“You aren’t here all the time, love,” Rose pointed out. “Do you know for sure she didn’t greet Ralph and Sophia?”

  “Well, no,” I admitted. “That’s why we need to keep digging before we go to Detective Redmond. We can’t take vague theories to her.”

  “When do the bridge women check out?” Bernie asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Gives us some time, then.”

  “Let me know what help you need,” Rose said. “While you’re here, love, I was comparing the cost of the blueberries you buy from the local farm to ones sold at the supermarket and you’re paying too much.”

  “Feel free,” I said, “to do the shopping yourself. And while you’re at it, you can scratch out the line on the website that says baked goods served at our B & B are made with fresh ingredients sourced from local farmers.”

  Bernie and I left Rose’s suite. “Regina,” I said, “has a lot to answer for. And I do not mean regarding her own family. What do we do now?”

  “Let me do some further digging into this Karen person. Fortunately, I now have a last name. In the meantime, you do what you do best—bake. I’ll come up to the tearoom later and tell you what I learned, if anything, and we can call Amy. Hand everything we know, and what we suspect, over to her.”

  We walked down the hallway together, and stepped outside. In one of those coincidences that make life interesting, two members of the bridge group were enjoying their coffee on the veranda. Sheila was reading a book on bidding, and Marie scrolled through her phone.

  “Good morning,” Bernie said cheerfully. “Lovely day.”

  They looked up from their reading and gave us matching smiles. “It sure is.”

  “I hope you’re enjoying your vacation.”

  “It’s been perfect, thank you. This is such a fabulous place.”

  “Where are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?” Bernie looked at me and jerked her head toward the women.

  “What?” I mouthed.

  “Boston area,” Sheila said. Her eyes wandered back to the page.

  Another jerk of the head from Bernie.

  “Did you know Pat McClintock’s mother moved into an assisted living place?” Marie said.

  “No, I didn’t,” Sheila replied. “That’s got to have been a hard decision for Pat.”

  “Why did you decide on coming to North Augusta?” Bernie asked. “Have you been here before?”

  “Never. But it sounded nice when it was suggested.”

  “Who suggested you come here?”

  Shelia lifted her head and looked at Bernie. “Why are you asking that?”

  “It’s part of a customer satisfaction survey we’re doing,” I said. “Helps with our marketing if we know what brings people here. And what gets them coming back. I hope you’ll be back.”

  Marie put her phone down. “Okay, I’d be happy to help. I’d love to come here again. The town’s lovely and your B & B is the perfect place for a retreat. But, to be honest, I won’t be coming again. It’s just too expensive for me.”

  “Noted,” I said.

  “Me too,” Sheila said. “An indulgence once in a while is great, my husband would have a fit if I ever paid for what five nights at this place costs.”

  Marie laughed. “You never know. Maybe we’ll get lucky and be offered a free vacation again.”

  Bernie’s ears pricked up. “Free? Did you win a contest or something?”

  “Our friend paid for us all.”

  “Which friend?” Bernie asked ever-so-innocently.

  Now they were comfortably chatting, Sheila and Marie put their book and phone aside. “Karen. We’ve been talking for ages about having a real bridge vacation. Stay at a nice place, eat restaurant meals, go on day excursions, and play all the bridge we can stand.”

  “And that’s a heck of a lot,” Sheila said.

  “No whiny kids. No even whinier husbands. No cleaning. No cooking. Heaven. We dithered for ages, right, Sheila? Never could manage to find the time away from our jobs and families, or a place we all wanted to go to. Laurie found that place with a pool which looked fine at first, but it turned out to be a motel on the highway, and I said I wasn’t too keen on going someplace like that. Not to pay good money to sit in a dark, badly decorated motel room to play.”

  “Then, in a stroke of great luck, Karen discovered this place. She said she’s always wanted to come to the Outer Cape, but never had the chance. I said sorry, it’s far too expensive for me, but Karen offered to treat us. She came into a small inheritance recently and wanted to use the money for something special, rather than just fritter it away. Wasn’t that nice?”

  “Very nice,” I said.

  “Very nice,” Bernie repeated. “When was that?”

  “Couple of months ago. It would have been cheaper to come in the spring, and I told her that, but Karen wanted to come in the summer, when the gardens would be at their best, she said. Have to say, I didn’t know she was such a garden enthusiast. Does she talk gardening with you, Marie?”

  “No. I haven’t seen her paying any particular attention to the gardens here. Although they’re fabulous. The rose garden in particular. I was talking to the gardener the other day, asking him how he manages in such rocky, sandy soil, and with the salty wind blowing off the bay. He’s such a cutie and that accent! Makes me wish I was twenty years younger. Anyway he told me—”

  “Good friends are you?” Bernie said before the other woman could launch into a recitation of Simon’s gardening practices.

  “I haven’t met him before,” Marie said.

  “I mean the bridge group. The four of you.”

  “Marie and I’ve known each other for years,” Sheila said. “Decades even, but we aren’t true friends with Laurie or Karen, other than as bridge players. We play twice a week as part of the bridge club in our town, and that’s about all. When Karen proposed this trip, I thought it was her way of trying to get closer to us. She’s been distracted most of the time, though.”

  “Distracted how?” Bernie asked.

  Sheila shrugged. “As I said, I don’t know her all that well, so I can’t really say. She’s been off her game since we got here.”

  “And how,” Marie said. “She’s one of the best players in our club. This week, she’s been on another planet.”

  “Don’t forget she was sick that one night,” Shelia pointed out. “Maybe whatever bug she has is lingering more than she’s telling us.”

  “Maybe. Anyway, as for me, I’m not looking forward to going home. It’s going to be hard to go back to having nothing but a bowl of soggy cereal for breakfast. Never mind brown bag lunches, and eating my own cooking at dinner. And then cleaning up after.” Her phone buzzed with an incoming text and she glanced at it. “Laurie. She and Karen want to know if we’re ready to play.”

  “Any time,” Sheila said.

  “You should come to Lily’s tearoom before you leave,” Bernie said. “That’ll really spoil you for daily life.”

  Both women groaned. We wished them a good day and began to go our separate ways, Bernie to her car, and me to the tearoom.

  Ivan and Greg Reynolds came onto the veranda. They nodded politely to Shelia and Marie and skipped nimbly down the steps. Bernie gave me a waggle of the eyebrows and jerked her head in the direction of the brothers.

  “What?” I mouthed.

  Another jerk.

  I shrugged. She shook her head. “Morning, guys!” she called.

  “Good morning,” they replied.

  Ivan clicked the fob in his hand and his car flashed its lights in greeting. The car was a late-model Cadillac Escalade, gleaming black. Bernie had parked her rusty old thing next to it; I wouldn’t have been surprised if the Escalade had tried to edge farther away. Ivan headed for the driver’s seat and Greg rounded the car for the passenger door.

  Bernie intercepted him. “I’m Bernie Murphy, Lily’s good friend. If I didn’t say so before, my condolences on your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Greg said.

  “I hope your wedding can be rescheduled without too much trouble.”

  “I hope so too, but we’ll have to see,” Greg said.

  “I don’t want to appear insensitive,” Bernie said insensitively, “but I have to ask. When are you checking out?”

  “What?”

  “Out of here, I mean.” She lifted her arms to take in the lovely old house that was Victoria-on-Sea. “I help Rose with financial matters and obviously as this is the high season we—”

  “My mother told your grandmother—” Ivan said.

  “Lily’s grandmother. Not mine.”

  “Whatever. We told her we’ll be checking out tomorrow. As planned.”

  “Thanks. She forgets, sometimes, to fill me in. You know how it is, when they get to be that age.”

  “I most definitely do not know how it is,” Ivan said more to himself than Bernie. I assumed he was thinking of Regina, his own grandmother.

  “Will you be taking your father’s remains home?” Bernie asked Greg.

  He grimaced. “Not yet, I’m sorry to say. The cops are still holding on to . . . him. My mother wants to get home, and my grandmother says she . . . I mean Ivan . . . can’t neglect the company any longer. The family’s packing up, but I’ll find someplace else to stay. Jenny’s . . . she might be needed to stay a bit longer. To help the police.”

  “Come on,” Ivan said. “We’re running late as it is.”

  “We won’t keep you any longer,” Bernie said. “One more thing, though. This might sound like a silly question, but do your parents play bridge?”

  “Bridge? That is a silly question.” Ivan got into the car. He tapped the horn, telling his brother to hurry up.

  “No,” Greg said. “Not that I’m aware, although I suppose they could have taken it up. Dad golfed and Mom plays tennis, but I don’t know about bridge or any other card games. Grandma isn’t interested in much other than the stock market and the business news.”

  Bernie didn’t make any attempt to get into her own car. Instead we watched the Reynolds brothers drive away.

  “What was that about?” I asked her.

  “We now know it’s unlikely Ralph and/or Sophia are bridge acquaintances of Karen and her lot. Same for Regina.”

  “Do we care?”

  “It’s all part of putting together the various pieces of the puzzle, Lily. You say Regina appeared to recognize Karen, but in a distant and dismissive way. I doubt they were friends or even had mutual interests. If Karen had some small involvement with Reynolds Tools, enough to be invited to their holiday party, Regina likely recognized her from that connection, but it wasn’t important enough to her to so much as stop and exchange greetings. Or even tell the police. As for Sophia, if she played bridge, I’d wonder if she’d invited those women here for her own possibly nefarious reasons. Such now seems unlikely.”

  “It’s also unlikely they all participate in dressage competitions. You can’t ask them about everything in their lives.”

  “Dressage, or any other type of equestrianism, Lily, has not been mentioned in any of my online searches. I’m thinking it was easier when I was working for the law firm. I found the dirt. They sent someone out to follow it up. Such is why I have not set my novel in contemporary times. Far too easy to get distracted by all this online stuff.”

  I smiled at her and didn’t point out that Bernie could get distracted by a squirrel. “Speaking of such, I do have a business of my own to run. Let’s check in in a few hours.”

  Chapter 23

  Later that afternoon, Bernie FaceTimed me. “Time’s running short as everyone’s leaving town tomorrow. I’m bringing Rose in on this call as I have an idea.”

  “An idea,” Cheryl said. “Can’t wait to hear it. Not.”

  “Didn’t you happen to mention that your bridge club has changed their weekly meeting to Monday?” Bernie said when Rose had joined the call. I could see more of Robbie’s curious face on the screen than Rose’s but at least I could hear her.

  “Yes, and to the evening rather than the afternoon, overriding my strongly expressed objections. Most inconvenient. I’ve decided not to go tonight. The only decent player in my new foursome is on vacation. The only decent player rather than me, if I’m being honest. I’m thinking of giving the club up. It’s becoming boring, and since they switched to playing in the evening, I’m not enjoying it as much.”

  “What a stroke of luck,” Bernie said. “I suggest you go tonight, Rose. Why not invite someone to be your partner? How about Karen?”

  “I will do that, but only if you tell me why this sudden interest in my bridge activities.”

  “I’d also like to know why,” Cheryl said as she prepared a pot of English breakfast. “Always scheming, you two. You three.”

  Bernie explained our rather hastily thought-up plan.

  Or, I should say, her hastily thought-up plan. I had my doubts.

  After our talk with Shelia and Marie on the veranda, Bernie and I briefly conferred before she left. “I’ll continue looking into Karen’s background,” Bernie said, “but I think we have enough to act upon.”

  “Why is it up to us to act upon anything? And, assuming it is up to us, what sort of action are we taking?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  We both now believed Karen O’Keefe was responsible for the death of Ralph Reynolds. Proving it was another matter entirely. Even getting the police to listen to us was another matter entirely. Bernie had come up with a “plan” that involved Rose.

  * * *

  “We have a plan,” I said to Amy Redmond. I’d called her earlier, but reached her voice mail. It was after three when she dropped by to ask what I wanted. I suggested we talk outside, to give me a fresh air break. As an extra inducement (okay, a bribe) I offered the good detective a maple pecan square, still warm from the oven.

  She took a bite and her eyes widened. “I like this, Lily. This might be the best thing you’ve made for me yet. And that’s saying a great deal. Sweet but not too sweet, and chewy but not too chewy.”

  “Thanks. Always nice to be appreciated.”

  “As for your plan. I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Unfortunately,” I replied, “you have to. Or Bernie will act on her own. She and Rose will act on their own, I should say.”

  “If I must.” She sighed. “Go ahead.”

  We were standing at the back door of Tea by the Sea, in the cool shade of the big old oak tree. Bernie was still at her place searching for further evidence on her computer, and she’d assigned me to tell Redmond what we were up to. When I complained that it wasn’t my hastily thought-out plan, Bernie reminded me that only yesterday, I said the detective was beginning to trust me.

  I’d cursed my big mouth.

  “You really think this woman, if she did kill Ralph, and that’s highly questionable, is going to confess all to Rose over a hand of bridge?” Redmond licked the last crumbs of the square’s shortbread base off her fingers.

  “Rose does have a way of getting people to talk to her. Look what happened in the Smithfield murder.”

  “I’ll admit,” Redmond said, “there is something to be said about the sweet little-old-lady act that puts people off guard. Even better if she has that cat on her lap. Totally fits the stereotype.”

  “Trusting to stereotypes can be dangerous.”

  “As I’ve learned since meeting you bunch. On the grounds that it can’t do any harm, and it’s no more ridiculous than some of Bernie’s other schemes, I’ll go along with it.”

  “Great. One more thing.”

  “Only one?”

  “You found McKenzie Reynolds’s prints on the box containing the Raggedy Ann doll, didn’t you? I’ve a rough idea of where everyone was when Hannah opened that gift and during the aftermath, and McKenzie didn’t come anywhere near it. Meaning, if she touched the box at any time, it had to be before it was gift wrapped. You don’t have to admit it. You can just . . . wink or something.”

  “As playing a prank, no matter how mean it might be, is not a criminal offense, I’m happy to wink away.” She did so. “We spoke to her about the incident, and she readily admitted it. Said it was a joke. A lark. She claims she expected Hannah would get the joke and she, McKenzie, was mortified when she failed to do so. We’re confident the incident has nothing to do with the death of Ralph Reynolds. Particularly if your guess—”

  “My carefully thought-out deduction based on my in-depth knowledge of the human condition.”

  “If Bernie’s guess proves to be right.”

  “That stupid incident might not have had anything to do with Ralph’s death, but it set the tone for the entire weekend.”

  “See you at seven, as planned,” Detective Redmond said.

  * * *

  Simon came into the kitchen as Redmond was driving away. “What did she want this time?”

  “Nothing.”

  He raised one eyebrow.

  “I mean nothing new,” I said.

  Cheryl hummed to herself.

  “What do you know, Cheryl?” Simon asked her.

  “I know nothing. And, if I did, it would be more than my job’s worth to tell you.”

  “The bus tour’s pulling up,” Marybeth said. “The patio tables are all set. Are we ready in here?”

  I groaned. “Tell me again how many people are in the bus?”

  “Twelve. Plus the driver.”

  “We can manage with what I’ve got on hand. But it’ll leave me hard-pressed for tomorrow and . . . I can’t stay late tonight to bake.”

  “Why not?” Simon asked.

  “Because . . . uh . . . I’m doing something with Bernie.”