Murder in a Teacup

by Vicki Delany

  I smiled at Bernie.

  “So you will remain in the car, while Bernadette and I speak to Trisha,” Rose said.

  Bernie smothered a laugh.

  Rose set off across the lawn toward the garage at a brisk pace. Éclair started to follow, but I called her back and shoved her into the house. I then had to run to catch up to Bernie and my grandmother. I went in the side door of the garage and slapped the automatic door opener.

  “Want me to drive?” Bernie said.

  “Why not?” I tossed her the keys.

  Rose got into the front passenger seat, leaving the back for me. As Bernie was reversing out of the garage, Rose turned to me. “How much time have you spent with Trisha, love?”

  “Me? Almost none.”

  “Why would you expect her to confide in you? Or in Bernie?”

  “Because we’ll ask nicely?”

  “I assumed that was your plan. Although I assume it’s Bernadette’s plan, not yours. In this instance, she also hasn’t thought it through.”

  “I always think things through.” Bernie turned the wheel to point the car down the driveway to the highway. “We’ll show up, helpful and friendly, and ask what she knows. Isn’t that good enough?”

  Rose shook her head. “No, it is not good enough. Fortunately for you, I did go to the trouble to get to know her a bit. I could tell she wasn’t at all comfortable here at Victoria-on-Sea, not with the McHenry family around. Her husband didn’t seem to mind that they didn’t want him tagging along on their holiday. If anything, I got the feeling he relished their discomfort. Trisha, however, didn’t like it. Then, when Ed died, she was not only grieving, but was even more isolated. Heather and Sandra did their best to be nice to her, but they couldn’t climb over the decades of animosity between the French and McHenry families. Trisha will talk more comfortably to me than to two virtual strangers she has no reason to trust.”

  Although I hated to admit it, that made sense.

  “Do you think she did it?” Bernie asked. “Murdered her husband?”

  “No, I do not. She mourned Ed quietly and in her own way. They no longer loved each other, and their marriage was more a matter of neither of them wanting to go to the bother of moving out of the house, at least not while their children are still in school. But Trisha hadn’t forgotten that she and Ed had once meant the world to each other.”

  Silence fell over the car. “That’s sad,” Bernie said at last.

  “That’s life,” Rose said, “for some. Eric had been the center of my world from the day I knocked him off his feet outside the butcher’s shop on Holgate High Street until the day he died.”

  I reached across the seat and rested my hand on my grandmother’s shoulder. She lifted her hand and patted mine.

  Traffic was light on the highway running along the coast. Once we’d passed the turnoff to North Augusta itself, the road got rougher and less used. Before long, Bernie slowed and turned into the long, steep private drive leading to the Blue Water Bay Resort, one of the nicest, and most expensive, places on this section of the coast. Golf course, swimming pools, a small patch of sandy beach at the bottom of a steep set of stairs, hiking trails, conference facilities, restaurants and bars, its own dock and small harbor. The main building was perched high on top of the cliffs, with the golf course on the other side of the highway. The view of the hotel and property spread before the open waters of the bay was one of the best in North Augusta.

  The car picked up speed, and Bernie took the first curve on two wheels. I clutched at the seat belt crossing my chest. “We’re not in that much of a hurry, Bernie.”

  We sped on. The next curve came toward us way too fast. The car took it, but barely managed to cling to the road.

  “Bernie!” I called. “Slow down.”

  “Can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t?”

  Her right leg was pumping hard on the brake pedal, but nothing was happening. The car was going even faster now. A silver Lexus approached, heading in the opposite direction, filling the narrow roadway. At the last minute, the driver yanked the wheel hard to his right and the car passed us with barely an inch to spare. He leaned heavily on his horn.

  “Brakes,” Bernie said. “Gone.”

  Chapter 17

  The freckles scattered across Bernie’s cheeks and nose stood out against skin turned frighteningly pale. She twisted the steering wheel hard and barely made the next bend.

  Rose gripped the dashboard in front of her.

  “Hold on,” Bernie yelled.

  The car went even faster.

  I leaned forward and thrust my arm over the top of the seat in front of me. I pushed hard on the top of Rose’s head. “Duck! Get your head between your legs.”

  A sharp curve in the road loomed in front of us, nothing but sky and sea straight ahead. A feeble-looking wire fence with a yellow warning sign offered no protection to two tons of speeding metal and three terrified women. Far below, the sea crashed against the rocks.

  I wanted to close my eyes. But I didn’t dare. “Do something, Bernie!”

  The edge of the cliff lay directly in front of us, coming up fast. The road turned sharply to the right. A tourist bus was lumbering up the hill toward us.

  “Hold on!” Bernie wrenched the wheel to the left. We crashed off the road, bounced over the rocks, plowed through scraggly bushes, and finally, at last, the drifting sand gripped the wheels of the car, and we came to a shuddering halt. The front bumper was inches from a gnarled old tree.

  “Goodness.” Rose slowly uncurled her body. “That was exciting.”

  * * *

  We sat in the car, stunned.

  People came running from all directions. The tourist bus screeched to a stop and the driver and passengers piled out. Golf carts sped toward us. A security guard ran up the road shouting into his radio.

  Car doors were wrenched open. Faces peered at us.

  “Are you out of your mind?” the bus driver yelled at Bernie. “You could have been killed. You could have killed us all.”

  I staggered out of the car on legs that could barely support me. “My grandmother,” I gasped.

  “You’re okay, ma’am,” a woman said to Rose. “Here, take my arm.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Rose said. “I feel slightly unsteady.”

  The bus driver stuck his face in Bernie’s. He sniffed.

  “No,” she said, “I have not been drinking. My brakes failed.”

  “Old car like that,” a bus passenger said, “not surprised. Some people don’t keep their checkups regular enough.”

  “I’ve called the police,” the security guard said. “Should I cancel them? Do you need an ambulance for the old lady?”

  “Heavens, no!” Rose said. “I’m not dead yet. I’ll be perfectly fine in a moment.”

  A woman cheered. “That’s the British spirit. Stiff upper lip. Like you showed in the Blitz.”

  Rose huffed.

  “I want to talk to the cops.” Some color was returning to Bernie’s face. Her hands shook. She caught my eye and gave me a pained grin before she dropped onto a rock.

  “We’ll wait here,” I said. “In the meantime, can someone please take my grandmother to the hotel? She needs to sit down and have a glass of water.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Rose said.

  “Oh yes, you are. Just this once, I insist you do what I tell you. You’ve had a shock.”

  “So have you,” Rose pointed out. “So has Bernadette.”

  “Yeah, but I wasn’t in the front seat. I didn’t really see what was going on until it was all over.” I lied. The image of the edge of the cliff with nothing but air and sea beyond was burned into my brain. “Bernie’s the Warrior Princess. She can recover from anything.”

  “Please, ma’am. The young lady’s right. Allow me to assist you.” The man who spoke was middle-aged and gray-haired, dressed in lurid orange-and-brown checked pants and a white golf shirt with orange trim. He bowed and swep
t his arm out to indicate one of the golf carts. “My chariot awaits.”

  Never one to resist gentlemanly charm, Rose gave in and allowed him to take her arm. I leaned into the car and found her cane, then ran after them and threw it into the back of the golf cart. “We’ll be up to get you soon as we can. If you feel at all unwell, call for an ambulance.”

  The man smiled at me. “I’ll take care of your grandmother as though she were my own mother.”

  Sirens blared as a cruiser pulled into the resort drive and sped toward us.

  “Can we be going now?” a woman asked the bus driver. “Excitement’s over.”

  “I need to make a statement to the police.” The driver was puffed up with his own importance. “That woman shouldn’t be allowed behind the wheel ever again.”

  Bernie sat on the rocks and said nothing.

  “Brakes failed,” I said.

  “I saw what happened,” the security guard said. “I’ll talk to the cops. Off you go, Fred.”

  Fred gave Bernie one last glare before abruptly turning and marching back to his bus. His passengers followed like a line of goslings hurrying after their mother.

  “Have a nice day,” Bernie called after them. She almost visibly gave herself a shake and then pushed herself to her feet with a grunt as the police car screeched to a halt. The driver was the female cop who’d searched Trisha’s room yesterday.

  “What are you doing here?” she said to me.

  I jerked my head at her and we walked away from the crowd. The security guard watched us, but he didn’t try to follow. Bernie joined us, and we stood in a patch of scruffy bushes that were barely clinging to life in the rocks and sand. The only sizable tree in the area was the old oak that had almost abruptly halted our progress.

  “You need to call Detective Redmond,” I said. “Get her down here. I believe this is related to the French murder.”

  One eyebrow rose. “How so? Dispatch said a car was driving dangerously on this road.”

  “It was driving dangerously,” Bernie said, “because I didn’t have any brakes.”

  The cop glanced back toward the car.

  “I’m Lily Roberts and this is Bernadette Murphy,” I said. “You are . . .”

  “Jocelyn Bland.”

  “Officer Bland,” I said, “my grandmother’s car’s old, but I can assure you she takes excellent care of it. It was in the shop for regular maintenance less than a month ago. If the brakes had been anywhere close to total failure, they would have noticed.”

  Officer Bland glanced over her shoulder at the car. A man was leaning in the open driver’s door. “Step away from the vehicle please, sir!” she shouted.

  He straightened up and lifted his hands in the air.

  “You.” She pointed to the security guard. “Keep people away.”

  He stood slightly straighter and gave her a thumbs-up. “Excitement’s over, folks. Off you go.” Slowly, and in some cases reluctantly, people began to disperse.

  Officer Bland spoke into the radio at her shoulder. “I have Lily Roberts from Victoria-on-Sea here. We need a detective.”

  “You needn’t make it sound like I’ve been arrested for something,” I protested.

  “Ask for Redmond,” Bernie said, “not Williams.”

  “We don’t take custom orders.” Officer Bland spoke into her radio again. “The detective might want to have this car towed to the police garage.”

  The reply was totally incomprehensible babble lost in a burst of static.

  “We’ll wait by the car,” Bland said to us.

  Bernie and I took seats close together, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, on the ground in the shade of the single tree, while Bland studied the tire marks that indicated the path of our car. The initial shock was passing, and I was feeling surprisingly calm.

  “Good driving,” I said.

  “Thanks,” Bernie said.

  “Good thing Rose wasn’t behind the wheel.”

  “She would have managed.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought a woman who’d spent her entire life in Manhattan could drive like that.”

  “Funny what we can do when we need to.” Bernie’s hand felt for mine. I squeezed hers in return. “Do you really think someone fiddled with the brakes?” she said.

  “Had to have. It’s true what I told Officer Bland. Rose takes the car to the garage regularly. When we get home, I’ll have a look at the bill from the last time it was in to make sure they didn’t advise her to have the brakes fixed, but if they had, she wouldn’t have ignored it.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  A golf cart pulled up and a woman got out. Dressed in a gray skirt suit with stockings and pumps, she was obviously not on her way to the links for a round. She introduced herself as the day manager. She asked how we were, told us the hotel was at our disposal, and assured us the road was properly signposted and maintained. Her primary concern seemed to be that Bernie not sue. An ambulance had not come screaming down the road, so I assumed Rose was fine. The manager told us my grandmother had been given a cup of tea and a piece of toast, which was all she’d asked for.

  A cruiser pulled up and both Redmond and Williams got out. Williams glanced at us, shook his head, and they went to speak to Officer Bland.

  That didn’t take long and they soon approached us. Bernie and I let go of our intertwined hands and got to our feet.

  “Good morning, Detectives.” The wind whipped Bernie’s red curls around her head. “What brings the two of you out this fine day?”

  Redmond narrowed her eyes and studied Bernie’s face.

  “Delayed shock,” I said. “Never mind her. Or me. We had the fright of our lives.”

  “Looks like you almost went over that cliff,” Williams said. “You had a lucky escape.”

  Next to me, I felt Bernie’s body shudder. My own blood ran cold, and despite the hot sun beating down on us, I shivered and rubbed my arms.

  “We were in a meeting with the chief, discussing where to go next with the French investigation,” Redmond said, “when the call came in. We both decided to respond.”

  I could tell by the look on Williams’s face—sucking lemons came to mind—the joint response hadn’t been his idea.

  “Someone cut the brakes on the car,” Bernie said. “It has to be related to the French murder.”

  “I suggest we go inside and find someplace to talk,” Redmond said.

  “Good idea,” Williams said. “Take care of arranging that, will you, Detective?”

  She threw him a look, but turned and walked toward the hotel manager, who’d gone to talk to the security guard.

  “You need to take this car to a garage,” Bernie repeated. “The brakes have been cut.”

  “You know this because of your extensive experience with automotive mechanics, do you?” Williams said.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Bernie snapped. “I know this because I was driving the car and I can tell when the brakes stop working.”

  “You waited until you were at the edge of the cliff before pulling off the road. You couldn’t have done that earlier? Less of a show, maybe?”

  “How dare you!”

  “Now see here—”

  “No, you see here.” Bernie stretched herself to her full height, which was considerably more than Detective Williams’s. Her chest expanded, her shoulders straightened, her eyes blazed green fire, and her red hair streamed behind her. The Warrior Princess was on the attack.

  I didn’t think attacking Williams was such a good idea. I put my hand on Bernie’s arm and said, “Let’s discuss this calmly.”

  “I’m done with being calm! I could have been killed. I almost was killed, not to mention you and Rose, and this idiot’s patting me on the head. I’d like to see you do better, Detective. At first, I didn’t understand what was happening. I tried to regain control of the car, still thinking I could slow down. When I did realize the situation, a car and then a bus were coming toward me. In case you didn’t no
tice . . .” Bernie stopped talking in midbreath and burst into tears. I wrapped my arms around her.

  Redmond ran over to us. “The hotel manager will show us to a private room. We can take her cart. Let’s go. Detective Williams, you need to stay here and secure the scene until the tow truck arrives to take this car to the state police garage.”

  “I—” he started to say.

  “I’ve called them, and they’re on their way.”

  Before Williams could say anything more, Redmond hustled Bernie and me into the back of the golf cart. She took the passenger seat.

  The manager jumped behind the wheel. “Hold on, everyone.”

  I’ve never ridden in a golf cart before. It’s not a comfortable ride. I put my arm around Bernie’s shoulders as we bounced down the road toward the main building. “You okay?”

  She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can’t imagine what came over me. Never show weakness in the face of your enemies.”

  Redmond twisted in her seat to look at us. “Detective Williams isn’t your enemy.”

  “At that moment,” Bernie replied, “he was. I’m not trying to make excuses for bad driving, you know.”

  “That,” Redmond said, “I believe. Ms. O’Leary here tells me Rose was with you and is now resting in the hotel. Do you think she has anything to add to what you two can tell me?”

  “No,” I said. “We were in the car screaming in unison.”

  “I’ll let her rest then.”

  * * *

  We pulled up to a side door of the hotel and clambered out of the cart. The manager swiped her pass to let us in and showed us to a small room with several chairs around a table that was probably used for staff meetings and breaks.

  Bernie and I dropped gratefully into the closest chairs. The manager left, shutting the door behind her. She returned a moment later with a carafe of ice water and two glasses.

  I smiled my thanks at her.

  “So,” Redmond said, “what happened?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “Brakes didn’t work.” Bernie poured herself a glass of water and drank deeply. Her hands had stopped shaking.

  I surreptitiously studied my own and was pleased to see they were still. I was feeling surprisingly calm.