“I’m sorry,” Edna said, “but Frank can’t hold the story back. Front page of today’s paper will say that Cheryl’s been arrested for the murder of Tommy Greene.”

  “Do you think . . . ?” I began.

  “No,” Edna replied. “I do not. I don’t know Cheryl well, but I do know her. She might have been angry enough to bash Tommy over the head when he insulted Marybeth, but not hours later. I admit, it looks mighty bad for her. She told the police originally that she hadn’t gone out again after getting home from work. Lying to the police is always a mistake. They canvassed her neighborhood and found someone who claims to have seen Cheryl tear out of her driveway, as though she was in a big hurry, around ten thirty. He, the neighbor, is confident of the time as it was his usual time to walk his dog. He also says he wouldn’t have paid any attention except Cheryl was going far too fast for their quiet residential street, so fast she almost took out the garbage can on the curb waiting for pickup. The police then began looking for evidence that she’d come here that night. They found it—a witness who says she saw Cheryl at Victoria-on-Sea not long before Tommy Greene died.”

  Edna had come in from setting the patio tables, and Bernie was making sandwiches, while I mixed the dough for the day’s first batch of scones. I’d given Bernie the binder containing my recipes, complete with pictures illustrating the appearance of the final product.

  “Circumstantial evidence,” Bernie said as she sliced the delicate salmon sandwiches into pinwheels.

  “Circumstantial evidence can be enough for a conviction,” Edna said. “If you want my opinion—”

  “And we do,” I said.

  “Chuck Williams will focus all his attention on Cheryl because that’s the easiest route to a trial and conviction. Amy will want to keep digging, but she won’t be able to. Chuck’s her superior, and he’s the one who has the chief’s ear. Not her. She’ll be told to drop it, while Chuck works on building their case.”

  “You mean it’s up to us to keep digging, if Amy Redmond can’t,” Bernie said.

  Edna said nothing. She loaded her tray with another set of linens and cutlery and left the kitchen.

  “My friend in LA sent me two pieces of information last night.” Bernie popped a freshly made sandwich into her mouth.

  “Don’t eat up all my profits,” I said.

  “We haven’t yet discussed the important matter of my wages for a hard day’s work.”

  “Help yourself to another sandwich.” It was nice, beyond nice, of Bernie and Edna to help out in the tearoom today, but neither of them was a full-time waitress, nor did they want to be. One day’s work, maybe two at the most, would be the best I could fairly ask of them. Meaning if Cheryl never came back to work and Marybeth had to take time off, I’d be frantic to hire more staff. As the season had already begun, that wasn’t going to be easy.

  “What did he have to say?” I folded the thick square of dough several times prior to slicing the circles with my cutter.

  “CookingTV’s in serious financial trouble. Their latest show, which was going to be the next big thing, involved cooks cooking under pressure. Not only time pressure, as most shows have, but things like equipment deliberately sabotaged, ingredients being spoiled, the hosts interfering with the cooking process. Even an exploding oven.”

  I froze in the act of laying the scones on the prewarmed baking sheet and stared at Bernie. “That sounds horrible!”

  “It does. So horrible, the network got cold feet and pulled the plug on the show. They wouldn’t even agree to toning it down a fraction. Outright cancellation. The cooks had been organized, the sets created, the hosts and judges hired. The judges were big names, too, so they didn’t come cheap. They’re suing CookingTV.”

  “How much financial interest does Josh have in CookingTV?”

  “That I can’t find out. More than zero is all I know.”

  “So he might be in financial difficulties. Meaning he needs America Bakes! to continue being a success.”

  “Right. Unless we can find out for sure, and I have absolutely no idea how we can do that, that he feared Tommy was going to reveal details of his affair with Scarlet, I suggest we move Josh down to the bottom of our list of suspects.”

  “The famous list.”

  “I discovered something else,” Bernie said, “but once again, I can’t see this person rubbing out Tommy.”

  “Who? What?”

  “Claudia’s latest cookbook was a flop. A huge flop. A spectacular flop. I didn’t even have to use my contacts to find that out. I checked the stats on Amazon and other booksellers and the bestseller lists. It was supposed to be a big book—I found tons of promo for it leading up to its release date. Tons of promo, meaning the publisher splashed out the big bucks. And . . . flop. Such a flop it seems to have dragged sales of her older books down with it, when a new book should increase sales of the backlist.”

  “Why? Claudia’s a big thing in the world of American baking. I have some of her books myself.”

  “Did you buy the newest one?”

  “No.”

  “The words used in the reviews were stodgy food, old-fashioned, out-of-date, repetitive, and unimaginative. The review I liked best said the reviewer was surprised not to find a recipe for Jell-O salad made with canned pineapple.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Ouch indeed. Some of the reviews were down and out nasty, suggesting that certain people need to know when it’s time to retire.”

  “We know Claudia needs money. More money. I guess we know why. Again, no reason to kill Tommy Greene.”

  “No reason we know of,” Bernie said.

  Edna came into the kitchen. “Eleven o’clock. Showtime. The first table has arrived, and cars are pulling up. You going to be okay, Bernie?”

  “Probably not,” Bernie said.

  “Now, remember,” I said, “if you think you can’t manage, don’t fill all the tables. If you’re getting behind, explain there’s a slight delay. People don’t mind waiting, as long as they’re told what’s going on. I hope Frank’s story’s not going to mention where Cheryl works, is it?”

  “Unlikely,” Edna said. “It’s not relevant. Not yet, anyway.”

  Bernie took off her hairnet, retied her hair, smoothed her apron over her hips, said, “‘Once more unto the breach, dear friends,’ ” and sailed out of the kitchen.

  Edna rolled her eyes, gave me a wink, and followed.

  We worked steadily all afternoon. Edna was smoothly efficient, and if Bernie stumbled or made the odd mistake, they were cheerful and apologetic, and I heard no complaints. I was taking a short, very short, break to make myself a cup of Creamy Earl Grey while the shells for the latest batch of pistachio macarons dried when my phone dinged to tell me I had a text message. As I was having a break, I checked it. It was Alicia, one of my restaurant friends in New York City. I read quickly.

  You were asking about Tommy G. The great Claudia D’A’s involved in that show. Did you know she doesn’t own her restaurants anymore? Sold them all about a year ago. Rock-bottom prices. Text if you want more.

  I did want more.

  Me: Rock bottom? Why?

  Alicia: Needed money ASAP. Bad time to sell. Rumor says she didn’t have time to wait.

  Me: Do we know why she needed money?

  Alicia: Gambling habit, rumor says. Too much time overseeing Las Vegas restaurant. [Money emoji]

  Me: Thx.

  Alicia: Next time you’re in NYC, drinks on you.

  Me: [Smiley face emoji]

  I sipped my tea and thought. If Claudia had lost her money gambling, to the extent she’d had to sell her restaurants, and she was still in need of money—more money—that might mean she had debts she couldn’t pay. Organized crime, or so I’ve been told, has a presence in Las Vegas. It certainly has a presence in the world of gambling. Did Claudia owe so much money to the mob, she had to kill to pay it off?

  Why would the mob want to kill Tommy Greene?

  I thought back to last night when I’d knocked on Claudia’s door. She’d been sitting in front of her iPad. She’d been blurry eyed and red faced and “too busy” to come downstairs and talk to the police. I hadn’t deliberately looked at the screen in, but I’d seen bright colors and symbols. Rose had previously commented that Claudia spent all day in her room.

  Claudia was engaging in online gambling, and I’d be willing to bet she had an out-of-control habit. She’d sold her restaurants, her latest book was a flop, she was begging people for money, and yet she was still gambling.

  Had Tommy known about it? Had he threatened to expose her? Had she killed him to keep her secret, secret?

  I put down my teacup and took a step toward the door to the restaurant, intending to tell Bernie what I’d learned. Then I remembered Bernie was working. Yes, she was working for me, but I needed her to keep working.

  It would keep until the end of the day.

  * * *

  The end of the day didn’t arrive fast enough. At quarter to five, Edna came into the kitchen. “You have a customer.”

  “I hope I have lots of customers. I did have lots of customers. It’s been a good day, and you and Bernie have been outstanding.”

  “This one you might not want. Allegra Griffin’s here. She’s on her own. She’s taken a seat at a table for four and ordered a cream tea. She asked if she could have coffee instead of tea.”

  “You said no, I hope.”

  “I said yes, Lily, as per your instructions.”

  Hard as it is for me to believe, some people don’t care for tea. Why they’d come to a tearoom is beyond me, but we do get the occasional reluctant guest tagging along with their friends, so we keep coffee, as well as iced tea and lemonade, on hand.

  “All right,” I grumbled. “If we must.”

  “She’s asked to speak with you. If you’re free, she said. ‘Not very busy in here, is it?’ she added.”

  “Like her place is busy at five. Come to think of it, they close at four.”

  “Irrelevant, Lily.”

  Bernie carried in a tray laden with used china and crumpled napkins and one single miniature coconut cupcake. She put down the tray and popped the cupcake into her mouth. “I thought I saw Allegra from the bakery sitting outside. Surely my eyes have deceived me?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  “Chin up.” Edna put a small pot of coffee on and began laying out the cream tea: two scones served with butter, jam, and clotted cream. “She might have seen the light and is here to compliment you on the quality of your food.”

  I harrumphed.

  “She threw us out of her place,” Bernie said. “Are you going to return the favor and show her the door, Lily?”

  “The thought did cross my mind,” I admitted. “But no. I can be friendly.” I bared my teeth in the same manner Éclair does when Robert the Bruce swipes at her tail.

  Bernie and Edna raised their eyebrows at each other. I ignored them, took off my apron and my hairnet, retied my hair, and sailed into the garden to greet my guest.

  The tearoom closes at five, and only a scattering of tables in the restaurant and on the patio were occupied. Allegra sat in the center of the patio, under the shade of the old oak, the chipped, cracked, and faded teacups clinking cheerfully overhead in the light breeze. Allegra herself looked almost cheerful when she saw me approaching.

  “Good afternoon,” I said. “Welcome. Edna said you wanted to speak with me.”

  Enda arrived with the platter of scones and accompaniments, and Bernie brought a mug of coffee. They put the things on the table, but Allegra didn’t say thank you. Instead, she said, “Surprised to see you here, Edna. Although perhaps I shouldn’t be. Times are hard for the newspaper business, I hear, and I guess you’re happy to get the extra income. I don’t suppose serving breakfast in a B & B pays much.”

  “I’m always happy to help out when needed,” Edna replied with a smile. “Everyone in North Augusta benefits when a locally owned business does well, don’t you agree?”

  “Edna’s working here today,” I said, “as a favor to me, because I’m temporarily short of staff.”

  “Excuse me, miss,” a woman called. “Could we have more hot water in our teapot, please.”

  Edna slipped away, but Bernie remained standing beside and slightly behind me. Allegra eyed her.

  “Another temporary replacement?”

  “I’m researching a book,” Bernie said. “I’m getting into the mood of being one of the working classes. This place isn’t quite right, though. In my book the boss is a mean-tempered tyrant cheating her employees and threatening her competition. How about I put in a day’s work at your place? I won’t charge more than double minimum wage.”

  Allegra’s eyes narrowed. I shifted my foot and bumped Bernie’s, telling her to behave.

  Bernie edged her foot away, telling me she had no intention of behaving.

  “I’m not surprised you’re short of staff,” Allegra said. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking this is a temporary situation. I doubt Cheryl will be coming back, and her daughter, poor Marybeth, won’t be good for much, not with the stress of the trial and then prison time for her mother. Lawyers are dreadfully expensive, aren’t they?” Her eyes glimmered with malice. She paid no attention to her coffee and scones.

  “What are you saying?” I asked. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m confident the police will soon realize their mistake.” I was confident of nothing of the sort, but I felt compelled to offer a retort.

  “I’m saying you’re the one who made a mistake, a bad one, by hiring that Cheryl Dowd and her stupid daughter. You came here and set up your silly little tearoom.” She waved her right hand in the air, taking in the patio, the tinkling teacups, the old stone building, the happy customers. “Without so much as bothering to do due diligence into the community.”

  Four laughing women came out of the restaurant. They called to us, “That was great! Thanks so much!” as they let themselves through the gate.

  “Lily did plenty of due diligence.” Bernie was getting angry. I could tell by the way she bit off every word, but she kept her voice low, so as not to disturb the people lingering over the last of their tea. “I know because I helped her. Which makes me wonder why you care. I checked out what might be the nearest competition and found none. Your place isn’t directly competitive with this tearoom and, as Lily and I believe, successful businesses are good for everyone in the community.”

  “Successful businesses, sure, but how long is this place going to be successful? That’s what I’d like to know. You don’t have the staff to keep going for the rest of the summer.”

  “Lily has me,” Bernie said.

  Allegra’s expression showed what she thought of that.

  “You’ve made your point,” I said. “If you’re not going to enjoy my baking, please leave. We’re closing soon.”

  Allegra stood up, scones and coffee forgotten. “That Cheryl Dowd is poison. I could have warned you about her.”

  Allegra’s considerably shorter than I am, not much more than five feet four, and I was glad of it as I tried to stare her down. I felt the blood rushing to my face and my fists clenching. I was conscious of the Warrior Princess standing next to me, powerful and steadfast, like a bodyguard. “I want to live and work in this community and get on with everyone, and my grandmother does also. We’re not here to make enemies, but if you want to make yourself one, so be it.”

  “Enemies? I said nothing about enemies. I came here today to express my sympathy for your situation. Not your fault, but you should have taken more care in the hiring of employees.” She started to walk away.

  “Twenty dollars, please,” Bernie said.

  “What?”

  “The cream tea with coffee is twenty dollars. Nineteen ninety-five, plus tax, but I’ll let that go. You didn’t eat your food, but that’s not our problem. Twenty dollars.” Bernie held out her hand.

  Allegra stared at her. Bernie’s hand remained perfectly steady.

  Allegra’s nerve broke first; she fumbled in her purse, found two ten-dollar bills, and slapped them onto the table. “Outrageous price for a couple of dry biscuits and bad coffee.” She walked away, her back and shoulders stiff with anger.

  A gust of wind lifted the money off the table, and Bernie snatched the bills before they could escape. She stuffed them into the little bag tied around her waist. “What a perfectly horrid woman. Why do you suppose she came here? Not for scones, that’s for sure.”

  “To gloat,” I answered. “She can’t go down to the police station and taunt Cheryl through the bars, as though in some old-time western movie, so she had to find the next best place. I’m thinking that when Cheryl does get out of jail, Allegra’s hoping she’s poisoned me against her and I won’t have her back.”

  “Instead, she did the opposite.”

  “As that sort of maliciousness often does. Her visit might have accomplished something else, though.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me quickly, how would you describe Cheryl physically? Don’t stop to think about it.”

  “Middle aged. Dyed hair. Short and overweight.”

  “And how you would describe Allegra? Again, quickly.”

  “Middle aged. Dyed hair. Short and overweight. You’re thinking Allegra might have been in the garden on Tuesday night and the guest mistook her for Cheryl.”

  Allegra looked nothing at all like Cheryl, but in the dark, at night, from a distance? Might it have been Allegra wandering in our garden on Tuesday, not Cheryl?