“As they so capably have done on those other occasions.”

  “They would have arrived at the solution eventually. I think. Redmond would have. I think.”

  I repeated all that to Bernie as we sipped our coffee and watched Éclair checking under bushes and around fence posts. I emphasized, to my friend as I had to my grandmother, this had nothing to do with us, and I intended to stay well out of it.

  “Agreed,” Bernie said.

  “What?” I slapped the side of my head. “I must be losing my hearing. I thought you agreed with me.”

  “I did, Lily. For once. We’re not involved. We don’t want to be involved. Rose isn’t suspected. No one’s suggesting you keep a supply of deadly poison in your tearoom. You have a business to run. I have a book to write. Matt’s offered to give me a hand getting over some tricky points, but . . .”

  “But . . . ?” I prompted.

  “But . . . I don’t want that sort of help. I like him, okay, Lily, but . . .”

  “More buts.”

  “Yeah. I like him, but I don’t see it turning real serious. On his part, either. I don’t want his help with my book and then me owing him when . . . if . . . we break up.”

  “I’ve helped you with it.”

  “Totally different. You and I will never break up.” She gave me that Warrior Princess grin. “You’d never dare.”

  “Got that one right.”

  “Besides, you’re not a professional writer like Matt is. Aside from anything else, I worry he’d start to take over. Even if he didn’t mean it. He’s, like, a mega-bestseller and I’m . . . not. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I think I do.”

  “Back to the case. Like you told Amy Redmond last night, the B & B isn’t exactly a secure facility. Anyone could have walked in, found Ralph’s room, and put something in that bottle.”

  “The doors lock automatically when they’re closed.”

  “Maybe he didn’t shut it fully. Maybe he was in the bathroom and didn’t have the latch on and someone slipped in? That might be—”

  “We’re not investigating.”

  “Yeah, right. Except—that gives me an idea. Remember what happened with the doll gift at the shower? It created a heck of a commotion, right? Do you suppose someone set it up so they could nip up to the house and—”

  “I suppose nothing, Bernie. And neither do you.”

  “Okay. Right. Back to the beginning of my train of thought. This is no locked-room mystery. Anyone could have come into the house unnoticed. Heck, Ralph might have unwittingly brought the tampered bottle with him. Did you think to ask—?”

  I stood up and called to Éclair. “Time for work. Time for you to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Home, Bernadette. To work on your book.”

  “Oh, that. You’re right.” She drained the last of her coffee.

  I put Éclair into the house, assured her someone would be around later to give her a walk, and walked with Bernie to her bicycle.

  Simon was in the rose garden, deadheading the plants and selecting the most perfect flowers to decorate the tables in the tearoom. We gave him a wave and he waved back.

  “Might rain later,” Bernie said. “So the weather report said.”

  “I hope it holds off until closing. The plants need the rain, but we need the patio space.” In a soft rain with little wind, people could still sit under the awning and the umbrellas and enjoy the garden. But not in the face of weather more severe.

  “I don’t suppose you know what Ralph Reynolds did for a living?” Bernie asked me.

  “He worked at his family company. Reynolds Tools, I think’s the name. I don’t know what he did there, though. I suppose they make tools, of some sort, or did at one time. Not exactly a field I know anything about. Why do you ask?”

  “If I have some free time later, like when I’m on a break, I might look him up. Not that I’m investigating. Just out of curiosity.” She gave me a broad wink. “And to keep my hand in.”

  I didn’t even bother to groan. Bernie had majored in business in college, with a minor in computer science. As a forensic accountant, she knew how to parse a set of books down to the finest details, searching for that one supposedly insignificant line that would put a criminal away for a long time. I suspected that, as a computer buff, she also knew how to go places she wasn’t supposed to go.

  That diligence, and skill, had helped us in the past. But, considering we were not getting involved in the Reynolds case, I didn’t want to know anything more about Ralph and his family than I already did. “If you find something,” I said, “don’t tell me.”

  * * *

  The rain held off, and we had a busy day at Tea by the Sea. At three o’clock, I was doing standing yoga stretches in the kitchen, trying to work some niggling kinks out of my back.

  “Cream tea for two,” Cheryl said. “You okay there, Lily?”

  “Just stiff. I got next to no sleep last night.” As we’d prepared for opening, I told Marybeth and Cheryl the Reynolds case was now a murder investigation. They already knew—they’d seen it on social media.

  Cheryl took down a tin of our special lavender Earl Grey tea and scooped out the mixture of dark leaves, rich and fragrant with oil of bergamot and the slightest hint of lavender. “The cream tea’s for them.”

  “For who? I mean, for whom?”

  “The engaged couple. He asked what tea went best with true love. I made up something on the spur of the moment, and this tea seemed the most suitable.” She sighed. “Isn’t that sweet? I remember when my Jim used to talk to me like that.”

  “TMI, Mom.” Marybeth carried in a load of used dishes. One lonely salmon sandwich remained on the three-tiered tray. Everyone too polite, I assumed, to take it. I had no such hesitation and popped it into my mouth. In the restaurant business you take your meals when you can get them.

  “Too much information,” Marybeth continued. “I don’t want to know anything about you and Dad’s love life.”

  Cheryl winked at me. “Come to think of it, I don’t think Jim ever talked to me like that. When he proposed he said something along the lines of ‘Off-season’s coming, and business will be slow. Good time to get married.’ ”

  Marybeth rolled her eyes at me.

  “Which only proves, honey,” Cheryl said, “you don’t need romance to be happy. Not if you have love.”

  “Whatever.”

  I said nothing. I knew Marybeth wasn’t happy in her own marriage. She’d married too young, to her highschool boyfriend, and had children too soon. She thought she’d missed out on too much in life—adventure, romance, travel. I’d once told her she’d get the child-rearing part of life out of the way early and then have decades free to enjoy herself while those who had children later in life were buried under surly teenagers and college tuition fees. I don’t think she entirely believed me.

  The rooster timer dinged and I took a sheet of warm, fragrant scones out of the oven. “Greg and Hannah are in luck. Nothing fresher than these ones. How do they seem, Cheryl? Aside from being sickeningly romantic?”

  “Okay,” she said. “I won’t say they’re happy, but they’re not crying, either.”

  On sudden impulse I took off my apron and hairnet. “I’ll take this out to them. Say hi. I feel bad for them. First that awful scene at the shower and then his dad dying.”

  In a normal day, I rarely—if ever—get out of the kitchen to have a chance to see the fruit of my labors being enjoyed. I felt myself smiling as I walked through the main dining room, carrying my tray of fresh, warm scones, clotted cream, butter, and Edna-made strawberry jam. All around me, people were eating and drinking, laughing and chatting. I’d decorated the rooms in my restaurant as though they were a drawing room in an English castle or country home. The main dining room featured pale peach walls hung with paintings of gentle pastoral scenes or scarlet-clad riders at the hunt, a rich red carpet, chairs upholstered in peach and sage-green damask, wooden tables with starched and ironed white cloths. The smaller tables featured a single rose in a crystal vase, the larger ones a full, lush, Simon-arranged bouquet. A chest of drawers painted a crisp fresh white displayed the items we offered for sale: teacups and sets of fine china, tins of good quality loose-leaf tea, assorted locally made jams and preserves.

  “You don’t want that last tart, do you, dear?” a man asked a woman.

  “Actually, honey,” she replied. “I do. Arm wrestle you for it?”

  I went through the vestibule, past the welcome desk, and out into the garden. The patio was full, all the tables occupied. I spotted Greg and Hannah in a far corner, at a table for two tucked against the flower-filled low stone wall. They were holding hands across the table, staring into each other’s eyes. I felt momentarily uncomfortable, not wanting to interrupt them. Hannah looked up and saw me and gave me a smile, so I approached. “Cream tea?”

  They took their hands back to make space on the table.

  “Great. Thanks,” Greg said. “Oh, Lily. Hi.”

  “Hi. Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to say hello. I hope everything was satisfactory at your shower, Hannah. Until. . . the way it ended.”

  “The way it ended was not your fault,” she said. “Everything was marvelous. Even Sophia managed to keep a lid on it.” Her eyes widened. “She did pay you, didn’t she? My mom wanted to contribute, but Sophia insisted on everything being bigger and more expensive than we wanted to pay so—”

  “Yes,” I said quickly. “She paid. And she tipped generously as well.” I arranged the dishes on the table. Kind-hearted Cheryl had given the couple one of our best tea services: plain ivory china with a thick gold trim, from the aptly named Royal Doulton Romance collection.

  Greg snorted. “That doesn’t sound like my mom.” He nodded to the teapot. “Would you like to do the honors, Lily?”

  “I’d be happy to.” I lifted the pot and poured. The scent of tea and lavender rose into the air. “What happens now, if you don’t mind my asking? Have you been able to reschedule your wedding?”

  “Too early for that,” Greg said. “We need to find out what’s happening with Dad first. What a mess.”

  “I woke up this morning,” Hannah said, “so dreadfully excited. My wedding day. The day I’ve been looking forward to for so long.” Her face fell. “And then, I remembered.”

  Greg held his hand out, palm up, and she put hers into it. He curled her fingers into his. “A wedding,” he said, “is nothing but an expensive formality. A reason for us to party and our family and friends to party with us. In our case, it’s also a reason for my parents to spend a lot of money they can’t really afford to show off to their friends. It’s not like we missed our falling-in-love day, or the day we met. Now that would have been a tragedy indeed.”

  Hannah’s face lit up. I walked away. They’d be okay, I thought. I only hoped what had happened wouldn’t hang over their heads for much longer.

  * * *

  “Table of four just arrived, Lily,” Cheryl said. “No reservation. Hope it’s okay that I seated them.”

  I took a sheet of mini vanilla cupcakes out of the oven. “The sign says we’re open until five.” It was ten to five now. “What are they having?”

  “Royal tea.”

  “Too bad. That means they’ll be inclined to linger.”

  “Can’t be helped. Several tables are still occupied. Everyone seems to be in the mood to linger today.”

  “Not me,” I said. “I’ve got a stitch in my back that’s been bothering me all day. I want to go for a short walk in the garden, loosen things up a bit. Can you manage?”

  “Of course.” She began assembling the three-tiered food stands.

  I slipped out the kitchen door. In the shade of the big old oak tree, I gave my back a good long stretch. I keep telling myself I need to get back to yoga class. But, with converting a crumbling stone cottage into a pleasant tearoom, setting up the tearoom, and now the season in full swing, yoga had not been at the top of my priority list. I took a deep breath of the fresh salty air and walked slowly around the side of the building.

  “I suppose you’re happy now,” Greg Reynolds said, his voice sharp with anger, the words bitten off.

  “Happy? Your father is dead. No, that does not make me happy.”

  I stopped in my tracks. The voices were coming from the edge of the driveway, near the gate to the tearoom patio.

  “I’m not talking about Dad. No matter how awful you were to each other. I mean my wedding being canceled.”

  “Canceled, or postponed?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Sophia sighed. “No, I am not happy. Certainly not considering the circumstances. It’s no secret I don’t believe Hannah’s the right woman for you, but you clearly love her, and she you, and so you have my blessing. As I believe I’ve told you on more than one occasion.”

  I peeked around the corner. Greg’s car was parked at the side of the driveway. Sophia was in beige slacks, a summer-weight sweater, and sturdy walking shoes. She must have gone for a walk and her son came across her as he was returning to the B & B after dropping off Hannah.

  “Yeah. Okay, Mom,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s just . . .”

  “It’s hard for us all, Greg. Harder still with the police poking around, implying someone killed your father. The very idea’s preposterous. I won’t say everyone loved your father—”

  “Because that wouldn’t be true, would it, Mother?”

  Slowly, I edged backward, trying to be perfectly quiet. This was absolutely none of my business, and I had no desire to be caught eavesdropping.

  “Thanks,” I called when I was several feet from the corner. “I’ll be back soon.” I retraced my steps, this time walking as nosily as I could.

  Greg and his mother smiled at me when I came around the corner. “Lovely day,” Sophia said. “I was enjoying a pleasant walk. You’re lucky to live in such a beautiful place.”

  “Thank you. We like it a great deal.” I silently repeated my vow not to get involved in this family’s problems as I passed them.

  Chapter 13

  My vow to not get involved didn’t last long.

  I spent a couple of productive hours after the tearoom closed getting baking done for the following day. Satisfied I had enough to get us started, I cleaned the kitchen, locked up, and was strolling up the driveway by seven o’clock, looking forward to a walk with Éclair followed by a quick supper in front of the TV, a nice relaxing bath, and an early night when, once again, a car bearing the two detectives passed me, followed by a cruiser.

  Dare I hope they’d come to tell the family a suspect had been arrested? A suspect who had nothing to do with Victoria-on-Sea?

  Unlikely, not if the detectives had brought uniforms with them.

  Thoughts of a pleasant do-nothing evening shattered, I broke into a jog and reached the frontmost car as the doors were opening. “Evening, Detectives? What brings you here? Again.”

  “Questions, Lily,” Amy Redmond replied. “Always questions.”

  “Until we’re satisfied.” Chuck Williams glanced around at the scattering of cars in the guest parking area. I didn’t recognize most of them.

  “It’s early still,” I said. “Everyone’s likely out at dinner.”

  “I called Ivan Reynolds a short while ago,” Williams said. “His mother and grandmother didn’t feel like making the effort to go out for dinner tonight so they ordered takeout. The gang’s all here.”

  “Chuck,” Redmond said, “why don’t you round up whoever you can find. I want to talk to Lily for a moment.”

  He grunted in acknowledgment and climbed the steps to ring the bell. Officers Bland and Kowalski followed. The door opened so quickly it was obvious Rose had seen them coming and had been lying in wait. “Not you again,” she said. “I’m considering petitioning the state to have the town line of North Augusta moved slightly north. I’m sure the police in the next town over are more accommodating of an elderly lady’s need for privacy and rest.”

  “Huh?” Williams said. “What does that mean?”

  Rose sighed. “Do come in, Inspector.” She saw me watching and threw me a questioning look. I shrugged in response.

  “I’m afraid the kitchens are closed for the evening,” Rose said as she stepped aside to let her uninvited guests into her house. “So you needn’t stay long.”

  “What’s happening now?” I asked Redmond when the front door to the house had closed.

  “As we said, questions and more questions. This one, I want to ask of you, Lily. You’re observant.”

  “I like to think so,” I said modestly.

  “Tell me what you observed, if anything, between Jenny Hill and Ralph Reynolds.”

  “What I observed? Nothing. She and her daughter aren’t staying here. Thursday afternoon, at the shower, the men came late, after tea, in time for the gift opening . . .” My voice trailed off. Redmond noticed. “And?” she prompted.

  “Okay. I might have observed that Jenny and Ralph weren’t exactly friendly toward each other. I have to point out Jenny and Sophia weren’t besties either. Although, in my opinion, the animosity came from Sophia and Ralph only. Jenny, on her part, tried to be nice. What does it matter?”

  “Everything matters,” Redmond said, “in building a case. Anything specific about this apparent failure to get along?”

  “It was a bridal shower, meaning the bride and her mother should be the stars of the show. Sophia acted as though she was the one in charge. Which, I guess she was, as she paid for it. Not Jenny. Maybe Jenny resented watching Sophia throwing her money around. I can’t say. It’s obvious the Reynoldses are better off financially than Jenny and Hannah. Although, as I said, Jenny was the one attempting to be nice. Not Sophia and Ralph. Why are you asking about Jenny?”

  “Someone told us Jenny had been heard making threats against Ralph Reynolds.”

  “Who told you this?”

  Redmond hesitated, obviously debating how much to tell me. Then she said, “Dave Farland, Greg’s best man, claims to have heard the two of them arguing shortly before guests arrived for the shower. Jenny was furious, accusing Ralph of attempting to sabotage her daughter’s happiness. She, according to Dave, threatened him.”