by Vicki Delany
“Did you try to get what you were owed?”
“I tried, but there wasn’t a lot I could do. He had lawyers and shell companies, and I was one woman just trying to earn a living.”
“When did this happen?”
“Eighteen months ago. I’ve moved on. It was a blow, but I recovered. I decided to give up being my own boss and get a proper job. I work for a bank now. A lot less stress. Let the Jack Fords of the world try to cheat a bank.”
“Was your husband involved in this business of yours?”
“No, and don’t you start trying to claim he was out to get revenge or something. I met Brian at my new job. We’re on our honeymoon.”
“Congratulations,” Redmond said dryly.
“Thank you. Now, if there’s nothing else . . .”
“Were you aware Mr. Ford lived in North Augusta?”
“I was not. And before you ask, I didn’t come on this vacation planning to run into him, have an argument with him, or murder him. It was pure chance that we came here, and a total shock when I realized he was the dead man.”
“You were interviewed on Saturday at the scene. Why didn’t you tell us you knew him?”
“I didn’t think it was relevant. It isn’t relevant. You knew his name.”
“You gave us your contact information on Saturday. Is that still correct?”
“Yes,” Susan snapped. “I’m not in the habit of lying to the police.”
“Just of omitting pertinent information.”
“I didn’t . . .”
“Thank you for your time.” I heard a floorboard creak as Susan headed for the door. “One more question. Is Walsh your married name?”
“Yes.”
“What name did you have previously?”
“Stringer. Susan Stringer.”
“Your company name was?”
“Stringer and Associates.”
Footsteps in the hall and then on the stairs as Susan ran back to her room. I heard Rose go into the drawing room.
“Can I get you a cup of tea or coffee, Detective? I always enjoy this time of day. Lovely and peaceful after the guests have checked out or headed off for another day of their vacation.” She was telling me the coast was clear and giving me time to get out of the secret room.
I was in the hall in time to meet Redmond coming out of the drawing room. “Did you learn anything?” I asked.
“Thanks for the tip, Lily. Mrs. Walsh is free to go. She is not a suspect at this time.” She nodded politely to Rose, and I walked her to the door.
I’d seen Susan Stringer Walsh heading across the B & B property in the direction of Jack Ford’s car on Friday. She hadn’t told Redmond that; she’d implied that the first time she’d seen him had been after he died. I couldn’t see how I could tell Redmond without revealing I’d overheard their entire conversation.
I decided it didn’t matter. Susan was now on the police radar, and if there was something to find, they’d find it.
“What did she have to say for herself?” Rose asked me when we were alone again.
“Ford cheated her in business, but she got over it. She was surprised to see him here. That’s about it.”
I heard banging suitcases, loud footsteps, and Brian Walsh’s voice saying, “She had to have had some reason to want to talk to you.”
Susan thundered down the stairs. When she reached the bottom, she glared at me. “Good-bye. We will not be returning. You’ll be lucky if I don’t lay a complaint with the North Augusta Tourist Bureau.” She marched out the door, head high.
“Sorry,” Brian said. “I don’t know what got into her. I thought she loved it here. I do.”
Rose handed him his bill. “If you can sign here and return the key.”
Chapter 20
It was after eleven before I finally got to the tearoom. Cheryl and Marybeth seemed to have everything under control, so I set to work in the kitchen, mixing and rolling and stirring and cutting and baking and decorating.
“I need one gluten-free option for the cream tea,” Marybeth said.
“Scones are in the freezer,” I replied.
“We’re getting busy out there. The patio’s almost full.”
“Keeps us employed.” I sprinkled chopped fresh green herbs on the egg sandwiches and took a moment to admire them. “A work of art, if I do say so myself.”
“If you don’t, I will.” Bernie came into the kitchen.
“Hey,” I said. “What brings you here?”
“I met with Rose for our daily check-in.”
“You check in daily with my grandmother?”
“About the case.”
“Oh, right. The case. Hand me that big spoon, will you?”
She did so. “Rose told me you discovered that one of the guests had a history with Jack Ford. Well done. You’re getting good at this, Lily.”
“I am not,” I said.
“Let’s go over what we’ve learned.” She leaned against the counter and pulled an iPad out of her shoulder bag. “We can talk while you work. I’ll make notes.”
“You’re in the way.”
“No I’m not,” she said as Cheryl attempted to dodge past her to get to the tea canisters. Bernie moved to the left. Cheryl moved to the right. Bernie went right. Cheryl went left.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I said.
“Stop!” Cheryl said. “Don’t try to get out of my way. I’ll get out of yours.” She squeezed past Bernie and took down the tin labeled OOLONG.
“Oooolong,” Bernie said. “That sounds so romantic. I’ll try a cup of that please, Cheryl.”
Cheryl’s eyes flicked toward me.
“Might as well,” I said. “Make a second pot, and you can pour me a cup, too, while you’re at it.” Sandwiches finished, I got down a big mixing bowl and started on today’s batch of pistachio macarons. I sifted almond flour and the pistachio flour I’d made myself by grinding up the nuts with the right amount of sugar.
Cheryl scooped leaves of the delicate tea out of the tin, measured them into a tea ball, and dropped the ball into a plain white pot with gold trim. She added water from the airpot before assembling the gluten-free plate.
Bernie opened the iPad. “I can see you’re working—”
“You are observant.” I cracked eggs as I talked, and separated the whites from the yokes, put the whites in my mixer, and set it to beat. When they were foamy, I added cream of tartar, sugar, and a splash of green food coloring, and continued to beat them.
“Sarcasm does not become you,” Bernie said over the noise of the mixer. “Rose told me you were late getting here this morning, so I know better than to ask you to take a break. We’ll have to talk here. You won’t repeat anything we say, will you, Cheryl?”
“My lips are sealed,” Cheryl replied.
“One order of royal tea for six,” Marybeth said.
“Try to use matching cups and plates for the entire table,” I said. “We want the royal tea to look special.”
Marybeth pulled a bottle of prosecco out of the fridge.
“I’ll have a glass of that rather than the tea,” Bernie said.
“You will not.” I sifted the flour mixture into the whipped egg whites and gently folded it in, testing the consistency as I worked. Macarons can be tricky, but after all these years, I have an eye for when they’re perfectly done.
“Let’s consider our suspects,” Bernie said. “I’ve started a list.”
“A list,” Marybeth said. “Sounds serious.”
“I am serious,” Bernie said. “Lincoln Goodwill and his son, Matt.”
“Matt wasn’t in North Augusta on Saturday.” I filled a pastry bag with the egg-white mixture and piped small, perfect rounds onto a parchment-lined baking sheet.
“So he says. First rule of detecting, Lily. You don’t believe what the suspects have to say for themselves. Next, Carla Powers. Mr. Powers. Janice Ford. Dorothy Johnson. And lastly, Roy Gleeson.”
“Wouldn’t put it past that Ja
nice Ford,” Cheryl said.
“Why?” Bernie asked.
“She’s a strange one. She left North Augusta and moved to Boston.”
“That doesn’t make her a potential killer,” I said.
“Does in my book.” Cheryl carried a teapot into the dining room. The aroma of fragrant tea drifted behind her. She left the second pot on the counter.
“Give that one three minutes to steep,” I said to Bernie, “and then pour us each a cup.”
“Three minutes? Not two? Not four?”
“A proper cup of tea needs to be prepared properly. Three minutes.” Macarons piped, I tapped the baking sheets on the counter.
“What are you doing that for?” Bernie asked.
“Have to get the bubbles out, otherwise the shells will crack. They need to dry before going in the oven.” I put them aside and took out a saucepan and started on the cream filling by heating water and sugar on the stove.
“Mom doesn’t know why anyone in their right mind would ever leave North Augusta,” Marybeth said.
“What about you?” I asked. “You ever think about moving away?”
She sighed heavily. “Yeah. I always planned to move to a big city one day. New York maybe, or Los Angeles. I’ve never been to California. But, well, I married Jimmy, and he has his job here, and his mom’s not doing too well, and the kids have school and their friends.” She took the prosecco and six champagne flutes into the dining room.
Bernie and I exchanged a look.
“Back at it,” Bernie said. “Then there’s your B & B guest, Susan Walsh. Rose told me what happened this morning with her. Have I missed anyone?”
“The proverbial person or persons unknown. I’ve been thinking. Jack Ford had a lot of enemies. There are probably a whole bunch of people like Susan out there who he cheated in one way or another.”
“Rose and I did some checking again this morning. He’s been sued several times for failing to pay his contractors or staff. He’s as slippery as an eel. Always manages to wiggle out of it or delay so much the complainant can’t afford to keep the legal action going.”
“The killer doesn’t have to be someone we’ve spoken to,” I said. “Maybe they saw Jack walking alone by the bluffs and took a chance. Maybe they’d been following him, hoping for their chance, and took it. If that’s the case, they probably left town right after it was done.”
“We don’t know why he was at the stairs that morning,” Bernie said. “He was supposed to be meeting Lincoln Goodwill and Roy Gleeson at the Goodwill place. He arrived early. We don’t know why he did that. He had no reason to come onto your property.”
“You need to find out why he was there.” Cheryl came back into the kitchen. She poured two cups out of the small pot and handed Bernie and me a cup each. “Here you go. You don’t add anything to oolong.”
Bernie took a sip. “Oh my gosh. This is so great. I think it’s my new favorite tea.”
“Every tea is your new favorite tea when you’re drinking it.” I started to beat some egg yolks while keeping one eye on the contents of the saucepan, waiting until the syrup reached the exact right temperature before mixing it with the yolks and adding butter. The pistachio cream filling would perfectly match the bright green shells.
“You say that as though there’s something wrong with it,” Bernie said.
Cheryl began to arrange the royal tea food selections on one of our largest three-tiered stands.
“Don’t even think about it,” I said to Bernie.
“Think about what?”
“I see you eyeing those tarts.”
“Perish the thought. Speaking of thoughts, Cheryl had a good one.”
“I did?”
“You did. We need to find out precisely what Jack Ford was doing at the top of the steps on Saturday morning.”
“Bernie,” I said, “we’ll never be able to do that.”
“I wonder if he kept a diary.”
“Dear Diary, going to meet X this morning. I know he wants me dead, but I am not afraid.”
“I meant a business diary. Not a journal.”
“Even if he had one, no one’s going to show it to you.”
“I guess not. His phone records should show if he got an early morning call, but I have no way of accessing those. This is all very frustrating.”
“We have to let it go,” I said. “Amy Redmond is keeping herself on top of things, albeit unofficially. I have a good feeling about her. I think she’s a good cop. She’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“I worry Williams is out to railroad Rose.”
“He can’t prove anything, because Rose didn’t do anything, and the idea that she’s capable of killing a man is nothing but ridiculous.” Time to change the subject. “How’s your book coming?”
Bernie sighed. “Well enough, I guess. When I get time to work on it. I was in the middle of what’s going to be a really great scene when Rose called me with this morning’s update. Rose . . . Did I tell you I’ve decided to call my main character Rose?”
“Not Esmeralda? Glad to hear it.”
“Actually, I have two main characters. I’ve decided on a dual story line. Rose is the upper-class woman living in Boston. The lower-class one, Tessa, lives on Cape Cod. They’ll meet when Rose comes to the Cape on vacation. Right now, Rose is chafing under her father’s strict thumb, and in this scene she slips out of the house to go to a meeting of a women’s suffrage group he’s forbidden her to associate with.”
Marybeth came into the kitchen with a load of dirty dishes. One lone chicken salad sandwich remained on the tray. “Sounds good,” she said. “I’ll buy that. Let me know when it comes out.”
“If it ever comes out.” I admired my cream filling. “You have a book to write, Bernie. I have a restaurant to run. We’re not detectives. We’ve done what we can. It’s time to leave it to the professionals.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Bernie pointed to the leftover sandwich. “Can I have that?” She didn’t wait for an answer before popping it in her mouth. “Yummy. Let’s do something fun tonight.”
“Fun?” I said. “I like fun.”
“Fun.” Marybeth piled dishes in the dishwasher. “I remember fun. Vaguely.”
“How about a movie?” Bernie said. “With something to eat first. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
I smiled at her. “I’d like that.”
* * *
And I did. The movie wasn’t very good, but it was nice to be out of the kitchen for an evening, spending time with my best friend, and not thinking about either cooking or murder.
Bernie dropped me off at the B & B shortly before eleven. Thick clouds had moved in, covering any trace of moon and stars. The light over the front door was on, as it always is, and a few lamps glowed behind curtains in the guest rooms. Rose’s suite was dark. I took Éclair for a short walk around the property, using the mini-flashlight attached to my key chain to guide our way. We didn’t see anyone, and I enjoyed the peace and solitude, the only sounds the waves rushing to shore and crashing against the rocks and the crunch of my feet on the gravel of the driveway.
Walk finished, I got ready for bed and crawled between the welcoming sheets. I read a couple of pages of my book before turning out the light and making myself comfortable. I’d enjoyed the night out with Bernie. I needed to . . .
The harsh ringing of my phone woke me. I fumbled for it. My bedroom was wrapped in darkness. Next to me, Éclair rolled over with a grunt.
“Hello?” I glanced at the clock. Quarter past three.
“Lily, someone’s outside.” My grandmother’s voice was low and shaking.
“Rose? Is that you? What’s happening? Are you okay?”
“Someone’s outside my window.”
“It’s one of the guests who can’t sleep. Maybe an early riser.” I was still three-quarters asleep. What sort of person rose at three o’clock when they’re on vacation, I didn’t know.
“They’re”—her voice broke—�
�trying to get in.”
That woke me up fast enough. I threw the covers off and leapt out of bed. “Stay where you are. I’m coming. I’m hanging up now. Call nine-one-one.”
“Lily! Be careful. Oh my goodness . . .”
I shoved my bare feet into running shoes, grabbed the key chain off the table by the door, and ran out of the cottage without bothering to tie the laces. I yelled to Éclair to follow. She wasn’t exactly an attack dog, but she was a dog. She might be able to find some trace of our intruder. If we had an intruder. She leapt off the bed, as wide awake as I was.
Rose wasn’t a fanciful woman. She never panicked, and that sturdy English resolve rarely cracked. If she was frightened, it was because she believed she had reason to be.
“Go to Rose,” I shouted to Éclair. I don’t know if she understood me, but she didn’t bother checking under bushes for the latest in squirrel activity. She ran straight toward the big house, her ears back, her short legs working as fast as they could.
I chased after her, my phone in one hand, the flashlight attached to my key chain in the other. It didn’t give much light, but enough that I could see where I was going—and see no one was in my path. As I ran, I searched for anything I could use as a weapon if I needed one. A multipronged rake or a solid shovel would do nicely, but Simon was a neat gardener. He always put his tools away after using them.
I rounded the house. All was quiet except for the soft murmur of the sea and a single car passing on the main road. Lights were on in Rose’s suite, but the guest rooms on this side of the house were dark. I could see no sign of anyone on the property. Éclair ran for the front door, and I called her back.
Standing on the grass, I shone my light into the bushes bordering the verandah. They were thick but well trimmed, reaching no higher than my hips. I was confident no one larger than a squirrel could be concealed in there. Éclair sniffed the ground. Her ears didn’t come up, she didn’t bark, and the hair on her back didn’t rise.
I climbed the steps onto the verandah and called in a low voice, “Rose, I’m outside. Are you okay?”
