Edna’s phone rang. “I have to get this. It’s Frank. He knows not to call me before nine thirty, so this might be important. Hi, honey, is everything okay?” As she listened, she waggled her eyebrows at me. I edged closer.

  “Thanks, hon.” She put her phone away. “The police arrested Stephen Smithfield last night for the murder of Kimberly Smithfield.”

  “Wow,” Bernie said. “That’s quite a thing. Killing a sister for money.”

  “Allegedly,” Edna said.

  “He must have set the fire to your shed,” Bernie said. “I wonder why he did that?”

  “Maybe for no reason at all,” Edna said. “Because he could.”

  “He was here Thursday morning,” I said. “He told me he wanted to see where his sister died.”

  “Returning to the scene of the crime.” Bernie nodded sagely.

  “And then, later that afternoon, I caught him spying on Rachel and Helen Chambers while they had tea.”

  I said nothing about his third visit last night. I hadn’t slept well, going over and over that conversation in my mind. I didn’t see Stephen as a killer, and particularly not of his sister, but if I said so, Bernie would remind me that I have a rosy outlook on people. People can kill in anger, lash out in a rage, and it’s possible Stephen had been the person I’d heard Kimberly arguing with in the moments before she died and he ran in fright. Although, if that’s what happened, I would have expected him to break down and tearfully confess.

  Then again, I’d never met the man before this week.

  “You don’t suppose he and Rachel were in it together, do you?” Bernie asked. “According to the new will, they share the estate, after all.”

  “None of this sits well with me,” I said. “Edna, will you let me know if the paper hears of any new developments?”

  “Sure.”

  * * *

  “What doesn’t sit well with you?” Bernie asked as we walked along the cliff top toward my cottage.

  Sunlight sparkled on the clear blue waters of the bay. A fully laden whale-watching boat passed us, heading for the open ocean at the top of the Cape. Éclair sniffed through the grass and around the fence posts, her stubby tail wagging in delight at all the marvelous fresh scents she was finding.

  I stopped and leaned on the railing. I wanted to take a moment to enjoy the view, but the beauty of my surroundings couldn’t distract my dark thoughts. “I simply can’t see Stephen as a killer. He seemed to me to be a gentle sort. Rachel told me his father tried to bully him into being more manly.”

  Bernie scoffed. “Like Wesley, who I heard was evicted from the premises, and not a moment too soon. If I may be blunt . . .”

  “Whyever would you stop now?”

  “You’re too kind for your own good, Lily Roberts. I’ve told you that before. People can surprise you, in many different ways.”

  “I know. It’s just . . .” My voice trailed off. I didn’t know what I thought. “Maybe Stephen did come here that night to demand Kimberly produce the third will, and they got into an argument over it. He’s the one who sold the tea chest, and thus the will, to the antique dealer, remember. He was likely carrying around a lot of anger toward himself for doing that. Mix self-loathing with long-simmering family resentments, and the result can be a toxic brew. He lashed out. Maybe he killed her without meaning to and ran. Okay, I can buy that. But why set the shed on fire?”

  “To send a message. Stop interfering or next time it’ll be your house. With you in it.”

  “That’s why I don’t think Stephen did it,” I said. “Maybe my naiveté is acting up again, but my take is he doesn’t have the guile. I also have to question if Stephen even knew he was back in the will. Rachel thought it was all going to her and Kimberly, and she was there, with her mother, around the time. Stephen was in California when his mother was dying, but I suppose she could have phoned and told him.”

  “If you’re right about his character, and I have my doubts, we’re back to Rachel as prime suspect, and she, according to the cops, has an alibi. Her plus Wesley, who doesn’t have an alibi. Is it possible they worked together?”

  “Rachel doesn’t have a lot of time for Wesley.”

  “That’s a point in her favor,” Bernie said.

  “I can’t see her putting her life in his hands in that way. Plotting a murder with another person must make you mighty dependent on their continuing good will.”

  “Not necessarily. Both parties would need to keep the secret. Hang together or hang separately, as the saying goes.”

  “I’ll buy that.”

  “Are you sure they don’t get on? People can pretend to have emotions they don’t feel, you know. Wesley married Rachel’s sister, and apparently in a heck of a rush. That play might have been cooked up between the two of them as a way of getting the money.”

  I thought about that and eventually shook my head. “Rachel’s known Wesley for a number of years. They’ve worked together in the past, and closely. If anything romantic was going to blossom, it would have by now. She wouldn’t have been able to just stand by when he declared his, supposed, everlasting love for me.”

  “Why would Rachel know that happened? She wasn’t a witness to it. If she suspected something along those lines, he could have told her he was playing a role to confuse things.”

  “Good point. I still don’t see it, though. Most of all, because Rachel wanted the will found and Wesley didn’t. Why would Wesley kill Kimberly?”

  “Maybe she told him she’d destroyed the will. Thinking her inheritance was therefore guaranteed, and his in turn as her widower, he killed her.”

  “Possible. Anything’s possible. What’s not possible, Bernie, is for me to put this to rest. Something Rose said has been bothering me a great deal.”

  “What?”

  “Let me think about it. I got the tearoom well stocked last night, so I have time to go for a drive. Wanna come?”

  “Have I ever been known to turn down one of your scones?”

  “What does that mean? I’m not planning on bringing a picnic lunch.”

  “It means your question was rhetorical. Of course I want to come.”

  I sent a text to Cheryl, telling her I’d be late, but to go ahead and open on time. Then I called to Éclair, put her in the house, ensured she had sufficient water until Mrs. Zagorsky, the weekend housekeeper, came to check on her, and Bernie and I set off. We have two sets of keys for Rose’s car. One set is kept in her rooms and the spare in the B & B kitchen on a hook next to the aprons.

  The kitchen hook was empty. I groaned. “If I have to go in search of the keys, Rose will want to know why I need the car when I should be hard at work in the tearoom.”

  “Tell her you have an emergency shopping errand to attend to.”

  I shook my head. “Rose can always tell when I’m lying. It’s her superpower. One of many. Did you bring your car?”

  “Nope. Biked over. I’ve been putting in long hours slaving over my computer, so I figured I could use the exercise this morning. Do you need me to go and get it?”

  “I don’t want to wait. Nothing for it, but I’ll have to ask Rose where the keys are.”

  “Whereupon she’ll insist on coming with us.”

  “Which, I’m sure, is why she hid the spare key.”

  To my surprise, when we reached the foyer, Detective Redmond was on her way out of the house.

  “Detective, good morning,” I said. “Are you looking for something? Can I help you?”

  “Thanks, Lily, but no. I had a couple of minor loose ends to tidy up.”

  I had no idea what she meant by that, but I said, “I heard Stephen has been arrested for the murder.”

  “Not arrested at this time. Brought in for questioning.”

  “Do you think he did it?”

  “I can’t, and won’t, comment on that. The investigation is ongoing. Have a nice day.”

  “Did you catch the suspect in that robbery you were called to last night?”

  She frowned. “Total and complete waste of time. The homeowner misplaced his glasses and called nine-one-one. He made the situation sound considerably more urgent than it turned out to be.” The door shut behind her. She hadn’t once looked at my face.

  “Did that seem odd to you?” Bernie said. “She was surprisingly cagey.”

  “I find it odd that she was wandering around this house by herself. It is a private home, although we have paying guests. Whatever, she must have rung the bell and no one answered.”

  Bernie and I found my grandmother in her suite, fully made up, hair done, dressed for the day in sneakers, a wide pink skirt with cavernous pockets, and a long-sleeved yellow blouse buttoned to the neck. All ready for an outing.

  “Amy Redmond was here just now,” I said. “Did she come to talk to you?”

  Rose waved her hand in the air. “A quick question about Stephen Smithfield, which I couldn’t answer. I’ve never met the man, and I told her so.”

  “She couldn’t phone to ask you that?”

  “Who knows the mysterious workings of the NAPD?”

  “True enough. I can’t find the keys to the car.”

  “Sorry, love. I decided they weren’t safe in the kitchen where anyone might wander in and take them.”

  “No one, ever, wanders into the kitchen.”

  “I do,” Bernie said.

  “Except for you.”

  “And Edna.”

  “Edna works there.”

  “Simon and Matt.”

  “I get the point, Bernie! No one who is planning on stealing Rose’s car will wander into the kitchen hoping we left the keys in plain sight so they can grab them and go for a joy ride in a Ford Focus.”

  “Fortunately.” Rose produced the keys with a flourish. “I have them here. How convenient. Where are we going?”

  “Why do you suppose we’re going anywhere?”

  “You want the car keys, for one thing. For another, Edna called me a short while ago to say the paper’s reporting that the police have made an arrest in the killing of our guest.”

  “Not an arrest,” Bernie said, “but taken in for questioning.”

  “A legal nicety. I assumed you two would not be content with secondhand developments and would want to follow up. As I am also the curious sort, I decided to come with you.” Her blue eyes danced.

  I snatched the keys from her hand and marched out the door. Bernie and a chuckling Rose followed me.

  Chapter 23

  As I drove, I explained my thought process to Rose and Bernie. Bernie mumbled, and Rose said only, “I have to point out, love, that my days in service were a long time ago. Things have changed.”

  “To some extent, perhaps, but I believe your fundamental point is still valid.”

  Traffic was light and we arrived in Chatham in good time. The gates to the Smithfield home were closed. I pressed the button on the intercom and waited. I waited some more. I pressed again.

  Finally, a burst of static, and Helen Chambers said, “May I help you?”

  “Hi, Helen. It’s Lily Roberts here. I’ve come to see Rachel. Is she in?”

  “Is she expecting you?”

  “Not really. This is sort of an impromptu call. If she’s not in, I’ve . . . uh . . . got something to drop off for her.”

  “Come up.” The intercom buzzed, and the gates swung silently open.

  “Easy peasy,” I said.

  “Don’t get too far ahead of yourself,” Bernie said. “The life of a housebreaker doesn’t suit you. You announced your name. I thought we were going to park down the street and climb over the walls.”

  “I might have suggested that,” I said. “But we have a woman not in the prime of youth with us who would insist on joining in.”

  “I can climb over walls,” Rose said. “With assistance and a sturdy ladder.”

  Rachel Morrison was waiting for us at the top of the steps, standing in front of the open door. I gave her a cheerful wave as I parked the car. Rose, Bernie, and I got out.

  “This is an unexpected visit,” Rachel said in a warm, welcoming voice. “What brings you all here?”

  “I’m hoping we might be able to clear up some loose ends regarding the death of your sister,” I said.

  Her sculpted eyebrows rose. “Why is it up to you to clear anything up? You’re not with the cops.”

  “I don’t want to bother them with my unformed ideas. Not yet, anyway. Can we come in?”

  “Sure.” Rachel stepped back and we entered the house. She led the way to the living room and invited us to sit. “Coffee? Tea?”

  Rose started to say, “Tea, please,” but I cut her off. “Nothing thanks. Are you here by yourself? Other than Helen?”

  “Yes. No one left, is there? Have you heard Stephen’s been detained?”

  “I did.”

  “I don’t have too long to chat, Lily. My lawyer and I have an appointment at the police station in North Augusta at noon to see the will, and I hope to be able to see Stephen.”

  “What happens now?” Bernie asked. “Regarding the will?”

  “Assuming it is my mother’s will, my lawyer will do what he has to do to get it into court and declared valid,” Rachel said. “Once that’s over, then . . . that depends on what happens to Stephen. I can’t believe the cops think he killed Kimberly.” She shook her head. “Not Stephen. Not my little brother.”

  “You’re very fond of him,” I said.

  “He’s my baby brother. I told you that. I should have done more to protect him, all those years ago. I didn’t, and that’s on me, but it’s water under the bridge. I’ll do what I have to do for him now, and to that end, I’ve hired a criminal defense lawyer.”

  “What lawyer are you using?” I asked. “For the will and the murder case? Martin . . . uh . . . something.”

  “I wouldn’t trust Martin to handle the sale of my car, Lily. He caused Julian to lose a substantial amount of money. More recently he conspired with Wesley behind my back, after Kimberly died. I have no reason to have any loyalty to the old family firm. Quite the contrary.”

  “Speaking of Wesley . . . Is he still around?”

  “Oh, yes. I got a call from good old Wes. He heard through the grapevine that my mother’s will’s been found—” She stopped abruptly. Her eyes narrowed. “Did you tell him?”

  I threw up my hands. “Not me. I haven’t spoken to him since he left the B & B yesterday morning, and even if I had, I wouldn’t have told him anything.”

  “He didn’t seem to be aware of the contents, though.” She chuckled. “He knows he needs to be nice to me, hoping he and I can sell the house and share the proceeds without fuss and bother. He’s going to be in for a heck of a shock, isn’t he?”

  “How do you feel about shocking him?” Bernie asked.

  “I can’t say I care. I’d rather share my family’s money with my brother than my late sister’s odious husband.”

  “If Stephen goes to jail for killing Kimberly,” I said, “you won’t have to share with anyone.”

  Her eyes narrowed. The warmth of her earlier greeting had disappeared. “My sister—half sister—died on your property and you found her, Lily. I suppose you think that gives you some rights to stick your nose in my family’s affairs, but the way I see it, it doesn’t. Your participation is over.” She stood up. “Thanks for calling.”

  Bernie threw me a questioning look. Rose had folded her hands across the top of her cane and was looking around the room, studying the furniture and the art, for all intents and purposes paying no attention to the conversation.

  I stayed where I was. “You got a good lawyer to defend Stephen?”

  “The best I could find. He doesn’t come cheap, but I don’t intend to help Stephen on the cheap. I have my savings, and eventually, I hope, I can sell this dump of a house.”

  “If it makes you feel better toward me,” I said, “I don’t think Stephen killed Kimberly, either. But someone did and—if it wasn’t Stephen—then that person is still out there.”

  Rachel slowly sat back down. “I am aware of that, Lily. As long as we’re talking about Wesley, my money’s on him.”

  “Mine’s not,” I said. “I know him. Knew him, I mean. He might have married Kimberly in a rush because he wanted to get his hands on her inheritance, but on her part the rose was not yet off that bloom—”

  “I think you mean, love, the bloom was not off the rose,” said my grandmother.

  “Thank you, that is what I mean. Which is to say, he may not have been in love with her, but she was still in love with him. She was more than happy to give him whatever he needed for his Cape Cod restaurant ventures. Eventually, someday, she might come to regret that, but not yet.”

  Rachel nodded. “Who else, then? And I hope you’re not thinking it was me.”

  “We’re agreed Stephen didn’t kill Kimberly, and it’s unlikely Wesley did. You don’t trust your family lawyer, but I’d say killing a client in cold blood takes malpractice to an entirely different level. If he did encourage your stepfather to make bad investments, that was a long time ago, and he didn’t—far as I know—hold a gun to the man’s head.”

  “What you’re saying, Lily, if I understand you properly, is I killed Kimberly in order to get possession of the third will.” Rachel held out her arms. “But, as we all know, I didn’t find it. It’s only luck Kimberly didn’t destroy it and it turned up.”

  “Someone searched her hotel room after her death,” Bernie said. “It’s obvious whoever it was had been looking for the will. That they didn’t find it is immaterial. It was only happenstance the housekeeper found it.”

  “It would have shown up eventually,” Rose said. “We do lift our rugs to give them a good cleaning every few years or so.”

  “The killing might have been a random thing,” Rachel said. “The police dismissed the idea, but probably not entirely. Such things do happen.”

  “Kimberly wasn’t arguing with a random stranger outside my cottage that night,” I said. “She was murdered by someone she knew, and knew well enough to say she wasn’t going to agree to . . . whatever that person had suggested. I might have admitted the possibility that the argument and her subsequent death had nothing to do with you and your family and your mother’s will, but then someone set fire to my grandmother’s garden shed, and no random serial killer would return days later to the scene of the crime to commit a minor act of arson.”