Tea & Treachery

by Vicki Delany

  “Far be it from me to spread idle gossip, but . . . ,” the woman who’d asked me about catering said, “like everyone who’s having an affair, she thinks she’s being sooo discreet. Meanwhile, everyone in town knows all about it.”

  “Everyone but her husband,” another woman said.

  “As far as I’m aware, he doesn’t know. Then again, maybe he does. The police haven’t solved the murder yet, have they, Rose?”

  “It doesn’t appear so,” my grandmother said.

  I reached between her feet and grabbed the handle of a cup. It was a nice cup, too—one of my favorites. Then again, they were all my favorites at one time or another. I love nothing more than visiting antique shows in search of heirloom china at bargain-basement prices. Rose lifted the edge of the tablecloth and peered under the table at me.

  “Do you need us to move, love?”

  “No. I’ve got it.”

  “If you’re implying that Al Powers killed Jack Ford, you’ve got it wrong.” My ears pricked up. Marybeth arrived with a broom and dustpan and began sweeping. I stayed where I was—under the table.

  “Al doesn’t care one whit what Carla gets up to. I can tell you—and keep this just between us—that he’s been seen in Provincetown in the company of a woman much, much younger than he is.”

  The women at the table tittered.

  Carla Powers. That was the name of the mayor of North Augusta. She’d been here for the grand opening of the tearoom. She made some sort of speech, although I hadn’t heard most of it, being in the back, trying to save a pan of in-danger-of-burning brownies.

  Above my head, the table creaked as a woman leaned forward. “If not Al,” she said in a low voice, “maybe Carla did it herself.”

  Several women gasped.

  “Why do you say that?” Rose asked.

  “Jack Ford was a scoundrel. Please, he’d never have left Janice. Her brother’s one of the best divorce lawyers in Massachusetts. Janice would have taken him for everything he had. And then some.”

  “You sound as though you know of what you speak, Judy.”

  “I will admit that between my second and third marriages, Jack suggested we’d make a nice couple,” Judy said, a touch of pride in her voice. “I took his measure fast enough.”

  “I’m sure you did,” someone said.

  Marybeth finished sweeping up broken china. She bent over and looked at me crouching under the table. I put my fingers to my lips and gave her a wink. She shrugged, straightened up, and walked away. Rose had moved her legs to one side. She knew I was listening, and she wanted me to stay.

  “Yes, I did,” Judy snapped back. “Poor Carla isn’t quite so . . . observant about men.”

  “As you are, with your years of experience.”

  “If you want to put it that way,” Judy said. “Whereas I could tell immediately what sort of man Jack was, some women need a bit longer.”

  “You can’t possibly be suggesting Carla killed Jack Ford,” Rose said.

  Judy crossed her legs. I grunted as the sharp toe of her stiletto-heeled shoe hit my shoulder.

  “What was that?”

  “Lily’s sweeping up the last of the broken dishes. She’s so very thorough,” Rose said. “Pay her no mind.”

  An upside-down gray head peered at me. “Are you okay there, Lily? Do you need us to move?”

  “No, I’m fine. Got the last of it, thanks.” I crawled out from under the table. I waved the cup handle as evidence. “Carry on.”

  I went back to my kitchen as Judy said, “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m merely pointing out that . . .”

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Rose came into the kitchen in a swirl of purple. “We’re leaving, love, and my friends wanted me to thank you for the lovely tea.”

  “My pleasure.” I lowered my voice. “Did you get what you wanted?”

  “Wanted?”

  “By way of the North Augusta gossip grapevine.”

  The edges of her mouth curled up. “I might have. I’ll report to Bernie as soon as I get home. It seems as though—”

  The doors flew open. “Big rush,” Marybeth said. “Several cars are pulling up outside. I think the three o’clock reservations are early.”

  “You might give some thought to catering,” Rose said.

  “I most certainly will not,” I said.

  “It would bring in some income over the slow winter months.”

  “I’m not... ,” but I was speaking to my grandmother’s back.

  Oh, dear. Once Rose got an idea in her head, it could be very hard to dislodge it.

  * * *

  Rose didn’t return, and so I had to wait until the end of the day before finding out the rest of the gossip about Mayor Carla Powers.

  The last of our patrons lingered over their tea and finally left at five thirty. Marybeth and Cheryl cleaned the kitchen and dining room, hung up their aprons, bid me a good evening, and left. No rest for the weary: I needed to get several batches of scones made for tomorrow. Despite all the baking Simon had done for me on Saturday evening, I’d almost run out today.

  That would have been a disaster. Can’t run a tearoom without scones.

  I was putting the first batch into the oven when I heard the roar of a motorcycle coming down our road. Moments later, a knock sounded on the back door.

  I opened it to see a grinning Simon. He’d changed out of his overalls into jeans and a denim jacket over a clean T-shirt and scrubbed the evidence of our gardens off his hands and face. He carried his helmet in one hand and supported a flat white box with the other. “I figured you’d still be working. I can smell baking scones a mile away. I brought dinner. ”

  “Dinner?”

  “I hope you like pizza. All Americans like pizza, don’t they?”

  “I don’t know about all of them, but I certainly do.”

  He came in, carried on the scent of fried onions, spicy sausage, and risen dough. He put the box on the butcher’s block, while I took two clean plates out of the dishwasher and tore several sheets of paper towels off the roll.

  “You look like you need to be off your feet for a while,” he said. “Be right back.” He went into the dining room while I lifted the lid on the box. I breathed deeply.

  I do love pizza. The more toppings, the better, and this one was loaded.

  Simon came back, dragging two chairs, and waved to me to sit.

  “I didn’t know what you like on your pizza,” he said, “so I got pretty much everything.”

  “I like pretty much everything.” I grabbed a slice and lifted it to my mouth, trailing thick strands of melting cheese. I was suddenly ravenous.

  He helped himself to a piece. “You seemed to be busy today. Every time I passed, your parking lot was almost full.”

  “The tearoom’s proving to be a huge success, and I’m pleased, but I have to confess I’m worried about the off-season. It can be pretty quiet here.”

  “This isn’t a tourist spot in the winter?”

  “Not really. The town tries, but we don’t have much in the way of winter sports. There are nicer places in New England for those who want to ski or spend time in the winter woods.”

  “You could put a nice ski hill running down the bluffs.”

  I laughed. “Ending with an icy cold dip. The bay doesn’t freeze over.” I’d been trying not to think about how I’d get through winter, when the tourists went home and the locals were more likely to stay in, huddled around their fireplaces. Catering might be an option, although one I dreaded.

  I changed the subject. “How are you finding our garden?”

  “It’s great. Challenging, to be sure, but I’m enjoying it. I’ve worked in big gardens and had a boss, if not a direct supervisor. It’s nice to have a free hand.”

  The rooster next to the oven announced it was time for the scones to come out, and I hurried to see to them.

  Simon popped the last of the crust of his third slice of pizza into his mouth. “You’re
busy. I’ll let you get back to it. Do you need a hand?”

  “I’m going to make one more batch and then call it a day. Thanks for this.” I gestured to the empty box. “It was very thoughtful of you. I work with food all day, and yet sometimes I forget to eat.”

  “I remember that from when Mum was catering and I was her helper. She’d slap my hands and say the food was for our customers, not me. Imagine telling a teenage boy he couldn’t eat.”

  I laughed and walked him to the door. I opened it while he took his helmet off the counter. He stepped outside, and then he turned and looked at me. For the briefest moment, I thought he might kiss me.

  But he didn’t. He put his helmet on his head and walked into the deepening twilight.

  * * *

  I needed to talk to Rose, but before I did that, my dog needed a bathroom break. I gave Éclair a minute to sniff around our little yard and then called her to come and opened the gate. A few guests were sitting on the garden benches, enjoying the long, lingering twilight of a Cape Cod summer’s evening. They greeted me politely and fussed over Éclair, who loved nothing better than to be fussed over. Yellow police tape still flapped at the gate to the steps leading down to the beach. I tried not to look in that direction and called Éclair to come. We went into the house, and I knocked lightly on Rose’s door.

  The door opened, and her head popped out. “Lily, do come in. We were just talking about you.”

  “We?”

  “I have a guest,” she said.

  I looked over her shoulder to see Matt Goodwill rising to his feet from an armchair. A cut-glass tumbler rested on the table next to him. “I was telling your grandmother how much I liked your tearoom.”

  Éclair rushed into the room and headed straight for Matt, yipping in excitement. He bent over, way over, and gave her a rub on the top of her curly head. “Hey there, little fellow. Aren’t you a cutie.”

  “Little lady,” I said. “She’s a girl.”

  Robert the Bruce crouched on the top of the bookshelf. He hissed. Robbie liked to be the one being fussed over. Éclair and Robert the Bruce aren’t exactly friends, but they tolerate each other, while displaying signs of total contempt.

  Rose settled herself into her favorite chair, her nightly gin and tonic at hand.

  “I stand corrected.” Matt picked up his glass and downed the last of the amber liquid. “Time I was on my way. Remember what I said, Rose. I’m glad we understand each other.”

  “Thank you for stopping by,” she said.

  “Please, don’t get up. I can show myself out.” He gave her a warm smile. Rose colored prettily.

  When the door had closed behind him, I turned to my grandmother. “What do you understand each other about?”

  “He’s a nice young man, isn’t he?” Robbie climbed off the shelf and crawled into Rose’s lap. She stroked him. He gave Éclair a smirk and then stuck his little black nose into the glass in Rose’s other hand.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for your cat to be drinking gin,” I said.

  “No point in stopping him now. Would you like one?”

  “No thanks. I won’t stay long. What did Matt Goodwill want?”

  She sipped her drink. “He and his father don’t see eye to eye on the future of the property. Matt wants to keep it in the family. Lincoln, as we know, wants to sell it. Matt’s trying to put the money together to buy it, but time’s running out.”

  “I assume Lincoln owns it.”

  “He does.”

  “Then it doesn’t matter what his son wants, does it?”

  “No. But one can hope the son has some influence over the father.”

  “The way my mother has influence over you?”

  “Perhaps not the best example,” Rose said.

  “What’s happening with the property now Jack Ford’s out of the picture?”

  “The rezoning motion will come before council the week after next. That’s the first step in selling it, if Lincoln’s going to get the price he wants.”

  “Roy Gleeson’s the one bringing the motion forward, or so I heard. Is the mayor in favor?”

  Rose raised one eyebrow. “Ah yes, Her Honor might be involved in this in more ways than one.”

  “Which brings us to why I’m here. I assume you had the bridge group to tea to interrogate them about Jack Ford. From what I heard, you learned something important.”

  “I learned a great deal,” she said. “That he had enemies because of his business practices, we know. We did not know he was rumored to be having an affair with Her Honor and that both parties are married.” She shook her head. “Tsk, tsk. Secrets lead to betrayal, and they can also lead to blackmail. You need to speak to Mrs. Powers.”

  “Me?”

  “Bernie and I have come up with a plan of attack. Bernie checked the mayor’s public schedule, and nothing’s mentioned for this evening. Tomorrow afternoon, however, she will be throwing out the first ball at some baseball tournament. Bernie’s planning to attend. You can go with her.”

  “Yeah, right. Never mind that I have a business to run, Rose. Do you expect that when the ball is in the air at this tournament, we’ll corner her and ask if she killed her illicit lover?”

  She peered at me over the top of her glass. “I trust you can be more discreet.”

  “Rose, I have absolutely no idea—”

  “I’d go myself, but I’ve seen the baseball arena in passing. . .”

  “Diamond.”

  “Did someone give you a diamond? Why don’t I know about this?”

  “Baseball isn’t played in an arena. An arena’s an indoor space. Baseball’s played outside, and the configuration is called a diamond. Because that’s the shape it’s in.”

  “Regardless of what it’s called, I’ve seen that field where they play baseball. The seating is dangerous for a person of my years.”

  “You don’t have to sit in the bleachers. People sometimes bring folding chairs and set them up on the grass.”

  “I don’t own folding chairs. Do you?”

  “Why are we talking about seating arrangements and baseball diamonds, anyway? The mayor’s hardly going to confess to a couple of total strangers that she murdered Jack Ford.”

  “I had yet another visit from Detective Williams,” Rose said.

  “What did he want this time?”

  “I suspect he’s trying to trick me or catch me in a lie. The same questions, over and over. All to the same point . . . How far would I go to stop the development next door?”

  All of a sudden, my strong, tough, willful grandmother, whom I love so very much, looked small and frail. “He’s out to get me, Lily. And I’m very frightened.”

  Robert the Bruce touched Rose’s cheek with a paw, and Éclair rubbed herself against her legs. I felt tears in my eyes.

  Yes, I could see Williams doing that. He might even be on the take, paid by the killer to find another suspect.

  Who better to pay off the cops than the mayor?

  “If you think it’s important, then I’ll go to the game with Bernie,” I said. “But I think you’ve overlooked another suspect.”

  “Who might that be?”

  “Mrs. Ford. If she knew her husband was cheating on her, and the wife usually does, she’d have a powerful motive. Maybe he was planning to leave her for the mayor. All the more reason to do away with him before that could happen.”

  Rose smiled at me. “I knew I could count on you, Lily. Be ready in ten minutes. We’re making a condolence call.”

  Chapter 15

  “Jack Ford’s address isn’t on 411.com,” I said into the phone. “Can you find out where he lived?”

  “I already know it,” Bernie said. “Why do you want it?”

  I pulled a clean pair of capris out of my closet with one hand and held the phone to my ear with the other. “Rose wants to make a condolence call on Mrs. Ford.”

  “Why would she do that? She barely knew Mr. Ford, and their only meeting wasn’t exactly
friendly.”

  “Who knows why Rose wants to do what Rose wants to do?”

  “You can’t fool me. You’re investigating. I’ll pick you up.”

  I danced around the room, trying to put on my pants while talking into the phone. “Bernie, we can’t all go.”

  “Sure we can. I’ll pick you up.”

  “I don’t—”

  “If I don’t drive, how are you going to get there? You don’t know the address.” She hung up.

  I sighed. Éclair watched me, her head cocked to one side. “Between Bernie and Rose,” I said to her, “I haven’t got a chance.”

  I finished changing, splashed water on my face and gave my hair a quick brush, told Éclair to guard the cottage, and went outside.

  I found Rose sitting on one of the white wicker chairs on the wide verandah that runs the length of the house. The sun was sinking in a pink and gray sky, casting long shadows across the gardens toward us. A middle-aged couple stood next to Rose, chatting. Her hands were clasped together, resting on top of her new cane.

  “Beautiful home,” they said as I walked up.

  “Thank you,” Rose said. “It’s because I love it so much, I enjoy having the chance to let others appreciate it, as well.” That was a total and complete lie. Rose hated having to turn her home into a B & B.

  “Do you have any idea when we can use the stairs to the beach again?” the man said. “It’s a long way to the next easy access point.”

  “The police will be removing the tape tomorrow.”

  “That’s great. Thanks.”

  “Good night,” the woman said.

  “I’m looking forward to another one of those fabulous breakfasts tomorrow,” the man chuckled. “Makes it mighty hard to go back to a bowl of cold cereal at home.”

  The woman poked him playfully in the ribs. “You are so hard done by.” They walked away, their light laughter drifting on the wind.

  “Bernie’s picking us up,” I told my grandmother.

  “Good.”

  “I forgot to ask. Any more cancellations?”

  “No. The news cycle moves on to the next lurid item, and outside of North Augusta, no one’s paying us any more attention. As soon as the rooms were marked available on the web site, they were scooped up. I do love modern technology. Almost as much as I love the simple fact that if people wanted to cancel with us, they’d be hard-pressed to find anything else available on such short notice. Although technology does have its drawbacks. The server that hosts our page and the one for the tearoom, was down for a few hours this afternoon.