* * *

  The following morning I was overjoyed to see Cheryl, rather than Marybeth’s law school cousin, arrive for work with Marybeth. And not only because I needed my best waitress. I wrapped Cheryl in a fierce hug. I then hugged Marybeth, and Bernie eagerly leapt into the hugging circle.

  “Thank heavens you’re here,” my friend said as she took off her apron. “I never want to do this again.”

  I’d told Edna I wouldn’t need her help, as Marybeth would be back today. Cheryl had been released from jail, but she might not be feeling up to putting in a day’s work, and the cousin was an unknown factor, so I’d asked—more like begged—Bernie to come again.

  “Not so fast, Bernie,” I said now. “Cheryl, are you sure you want to work today? You must be exhausted.”

  “Not a whole lot to do in jail,” she said. “I’m mentally worn out from worrying, that’s all. A day at the beck and call of you and your customers will take my mind off my troubles.”

  I smiled at her and touched her arm. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I’m not in the clear yet, Lily. Chuck Williams is still hunting for proof of my guilt.”

  Marybeth made a sound that indicated what she thought about that.

  “Still, one step forward,” I said. “You’re wearing your good luck earrings again today.”

  She touched her right earlobe. “I need all the luck I can get if Chuck Williams is out to get me.”

  “What’s the story?” Bernie said. “Between you and him? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “No story,” Cheryl said. “We dated for a while in high school. Believe it or not, he was a mighty good-looking guy back in the day. He played football.”

  “That is hard to believe,” Marybeth said.

  Cheryl laughed. “About as hard to believe as that I was also quite the looker in those long-ago days. Or so the boys, and my parents, told me. Chuck went out with Allegra for a while. They broke up, and he and I started dating. Allegra blamed me for the breakup, although I had nothing to do with it. It was high school in a small town. Everyone dated just about everyone at some time or other. Allegra didn’t need an excuse to not like me. Allegra didn’t like many people, and not many liked her in return. It’s sad really. All these years later and she’s still not liking people.”

  “Did you break it off with Williams?” Bernie asked. “Do you think he holds a grudge?”

  “A grudge? No. We didn’t last long. We married other people, and we carried on with our lives. I never thought there was anything personal about him arresting me, and I still don’t. You can’t police the small town you grew up in without arresting people you knew when you were younger.” She checked her watch. “Eleven o’clock. I’ll unlock the door.”

  Marybeth went with her.

  “If you don’t need me . . . ,” Bernie said.

  “Thanks for coming, but it looks as though we’re back on track.”

  She wiggled her fingers and skipped out the back door.

  Bernie’d arrived shortly after nine, in time to enjoy a cup of coffee and a muffin on my small porch with me after I finished the B & B breakfast shift. She had no new information, she reported. No rumors of Tommy Greene, involving marital fidelity, financial difficulties, or anything else, and nothing more on CookingTV or Josh Henshaw. I told her what I’d overheard between Josh and Reilly last night, while not telling her about the secret room, and I’d suggested she check into Reilly’s background.

  I was putting the finishing touches on vanilla cupcakes when a loud rap sounded at the door, and it opened to admit none other than Josh and Reilly.

  “Great news!” Reilly pumped his fists. “We’re good to go.”

  Josh didn’t look quite so pleased. His smile was tight, and it failed to reach his eyes.

  “You mean the filming’s going to continue?” I asked.

  “Yup. We got the green light last night.” Reilly turned to Josh. “Sometimes you have to force people into making a decision. That’s what my dad taught me, right, Dad?”

  Josh made a noncommittal grunt.

  “That’s good,” I said. “I suppose. But I have a schedule to keep. I have reservations for the rest of the day and continuing through the weekend. I can’t close my restaurant without notice.”

  “Not necessary,” Reilly said. “We have pretty much all we need from you.”

  I knew that. I also knew they’d decided I wouldn’t win. I didn’t mind. All I wanted was to see the back of them. “Are you going to continue with only Claudia and Scarlet as judges?”

  “We have lots of footage of Tommy at this place. Instead of filming the final day’s meeting with you as planned, Claudia and Scarlet are going to sit together over one of your teas and reminisce about Tommy. We’ll shoot that this afternoon, out in the garden. Don’t worry about moving your reservations around. People love to be in the background on TV.”

  “But—”

  “We won’t need you for that. A nice friendly chat between good friends, talking about their favorite memories of an old pal. Then when we air the piece, we’ll intersperse it with shots of Tommy being Tommy. There won’t be a dry eye in a living room in America. Right, Dad?”

  “Whatever you say,” Josh said.

  “Hey! Look who’s here!” Reilly proclaimed as Cheryl came into the kitchen. “Glad to see you’re out of the slammer.”

  She eyed him warily as she read off her notepad, “Traditional tea for four. Two children’s teas. One order of light tea for two. Can you excuse me, please?”

  “What?” Reilly said.

  “I need to make the tea, and you’re in my way.”

  “Oh, sorry.” He stepped aside, and she got down the appropriate canisters of loose tea.

  Josh looked at me and jerked his head to indicate Cheryl. “Maybe don’t use that one this afternoon.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “It would look odd, don’t you think, if she gets rearrested for killing Tommy?”

  Cheryl’s back was to us as she spooned loose tea leaves into pots, added water at the correct temperature for the appropriate blend of tea, and set the timers. She didn’t react, but her shoulders tightened, and the back of her neck flushed with enough color to match the stones in her earrings.

  “That might not be a bad idea,” Reilly said. “Talk about adding extra drama to the scene.”

  “I . . . ,” I said.

  “Okay, maybe not,” Reilly said. “We’ll use the younger one.”

  I continued arranging the trays of food as per Cheryl’s orders. Reilly snatched a chocolate chip cookie off the children’s tea tray.

  “Hey,” I said.

  He grinned at me. “That’s settled, then. Great. The crew will be here at three. Josh, make sure you send that waitress to Melanie to get some make up on and her hair fixed.” He popped the cookie into his mouth as he left the kitchen.

  “He seems in a good mood today,” I said to Josh.

  “Reilly’s always in a good mood. When he gets what he wants.”

  * * *

  As Reilly had mentioned, my customers didn’t mind in the least when the TV crew arrived and began setting up. The only complaints I overheard were that people wished they’d known in advance so they could have dressed better/had their hair done/fixed their makeup/brought their friends/told all their friends/told all their enemies.

  Word had spread, and I was not happy to see Allegra, in the company of Susan and Gary Powers, being shown to a patio table. My fellow baker hadn’t bothered to change out of her work jeans and stained T-shirt, but our mayor was dressed as though she were on the campaign trail, in a powder-blue power suit with four-inch heels. Gary, ever the supportive political spouse, had slicked his gray hair back and dressed in khaki slacks ironed to a knifepoint and an equally well-laundered blue shirt. Italian loafers were on his feet.

  “You couldn’t have told them we were full?” I said to Cheryl.

  “Susan called and asked for a table for three. She didn’t say who’d be joining her. We were full, but I figured I should squeeze her in. It never hurts to play nice with the political powers. Hey, that’s a pun! I didn’t know she’d be bringing the dratted Allegra.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” Rose said. My grandmother wore a brilliantly colored concoction of baggy purple pants, a yellow blouse so blindingly bright it was like looking directly into the sun, and a long red silk scarf that trailed behind her. She leaned on her pink cane.

  “It also never hurts to play nice with the people who pay the bills,” Cheryl said. “Rose, the table in the far corner is for you and Bernie.”

  “You’re staying?” I asked.

  Rose beamed at me. “More than staying, love. I’m putting in a cameo appearance.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s been arranged for Rose and me to stop by Claudia and Scarlet’s table and extend our condolences on their loss,” Bernie said. “Josh called Rose earlier and asked if she’d do that, and she extended the invitation to me. She can’t sit all by herself at teatime.”

  “Okay,” I said, trying not to be offended that Bernie and Rose were needed in front of the camera, but I, the actual owner and head chef at this establishment, was not. I didn’t want to be on the stupid TV show, but that was beside the point.

  “The gang’s all here.” Bernie nodded toward the parking area, where Detectives Redmond and Williams were getting out of a car. At least they hadn’t come in a marked cruiser, and no uniformed officers were with them. No mistaking the two of them for anything but cops, though. They glanced our way, but they didn’t come over to chat and took positions next to an equipment truck.

  “Afternoon ladies.” Melanie, the makeup woman, came up to my small group. “Bet you’ll be glad to see the last of us.”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  She laughed. “I don’t blame you. As for me, I’m just glad we’re back at work. Your town’s lovely and all that, but we were all getting mighty restless at the not knowing. This gig’s hard enough as it is.”

  “I do hope there’s shortbread on offer today,” Rose said. “Come along, Bernadette. That young man is trying to get everyone to take their seats.”

  I watched Bernie and Rose walk across the patio, Rose tapping the way with her cane, Bernie’s arm linked through hers. Rose said something to Susan Powers as they passed the mayoral table, and Susan smiled in return. Gary Powers, on the other hand, ignored my grandmother and pointedly checked Bernie out. She pretended not to notice, as did his wife.

  The patio was full, more than full, as we’d moved chairs from the dining room to squeeze additional people in. Cheryl went about her duties apparently unfazed, arranging place settings, jotting orders on her notepad, serving tea and food, and accepting payment with a bright smile. Marybeth fluttered about, trying to do her job but clearly nervous at the prospect of her turn in front of the cameras. I’d briefly wondered if Reilly was intending to set Marybeth up to fail again, the way he and Tommy had done, but I’d decided I had nothing to worry about. Today’s segment was intended to feature the two women reminiscing fondly about a good friend. No high drama needed.

  “Okay, everyone!” Josh shouted. “We’re about to begin. Enjoy your tea and talk amongst yourselves. Pay no attention to the camera.”

  Easier said than done, I thought.

  “Ms. D’Angelo and Ms. McIntosh will be available for photographs and autographs after the filming.”

  A couple of women squealed, and one clapped her hands.

  “You!” Josh pointed to Marybeth, and she jumped. “Think you can do this?”

  “Yes.” The word came out in a croak. She cleared her throat and said, “I’m ready, sir.”

  “Any chance of a cup of tea?” Melanie, the makeup artist, asked me. “I can provide all the latest gossip in payment.”

  “I don’t need payment, but I do have tea. Come with me. As long as people are out here eating, I have to be in there baking.”

  * * *

  I poured a cup of English breakfast for Melanie and one for myself, and then I got pastry dough out of the fridge and prepared to roll it out for tarts. “What did you mean,” I asked her, “about this gig being a hard one? Is it worse than most?”

  Melanie leaned against a wall and cradled her tea. “Not as bad as some. Harder than a lot. Any TV or movie set is a titanic battle of egos, and frankly, the smaller the stars, the more the ego. Scarlet McIntosh isn’t exactly Meryl Streep, who, by the way, is an absolutely delightful woman, but she would like to be. She doesn’t want anything to do with reality TV. She wants to act with a capital A, but she’s not getting any roles, and that’s making her angrier and meaner toward the crew. Most of whom, including me, couldn’t care one hoot for her and her dreams of stardom. As for Claudia, I’ve been with this show from the beginning. At first, Claudia was nice. Not overly friendly, but simply polite enough to everyone. Something’s been bugging her badly these past couple of weeks. It’s become a regular job for me, getting the redness out of her eyes and nose in the morning. She’s putting in a lot of late nights, and no, I don’t know what she’s up to, but whatever it is, it’s not making her happy. This tea’s good. And these cookies are to die for.” I’d served her some of my shortbread to accompany the tea.

  “What about Tommy?” I rolled the dough to an eighth of an inch thickness.

  “Tommy was a doll. Toward me and most of the crew, anyway, although he and Josh and Reilly could really get into it. He couldn’t stand Scarlet, and even though I think he genuinely liked Claudia, he thought she should have retired long ago. Even the nicest of men think a woman over fifty has no place in front of the cameras.”

  I cut circles of dough and folded them into the tart pans. “You’re being very frank with me.”

  “Why not? Nothing’s a secret on a TV set. Besides, I like you. I like your cookies, anyway.”

  “Try a macaron,” I said, indicating the delicate pale green treats laid out, ready to be served.

  She reached around me. “Don’t mind if I do. Yummy. This is not a happy set, Lily. Josh is losing control, as he’s being pushed out by Reilly. A power play among the higher-ups is never good for morale.”

  I nodded as I thought of some of the restaurants I’d worked in. Talk about power plays and titanic egos.

  “Scarlet and Claudia hated each other from the get-go. Fair enough on Claudia’s part, I thought. She has solid cooking creds, whereas Scarlet serves no purpose but to look good for the cameras. Reilly’s long wanted to dump Scarlet, but Josh won’t hear of it.” She sipped her tea, and her eyes sparkled.

  “Why might that be?” I asked innocently.

  “Everyone knows they’re up to something. Josh and Scarlet, I mean. Everyone always knows, although the parties concerned think they’re being sooo discreet. Scarlet originally made a play for Tommy. He wasn’t interested, didn’t even pretend to be polite about it. The air between them was mighty chilly for a while. She pretended not to care that Tommy had rejected her, but believe me, honey, your hairdresser knows for sure. And I’m talking about more than hair color. She was absolutely furious. After a while, she turned her attentions to Josh, and it went from there. Whether that was because she was hoping Tommy’d get jealous, I don’t know. I could have told her not to bother, but why would I? Tommy was a straight arrow. I liked him. Most of the time.”

  “Scarlet came on to Josh?”

  “Oh, yeah. I can’t say she found it hard to convince him. It’s obvious she’s gotten tired of him, but he’s not ready to let go. More ego stuff, you know.”

  I mulled that over for a few minutes as I poured lemon filling into the tart shells. “Do you have any idea who might have killed Tommy?”

  Melanie shook her head. “If someone had murdered Reilly or Josh, I wouldn’t have been at all surprised. If Scarlet or Claudia had been killed, I’d assume the other had finally snapped and done her in. The police have spoken to me and the rest of the crew several times, asking about everyone’s relationships with Tommy, where we’d been that night, if we’d seen anyone suspicious hanging around the set. As though I’d know what suspicious looks like, if it’s not some teenage girl thinking this is her big chance and trying to get herself into a shot. Who killed him? Haven’t got a clue.” She put down her cup and dusted crumbs off her shirt. “Thanks for this.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Melanie passed Cheryl on her way out. “Traditional tea for four and royal tea for two,” Cheryl called.

  “How’s it going out there?” I asked as I slipped the baking sheet into the oven.

  “Marybeth hasn’t dropped a tray, and she didn’t spill hot tea all over Claudia D’Angelo, so I’d say it’s going okay. I’ll be so glad when this is over.”

  “As will I.”

  “They’re wrapping up now. Claudia and Scarlet are chatting to the guests, most of whom seem thrilled to be chatted to. A couple of tables have left, so we’ve seated some new arrivals.” She fiddled with tea canisters and airpots while I arranged food on the three-tiered stands.

  Marybeth came in, her tray piled high with used cups and plates. I was pleased to see she was smiling broadly. “It’s finished, and I think it went okay. Gary Powers kept his big mouth shut, and no one on camera spoke to Allegra. They’re starting to pack up.”

  “Glad that’s over.” I washed my hands and took off my hairnet. “I’m going to say good-bye. I won’t say I hope never to see any of them again, but I’ll be thinking it.”

  Marybeth began loading the dishwasher, and I went out front. The dining rooms were largely empty; most people had wanted to be seated outside. I spotted a discarded napkin on the floor in one of the alcoves and veered to pick it up. At that moment Bernie came out of the hallway leading to the ladies’ room, and Gary Powers stepped out of the vestibule. It looked to me as though he’d been waiting for her.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi.”

  I picked up the napkin but remained where I was.

  “You’re Bernadette Murphy,” Gary said. “The writer?”