I turned my attention to the next person of interest, and I learned some of what I wanted to know. But not enough. I needed to speak to him in person. I sent an email to the only contact info I could find. In the morning, if I didn’t get a response, I’d try to track down the phone number. I closed my laptop and went to bed.

  * * *

  My phone rang as I was getting in from my early morning walk with the dogs. We’d gone to the beach. Cold, stark, empty, dark water rimmed with ice, sand firm and crispy beneath my feet. The dogs loved it, as did I.

  While Violet and Peony ran for their water bowls and sniffed the floor around their empty food dishes, I answered the phone. “George, thanks for getting in touch. I wasn’t sure if I could reach you through your restaurant.”

  “I might not cook and I might not show folks to their tables, but I’m totally involved in everything going on at my places. My staff know that, and they never hesitate to contact me. Day or night. What’s up? Something to do with Bunny?”

  “Bunny? Not directly, but I overheard her telling Ashleigh about your chain of restaurants, and she’s very impressed.” Two restaurants isn’t exactly a chain, but I never mind feeding someone’s ego if it suits my purposes.

  “Nice of her to say so.”

  “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but my Uncle Arthur is part-owner of Mrs. Hudson’s Tea Room. Arthur has always been interested in the restaurant business. Big risk, big reward, he says. Particularly if you get in at the beginning before shovels are in the ground, so to speak. He wanted to invest with Andy, but Andy turned him down. I don’t quite know why, but never mind. Anyway, at the moment one of Arthur’s major restaurants in Mayfair, in London, is closing. It’s been a huge success with a top-ranked celebrity chef at the helm, but the guy’s having some health issues and he needs to get out. Meaning, Arthur will be in the position to start looking for another business to support from the ground up. Bunny told us you’re looking for an opening in West London, and I’ve been thinking—”

  I let my voice trail off. Every single word following Arthur being part-owner of Mrs. Hudson’s was a total and complete lie.

  George couldn’t fall over himself fast enough to grab at the bait. “That might be something worth discussing, Gemma. Would Arthur be available to meet with me soon?”

  “He’s in London at the moment, taking care of other business affairs. He’s my great-uncle, you understand, my father’s uncle, so he’s elderly and doesn’t travel much these days.” The biggest lie of them all. “However, I am authorized to act in his interests.”

  More than once, George had implied he’d like to get involved in Andy’s restaurant, either as a co-owner or the actual owner. He was spreading rumors about Andy acting illegally when he originally started the Blue Water Café. He emphasized to Jayne how difficult family life would be for them because of their competing job schedules. He hinted to Bunny he’d like her help with a grand reopening of the Café. She was already planning on inviting Bruce Springsteen.

  In my reading last night, I discovered that George’s restaurants were barely clinging to life, financially speaking. They were clearly coming down in the world. Still struggling to be high-end steak and seafood places, but online reviews were increasingly critical. Several said they used to be a favorite restaurant for a “splurge” or an “indulgence,” but the quality of the food and the service had slipped to the point it didn’t justify the price, and the reviewers would not be going back.

  George was running out of time if he hoped to save his business. He might already be out of time. Once a restaurant fell out of favor, it was mighty hard to get back in the game. Did he think taking control of the Blue Water Café would improve his prospects? Possibly. Much of the success of the Café was due to Andy’s cooking. He was developing a good reputation throughout Cape Cod, and even beyond. But even more critical, perhaps, was the location. Deck over the water, by the harbor, fishing boats in port, the fish market a stone’s throw away. Sailors hitching boats to the dock below and climbing up to the restaurant deck for a quick drink between ports.

  Had George Friedman killed Tina Armstrong for no other reason than to cause trouble for Andy? The restaurant had to close for a few days for the police investigation. Had George hoped it would be longer? Had he hoped Andy, desperate to save his business, would invite George to be a partner?

  I spent some time trolling through George’s life. As far as I could tell, he’d never lived in New York City or Los Angeles or had any business interests in either city. He didn’t have any contacts with anything or anyone to do with show business. His life didn’t appear to overlap with Tina Armstrong’s in any way. She lived in West London, while George lived in Hyannis. I thought back to the night I met Tina. She’d sat at our table but had shown no sign of recognizing George. Nor him of her.

  To kill a total stranger in the vague hope their death would work out to benefit your business interests seemed a heck of a stretch, even to me. Nothing I could find tied George to Robbie either.

  I was about to give up the search, dismiss George, and go to bed, when something I read leapt out at me.

  I estimated George to be in his mid-fifties. He was of average height, slim, his face thin, the bones prominent. He walked easily and comfortably, no signs of stiff joints or back pain. I’d only ever seen him dressed in a suit jacket or a winter coat, so I had not been able to develop any concept of what sort of shape his muscle structure might be in.

  George Friedman was a marathon runner. He’d run in the Boston Marathon as recently as last year, placing high in his age category. The picture I was looking at showed him at the finish line, punching the air in triumph, beaming from ear to ear. His racing gear revealed a fit, trim frame with powerful thighs and strong calves.

  Despite his age, George Friedman could easily have vaulted over the patio wall and run from me the night Robbie died.

  That he could have didn’t mean he did. Because I could find no connection between him and Robbie didn’t mean there wasn’t one. George owned restaurants. Robbie was looking for work as a waiter. He might have had a gig at one of George’s places, but despite what George said, I doubted very much he concerned himself with the casual staff.

  It would be worth having a chat with George, I’d thought as I closed the lid on my laptop. And then, if nothing caught my attention, I’d hang up my deerstalker hat and allow myself to enjoy Jayne’s wedding day.

  “How about I pencil you in for next week,” George said now. “We can talk things over.”

  “Next week?” I let the disappointed silence drag out. “I’m not too sure. Uncle Arthur’s eyeing a place in Mayfair, not far from the one I’ve been talking about. Location matters, doesn’t it? Once my uncle makes up his mind, he acts on it.”

  George hastened to make a new suggestion, one more to my liking. “Andy’s getting married tomorrow to that delightful young lady. I’m honored to be attending, but we’ll be too preoccupied to talk business. How about today? I have a spot free on my calendar for this afternoon.”

  “I can swing that.”

  “Great. That’s why I like dealing with folks like you and your uncle, people who are already in the business. None of this ‘but it’s Sunday’ nonsense. I have a couple of meetings around noon, so how about this afternoon. Say three? If you meet me at the bar at my restaurant in Hyannis, I can show you how we do things.”

  “That will work. Thanks.”

  “I’m looking forward to doing business with you, Gemma. Bunny says you’re an astute businesswoman.”

  Not that Bunny Leigh has the slightest idea what an astute, or otherwise, businesswoman does. Nevertheless, I said, “That’s good to hear.”

  * * *

  “I need to go out about two,” I said to Ashleigh. “Might not be back in time for my regular meeting with Jayne.”

  “I can’t believe Jayne’s come to work today. You’d think she’d have other things on her mind.”

  “Jayne’s an astute businesswoman. She plans her time well.”

  “Unlike some, who randomly go out on Sunday afternoons with no plans to return.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, so I didn’t. “If I’m not back by closing, will you see to it, please? What are you planning to wear to the wedding?”

  She gave me a broad wink. “That would be telling. Suffice it to say, I won’t be in white. I thought it would be fun to go to my friend’s wedding in a formal wedding dress I bought for a few bucks at a charity shop. Really get myself into the mood, you know.”

  “I gather that didn’t work out too well.”

  “Nah. I didn’t even get inside the church. Her mother ordered me to go home and change. I thought the iron chain I wore around my neck and the Doc Martens boots under the dress would show I was only having fun, but she didn’t see it that way.”

  My curiosity was piqued, but I said no more. The Emporium and Mrs. Hudson’s would be closed all day tomorrow so our staff could attend the wedding and the reception. The tearoom would only open for lunch the following day to give Mikey time to get back into the swing.

  Customers browsed our shelves, and next door, people came and went, many carrying takeout cups and bags containing sandwiches or pastries. Jayne was not serving afternoon tea today, as that required more work than she wanted to do on her last day before the wedding and honeymoon.

  “Has Bunny said anything more about George?” I asked.

  “No. She had me around to her place last night for dinner, and all she could talk about was the over-the-top celebrity weddings she went to in her day.”

  In her day. “Did Bunny ever act?”

  “She would have liked to, but when she was a pop star, touring and recording took all her time. Then when she was no longer a star, no one wanted her.”

  “Did she ever mention knowing Julien Best?”

  Ashleigh’s eyes opened wide, and she sucked in a breath. “The actor? Gosh, no. I wish she did. I’d love an intro. I read recently he’s leaving his wife for an actress less than half his age, and his wife, who’s, like, ten years older than him and paid for everything to do with building his career, is planning to make the divorce as drawn out and painful for him as she possibly can. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason. Just fishing.”

  “Has Julien Best ever played Sherlock? There’s an idea. Maybe you could have him in here one day to, like, promote the store.”

  “Excuse me,” a customer said, “I’m looking for a gift for a twelve-year-old girl. Can you recommend something in the way of a suitable book?”

  “I’d be happy to,” I said.

  * * *

  Business in the Emporium was slow during the early afternoon, so I decided to leave early for my meeting with George and get some grocery shopping done. I vastly overestimated how long that would take, so I was half an hour early driving into Hyannis. I don’t know the town well, so I followed the instructions from my GPS to locate the restaurant. I found it easily and slipped into a parking space across the street. George said he had meetings today, so I didn’t want to go in early. Instead, I’d take advantage of the break and enjoy exploring the town. The day was sunny but sharply cold, and I bundled myself up in winter gear, including a hat with a bouncing pompom on the top. It made me look ridiculous, I thought, but it kept my ears warm.

  I studied the restaurant. As Andy said, it gave off twentieth-century vibes and not in a good way. Instead of capturing the popular midcentury modern feel, it felt dated and behind the times. That might not matter if the food was top notch, but according to the reviews I’d read, it was not.

  The door opened, and a man I recognized stepped out: Martin, who cooked for Andy. I wondered what he was doing here. Interviewing for a position? Possibly. He had to know Andy wasn’t happy with him, and he didn’t appear to be all that happy working for Andy either. Instead of trying to improve his attitude and work habits, he might be looking for another job. None of my business: as long as he wasn’t planning to quit while Andy was away on his honeymoon, Martin could do as he liked.

  He stopped in the doorway, took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and, using the shelter of his hands and the restaurant awning against the cold wind, lit it. He tossed the match to one side and walked away.

  Did he look like Julien Best, as Madison said? Maybe a little bit. I thought no more about it.

  * * *

  I was back at the Emporium before four to find Ashleigh tidying the display on the merchandise table. “Looks like you sold several items,” I said.

  “Some puzzles and mugs. A few books. It’s been slow. You’re back early.”

  “Total and complete waste of my time. You might as well go home. I’ll close up. See you tomorrow.”

  Ashleigh skipped up the stairs humming “Get Me to the Church on Time.’

  I’d learned far more from George about the joys of the restaurant business than I ever wanted to know. His conversation had been nothing but upbeat. No mention of the high failure rate, of one of his own places recently closing down, of the other two struggling. I mumbled something about taking the idea to Uncle Arthur, and then I fled. I’d been offered a cup of tea, and it arrived as a mug of lukewarm water with a tea bag on the side. If I had been interested in investing in his restaurant, the preparation of the tea alone would have been enough to put me off.

  When he did talk about Andy and the Blue Water Café, it was more along the lines of helping a buddy out than trying to muscle in. I got the impression George knew his businesses were struggling, and he was trying to overcompensate, if only to himself.

  I learned nothing about any connections George might have had with Tina or Robbie. I did learn George was not a good prospect for a business partner. I’d have to think carefully about how to warn Bunny off. The feeling I got when George talked about her was he was genuinely interested in her and enjoyed her company. That was good, but it wouldn’t be wise for her to get involved in his business, certainly not at first and not with what limited financial resources she had these days.

  I didn’t intend to remove George completely from my list of suspects, but I did move him down to the bottom.

  I’ve said before a negative can be as valuable as a positive, and I tried to remind myself of that as I made my escape from his restaurant.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The wedding day dawned bright and sunny. The air was crisp, but the wind was light. A gentle snow had fallen overnight, not enough to impede traffic, but sufficient to make everything clean and white and fresh.

  It was, I thought as I took the dogs for their early morning stroll, the perfect day for a winter wedding. Uncle Arthur texted me yesterday as I’d been on my way back from my meeting with George.

  Sorry. Love to Jayne and Andy. Ran into old buddy at airport. He’s off to Majorca where he keeps a boat. Invited me for a sail. Managed to get new ticket. I’ll get nice gift in Majorca.

  I can’t say I’d been entirely surprised. Uncle Arthur is somewhat like the wind: he goes where he goes.

  Walk over, dogs happy, I gathered muesli, yogurt, and blueberries, made a big pot of tea, placed everything on the table, and made a phone call.

  “Rise and shine,” I said.

  “I rose long ago and am shining even as we speak,” Jayne said. “I don’t know if I can stand the excitement. I’ve been out for a run. When I got back, I had too much energy to come inside, so I ran my route again.”

  “Perish the thought. Do you need anything before we go to your mum’s? A run to the shops? A taxi to speed you to the border?” We were due at Leslie’s at eleven to get Jayne ready. The church service began at three.

  “No, Gemma. I’m fine. I am …” Her voice trailed off.

  “Yes?” I prompted.

  “So happy I don’t know if I can bear it.”

  A substantial lump formed in my throat. I swallowed. Emotions! That would never do. “See you soon.”

  I sniffed and wiped at my eyes. When I recovered, I placed another call. It rang a couple of times before being answered, and Ryan’s sleepy voice said, “Gemma? What time is it?”

  “It’s after nine, a perfectly acceptable time to be calling. Don’t you have something to do today?”

  “Andy’s wedding? I haven’t forgotten, Gemma. Big day, but hours to go yet. Anyway, I’m only the best man. You don’t have to check to make sure I’m not planning a run for the border.”

  “Good joke. I said the same to Jayne not five minutes ago.”

  He chuckled, and I imagined him sitting up and settling back against the pillows. We talked a bit about our plans for the day, and then I said, “Anything happening with the Armstrong and Ellis cases?”

  “Regarding Tina Armstrong, not a single thing. We don’t have even the slightest of trails to follow. No indication anyone meant her any harm. Even though her folks live in West London, I get the feeling they weren’t all that close to her. They told us she recently broke up with a boyfriend, but they never met him and don’t know if they ever got his name. The relationship was, according to them anyway, that casual.”

  “Might it not have been, from his POV, anyway? Nothing like a man scorned.”