“You and Bernie and Detective Redmond. I can only guess.” He went to the sink and turned on the tap. “Okay. Keep your secrets. What do you need doing?”

  I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Thanks.”

  “Other duties as assigned. This job is proving to be more interesting and varied than I expected. Close protection officer/assistant chef/gardener. I wonder if there’s any openings at Buckingham Palace.”

  “Why?” Marybeth asked.

  “They need people with a range of skills.” He finished washing his hands. I stepped away, and he turned and kissed the top of my head. “Scones?”

  “Thanks. I can run a tearoom if we’re short of many things, but not scones. Or tea.”

  Simon’s mother owned a catering business. He grew up helping her, knew his way around a kitchen, and had pitched in several times to help me when I needed it. He didn’t have to be told what to do and started preparing currant scones, leaving me free to make a variety of mini-cupcakes to put away for tomorrow. We worked in companionable silence while Cheryl and Marybeth bustled in and out of the kitchen, brewing teas and arranging the food stands.

  My kitchen is small, it is in fact positively tiny, but the four of us worked well together, and we didn’t often get in each other’s way.

  By five thirty, the freezer was stocked with scones, the cake and cookie tins were full, and pistachio macaron shells were cooling prior to being filled.

  Marybeth came in with an armload of dishes. “Another full and satisfied group. They’ve left. A couple of people are still on the patio dragging out the last of their tea, and that’s it for another day.”

  “Did they tip?” I asked. People in tour groups often don’t, thinking it’s taken care of in their tour fees.

  “Yes, and very well.” Cheryl slipped past her daughter, heading for the closet. I was pleased. My employees worked hard and always kept up a warm, cheerful, friendly front no matter how demanding the customer might be.

  Cheryl came out with the vacuum cleaner and dragged it into the dining room.

  “I’d stay awhile and give you a hand, Lily,” Marybeth said, “but the kids—”

  I smiled at her. “No problem. Simon to the rescue.”

  “As always,” he said. “We have about an hour until you have to leave for your mysterious appointment, so what’s next?”

  “The easy stuff,” I said. “The chicken I took out of the freezer earlier should be thawed by now, so you can poach it in Darjeeling, please. Recipe’s in my binder. Can you boil a dozen eggs? I’ll make the sandwich fillings in the morning. I’ve just enough time to whip up a batch of shortbread before we have to finish here.”

  At six thirty my phone rang, the tone telling me it was Rose. “We’re about ready to leave, love. Do you want me to pick you up?”

  “Heavens, no. I can’t be seen. This is an undercover operation, remember?”

  Simon groaned.

  I suddenly realized my cleverly constructed plan had an enormous hole in it. I don’t own a car. I never needed one in Manhattan, and since coming to the Cape, Rose and I share her geriatric Ford Focus. Rose needed the car to drive her and Karen to the bridge club gathering. Bernie and I had arranged to meet at the community center. Marybeth and Cheryl had left for the night. I could call Amy Redmond for a lift, but she might have other things on at the moment.

  Which meant I’d have to take a cab. At six thirty, the cabs would be busy taking people into town for dinner. They might not be able to get me there on time.

  “Problem?” Simon had a decided twinkle in his blue eyes.

  I smiled sweetly at him. “I might have encountered a small glitch. I need a lift into town.”

  “Just so happens, I keep my spare helmet in the garden shed.”

  “Maybe we could call Matt and ask to borrow his car?”

  “Matt’s gone to North Dakota and won’t be back until tomorrow. Interviews to conduct for the new book.”

  I thought. I didn’t know which bothered me more: Simon knowing what Bernie and I were up to, or the prospect of riding on his motorcycle.

  The oven timer tinged to tell me the shortbread was ready. Time to decide.

  “Okay,” I said. “You can take me. We’re going to a bridge game.”

  His face fell so much I almost broke out laughing. “Bridge? All this secrecy around a card game?”

  “Yup.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You don’t play bridge, Lily.”

  “I’m always eager to learn new things.” I took the beautifully golden cookies out of the oven. “These need about five minutes to cool and then we can be on our way. You go and get the bike. And”—gulp—“the extra helmet.”

  “Good thing you’re wearing long trousers today.”

  I glanced down at my jeans-covered legs. “Why?”

  “In case you come off. Bare skin on tarmac or gravel is not a good thing. I have a jacket you can wear.” He slipped out the back.

  I reconsidered my options. We were only going into town. Fortunately, the community center was on this side of North Augusta. It was daylight. It was a Monday evening so tourist traffic should be light. If I survived the journey, I could beg a ride home in a car.

  I took a deep breath. “You can do this, Lily,” I said.

  Chapter 24

  It wasn’t as bad as I feared. Simon put the spare helmet on my head and tested the straps before handing me a jean jacket, full of holes and numerous poorly applied patches. I eyed the jacket with suspicion. “Are these tread marks I see?”

  “No, that’s a rip from being snagged on a rose thorn. This is the jacket I wear if it’s cold, and I’m working in the potting shed or planting.”

  Suitably dressed, trying to control my panic, I awkwardly swung my leg over the back of the enormous machine and tried to settle into the seat. Simon showed me where to put my feet, snapped the visor of his own helmet over his face, and jumped nimbly on. I held on to him for dear life, and the motorcycle roared into action.

  By the time we reached the top of the driveway, I was ready to get off. But after that, once he hit the open road and sped up, it wasn’t so bad. The weather was good, the sky clear, and he didn’t go too fast. Houses lining the ocean to our left passed in less than a total blur. Once I opened my eyes at any rate. Simon might have approached a fence lining the road too closely, and I feared for my right knee, but contact was avoided. Simon’s body was warm and strong under my grip. I wondered if I was holding on too tight. I wouldn’t want to cut off his breathing so he passed out and we crashed as he was coming around a cliffside corner. I let go, fractionally. The bike hit a bump, I yelped, and held on even harder than before. I was starting to think maybe a longer trip wouldn’t be so bad after all when we pulled up to the North Augusta Community Center. To my intense disappointment Bernie, Rose, and Amy Redmond were not around to notice how brave I’d been.

  Simon pulled off his helmet and twisted in his seat. “Still alive back there?”

  “It wasn’t so bad.”

  He held out his hand and I clambered off.

  “Keep the helmet with you,” he said. “I’ll park over there and join you.”

  “You’re coming in?”

  “Can’t have you hitching a ride home.”

  “I—”

  Too late to argue. He wheeled the motorcycle to a parking space, leaving me dressed in a far-too-big, ratty old jean jacket and carrying a motorcycle helmet. I took a quick peek at my phone. Five to seven. People were entering or leaving the center with yoga mats tucked under their arms or accompanied by kids wearing or carrying sports gear. Bridge players, most of them in their fifties and up, dressed in street clothes, were arriving.

  I waited for Simon to join me. He was here now, and I couldn’t have him blundering around trying to find me.

  He ran up the steps, also carrying his helmet. “Where to?”

  When we planned this expedition, Rose explained the layout of the community center and the room where the bridge club met. “We’re going to meeting room A,” I said. “Must be that way.”

  We walked past the reception desk and down the hall. A large room was to our left, and I saw women and men in sleek fitness gear laying out their yoga mats and doing warm-up stretches.

  We passed meeting room B on our right. It was arranged with several small tables, each surrounded by four chairs. I took a sideways peek and spotted Rose sitting comfortably at a table against the far wall. Karen O’Keefe sat opposite her and two other women were preparing to sit down. Rose was dressed in a loose-fitting, high-necked yellow blouse.

  Simon and I slipped into meeting room A, conveniently located on the other side of the wall from Rose’s table in the much larger room B.

  Bernie and Amy Redmond looked up as we came in. A table for six filled the small room, and the only window looked out over the parking lot. A small electronic device sat in the center of the table.

  “What’s he doing here?” Bernie asked.

  “Don’t ask,” I said.

  “I’m here in my role of chauffeur and close protection officer,” he said. “Don’t blame Lily. I didn’t give her a lot of choice.”

  “You can’t see anything from here,” I said. “I can’t hear anything, either, other than a mixed-up, indistinct babble of voices. Shall I assume Rose is wired?”

  “It worked the last time,” Bernie said.

  “Wire?” Simon said.

  “Keep your voices down,” Redmond said as she switched on the machine. We heard throats clearing, greetings being exchanged, chairs scraping the floor.

  “Isn’t this nice?” Rose’s staticky voice emerged from the machine on the table. “Ladies, this is Karen, visiting us from . . . someplace in Massachusetts.”

  Everyone said a version of hello. And the game began.

  If you think playing bridge is boring, try listening to a game without seeing what’s going on. Cards were dealt, the women went around the table either bidding or passing, play began, the round finished, the score was recorded.

  Repeat.

  Repeat.

  These were serious bridge players. General chitchat was not permitted or tolerated. I got the vague idea Rose and Karen were winning, but not by much.

  At eight o’clock, someone, who they referred to as the director, announced, “Break time. Be back in ten minutes, everyone.”

  “What! What!” Simon, snoozing in his uncomfortable chair, jerked awake.

  “Some close protection officer you are,” Bernie said.

  “I’m ready to swing into action at a moment’s notice. And action is what’s seriously missing from this scene.”

  “I’m beginning to think this was a waste of time,” Redmond said.

  “You’re an excellent player,” Rose’s voice came through the speaker. “Thank you for joining me tonight.”

  “As are you,” Karen said. “Although I’ve noticed you’re overly fond of spades.”

  “I always bid high when I have a good spade hand,” Rose said.

  “Which is fine, until your opponents notice your strategy.”

  “A risk, I’ll admit. Speaking of risks, love, I appreciate that you and your friends stayed on at Victoria-on-Sea after that unfortunate man was murdered. Such a dreadful business. Many people might have left under the circumstances.”

  “One of my friends suggested going home, but I pointed out to her that we’d lose what we’d paid, right?”

  “Such is in the registration agreement, yes.”

  “Besides, it’s not as though a serial killer offed him, is it? We were in no danger.”

  “How can you know that? Not that I think a serial killer is operating in the area, but . . .”

  “It was a personal thing, right? My money’s on his mother. Is she ever a dragon. I couldn’t help but overhear a lot of what went on. Not that I was trying to listen, of course, none of my business, but your house, outside the bedrooms, is a public area, right?”

  “People do talk sometimes as though they’re in their own home,” Rose said.

  “If not the mother, then the wife. It was obvious, before he died I mean, they didn’t love each other. It had to be a personal killing. Someone he invited into his room to have a drink with slipped him something, right?”

  Amy Redmond broke into an enormous grin. She lifted her right thumb in the air. “Got her. I have to say, I had my doubts about this, but she slipped up. That piece of info is not public knowledge. We only said he was found dead in his room.”

  “Can we leave now?” Simon asked.

  “I need more than that. As she said, the house is leaky. She can claim to have overheard the Reynolds family or even a couple of officers talking about the situation. Although, if any of my officers chatted in a public place about the details of the case, I’ll have their heads.”

  “Ready for another round?” came a voice at Rose’s table.

  “Please, no,” Simon groaned.

  And the game began once again. We overheard a bit of drama when someone at the next table demanded, in a very loud voice, that the director be called. Accusations of irregular play, if not out-and-out cheating, were made and denied. Finally the director gave the alleged miscreant a warning and departed.

  “Two spades,” Rose said.

  “Are you sure?” Karen asked.

  “No talking!” said one of the players.

  “I am sure,” Rose said.

  The game resumed.

  And on it went.

  Even Bernie started dozing. I felt my own eyes closing.

  At last, someone called, “Last hand, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “Is it still summer?” Simon asked.

  Sounds of people getting to their feet. Good nights were exchanged. Someone suggested a quick stop at a bar.

  “It was nice meeting you, Karen,” a woman said.

  “Next week, Rose?” another woman said.

  “Most definitely,” Rose replied. “Always such an enjoyable evening.”

  Amy Redmond moved to stand up and gather her equipment, but she lifted her hands when Rose said, “You don’t mind sitting for a few minutes, do you, love? A challenging game always takes quite a bit out of me.”

  “A few minutes won’t matter,” Karen replied. “We passed a café when we came in. Why don’t we grab a cup of coffee?”

  Redmond shook her head. “Not a good idea. I don’t know that this has the range, and the food service area is fully in the open.”

  As if Rose got the message she said, “Not for me. I can’t drink caffeinated beverages so late in the day. The decaffeinated stuff they make here isn’t fit to be called tea. Or coffee, I’ve been told.” She groaned lightly. “A nice stretch and a bit of a relax, and I’ll be ready to go. You and your friends are leaving tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  “As is the Reynolds family. You said you’d never met them before. Didn’t I see you chatting to the man who died? What was his name again?”

  “Ralph.”

  “Oh yes. Ralph.”

  “You must be mistaken,” Karen said. “I never spoke to him.”

  “I am rarely mistaken about what happens on my own property.”

  Karen coughed. “I mean, other than that night when we encountered each other out walking at the back of the house. We chatted briefly, and he told me he was here for his son’s wedding.”

  “So he was. With his wife and the rest of his family.”

  “That’s what he said. Before we went our separate ways. Are you ready to go?”

  “You weren’t invited to the wedding.”

  “Me? Why would I have been?”

  “Because you work at the sandwich restaurant on the ground floor of the building in which his company is located. Do you not?”

  “I do, but that’s not—How do you know that?”

  “I know a great many things, love.” All of which Bernie learned during this afternoon’s deep dive into Karen O’Keefe’s Internet profile. It’s amazing the things you can learn these days, from the comfort of your own kitchen table.

  Redmond glanced at Bernie in something approaching approval. Bernie grinned.

  “You and Ralph Reynolds met over submarine sandwiches and soft drinks,” Rose’s voice said. “I’m sure he told you his marriage wasn’t a good one. That, I can assure you, was the absolute truth. It wasn’t, and it had never been so. His mother had something to do with that.”

  “What do you want from me?” Karen asked.

  “I want nothing from you. I like to show people how clever I am, that’s all. I am what you Americans call a snoop, always have been. I like knowing things about people. You needn’t check the corners of the room. I can assure you I’m quite alone. My granddaughter thinks I’m an addled old fool. I have been known to play up to her prejudices on occasion. For my own amusement. She’s waiting for me to keel over soon and inherit the house. That is not going to happen. Neither the keeling nor the inheriting. Although she doesn’t know that. Not while she’s still useful to me, at any rate. What happened with your Ralph made me realize I need to be on my guard. My granddaughter might one day decide she’s tired of waiting for me to pass away through natural causes. What did you put in Ralph’s drink anyway?”

  “What makes you think it was me? As you said, he and his wife hated each other.”

  “Divorce is a common occurrence these days. She had no reason to kill him. After decades of marriage and three children, she would be able to count on getting a good divorce settlement. Except the settlement wouldn’t have amounted to much, considering he had little money of his own. His mother had no reason to kill him, either. She kept firm control of the purse strings, after all. I’m assuming you didn’t know that.”

  “I knew it. You seem to know a lot about his family’s affairs.”

  “Walls are thin, even in old houses.” Mentally, I winced. I hoped that comment wouldn’t get Bernie or Redmond wondering how thin the walls at Victoria-on-Sea truly were. Particularly in our drawing room. “A pleasant state of affairs for an elderly lady who has difficulty sleeping, but has nothing wrong with her hearing. Or her natural curiosity.”

  “I didn’t care about the money. I . . .” Karen’s voice broke.