“Reading between the lines, you’re saying he didn’t have much to leave her.”

  “No comment.”

  “Dave might not have been thinking things through properly.”

  Redmond said nothing, but Edna did. “From what I hear about the way that man died, his killer thought it all through quite carefully. It takes a heck of a cold-hearted person to sit in a bedroom chatting to a man, calmly watching him drink the poison you slipped him.”

  “You think the killing was premeditated?” Redmond asked.

  “Not necessarily planned in advance, but this person might have realized it could eventually come to that. They brought the digoxin with them.”

  “Plenty of people take that medication,” the detective said. “Or they live with or are good friends with someone who does. They might have access to it in other ways. Jenny Hill, for example, is a pharmacist. I’m not forgetting that.”

  We heard voices from the dining room, and Edna picked up the coffeepot. “It was a highly personal killing. In my opinion, anyway. Either that or the exact opposite—a hired killer who had no relationship with the victim so they didn’t mind watching him die.”

  “A contracted hit,” Redmond said, “is not something we’re considering. Not at this time.”

  Edna left with her coffeepot.

  “Have you given any thought to suicide?” I asked. “That Ralph gave himself the excess medication on purpose and used the whiskey to help it go down?”

  “I consider that unlikely. Consider the missing glass, which you pointed out, although I have noticed people bring their room glasses down to the veranda if they’re sitting out with a drink. Ralph has no history of depression and he left no note. People usually do, when they take their own life. Significantly, we found no prints on the bottle or Ralph’s glass, other than his.”

  “Wouldn’t that indicate he was the only one who touched them?”

  “No prints left by your housekeepers on the glass? Nothing left by random liquor store employees on the bottle? They were wiped clean before Ralph helped himself to his last drink. As were the bedside table and the arms of the chair in that room.

  “As long as we’re talking,” she continued. “I’ll tell you something confidential, Lily. Dave Farland has a police record.”

  I sucked in a breath. She held up a hand. “Don’t get too excited. The charges are minor, so I don’t think it’s a problem telling you about it. Several counts of vandalism in New York City and Boston. He’s a mural artist, he says. Another word for that is graffiti, and if the property owner hasn’t agreed to display the art, it’s a crime. No charges are more recent than two years ago. Around that time, he and Greg Reynolds started looking for work doing large-scale murals. By work, I mean paying gigs, approved of and contracted with the owners of the property. The sides of public buildings like libraries, entire walls inside fashionable restaurants, exteriors of private homes. I’ve seen some of their designs, and I have to say they’re good. But contracts have been slow in coming. The death of Ralph Reynolds wouldn’t have helped with that, not in any way. It’s seven now, and I need to meet with Sophia.”

  “Okay, okay. Before you go, what do you know about Samantha, the bridesmaid? Do you have anything on her?”

  “You’re relentless, Lily, I’ll give you that. Samantha Dowling is a kindergarten teacher, which is where she met Hannah who teaches third grade at the same school. Not a lot of call for contract killers in that line of work. Or so they tell me.”

  * * *

  I didn’t hear from Bernie until I was in the tearoom kitchen, getting bowls and measuring spoons and cups and ingredients out and assembled for another day.

  She didn’t call ahead, but came through the back door. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. What brings you here?”

  “You do, Lily.”

  “Okay. Why?”

  “You got the text I sent you. The one with the picture of the Christmas party.”

  “I had a glance at it earlier, but I’ve been too busy to look at it again. Detective Redmond came by to tell me Jenny Hill has a solid alibi for last night. A new guest sent his eggs back twice, first saying they were overdone, and then they were underdone. His wife complained that we didn’t offer dairy-free yoghurt. We would, if you’d been polite enough to request it, was my reply. Although that was only in my head. Two of the bridge women had the nerve to stroll into the dining room at two minutes to nine asking for the full English breakfast. And then—”

  “Hold the thought of the bridge women. Why did Jenny Hill need an alibi for last night?”

  “Hey! I know something you don’t. That doesn’t happen often.”

  “It never happens, and let’s make sure it doesn’t happen again. As for now, spill. Any coffee in that pot?”

  “No, but you can make some if you want. Sophia Reynolds was attacked while walking in the garden last night around eleven.”

  Bernie came to a complete halt, hand frozen as it extended toward the coffee tin. “Wow. Do you know by who? By whom? Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine, and I don’t know who did it. Simon and I found her after the attacker had fled. What’s interesting, and perhaps significant, is it wasn’t a serious attack. Either the person had an abrupt change of heart and ran off without finishing the deed, or they didn’t intend her any harm other than a good fright and a minor lump on the head.”

  “Lumps on the noggin can still be dangerous.” Bernie rubbed at her own head. “As my mom told me when we were in the ER after I fell off those swings in the Central Park playground.”

  “Yes, when you were nineteen and swinging upside from the upper bar of the swing set with your feet hooked over it.”

  “Good times. Good times. You want a coffee?”

  “No, thanks. Have a peek in the freezer, will you, and see if any containers are labeled OS.”

  “What’s OS stand for?”

  “Orange scones.”

  She buried her head in the depths of the freezer and rummaged around. “Nope. Some CS though. And PS. What’s that?”

  “Current scones and plain scones, of course. I’d better get a batch of orange ones made in case we have requests for the royal tea today. Take out a container of CS, please. The oldest date first.”

  Bernie did so. “If Jenny needed an alibi, does that mean the cops think she did it?”

  “Sophia said she thought it was Jenny, although she wasn’t positive. Naturally Redmond had to check it out. I think Amy Redmond’s starting to trust me, even if only a little bit. She came into the kitchen this morning to tell me what she’d learned.”

  “Considering all we know about the Reynolds family, I wouldn’t be surprised if Regina had done it, if only because she’s nasty that way.”

  “As Sophia pointed out, Regina is not exactly quick and agile and able to slip silently away into the dark. Plus Regina, so Sophia said, is considerably shorter than the alleged attacker. Okay, now you’re up to date on last night’s happenings. Before we go on, I learned some interesting things about Dave Farland.” I filled her in briefly on Dave’s arrest record.

  Bernie threw up her hands. “I don’t know why you need me.”

  “I don’t need you, as I am not investigating. I’m listening to the detective and you’re the one doing the investigating. Did you know about Dave’s past?”

  “Yeah. I checked up on him. Not a lot to find. He attempted to express his artistic side through unauthorized means on the undersides of bridges, et cetera. He got slapped on the wrist a couple of times, and then he clearly decided it would be wise to find more legal means of artistic expression. He hooked up with Greg Reynolds in a mural-painting business. They got a couple of contracts. For one, they painted the wall next to the parking lot of a small-town library. Fabulous scene of rows of children reading books. I loved it and next time I’m up that way I’m going to make a detour to see it. But, as we know, small-town libraries don’t have much in their budgets for extras such as art, so work’s been slow coming in. They’re financially pinched, but I don’t see Dave killing Ralph in hopes of Greg inheriting. For one thing, Greg’s mother’s still alive, and even if the Reynolds family was seriously wealthy, which they are not, for all Dave knows if Greg scored big-time financially he might decide he doesn’t need a business partner anymore.”

  “Okay, we can put a line through Dave. What about Samantha? You were going to look into her, too.”

  “Kindergarten teacher. Parents still alive. Two sisters and one brother, none of whom have anything sketchy about them. Nice middle-class family, and I could find no evidence to the contrary. She’s engaged herself; wedding will be in early September.”

  “Really? Does her fiancé have anything to do with the Reynolds family?”

  “No, and he didn’t come for Hannah’s wedding. He’s in England for the summer, doing research for his PhD in British history. Something about family life during the Industrial Revolution.”

  “We seem to be hitting a lot of dead ends. Did you learn anything else significant?”

  Bernie rolled her eyes. “Lily, have you forgotten the picture?”

  “The picture? Oh, right. The picture you think is so important you sent it to me in the middle of the night. Why were you working on the case in the middle of the night anyway? Matt said you ditched him because the muse was calling.”

  “And so she was.” Bernie wiggled her fingers as though summoning said muse. “I got a couple of good writing hours in, and then decided to have a last-minute troll through the affairs of the Reynolds family before going to bed.”

  “Before you let me in on your big reveal, have you found anything that might indicate McKenzie has been fingerprinted at some time?”

  “Obviously you’re thinking about the Raggedy Ann doll, and the answer is yes. Or yes, probably. A friend of hers had some valuable items stolen about a year ago. McKenzie had been at the friend’s house recently. Her prints were likely taken for elimination purposes, as the cops call it. She must have been eliminated, as she was never charged. The prints should have been destroyed. That might not have happened. May I continue?”

  “You may.”

  “When searching on the Internet, you can spend hours upon hours looking at a heck of a lot of unnecessary dross. And then, amongst all that dross, suddenly, a true jewel appears out of apparently nowhere.” She beamed at me. “And such happened last night. Have a look at that picture again.”

  I took out my phone and did so.

  “What do you see?”

  “According to the person who posted this, it’s Reynolds Tools’s annual holiday party for employees and various people in the same office building or who they regularly do business with. I see Ralph and Sophia, clearly not enjoying each other’s company, but they never pretended to be a happily married couple. They’re about the same age they are now, so the party was likely held last year, if not the year before. Ivan’s there, along with waitstaff and a bunch of employees and spouses, clients, and other such. I see a lot of money being spent, which we know the company couldn’t afford.”

  “Focus in. Look to the left of Sophia. The woman in the blue dress. She’s partly obscured by that big guy, which is likely why you didn’t see her the first time. She has a glass of wine in her hand and a sour look on her face. She’s watching Sophia.”

  I looked. I expanded the image, focusing on the woman Bernie pointed out. And I saw it. “Oh, my gosh.”

  “Exactly. We have a hit.”

  Chapter 22

  “Might be a coincidence,” I said.

  “Sure, if this person had stepped up and said, ‘Hey. Ralph and Sophia, fancy meeting you here. What a coincidence. ’ Instead of pretending not to know them.”

  “Okay. You’ve got a point. It could still be a coincidence though, and seeing the Reynoldses were here for a family wedding, she didn’t want to interfere. We should be able to find out easily enough.”

  “That’s what I like to hear. What have you got in mind?”

  “First, I have in mind to get these scones made. Marybeth and Cheryl will be here in a few minute, and they can keep an eye on the oven while I run up to the house. I want to have a look at the reservations book.”

  Bernie gave me the Warrior Princess grin. “That’s my girl.”

  The reservations book, of course, wasn’t a real book, but an online record. I have nothing to do with the running of the B & B other than making the breakfasts, so Bernie and I had to pay a call on Rose.

  We found her up and dressed and working on her computer. A cup of tea, slice of half-eaten toast and marmalade, and Robert the Bruce were on the desktop beside her.

  “Excellent timing,” she said when Bernie and I came in. “I need your advice.”

  “I don’t have a lot of time,” I said. “I have to get back to the tearoom, but—”

  “I’m wondering if I’m paying Edna too much.”

  That stopped me in my tracks. “Are you nuts?”

  “Look at this.” She indicated the computer screen. “North Augusta Bakery is advertising for waitstaff, and they’re offering half what Edna gets.”

  “First of all, the reason North Augusta Bakery is looking for help in the middle of the season is that no one wants to work there. Second of all, Edna puts in three hours a day; not many people want those sort of hours, and to start at six thirty. Third, you do realize Edna is doing us a favor? She doesn’t need the money; she likes having a job and then having the rest of her day free to pursue her other interests. Fourth—”

  “Bernadette,” Rose said. “You probably need a source of income, having foolishly given up your job on a whim.”

  “Oh yeah,” Bernie said. “I’m going to come and work for Lily. And you. For half wages.”

  “Lily, love, surely you don’t need to be in the kitchen all the time. Perhaps we can economize by offering a continental breakfast. That impresses some people because they think continental sounds fancy. You would then be free to wait tables.”

  I choked.

  “Why are you talking about economizing, Rose?” Bernie asked. “Are you having cash-flow problems? I can have a look at your books, if you like, see if anything—other than Edna’s wages—stands out as being problematic.”

  “If Edna quits, I quit,” I said. “Besides, you can’t charge the rates you do and then turn around and offer the sort of breakfast people can get at the Fly-by-Night Motel.”

  Rose swung her chair around to face us. Robert the Bruce stood up and stretched, and then he strolled across the keyboard. The page of job advertisements disappeared, and he jumped off the desk. “We’re not having cash-flow problems, or any other sort of financial difficulties,” my grandmother said. “I went down to the dining room earlier and happened to overhear Regina Reynolds chastising her grandson, the elder one, not the groom-to-be, for failing to pay sufficient attention to business. She wants him to fire his personal assistant on the grounds that she costs too much. Ivan replied that the woman had been the PA to his father for almost thirty years, and she’s paid commensurate with her experience and standing, and Regina said sentiment has no place in business. So, I thought . . . perhaps I should be more of a hardheaded businesswoman. Like Regina.”

  Bernie shook her head. “Need I remind you that just about everyone in Regina’s family hates everyone else, and the rot quite likely begins with Regina herself. Hardheaded can be another word for not-nice.”

  Rose smiled at Bernie. “Such a level head you have, Bernadette. You’re quite right. I won’t take Regina Reynolds as an example. Now, what brings you two here this morning?”

  “We have a question about reservations,” I said.

  “We’re almost completely booked for the rest of the summer, a not-unexpected slow time in October and early November, but looking promising throughout the holiday season, I’m happy to say. So perhaps economizing won’t be necessary after all.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I said. “Because if you get rid of Edna, I quit, and that means you’ll be serving supermarket-packaged muffins yourself. I’m not interested in future reservations, but in past. Those four women who are here on a bridge vacation. Can you check when they booked?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I can’t say. Yet.”

  Rose swung back to the computer. She fixed her glasses on her face and typed rapidly. “Two rooms, garden view, each with twin beds, were reserved on April twenty-second.”

  “Who made the booking?”

  “Karen O’Keefe.”

  Bernie and I exchanged grins and high-fived.

  Rose cocked her head in question. Robbie returned to his spot on the desk and also gave us questioning looks.

  “Out of interest,” Bernie asked, “when did the Reynolds family make their booking?”

  More typing. “On April twentieth, Sophia reserved five rooms and put down a deposit. Two days before this Karen. Do you think that’s significant?”

  “We think it might be highly significant.”

  “I left my laptop at home,” Bernie said. “So I’ll go there now and get to work. Hopefully I can find something incriminating. We’re going to need a lot more than just a couple of dates to bring this to the attention of the police.”

  Rose’s eyes narrowed. Robbie hissed and stared at me through slits. I looked from one to the other. They did resemble each other to an uncanny degree sometimes. “What’s going on?” my grandmother asked.

  “Bernie found a photo of Ralph and Sophia at a company party. Karen, one of the bridge group, appears to have been a guest at that party. In the photo she’s watching Ralph and Sophia and not looking all that happy. Which proves absolutely nothing. She might have been suffering from an upset tummy or had too much to drink, but it has our Spidey senses tingling. If Karen knew Ralph and Sophia well enough to go to their company holiday party, why wouldn’t she say hi on running into them here? I’ve just remembered something, Regina recognized her. She said hi.”

  “Why didn’t you mention it earlier?” Bernie asked.

  “Because I didn’t think anything of it. She said hi in passing, as in simple politeness to someone she doesn’t know. But Regina isn’t exactly the sort of warm and friendly person who greets random strangers. Karen, in turn, called Regina Mrs. Reynolds. Which, now that I am thinking about it, is very formal for two people on vacation passing in the hallway. Meaning Karen did know the family, some of them anyway. After Ralph died, why wouldn’t she mention she knew them from before? From what I’ve observed, Sophia doesn’t appear to know her. They could be pretending. And if they are pretending, all the more reason to want to know why.”