“I guess I can do that,” McKenzie said. “I’m meeting Jack in town later.”

  “Don’t let us keep you, Sophia,” Regina said. “I’m sure you have things to do. Give Ivan a call, will you, and ask what’s going on. I do hope we can go home soon. And take my dear son with us. No, not here. Call him from the privacy of your room. While you’re at it, get Greg to come back as soon as possible. I have business matters to discuss with my grandsons that will not wait.”

  “Am I invited to take part in this discussion?” Sophia asked.

  “Don’t be silly, Sophia. When have you ever shown the slightest interest in the company? Now, McKenzie, tell me what treatments you had. Did they have a proper steam room? I love a steam room.”

  The sound of Sophia’s heels on the floor and then the staircase just about shook the house. My little mouse friend must have wondered if an earthquake had hit.

  “Did you hear anything more about what’s happening with Jenny?” McKenzie asked her grandmother. “Is she in jail? How’s Hannah managing? I called Greg earlier but it went straight to voice mail and he hasn’t replied to my texts.”

  “Greg hasn’t called me with an update, either. Most inconsiderate of him. He must know we’re wondering. Thank you for the tea, Rose,” Regina said. “It was delightful. My compliments to your granddaughter. You might consider a restaurant career, McKenzie. I don’t mean doing the cooking, of course, like Rose’s granddaughter does, but maybe as an investment opportunity.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed the tea,” Rose said. The floorboards squeaked beneath her feet as she stood up. Rose had spent the early parts of her life as a kitchen maid in a grand manor house. She could tell when she’d been dismissed.

  Chapter 17

  We gathered in the tearoom kitchen at five thirty so I could get some baking done for tomorrow while we talked.

  Bernie called earlier saying Matt had suggested he, Bernie, Simon, and I go into town later to have a drink and listen to some live music. I demurred at first, claiming pressure of work. But Bernie reminded me that “all work and no play makes Lily a dull friend.”

  I might have continued to demur had a text not come from Simon, suggesting the same thing.

  Simon. I liked Simon a great deal. He liked me a great deal, or so I thought (hoped?). We didn’t have much of a future together—he was due to go back to England in the fall when the gardening season ended. He had a job lined up to do overwinter care of the greenhouses at a Grade II-listed estate. I couldn’t see myself leaving Tea by the Sea and Rose to go with him.

  Even if we didn’t have a future, wasn’t it okay to simply enjoy each other’s company while we were together?

  Not only did all work make Lily a dull friend, it made her an unappealing romantic partner.

  I agreed to the night out.

  We had no last-minute customers, so Cheryl and Marybeth were able to clean up the dining rooms and patio, lay things out for tomorrow, and head home on time.

  Bernie dragged a chair from the restaurant for Rose, and my grandmother settled herself comfortably, her hands resting on the top of the cane propped between her legs. I put Bernie to work making chicken sandwich filling out of a chicken about to come out of the poaching pot. I rubbed butter cubes into a mixture of flour, baking powder, and salt prior to forming it into scones.

  Edna texted to say she had something to report. Rose called her, put her on speaker, and placed the phone on the butcher block in the center of the kitchen.

  “We hit pay dirt,” Edna said.

  “Of what nature?” Rose asked.

  “The local paper in the town in which Ralph, Sophia, and Regina live folded some years ago. As is, unfortunately, happening all over the country. Its place was taken by a big corporate chain, as is also happening all over the country. No one in the company had much interest in decades of records of high school tournaments, fender benders, and bar fights in small-town USA, so one of the laid-off reporters lugged all that paper and microfiche home and stuffed it into storage in his basement. He says he intends to sort through it and publish a history of the town one day. That may or may not happen, but it doesn’t matter for us. Zack, Ralph’s intern, has a future in this business. If there is a business for him to have a future in. With a substantial amount of dogged determination, he managed to finally speak to someone at the giant faceless corporation who gave him the old reporter’s home number. Fortunately, the old guy still has a land line, and he was more than happy to talk about the old days and old cases. Also fortunately, he seems to have a good head for keeping records. He didn’t remember the specific case, but once he had the year and the names he was able to track the records down. And then the memories started coming back.” She paused.

  “And—” Bernie and I said.

  “Spit it out, Edna,” Rose said.

  “I’m dragging out the tension. As I believe you have been known to do sometimes, Rose.”

  Rose growled.

  I dropped the scone dough onto a floured surface and began folding it prior to cutting out the shapes. “We’re listening.”

  “Nineteen years ago, Maxwell Hill died of an apparent heart attack, age forty-one. Leaving behind his wife, Jennifer, and daughter, Hannah. I use the word ‘apparent’ because there was some suggestion that the heart attack might have been not entirely caused by natural causes.”

  “Meaning?” I asked.

  “Meaning little, I have to admit. There was never any evidence to support that claim, so it was not reported in the paper. The police never opened an investigation. Our contact found it on a note he’d made to himself. Being a dogged reporter, determined to get to the bottom of any story, he did some poking around. He found out two things that might be of interest to us. First, the unsubstantiated rumors likely originated with Sophia Reynolds. Before her marriage to Ralph, Sophia and Jenny were good friends.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “Particularly as Ralph and Jenny were engaged before Jenny met Max. Who she left Ralph for. And Ralph then married Sophia on the rebound.”

  “Tangled relationships,” Bernie said. “Means plenty of emotion seething under the surface.”

  “And,” Rose added, “sometimes on the surface. Please continue, Edna.”

  “Sophia was active on various charity committees when her children were young. Much less so these days, but that’s irrelevant for this conversion. She had a high profile among what was, admittedly, a small group of people. Small, but influential in that community. The newspaperman’s pretty sure it was Sophia who ever so gently put those rumors out.”

  “If Jenny found out about it, she’d have reason to be angry,” I said. I thought back to the bridal shower. Sophia had been patronizing and rude to Jenny. Jenny had not responded in kind.

  “She might not have,” Edna said. “Her focus would have been on her husband’s death and her own and her daughter’s future. But—as for the second reason the rumor had some legs was due to Jenny’s occupation. Do you know what that is?”

  “No,” Rose and I said.

  “Yes,” Bernie said. “Let me tell. Let me tell.”

  Edna chuckled. “The floor is yours.”

  Bernie waved her knife in the air. “Jenny Hill is a pharmacist.”

  “That is interesting,” I said. “That means she, more than just about anyone, would know about medication. What to take, how much of it to take, and what not to take if you have a certain condition.”

  “Yes,” Bernie said.

  “These days that sort of information is easily available on the Internet for the mildly curious as well as the evil-intentioned to discover for themselves,” Rose pointed out.

  “And the mystery writer,” Bernie said. “That might be an avenue to explore in my book. Perhaps Tessa could have some knowledge of folk medicine from her years—”

  “No,” I said. “She does not. Back to the matter at hand. Did this old-time reporter have anything to say about the state of the Hill marriage? I mean, might Jenny have had reason to want to get rid of her husband?”

  “Apparently not. She was well known in the community and respected for her position. He, Max Hill, was the manager of a hardware store, part of a big chain. The reporter says he looked to see if anything was waiting to be dug up, but he found nothing. And so he dropped it. Soon after her husband’s death, Jenny sold their house and she and her daughter moved away. The rumor was never mentioned again, as far as we know. The police didn’t open an investigation, and the reporter let it go as unfounded. Neither Jenny nor her daughter Hannah have come to the attention of the police again. Until now, in North Augusta.”

  I slipped the tray of scones into the oven. Bernie had gotten just about nowhere in the preparing of the chicken filling.

  “You need to talk to Amy Redmond, Lily,” Bernie said. “Find out what the Reynolds family said last night that made them take Jenny to the station for further questioning. My money says they, Sophia at any rate, repeated that old rumor, and the cops wondered if there was a pattern to be found.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Because you’ve developed a rapport with her,” Bernie said.

  “I have not.”

  “Let me point out,” Edna said, “that the local police didn’t open a case into Max Hill’s death. Doesn’t mean they were satisfied the rumors had no merit. Even the most dogged of small-town newspapermen doesn’t always know what the police are thinking.” She laughed lightly to herself. “My Frank excepted. He can read the North Augusta police chief as clearly as Lily’s menu. Chuck and Amy will have been in touch with their colleagues in the Boston area about the families and wedding guests. They might have learned something we don’t know.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Bernie said. “And that’s to ask. Right, Lily?”

  I grumbled. Plain scones browning nicely in the oven, I started a batch made with orange peel and cream rather than currents and milk. I use the special ones for our royal tea, accompanied not with jam, but Edna’s marvelous orange marmalade.

  “It is interesting,” Rose said, “that in both the previous case and the current one Sophia Reynolds was on the scene.”

  “You think Sophia killed both men?” Bernie asked.

  “Not necessarily. But she does seem happy to point the finger at Jenny.”

  “Regina told me Ralph was devastated when Jenny left him in favor of Maxwell Hill,” Rose said. “According to Regina, he married Sophia with premature haste, and his and Sophia’s marriage never was a good one. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sophia blames Jenny to this day for her own unhappiness.”

  “Let us not forget that Regina pointed the finger at Sophia,” I said. “Lots of finger pointing going on here.”

  “That’s all I have for my report,” Edna said. “I have dinner to finish, so I’ll leave you bunch to your investigations. If you need anything else, let me know. I was a huge Nancy Drew reader in my long-ago youth. I always dreamed of following in her footsteps and becoming a girl detective.”

  She hung up. Bernie put down her knife and grinned at Rose and me. “That was interesting, but not the only interesting thing learned today.”

  “Let Rose go first,” I said. “She had an interesting tea with Regina.”

  “Interesting,” Rose said, “but not entirely earth-shattering. We know Regina and Sophia don’t get on. Regina believes her son would have made a better match with Jenny than he did with Sophia. Which is largely irrelevant as no doubt if such had happened Jenny would have managed to disappoint the haughty Regina in due course. Perhaps more to the point, Regina’s point anyway, Regina clearly would have preferred Max Hill continue working at the family company. He was, again according to Regina, a better businessman than Ralph.”

  “She told you, a total stranger, all this?” Bernie asked.

  “She told me precisely because I’m a total stranger. Regina Reynolds is a woman who likes to believe she’s frank and straightforward. I believe she’s as devious as they come. But she had no reason not to be honest with me.”

  “This really is a true-life version of the Capulets and the Montagues,” I said. “All we need is a meddlesome friar and a nurse.”

  “As for the family she does have, I suspect the only one of her grandchildren Regina has much time for is McKenzie. Who’s, in my opinion, totally useless. But being a girl, and pretty and charming at that, likely Regina had less expectations of her than she did of her brothers, despite the fact that she herself was a superior businessperson than her own husband and son. Greg and Ivan are great disappointments to her.” Rose outlined what she’d learned about the history of the family’s company, Regina’s marriage to Ralph’s father, and Regina’s under-the-table control of the business.

  When she finished, Bernie’s face was a picture of disappointment. “Don’t know why I bothered. I spent most of today trolling through the business news and gossip and learned much the same. Regina might think her control was under-the-table, as you put it, but it was always common knowledge to those who care. I do have one thing to add: if what she told you is what she believes, the company is in far worse shape than even Regina’s aware. It is, in fact, shortly to be totally bankrupt and sold at fire sale prices to its competitor. Said competitor is offering pennies for shares that were at one time worth close to a hundred bucks each. Ralph was semiretired, handing over the reins to his eldest son, Ivan. Ivan, on his part, has been outmaneuvered at every turn by their competitors. Street rumor says he, simply, has thrown in the towel. And that was before he came to North Augusta for his brother’s wedding and the subsequent death of his father. Pointedly, Ivan is still here, in North Augusta, not in Boston desperately trying to save his great-grandfather’s company.”

  “We can consider it unlikely Ivan killed his father then,” I said. “It’s causing more disruption at a time he doesn’t need it.”

  “Don’t be so quick to assume such,” Rose said. “Regina claims Ralph was a bad manager, but was he that bad? Perhaps he realized what was happening under Ivan’s leadership and they argued about it. Ivan lost his temper at being lectured and—”

  “As good a guess as any,” I said. “But we have to remember Ralph wasn’t killed in any spontaneous loss of temper. Surely adding poison to his whiskey bottle was premeditated. Or at least done by someone in control of their thoughts and actions.”

  “Any nefarious goings-on at that company?” Rose asked.

  “Nothing I could find,” Bernie said. “Although I have some inquiries out that are still to be answered. Frankly, if Ralph and or Ivan had the wits to try a little creative accounting, they’d be better off.”

  “Creative accounting,” I said. “And other creative business practices. Might that be why Regina was a better manager than her husband or son?”

  “Possible,” Bernie said. “I can dig back further and see what I can come up with along that line.”

  “What would it take, do you think, Rose, for a mother to kill her own son?” I asked.

  “I can’t imagine why you’re asking me that, love, but I’d say it would take more than is humanly possible. Outside of a Greek tragedy, such is unimaginable.”

  “Is it? Unimaginable to you, but not necessarily to everyone. The company is important to Regina. She told you that. She’s given up much in life to take care of it. How far might she go if she realized the company is in danger?”

  “Far too late,” Rose said. “If we’re hypothesizing, let us hypothesize that if she was going to do such a thing, she would have acted as soon as Ralph took full control, or at least when Max Hill left, once she realized what was happening.”

  “I’m not so sure I agree with Rose,” Bernie said. “Not being a mother, I have no practical experience, but remember Ralph wasn’t a child. He was an adult. The product of what, for all practical purposes, was an unloving, arranged marriage. An adult son who turned out to be a huge disappointment to his coldhearted mother. Maybe Regina decided Ralph had to be eliminated so she could take over again?”

  “Except that, like Ivan, Regina hasn’t rushed back to Boston to try to keep control of things,” Rose pointed out.

  “She doesn’t realize just how desperate the situation is,” Bernie said. “Or how badly Ivan’s handling it.”

  “Regina does like to be in control,” I said. “I’ve just remembered something else. She told you, Rose, that Sophia was at the spa spending her money. Not the family’s money or Sophia’s late husband’s money. Regina’s money.”

  “Clearly no love is lost between the two of them,” Rose said. “If one of them had died, I’d suspect the other.”

  “Had Sophia finally had enough?” I asked. “Did she think eliminating Ralph would get her out from under his mother’s thumb?”

  “There’s this thing called divorce,” Bernie said.

  “Yes, but a divorced wife isn’t going to inherit anything. That might be an avenue worth exploring. Did Sophia expect to cash in on Ralph’s will?”

  “If so,” Rose said, “she’s going to be severely disappointed. Judging by what Bernie said about the value of the company, Ralph had nothing to leave her. And, as it would appear, neither will Regina in her turn.”

  The rooster timer crowed, and I took a tray of golden, fragrant scones out of the oven.

  “Those smell nice,” Bernie said.

  “So they should. Is that chicken sandwich filling making itself?”

  Bernie glanced down at the barely deboned fowl. “I guess not, eh?” She picked up the knife.

  “Any scandal in the Reynolds family?” I asked hopefully. “Illegitimate children, secret affairs, foreign bank accounts, mob connections?”

  “The family is, or I should say was, moderately well off, compared to many,” Bernie said. “But not seriously rich enough to attract the attentions of the gossip press. I came up blank there, although I’ll have another go tomorrow with some new search parameters.”

  “Despite all we learned today,” I said, “we still have nothing to go on.”

  “A negative can prove positive,” Bernie said.