Redmond threw Kowalski a grin, and he turned various shades of scarlet as he followed the bridge group down the hallway. They passed Regina, slowly descending the stairs. The elderly lady hesitated when she saw the little group before saying, “Hello . . . uh . . . ladies.”

  “Mrs. Reynolds. My condolences on your loss,” Karen said. Her friends also mumbled words of sympathy before they continued down the hallway to their rooms.

  Regina watched them go, and then turned her attention to the detective. “I demand to know what’s going on. It’s late; it’s been an exceptionally exhausting day, emotionally and physically, and I’m ready for my bed.”

  “Thank you for joining us,” Redmond said.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “You always have a choice,” Redmond replied. “Until you don’t.”

  The matriarch sailed past us in a cloud of expensive perfume, recently applied. She might claim to be ready for bed, but she was still dressed in the clothes she’d had on earlier.

  “Lily,” Redmond said, “you and your grandmother may join us. This incident happened on your property, therefore you’re directly concerned.”

  Before we could move, the front door flew open once again and Bernie and Matt Goodwill fell in. Matt is our neighbor, and he and Bernie recently started dating.

  “This is not a public event,” Redmond said with an exasperated sigh.

  “We were . . . uh . . . just heading back to my place,” Matt said. “When we . . . uh . . .”

  “Saw all the lights were on and decided it wasn’t too late to drop in for a nightcap,” Bernie finished with a dazzling smile.

  “Good try,” Redmond said. “Let me guess. If Lily didn’t call you, Rose did.”

  “Only being neighborly,” Matt said.

  “Tonight you can be neighborly from your own property,” Redmond said. “I can’t order you to leave, as this is a private home, but I will strongly recommend it. I’ll also remind you, Lincoln Badwell, you are not going to be party to any part of this conversation. Or any other. If you happen to overhear anything, you cannot repeat it.”

  Lincoln Badwell was an international bestselling true-crime writer. Matt used a pseudonym, thinking the name of Goodwill didn’t exactly suit the sort of books he wrote. He gave Detective Redmond a smile that almost outdaz-zled Bernie’s. “I never use anything you tell me, Amy. You know that.”

  “Which is only because I never tell you anything. Not about an active case that is.”

  “So the death of Ralph Reynolds is an active case?” Bernie asked.

  Redmond rolled her eyes to the heavens. She spoke to the uniformed officer hovering beside the door. “When Ms. McKenzie Reynolds arrives, show her in. No one else. Got that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Why don’t we have a nightcap at your place?” Bernie said. “If Lily needs us, she can call.”

  “Great idea,” Matt said.

  I mouthed, “All okay, but thanks,” to Bernie and she nodded.

  My friends left, walking very, very slowly. The uniformed officer shut the door behind them, and I followed Detective Redmond into the drawing room.

  Rose had snagged her favorite seat, and it was Regina’s turn to perch uncomfortably on the edge of a chair. Sophia huddled into herself on the couch, next to her son Ivan. Her younger son, Greg, stood by the window, staring out over the darkening garden. Dave spoke to him in a low voice, Greg shrugged, and Dave took a seat at the desk. Detective Williams stood in front of the fireplace, cold and empty on a summer evening.

  Williams cleared his throat. “At the request of the NAPD, an autopsy was conducted earlier today on Mr. Ralph Reynolds.”

  Greg turned away from the window. Sophia emitted a muffled sob and buried her head in her hands. Ivan put his arm around his mother. Regina sighed deeply. How sad, I thought, that the two women could not be of comfort to each other in their shared grief. Rose and I said nothing.

  “The cause of death was heart failure,” the detective said.

  “It’s a wife’s job,” Regina sniffed, “to ensure her husband maintains good health habits. Unfortunately, my son was allowed to, occasionally, neglect his well-being.”

  Sophia, wisely, said nothing. That had been a heck of a mean comment.

  “Grandma,” Greg said. “Please. Not now.”

  Regina pursed her lips and said no more.

  “Be that as it may,” Redmond said, “the pathologist has some concerns.”

  “What sort of concerns?” Greg asked.

  Before she could answer, we heard voices in the hallway, and seconds later the door opened to admit McKenzie, wearing a short, skin-tight dress with lots of bling, and mega-high-heeled shoes. Her eyes were heavily outlined in black and her lipstick a deep, dark red. She was accompanied by the man I’d earlier assumed was her boyfriend, Jack. He was in his early thirties and extremely good-looking. About six feet tall, slim, with prominent cheekbones, hair a mass of black curls, large brown eyes under thick lashes, and a day’s worth of stubble on his strong jaw.

  Behind them, Karen, one of the bridge women, was trying to peer into the room. Her eyes fell on Sophia, and I saw a flash of interest, before Officer Kowalski shut the door in her face.

  “What’s happening?” McKenzie looked between her brothers, her mother, and her grandmother. “Ivan called to say I was needed here, but he wouldn’t say why. We left without even finishing our drinks.”

  “Please, Ms. Reynolds, take a seat,” Williams said.

  “You are?” Redmond asked the man who’d come in with McKenzie.

  “Jack Weber, of Boston. I’m McKenzie’s plus-one for the wedding. Which”—he glanced at Greg—“I’m sorry to hear is temporarily postponed.”

  McKenzie lowered herself slowly to the seat next to Ivan. She tugged at the hem of her dress, trying to keep it down. Jack went to the window and stood with Greg. “You okay, man?” he said in a low voice.

  “Not really. Not much I can do about it, though.”

  “To continue,” Williams said. “Ms. Reynolds, we were discussing the results of the autopsy on your father. The pathologist has sent samples to the lab for further analysis, but as a preliminary observation, he believes a substantial amount of digoxin was given to Mr. Reynolds which aggravated his already serious heart condition.”

  “Digoxin? What’s that?” Dave asked.

  “Heart medication,” Sophia said. “Ralph was taking it regularly. It’s possible he misjudged the dose.”

  “It’s also possible someone gave it to him,” Regina said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Not my place to ask questions, but what do you know about this drug, Detective? Can one take too much inadvertently?”

  “Unlikely,” Redmond said. “The amount needed to kill, in one go, would be substantially more than a regular dose. It has a taste, but isn’t particularly foul.”

  “Added to a glass of expensive whiskey,” Williams said. “Yeah, if someone was paying attention they’d notice the whiskey was off. But, after consuming a substantial amount . . . people aren’t always paying attention to what they’re drinking.”

  “The autopsy revealed that Mr. Reynolds had enjoyed a considerable amount of alcohol last night,” Redmond said. “Much of it had been drunk after the time you told me you went out for dinner.”

  No one said anything. I studied the faces of the family. Shock, incomprehension, denial. No sign of guilt. Not that I know what guilt looks like.

  I wanted to ask if it was possible Ralph had deliberately consumed the excessive amount of the drug that killed him. But I held my tongue. Not in front of his family.

  “In addition,” Redmond added, “preliminary analysis of the bottle found in Mr. Reynolds’s room indicates the substance had been added to that bottle.”

  Silence. Rose and I exchanged glances.

  Ivan laughed. “Surely you’re joking, Detectives. Sorry, but is this April Fool’s Day and I haven’t noticed? You can’t possibly be suggesting someone murdered my father.”

  “That,” Regina said, “appears to be precisely what they are saying.”

  “Pending,” Jack said, “further investigation. It might turn out to have been natural causes after all. Am I correct, Detectives?”

  “What are you, a lawyer?” Williams asked, his tone not entirely approving.

  “A musician actually. But I can read between the lines, and in this case I have.”

  “Crazy,” Dave said.

  Redmond told us the name of the brand of whiskey found in Ralph’s room and said, “Mrs. Reynolds, was your husband a regular Scotch drinker?”

  “Regular,” she said dryly, “might be the right word.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He was a heavy drinker, yes. That brand you mention is considerably more expensive than he would normally afford, but . . . our son’s wedding is a special occasion. Ralph did like to treat himself when he had an excuse. Any excuse. Isn’t that right, Regina?”

  “In this instance, my daughter-in-law is correct, Detective. Ralph enjoyed the finer things in life and he had little impulse control. He needed assistance at times with that.”

  I wondered what she meant, but again I kept quiet.

  “When last I spoke to him, he was well on the way to a good drunk,” Greg said. “I told you, Detective, I ran into him last night, out for a breath of air. What I didn’t say, and I suppose I should have, is that it was obvious he was well into the sauce.”

  “What time was this?” Ivan asked.

  “Not long after I got back from dinner with Hannah, Jenny, and Samantha. Nine thirty, ten maybe.”

  Lights washed the driveway as more cars arrived. Outside, doors slammed and people called to each other.

  “To that end,” Redmond said, “we’ve called in a forensics team. That should be them now. They’ll go over Mr. Reynolds’s room in greater detail. And, I have to inform you, your rooms also.”

  “Surely not!” Regina exclaimed. “The idea’s preposterous.”

  “Do you have something to hide?” Sophia asked.

  Regina’s look in return was pure poison.

  Sophia stood up. She held out her key. “Search all you want, Detectives.”

  Williams took the key. “We will.”

  “Look, I didn’t really know Ralph,” Dave said. “I’ve met the guy exactly once before coming here at Greg’s stag. You don’t need anything from me, do you?”

  “What room are you in?” Redmond asked.

  “Two-oh-three.”

  “He’s sharing with me,” Ivan said. “Although he’s Greg’s friend, not mine. Greg, ’cause he’s leaving before the rest of us, got a room to himself.”

  “In that case,” Redmond said to Dave, “we will be searching your room.”

  Dave pulled a face, but he said nothing more.

  “Because I’m aware it’s getting late,” Redmond said, “and you people have nowhere else to go tonight, we’ll search your rooms first. One at a time, beginning with you, Mrs. Reynolds. I’ll go up with you. If the rest of you will remain here with Detective Williams until it’s your turn. First, Lily, a moment of your time.”

  Everyone stared at me. I stood up slowly. “Me?”

  “Is there another Lily in here?” Williams asked.

  I followed Redmond into the hallway. Men and women in white overalls and booties were coming into the house, lugging equipment, climbing the stairs. Farther down the hallway, the doors to the other rooms were open and curious heads peeked around corners.

  I suppressed a groan. Tomorrow, the news would be all over social media. I wouldn’t be surprised if some guests checked out prematurely. I’ve found, in other instances when the police have been interested in the goings-on at Victoria-on-Sea, that there are two groups of people: those who want to get as far away from the police investigation as possible, as soon as possible; and those who want to see everything, hear everything, and generally interfere in everything.

  “I assume,” Redmond said to me in a low voice, “the rooms were cleaned today and the trash taken out?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll have to search the garbage.”

  “The bins are at the back of the garage. You’re in luck. Yesterday was garbage pickup so there won’t be a week’s worth for your people to go through.”

  She smiled at me. “I’ll take luck where I can find it. You are also in luck, Lily, as I’ve decided we don’t need to search your kitchen. Either of your kitchens. Therefore, you can remain open.”

  “That’s nice to hear. Why?” It was nice to hear. On other occasions, I’ve been shut down under suspicion of poisoning a guest. If word of that gets around, it’s not good for business.

  I couldn’t help but notice that Redmond had said, “I’ve decided,” and she seemed to be issuing the orders, while Williams, technically her superior, went along with it. A change in the balance of power, perhaps. Such was not unwelcome. I’d thought before that Chuck Williams was too inclined to cut corners, too quick to take the easy way out.

  “If something was added to Mr. Reynolds’s drink, it was in the bottle he, or someone in his party, brought with them. It did not originate in your supplies. It’s getting late. We can lock up behind us when we’re finished here. You and your grandmother can retire. Or, I should say, you can call Bernie and consult with her.”

  “Something like that. You know Rose won’t go to bed while the police are poking around her house.”

  “I know. Thought I’d make the suggestion anyway.”

  “One thing I should mention. You’ve probably thought of it, but . . .”

  “Never assume I’ve thought of anything at all. What?”

  “The house isn’t locked during the day. Even at night, guests have keys to the main door so they can come in after Rose has gone to bed. Keys can be copied.”

  “Meaning someone, not in the family, might be responsible for what happened to Mr. Reynolds.”

  “Yes.”

  “I have considered that,” she said. “The Reynoldses are not from around here, but they have a great many friends and extended family staying in the area for this wedding. Friends, family. Enemies? It’s possible. Anything is possible. Earlier, I asked Sophia Reynolds and Jenny Hill to provide me with a copy of their guest lists. It amounts to a heck of a lot of people, not to mention it was no doubt common knowledge where the wedding was being held, so anyone with ill intent could have followed him here. I’ll be in touch with the police in their town and the surrounding area, to find out if Ralph Reynolds has come to their attention on previous occasions. As well as Boston, where his family’s company has their offices. As for now, the immediate family has to be my focus. The other guests staying here have been asked if they saw anyone in the house who shouldn’t have been here. It’s a hard question—considering they don’t know who’s a fellow guest and who wandered in off the street and found an unlocked door.”

  “One other thing,” I said. “I’m sure you’ve considered that it’s possible he did it himself.”

  “It’s a possibility, yes.”

  “The missing glass might put paid to that theory. If someone joined Ralph for a drink that night and slipped something into the bottle, they took their glass with them.”

  “An officer spoke to your housekeeper. She says she checks the refreshment tray every day and if there had not been two glasses, she would have noticed and supplied clean ones. As you pointed out, glasses and the like tend to wander in places like this.” She grinned. “Sometimes even in places like my own apartment. And that’s without trying to cover up a crime.”

  “Are you ready for me?” Sophia came into the hallway. She didn’t look, I thought, overly nervous. The police would find nothing incriminating in her room. Whether that was because nothing was to be found, or she’d earlier disposed of it, would be up to the detectives to find out.

  “Call me if you need anything, Detective,” I said.

  “Thank you, Lily.”

  “There’s something I should tell you, Detective,” I heard Sophia say as they headed for the stairs. “I didn’t like to say, not in front of my son . . .”

  “Say what?” Redmond asked.

  I stopped walking and pretended to be wiping a speck of dust off a picture frame with the hem of my shirt.

  “Jenny Hill,” Sophia said. “Greg’s fiancé’s mother, she and my husband had what you might call a history.”

  “What sort of history?”

  “They were in a relationship at one time. Engaged to be married, in fact. The wedding never happened and they each went on to marry other people. In Ralph’s case—me. I only mention it because Jenny’s husband died of a heart attack. Very sudden it was. He had no history of heart problems, and he was only in his forties. At the time people said his death was . . . suspicious.”

  Redmond let Sophia proceed her up the stairs, and I heard no more.

  Chapter 12

  Nine thirty on the morning following the searching of the Reynolds family’s rooms at Victoria-on-Sea found Bernie and me sitting on my porch watching the bay come to life. Nothing had been found. That is to say, nothing had been found that necessitated being rushed to the lab or an evidence locker under full lights and sirens, and no grim-faced (or weeping) suspect had been marched out of the house in handcuffs.

  One at a time, the Reynoldses, as well as Dave, were taken to their rooms to watch their possessions being searched. The forensics people then did what they had to do in what had been Ralph’s room.

  Finally, in the early hours of the morning, the police and all their equipment departed. Jack left, Dave and the family turned in, and the lights in the other guests’ rooms were finally switched off.

  “Detective Williams told me I can have room two-oh-one cleaned tomorrow and open it to guests,” Rose had said as I walked with her to her rooms, while Robbie ran on ahead. “A great relief for my reservations book, as young Greg has asked if he can stay on until his father’s remains can be taken home. I do believe it’s time to put our investigators’ hats on, love.”

  “Please, no,” I said. “This time, whatever happened to our guest has nothing to do with us. Neither you nor I, thank heavens, are under suspicion. Let the police handle it.”