“Even though he works for a US attorney?”

  “Believe it or not, Lily, a heck of a lot of the information that’s available to anyone who knows how and where to look is legally out there. All you need is to know how to look and what you’re looking for. It’s Thursday today, and I might not hear from him until the weekend, when he has some free time. Assuming he gets such a thing as free time in that job, which isn’t always a given.” She drained the contents of her wineglass. “Do we have an action plan for tomorrow?”

  “I’m planning to be open tomorrow,” I said. “Regular hours. I haven’t heard anything from Josh about when or if they’re going to do the last day of filming.”

  “When I chatted to him and Scarlet earlier,” Rose said, “he made noises about the unexpected chance to enjoy a proper vacation and being in no hurry to return to work.”

  “What did Scarlet think about that?”

  “Judging by the look on her face, not much. I rented out Tommy’s room as soon as the police were finished with it, but the TV people have three rooms still booked through until Wednesday. If Josh is in no hurry to leave, I’m happy to accommodate him.”

  “Do you know what they’re doing this evening?” I asked.

  “Josh and Scarlet called a cab to take them to town. He said they were meeting Reilly and some of the crew for dinner. Claudia never came down. I get the feeling Claudia prefers her own company to that of her work associates.”

  “I was hoping to get a chance to talk to her,” I said. “Privately, I mean. I want to tell her how much she inspired my career and how much I’ve learned from her cookbooks.”

  “Ask Edna to let you know if she’s at breakfast tomorrow,” Rose said. “Perhaps you could speak to her then.”

  Bernie stood up. “If that’s all for tonight, I’ll be off. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s almost nine o’clock. What time that is for a Manhattan girl to be going home for the night, I don’t know. Rose, can you find out if there’s been any more trouble between Allegra and Cheryl beyond what you told us? Or between either of them and anyone else? Or about Gary Powers and his shenanigans? Although I don’t know what that would have to do with Tommy’s death.”

  “That’s an idea,” I said. “It might be worth trying to find out if he’s ever been in legal trouble because of bothering women who are uninterested in his charms, either from the women themselves or their husbands or boyfriends.”

  “A follow-up lunch with my bridge ladies would be a good idea,” Rose said. “I’ve jogged their memories, so they might remember additional details.”

  “Find out what you can about the relationship between Chuck Williams and Cheryl,” Bernie said. “If she ended it, and he took it badly, he might not have gotten entirely over it. While I’m waiting for my friend and other contacts to get back to me, I’ll continue trying to find out what I can about the goings on at CookingTV and the people involved.”

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

  Bernie and Rose smiled identical smiles at me. “Bake, Lily. It’s what you do best.”

  * * *

  Bernie went home after dinner, saying she needed to get some work done on her book, and Rose and Robbie retired to their room. Simon stayed to help me do the dishes and tidy up, getting the kitchen ready for tomorrow’s breakfast service. Then I switched off the interior lights, switched on the one over the entrance, locked the door behind me, and we climbed the three steps to the ground level. The sky to the west was streaked in shades of dark gray, pink, and purple, and the air was soft and full of the scent of the sea. The first of the stars had appeared in the eastern sky. A few B & B guests sat on benches looking over the bluffs to the bay, and their low voices drifted toward us. Éclair trotted happily across the lawn, sniffing at bushes as well as at guests’ ankles, and I heard more than one person exclaim in delight over her.

  Every nerve in my body tingled in awareness of the proximity of Simon, standing close to me. “Nice night,” he said.

  “It is,” I replied.

  My little cottage lies only a few steps past the main house, set back from the bluffs, surrounded by a fence to keep Éclair in and curious guests out. I opened the gate and called to the dog. She came quickly, and we climbed the steps to the front porch. I unlocked the door, and Éclair ran inside, no doubt to check the contents of her food bowl. I turned to face Simon. The light from the lamp over the door threw his face into deep shadows. His blue eyes were dark and serious as he looked down at me. I breathed.

  “Good night, Lily,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He turned and walked away, and I let out a long breath as I watched him disappear into the darkness. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting—if I’d been expecting anything—but I felt strangely disappointed.

  Chapter 13

  As we still hadn’t heard if filming would continue, Rose and I decided to resume full breakfast service at the B & B, and the following morning at six o’clock, I was back in the kitchen, putting the coffee on and getting baking ingredients ready while Éclair settled herself under the table.

  Simon came in, said good morning, and helped himself to coffee. “No news from the TV chaps?”

  “Nothing. I texted Josh last night to ask, but he said the studio hadn’t made a decision yet. I get the feeling he’s getting as frustrated as I am. Although, I have to admit that judging someone’s feelings from a one-line text isn’t all that reliable.”

  “Do you need a hand?” He indicated the sausages I’d laid on the counter. “Looks like the full breakfast is on today.”

  “It is,” I said. “Thanks for the offer, but Edna will be here soon.”

  “Then I’ll be off. All this lovely sunshine is doing my plants a lot of good, but it’s doing the same for the weeds, and I plan to get stuck into them with a vengeance before the day gets too hot.” He gave Éclair a pat, me a wave, and left, greeting Edna on his way out.

  “Someone complained to the TV network about the judges staying here at Victoria-on-Sea,” I said to Edna as she greeted Éclair before slipping on her apron. “They said it gave Tea by the Sea an unfair advantage in the competition. Do you know anything about that?”

  “It just so happens that I do. The paper received a letter to the editor saying that very thing. Frank didn’t print it, as one, it’s a private affair, and two, the paper doesn’t print anonymous letters. Frank told me because it had to do with this place. I meant to mention it, but then other developments took precedence.”

  “Understandable,” I said. “It was anonymous?”

  “Anonymous, meaning Gary Powers didn’t print his name at the bottom, but he might as well have. He writes to the paper regularly, complaining about something or other, such as the placement of hanging baskets on the stretch of sidewalk near the bakery. Often his letters are signed, though the ones criticizing the mayor or town council are not, but it doesn’t much matter. Frank knows Gary’s writing style by now. Even before he married Susan, the guy was a pest. Does it matter?”

  “Probably not. I was just wondering, that’s all.”

  * * *

  Breakfast service passed uneventfully, and I was hoping to get away early when Edna told me Claudia D’Angelo had taken a seat in in the dining room.

  “Do you think she’d mind me talking to her?”

  “I can’t say,” Edna replied. “She’s on her own and not expecting anyone to join her. Josh was down about an hour ago, and I haven’t seen Scarlet, but she doesn’t always come in for breakfast. Claudia’s having coffee and only wants cereal and fruit this morning.”

  “I’m sure a quick hello from a fan wouldn’t be amiss.” I took off my apron, untied my ponytail, and ran my fingers through my hair. Éclair recognized the signs of going home and leapt eagerly to her feet.

  “Stay!” I ordered. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  The disappointment on her face was positively human. I cringed and bent over to give her an apologetic pat and a mumble of apology.

  The French doors in the dining room had been thrown open to admit the morning sunlight and the soft breeze coming off the bay. It was almost nine, and only a few tables were still occupied. Claudia had taken a table for two in a corner. Her gray and black hair was tied in a chignon, and she wore a summer dress of yellow and black stripes. On anyone else that dress would look like a bumblebee costume, but she had the grace and elegance to pull it off. A yellow silk scarf was draped loosely around her neck. She sipped her coffee with one hand and scrolled across the screen of her iPad with the other, peering closely at the screen through her glasses. She did not, I thought, look happy with what she was reading. I assumed it was the daily news.

  I put a smile on my face and, feeling unexpectedly nervous, crossed the dining room toward her. “Good morning,” I said cheerfully.

  She hadn’t heard me approach and looked up with a start. She quickly shut her iPad, but not before I caught a glimpse of the screen. Not a newspaper or social media feed, but what appeared to be columns and rows of numbers. The frown disappeared, and she gave me a bright smile. “Lily, good morning. How are you today?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. I’m sorry to bother you over your breakfast . . .”

  She took off her glasses and tucked them next to her plate. “Quite all right. I was catching up on the news of the day, hoping to find out that they’ve caught whoever killed dear Tommy. Have you heard anything?”

  “No.”

  She gestured graciously to the empty chair opposite. “Please, have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” I settled myself into the chair. “I won’t keep you, but I wanted to take the opportunity to tell you how much I admire you and your career. You were an inspiration to me when I was starting in this business.”

  “That’s nice to hear,” she said.

  “I’ve been to your New York restaurant quite a few times, and I have most, if not all, of your cookbooks. I make some of your pastries in the tearoom. The Earl Grey chocolate tart’s a favorite of my customers. I considered mentioning that when I was being filmed, but I thought I might look as though I was trying to influence the judging.”

  She laughed lightly. “Influencing the judging is the name of the game, dear. Don’t be shy about playing every card you have.” Her smile was warm and her words gracious, but something dark lay behind her eyes as they constantly flicked toward her iPad. I got the hint and stood up.

  “I hope you’re enjoying your stay at Victoria-on-Sea, even though the circumstances aren’t the best.”

  “Thank you, dear. Your grandmother has a lovely place, and I’ll be sure to tell my friends about it. Although I hope this horrible situation doesn’t drag on forever. I have commitments back in the city.” She touched the lid of the iPad.

  “You’d be welcome to come to the tearoom again,” I said. “As my guest.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She put her reading glasses on her face and opened the iPad.

  * * *

  Bernie was waiting for me in the kitchen, munching on a blueberry muffin and chatting to Edna, who was loading the dishwasher. “Surprised to see you so early,” I said. “I thought you were going to write all night.”

  “I did. It went well.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “I’ve been summoned by Rose.”

  “Summoned? What about? Did you learn anything new?”

  “No. I suspect your grandmother wants us to form a plan of attack for today.”

  “You’re talking about the murder, I assume,” Edna said.

  “Yup. What’s the newspaper know about it? Any scoops you can share?” Bernie asked.

  “Frank doesn’t know anything the police haven’t revealed,” Edna said. “There’s been a good deal of outside interest in the story, as you’d expect, but no breaking news.”

  “I’m off,” I said. “See you two later.”

  “Walk with me,” Bernie said.

  “Walk where? To Rose’s suite? Why?”

  She waggled her eyebrows at me, jerked her head toward Edna, and said nothing.

  “Sorry,” I said to Éclair, who’d once again hurried to the door, tail wagging. “Be right back.”

  The dog’s face and tail fell.

  “Give me a piece of that muffin,” I said to Bernie.

  She peered at the unfinished treat in her hand. “Are you that hungry?”

  “Not for me. All I seem to have done today is disappoint Éclair. I hate to create a precedent, but this one time only, I’ll slip her something.”

  “Better if I do it, so she doesn’t start expecting to be fed in here.” Bernie broke off a bite and handed it to Éclair. It disappeared in a flash. Bernie tossed the last piece into her own mouth, and she and I went into the hall.

  “I thought you might want to talk about what happened last night,” my friend said.

  “Last night? Nothing happened last night. You were here, remember?”

  “Yes, I was here. I mean after I left. The delectable Simon, I couldn’t help but notice, lingered.”

  “Linger was all he did. We cleaned up. He went home. Sorry not to have more exciting news for you.”

  Bernie’s face fell in exactly the same way Éclair’s had. “Drat. I was sure he was about to make his move.”

  “No moves.” I said no more. I’d told Bernie on more than one occasion that I wasn’t looking to start a relationship with Simon or anyone else. This summer had to be all about getting Tea by the Sea up and running, and helping Rose keep Victoria-on-Sea thriving and, hopefully, profitable. I had no time for complications such as romance. Besides, even if I was so inclined, Simon was due to return to England in the fall.

  I had no time for complications of any sort, and that included this TV show and a murder. But somehow, there I was. Mired in complications once again.

  “Change of subject. Are you sticking to the plan?” I said, referring to the outline of her book she’d written to show me.

  “I am. Thanks for suggesting it. It is helping, knowing where I’m going and how I have to get there.”

  The housekeeper clattered down the stairs, carrying a laundry basket full of sheets and towels. “Morning, Lily, Bernie,” she said.

  “Morning, Jean. Are people checking out today?” I asked.

  “Two rooms turning over. One of them left first thing this morning, so I could get started on cleaning it.”

  “You heard one of the guests died on Tuesday?” Bernie said.

  “Yeah. The TV chef. Everyone’s talking about it in town. They all want to know if I met him, but I never did. All I can tell them is that he kept his room as neat and tidy as I’ve ever seen.”

  “I should have asked you this earlier,” Bernie said. “I don’t suppose you came across anything in his room that might point to his killer. Like a letter saying, My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die?”

  Jean chuckled. “’Fraid not. The police asked me that, too, without quoting from The Princess Bride. They had me look around his room to see if anything had been disturbed before they took away his stuff. I couldn’t help them.” She began to walk past us, and then she stopped. “I shouldn’t gossip about the guests, and I never do. Well, almost never, but . . .”

  “But?” Bernie and I chorused.

  Her face crinkled in thought. Jean was in her early sixties and had spent most of her working life cleaning rooms in hotels and B & Bs like this one. She’d probably, I thought, seen everything there was to see. “Never mind,” she said. “It likely doesn’t have anything to do with his death.”

  “What?” Bernie said. “You can’t keep us in suspense after that.”

  “Four TV people were staying here, right? The dead guy and the three others, who are still here.”

  “Yes?” I said.

  “Meaning they took four rooms, right?”

  “Yes,” Bernie said.

  “They could have saved their money and taken three. If you know what I mean.” Jean winked.

  “Do I?” I asked.

  “At first, anyway. The younger woman, the one with all the makeup and the clothes, who is, by the way, a complete and total slob and has enough prescription pills in her toiletry bag to supply a veterinary clinic—”

  “Good thing you never gossip about the guests,” Bernie muttered under her breath.

  “Did not spend the first two nights in solitary slumber.”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “You mean she had company,” Bernie said. “In her room. At night. In her bed.”

  “Oh, yeah. The signs were unmistakable.”

  Bernie and I glanced at each other.

  “What do you mean, the first two nights?” Bernie said. “They arrived here on Sunday. So someone was with her Sunday and Monday but not again?”

  “Yup.”

  “Tommy Greene died Tuesday night or early Wednesday morning, right?” Bernie asked me.

  “The police said his bed wasn’t slept in on Tuesday night,” I told her, “so they assumed he didn’t go to bed. Is it possible he visited another bed? What about his room on the mornings after Scarlet had . . . uh, company? Was his bed slept in?”

  “It appeared to be,” Jean said. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It’s not unusual when people are sneaking around between rooms and don’t want anyone to know to spend part of the night in their own room. His bed hadn’t been used after I made it on Tuesday. On Wednesday I hadn’t been up to clean the rooms when the police arrived, and they told me not to touch anything. The bed was still made when I eventually came in.”

  “Did you tell the police this? About Scarlet and . . . whomever,” I asked.

  “No,” Jean said. “They didn’t ask. I don’t gossip about the guests.”

  “Much,” Bernie muttered, and Jean winked at her.

  “Exactly.” She hefted her laundry basket onto one ample hip and carried on her way.