by Vicki Delany
At that moment, Mrs. Zagorsky appeared on the stairs, dragging the vacuum cleaner behind her.
Bump-bump-bump.
She gave the police a curious glance but carried on down the hallway to the ground-level guest rooms without a word.
That wasn’t unusual. I don’t think I’ve heard Mrs. Zagorsky say more than five words in all the time I’ve been here.
I turned to our visitors. “Can I ask what this is about, Detectives?”
Williams ignored me. “Did you kill Jack Ford, Mrs. Campbell?”
Chapter 8
“Pshaw,” Rose said. “Stuff and nonsense.”
“Please answer the question,” Redmond said.
“I did not kill Jack Ford. I might have considered it, but—”
“But nothing,” I said. “What are you getting at, Detective?”
“When I got back to the police station,” Williams said, “I was informed that Jack Ford filed suit against Rose Campbell only last night. He claimed she was spreading false and malicious rumors about him.”
Oh, that. I’d forgotten about that.
“What if I did?” Rose said. “Doesn’t mean I then shoved the man off the cliff. And, for your further information, I said nothing false. I presented my case in a calm and reasoned manner.”
“Your letter to the newspaper has been taken as evidence,” Redmond said. “I’ve read it. I wouldn’t say it was calm and reasoned.”
“Why don’t we sit down?” I was about to offer my guests tea when I realized that I’d have to leave them alone with Rose while I made it. Not a good idea.
“I’m feeling quite faint.” Rose leaned on her leopard-print cane.
I took her arm and led the way into the drawing room. “Don’t lay it on too thick,” I whispered.
“What was that?” Redmond asked.
“Nothing.”
I settled Rose into a chair covered in red and gold damask and propped her cane in front of her. She folded her hands together over the top of it. What we grandly called the drawing room was the common room for the use of our guests, a place for them to relax and read, particularly if it was a rainy day. Blue drapes framed the wide windows overlooking the gardens. The wallpaper was blue flecked with gold leaf. Bookshelves overflowed with volumes, most of them well-used paperbacks, and a selection of board games. A reproduction antique desk was against the far wall. Well-worn brown leather chairs sat on either side of the big fireplace, full of flowers at this time of year, and prints of eighteenth-century British paintings hung on the walls.
Williams took the chair behind the desk. Redmond crossed her arms and leaned against the wall next to the fireplace. I lowered myself onto a leather chair and perched on the edge.
“You didn’t like Jack Ford,” Williams said to Rose. “Why?”
“Because he was an unlikable man.”
“Plenty of unlikable men around,” Williams said. “Do you plan to kill them all?”
I shot forward. “Now, see here—”
“He was interested in buying the property next door,” Redmond said. “You were opposed to that.”
“He wanted to build a golf course and resort monstrosity. I was opposed to that, yes. I value the peace and quiet I have here.”
“You thought you’d discourage him by slandering him in the newspaper?” Redmond said.
“We don’t need his type around here.”
“What type is that?” Redmond asked.
“Crooked businessmen.”
“If you had reason to believe he was acting outside the law,” Redmond said, “you should have contacted the police.”
Rose turned her head so she was looking directly at Detective Williams. “You mean him? I’ve heard things about you, Inspector.”
Williams’s eyes bulged. He started to stand.
“Rose,” I said. “This isn’t helping.”
“I’m not trying to help,” she said.
“Yes, you are. Look, Detective Redmond. My grandmother is somewhat outspoken, as anyone can tell you. She believes in speaking the blunt truth.” Whether that’s wise or not, I thought but didn’t add. “She wasn’t in favor of rezoning the Goodwill property. She was prepared to fight the motion. But to suggest she killed someone over a golf course . . .”
“This is a nice place,” Redmond said. “Must cost a lot to keep it up.”
“It pays for itself.”
“Wouldn’t leave you with a spare half a million dollars if you lost a legal suit, would it?”
“I wouldn’t have lost,” Rose said.
“Sure of that, were you, Mrs. Campbell?” Williams said.
“Yes,” Rose said.
“No,” I said. “I mean, it wouldn’t have come to that. Rose would have apologized to Mr. Ford.”
“I most certainly would not.”
“When Detective Williams spoke to you earlier today,” Redmond said, “you told him you were in your rooms until you heard the commotion outside when the police arrived.”
“That’s correct,” Rose said.
“Is that still your story?”
“Of course it’s still my story. Because it’s the truth.”
“It was almost nine forty when we arrived.”
“So?” Rose said.
“My grandmother often remains in her rooms until breakfast is over,” I said.
“Funny way to run a B & B.”
“I do the cooking,” I told her. “Edna serves breakfast.”
“The autopsy will be done later today,” Redmond said. “At an estimate, it would seem Mr. Ford died not long before he was discovered. Around eight thirty.”
I said nothing. Fortunately, neither did Rose.
“Do you always use a cane to get around, Mrs. Campbell?” Redmond asked.
Rose blinked. I could practically read her mind. The police had to have a reason for asking about a cane. After pretending to be unable to walk without assistance, she could hardly come out now and say she didn’t always rely on the support. “When I go outside, it helps on rough ground,” she said at last.
“How many canes do you have?”
“One. This one.” She clenched her hands, and the knuckles turned white.
“The autopsy will tell us more about the circumstances of death,” Williams said, “but the initial examination suggests Mr. Ford didn’t trip on the stairs, or even lean on the gate and have it break beneath him. He struck it with sufficient force to indicate he was propelled toward it.”
“Which might have happened,” Redmond said, “if he’d been surprised by a hit with a solid object. Something like a baseball bat.”
Silence stretched through the room.
“Or a cane,” Williams added.
“Then you’d better find out who did that,” Rose said. “And stop wasting an old lady’s time.”
Williams stood up. “Rose Campbell, I am—”
“A word please, Detective,” Redmond said.
“What?”
“Can I have a word in private for a moment?”
I leapt to my feet. “We’ll wait in the hallway. Rose, come with me.”
Rose stood up with a speed that belied her claims of old bones.
“I promise, we won’t go far.” I took Rose’s arm and led her into the hallway.
“Watch the door,” I whispered to her. “Drop a book on the floor if it’s not safe for me to come out.” I ducked into the linen closet, shoved the linens out of the way, removed the shelves, pulled the lever, and slipped into the tiny room.
Williams’s voice rose and came through the thin wall loud and clear. “Out of line.”
“I’m stopping you from making a big mistake.” Redmond spoke calmly, but I could hear her clearly. She must be directly facing the wall behind which I crouched.
“This case is open and shut. That old lady whacked Ford with her cane and pitched him down the stairs to stop his golf course. I’m taking her in.”
“You haven’t even spoken to those men who were suppo
sed to be meeting Ford this morning.”
“I know Lincoln Goodwill. His family’s—”
“That’s it, isn’t it? You know him. Old-time North Augusta family. Old-time money.”
“Watch yourself, Detective. You’re new here. You don’t know how things work.”
“I don’t?” she said. “I think I know how things work well enough. It’s the same everywhere. If you want to arrest Rose Campbell, go ahead. But when the press and the chief ask what other suspects we have, I’ll have to tell them you didn’t bother looking for any.”
At that moment, something brushed against my foot and scurried off into the darkness. I leapt into the air, hit my head on the low ceiling, and sucked back a yelp of pain and surprise.
“What was that?” Redmond said.
“Are you always so jumpy?” Williams said. “These old houses are always making noises. They should rip this thing down and put up a nice modern hotel.”
“I’ll ignore that crack this time. And remind you that Rose Campbell might sound like she’s fresh off the boat from England, but she’s lived in America for a long time and is a citizen. She has extensive family and a business here. She’s not a flight risk. If I’m wrong—”
“Which you are.”
“Then you can arrest her at the appropriate time. After you’ve prepared a case that won’t be thrown out of court on the first objection. Now, if we’re finished here, I’m going to pay a call on Lincoln Goodwill. You can come if you want. Or not.”
The detectives emerged from the drawing room to find Rose sitting behind the reception desk, checking the reservations for next week, and me tidying the linen closet.
We smiled at them.
Redmond glanced between me and my grandmother. I decided it was a mistake to be smiling at her as though she were a guest checking in and wiped the expression away.
“Thank you for your time, ladies,” she said. “We’ll be in touch. I have to ask you both not to leave town without checking with me . . . or Detective Williams, of course . . . first.”
“We’ve no plans to go anywhere,” I said. “It’s the busy season here.”
“Is that your only cane, Mrs. Campbell?” Redmond asked.
Rose glanced at it. “As I told you. Yes.”
Redmond took plastic gloves out of her pocket and put them on. I couldn’t help but notice that her nails were chewed down to the quick and a torn hangnail was beginning to heal. “May I take it with us?”
“Why?” I asked.
She replied, “I’ll return it when we’re done with it.”
Done checking, I assumed, for evidence of it being used to send Jack Ford tumbling over a cliff. I glanced at it, while trying not to be seen doing so. It looked okay to me. “Let her have it, Rose.”
“How will I get around?”
“We’ll go into town and buy another.”
“If I must.” Rose handed the cane to Redmond.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Do stop into the tearoom for tea one day,” Rose said. “It will be our treat. Bring your wife, Detective Williams. Oh, I’m sorry. That was tactless of me. I heard she’s left you.”
He glared at her. I smothered a groan.
We stood at the top of the steps and watched as the police got into their car and drove away, after first putting Rose’s leopard-print cane into the trunk.
When I was sure they weren’t coming back, I turned to my grandmother. “Are you trying to get yourself arrested?”
“Why would you think that?”
“What was that crack about his marriage for?”
“Everyone knows he and his wife are having marital problems.”
“I didn’t think you knew him.”
“I don’t. They were talking about it at bridge last week. It seems that Ann Black is quite good friends with Mrs. Williams. Not good enough friends, apparently, to prevent her from delighting in spreading the gossip. Their marriage has—”
“Rose, I don’t care about the state of the detective’s marriage. You do know that at this time you are the prime, and perhaps only, suspect in the death of Jack Ford, don’t you?”
She genuinely looked confused. “I am? They don’t actually believe I whacked him over the head with my cane, do they? Let me assure you they’ll find nothing incriminating on it.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. Redmond and Williams don’t get along very well. To put it mildly. From what I overheard, he’s an old-time small-town cop and she isn’t. He’s focused on you because that will make his job easier, and then he won’t have to question people like Lincoln Goodwill.”
“Ah, yes. The scion of the Goodwill family. You Americans think you don’t have a class system. It might not be as formal as back in England, but it exists nonetheless. The Goodwill family is old North Augusta money. Money and bloodlines. Even if most of their money’s long gone.”
“Not entirely a class system,” I said. “Redmond doesn’t respect that.”
“Good for her,” Rose said. “But let’s hope her determination not to let it affect her judgment doesn’t end up having the opposite effect. I didn’t kill Jack Ford, but I don’t want to see an innocent person railroaded into a conviction so she can prove a point. I’m sure the odious Mr. Ford had enough enemies.”
Simon ran across the lawn toward us and climbed the steps. “I see the police came back. I thought I’d stay away and let you handle it. Was that the right thing to do?”
“It was,” I said. “They had a couple more questions. Nothing important.”
“Bad business, this.”
“I, for one, find being under suspicion of murder most tiring,” Rose said. “I’m going to lie down. I’d better get what sleep I can while I’m not yet confined to a cell. I’ve heard the beds can be highly uncomfortable.”
She went into the house.
“Your grandmother isn’t really under suspicion, is she?” Simon asked me.
“Right now, I think the police haven’t got a clue as to what happened, so everyone is under suspicion. Other than that, how was your first day on the job?”
“Good. You have challenges for sure, trying to have something resembling an English country garden in this soil, but my uncle did a brilliant job, and he left everything in good condition.”
My phone buzzed with a text. “Sorry,” I said to Simon, “I have to take this. I’m supposed to be at work.”
Cheryl: I see cops have left. Scones long gone. Few macarons left. We’re making sandwiches.
Me: Can you stay after closing and help in kitchen?
Cheryl: Sorry. No. Choir performance. Marybeth’s husband is away, and she has to pick up kids on time.
Me: Okay. Be right there.
Cheryl: Customers are happy watching police activity.
Me: That’s not a good thing. On my way.
I gave my head a shake and put the phone away.
“Problem?” Simon said.
“I’ve lost almost my entire working day. My staff ran out of scones hours ago and have been through almost everything in the freezer. Tomorrow’s Sunday, the busiest day of the week at the busiest time of the year. We have sandwich ingredients on hand, but people don’t come to a tearoom just for sandwiches. As it is, we’ll be down to nothing but peanut butter soon. I guess I’ll be baking all night.”
“Do you need a hand?”
“I could use one, but both Cheryl and Marybeth are busy tonight. You don’t happen to know a pastry chef with a few hours free, do you?”
“Not a qualified pastry chef, but a reasonably competent baker. That would be me.”
“You?”
He laughed. “Me. My mum isn’t a professional baker, but she does wedding cakes and catering for weddings for miles around, and I grew up helping her. I’ve made more than my share of scones over the years. My dad‘s a gardener. I had my choice of becoming a cook or a gardener. Never so much as considered doing anything else.”
“Are your parents still active? You said
they’re looking after your dogs.”
“Semiretired. Mum bakes for her friends’ daughters’ and granddaughters’ weddings, and Dad keeps the church gardens the best in Suffolk.” He held up his soil-encrusted hands. The knees of his overalls were covered in dirt, grains of sand were trapped in his hair, and a streak of mud ran down one cheek. He grinned at me. “Why don’t I go home and wash up? I can pop into town and do any shopping you need. Be back in about an hour.”
“That’s nice of you, but are you sure? You were here at six, and you’ve been working all day.”
“I’m sure,” he said. “You can help me sometime when I’m behind.”
Chapter 9
I threw scone ingredients together as quickly as I could, put them in the oven, and set the timer. When I’d announced to my family I was opening my own tearoom, my sister gave me a timer that crowed like a rooster greeting the dawn when it went off, and I use it exclusively for timing scones. I checked the contents of the fridge and the pantry and sent a text to Simon, telling him what I needed from the shops for a nighttime of baking. Marybeth and Cheryl ran in and out of the kitchen, making tea, assembling sandwiches, carrying trays, and returning with dirty dishes.
“No one’s complaining that the full menu isn’t available,” Cheryl said as she added fragrant leaves to a pot before pouring in water straight off the boil. “Pot to the kettle, not kettle to the pot,” I’d taught my staff, as my grandmother had taught me. Meaning that for most (but not all) types of tea, the water had to be as hot as possible when brewing the tea. “They’re being very understanding. You should consider adding the children’s cookies to the main menu. The chocolate chip ones are really popular.”
I grinned at her. “Anna, Duchess of Bedford, would be appalled.” Legend has it that Anna, lady-in-waiting to Queen Victoria, invented afternoon tea when she felt a touch peckish in the late afternoon.
“No one has to tell her,” Cheryl said.
“I’ve no doubt poor Anna has rolled over in her grave more than a few times over the past two hundred years.”
“I like to think she’d be proud of how her tradition has carried on and expanded.” Cheryl checked that sufficient time had passed for the tea to steep, lifted the ball of tea leaves out, put the teapot on a tray, along with matching cups and saucers. “I saw two women reading the menu by the garden gate yesterday. They shook their heads and started to walk away. I asked if I could help, and they said they’d heard we did high tea, and they were disappointed not to see it on the menu.”
