I laughed. “I’m sooo scared. Maybe I’m being pessimistic. Hopefully, it’ll all work out. Rose is excited about her friends and family in Iowa seeing the show.”

  Simon sliced the last banana into the glass bowl containing the rest of the fruit, put the paring knife down, and stood up. “On that note, it’s back to work I go. Catch you later, Lily.”

  He passed Edna coming in. I told Edna what I wanted her to do and let her know that I’d be available before nine if she needed me.

  “I drove past the bakery in town,” she said. “They’ve gone to a lot of trouble to spruce the place up. Flower baskets lining the windows, two big planters on either side of the front door, windows washed, door freshly painted. I suspect they even scrubbed down the awning. I don’t think that’s happened since Noreen first opened the place.”

  “Can’t fault them for that. I got out my good china and asked Simon to pay particular attention to giving me the best flowers.”

  “Are you going to mind if you don’t win? It seems as though all sorts of things come into the judging on this show, not simply the quality of the food. Clean awnings could be the deciding factor. They might dock you because Gary Powers was being such an obnoxious loudmouth on Monday.”

  “I’ll mind, sure. Probably more than I think I will. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble over this. We all have, and we’ve all been highly inconvenienced. I’d hate to trip at the finishing line. I don’t know if I want to keep going up the ladder, though. I do have a business to run, and at some point, the time I devote to the show is going to stop balancing the publicity value and start having a negative impact. At this point, it seems to be out of my hands.”

  I took Éclair home, told her to have a nice day, and headed up the driveway to Tea by the Sea.

  I did love this commute: in less than three minutes, I was unlocking the front door and stepping into the vestibule of the tearoom. I’d told Marybeth and Cheryl to come to work today at the normal time of 10:00 a.m., if they didn’t hear from me otherwise. As I hadn’t heard otherwise from Reilly or Josh, I hadn’t called my staff with an update. Marybeth had been extremely upset yesterday. Tommy told me he’d apologized to her, and I hoped the apology had been truly sincere.

  The dining room was hushed, the alcoves wrapped in shadow. I’d decided to use different china today to provide variety in the décor, so the tables had been laid with dishes I’d bought specifically to match the by the Sea part of our name: white china with an edge of navy blue and gold trim. Blue linen napkins were at each plate, along with sterling silver cutlery. All of which might not even be needed if Josh decided to film on the patio today. As I went into the kitchen, I debated what pattern would show up best on TV filmed outdoors as well as provide the image I wanted to project for the tearoom. I’d decided to serve the royal tea today: a flute of sparkling prosecco at each person’s place would look nice.

  I was so occupied considering place settings that for the briefest of moments as I entered the kitchen, I didn’t understand what I was seeing.

  A man lay on the floor, facedown, arms outstretched. I recognized the dyed blond hair and thin back and shoulders as those of Tommy Greene.

  Chapter 7

  I waited in the kitchen for the emergency services to arrive. Like most restaurant people, I have some training in first aid, and I’d fallen to my knees next to Tommy Greene to check for signs of life. It was immediately obvious he had none. His skin was cool to the touch, and he wasn’t breathing. Blood, a lot of it, matted his yellow hair. My stomach rolled over, and I pushed myself to my feet. I looked around me. All was as I’d left it last night, everything in its place, ready for another day of baking and serving tea. Everything except—

  My marble rolling pin lay on the floor, half under the fridge. I instinctively took a step toward it to pick it up and put it back in its place on an upper shelf. I froze. My stomach rolled again, and I left the rolling pin where it was.

  I could hear the roar of the sit-down lawn mower in the background, so I knew there’d be no point in phoning Simon and asking him to come and wait with me. He wouldn’t hear the phone ringing.

  Instead, I called Rose. The phone rang for a long time before a muffled, sleepy voice said, “Victoria-on—”

  “Rose, it’s Lily. I’m at the tearoom. There’s been an . . . accident. I’m perfectly fine, but the police have been called.” As if to emphasize my point, the sound of sirens rapidly approaching grew louder. “You’d better get up and see to our guests. The police will have questions.”

  “Who? Why? Is someone hurt?”

  “Gotta run.” I hung up.

  I opened the back door and stepped outside, thinking about the last time I’d spoken to Tommy Greene. He’d revealed a great deal of himself to me in that brief conversation as we watched the tide coming in, and I’d left liking the man, believing I’d come to some understanding of him. I could have been wrong, of course. Reality TV, as I’d been reminded, has nothing to do with reality.

  Something niggled at the back of my mind as I waved to the first police car that swung off the highway into our driveway. I fought to get the outline of a thought into focus. An ambulance followed the cruiser. Lights flashed and sirens screamed, doors flew open, and men and women in uniform leapt out.

  Doors opened.

  I hadn’t had to unlock the kitchen door when I ran out. The last thing I do every night before leaving is check the doors. The tearoom has two entrances. The rear one for staff and deliveries, which opens directly into the kitchen, and the front door off the patio, which opens into the vestibule, where guests check in and we display our menu and show off some place settings. Had I not checked the locks last night?

  I struggled to remember, but nothing came to mind. The entire hectic day had been such a blur. I looked down. The lidded bucket containing the day’s kitchen scraps, which Simon puts in the compost bin, was where I’d left it, but putting it out hadn’t been my last task of the day.

  “In there.” I indicated the kitchen as people in uniform arrived. “He’s in there.”

  “Are you all right, Ms. Roberts?” the young policewoman asked as her partner and the paramedics ran past me. I’ve had dealings with the police before, unfortunately, and most of them know my name. I know theirs.

  I swallowed and nodded. “I’m fine, Officer Bland. You’ll want to call the detectives, I’m afraid. I don’t think it was an accident.”

  “They’re on their way,” she said. “I heard a TV show’s been filming here. How’s that going?”

  “It’s . . .” I swallowed. “Difficult.”

  “Must be interesting, though.”

  I didn’t reply. She was, I realized, staying with me and chatting politely not to ensure I didn’t collapse into weepy hysterics, but rather to ensure I didn’t bury evidence under a bush or in the compost bucket.

  “You should tell your colleague not to touch the rolling pin on the floor by the fridge. It wasn’t there last night.”

  More police vehicles were arriving. Bernie’s car slowed as it made the turn, and my friend’s freckled face stared out the window at me. I lifted my hand in acknowledgment, and she continued up the driveway. Rose must have called Bernie, probably the moment she and I hung up.

  I realized the sound of the lawn mower had stopped, and a moment later, Simon rounded the building at a run. “Lily! What’s going on?”

  “Tommy Greene.” I nodded toward the kitchen. “Dead.”

  He touched my arm lightly and stared into my eyes. The scent of fresh mowed grass clung to him like a perfume, and his attractive blue eyes overflowed with sympathy and kindness.

  Detectives Williams and Redmond arrived together, and Simon stepped away from me.

  “Nice of you to call us at a reasonable hour this time, Lily,” Chuck Williams said.

  He and I never did get on.

  “Dispatch said you found a body in your restaurant kitchen when you arrived for work,” Amy Redmond said. “Did you recognize him?”

  “Yes, I did. His name’s Tommy Greene, and he’s here with the TV show. Do you know about that?”

  “Talk of the town,” Williams said.

  “He’s also a B and B guest. I have absolutely no idea what he’d be doing in my kitchen hours before opening.”

  “Did you kill him?” Williams asked.

  Simon bristled. “What kind of a question’s that, mate?” “A pertinent one, I’d have thought,” Williams said.

  “No, Detective,” I said. “I did not.”

  “You say the dead man’s a guest at the B and B,” Redmond said. “Is he with his family or with others from the TV group?”

  “Some of the people from the show are staying here.”

  Redmond and Williams exchanged glances. Williams opened his mouth to say something, but Redmond got it out first. “Why don’t you check the scene here, Detective, and I’ll go up to the house and break the news to the man’s colleagues?”

  Williams pulled a face.

  “Before we do that,” Redmond said to me, “anything we should know?”

  “My rolling pin, a big marble one, is on the floor under the fridge. It doesn’t belong there. I mean, obviously, it doesn’t belong there. It usually sits on a high shelf. I don’t use it much.”

  “Anything else disturbed?” Williams asked.

  “Not that I noticed, but I didn’t check. I think the back door might have been left unlocked.”

  Redmond cocked one expressive eyebrow. “You think?” She was about my age, early thirties, slightly taller than me, with olive skin and intense dark eyes. Trim and attractive and as coiled as a spring. Williams, by contrast, was counting down the days to retirement. Flabby jowls, bulbous red nose crisscrossed with fine lines, round belly, and thin, greasy hair plastered to his scalp in a failed attempt to pretend he wasn’t going bald.

  “I’m pretty sure,” I said. “I don’t need a key to unlock it from the inside, but I don’t think I had to turn the lock. I’m not entirely sure. I was upset, I called nine-one-one, and I ran out here to get some air and to wait for you. I’m sorry. I can’t be positive.”

  “That’s fine,” Redmond said. “Do you normally lock the door when you leave for the night?”

  “Always. It’s part of my end-of-the day routine. I don’t remember doing so yesterday, but I don’t remember not doing so yesterday.”

  Williams snorted in disapproval, but Redmond said, “That’s quite normal with things we do so routinely, they’re virtually automatic.”

  “Like when you can’t remember if you switched off the cooker, and you go home to check, and every single time, it’s off,” Simon said.

  “Precisely.” Redmond smiled at Simon. Simon smiled back, and I felt a totally unexpected, and unwarranted, stab of jealousy. When they’d met other times, I’d suspected she liked him. He was a good-looking man. He was also nice, friendly, and could cook. Amy Redmond was about the same age as us, and single. What more would a woman want?

  I mentally kicked myself for thinking about such an inappropriate subject when a man lay dead a few feet from us.

  Redmond turned from smiling at Simon and focused her attention on me. “Who else has keys to that door?”

  “Marybeth and Cheryl, my employees. No one else. A spare’s kept on the key hook in the kitchen of the B and B.”

  “Check the key’s there, will you?” Redmond asked me as Williams wandered into the tearoom, pulling on a pair of blue latex gloves.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Officer Bland, you’re with me. We can walk to the main house. Simon, you can go back to work, unless you have something to tell me, but first, I do have a question. I assume you were working in the garden this morning, early as it is. What time did you start?”

  “I was at the door to the house kitchen at six, as usual, when Lily arrived. Had a coffee, helped Lily with getting breakfast ready, and I was in the garden shed before six thirty. I didn’t see anyone around. Couple of cars went by on the highway, but nothing moving here.”

  “Thanks.”

  We headed for the driveway and the big house at the edge of the bluffs.

  “My mom loves that show,” Officer Bland said. “She was so excited when she heard they were coming here. She’s not going to be able to decide if she’s happy Tommy Greene’s dead or upset about it.”

  “Why’s that?” Redmond asked.

  “He’s the sort of personality people love to hate. He was, I mean.”

  “Is that so? I’ve never seen the show myself.”

  I said nothing, as at that moment we heard a shout as Matt Goodwill sprinted across his sand- and weed-choked property toward us. He was dressed for a day of writing, not construction, in casual pants, a short-sleeved T-shirt, and sandals. Matt was a highly successful true-crime writer. “Lily! Simon! Detective Redmond, what’s happened?”

  “A person died on this property last night or early this morning,” the detective said. “Do you know anything about that?”

  “No. Who?”

  “You’ll be informed in due course. In the meantime, if you gentlemen have nothing to add, thank you for your time.” We’d reached the steps to the veranda.

  “You know where to find me.” Simon walked away. He didn’t get far before he stopped to pluck dead foliage off the geraniums in the bed lining the guest parking area.

  “Is that Bernie’s car over there?” Matt asked ever so casually. Matt liked Bernie. Bernie was still pretending not to like Matt.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I’ll come in with you and check if she needs anything.”

  “If she needs anything,” Redmond said dryly, “I’m sure she knows where to find you.”

  * * *

  Most of the guests, including the TV people, had gathered in the dining room at the B & B. No doubt the sound of sirens and the sight of police cars and ambulances screeching onto the property had curious guests rising from their beds. Edna was laying out breakfast pastries next to the boxes of cereal, cartons of yogurt, and the bowl of fruit salad, and Bernie was pouring coffee.

  Rose had taken a seat at the head of the largest table. She hadn’t had time to apply her full makeup this morning, and her clothes were an uncharacteristically dull combination of beige sweater and black pants. I could tell by the way she was sitting that Robbie had taken his rightful place on her lap. Edna and I regularly, and fruitlessly, warned Rose that the health department would shut us down if they knew a cat was allowed freedom of the kitchen and the dining room, but Rose firmly ignored us. Booking information about the B & B made it plain a cat was in residence. Anyone who didn’t care for cats, according to Rose, was welcome to find accommodation elsewhere.

  The buzz of conversation, full of questions, filled the room. It stopped the moment we stepped through the door, and everyone turned to face us.

  Officer Bland was in her uniform, and Redmond was not, but anyone could tell instantly who was in charge here. The detective was an attractive young woman, but her entire demeanor screamed cop.

  I glanced around the room, searching for signs of guilt. What those signs might be, I didn’t know, but I looked for them, anyway. Josh and Claudia had taken seats at a table for four, coffee and muffins in front of them.

  I pointed them out to Redmond and whispered, “The third person who’s staying here doesn’t appear to have come down yet. The rest of the crew are being put up someplace else.”

  “Can we use your drawing room?” she asked.

  “Of course,” I said.

  Redmond took a step forward, but the buzz of her phone stopped her. She glanced at it and turned her back to take the call. She kept her voice low, but I heard her say, “Tell them no work today. Send whoever’s in charge up here.” She put her phone away. “Lily, check for that spare key, please.”

  “Right.” I hurried out of the dining room as fast as I could without actually breaking into a run. A quick glance at the hook by the kitchen door showed me the tearoom key was in place, hanging next to the spare key for Rose’s car. That didn’t necessarily mean anything: if someone had taken it, they’d had time to put it back. It was unlikely anyone from outside, including our guests, would know where I kept a key to the tearoom, and if someone had searched for it, they would have left signs. Not that I’d necessarily recognize those signs, but I hadn’t seen anything out of place in here this morning.

  By the time I got back to the dining room, Redmond was standing at Josh and Claudia’s table, Bland slightly behind her, and every eye in the place was on her.

  “It’s there,” I said. “The key. Where it should be. Everything seems in order.”

  She nodded in acknowledgment and then spoke to Josh and Claudia. “Good morning. I’m Detective Amy Redmond. North Augusta PD. I understand you’re here filming a TV show?”

  “America Bakes!” Josh said. “Are you wanting a role, Detective? I’m sure we can find you a spot.” The joke fell flat, and he grimaced. “Sorry. Is something wrong?”

  I heard the front door open and steps cross the hallway. Reilly came into the dining room. He threw a questioning look toward Josh, and Josh shrugged in answer.

  “Are the other members of your party not up yet?” Redmond asked.

  “Scarlet isn’t one for rising at the crack of dawn,” Claudia said with a dismissive sniff. “Or even the crack of noon, unless she has to. As for Tommy, he’s not usually late for breakfast. We were supposed to meet here with Reilly at seven thirty to go over plans for the day. It’s after that now. What’s happened?”

  “Who’s Reilly?”

  “Our assistant director. That’s him now.” She waved, and Reilly hurried to join them.

  “Detective?” Josh said. “You haven’t told us why you’re here.”

  Redmond indicated the room full of eavesdroppers. “Why don’t you come with me? We can speak privately.”

  Rose put Robbie on the floor and stood up. “You may use our drawing room, Detective.”

  “Thank you,” Redmond said.

  “What’s going on?” Josh repeated. “Reilly? Do you know what’s happening here?”