chocolate chips in a scone.” She shuddered. “Never mind drenched in icing, of all things.”
“I like chocolate chip scones,” Bernie muttered under her breath.
“Morning, Rose. Hi
, Bernie.” Marybeth came into the kitchen. “One order of full afternoon tea for four, and one light tea for two. Sorry, can I get by?”
Bernie pressed herself against the butcher block.
“Thanks.” Marybeth squeezed past and took down the tea canisters.
“What tea have our guests selected?” Rose asked.
“You’re kinda in the way here, Rose.” Cheryl came in with a tray full of used cups and teapots.
“Pay me no mind,” Rose said.
“Hard to do that as I’m trying to get to the dishwasher.” Cheryl lifted the tray high and passed it over Rose’s head to Marybeth. Fortunately, Rose is barely five feet tall. “Don’t mind us. We only work here.”
Marybeth scooped tea leaves into infusion balls, placed them in teapots, added water from the air pots, and set the timers. One hot-water dispenser is kept at 210 degrees and one at 180 degrees and we time the immersion carefully. Different teas require different steeping times and temperatures.
“For this table,” Marybeth said in answer to Rose’s question, “Creamy Earl Grey, a Darjeeling, an oolong, and a Lapsang souchong.”
“A nice variety,” Rose said.
I cut circles out of the dough with my cutter and laid them on the prewarmed baking sheet. “We’re busy here, Rose. Did you want to talk to me about something?”
“I was on the phone again this morning with friends in Iowa. I learned something of interest.” She glanced at Cheryl, who was carefully arranging food on the three-tiered trays.
“Don’t mind me,” Cheryl said. “I never repeat anything I hear in this place.”
“Except to me, Mom,” Marybeth said as she left the room with her teapots. “Don’t forget to fill me in.”
“I see you added a touch of curry powder to your egg sandwiches, love,” Rose said. “I’m glad you took my advice.”
“Your advice? You said it was sacrilege, an affront to tradition.”
“Tradition is all well and good, but we mustn’t be afraid to try the new and modern.” Rose leaned around Cheryl and helped herself to a sandwich. I thought Cheryl showed great restraint by not slapping her hand away.
I myself never worry about showing restraint. “Stop that! Those are for our customers.”
“You can make more.” Rose chewed. “Maybe a touch too much curry powder.”
Bernie laughed. I glared at her. She composed her face into serious lines.
“I need another sandwich to replace the one snatched by ravenous wolves,” Cheryl said. “Can I get to the fridge, please, Bernie.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Bernie sucked in her stomach and moved aside a couple of inches, giving Cheryl enough room to slide one arm into the fridge so she could grope around for what she needed.
“Morning, all,” Simon said from the back door. “Looks crowded in here. What did you want to talk to me about, Rose?”
“Would you like a biscuit?” Rose said. “I see some nice shortbread on the cooling rack. Lady Frockmorton was particularly fond of her shortbread and she ensured Cook taught me how to make it properly. I, of course, taught Lily. I attempted to teach Petunia, but she had a remarkable way of never hearing a word I said. On any subject.”
I threw my cutter down and my hands up. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Let’s get it over with so I can get back to work. Outside, everyone. No, not you, Cheryl!”
Rose, Bernie, and Simon obediently filed outside, followed by me. We gathered in the shade of the ancient oak standing guard over the kitchen door. From here, I could see the traffic passing on the highway. I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the hot sun and tried to take deep, calming breaths.
“Now that I have your attention,” Bernie said, “tell her what you told me, Rose.”
“I was on the phone to a friend in Grand Lake this morning.” Rose turned to Simon. “That’s in Iowa, where I lived for fifty years. You needn’t bother putting it on your list of places to visit while you’re in America.”
“Isn’t it nice there?” he asked.
“It’s very nice. It was a marvelous place to live and to create a happy life and raise a family. I couldn’t get away fast enough as soon as I no longer had those responsibilities. Hundreds of miles from the nearest coast is no place for an Englishwoman.”
“All of which is a discussion for another time, if anyone wants to hear it,” I said. “What did you learn?”
“Shame and scandal, love. Perhaps not much shame, but still plenty of scandal and fodder for gossip. It would appear that Julie-Ann and Lewis are, as the young people say, heading for splitsville.”
“I doubt very much anyone has said splitsville since the days of sock hops and poodle skirts,” Bernie said.
“What’s a sock hop?” Simon asked.
“You mean they’re getting divorced?” I said.
“Lewis moved out of their home a month ago and is in the process of obtaining a legal separation. Julie-Ann remains in the house with the children, but it’s up for sale.”
“Why did they come on this trip together, then?”
“For the children maybe?” Bernie said.
“Tyler and Amanda aren’t babies. They can travel with one parent or neither.”
“Bringing the whole family to the Cape was Brian’s idea,” I said. “Not Heather’s. She only invited her parents. Maybe Brian and Darlene don’t know Julie-Ann and Lewis are . . . uh . . . splitsville.”
“Hard not to know,” Rose pointed out, “in a town the size of Grand Lake.”
“Maybe they’re wanting to give their marriage another try,” Bernie said.
“If they are,” I said, “it’s not working. I could chill my butter and cream in the air between the two of them. It’s pretty noticeable, or it is to me, anyway, that they are not getting on.”
“Are they sharing a room at the B and B?” Bernie asked.
“Yes,” Rose said. “One with a double bed. Tyler and Amanda are in another room.”
“I agree that it’s hardly our business, but in light of what happened in my tearoom, someone in Heather’s family made it our business,” I said. “So you might want to ask the housekeeping staff if there are signs of one of them sleeping in an armchair. They might have only come on this trip together because Heather’s paying for it, so why not?”
“Room 103 has a chaise longue,” Rose said. “That could double as a single bed.”
“Sorry,” Simon said, “but I don’t understand what these people’s marital arrangements have to do with that man’s death. Which is, I assume, why we’re talking about it.”
“Julie-Ann and Ed were a couple at one time,” I said. “Which was years ago. They broke up, and Ed married Trisha, and Julie-Ann married Lewis. Insinuations have been made that some of the parties regretted that.”
“You think Lewis bumped Ed off all these years later because Julie-Ann had left him to go back to his rival?” Simon asked.
“Oh. I didn’t even consider that.” I looked at Rose and Bernie. “Should we? Consider that Lewis might be the killer?”
“It’s as good a possibility as anything else we have,” Bernie said. “Julie-Ann openly accused Trisha of killing Ed because she knew he wanted to be with her. Did Lewis think she wanted to be with him?”
“Tough parsing out your pronouns,” Simon said, “but I get the drift. Julie-Ann and Lewis are divorcing, and Julie-Ann might have wanted to hook back up with the late, not overly lamented, Ed, her ex-boyfriend. But Ed’s wife, Trisha, has reason to object to that, as might Julie-Ann’s soon-to-be ex-husband, Lewis, especially if Lewis doesn’t want to be an ex. Is that it?”
“Close enough,” Bernie said. “Although having met Ed, I have a heck of a hard time imagining him to have been such a Lothario he inspired the sort of jealously that would lead to murder.”
“No accounting for taste,” Rose said.
“Did you notice anything between them?” I asked. “Secret glances between Ed and Julie-Ann? Or Trisha and Lewis looking particularly angry?”
&nb
sp; “No,” Bernie said. “I only met them all that one time at the tea. I was sitting next to Ed, and he regaled me with the difficulties of running a computer services company in a small town in the Midwest these days. The rest of the conversation at the table wasn’t any more interesting—sorry, Rose—so I spent most of my time working out the latest plot snag I’ve gotten myself into. Which reminds me, you were going to help me with that.”
“I’ve had other things on my mind,” I said. “Speaking of which, I need to get back to work. Has anyone told Detective Williams what Rose learned?”
“Not yet,” Rose said. “I’m reluctant to, for two reasons. First, he’s likely to pat me on the head and tell me not to listen to the idle gossip of a bunch of old ladies. Second, he’s equally likely to run out and arrest some innocent person based on the idle gossip of a bunch of old ladies. Come to think of it, I have another reason. He’s equally likely to accuse me of deliberately muddying the waters so as to distract attention from my guilt.”
“Why would he think you did it?” Simon said.
“For no better reason than he’s a fool, and he knows I know he’s a fool.”
“Tell Amy Redmond, then,” I said. “She’s no fool.”
“I fear Detective Redmond has once again been sidelined. Williams can’t allow her competence to overshadow him.”
“Step carefully, Rose,” I said. “You don’t want to make an enemy of him.”
“Even more of an enemy,” Bernie said, “than you already have.”
“I can be trusted to show some restraint,” my grandmother said through her dark red lips as the fabric of her enormous black-and-yellow pants fluttered around her legs in the wind.
Bernie coughed, and I said, “Right. Restraint is your middle name.”
I turned to go back inside, and then I remembered Simon. “Sorry, why did you come to the tearoom in the first place? Did you want something?”
“Rose called me. Rose?”
“Tell me more about foxglove,” my grandmother said. “I know it’s quite commonly grown and it is distinctive. I believe I saw some at friends’ homes in Grand Lake. Is it difficult to grow?”
