by Vicki Delany
“Just checking.”
“Thank you for coming out, love.”
“As if I wouldn’t.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Good night.”
“Good night, love. Try to get some sleep.”
* * *
I found it the next morning, half tucked among the flowers in a terra-cotta pot full of geraniums at the top of the steps leading to the kitchen.
I hadn’t checked the outside of the doors last night, and because Rose’s window where the intruder had been was at the front of the house, the police had done nothing more than a cursory check of the back.
Thinking some people needed to be more conscientious about picking up their trash, I pulled a scrap of paper out of the flowers.
I unlocked the door, and Éclair and I went into the kitchen. I put my foot on the pedal of the trash can and was about to toss the paper in, but something about it caught my eye, and I glanced at it. My breath stopped.
Mind your own business. Or this won’t be my last visit to your grandmother.
Chapter 21
“Good morning.”
I let out a screech, leapt about a foot into the air, and dropped the paper containing the ominous note. Éclair barked.
“Hey! I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Simon stood in the doorway, his hands in the air. “I was hoping to scrounge up a cuppa before starting work.”
My heart slowly settled into place. Simon noticed I’d dropped something, and took a step forward, intending to pick it up. “Leave it!” I said.
“What? Is something the matter? You’re as white as a ghost.”
I grabbed a plastic sandwich bag out of a drawer and used it to cover my shaking fingers. Éclair sniffed at the note, and I pushed her to one side. Slowly and carefully, I picked up the scrap of paper and laid it on the table. “Don’t touch it,” I said.
Simon folded his hands behind his back and leaned over to read it. The words were printed on a sheet of ordinary computer paper that had been ripped in half, with black ink in a standard word processing font. Beneath the words was a cheerful yellow smiley-face emoticon. The sort I’d seen a thousand times.
“What does this mean, last visit? Did something happen?”
“Someone tried to frighten Rose last night. They stood at her window, knocking on the glass. She called me, but by the time I arrived, they’d run off.”
“You’re sure she wasn’t imagining it?”
I gave him a look.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re sure. Even if you weren’t, this note sorta proves it, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. Clearly, last night was intended to be a warning.”
“Warning about what?”
“It can only be related to the Jack Ford murder. Rose and I have been asking some questions.” I laughed. “Looks like we’re on the right track.”
“You don’t sound okay. I’ll put the kettle on.”
“A true Englishman,” I said.
He grinned at me. “And proud of it. But first, you need to sit down.” Excitement over, Éclair made herself comfortable under the table as Simon pulled a chair out for me.
I sat. He ran water to fill the kettle and plugged it in. Then he took a big Brown Betty and the tea canister off the shelf and tossed two tea bags into the pot.
I studied the note, taking care not to touch it.
Simon stood behind me. His put his hands on my shoulders. I let them rest there, enjoying their warmth, their strength. “I noticed a section of the flower bed alongside the front path marked off by police tape,” he said. “I came in to ask you about that.”
“That’s where the unknown person stood at Rose’s window. We called nine-one-one, and the police came quickly. They brought a dog, but he didn’t find anything. Looks like they missed something.” I pointed to the note. I was pleased to see my hand had stopped shaking.
“You have to call the police again. Tell them to come back.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Want me to do it?”
“No, I have to.”
I considered calling Amy Redmond, but Williams had been pretty blunt last night about letting me know he wasn’t pleased I’d been in touch with her. Besides, if I had to wake someone up at quarter after six, it might as well be him.
I called the police station and told them I needed to speak to Detective Williams. They told me they’d pass on the message.
“The police will take the note away when they get here,” Simon said. “You should take a picture, so you have a record of it.”
“Why do I want a record of it? I don’t want to ever think about it again.”
“You never know when it might come in handy.”
“I suppose you’re right.” I used my phone to take several pictures, including a couple of close-ups of the details of the print and the smiley face. That grinning yellow face gave me chills right down to my bones.
“Too bad this wasn’t produced on a manual typewriter,” Simon said. “Those things had individual characteristics. A printer is just a printer.”
“That would make it easy, considering there can’t be more than a handful of people in all of Cape Cod still using manual typewriters. If that.”
A knock on the door. Simon and I exchanged a glance. I hadn’t locked the door behind me, and Edna would never knock.
I gave Simon a nod, and he threw open the door.
“Hi,” Matt Goodwill said. “I saw the lights and came over to check if everything’s okay here.”
“Come on in,” I called, and he did.
“You can’t see the kitchen lights from your property,” I said, “and the light over the door is left on all night.”
He grinned. “You got me there. Let’s say I came over to see if you’re okay.”
“Why do you need to know if Lily is okay?” Simon asked.
“I heard you had some trouble here last night. Something about an attempted break-in?”
“Word travels fast,” I said. “And early.”
“My father keeps himself apprised of what goes on around here. I’m always an early riser, so he knew I’d be up, and he gave me a call.”
“I assume by keeping himself apprised, he got a call from Detective Williams,” I said.
“He didn’t tell me how he heard. And I didn’t ask.” Matt glanced around the kitchen, paying no particular attention to the piece of paper on the table. “Looks as though no harm was done.”
“It wasn’t,” I said. “Just a bump in the night. Happens in an old house full of guests. The tea’s ready, but I’m going to make coffee for myself. Would you like one?”
He smiled. “Thanks. Coffee would be nice.”
While Simon poured himself a cup of tea, Edna arrived. She started when she saw a kitchen full of visitors. “Goodness, everyone’s up and about early this morning. How are you, Matthew?”
“Very well, thank you.”
I tried to be unobtrusive about slipping my hand into the plastic sandwich bag and then folding it around the half sheet of computer paper. I wasn’t unobtrusive enough. Matt’s eyebrows rose.
I slid the bag under the sugar container and got to work. First, I ground coffee beans and put them in the coffee maker to brew, and then I began taking out bowls and measuring cups and spoons to start the morning’s baking.
“Can I help with anything?” Matt asked me.
“Heavens no!” Edna said. “The last thing she needs is a couple of amateur cooks getting in the way. You can, however, get that tray down from the shelf and pour the milk and cream into those containers. Take them out to the dining room and put them on the table next to the cereal.” As she talked, Edna began taking fruit out of the fridge and laying it on the cutting board.
When the coffee was ready, I poured three cups. Simon said, “I’ll get off to work, then. I’ll bring the mug back when I’m finished. Cheers.”
“Matthew,” Edna said. “Slice that fruit. Ensure the pieces are relatively uniform in size. It goes into that
glass bowl over there.”
Matt sat at the table and set to work. I mixed the batter for bran muffins, put them into the oven, and laid the first batch of sausages in the frying pan.
* * *
By nine o’clock, all the guests had been served. Matt had left after slicing the fruit and finishing his coffee, and Edna was in the dining room, resetting the tables for tomorrow. I hadn’t seen Rose this morning, and I still hadn’t heard from the police in answer to my call.
Every time I reached for the sugar or glanced at the rows of canisters, I took a peek at the note. It never changed, but my sense of foreboding grew, so by the time I was alone in the kitchen, I was quite frightened.
It had clearly been meant as a threat, as had last night’s visit. Would this person, whoever he or she might be, stop at issuing threats? Or were they prepared to take matters a step further?
“Good morning, love.” Rose and Robbie came into the kitchen. She’d dressed in a purple velour tracksuit, tidied her hair, put on a touch of blush and lipstick, and covered her eyelids with blue shadow and her lashes with thick coats of mascara. She looked positively perky this morning.
I turned to her with a smile. “Did you manage to get any sleep?”
“Surprisingly, yes. When I got up, I had a peek out my window and saw the police tape around my flower beds. I found that somewhat reassuring. It means I wasn’t imagining things.”
I decided not to tell Rose about the note. She was a great deal tougher than she looked; she was probably a lot tougher than me, come to think of it. But I was worried enough for the both of us.
Edna carried a tray laden with dirty dishes into the kitchen. “Another lot done with. Morning, Rose.”
“Good morning, Edna.”
“Do you have any plans for today?” I asked my grandmother.
“The housekeeper says the condition of the wallpaper in room two-oh-four is getting worse. It’s been torn for a while, but we hoped it would remain discreetly hidden by a carefully placed dresser until the end of the season. Apparently, such is not the case. She suspects some wayward child was amusing himself by tearing at it. I’ll have a look at it later.”
It was time for me to leave, and I hadn’t heard from Detective Williams. I swept up the threatening note, still wrapped in its sandwich bag, called to Éclair, and wished Edna and Rose a good day.
“I’ll have my tea now, Edna,” Rose said.
“Kettle’s over there,” Edna replied.
* * *
Detective Williams didn’t bother to come himself to question me about the paper I’d found. Instead, he sent a uniformed officer around to pick it up. He found me on my small porch, enjoying a second cup of coffee before plunging into the rest of my day, while Éclair sniffed around the yard.
“Aren’t you going to fingerprint the plant pot I found this in?” I asked.
“I wasn’t told to do that.” I wondered if he was old enough to shave yet. Didn’t look it. “The detective just said I was to pick up this note you say you found.”
“The note I did find.”
“If you say so.”
“I do say so.” I handed him the sandwich bag. “I touched the paper when I first found it, so my prints will be on it, but no one else did, and it’s been in my presence ever since then.”
“Thanks,” he said. And he left.
Detective Williams was clearly not taking my concerns seriously. I wondered if he thought I’d written the note myself to throw suspicion off Rose or me.
No matter what he thought, someone had threatened Rose and me, and I didn’t like it one bit.
I finished my coffee, called Éclair into the house, and went to work.
* * *
Bernie dropped into the tearoom in the middle of the afternoon. Earlier, I’d seen her car go by, heading up the driveway to the house, and I’d had no doubt she was on her way to consult with my grandmother.
“Rose filled me in on what happened last night.” Bernie rubbed her hands together. “We’re obviously getting close, and the person we’re after is trying to scare us off.”
“It might be obvious to them,” I said. “I wish it was obvious to me. Something happened this morning I didn’t tell Rose about.” For the moment, we were alone in the kitchen. Cheryl and Marybeth were constantly bustling in and out, making tea, calling out orders, bringing in dirty dishes. I didn’t want to talk in front of them, but I couldn’t afford to take the time to go outside with Bernie. I took out my phone and showed her the pictures I’d taken of the note.
She let out a low whistle. “That sounds serious.”
“It has me worried, all right.”
“You need to tell Rose.”
“No, I don’t. And I won’t. Nor will you. No point in worrying her. I can do more than enough worrying for both of us.” I mixed pastry dough as I talked. I was again making strawberry tarts. Our berry delivery was back on schedule, and I’d been greeted by several boxes of the plump, glistening red fruit on the doorstep this morning.
“What brings you here this afternoon, anyway?” I asked.
“I needed to talk to Rose because I had something to report.”
“Report?”
“Yup.” Bernie snatched a piece of shortbread off a tray ready to be taken into the dining room and popped it into her mouth. She groaned with pleasure. “Oh my gosh. That’s so buttery, it almost melts.”
“Hey!” I said. “Don’t be eating my food.”
“You have more.”
“That’s for paying customers, not mooching friends. The shortbread’s in that container over there. Replace the one you took, and don’t you dare have another.”
“Do you want to know what I learned?” Bernie said when the tray was once again complete.
“Not particularly, but you’ll tell me whether I want to hear it or not, so you might as well go ahead.” I put the pastry dough in the fridge to chill and took out an earlier batch, now ready for rolling out and filling.
Bernie eyed me. “This is serious business, Lily. The police are now officially calling it a murder.”
I sighed. “I know it is. I just wish it wasn’t our business. But someone made it our business, first by killing Jack Ford on our property and then by threatening Rose. So go ahead.”
I spread a sheet of parchment on the butcher’s block island I use for making pies and tarts, floured it lightly, and then began rolling out the chilled pastry with a heavy marble rolling pin. I’ve had that rolling pin for years, taking it with me from job to job. It feels as comfortable in my hands as my own fingers.
“First thing this morning,” Bernie said, “I was at town hall, checking zoning regulations. Jack Ford had a lot of enemies, and it’s entirely possible one of those enemies followed him Saturday morning and knocked him over the cliff. If that’s the case, it’s possible we’ll never be able to get to the bottom of it. But if the reason for his murder lies closer to home, then the sale of the Goodwill property, which will be facilitated by a change in the zoning, might be the key.”
“If you say so,” I said.
“I do.”
“I know all that. What did you discover that’s new?”
“What I learned isn’t actually all that interesting. I went back through the town records for a few years. This will hardly be the first time residential property has been rezoned to allow for more development. Tourism is increasing by leaps and bounds, and the town wants to keep up. We might wish everything would remain the way it always has, but that’s not going to happen.”
“You got that right.” Cheryl arranged teapots and cups on her tray. “All you have to do is mention jobs and some people’d sell their grandmother’s grave to a developer. One order of afternoon tea for two and one for four. Can’t blame them really. Young people need a reason to stay here and raise their own families. They can’t do that without a job.”
Marybeth began laying out the food on trays. “As long as we keep the environment pristine. No point in developin
g the Cape so much the tourists have no reason to come here instead of going to New York or Boston.”
Cheryl and Marybeth took their trays out to the dining room.
“All of which doesn’t matter at this point,” Bernie said. “In most cases, whenever the neighbors or other concerned citizens object to the zoning changes, they’re overridden. But not always. I found examples of projects being stopped or scaled back because of public objection. Jack Ford and his company had sometimes been the ones proposing the rezoning, and a quick study of the records showed me he’d been more successful than some other developers, but even he didn’t get his way every time.”
“So?”
“Like I said, not all that interesting. What was interesting is who else was in town hall this morning, checking up on zoning patterns and regulations.” She smiled at me.
I shook the rolling pin at her. “Bernie, can you possibly drag this out any longer? If you have something to tell me, tell me.”
She leaned toward me. Instinctively, I leaned toward her.
“Matt Goodwill.”
I straightened up. “So?”
“So? I find it interesting that he’s looking up zoning regulations. All his talk about wanting to leave the property zoned as it is and keep it in the family. Ha!”
“Maybe he’s just curious. Maybe he wants to know what he’s up against, or is considering all possible options, like any sensible person would. Did you speak to him?”
“I did. I was very subtle.”
I refrained from rolling my eyes. Subtle was never a word I used for the Warrior Princess.
“I pretended to be friendly and chatty. In return, he was cagey.”
“If he was cagey, as you put it, it was probably because he knew you were up to something. What time was this?”
“The office opens at nine thirty. I was there right on time, and he came in a few minutes later.”
I didn’t tell Bernie that Matt had been at the house this morning. That would only make him look even more suspicious in her eyes.
Although I couldn’t get rid of the niggling thought that he’d never shown up at our back door before. Might he have been wanting to see the effect his note had on me?
Now I was the one getting paranoid.
