“Your pal Rachel’s not entirely in the clear, either,” Williams said. “She has an alibi, but alibis can be faked.”

  “And people can work in conjunction for a common end,” Redmond said.

  “What happens if one or the other of them is found to have murdered Kimberly?” I asked. “What happens to the estate, I mean? Would the other get it all?”

  “I’m not as well up on the intricacies of inheritance law as I might be,” Detective Redmond said. “A person can’t financially benefit from a crime they committed, so the killer, if convicted, would unlikely be allowed to inherit. We’re assuming that this will”—she lifted the evidence bag—“is valid. It might not be. That’s for the lawyers to sort out.”

  I watched them drive away, and then I went back inside to check on Rose. Jean had returned to her tasks, and the roar of the vacuum cleaner sounded over our heads.

  “So it was Stephen after all,” Rose said.

  “That’s not proven, but it’s likely. If he knew the third will gave him a proper share of the estate, he’d be desperate to get his hands on it. He might have confronted Kimberly, demanding she hand it over, and killed her in a flash of anger when she refused. Maybe Rachel put the idea in his head to get rid of Kimberly, or he came up with it all on his own. Kimberly would likely have contested this third will, and she probably had grounds as her mother was in her final days when she wrote it. Stephen, and perhaps Rachel herself, might have not wanted to go through all that fuss and bother. Never mind the expense of a drawn-out legal case. Regardless, it’s no longer our problem.”

  I was sorry the way things had turned out. When Stephen came here, to Victoria-on-Sea, to visit the spot where his sister died, I’d believed him to be sincere, genuinely grieving. He seemed to have accepted that his background as a wild young man meant his family didn’t trust him with money.

  Goes to show what a good judge of character I am.

  Not.

  “Nasty piece of work that Stephen chap,” Rose said. “I disliked him the moment I set eyes on him. I should have told the police right away.”

  I smiled at her. “I’m sure they would have taken your judgment into account.”

  Robbie curled his lip up at me and Rose sniffed. I hid a grin. They did have identical expressions sometimes. “So they should,” my grandmother said. “Observations made as a result of a lifetime of experience dealing with people shouldn’t be so easily dismissed as an old lady’s fancy. I have to say, I was shocked at the way Helen Chambers allowed that young man to talk to her in front of us. Mrs. McNamara was the housekeeper when I was at Thornecroft. She’d been with the family more than thirty years, her mother before her, and I can tell you none of the children, adult or not, would have been permitted to speak to her the way that young man did in our presence, regardless of whether or not Lady Frockmorton was there to hear it. She ensured her children were property trained and respectful of the people who provided the comforts of life they relied upon.”

  “Next, Rose, you’re going to say standards are slipping in the colonies, and young people these days. . . .”

  She winked at me. Robbie yawned. “Perhaps I am. Privilege of old age. Not that I’m old yet, love. But because I hope to be old one day, I’m glad that’s all over. I wonder how that awful young man you once fancied is going to take it when he finds out his late wife isn’t inheriting several million after all.”

  “I have no idea, and I hope to never know. The legal complications are going to be interesting, and it’s going to take a long time to sort it all out, particularly if the police find the evidence to arrest and charge Stephen. Enough chat. I have to get back to work. I’ll phone Bernie on my way to the tearoom and fill her in.”

  * * *

  Bernie was, she told me when I called, writing up a storm with a fabulous new idea for a subplot involving a lost will and murderous relatives, so she didn’t have time to chat about anything happening in real life.

  I worked late into the night, enjoying the silence of my kitchen and the feel of pastry and dough beneath my hands. It wasn’t over, not for the Smithfield family, not by a long shot, but it was over for me. And I was glad of it.

  It was full dark outside, and I was putting away the last of the night’s work when Rachel called me. “The police are looking for my brother,” she said.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “They can’t possibly believe Stephen killed Kimberly. Come on. Stephen doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. When he was a teenager, I sometimes wished he would show some backbone. His father bullied him terribly. Poor Stephen didn’t meet Julian’s ideals of what a man should be.”

  “How did your mother react to that?”

  “The way she reacted to a lot of things in Julian Smithfield’s house: by pretending not to notice. Maybe it would have helped if I’d been there for Stephen, but I’m eight years older than him, and what college girl or twenty-something woman making her way in Manhattan wants to concern herself with the troubles of her wayward teenage brother? I figured Helen would look after him, if my parents wouldn’t.”

  “You don’t think he did it?”

  “Killed Kimberly? No, I do not. He absolutely doesn’t have it in him. Detective Redmond told me they found Mom’s handwritten will, but she didn’t say where.”

  “So I heard.”

  “Do you know where it was?”

  I saw no reason not to tell her, so I did. “Underneath a rug in what had been Kimberly’s room at the B & B. She must have wanted the will to be kept safe and . . .”

  “Hidden from me. I wanted to search that room. The first place I would have looked was under a rug. That’s where she kept her diary when she was a kid. Thinking I’d be snooping. As if I cared what she got up to. As I recall, you wouldn’t let me into the room, Lily. If I found it, it would have saved us all a lot of trouble, and Kimberly would still be alive.”

  My hackles rose. After all the fuss and bother Rachel and her family had caused me. “Don’t you dare put any blame on me, Rachel. Letting you into that room to search it would have been a serious threat to our reputation, not to mention illegal.”

  “Yeah, okay. Sorry. You did what you had to do, and I guess I can respect that.”

  Not that I much cared if I had Rachel’s respect or not. “You didn’t come back to the house later, after Kimberly’s death, and search for the envelope when Wesley was out, did you?”

  “I will admit, Lily, the thought crossed my mind, but I decided against it. My break-and-enter skills aren’t up to much, and if I was caught, let’s say the cops here aren’t all that favorably inclined toward me at the moment.”

  I didn’t know if I believed her, but I let it go. All water under the bridge—the will had been located.

  “I have an appointment at the police station tomorrow to see the document. I suspect they also have more questions for me about where I was when Kimmy died. They’ve been checking further into my alibi. Unfortunately, the bartender at the place I was at isn’t sure if he remembers me or not, so all I have to rely on is the charter boat captain. Thank heavens I didn’t shrug his attentions off outright, or who knows what he’d try to do to get back at me. This whole awful thing seems never-ending, but I suppose that’s the way the law works.”

  “Where are you now?” I asked.

  “At the Chatham house. It seems so empty. Mom . . . gone. Kimberly . . . gone. Stephen . . . wherever Stephen is. Helen finished for the day. I guess it’s my house now, if the will says what Detective Redmond told me it says. I have the house, or the prospect of having it, but I don’t want it. I want to go back to Manhattan. I want to design restaurants. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. I have a good shot at getting the commission for the brasserie in a historic hotel near Gramercy Square that’s being completely redesigned, and I have to get to work on my proposal if I have a chance of landing the contract.” She sighed heavily. “Is Wesley still hanging around?”

  “No. He . . . left prematurely.”

  “Just as well. He’s going to be in a rage when he finds out he’s not inheriting enough from Kimberly to buy him as much as a full set of kitchen appliances for the high-end restaurant of his dreams.”

  I refrained from saying, once again, that two hundred thousand was a lot of money. What was the point? Wesley would be in a rage. Who knows when, or even if, he’ll see that money?

  “Keep in touch, Lily. I’ll be popping back and forth between New York and the Cape for a long time to come, I fear, and I’d like to see you again. Maybe we can grab a drink one night.”

  “I’d like that,” I said, not meaning it. I had nothing against Rachel, but I didn’t want any more reminders of the trouble she and her family had caused me.

  * * *

  But, once again, the Morrison-Smithfield family wasn’t finished with me. I checked the ovens were off, turned out the lights, locked the door of Tea by the Sea behind me, and headed home. Clouds were scudding across the sky and the wind was high. We might, I thought, get some rain tonight. Waves crashed against the shore. Light spilled from the windows of the B & B, and the laughter of people enjoying a nightcap on the veranda drifted toward me. I knew my way well enough that I could light my way home with nothing but the weak glow from the flashlight on my phone. As I walked, I glanced to my left, toward the ruined garden shed, but I could see nothing in the dark. I rounded the house, noticing that Rose’s lights had been switched off.

  A shape stepped out of the darkness. I let out a muffled scream and staggered back.

  “Sorry if I scared you,” Stephen Smithfield said.

  I gripped my phone. “What are you doing here? Do you know the police are looking for you?”

  His face genuinely looked baffled. “Me? Why?”

  “I don’t know.” My heart was pounding in my chest. I edged away, retreating toward the lights and the laughter on the veranda. “Questions about your sister’s death, I’d guess.”

  “Questions. More questions. Always questions. I have questions of my own, and no one to answer them.” He took his phone out of his pocket. No light came on when he touched it. “I turned this off earlier, not wanting to be disturbed.” He shrugged. “They’ll find me if they want me, soon enough.” He put the phone away and stuffed his hands into his pocket.

  “What are you doing here? And at this time of night?”

  “I can’t really say. I was out wandering, thinking. Thinking about Kimmy and our parents, and how short life can be. Whether or not I want to go back to California. I haven’t got much to go back for. They’re holding my job for me, and I like it well enough, but Massachusetts has stores, too, right? If I want to stay in retail, which I haven’t decided. I don’t have much here, either, come to think of it, except for Rachel. Family matters, doesn’t it? But I suppose she’ll be heading to New York the moment she can.”

  I should have been frightened, but I wasn’t. I sensed no threat or hostility from this sad, lonely man, but I’ve been called naive more than once, so I wasn’t going to take any chances. Keeping half an eye on Stephen, I retreated, going past Rose’s side window and rounding the house, stepping into the light from the veranda where two couples were playing cards. “I hope you’re having a nice evening,” I called.

  They waved cards and glasses at me.

  “Where’s your car?” I said to Stephen.

  “My car? Oh, you mean the Audi. Not my car. Not exactly my style, but you need wheels around here, don’t you? That was Mom’s car, and no one’s bothered to sell it yet. I parked it on the road. Wanted to have a walk. Think things over.”

  “Come to any conclusions?”

  “No.”

  I lifted my own phone. “I’d like to call Detective Redmond. Tell her you’re here. Is that okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I kept my eyes on him as I pushed buttons. It was late, but Amy Redmond would recognize my number, and I hoped she’d pick up. She did. “Lily? What’s up?”

  “I’m having a chat with Stephen Smithfield. Here at the B & B.”

  “Are you in any danger?”

  “Not in the least. Just having a pleasant conversation on a nice evening.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Best to come quietly,” I said. “I wouldn’t want you to . . . upset our guests.”

  “Understood.”

  “This is a nice place,” Stephen said when I’d disconnected the call.

  “We like it. We had a commotion here last night. Did you hear about that?”

  “No. What sort of commotion?” The shadows were deep across his face, but what I could see remained impassive, not terribly interested, not at all concerned that the police were aware of his location.

  “Our garden shed caught fire.”

  “That’s too bad. Anyone hurt?”

  “No.”

  “That’s good, then.” He turned and started to walk back toward the edge of the bluffs.

  “Would you like to see the rose garden?” I asked.

  “I’m not much of one for flowers, but I guess. Okay.”

  We walked together across the grass. I’d chosen the rose garden because it was within easy screaming distance of the card players, and light from the veranda reached it. I didn’t know where Amy Redmond lived, but I hoped it wasn’t too far. At this time of night it would take about ten minutes to get here from North Augusta. Keeping to the speed limit, that is, and she might not do that.

  “I don’t know why I’ve come here tonight,” Stephen said. “Feeling sorry for myself, I guess. I didn’t get on all that well with my parents, to put it mildly, and I put myself as far away from them as I could get as soon as I could, but there’s something about knowing they’re gone, Mom, anyway, and we’ll never have a chance to make amends.”

  He was being talkative, so I decided I might as well learn what I could, while I could. “The terms of your mother’s will didn’t bother you?”

  “You mean giving me a small allowance, rather than outright cash? Sure, it bothered me. But that’s the same conditions as the will Dad had drawn up for them both. Mom kept the template and moved some names around.” He chuckled.

  “Names?”

  “She cut Rachel out all together and left everything to Kimmy. Then, according to—” He stopped abruptly and took a breath before continuing. “According to Rachel, she changed her mind and wrote Rachel back in. My mother was . . . I think the word is indecisive. She married my dad for his money, and found she couldn’t handle all the baggage that went with it.”

  “You know that for sure?”

  “I don’t know what she was thinking at the time of their marriage, no. She never said, but it was always obvious she wasn’t a happy woman. My dad was not a nice man.”

  “What sort of baggage?” The first warm raindrop fell on my head.

  “Doesn’t matter now.” He squinted up into the night sky.

  A few more raindrops fell.

  The card players, dry in the shelter of the veranda, laughed, and a woman said, “Any more in that bottle, hon?”

  “It’s raining,” Stephen said. “I’m not going to stand around and get wet. That cop can call me tomorrow if she still wants to talk. I’ll turn my phone on in the morning.”

  “We can take seats on the porch,” I suggested as a few raindrops rapidly became many more. “It’s sheltered there.”

  “Nah, it’s late. Time I was going.”

  He started to walk away, heading toward the road, as the rain fell around him. I didn’t believe Stephen was a killer, but what I believed didn’t matter. The police had a lot of questions for him, and he wasn’t willing to wait for them, but there wasn’t much I could do to stop him from leaving. I couldn’t run after him, wrestle him to the ground, and hold him down until the police arrived.

  “For what it’s worth,” he said as he passed out of the lights from the house into the curtain of rain. “I’m sorry about Kimmy. I wouldn’t have agreed . . .” His voice faded away.

  I called Redmond as I ran for shelter. “Stephen’s left. Sorry, I couldn’t keep him here. If you hurry you might catch him. He said he parked on the road.”

  “I’ve been delayed. A multicar accident on the highway and then a call about a robbery in progress and no one else to take it. He won’t get far.” I could hear a siren in the background. “Did you see what car he’s in?”

  “His mother’s Audi.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Lily. I’ll run those plates and put a BOLO on him.” Redmond hung up.

  Chapter 22

  Bernie arrived at Victoria-on-Sea shortly before I was finished with the B & B breakfasts the following morning. Her writing, she told me, had gone well, and she was eager to discuss the newest developments in the “case of the lost will,” as she referred to it. Before I put her to work unloading the dishwasher, I showed her the photos I’d taken of Rosemary Smithfield’s third will.

  She studied the pictures in great detail before handing my phone back to me. “Seems pretty straightforward. I don’t suppose you turned the paper over to see if there’s anything written on the back?”

  “No, I didn’t think to.”

  She tsked in disappointment, sounding much like Robert the Bruce when I did something he disapproved of. Which happened regularly. “We have an original will, properly drawn up in a lawyers’ office, a second will hastily organized in the dying woman’s sick room, then a third will handwritten and concealed in a children’s tea set. Who’s to say there isn’t a fourth will scribbled on the back of that one, or also secreted away. The possibilities are endless. However, I have to say, as far as I can tell, that last will appears to be perfectly legal. The writing’s legible, no obvious signs of erasure or tampering with. Dated and properly witnessed. I don’t recognize the names of the witnesses, but I assume they’re legit.”

  “That’s the last of them.” Edna dumped a load of dirty dishes on the counter. “Another lot of happy people fed.” She wiggled her shoulders and gave her back a good stretch. I threw down my dishtowel and called to Éclair. I had time to grab a coffee and relax for half an hour before heading up the driveway to start my second shift.