“When my real dad was alive we lived in Boston, but when Mom and Julian married, we moved to Cape Cod. Julian had a lot of money. Family money, most of which was made by his grandfather way back when. I never wanted for material things; I was sent to private schools, had horseback riding and sailing lessons, my college tuition was fully paid for. My mother loved me, and I always knew that, but things were tense between me and Julian, even when I was a little kid. Fast forward to now. Julian died five years ago. Heart attack. He dropped dead on the golf course. All his money went to my mom, as it should have. Life continued. My half brother, Stephen, was always in trouble of one sort or another. Rich-boy problems: drugs, running with a bad crowd, no job to speak of, no ambition. Too much money. Before his father died, Stephen went to California to try to make it as a musician. Nothing came of that, and I didn’t have any contact with him until our mother died and he came home for the funeral. That was two months ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thanks. Mom was ill for a long time. Pretty much confined to the house in her last year. Shortly after Julian died, Mom rewrote her will. She shared it with us, so I know what it said. The bulk of the estate was left to Kimberly and me equally, after making a small but adequate provision for Stephen and the usual bequests for longtime staff such as the gardener and the housekeeper. Stephen got enough to provide him with a modest income, and no more. Mom told us at the time that Stephen would be likely to contest the will, and she was sorry if it caused problems for us, but she believed he simply couldn’t handle money.”

  “And that’s what happened?”

  Rachel laughed without mirth. “No. Stephen came to Mom’s funeral. He looked good and he seemed good. He says he’s off the drugs, he’s given up trying to make it as a musician, and he’s got a job he likes working as a salesclerk in a super high-end women’s clothing shop in LA. He always loved fashion. He told me he’d done some bad things when he was on the drugs, and Mom was right to cut him off. But . . . it turns out I’ve been cut off, too.”

  “I don’t understand. You just said—”

  “Mom rewrote her will again about three months before she died. I didn’t know about it, and I didn’t see it until after her death. She left everything to Kimberly, except for the same small bequest to Stephen. Nothing to me. Zippo.”

  “Why?”

  “Because her mind was failing and Kimberly told her to. Why else? I was in France for several months around that time. I didn’t want to go, not with Mom being sick, but it was a huge commission for a restaurant that was going to be the talk of the Paris dining scene, and how could I pass that up? Kimberly must have convinced Mom that it was Julian’s family money, and I am not part of Julian’s family. Therefore, I deserve nothing. I wouldn’t put it past her to have told Mom I’d run off to France on a whim, not caring about her.”

  “Is this will legal?”

  “Perfectly legal. The family lawyer was called to the house. The will was witnessed by our housekeeper and the lawyer’s assistant.”

  “You must have been furious.”

  “Less than you’d think. Do I want money? Who doesn’t? Do I want anything that had been Julian’s? Not really. I make a good living, Lily. A very good living, and I love everything about what I do. Although it rankled, badly, to think Mom thought poorly of me at the end.”

  “Did you see her before she died?”

  “Yes, I got back in time. You’d have liked my mom, Lily. She loved her afternoon tea, sitting in her chair by the window in the sunshine.” Tears formed in Rachel’s eyes. “At the end she went downhill quickly. She might not have even remembered rewriting the will.” She wiped angrily at the tears. “More than that, it’s knowing Kimberly pulled a fast one on me, manipulated our mother against me, that really hurts. I decided to put her and the memory of her odious father behind me for good and get on with my life.”

  “Obviously that didn’t happen.”

  “No. Turns out Mom realized what she’d done and had a change of heart. She called in Helen, that’s Helen Chambers, the housekeeper, and said she wanted to write another will. This time with me back in it. Helen called the lawyer, but he was away on vacation. Mom pointed out that she had no time to waste, so she handwrote a new will with Helen’s help. It was witnessed by the gardener’s assistant and the private nurse.”

  “And?”

  “The new will disappeared. Couldn’t be found after Mom died. Kimberly can’t deny there was a new will, because it was witnessed, but she claims Mom must have changed her mind and tossed it in the trash. A will that can’t be produced in court has no legal validity, Lily. Mom wrote it out herself, and after being witnessed, she put it in an envelope and sealed it. The witnesses only signed the last page, so they can’t testify what it said, and Helen says Mom didn’t tell her specifically what she was writing.”

  “It was in the Peter Rabbit tea chest.”

  “Yup. I decided it wasn’t worth my time and stress to contest the earlier will, if that was Mom’s wish. The second will, I guess we should call it. But I can’t let myself be out-and-out cheated by Kimberly. We weren’t speaking by then, but she agreed to let me come around to the house—now her house, as she informed me—to pack up the few of Mom’s possessions I’d like to keep. The only thing I really wanted was the Peter Rabbit tea chest. It had been Mom’s when she was a little girl, and some of my earliest memories are of us having tea parties when we lived in Boston and my dad was still alive.” Rachel wiped at her eyes again, dug into her pocket, pulled out a tissue, and lustily blew her nose. I finished arranging the scones on the hot baking sheet, popped them in the oven, and set the rooster timer, giving Rachel a brief moment of privacy. Eventually she put the tissue away, gave me a weak smile, and continued.

  “We never used the tea set again once she married Julian, and it was abandoned upstairs in the attic, gathering dust. I don’t know why, but in her last months, she got it out again and had it cleaned. We used that tea set a couple of times when I came home after my trip to France. Kimberly joined us once, and she was insultingly patronizing to Mom about using it. She thought Mom was regressing to her childhood, but she wasn’t. She wanted to be near things she’d loved over the years. When I was little, she showed me where the lining had been ripped and resewn. It had been her teenage hiding place, she said, where she kept her diary away from the prying eyes of her nosy older sister. It didn’t occur to me that Mom would have put the third will in there. Not until I came to get it and it was gone. Kimberly had sold the things she didn’t want—the tea sets and silver and Royal Doulton figurines—to antique dealers before I even had a chance to get my hands on what I wanted.”

  “Not nice.”

  “I told you, Kimberly was never nice.” Rachel held out her cup. “More coffee?”

  “Sure.” I poured another round. I had to keep working, so I told Rachel to continue as I assembled the ingredients to make coconut cupcakes.

  “Then I made a mistake. A bad one. I got angry, really angry, about the tea chest being sold out from underneath me. Kimberly sneered and said it was nothing but an old toy, and I told her about the sentimental value it had for Mom, including her hiding her diary in it when she’d been a girl. And then I stormed out of the house, vowing never to return. I know my dear half sister well, and it was obvious she was worried about what had happened to the new will, even though she pretended it was of no consequence. Imagine her shock on hearing Mom had rewritten her will, and then her relief when it couldn’t be found. She hadn’t destroyed it, and she didn’t believe Mom had changed her mind, so she must have spent a lot of restless nights wondering what had happened to it. And then I pretty much out-and-out told her where it might be found.”

  “The trail led to the antique dealer, and then to me.”

  “Right. And I arrived too late. You’d given it to her.”

  I whirled butter and sugar in the mixer and thought. Had Rachel confronted Kimberly at Victoria-on-Sea last night and demanded she return the envelope presumably containing the third will? Possible. Had Kimberly told her she’d destroyed it? Also possible. If so, and if Rachel had lashed out at Kimberly and killed her, then why was Rachel still in North Augusta? Wouldn’t she have run for the nearest lawyer?

  What would Rachel’s legal situation be in light of Kimberly’s death, as regards their mother’s estate? If Kimberly hadn’t yet written a will of her own, it’s entirely possible their mother’s will (whichever one had legal standing) directed what would happen to the funds should one of her children predecease her or die intestate. On the other hand, Kimberly was married, and if she didn’t have a will, shouldn’t most of her estate automatically go to her widower? I know nothing about the laws of inheritance, but it seemed to me that Rachel had more than one reason to kill her half sister.

  “You need to call the police,” I said.

  A car turned into the driveway and parked next to the kitchen door. I glanced at my watch. Ten o’clock. Marybeth and Cheryl had arrived for work.

  “No.” Rachel put down her coffee cup.

  I switched off the mixer. “Then I will.”

  “You do what you have to do, Lily, but I have no intention of going to jail. I didn’t kill Kimberly. I didn’t find my mother’s last will and testament, but I intend to keep looking. People other than Kimberly don’t want that will to come to light. Kimberly’s new husband comes to mind.”

  “Wesley? What does he have to do with it?”

  “Why do you think he married Kimberly? He needs funding for the restaurant empire he intends to create. A quick marriage to a woman who’s recently come into a substantial inheritance, and then the wife conveniently dies. And the vengeful sister goes to prison for it. Neat and tidy. For him.”

  The door opened and Cheryl and Marybeth came in. They started when they saw Rachel, who’d put her sun hat and dark glasses back in place. Rachel slipped past them without another word.

  I reached for my phone and called Detective Redmond.

  Chapter 10

  “Someone’s asking for you, Lily,” Marybeth said.

  “This is starting to become a habit. One I don’t care for. Tell her no. I am not available. I will never be available.” I chopped at a chicken I’d poached in Darjeeling yesterday to use for sandwiches.

  “It’s not a her; it’s a him.” Marybeth grinned at me. “I wouldn’t mind seeing a lot more of him. If you get my meaning.”

  “I’m afraid I do. Okay. Show him in.”

  She was back a moment later with, as expected, Wesley Schumann.

  It was a few minutes after eleven, and the tearoom had just opened. Earlier, I’d called Amy Redmond as I watched Rachel drive away. I told her Rachel had been here, but she’d left without telling me where she was going.

  “Why did she come to see you?” Redmond asked.

  “I don’t quite know. She told me some things about her and her sister’s relationship, and it was not a good one.”

  “I’m at the police station now, and I have a few things to deal with first. I want to find out more about this not-good relationship. I trust you’ll be at Tea by the Sea all day?”

  “Where else would I be?” I’d said.

  “Nice place, Lily,” Wesley said now. “I always knew you could make it on your own if you put your mind to it.”

  I kept my head down and continued chopping. As I remember, Wesley had disparaged every mention I made of eventually having my own restaurant, to the point that I gave up talking about it. Although I didn’t give up dreaming about it. “You’re a talented pastry chef, Lily,” he’d say. “But you don’t have the drive or the ambition, never mind the sheer guts to compete in this business.”

  “Thanks,” was all I said now. “I’m happy with it.”

  “Are you? Happy, I mean? Living with your grandmother? Making breakfasts in a B & B, of all places? Living in this provincial backwater? Not a lot of space in here.”

  “Enough for me.”

  “May I?” He indicated the scones cooling on a rack.

  “Help yourself.”

  He took one and broke it apart. Like the chef he was, he closely examined the interior before tasting it. He popped a piece in his mouth and chewed carefully and thoughtfully. “Top-notch,” he said at last.

  “Thanks,” I said, meaning it. Praise about food from Wesley was rare, and heartfelt when given. “I haven’t had a chance to say I’m sorry about your loss. You must be devastated.”

  “I’ll get over it.”

  I stopped chopping and started at him. His hair was perfectly arranged to look casual, and a touch of stubble blackened his strong jaw. His eyes were clear. He wore slim dark gray pants and an open-necked light gray sweater with the sleeves rolled up. Bare feet were stuffed into Italian loafers. Grief was not the word that came to mind. The edges of his mouth turned up in that slow smile I knew so well, and he winked at me.

  He winked. In that way that had, once upon a time, turned my bones to jelly and set my blood on fire.

  I blinked. “Wesley? Are you okay? Need I remind you that your wife has died.”

  “We hadn’t been married for long.”

  “I don’t think that makes it any easier.”

  “Put that knife down.”

  “What?”

  “That knife. Put it down.”

  I did so. He crossed the room in two quick strides and took my face in his strong hands, scarred by numerous kitchen encounters with hot metal and butcher knives. He stared into my eyes, saying nothing.

  I averted my gaze and pulled myself away. “I have work to do. We’re expecting a full house all day.”

  He ran a finger lightly over my cheek. “Lily. My Lily. I’ve missed you. So much.”

  “Wesley, stop it.”

  His eyes sparkled. “You’re afraid your staff will come in. Like that time—”

  I picked up the knife once more and focused my attention on the chicken. “Cape Cod isn’t a provincial backwater. Didn’t I hear you’re intending to open a restaurant near here?”

  “Two. One in Provincetown and one in Orleans. If things turn out, I’m looking at Hyannis also. Plans are well under way, and I’m excited about it. I want you to come and work for me, Lily. I’ll give you free reign with the dessert menu. We can talk about offering afternoon tea service on summer weekends, and you can be in charge of that.”

  “Four orders of the full tea, and two for light tea.” Cheryl came into the kitchen.

  “I’m behind on the chicken sandwiches,” I said. “Get the tea on while I finish them.”

  Without asking, Wesley began arranging scones and pastries on the three-tiered stands. Cheryl squeezed around him to get to the airpots and tea canisters.

  “Two cream tea and two children’s tea,” Marybeth said. I turned in time to see Wesley smile at her, and her blush as red as the strawberries we added to the children’s service. Marybeth went into the pantry and came out with pieces of the Peter Rabbit set.

  I glanced at Wesley to see his reaction, but he showed none. He must not have known how much trouble Kimberly and Rachel had gone to in trying to find that tea set.

  “Wesley,” I said. “You have to leave. My staff and I have work to do and you’re in the way.”

  “Will you think about what I asked you?”

  “No, I won’t. I’m happy here, very happy, and even if I wasn’t I wouldn’t leave my grandmother.”

  “I can help with your grandmother.”

  I tried to make a joke. “No one can help with my grandmother.”

  “She’s got that right,” Cheryl said, and Marybeth laughed.

  “Give me a minute, Lily,” Wesley said. “Let’s go outside. I won’t take much of your time.”

  Cheryl and Marybeth watched us out of the corners of their eyes as they made tea and assembled the food.

  I knew Wesley wouldn’t leave until he said what he wanted to say, so I sighed and said, “One minute. No more.” I led the way out the kitchen door.

  The sun was strong, and Wesley and I stood in the shade of an ancient oak. Traffic was light on the main road. A car slowed and turned into our driveway.

  “I’m asking you to do more than work for me, Lily,” Wesley said. “Things can be the way they used to be between us.”

  I gaped at him. Wesley’s wife had died little more than twelve hours ago, and he was asking me to get back with him? “You’re in shock,” I said at last. “Kimberly’s death was so sudden. So unexpected. I—”

  He reached for me, but I dodged out of the way of his hands. “Forget Kimberly. As soon as I saw you again, yesterday morning in that overdecorated breakfast room, I knew you were the only woman for me. I’ve always known that. When you left me so suddenly, with no reason, I was in shock, yes. Maybe I turned to Kimmy because of it, but—”

  “You’re nuts.”

  “Lily. I need you, but most of all—you need me.”

  Suddenly, I was angry. All the hurt this man had caused me came flooding back. I was here, standing under the big old oak at Tea by the Sea, my sanctuary, and here he was—at me again. The ego, the arrogance, the unwillingness to see anyone else’s point of view. “If you want a reason, Wesley, I’ll give you a reason. I left you because you’re not a nice person, and I finally realized that. You’re not nice to anyone who’s not in a position to do you any favors. You’re not nice to your staff, to your friends. You were not nice to me when I was your girlfriend. To prove my point, you can’t even be nice to your wife after she died.”

  A dark shadow replaced the amusement in his eyes, and his face tightened.

  “I don’t want to work with you again. Or have anything else to do with you.”

  He was standing between me and the kitchen door. As I moved to go around him his hand shot out and grabbed my arm. He pulled me close to him and stared into my face. His eyes were very dark. “You don’t know what you want.”

  I pulled at my arm, but he didn’t let go. His grip was strong, his face tight with anger.

  “Well, well. Look who’s here.” Bernie came around the building, smiling broadly. “Wesley Schumann. How’s it going, Wessie, old pal?”