“Yes, I knew it. That would have been premature.”

  “And what may I ask makes you think that? She practically confessed. The man was bashed over the head.”

  “She’s right in that it’s a common expression. She was angry at him at the time of the incident, but several hours, at least, passed before Mr. Greene was attacked. She had plenty of cooling-off time.”

  “Cheryl Wainwright, or Cheryl Dowd, as she once was, doesn’t take advantage of cooling-off time.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked. “Do you two know each other? Apart from the times you’ve been here, I mean.”

  “I’ve known Cheryl since we were in high school. She’s the same age as my sister. She was a wild one. Cheryl, I mean, although my sister was, too, as I recall.”

  “I know you like to believe you’re far younger than you are,” Redmond said, “but that has to have been more than a few years ago.”

  “More than a few, yes. But that doesn’t matter. Some women never change. Thank you for your time, Ms. Roberts. If I need anything more from you, I’ll let you know.”

  “When can I have my kitchen back?” I asked, although I feared I knew the answer. When I say you can.

  “When I say you can,” he replied.

  I glanced at Amy Redmond. She raised one expressive eyebrow, telling me to run along now.

  “I’ll run along now,” I said.

  “You do that,” Williams said.

  I turned and walked away. I moved about as slowly as was humanly possible without dropping into a crawl. I stopped next to a terra-cotta pot overflowing with sweet potato vines and purple and red petunias and plucked dying leaves and dead flowers off the plants with great care.

  “Mark my words, Detective,” Williams said. “Cheryl did it. Still so sure of herself, still that cocky attitude that says, ‘You can’t catch me.’ ”

  “If you have proof, Detective,” Redmond replied, “we’ll charge her. But I’m not railroading a woman based on her high school reputation.”

  “More than high school, I’m sorry to say,” he said, sounding not at all sorry. “Far more than that. Time was—”

  They went into my tearoom, and I heard no more.

  Chapter 10

  I returned to Victoria-on-Sea, intending to talk to Bernie and Rose. I didn’t have any trouble finding them, as they’d taken seats on the veranda to watch the activity in the driveway and on the restaurant patio. I was pleased to see that none of our guests had joined them and the guest parking area was empty except for Bernie’s car.

  “Another fine mess,” Rose said.

  “Has everyone gone out?”

  “The guests got bored waiting for a takedown or a raging gun battle,” Bernie said. “I’m getting bored myself. Police work isn’t as exciting as it seems on TV.”

  I dropped into a chair. “I saw Josh down at the tearoom with the crew. What about Scarlet and Claudia?”

  “I didn’t see them leave,” Rose said. “So they must be in their rooms, although they might have gone out the back for a walk on the beach or along the bluffs to enjoy the lovely day.”

  “It’s difficult, in writing crime fiction,” Bernie said, “to make detecting seem exciting when it’s mostly asking a lot of useless questions while hoping to uncover that one important nugget. Speaking of which, if you’re okay here, I’ll be off home. While watching nothing happening over there, I came up with an idea for a new character. A bumbling, misogynistic, bigoted cop.”

  “Not based on anyone you know, I hope,” I said.

  “Certainly not.”

  “What happened to Matt? Did he go home?”

  “He had to. He has a Zoom interview scheduled with a research subject he couldn’t put off.” She stood up.

  “Sit down,” I said.

  Bernie sat.

  Rose stroked Robbie’s ears.

  “We have a problem,” I said.

  “Other than one of TV’s hottest reality stars being murdered on the premises and the ladies and gentlemen of the press gathering and nervous guests wondering if it’s safe to stay here?” Bernie said.

  “At least he wasn’t poisoned, not like the last one,” Rose said. “So the police shouldn’t need to confiscate your food and nail a public health warning notice emblazed with a skull and crossbones to the door.”

  “There is that,” Bernie agreed. “What is it, Lily? I was thinking we had no reason to be involved in this. Either someone followed that guy, Greene, here and they got into an argument, or one of the cast or crew did it.”

  “Williams wants to arrest Cheryl.”

  Bernie laughed. Rose didn’t.

  “Oh,” Bernie said. “You’re not joking.”

  “I am not. You drove Marybeth home yesterday afternoon. Did she say anything to you about Tommy Greene?”

  “Yeah. She told me he’d apologized to her and offered to make it up with dinner at his restaurant in New York for her and her husband. So she’d know he was serious, he gave her some money to help with the expense. She was pleased, not about the dinner or the money he’d given her, but that he’d gone to the trouble to seek her out and genuinely apologize. It was a real apology, too, not something lame like, ‘I’m sorry if you were offended.’ ”

  “What happened that he had to apologize for?” Rose asked.

  I filled her in quickly.

  “Not nice,” she said. “But such behavior’s common enough, unfortunately. Some people still think they can act like the lord of the manor dealing with the peasantry. I can tell you some stories. Not about Thornecroft, mind, as Lord and Lady Frockmorton were nothing but kind to all the staff, but some of their relatives—”

  “Perhaps a tale for another day,” I said.

  “If Marybeth was fine with the apology,” Bernie said, “what does that have to do with Cheryl?”

  “Marybeth didn’t tell Cheryl that Tommy had apologized, and Chuck Williams seems to think the threat Cheryl made against him means she came back later and killed him.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” Rose said. “Detective Williams reads too many mystery novels.”

  “It’s got to be more than that,” Bernie said.

  “I fear it is. It would appear they knew each other in their youth. Not a stretch, as North Augusta’s a small town in terms of permanent population, and it would have been even smaller decades ago. Cheryl, according to Williams, had a reputation as a troublemaker in high school. He started to imply that that reputation continued after school, but I didn’t hear the rest. He wanted to arrest her on the spot, but Redmond intervened and said not without proof.”

  “Oh, dear,” Rose said.

  “Do you think that’s possible, Lily?” Bernie asked. “That she did it, I mean?”

  “Absolutely not. Cheryl was furious at Tommy for the way he behaved toward Marybeth. I was furious enough myself that I tried to tell them their film shoot was over and done with. I soon calmed down, and I can’t see Cheryl sneaking back here after hours to get her revenge. I mean, really, why would she? She’d have to be insane to carry a grudge to that extent. I have to admit I don’t know Cheryl on a personal level, but I hope I know her well enough after working with her almost every day for the past several months to know she’s not nuts.”

  “If Williams has her at the top of his suspect list . . . ,” Rose said.

  “There she will remain,” I said. “No matter what evidence to the contrary comes to light.”

  Bernie got to her feet. She leaned over and lifted Robbie off Rose’s lap. “Once again, my book is going to have to wait. Let’s see what we can find out about the people involved.”

  “This time,” I said, “I have to agree with you. If Cheryl isn’t the woman I think she is, and she killed Tommy Greene, we’ll let justice take its course. But if she is innocent, we might be able to help her. Do you think I should ask her what she got up to in the past that makes Williams distrust her?”

  “Not yet,” Rose said. “Let’s see what we can find out first. Bernadette, you take the TV people. See if anyone has a past they might want to keep hidden. I’ll tackle the North Augusta grapevine. It might be possible this wasn’t our Mr. Greene’s first visit to North Augusta and someone didn’t like having him back.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

  Rose pointed up the driveway. “It looks as though the police are leaving, love. You go and bake. It’s what you do best. We will reconvene here at”—she checked her watch—“three o’clock. I’m thinking a meeting over a late lunch. A late lunch at a nice place in town.”

  * * *

  The police indeed were leaving. They rolled up their crime-scene tape and packed up their equipment and told me I could have my restaurant back. Josh, they said, could do whatever he wanted.

  I listened in as the director assembled his crew and told them that until he got word from the powers that be, they’d have to sit tight. No more filming would happen at Tea by the Sea, and tomorrow’s scheduled move to North Augusta Bakery was on hold.

  “Surely the network isn’t going to continue with this?” I said once everyone except Josh and Reilly had dispersed. “Not after the man’s death.”

  “Money is money,” Reilly said. “A lot of money’s been invested in this season. It’s not cheap, you know, bringing an entire crew to the Outback.”

  “This is Cape Cod. Hardly the Outback.”

  “Not a studio in Hollywood, either. We can use the footage we got here, so you might still get your shot at fame.”

  “I don’t want a shot at fame. Airing that would be in extremely bad taste.”

  “Good thing you’re not making the decisions. then, isn’t it?”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I’ll check your contract again, but I don’t recall that there’s a clause giving you a chance to back out because your notions of good taste are offended.”

  I sputtered. I looked at Josh, hoping for some support, but he merely shrugged.

  “The show must go on and all that,” he said.

  “Can you manage without Tommy?” I asked.

  “We’ll have to, won’t we?” Josh said. “For now. But we’ll have to find a replacement for him, and fast. Tommy was the star of the show. Not many people tuned in to watch an empty-headed beauty queen and an out-of-date cookbook writer make polite conversation. The audience liked Tommy’s aggression and that rude fighting spirit.”

  “No one’s irreplaceable,” Reilly said. “Plenty of up-and-coming young chefs would kill for a chance at getting themselves on TV. Okay, bad choice of words, but you get the point. Some people at the network were thinking it might be time for a change, anyway.”

  I started to walk away, and then I remembered something and swung back. “When you were talking to the police earlier, Reilly, you called Josh Dad. Is he your father?”

  They didn’t look at all alike, so I assumed Reilly took after his mother, but there was something about the way they tilted their heads when they thought, and the shape of the chin was much the same.

  With a flash of horror, I realized what I’d said, but it was too late to take the words back. I hadn’t been in the room when Josh and Reilly were interviewed by the police, but hiding and eavesdropping. Fortunately, neither of them seemed to have noticed my slip.

  “Yup,” Reilly said. “We have different surnames because my parents never married. They didn’t even stay together for long. Josh and I reconnected after I finished school.”

  Josh said something impolite about his ex-girlfriend, and Reilly slapped him on the back with a guffaw.

  Chapter 11

  It’s hard enough running a restaurant without a TV shoot on your property, never mind an ongoing police investigation. I hesitantly opened the reservations page to start accepting bookings for tomorrow and the remainder of the week, and then I plunged into my sugar, flour, butter, and mixing bowls. Bernie once said baking was my happy place, and it usually is, but today I couldn’t settle as easily into that happy place as I might have liked. As I worked, I couldn’t stop thinking of Tommy Greene and of Cheryl Wainwright.

  By quarter to three I had a satisfyingly hefty number of scones in the freezer and pastry dough and sandwich fillings in the fridge, enough to give us a start on the next day. I shook out my hair and retied it, threw my apron into the laundry bin, and left by the back entrance, taking care to ensure the door was locked behind me. I’d struggled to recall if I’d locked it on leaving yesterday or not, but my mind remained blank. The detail was important: If the door had been locked and no signs of forced entry were to be found, then someone had let Tommy Greene in, and that someone had almost certainly killed him. If the door had been unlocked, anyone, absolutely anyone, could have come in.

  Such a minor detail—a matter of absentminded forgetfulness about a routine task—yet so critically important.

  All the TV equipment was packed up and gone; the parking lot of Tea by the Sea empty. At the B & B, a single car—a shiny white Lexus SUV—sat out front, next to Bernie’s aging, battered Honda Civic.

  Rose and Bernie waited for me on the veranda. Robbie was nowhere to be seen, Rose clutched her cavernous purse to her chest, while Bernie impatiently tossed her keys from one hand to the other.

  “What took you so long?” Rose asked. “We were about to leave without you.”

  I glanced at my watch. “It’s two minutes after three.”

  “Meaning you’re two minutes late. Punctuality is a virtue. Besides, our destination closes at four.” She picked up her pink cane and descended the steps.

  Bernie hurried to open her car’s front passenger door for Rose. I shrugged and hopped into the back.

  Thick as thieves, those two.

  I might look like my grandmother, but I’m nothing at all like her in personality. Bernie and Rose, however, are as alike as two eggs in a mixing bowl. Each is as stubborn, single-minded, and adventurous as the other. Rose had lived in Iowa after she married my grandfather and came to America. She might have lived in Iowa, where she loved her husband, helped him run his construction business, and raised their five children, but as a true Englishwoman, she’d missed the sea, and she tried to vacation on the East Coast whenever possible. To the family’s horror, following my grandfather’s death, she moved to the Cape and sank the proceeds of her house and all her savings into a Victorian monstrosity. Once she had possession of her dream home, she realized she couldn’t afford the taxes or the upkeep on such a huge house, and so she turned it into a B & B to provide her with some extra income. Rose hated running a B & B, but for reasons I never entirely understood, she wanted this house so much she put up with having strangers constantly tramping through it.

  The moment she was old enough, my own mother had fled both her mother and Grand Lake, Iowa, for the freedom and adventure of New York City. Until coming to the Cape this past winter, I’d lived in Manhattan my entire life. Bernie and I have been best friends since grade school, and Bernie got to know Rose when she visited us. Bernie and I are also total opposites. I consider her impulsive and foolhardy; she calls me overly cautious and timid. Maybe I care for her so much precisely because she reminds me of my beloved grandmother.

  “What’s happening with the TV people?” I asked as I fastened my seat belt. “The ones staying here, I mean. Who’s car’s that?”

  “Reilly,” Rose said. “He’s inside meeting with Josh. Scarlet and Claudia have gone out. Scarlet asked me for recommendations for a spa, and Claudia has gone shopping. I called them cabs. Plural. They took separate ones, although they left around the same time, both of them going into town. They couldn’t be bothered to coordinate their activities enough to share a lift.”

  “I didn’t get the feeling they were one happy family,” I said.

  “Quite,” Rose replied. “Reilly and Josh were pacing up and down at the top of the bluffs earlier, waving their arms, yelling, quite obviously arguing about something. Regretfully, I couldn’t get close enough to hear.”

  “That surprises me,” I said. “I would have expected you to casually wander by, enjoying a breath of fresh sea air and accidently eavesdropping.”

  “I tried,” my grandmother admitted. “As soon as I got within hearing range, Josh stalked off, and after throwing him a filthy look, Reilly politely asked me how to access the beach.”

  “You think it means anything?” Bernie asked. “That they were arguing?”

  “Probably not,” I said. “Reilly told me a lot of money’s been spent on this season of the show already. Tensions have to be running high if they don’t know if they’re going to continue with it. I’d assume not continuing with it means job losses all around.”

  No one had told me where we were going, but I didn’t have to be a detective to figure that out. “You think the people at North Augusta Bakery might have had something to do with this?” I asked. “Did you learn anything of interest this afternoon?”

  “I have some feelers out,” Bernie said. “These things take time.”

  “Early days yet,” Rose said. “I signed up at the last minute for the duplicate bridge tournament beginning tomorrow. I loathe duplicate tournaments, but needs must.” She emitted a martyred sigh.

  “Allegra Griffin, owner of the bakery, was at Tea by the Sea both Monday and yesterday,” Bernie pointed out. “She was witness to the altercation between Marybeth and Tommy Greene.”

  “There was no altercation,” I said. “Tommy yelled at her, and she ran away. Which is not really the point. Lots of people were witnesses to that.”

  Bernie pulled onto the stretch of road that winds its way along the coast toward North Augusta, North Truro, and Provincetown. To our left, long sandy laneways led to large houses overlooking the waters of Cape Cod Bay, sparkling in the distance.

  “And they are all,” Bernie said, “present company excepted, to be considered suspects until they can be eliminated.”

  “Surely the TV people are far better suspects than anyone from North Augusta.”

  “Unfortunately,” Rose said, “I have no contacts in the world of television, and neither does Bernie, so once again, needs must. If we can eliminate some of the suspects, then the police can concentrate their attentions on the most viable.”