“Over here! Over here! Gemma!” People had run down to the dock. They jumped up and down, trying to attract my attention.

  I looked at Ryan. Lips blue, face white, treading water in front of me. “He won’t get far,” I said. Although the words might not have come out as I intended.

  The scream of sirens. Doors slammed. Voices yelled.

  Ryan nodded. He took the other side of my life preserver and together we kicked toward the outstretched hands.

  * * *

  Once again, I was in the ladies’ room of the Blue Water Café, trying to dry off with the help of the weak heat of the hand dryer. My lovely dress had been stripped off me, and as soon as I was reasonably dry, I’d been stuffed into a waiter’s uniform about two sizes too large. Medics attended to me and helped to warm me, but I refused a ride to the hospital.

  “I have to get to a wedding.” My coat had sunk to the bottom of the ocean, taking my phone along with it.

  “I hope you’re not the bride,” the medic said.

  “No. Just bridesmaid.”

  “That’s okay, then,” she said. “My colleague tells me Detective Ashburton’s saying much the same. Not that he’s a bridesmaid, though.”

  Finally, I was allowed out of the ladies’ room. The hostess kept to one side of me, the medic to the other, but I didn’t need the help. As I’d warmed up, feeling had flooded back into my legs and I was able to walk if I moved slowly and carefully.

  Curious diners watched as I came into the main room. I gave them a jaunty wave. A waiter handed me a glass of brandy, which I gratefully accepted.

  Outside, bright lights had been brought in and figures moved about on the deck. A section of the railing had been shattered.

  Ryan came out of the men’s room accompanied by a scowling Louise Estrada.

  “Are you allowed in there?” I said to her.

  She didn’t bother to answer. A second glass appeared in Ryan’s hand.

  “Detective Ashburton told me what went down out there,” Estrada said. “Seeing as to how all the drama, so to speak, took place outside, I’ve said the restaurant can remain open, although the cooks might have trouble concentrating on their duties. The guests have been informed service will be slow and minimal for the rest of the evening.”

  I didn’t think anyone would mind. They looked quite pleased at being able to watch the drama while enjoying their drinks and dinner.

  “We’ll talk in my car,” Estrada said. “And then, as Detective Ashburton has managed to convince me, against my better judgment, I will let you two go to the wedding.”

  “Martin?”

  “He’s been taken to the hospital with signs of hypothermia. And that’s where you two should be.”

  “We have a wedding to get to,” Ryan said.

  “Unbelievable,” she said.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Estrada offered to drive us to the yacht club, but first she had a few questions. We sat in her car, the heater going full blast, and related the story.

  “I don’t doubt what you’re saying,” Estrada said, “but was Martin truly that naive? If the photo Robbie took shows what you think it shows, it’s nowhere near grounds for laying a murder charge. Why didn’t he just tell Robbie what he could do with his picture?”

  “More a matter, I think, of him deciding he’d had enough of Robbie.” Before I could continue, she said, “Hold on. Call coming in.”

  Estrada got out of the car to take the call. When she came back, she gave me a sideways look.

  “I don’t know why we bother sometimes,” she said at last. “Gemma was right, as she usually is. Much as I hate to say it.”

  “As you usually say,” I said. “Thank you. Although I must confess, I’m forced to ask what I’m right about. I was not right about Martin. Not until the very last minute.” I believed Martin when he said he hadn’t killed Tina, but the moment he turned to leave us, his relief was so obvious, I wondered what he’d done he feared us finding out. And then I remembered Robbie. Poor dumb Robbie and his blackmail tendencies. Robbie had seen Martin arguing with Tina not long before she died. Robbie’s phone had not been found, which almost certainly meant his killer had taken it. It was possible, likely even, he’d taken a picture of Martin and Tina arguing. Maybe even one of Martin lunging for her. Had he asked Martin for a few bucks or he’d show the pictures to the cops? Had Martin gone to Robbie’s that night to pay him off and they argued? Or had Martin realized blackmail rarely ended with the first demand?

  More likely, I thought, Martin simply didn’t like to be taken advantage of, and not by someone he considered a loser. I’d seen the two of them sniping at each other at Jayne’s party. The animosity between them was obvious. Knowing Robbie. I considered it entirely likely he’d goaded Martin with the threat of going to the police with his photo and his accusations. For Martin was that simply a step too far? Very possible.

  As for the photo itself, it showed nothing incriminating, and the police would have realized that right away.

  Martin had argued with Tina, yes, but she’d been seen alive after that. Any photos on Robbie’s phone would have a time stamp on them. Robbie’s blackmail attempt was useless.

  His death had been useless.

  What a mess.

  Leaving me with the question as to who, if anyone, killed Tina. I tried not to give Estrada too smug a grin. I’d been right from the very beginning, but I’d allowed others to muddle my thinking. I’d try to avoid that in the future.

  “That call confirmed Tina’s death was an accident, didn’t it?” I said.

  “Yeah. Finally, someone got into her phone. They found an outgoing message that hadn’t left her WhatsApp yet. The techies suspect she pressed Send, but it hadn’t been transmitted before she hit the water, killing the signal.” Estrada handed me the phone so I could read the photograph that had been sent to her. Ryan leaned in.

  The text was a mess of bad grammar, misspelled words, autocorrect that didn’t quite work, but parsing carefully I was able to understand the essence of it.

  I should never have come. This is hideously embarrassing. Andy’s obviously head over heels about that baker, and so be it. Let him go. Plenty more fish in the sea, right? I’ll worry about that tomorrow. Now I’m going to do what I always do when I’m down and have a swim. Love me some cold water! Talk more tomorrow.

  Ryan let out a long breath but said nothing.

  “Tina was a keen swimmer according to her family and friends,” Estrada said. “She dove competitively in school and took part in charity polar dips; she surfed in California. She’d had way too much to drink that night; she was humiliated and embarrassed. Not thinking clearly. That she had her phone on her seemed to indicate she hadn’t gone in on purpose, but if she was acting out of drunken instinct—”

  “She texted her friend, put her phone in her bag, and jumped over the railing,” Ryan finished the sentence.

  “It’s only a few yards to shore,” I said, “if she had experience swimming in cold water, she thought she could make it. She must have misjudged the distance in the dark, hit her head on the dock, rolled into the water, and from there, she didn’t have a chance.”

  We sat quietly for a while. Finally, Estrada said, “I have to go to the hospital, check up on Martin. You still want me to drop you at the yacht club?”

  “Yes, please,” Ryan said.

  * * *

  We were slightly late arriving at Jayne’s reception. And not exactly appropriately dressed. At least the chef’s uniform Ryan wore fitted him reasonably well. Although I don’t know who Marion is. Or was.

  The flip-flops on my feet were appropriately named. They were too big and flopped like clown’s shoes as I walked. I folded the waistband of my trousers over three times to try to get them to stop falling down. As we entered the Cape Cod Yacht Club, I attempted to avoid looking at myself in the mirror. In that I failed. My hair was a rat’s nest of hastily dried and not styled curls. My eye makeup ran in streaks down my cheeks and my skin was as pale as … as pale as though I’d been dunked in freezing water.

  I glanced at Ryan. Even without the makeup and the curls, he didn’t look much better. I giggled.

  He stopped walking and looked at me. He grinned.

  I laughed. Ryan laughed.

  And there, as we roared with laughter, an alternately furious and worried Jayne and Andy found us.

  “You call this being delayed?” Jayne said.

  Ryan’s phone had gone with Estrada, who promised to dry it out. She lent him hers while he was warming up, so he could call Andy and do what he could to explain our tardiness. Andy had already heard from his bartender what was going on, and his staff promised to do the very best they could under the circumstances.

  As we walked into the ballroom, everyone stared at us, open-mouthed.

  “We fell in,” I said. “No harm done.”

  “Didn’t want to miss any more of the party,” Ryan said. “So we didn’t take the time to go home to change. Borrowed clothes.”

  “Dinner is about to be served,” Andy said. “Everyone, please, take your seats.”

  “I demand an exclusive,” Irene Talbot said. “I can’t believe I came straight here instead of going down to the harbor for the photos and I missed it all.”

  “The department will be putting out a statement in the morning,” Ryan said. “Perhaps Gemma will give you the finer details.”

  “She never speaks to the press,” Irene said.

  “Quite right,” I said.

  “Anyone else,” Mrs. Ramsbatten said to me, “I’d ask why they went for an evening dip, but as it’s you, I’ll not bother. Arthur texted me a few minutes ago. Said he’s been trying to contact you, but your phone is unavailable.”

  “It’s swimming with the fishes, Mrs. R.,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’ll reply to that effect. He wants you to extend his best wishes to the happy couple and his regrets that he’s unable to attend.”

  “I’ll mention that, thanks.”

  We found our seats. Ryan and I were at the head table. I looked out over the ballroom, beautifully decorated in shades of blue, Jayne’s favorite color. More people were checking their phones than was perhaps polite at a formal dinner, but word of tonight’s activity was spreading. Irene typed frantically. Even Mrs. Ramsbatten was checking her phone, likely filling Uncle Arthur in on the evening’s events. Heads dipped toward others and excited whispers were exchanged.

  I smiled serenely.

  The meal was delicious, the wine excellent, the speeches short. I’d had to dispense with my sodden bra, and the cheap black shirt I’d been given was itchy. I tried to forget about it and not fidget too much. Ryan’s and my attire might ruin some of the photos, but that couldn’t be helped now.

  When it was my turn, I stood to make my own speech. I hoisted my trousers before saying how happy I was that Jayne and Andy were in my life and I wished them many marvelous years ahead. I tried to make a joke about baking, but it fell rather flat. Jokes have never been my strong suit. I passed on Uncle Arthur’s wishes, along with those of my sister, Pippa, and her husband, Grant Thompson. As I sat down, Ryan squeezed my hand. “Never mind,” he whispered. “I thought it was funny.”

  * * *

  Dinner over, speeches given, toasts made, the waiters cleared the tables and the room was prepared for dancing. The DJ played a great selection of music, something suitable for all age groups.

  I’m as good a dancer as I am a comedian, so I stayed in my seat enjoying another glass of champagne while Ryan approached Mrs. Ramsbatten to ask for a dance.

  When everyone was up and moving to the music, Jayne slipped into the seat beside me. Her face was flushed, her smile broad, her eyes glowing. “They’re saying an arrest has been made for Robbie’s murder.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I assume that’s why you were … delayed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tina’s too?”

  “No. Tina’s death was an accident.”

  Some of the smile faded, and Jayne dipped her head.

  I put my hand on her arm. “Let’s not talk about that tonight. Tonight’s about happiness and love and friendship, and all that good stuff.”

  She smiled at me. “You need to have a dance.”

  I lifted my leg. The flip-flop hung off my toe. “My shoes are not suitable.”

  She stood up and pulled me after her. “Too bad. Andy! Gemma needs a dance partner.”

  Andy left his mother and approached us. He gave me a deep bow, sweeping his right arm before him. “Madam.”

  “If I must,” I said.

  We sort of bobbed up and down for a few minutes, and then Andy led the way off the dance floor to a quiet corner. We stood together for a few moments, watching the dancers move, some with more style than others. “I’m guessing Martin won’t be back at work any time soon,” Andy said at last.

  “Unlikely.”

  “On the bright side, they didn’t close my place tonight and send all my customers out into the night.”

  “Be thankful for small mercies.”

  “What happened?” he asked. I filled him in.

  “Poor Tina. I wish I’d realized—”

  “Don’t go there,” I said. “Nothing that happened to either her or Robbie is your fault in any way. She showed up where she knew she wasn’t welcome, and she finally realized that. Her text to her friend was mumbled but surprisingly upbeat. She knew she’d made a mistake; she saw how much you love Jayne and she was ready to turn the page. Unfortunately, before she could do that, she made a serious miscalculation.”

  “Sad.”

  “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  We watched Bunny and George dance past us. Bunny moved like the pop star she’d been. George moved like a marathon runner. The two styles did not complement each other, and Andy and I laughed.

  “George has offered to lend me a cook for next week, an extra hand while I’m away,”

  “Do you need one?”

  “I might. Either all my customers will stay away permanently because of the police attention we’ve been attracting lately, or I’ll be full every night because people want to offer their support. Martin was looking for a new job anyway. He must have realized he and I were not going to get along. He had an interview with George. Moot point now.”

  “I’m not too sure about George.”

  “George is okay, Gemma. Jayne told me he was in the tearoom the other day, being a downer about how hard the restaurant life is. That’s just George. One of the world’s biggest pessimists. Always look on the worst possible side, he says, and you won’t be disappointed. I know he tells that story about me supposedly burning down the burger joint so I could have the space for my restaurant. There’s not a shred of truth in the story, and he knows it. He thinks of himself as a great raconteur.”

  “It’s not funny, Andy.”

  “No, I guess not. He knows he’s running out of time. His creditors are circling. His places suffered in the pandemic, like everyone else’s, but he can’t seem to bring them back. He never had much business sense; he was able to get his start only because of money he inherited. He wants me to partner with him in setting up a new place.”

  “And?”

  “I told him I’ll think about it while I’m away. He needs help creating menus, finding good cooks with good reputations. I can do that.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Always up for a challenge.” He watched Jayne, dancing with his father, laughing at something he said. “Whatever happens, I have Jayne by my side now. And that means I can do anything.”

  Despite my inclination not to dance, I found myself doing a substantial amount of it as the evening progressed. I enjoyed myself, but before long the events of the day began catching up to me.

  When I was momentarily on my own, I went in search of Ryan. I found him at a table by the bar, enjoying a whiskey with Audrey and Mrs. Ramsbatten.

  Ryan slipped his arm around my waist. “Ms. Whitehall has been telling me some stories.”

  “Every word of which is true,” Audrey said. “I intend to change the focus of my book.”

  “Why and to what?” I asked.

  “Somehow, Sandra McAllister got word of what I was writing.” Audrey’s lips tightened as she looked across the room to where Madison was sitting by herself, typing away on her phone. “She is threatening legal action if I try to imply that she, or people in her employ, paid off a police officer to cover a crime committed by her husband. I told her I have absolutely no idea why she’d think I’d do such a thing. Irrelevant, as I no longer fear Sandra. She has enough problems of her own. No, young Tina’s death was sad and tragic. I’ll let her rest in peace. A simple memoir of my life and times, the people I knew, should suffice. I have knowledge of plenty of old scandals I can revive. The sort of stuff people love to read but won’t cause anyone any harm. Not anymore.” She finished her drink and put the glass on the table. “It’s time for me to be off. It was lovely meeting you, Gemma. If you ever find yourself in California, do look me up. I’m in need of a good research assistant.” Another glance at Madison. “I will not be attempting to become an influencer.”

  “Tempted?” Ryan asked me after Audrey had taken her leave.

  I kissed the top of his head. “I could be a good gossip columnist. Too bad I have absolutely no intention of going to California.”

  “I wonder if there’s a need for an influencer for the over-eighties set,” Mrs. Ramsbatten said. “The best places to get your hearing aid repaired, the most fashionable walker and cane shops.”

  “Give it a try,” I said.

  “I have the necessary computer equipment and technical skills, yes. Unfortunately, too many members of my intended audience do not. Perhaps an idea for another day.” She held up her empty glass. “I do believe I’ll have another, young man.”

  Ryan took the glass and stood up. When Mrs. Ramsbatten had been served, he said to me, “Feel like a dance?”

  “I’d rather—” I wanted to suggest we slip quietly away, but before I could finish my sentence Ryan’s eyes fell on something happening behind me and his eyes lit up. He rubbed his hands together. “Great. Looks like they’re bringing out the dessert buffet. Sorry, Gemma, were you about to say something?”