“What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. But I like the spin it gives to our efforts.”

  “Other people are involved in this,” Rose pointed out. “Apart from the Reynolds and Hill families.”

  “We’re doing the best we can, Rose,” I said. “We can’t investigate everyone who’d been invited to the wedding, and thus gathered in the Outer Cape. Never mind those who wish they were but weren’t.”

  “Not only do we not have the resources to do so, but we don’t even know the names of such people. However . . . and you two call yourself detectives.”

  “I have never, ever, called myself anything of the sort,” I said. “Nor do I ever intend to.”

  Rose studied our faces. Bernie’s forehead crinkled in thought, and then she laughed. “Of course! Got it. Our bad. Who’s invisible at a wedding?”

  “The previous boyfriends and girlfriends?” I said.

  “They’re not invisible, rather elephants in the room, sometimes. No, the bridesmaids and the groomsmen.”

  “Samantha . . . some last name, and Dave Farland.”

  “Dave, in particular, had the opportunity to kill Ralph. He’s staying in the house. He’s sharing a room with Ivan. You might want to discreetly ask Ivan if Dave was in their room all evening.”

  “The police would have checked that,” I said. “They would have asked everyone involved to provide alibis for everyone else.”

  “Alibis can be faked. They can be broken. The absence of an alibi isn’t proof of anything,” Bernie said. “Rose is right. Not looking into them is a serious oversight on my part. I can check up on Dave, as I have a last name, and I can trace him from his relationship with Greg. Probably same with Samantha, but a surname would help a lot.”

  “Harder to believe she did it,” I said. “She had no reason to be in the house at that hour, and her presence would have been noted.”

  “Some sort of loyalty to Hannah, perhaps? In the same way Jenny was angry at Ralph for what she saw as his interference in the wedding.”

  I shook my head. “Far too much of a stretch, Bernie. I mean, really, no friends are that close. And I include you and me in that. You didn’t kill Wesley Schumann because he was wrong for me.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t consider it,” Bernie said. “Was Ralph the sort to have affairs? Might he have suggested Samantha pay a visit to his room and have a drink?”

  “Still no motive,” I said. “She could have said no, if she didn’t want to. Besides, Ralph was . . . well, old.”

  “A lot older than her at any rate. And overweight. And not rich. Not handsome. But, no accounting for taste,” Bernie said. “I’ll see if I can find anything on her, although between the two of them, Dave is definitely my preference.”

  “All of which will have to wait,” I said. “It’s six thirty, almost seven. We’re meeting the guys at eight. I’ve time to make a quick batch of chocolate chip cookies before going home and fixing myself up. You might have barely enough time to get that chicken deboned, the speed you’re going.”

  “I’m taking the time to be methodical.”

  “Right. Rose, would you like to come with us? We’re going to hear some live music.”

  “I used to love nothing more than an evening of music and dancing. Is it Les Brown and His Band of Renown? Glenn Miller perhaps?”

  “I rather suspect not,” I said.

  “Too bad.” The expression on her face indicated she was traveling far, far away. And long ago. “How your grandfather could dance.”

  Chapter 18

  I get up at quarter to six, seven days a week. I often work until late into the night. Also seven days a week. My customers are rarely difficult, but when they are I have to step in.

  And now, on top of that, I was trying to solve a murder.

  By the time I put the cookies into containers and locked up the tearoom, about the last thing I felt like doing was dressing up for a night on the town.

  “It’ll be fun,” Bernie said. “You’ll be glad you came.”

  I turned to look at her. “How’d you know I was thinking of not going?”

  “After all these years, Lily Roberts, I can read your mind.” She stopped walking, closed her eyes, and extended her arms at her sides. “If I concentrate hard . . . yes, yes, I see it now. You’re thinking I’m right. As I always am. You’re also thinking Simon will be disappointed if you don’t show. And that would not be a good thing.” She opened her eyes and gave me that wide Warrior Princess grin. “Am I right? You needn’t answer. Of course I am. I always am. What are you going to wear? I’m thinking flirty but casual. We’re going to a bar in North Augusta, not clubbing with the rich and famous in Manhattan. I miss clubbing in Manhattan. Do you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Fortunately, I came dressed for the occasion so I don’t have to go home and change. I can help you select something suitable.”

  I did not allow Bernie to help me dress. Instead, I told her to take Éclair for a short walk through the gardens. Flirty yet casual and North Augusta–suitable. I had nothing like that, so I put on a pair of slim-fitting, ankle-length pale jeans and tucked a scooped-necked scarlet silk blouse into a thin blue belt. Bernie announced the outfit perfect, but then suggested I needed a long necklace that would snuggle comfortably into my (admittedly limited) cleavage. Éclair had nothing to contribute to the conversation.

  “Did you pass any guests on your walk?” I asked, not bothering to search for a long necklace that would snuggle anywhere.

  “No sign of the Reynoldses, if that’s what you’re asking. Sophia and Regina’s lights are on, but they might not have bothered to turn them off before going out. I suspect they’ll be learning the lessons of economy before much longer. The bridge women are playing on the veranda. Don’t you think you’d eventually get tired of playing cards all the time?”

  “I’ve heard bridge people can be highly focused.”

  “Rose comes to mind. One of the players flagged me down and asked if there’s been any developments in the police investigation. I considered telling her they found a blood-smeared queen of spades clutched in the dead man’s hand. But I refrained.”

  “Which one was it?”

  “I don’t know their names. They’re all of an age. They look alike, come to think of it. I wonder if that’s a bridge player look? Maybe I’ll start to look like that if I take up bridge. Never mind. The one with the round black glasses.”

  “Karen. I saw a mystery novel in her bag the other day. Like everyone who reads mysteries, she probably intends to write one someday, so she’s interested in observing police procedures. Hey, Bernie, she is exactly like you.”

  “Most amusing.”

  We’d made plans to meet the guys at the bar, and so we could relax over a couple of drinks, Bernie called for a cab. I told Éclair to guard the house, and my friend and I walked toward the driveway to meet our ride.

  We said hello to the bridge-playing women and attempted to walk quickly past. But we weren’t quick enough, and Karen waved us down. She laid her cards on the table and stood at the railing. “Lily. We were wondering what’s happening about that woman who was arrested last night. She seemed . . . I mean, I don’t know her. But she didn’t look like a killer to me.”

  “As if you know what a killer looks like, Karen,” Sheila said. “Speaking of killers, I have a killer of a hand, so let’s get on with it.”

  “I don’t know anything more,” I said, picking up the pace. “Sorry. Enjoy your evening, ladies.”

  As we approached the steps, Greg came onto the veranda. He was nicely dressed in pressed khaki slacks and a blue-and-white-striped open-necked shirt, balancing his car keys in hand. “Good evening.”

  “Hi,” I said. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, we’re good. As good as possible, I guess, under the circumstances. I doubt anyone else will do it, so I will. I’d like to thank you, Lily, and your grandmother, for your patience and understanding. My family’s problems are not yours, but they’ve disrupted your lives all the same.” He looked over my shoulder toward the bridge players. They weren’t even attempting to appear to have resumed their game.

  “Don’t apologize,” I said. “All part of the hoteliers’ job.” Although, from what I learned from the other B & B owners in the association Rose belonged to, they didn’t seem to have nearly as many deadly instances at their properties. I didn’t want to speculate as to why that might be.

  “Heading into town?” Bernie asked. “We can make some restaurant recommendations, if you like.”

  “Thanks, but I’ve made a reservation at a place Mrs. Campbell suggested. My grandma wanted me to take her out, but I’d made plans already. I’m having a nice, romantic, intimate dinner with my fiancée. And her mother.”

  Bernie and I laughed.

  “We’re going to a movie after. Jenny’s a big movie buff, and there’s something playing in Provincetown she desperately wants to see. Can’t say it’s the sort of movie I usually enjoy, but we’re hoping the night out will take her mind off her troubles.”

  “So there’s no . . . news?” Bernie asked.

  “Nothing I’m aware of. Jenny isn’t being held by the police, but it doesn’t mean she’s in the clear. Those detectives are still nosing around, and friends of Hannah have said the cops back home have been asking questions about them.” He shook his head. “Bad business, in more ways than one. Are you two going into town? I can offer you a lift.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “but we’ve called a cab and that might be it coming now.”

  “As long as the rest of you seem to have forgotten we’re in the middle of a game,” Shelia said, “I’m going up to my room for that bottle of wine I bought earlier.”

  “Bring four glasses down, will you,” Marie said.

  * * *

  “Now remember,” I said to Bernie when we got out of the cab. “Not a word to Simon or Matt that we’re looking into the Reynolds murder. All we’re doing is asking questions and doing some work on the computer, and neither of them can help us with that, so no need to worry their pretty little heads.”

  “My lips are sealed. Until they ply me with drink that is.”

  The sign on the window told us tonight was Blues Night. We pushed our way inside to be greeted by a wall of sound. It was an ordinary drinking and eating establishment, nothing special. The bar itself filled one wall, tonight worked by three bartenders. The tables were old and cheap, but clean, the chairs also. The place smelled of greasy food, spilled beer, too many people stuffed into too small a place on a hot night. The scarred and scuffed wooden floor didn’t warrant close examination. Waitstaff of all ages, dressed in sneakers, jeans, and short-sleeved shirts, worked the room, maneuvering deftly between tables, bar, the kitchen. The place was packed when we walked in. Fortunately Matt and Simon had arrived ahead of us, and they’d snagged a table near the small bandstand. A microphone and an arrangement of instruments were set up, but no one was onstage.

  Matt leapt to his feet and waved us over. Simon took his motorcycle helmet off the chair next to him and put it on the floor. Both men greeted us with big welcoming smiles. Glasses of beer were in front of them. Once we’d exchanged greetings, and Bernie and I’d taken our seats, a waitress appeared instantly. She was short and scrawny, well into her fifties, with a life-worn face, a mop of frizzy, graying hair, deep bags under her eyes. But her smile was wide, her eyes friendly, and her accent from the Deep South. “What can I get y’all?”

  “What time does the band start?” I asked her.

  “Nine o’clock, honey.”

  “Are you wanting dinner?” Matt said. “I do. I’m starving.”

  “So am I,” Bernie said.

  The waitress handed around menus. “Burgers are the best in the Outer Cape.”

  “Says who?” Simon asked.

  She gave him a broad wink. “Love me an Englishman, darlin’. Welcome. Who says they’re the best? The cook, of course.”

  “Then I’ll have one. With all the fixings and chips. That’s what we call fries in England.”

  When the waitress left, after giving Simon another exaggerated wink, Bernie said, “I’ve been slaving away in Lily’s kitchen all evening, but she’s such a taskmaster, she won’t let me have a single bite.”

  “Let me think.” I pretended to do so. “One chicken deboned in two hours. Good thing we don’t depend on you to keep the place going.”

  “Hey. I took that perfectly sliced chicken meat and turned it into a delicious, herby, mayonnaise-y, not to mention attractive, sandwich filling.”

  Matt laughed and lifted his beer in a salute.

  “What were you doing in her place for two hours, if not helping cook?” Simon asked.

  “Girl talk,” Bernie said.

  “More mysterious than the origins of the universe,” Matt said.

  We all ordered burgers and fries, enjoyed our dinner, and chatted about nothing in particular. Matt asked if the police had been around today, and I truthfully told him no.

  The burger might not have been the best in the Outer Cape but it was mighty good, and piled high with all the oozy fixings I love. I wiped my fingers on my napkin as I leaned aside to let the waitress clear my empty plate. Across the crowded room, I spotted someone I recognized heading for the bar and gave him a wave. Dave noticed and changed direction to approach our table.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi.” He nodded to my companions.

  Matt stood up and stretched out his hand. “Matt Goodwill. Lily and Rose’s neighbor.”

  “Dave Farland. I’m here for my buddy’s wedding. Which seems to have been derailed. For the time being anyway.”

  “We ran into to Greg at Victoria-on-Sea as he was heading out,” I said. “He was meeting Hannah and her mom. Are you on your own?”

  “Yeah. He invited me to join them, but they’re going to see some esoteric European movie about the meaning of being human. With subtitles. Not exactly my scene. Blues”—he nodded toward the stage—“is my scene, so I thought I’d drop in. See if the band’s any good.”

  “Would you like to join us?” Bernie asked. “If you’re on your own, I mean.”

  “Might as well. Thanks.” He sat down and called for the waitress to bring him a beer.

  Bernie winked at me. I pretended not to notice. But Simon did and he raised one eyebrow. I pretended not to notice that also.

  “Are you staying on in North Augusta to support Greg?” Bernie said. “That’s nice of you.”

  “I haven’t known Greg for long, but we’ve become pretty good friends, and I think Hannah’s a great girl. I gather he and his brother don’t get on all that well, so he asked me to be his best man, and I was happy to. The wedding never happened, so I figure he needs my support more than ever. He’s certainly not getting any from his own family.” He looked at Matt. “You heard what happened?”

  “Yeah,” Matt said. “Tough deal all round.”

  “Did you know Ralph well?” Bernie asked.

  “Never met him before Greg’s stag affair last week,” Dave said. “Don’t speak ill of the dead and all that, but I can’t say I liked him much. In person he pretty much confirmed everything Greg’s told me about him. Thoroughly miserable old guy. Determined to make everyone around him equally miserable. I wouldn’t say so to Greg, but I figure he’s better off without the old man nagging him all the time.”

  “Nagging him about what?” Bernie asked.

  “His life choices, what else? His dad’s pretty much retired now, but he used to run the family business. His mother’s family business, I gather. No big deal, a small local distribution company, but you’d have thought by the way he went on it was Ford Motor Company. Ivan, Greg’s brother, is the CEO now, but Ralph wanted Greg to work there too.” He drank his beer.

  “Greg had other ideas?” Bernie asked.

  Not particularly interested in the Reynolds family drama, Matt was telling Simon about his planned trip to North Dakota later in the week. A research trip for the new book. I pulled my attention back to Dave.

  “He sure did. Greg’s an artist. A good one. That’s how I know him. I do the same sort of stuff. We’ve got some good ideas for some big projects, but . . . It’s hard to make a living while starting out as an artist.”

  “I so know about that,” Bernie said. “I’m a writer. Working on my first novel.”

  “Right,” Dave said. “That’s why you do waitressing gigs at the B & B and the tearoom.”

  “For the income,” Bernie said.

  Simon gave her a sideways glance.

  “Good luck with it,” Dave said. “Anyway, Greg and his old man didn’t get on, but that’s common enough. Maybe he’s lucky his dad cared about what he got into. My father’s a cop. I don’t think he knows what I do. He sure doesn’t care. Long as I don’t get arrested.” He stared into his beer. Bernie and I exchanged glances, but before we could ask Dave anything more, like did he kill his friend’s father, Simon said, “Look who’s here.”

  I turned to see Ivan, McKenzie, and Samantha coming through the doors along with three men, one of whom was McKenzie’s boyfriend, Jack.

  Jack and the men peeled off and headed for the stage. McKenzie spotted us and approached our table. “Cool. Nice to see you guys.” She leaned over and gave us all showy air kisses. I couldn’t help but notice that the brush she gave Simon was more of a real kiss than swiping at air.

  “Hi,” Samantha said.

  “Mind if we join you?” McKenzie didn’t wait for us to agree, or not, before searching for a chair to drag up to our table. She spotted one and grabbed it without asking if it was taken. Ivan gave a what-can-you-do shrug and went in search of chairs for himself and Samantha, and we all squeezed over to let the new arrivals in. The waitress came over, and they ordered drinks. Matt asked for another round for us.

  McKenzie crossed her legs, kicked Simon’s helmet and peered under the table. “Oh, someone has a motorcycle helmet. Is that yours, Simon? Must be. I saw a motorcycle parked next to the garden shed at the B & B.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I’d love to go for a ride someday. I love motorcycles. The wind in my hair. The feeling of complete freedom.” She stretched her arms over her head. “Will you take me sometime? Pretty please.”