“That’s one way of putting it,” Scarlet said. “As we’re not working today, I’d like to hit the beach. Where’s the best place near here, Detective Redmond?”

  “I am not a tour guide.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Before you go, please give your contact information, including phone numbers, to Officer Bland,” Redmond said. “Thank you for your time.”

  The group left the drawing room, and the door shut behind them. I was about to text Rose and ask if the coast was clear when Williams spoke. I thought he and Redmond had left with the others.

  “Get anything?” he said.

  “Not much. They all claim not to have seen the dead guy since around six last night. They went to dinner together, but he didn’t go with them. So they say. Might be true. Might not. We need to ask the other guests if anyone saw him last night or early this morning, and we need to talk to the rest of the crew. They’re still outside?”

  “Yeah. I spoke to them. No one knows anything. They all said they saw nothing. Bunch of them went out to dinner in town last night, but Greene didn’t come. They say that was normal. He didn’t usually hang around with the crew.”

  “I assume,” Redmond said, “because you were asking about the locking of the doors, you didn’t find any sign of forced entry. Lily Roberts says the spare key’s where it’s supposed to be, and it didn’t look to have been disturbed. I’ll have it checked for prints.”

  “Forced entry? Doesn’t look like it. Roberts said the door might have been left unlocked overnight. Funny way to run a business. You’d think she’d be more careful.”

  “Unlocked this morning,” Redmond said, “doesn’t mean it wasn’t locked when she left yesterday. The dead guy might have come with someone who has a key. Or met them there. I need to talk to Lily again.”

  Oops.

  * * *

  I sent Rose a quick text. Cops looking for me. Send them to the kitchen.

  Rose: [thumbs-up emoji]

  I left the secret room and crouched in the dark, confined space in the linen closet.

  “Everything all right, Detectives?” my grandmother said in a voice pitched to carry to the far corners of the property.

  “No need to shout, Mrs. Campbell,” Williams said. “I can hear you well enough.”

  “Was I shouting?” she shouted. “So sorry. Hearing aid not working properly.” Nothing, I knew, was wrong with Rose’s hearing.

  “Where’s Lily?” Redmond asked. “We’d like to speak to her next.”

  “She’s in the kitchen. That girl never stops baking.”

  “I’ll find her,” Redmond said. “In the meantime, perhaps you can tell Detective Williams what you know about the deceased.”

  “Uh . . . no.”

  “No? What do you mean, no?” Williams asked.

  “Lily might not be in the kitchen, after all. You’ll both have to go in search of her. She might have finished up and gone home. Or perhaps she went up to the tearoom to see what’s happening.”

  “Call her and tell her we want to speak to her,” Williams said.

  “She doesn’t answer her phone during the day.”

  “Funny way to run a business.”

  “I have no idea what you’re up to, Mrs. Campbell,” Redmond said. “Rest assured, I will find out. In the meantime, I’ll go in search of her. Detective Williams, someone needs to ask the non-TV people if they saw Tommy Greene last night or early this morning.”

  “Why don’t I interview the rest of the guests?” Williams said, as though it was his idea. “And you can play hide-and-seek with Lily Roberts. Where did Bland get to?”

  “She went into the dining room with the TV people,” Rose said.

  Muttering about the possibility of laying charges for wasting police time, Detectives Williams and Redmond walked away. A moment later I heard a light tapping on the door behind which I crouched. While they’d been talking, I’d replaced the shelves and the linens.

  “All clear, love.”

  I slipped into the hallway, shut the door behind me, and trotted quickly toward the kitchen. “I’d better find Redmond before she tears the place apart looking for me.”

  Bernie was in the B & B kitchen, facing Redmond, when I came in. “I haven’t seen . . . Oh, there she is now.”

  The detective turned and frowned at me. “Where have you been?”

  “Busy, busy. We have a full house today, and murder or not, people need to be fed.”

  “Coffee, Detective?” Bernie said. “Pot’s fresh.”

  Redmond looked as though she was about to refuse out of principle, but she gave in and said, “Yes. Thanks. That would be nice.” Her gaze wandered to the platter of bran muffins on the counter.

  Matt Goodwill sat at the kitchen table, looking very comfortable as he enjoyed his coffee and muffin, and Edna was putting dishes in the dishwasher. I was about to ask how breakfast service had gone, but at the last moment I remembered I was supposed to have been working in here.

  “You were looking for me, Detective?” I asked innocently.

  “I need to interview you. Let’s go back to the drawing room.”

  Bernie pointed to the coffeepot and raised one eyebrow. I nodded, and she poured me a mug. Edna arranged the coffee and two muffins on a tray and handed it to me.

  “Might as well enjoy breakfast while we chat,” I said. We ran into Detective Williams coming out of the dining room. He eyed the tray I was holding and followed us into the drawing room. Reluctantly, I surrendered my coffee and muffin.

  “No one saw Greene at the time in question,” he said to Redmond as he settled himself in Rose’s favorite chair, coffee and muffin in hand. “Or so they say. A couple of the guests left early this morning, before we arrived, to go fishing, so we’ll need to get to them when they return.”

  “Are the TV people making noises about leaving?” Redmond sipped her own coffee.

  “They say they have to wait for instructions from the network. Whoever they are.”

  “The people who hold the purse strings,” I said.

  “They can’t be considering continuing with the show,” Redmond said.

  Williams shrugged.

  “Did you learn anything from the crew?” I asked. “About Tommy Greene, I mean.”

  “No one confessed, if that’s what you’re asking,” Redmond replied. “Tell us about yesterday’s incident between Mr. Greene and Marybeth and Cheryl.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” I pretended to think. “Oh, did you hear about that?”

  “Why don’t you tell us,” Williams said.

  “Nothing much to tell. Marybeth had a minor accident and spilled hot tea on Tommy. He got mad and yelled at her, and she was upset. That was it. He wasn’t hurt. Accidents happen in a busy restaurant. All part of the job.”

  “Her mother intervened,” Redmond said.

  “Cheryl? I suppose you could say that. She yelled at him and called him a bully. And then it was over. Everyone went their separate ways.” I smiled at the two detectives.

  “I hear she threatened him,” Williams said.

  “I wouldn’t say threatened exactly.”

  “What would you say exactly?” Redmond asked.

  “I forget her exact words, but it was the sort of thing we all say when someone annoys us. Means nothing.”

  “Means nothing,” Williams said. “Unless the man shows up dead less than twenty-four hours later.”

  “Tommy apologized to Marybeth. She accepted his apology. It blew over.”

  “How do you know that?” Redmond asked.

  “He told me.”

  “He told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps, Lily, you need to tell us when you had this conversation with Mr. Greene,” she said.

  As I related the talk we’d had when walking through the garden and then standing at the edge of the bluffs, I realized I might have been the last person to see Tommy Greene alive. The last person, that is, other than the one who killed him. “I told him not to go down to the beach, with it being dark and the tide coming in. And then I left him. I didn’t see where he went.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Around eleven maybe. I took the dog for a walk before turning in, and we came across Tommy in the garden.”

  “Did you see Mr. Greene again that night or early this morning?”

  “No.”

  “Aside from the incident with Marybeth, did you see any other signs of dissent or disagreement between Greene and the rest of the cast and crew? Or anyone else?”

  “I got the impression none of them got on all that well with anyone else. They seemed to snipe at each other a lot, but I wouldn’t read too much into that. I don’t have any experience of working on TV, but it’s a high-pressure situation, made worse by competing egos.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Redmond said. “Oh, one more thing. We will not be needing the assistance of you or anyone else in this matter. Do you understand?”

  “I’m always happy to help,” I said.

  “We expect you to help when and if you’re asked questions. Not otherwise.”

  “Okay.” That was fine with me. I’d never wanted to be involved in those other cases.

  “Before you go, give me Cheryl Wainwright’s address,” Williams said.

  “I don’t know it off hand. It should be in my employee files.”

  “Where are they kept?”

  “In my house. I forgot to call Cheryl and Marybeth to tell them not to come in today.” I checked my watch. Quarter to ten. “They should be here soon.”

  “I want to talk to her, Cheryl,” Williams said. “We might be able to wrap this one up quicker than we first expected.”

  I didn’t care for the sound of that. I threw Amy Redmond a panicked look, which she pretended not to notice. Redmond and Williams didn’t get along at all. She was young, ambitious, newly arrived in North Augusta from working on the force in Boston. He was middle aged, lazy; had never lived or worked anywhere other than North Augusta; and he wanted to cruise into his retirement as easily as possible. I knew from past experience that he’d latch on to the first subject he tripped over, and from then on, he’d be reluctant to consider any other possibilities. Redmond would keep an open mind, and she’d keep investigating, but Williams’s intransigence served only to complicate things and slow everything down.

  In this case I should have nothing to worry about. Cheryl was hardly the sort of woman who’d stalk a man and kill him because of a mild insult to her daughter, and besides, the man had apologized, and Marybeth had accepted his apology.

  The death of Tommy Greene, I told myself with confidence, had nothing to do with us.

  Chapter 9

  I wasn’t invited to tag along with the detectives to hear what Cheryl and Marybeth had to say, but I went, anyway, and they didn’t chase me away.

  As we walked up the driveway, I checked my phone. I’d turned the ringer off when I was hiding in the secret room. As expected, Cheryl had texted to ask me what was going on and what did I want them to do.

  I didn’t answer, as I could see them sitting on the tearoom patio, watching the police activity. Marybeth was scrolling through her phone, and Cheryl had pulled her ever-present mystery paperback out of her tote bag. Cheryl saw us come through the gate and nudged her daughter.

  The TV trucks and trailers lined the driveway, and men and women milled about, chatting quietly. If they’d started to unload their equipment, the police had told them to put it back. I looked for signs of weeping, but all I could see was shock on many faces, worry on others. Josh stood apart, just watching, but Reilly stood in the center of a cluster of people, talking in a low voice. Claudia and Scarlet were nowhere to be seen. Two uniformed police officers were interviewing the crew, jotting notes in their notebooks. Melanie Ferguson, the makeup artist, stood on the steps of her trailer. She gave me a half-hearted wave as I passed, and I grimaced in return. She pointed to the detectives, mouthed, “Cops?” I nodded.

  Marybeth and Cheryl were alone on the patio, sitting at a table for two. Cheryl stood up when we approached. She eyed Detective Williams warily but spoke to me. “What’s going on, Lily? We got here a few minutes ago and found all . . . this.” She waved her hand to encompass the detectives, the TV crew idly milling about, the officers interviewing them, and another officer guarding the entrance to the tearoom. “No one will tell us anything.”

  “This place is closed for a police investigation,” Williams said.

  “I can see that, Chuck,” Cheryl snapped. “I was asking Lily.”

  “I hear,” Williams said, “that you had an argument with a man by the name of Tommy Greene yesterday.”

  Marybeth sucked in a breath. “Oh my gosh, don’t tell us something happened to him.” She looked at me through wide eyes, and I gave her a slight nod. She bowed her head.

  “Answer the question, Mrs. Wainwright,” Williams said.

  “If you’re calling me Mrs. Wainwright, Chuck,” Cheryl said, “I assume that’s an official question, and I’ll answer by telling you he and I had a minor altercation yesterday afternoon. The man was rude, and I don’t have to put up with that. I told him so.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at the detective.

  “What did you do after this minor altercation?” Redmond asked.

  “I went about the end of the day’s routine, and then I went home.”

  “Did you see Mr. Greene again after this minor altercation?”

  “Nope. Lily, seeing as to how we’re not going to get any work done today, I’ll be off. Let’s go, Marybeth.”

  “You’re not interested in why we’re asking these questions?” Redmond asked.

  “All I’m interested in is when I can come back to work. The man was a jerk, and I don’t particularly care what’s happened to him.”

  I don’t know Cheryl or Marybeth on a personal level. I know the basics of their private lives, mainly from what I overhear as they chat to each other as they go about their tasks. Cheryl isn’t what I’d call warm and friendly, not to me or the customers, but she’s reliable, hardworking, efficient and, I thought, honest. Her dismissive, uncaring attitude toward Tommy Greene and whatever had happened to him seemed to be out of character. The man had gotten under her skin. She might pretend to be unconcerned, but the tightness to her lips and the pulse in the side of her neck told me otherwise.

  Marybeth, on the other hand, had pulled a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed her eyes. “You’re not saying, but it’s easy to guess why you’re here and asking these questions. He . . . died?”

  “Yes,” Redmond said.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Are you?”

  “Of course I am. I’m sorry if anyone dies, but particularly someone who’d been nice to me recently.”

  “Nice to you!” Cheryl said. “The man was a total and complete jerk. He was so rude to you, you had to leave work early.”

  “He said he was sorry.”

  “Rubbish,” Cheryl said. “He said nothing of the sort.”

  “He told me he’d apologized,” I said.

  Cheryl still looked doubtful. “When did this supposed apology supposedly happen?”

  “I told you, Mom.”

  “You told me nothing of the sort.”

  “Didn’t I? When I went inside to wash my face and get my purse before going home, he came up to me. He apologized, said he was way out of line, and asked my forgiveness. I gave it to him, and he invited me and my husband to come to his restaurant in New York City one day.”

  Cheryl threw up her hands. “You can be so naive, honey. That was no apology. You can’t afford a trip to New York City, never mind eating at his fancy restaurant.”

  “But he was going to pay for the entire meal, a night in a hotel nearby, even give us train fare to get there. Plus, a thousand bucks to cover my expenses.”

  Cheryl snorted. Redmond and Williams watched the exchange with interest.

  “He did, Mom,” Marybeth said. “He sent me an e-transfer right there and then for the thousand dollars. I don’t care about that. He apologized, and he was sincere, and I liked him for it. I told Bernie in the car. I guess I forgot to tell you.”

  “If you received an electronic transfer, you’ll have a record on your phone,” Redmond said.

  “I do,” Marybeth said.

  Cheryl looked abashed for a brief moment, and then she lifted her chin. “Well, I didn’t like him, and I still don’t. Nothing but a bribe to keep her from taking her story to the gossip rags or putting it out on Twitter.” She scooped up her book and stuffed it into her bag. “I’m going home. Lily, you’ll call me to let us know when you want us back.” She took Marybeth’s arm. “Let’s go, honey.”

  “Don’t be in such a rush, Mrs. Wainwright,” Williams said. “What did you do yesterday evening, after leaving here?”

  “What did I do? I don’t have to tell you, Chuck, but I will. I went straight to my house.”

  “Was Jim at home?”

  “No, he was not. He’s helping a friend in Nantucket run his charters while one of the regular crew’s off sick, so he’s been away for a couple of days. Whatever I was doing, I wasn’t sneaking around here under cover of darkness and bashing Mr. Fancy Chef over the head.”

  “What makes you think he was bashed over the head?” Redmond asked.

  “Nothing. It’s an expression.”

  “Do you have a key to this place?” Williams asked her.

  “Yes, I do. Marybeth and I often arrive before Lily finishes at the B and B, and we have to let ourselves in to get started on the day. If we’re done here . . .” She started to walk away.

  Williams cleared his throat. “Not so fast. Cheryl Wainwright, I am—”

  “We’ll be in touch, Mrs. Wainwright,” Redmond said quickly. “I’d advise you not to leave North Augusta, but if you plan to do so, please notify our office.”

  “It’s summertime in Cape Cod. I have a job to do. When you folks let us get back at it, that is.” Cheryl marched away, back straight, head held high.

  Marybeth threw me a look. I shrugged and nodded, and she scurried after her mother.

  When they’d gone, Williams turned on Amy Redmond. “What are you playing at, Detective? I was about to arrest her, and you knew it.”