“For real excitement, you’ll be working in the tearoom tomorrow. Ten o’clock. Don’t be late.”

  “Simon would be glad to help out.”

  “I know he would, but he’s busy enough in the garden. I can’t impose.”

  “He’d do it in a heartbeat, Lily. If you ask him nicely.”

  I didn’t reply.

  Bernie increased her pace. “If I’m private detecting tonight and waitressing tomorrow, we’d better get a move on.”

  * * *

  We arrived back at Victoria-on-Sea to find two police cars in the driveway. Detectives Williams and Redmond stood on the veranda, facing down a diminutive yet irate Rose, firmly gripping her cane, dressed in her tattered pink dressing gown and fuzzy green slippers, hair sticking out in all directions to resemble a crazed halo. Simon and Matt stood on either side of my grandmother like a couple of bodyguards. Both men were in work clothes of dark T-shirts streaked with sweat and sawdust, well-worn pants, and thick-soled boots.

  “What on earth?” Bernie said.

  I was out of the car before it had come to a complete halt and took the steps two at a time. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t need your permission, Mrs. Campbell,” Williams said.

  “I insist you wait until tomorrow.”

  “I don’t much care what you insist,” he said.

  Redmond turned to me. “Good. You’re here. We need to speak to your guests, and Mrs. Campbell doesn’t want them disturbed.”

  “Speak to them about what?” I asked.

  She simply looked at me.

  “Are Scarlet and Josh back?” I asked Rose.

  “All your guests,” Redmond said, “who were here on Tuesday night. Plus, you two,” she said to Simon and Matt.

  “Us?”

  “Were you here after dark on Tuesday night?”

  “I don’t live on the premises,” Simon said.

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  He shook his head.

  “Me neither,” said Matt.

  “Ms. Murphy?” Redmond asked Bernie.

  “No,” Bernie said.

  “You three can go, then.”

  “I’ll stay,” Bernie said.

  “No,” Detective Redmond said, “you will not.”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Simon, Matt, thanks for coming over.”

  “I was leaving Matt’s,” Simon said, “when I saw this lot drive up. Thought Rose might need some company.”

  Williams growled. He might have muttered something about arrests for interfering with a police investigation.

  The door behind Rose opened, and Josh Henshaw’s head popped out. “Everything all right here?”

  “Perfectly all right,” I said. “The police have a few minor questions about the events of earlier in the week, isn’t that right, Detectives? Rose, can you show our guests to the drawing room?”

  “If I must,” she said.

  “You must,” I replied.

  Matt and Simon stepped aside, and slowly, very, very slowly, they left the veranda to stand with Bernie. I gave Bernie a nod, and then I took Rose’s arm and led her into the house.

  If the police were here with more questions about Tuesday night, it had to do with the arrest of Cheryl. And I wanted—I needed—to know what that might be.

  The two detectives and a uniformed officer followed us. The latter, whose name I knew from previous interactions was LeBlanc, firmly shut the door behind him.

  “I need to speak,” Williams said, “to all the people who were here on Tuesday night.”

  Scarlet, dressed in a casual summer dress, stood at the top of the stairs, watching. One hand rested on the banister, and her eyes were wide with interest. Josh glanced up at her, and then he turned back to the police. “Shall I assume this has something to do with the death of Tommy?”

  “You may,” Williams said. “Everyone gave statements to us on Wednesday, but in light of recent further developments, I have to speak to you again.”

  “What sort of developments?” Josh asked. “Have you arrested someone?”

  “We have.”

  “Who?”

  “We’ll speak to Mrs. Campbell and Ms. Roberts first.” Redmond glanced up the staircase. “Everyone else, please wait in the dining room. We won’t be long. Mrs. Campbell, if you tell Officer LeBlanc what rooms the guests are in who were here earlier in the week, he’ll ask them to come down.”

  “I’d prefer Lily do that,” Rose said. “I won’t have police knocking on my bedroom doors.”

  Redmond looked as though she might argue, but she decided to save her battles with Rose for another day, and she nodded. Moving about as slowly as she was able, in some sort of power play with the police, Rose went to the registration desk and carefully sat down. She fumbled in her pockets for a few moments and then produced her key chain. She found the correct key, unlocked the drawer, took out the registration ledger, and slowly, ever so slowly, flipped the pages. She peered through her bifocals, took the glasses off, wiped the lens on the sleeve of her nightgown, and then she readjusted the glasses on her nose.

  Redmond cleared her throat, and I said, “We haven’t got all day here, Rose.”

  “You don’t?” my grandmother said. “I do. Here we are. Mr. and Mrs. Grant in one-oh-two arrived on Friday, and Ms. and Ms. Sullivan in two-oh-one on Sunday. They are mother and daughter, I believe. So nice to be able to vacation with your mother, wouldn’t you agree, love?”

  I didn’t bother to answer.

  “Miss D’Angelo is in two-oh-four,” Rose said.

  I headed down the hall while Redmond said, “Mrs. Campbell, drawing room please.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Grant opened their door so quickly, it was obvious they’d been listening to the activity in the hallway. They were both dressed and gave me broad, expectant smiles.

  “I am so sorry,” I said. “But the police are here with some questions about the events of Tuesday night into Wednesday morning, and they’d like to speak to you. They ask that you wait in the dining room, please.”

  “Happy to be of help,” Mr. Grant said. “Can’t say I’ve ever seen that TV program myself. Not much interested in cooking, you know. I like the end results, though.” He chuckled heartily and rubbed his round belly. His wife tittered. They were in their late sixties, with plump, cheerful faces, sparkling eyes, and noses peeling from an excessive amount of sun.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  In the short time I’d been talking to the Grants, the police detectives and Rose had gone into the drawing room, and LeBlanc had followed Josh and Scarlet into the dining room. I ran up the stairs. The TV was blaring from room 201, and I knocked loudly.

  “Just a minute,” a voice called. The sound died, and the door opened. Two faces, identical but for a difference of about twenty years, peered out at me. Both women were ready for bed. I explained what I needed, and they said they’d be right down.

  I knocked at the door of room 204, waited, and knocked again. Finally, the door opened. Claudia D’Angelo wore a baggy T-shirt and equally baggy Bermuda shorts. Her face was clear of makeup, and her hair tied roughly at the back of her head. Her eyes were tinged red, and I thought how much older she looked than she did on TV, or even how she had at breakfast this morning.

  “What do you want?” she snapped at me.

  Startled at the tone, I took a step back. “I’m sorry to bother you, but the police are downstairs.”

  “So?”

  “They have more questions about Tuesday night.”

  “I’m busy.” She half turned and glanced back into her room. Room 204 was our nicest one, with a king-sized bed and a small, comfortable seating area. It had a view over the bay and a private balcony with a lounge chair and low table. The bed was made, and the pillows untouched. Her iPad sat on the desk, and a chair was pulled up to it. A sleeveless, puffy pink shell was draped over the back of the chair. The screen flickered, and I assumed she’d been watching a video. An uncomfortable way, I thought, to watch a program.

  “I don’t think the police will care if you’re busy,” I said.

  “Ten minutes.” The doyenne of American baking shut the door in my face.

  * * *

  When I got downstairs, I went into the drawing room. Rose had taken her favorite wingback chair, and Robbie was curled on her lap, staring malevolently at the police. “Here you are, love,” Rose said to me. “I was explaining to Inspector Williams—”

  “Detective,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “That it is my custom to turn out my light around ten o’clock. I can’t account precisely for my movements last Tuesday, as unlike in days of old, I hadn’t been watching a regularly scheduled program on the telly, so I couldn’t confirm precisely what time it ended. I was watching Death in Paradise, season five, not one of the best, in my opinion. I switched off the telly when it was over and read in bed for about half an hour. I must have turned out the light around ten thirty, but I cannot be positive about the time. I did not go out again, and I didn’t so much as glance out the window.”

  “Lily?” Redmond said. “Do you have anything more to add to your original statement about Tuesday night?”

  Redmond had told me the autopsy reported that Tommy had died between eleven p.m. on Tuesday and one a.m. Wednesday. I assumed these questions were a further attempt to place his movements, and anyone who might have been with him, around that time. “No. I told you I spoke to him around eleven, but I didn’t see him after that.”

  “Did you see anyone, anyone at all, on the property around that time?” she asked.

  “No. I said good night to him and went to my own cottage and then to bed.”

  “Neither of you saw anyone other than Greene on the property after, say, ten o’clock?”

  “No,” I said.

  “No,” Rose said.

  “Thank you,” Williams said. “That’ll be all.”

  I hadn’t taken a seat. I held out my hand and helped Rose to stand. Robbie jumped onto the floor and hissed at Detective Williams.

  “Do pardon my cat, Inspector,” Rose said as she made her way out of the room. “He likes most people.”

  The prospective witnesses were gathered in the dining room, watched over by the keen eye of Officer LeBlanc when we entered.

  Death in Paradise, I thought, might be an appropriate comparison. Outside, darkness had settled. The French doors thrown open to the hot night air and the sound of the sea crashing against the rocks on the shore; the warm room; the ever-alert uniformed officer standing next to, but not leaning against, the wall, feet apart, shoulders straight, as though on guard in case one of them would make a break for it any minute now. Josh and Scarlet, going to great lengths to ignore each other from their separate tables, both trying hard to appear so dreadfully bored. The Grants and the Sullivans, by contrast, perched eagerly on the edge of their seats, wanting their chance to be of help to the police.

  And the missing suspect.

  “Where’s Claudia D’Angelo?” Redmond said.

  Josh shrugged.

  Scarlet shook her head. “Haven’t seen her for hours. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her for days. Has anyone checked that she’s still alive?” Scarlet must have seen our faces, because she added quickly, “Sorry. Bad joke.”

  “I told her you were waiting for her,” I said. “She . . . uh . . . said she was busy.”

  Redmond turned to LeBlanc. “Room two-oh-four. Tell her to get down here now.”

  He left. Scarlet’s mouth formed a small O, and her eyes danced with amusement. No love lost between the two female judges of America Bakes!, I guessed.

  “Ms. McIntosh, Mr. Henshaw, come with me, if you please,” Redmond said.

  “When do you want to talk to us?” the elder Ms. Sullivan asked. “It’s getting late, and we have to be up early to go whale watching tomorrow.”

  “I appreciate you waiting patiently down here, ma’am. We won’t be long.”

  “We don’t mind,” the younger Ms. Sullivan said. “It’s okay, Mom. We have to wait our turn.”

  “I suppose you’re right, dear,” her mother said.

  Redmond gestured to Josh and Scarlet to precede her. As they left, I heard two sets of footsteps descending the stairs, one tread in heavy boots, the other moving lightly in slippers.

  “How nice of you to join us, Ms. D’Angelo. Finally,” Redmond said.

  “I’ll have you know I was on an extremely important business call,” Claudia sniffed. “I can’t drop everything to come running when summoned. I told you all I know about Tommy and his movements that day, and I have nothing to add.”

  “Why don’t I be the judge of that?” Redmond said as their voices drifted away.

  I’d have loved to listen in from the secret room, but Redmond had not shut the door behind her, and Officer LeBlanc had taken a new position next to the door. If he happened to glance out when I was slipping into the linen closet, he’d see me.

  “You can go to your room, Rose,” I said. “I’ll stay here until the police are finished, and lock up after them.”

  “Thank you, love. I will. I’m feeling quite tired all of a sudden.”

  I walked with her into the hallway. “Why do you wind him up like that?” I said in a low voice.

  “Wind whom up?”

  “Don’t play the innocent. Detective Williams.”

  “Whyever not? He’s a pompous fool, and it amuses me.”

  “The death of Tommy Greene is not a laughing matter, Rose. I might not like Detective Williams, either, but I respect the job he has to do and the authority he represents.”

  “You’re right, love. As you usually are. I apologize. It’s just that poor Inspector Williams is such an easy target, one can’t resist.”

  “You’ve been watching too much Death in Paradise.”

  She smiled at me and said good night. Robbie ran down the hallway ahead of her as she and her pink cane tapped their way to her rooms. I love my grandmother so very much, but I have to admit she isn’t always the most sensible of women. Or the easiest to live with. I gave my head a shake and returned to the dining room.

  The younger Ms. Sullivan was chatting to Officer LeBlanc. She was in her late twenties, tall and slightly plump, pretty in a well-scrubbed, corn-fed way, long hair streaked by the sun, and a light tan on her face. He was about the same age, he did not wear a wedding ring, and he was smiling back at her.

  “Great place to live,” he said. “Although we sure get busy in the summertime with all you fun-loving tourists.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “Fun loving, that’s me. Although”—she jerked one shoulder to indicate the woman across the room—“I am on vacation with my mom.”

  “That’s nice. That you and your mom are close, I mean.”

  They smiled at each other some more. He broke away first and nodded at me. “Everything okay, Ms. Roberts?”

  “Fine, thank you.” I should be serving my guests coffee and whatever was left of the breakfast baking, but I was reluctant to leave the room in case someone said something significant. Deep in my pocket, my phone was vibrating with enough energy to cause a small tsunami. I’d glanced at it earlier, to see desperate pleas from Bernie, wanting to know what was going on.

  Ms. Sullivan the younger said, “This week’s my birthday present from my mom.”

  “Happy birthday,” Officer LeBlanc said. “That’s a nice present. This place is one of the best around.”

  “One of the most expensive, anyway,” she said. “Mom wanted to come here because of the gardens. She’s a keen gardener. I don’t do much myself—I don’t have the time—but I like walking in a garden.”

  I’d decided to see if I could find some cookies or leftover muffins to offer when Ms. Sullivan gasped and her face froze as she remembered something. “Goodness. I’d totally forgotten. Do you think your boss will want to know about the walk I had in the garden Tuesday night?”

  LeBlanc, I decided, was no fool. The casual flirtation was wiped from his face in a flash, and he was all business. “Walk? Tuesday? When?”

  “Around eleven.” She dropped her voice. “I had way too much wine at dinner, so I fell asleep as soon as we got to our room. My mom snores like a freight train, and it woke me up. You know what it’s like when you get to sleep really fast and then wake up. It’s hard to get back to sleep. So I got up and went for a walk to enjoy the air and hoped Mom would stop snoring. It was a clear night, and the moon was really bright. I went around to the front to see the flowers in the moonlight, and I saw . . . someone. In the yard, I mean.”

  “You saw someone? A man? A woman? Had you earlier seen the man who died? Might it have been him?”

  “Not a man. It was a woman. I am so sorry. Is that important? I went to bed right after and totally forgot until now. I didn’t see her face, but she was short and sort of . . . chubby.” She turned to me. “Mom and I’d gone to your tearoom on Sunday for tea. It was super nice. I can’t be positive, but the woman I saw that night might have been one of your waitresses. The one who’s about my mom’s age.”

  Chapter 15

  “And what does Cheryl have to say about that?” Bernie asked.

  “She insists it wasn’t her. She admits she couldn’t sleep, so she went for a drive, but she didn’t come anywhere near here.”

  “So no alibi and no real reason to explain why she was out that late.”

  “No.”

  We were in the kitchen of Tea by the Sea, getting ready for another day of feeding the famished hordes of the Outer Cape. My mind was, to say the least, not on food. Officer LeBlanc had called Redmond and Williams out of their interview with Josh, Scarlet, and Claudia and had huddled in a corner with them, whispering. Whereupon Ms. Sullivan the younger, who I’d finally learned was named Robyn, had been bundled into the drawing room. She emerged several minutes later, wide-eyed, looking very pleased with herself, practically bubbling with her own importance. Officer LeBlanc had given her a huge smile and a thumbs-up, and she’d blushed. I wondered if he’d also given her his phone number.

  Muttering darkly about suing the police for harassment, Claudia went upstairs, followed by Josh and Scarlet. I couldn’t help but notice the jerk of Josh’s head toward the younger woman and the firm shake of hers in return. The detectives didn’t even bother to take the Grants into the drawing room for a private interview, just asked if they had anything to add to their original statements. On being told no, the police left in a great hurry, without telling me where they were going. I assumed they were heading for a confrontation with Cheryl, and I was right. Marybeth called to tell me she and her mother wouldn’t be in to work today. Cheryl was being held over, and Marybeth was in no fit state to be handling hot liquids and be polite to customers. Marybeth told me what I already knew, but added that her mother firmly denied being anywhere in the vicinity of Victoria-on-Sea late Tuesday night.