She blinked in surprise. “I’m writing, yes. I’ve written a couple of things. I guess that makes me a writer.”

  He put out his hand, and she took it. He might have held her hand a fraction longer than was polite before letting go. He stood close to her and looked deeply into her eyes. “I’m Gary. I’ve been wanting to meet you, Bernadette. I’ve always been interested in the creative process. I have no talent myself, so it’s fascinating to me how highly skilled people such as yourself can create something beautiful and meaningful out of next to nothing. Paint in a tube becomes a magnificent painting. A bunch of letters formed in the right way make words and then a novel that speaks to the soul.”

  She blinked. “Uh. Yeah. I do that. I guess.”

  “I’ve had a great idea. When I said I don’t write, I meant fiction. I contribute the occasional article on the arts scene to local rags, and sometimes my stuff gets into papers like the New York Times, the Washington Post. When it’s a slow news day.” He chuckled modestly. “I’d love to do a write-up on you.”

  “You would?”

  “I would. How about we get together one night, have a drink, talk it over? I’m free tonight, as it happens.”

  “That,” Bernie said, “would be so great! My chance at fame at last. Thank you so very much, Gary.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Surely Bernie, practical, no-nonsense Bernie, wasn’t falling for this line? I remained in the shadows.

  “Let’s do it this way,” she continued. “I’ll check up on what you’ve had published in the Times, see if it’s the sort of thing I like, and if it is, I’ll meet with you. Evenings are no good for me, as that’s my prime writing time. We creative people have to stick to our strict schedule, you know, otherwise the muse gets confused. Evenings are out, and afternoons aren’t all that good, either, so how about I meet you and your wife over breakfast at the bakery in town for the interview? Will that work?”

  “I’m . . . I’m not sure if my wife will want to get involved.”

  “Oh, Gary,” Bernie said, “I’m so glad to hear that, but now you’ll never get to hear how I intend to be the next big thing in American historical fiction. Too bad. Rose will be wondering where I’ve gotten to. Nice talking to you. Love to the mayor.” Bernie skipped away.

  I stepped out of the alcove. Gary’s round face was puce with what I hoped was humiliation.

  “Good afternoon,” I said cheerfully, making sure he knew I’d been listening. “I hope you’re enjoying your tea.”

  He glared at me and stalked away. Presumably to join his wife and sister-in-law.

  I gave him a minute and then followed. Outside, the crew was rolling up thick cables and dismantling equipment on the patio and loading it into the trucks. Amy Redmond was still there, watching everyone, but Williams had wandered off. Bored probably.

  Claudia was seated in the shade of a blue umbrella, smiling and laughing with the women gathered around her. Scarlet stood near the gate, also smiling and laughing, or at least pretending to do so. Bernie had joined Rose at their table, and Rose beckoned to me.

  “Nice one,” I said to Bernie.

  “I thought I saw you lurking in the shadows.” She glanced over at the mayor’s table, where Gary was pretending to be engrossed in what his wife was saying. “Guy’s a sleazeball of the highest order.”

  “Who is?” Rose asked.

  “We’ll tell you later,” I said. “How’d it go out here?”

  “An agent will be calling soon, I’m sure, with offers from Hollywood. I’m hoping for a part in the next Downton Abbey movie. I hear Maggie Smith isn’t interested.”

  “You keep hoping, Rose,” Bernie said, and I laughed.

  “It went fine, love. We stopped at Claudia and Scarlet’s table, as asked, and taking great care to have our faces pointed toward the camera, as also asked, and looking suitably somber, we offered our heartfelt condolences on the untimely death of their friend.”

  “I’m going to wave good-bye. Talk to you later.” I took my position at the gate as Josh joined Claudia and her admirers.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, ladies, but I’m afraid it’s time we’re on our way,” he said.

  “Already?” Claudia said. “I’m having such a lovely time. Oh, well, can’t be helped.” She stood up and said her good-byes. The women tittered in excitement.

  Josh then beckoned to Scarlet, and she joined them. They, followed by a man with a camera propped on his shoulder, approached the gate, where I was standing. I was prepared to say good-bye and thank them for coming, but I didn’t expect to be filmed. I’d been told I wouldn’t be on camera today, so I hadn’t done my hair or had Melanie fuss with my makeup or even put on a nicer T-shirt. I felt my smile freeze in place. It froze even further when I saw Reilly indicate to Allegra to join us.

  Claudia took both my hands in hers; she gazed deeply into my eyes. Melanie, I thought, was a very good makeup artist indeed. “So lovely to get to know you, Lily. You’ve done a wonderful job with this delightful place. Our next competitor will have to pull out all the stops if she’s going to beat you.”

  Reilly gave Allegra a nudge, and she stepped forward. The cameraman took a step back to get her in the shot. “I’m more than capable of doing that, Claudia,” she said in a loud, firm voice. “North Augusta Bakery was started by my mother, and I’ve been proud to build on her legacy.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Claudia said. “Baking is all about tradition, isn’t it?”

  “It is, Claudia.” Scarlet’s teeth flashed white. “But it’s also about not being afraid to try new and original things. That’s what we’re looking for on America Bakes! Do you think North Augusta Bakery is up to it, Ms. Griffin?”

  “Most certainly,” Allegra said. “Not only is my baking top notch, as I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to show you, but”—she lifted her right arm and pointed one chubby finger directly to where Marybeth and Cheryl were standing together under the oak tree, watching—“I don’t hire murderers to wait table.”

  “Cut!” Josh yelled.

  “Keep it moving,” Reilly ordered. The camera swung around and got a great shot of Cheryl’s shocked face.

  Chapter 18

  Josh leapt forward and put his hand in front of the camera lens. “Turn it off.”

  The cameraman glanced at Reilly.

  “You don’t ask him,” Josh shouted. “You do what I tell you.”

  The camera was switched off.

  Allegra smirked, and Scarlet’s eyes danced with amusement. Claudia looked as shocked as Cheryl. Marybeth burst into tears. I thought Bernie was going to hit someone, and Rose would serve as her wingman. Alerted by the abrupt increase in tension, Detective Redmond came to join us.

  “Are you trying to get us sued?” Josh yelled at Reilly. “I don’t want footage of that.”

  “No one can sue us,” Reilly casually replied. “I didn’t tell the lady what to say. She has every right to speak her mind.”

  “Yes, I do,” Allegra said. “It’s a free country.”

  “Why don’t you take your mother inside for a bit of a sit-down, dear?” Rose said to Marybeth. “Lily and I can see our guests out.”

  More a matter of Cheryl taking Marybeth inside, but no one argued, and the women walked away. Cheryl paused in the entranceway, and the look she threw over her shoulder at Allegra would have curdled my clotted cream. Allegra merely smirked.

  “If I were you, Ms. Griffin,” Amy Redmond said, “I wouldn’t be throwing around accusations.”

  “It’s a free country,” Allegra repeated.

  “It might be, but responding to a lawsuit isn’t free. Looks like you people are finished here,” she said to Reilly. “Unless you have more stunts to pull?”

  He grinned at her. “All done.”

  She did not smile in return. “Glad to hear it.”

  “We’ll be at your place at seven tomorrow,” Reilly said to Allegra. “Be ready.”

  “I’m looking forward to it. Susan, Gary, are you finished here? Let’s go.” She started to walk away, and then she turned and threw what she probably thought a clever bon mot at me. “Your salmon sandwiches didn’t have enough mayonnaise. And that chocolate tart? Did you use real chocolate or brown food coloring?”

  “Bye!” I gave her a cheerful wave.

  “Don’t hurry back,” Bernie called.

  Susan Powers, looking genuinely embarrassed, followed Allegra. Gary tried to slip past Bernie unnoticed, but she called, “Bye, Gary. Let me know when you next have a feature in the New York Times.”

  “What feature in the New York Times?” Susan asked her husband.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Josh said once Allegra and her companions had gone and Reilly had left to supervise the dismantling of the last of the equipment. “Reilly’s getting too far ahead of himself. I’m the director here. I promise you that last footage won’t see the light of day.” He stalked off.

  “What happens next?” Rose asked me. “With the competition, I mean. Do you and Allegra go at it armed with rolling pins and cream pies?”

  “I really, really do not care,” I said. “I am so tired of this.”

  A local woman stepped up to say a word to Rose, and I pulled Bernie aside and told her briefly what I’d heard from Melanie.

  “Basically, you’re telling me no one involved in this show liked anyone else, and that probably includes Josh and his son. About the only one everyone did like is the dead guy. That’s not much help, Lily.”

  “We’ve done all we can do,” I said. “Cheryl’s out of jail, and there’s not going to be any more evidence that will lead to her being rearrested and charged. Meaning it’s none of our concern anymore.”

  “Except for having Allegra accuse Cheryl of murder. Cheap stunt,” Bernie said. “You should have evicted Allegra from the premises.”

  “While the cameras got good footage of me wresting her out the door? Maybe not such a good idea.”

  “Maybe not. I could have done it, though. How long is the merry gang staying at the B and B?”

  “Doesn’t matter. All I have to do is stay out of their way.”

  “I’ll walk Rose to the house. Call me if you need anything more.”

  I watched Bernie join my grandmother and her group, and then I went inside to help Marybeth and Cheryl clean up.

  I found them in the kitchen, taking a break over cups of tea. “You okay?” I asked Marybeth.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” She didn’t look fine. Her hands shook so much, I feared for the delicate china teacup she was holding, a vintage Windsor pattern of pink flowers and gray leaves on a white background, part of a set I’d found at an estate sale.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” Cheryl said. “You know that’s what Allegra wants.”

  “Hard not to when she out and out accused you.” Marybeth turned to me. “You and Bernie and Rose have been investigating Tommy’s death . . . ?”

  “I wouldn’t say investigating, exactly.”

  “That’s what Rose and Bernie call it. Is there any chance you can find some way of framing Allegra?”

  I blinked.

  “Never mind her,” Cheryl said. “I mean, never mind Allegra or Marybeth. I know you’d like to win, Lily, and so would we, but when it comes down to it, the best thing that could happen would be Allegra winning the grand prize, selling the bakery, and moving away from North Augusta, as she’s always wanted.”

  “I’d hate to lose to her,” Marybeth said.

  Cheryl leaned over and patted her daughter’s hand. “Regardless, we’ve managed to stay out of her way for a lot of years, and we can continue to do so.”

  “Do you know you’re wearing only one earring?” I asked.

  Cheryl’s eyes widened in shock, and her hands shot to her ears. “Oh. No. It must have come loose.”

  “When did you see it last?” I asked.

  “I didn’t even notice until now,” Marybeth said.

  Cheryl rubbed at her clothes and shook out her apron. “I don’t know. I checked my face and tidied my hair in the mirror before the TV crew arrived, wanting to look okay if they got a shot of me in the background. I would have noticed if one was missing. I’ve been busy ever since.” Her face twisted. “Maybe I can check the footage of when Allegra called me a murderer.”

  “I’ll help you look outside,” Marybeth said.

  “I’ll sweep up in here.” I kept my eyes on the floor as I went for the broom.

  The three of us searched high and low, including Marybeth going through the copious amount of trash, but we didn’t find the missing earring.

  “It’ll turn up,” I said, trying to sound positive.

  Cheryl had tried to keep her spirits up in the face of Allegra’s insults and then the accusation of murder, but the missing earring seemed to be the last straw, and her face showed the strain she’d been under. She rubbed at her eyes and said, “I’m sure it will,” in a voice without any confidence at all.

  “A regular day tomorrow,” I said. “Thank goodness.”

  * * *

  I put in a few more hours after my assistants left, and then dragged myself home. Guests lingered on the veranda, and the clink of glasses and the ripples of their laughter drifted on the wind. I greeted Éclair and was enthusiastically greeted in return, and I took her out for her nightly walk. I was in no hurry, and we walked along the bluffs, accompanied by the sound of the sea crashing to shore below us. The moon and stars were hidden behind a thick bank of clouds, and a strong wind was blowing off the ocean, bringing the threat of rain. We rounded the house for a turn around the rose garden to enjoy the scent of the flowers on the night air. Simon’s motorbike was parked by the garden shed, but lights were on at Matt’s house, and the sound of steady hammering broke the peace of the evening.

  * * *

  I was woken by Éclair’s frantic barking and a pounding at the door. I threw off the covers and leapt out of bed. Éclair stood at the door, ears up, still barking. I switched on the hall light and threw open the front door, perhaps unwisely not first checking to see who was there.

  A man fell in, and I yelped in shock. Instinctively, I grabbed his arm to keep him from hitting the floor. “Simon? What on earth?”

  His clothes were wet, his face streaked with mud. I guided him to a chair.

  “Are you okay? No, you’re not okay. I’m calling an ambulance.”

  He groaned. “I’ll be fine. Give me a minute.” He touched the back of his head, and his fingers came away dotted with blood. I gasped.

  Éclair whined and rubbed her muzzle against his leg. “It’s okay, girl. All okay,” Simon said.

  I crouched next to him. “Why are you so wet?”

  “It’s raining out. What time is it?”

  I scrambled to my feet and ran for my phone. “Quarter after twelve.”

  He sighed with relief.

  “What?”

  “I’ve must’ve been lying in the rain for no more than a couple of minutes. Can I have a glass of water?”

  I ran to get it and handed it to him. “What happened? Wait, don’t tell me yet. I’ll be right back.”

  I found a clean washcloth and soaked it under running water from the kitchen tap. I stood behind Simon, and he bent his head forward so I could gently probe the injury. “It’s been bleeding but looks as though it’s stopped.” I pressed the damp cloth to the wound, and he groaned again. “Any other injuries?” I asked.

  “No. Don’t think so. As for what happened, I don’t know. I left Matt’s place not long after midnight. We finished the work we’d planned for tonight, had a quick beer, just one, and I left. I was crossing the lawn, going for me bike when . . .”

  “When what?”

  “I think I was attacked, Lily.”

  “It certainly looks like it.” I lifted the cloth and studied it. I felt a great shudder of relief go through me when I saw it was stained a watery pink, not bright red.

  “I had my phone in my hand, using it as a flashlight, but I dropped it when I was hit, and the light went out. I couldn’t find it. It’s pitch dark out there, away from the lights of the house. I didn’t want to disturb Rose. I hope you don’t mind that I came here.”

  “Mind? Don’t be silly. We need to call the police.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid we do.” He reached up behind him and put his hand on mine. “That feels nice.” He caressed my fingers.

  My heart stopped.

  Simon stood up and turned around. His eyes were dark and serious as he looked down at me. He took the wet washcloth out of my hands and laid it on the table.

  “Police?” I squeaked.

  “You call them. Tell them we need a detective. This was no random attack.”

  “You think this has something to do with the death of Tommy Greene?”

  “It has to.”

  “I agree.” The idea of some stranger lurking around outside Victoria-on-Sea, waiting for a chance to pounce on an innocent passerby, was too ridiculous to contemplate. “You didn’t see who did this?”

  “No. I didn’t. I sensed someone behind me, started to turn, and next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground and trying to clear my head.”

  “I’ll call Detective Redmond. I have her number on speed dial.”

  She answered surprisingly quickly, sounding not at all as though I’d woken her in the middle of the night. I suppose she’s used to being called out at all hours.

  “Detective, Lily Roberts here. Simon McCracken, my gardener, has been attacked by . . . uh, person or persons unknown.”

  “Where are you now, Lily, and is he in need of medical attention?”

  “We’re at my cottage, and he says no. A bash on the head bad enough to knock him out for a few moments, but no more.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Thank you. Oh, can you please, please, if possible, not have lights and sirens? I don’t want to disturb the B and B guests. Thanks.” I pushed the button to hang up and went to slip the phone into the small breast pocket of my pajama top. I was suddenly aware that I was dressed in my pajamas, cute little shorty yellow things with a pattern of cartoon characters. My cheeks burned.

  Simon put his hand on mine. He took the phone out of my fingers. “Can I borrow this? Unless you have a flashlight? I’ll meet Redmond up by the road.”