by Vicki Delany
“But I’ve had enough of the pleasure of your family’s company for one day,” Rose said. “As charming as they all are.”
“Sarcasm does not become you, dear,” Sandra said. “Frankly, I’d prefer to sit here all evening, but I’m a big believer in family togetherness. No matter what.”
Lewis, Julie-Ann, Amanda, and Tyler stepped onto the veranda. Tyler avoided his great-grandmother’s eyes and hurried down the steps. I was pleased to see that he limped ever so slightly.
“Soooo childish,” Amanda said. She descended the stairs gracefully and then took off like a shot to the parking lot. “I want shotgun!”
“Are you ready to go, Grandma?” Lewis asked Sandra.
“Are your parents coming?”
“I knocked on their door and they said they’d be right with us,” Julie-Ann said. Her eyes were tinged red, as though she’d been crying, and I assumed delayed shock had set in over her son’s brush with death. She still wore the ill-fitting white capris and plain blue T-shirt she’d had on at tea.
“I’ll wait for them,” Sandra said.
“We’ll go on ahead then,” Lewis said. “You can get a ride with Heather.”
They left, and I turned to Rose and Sandra to once again say good night. Before I could do that, Heather came outside with Brian, Darlene, and Trisha.
“I’m not sure,” Trisha was saying. “Maybe I should stay.”
“Good idea,” Darlene said.
“Nonsense,” Heather said. “He’ll be fine. Men always overreact to the slightest illness.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Trisha said.
“What’s the matter?” Sandra asked. “Where’s Ed?”
“He’s not feeling too good,” Trisha said. “He doesn’t want dinner.”
“No reason for you to miss your meal.” Sandra started to stand, and Brian offered her his arm. “Men don’t need constant fussing over, do they, son?”
“Do what I say, not what I do,” Darlene muttered. “If Brian has so much as a sniffle, you’re at our house with your chicken soup and tucking his blankets around him.”
“Chicken soup,” Sandra said, “has preventative properties, I always say. Better to nip a cold in the bud than let it fester.” She clung to her son’s arm as she descended the steps.
“There’s a story there,” I said to Rose when the family was out of earshot, “but I don’t want to hear it.”
“I’m afraid my friend can be rather possessive of her only child, even though Brian is now a grandfather of his own. When it comes to her family, Sandra is what they refer to these days as a control freak.”
I eyed my own grandmother and made no further comment.
The door opened once again, and more guests spilled out. Rose greeted them, and I made my escape.
* * *
Bernie and I enjoyed a dinner of chicken salad, and then I found a DVD of one of our beloved bad romantic comedies and we settled in with a glass of wine to shout our favorite lines in sync with the actors. Once the movie was over and the wine finished, we took Éclair out for her nightly walk. Bernie noticed a light burning in the windows of Rose’s suite on the ground floor of the main building. “It’s late, but it looks like Rose is still up. I’ll pop in and say good night.”
“I’ll come with you. She might have locked the front door.” The parking area was full, meaning the guests had returned for the night. Lights still shone from many of the guest bedrooms and the drawing room. The front door was locked, Rose’s last task of the day, and I let us in. The door opens onto the hallway and the reception area. The dining room is across the hall facing west over the bay, and the drawing room looks across the veranda and the gardens to the tearoom and the main road. The sweeping oak staircase, banisters wide enough for mischievous children to slide on, leads upstairs from behind the reception desk, and a closet for the dining-room linens is tucked underneath.
We heard voices coming from the drawing room and Éclair ran in to say hello.
“I’m calling an ambulance,” Trisha said.
“Are you sure? Maybe you should wait to see how he is in the morning,” Brian said.
“Of course, I’m sure. I know—”
I popped my head in. “Sorry to interrupt. Is it Tyler? Is he having delayed problems because of the crash this afternoon?”
“It’s my husband, Ed,” Trisha said. “He’s not well. He’s feeling sick.”
“Do what you want, Trisha,” Brian said. “I really don’t care. I’ve had enough drama for one day.”
“I hardly think it’s our fault your fool of a grandson stole a motorcycle,” Trisha said.
“I don’t think we want to get into that now,” Heather said. “I agree with Brian. Let’s wait until morning. Oh, is that your dog, Lily? So cute. What’s his name?” She crouched down, holding out her hand, palm up, and clicked her tongue. Éclair’s little tail wiggled in ecstasy as she accepted the attention.
“I don’t need anyone’s approval.” Trisha pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“I’m going to bed,” Brian said. “Wake me if something important happens. Darlene, are you coming?”
“Be right there.”
Brian walked past us, shaking his head. “Much ado about nothing,” he muttered as he went up the stairs. “Guy ate something that didn’t agree with him. Wimp.”
He passed Julie-Ann, coming down.
Trisha stood in the center of the drawing room, phone in hand. She glanced between one person and another, clearly undecided on what course of action to take.
“He’s been sick again,” Julie-Ann said. “And he’s in pain. I have some prescription painkillers in my bag that I could give him. I’m prone to terrible headaches,” she added quickly.
“Worth a try.” Heather didn’t look up as she played with Éclair.
“Sharing prescription medicine is not a good idea,” I said. “Trisha, if you’re unsure, make the call. Better to be safe than sorry.”
“I, uh . . .” She glanced at the faces around her, looking for someone to tell her what to do.
Bernie obliged, and she crossed the room in three long strides. She snatched the phone out of Trisha’s hand and punched in the emergency number. She gave Trisha back the phone as the operator said, “Police, fire, or ambulance?”
“Uh . . . ambulance? It’s my husband. He’s taken very ill. We’re at . . . Where are we?”
“Victoria-on-Sea B and B outside North Augusta,” Bernie said.
“I’m going upstairs,” Julie-Ann said. “I’ll wait with Ed until they arrive.”
It was nice, I thought, of Julie-Ann to forget family differences and step in to help when she was needed. I jerked my head at Bernie and called to Éclair, who came reluctantly as Heather wiggled her fingers at the dog and said, “Bye-bye.” We slipped into the hallway and went down the corridor to Rose’s rooms. I knocked and she called, “Come in.”
My grandmother was in her sitting room with Sandra. Two mugs of tea rested on the table between them. Rose’s suite is also used as the B & B office. The main room’s neatly divided in two. One half for B & B business, with a desk, a large-screen computer, filing cabinets, and notices and calendars pinned to a corkboard; the other half for relaxing, with a rose-colored damask chair and matching love seat, masses of family portraits in silver frames, china figurines and hand-painted plates on delicate little piecrust tables.
“They’ve called an ambulance for Ed,” Bernie said.
“Glad to hear it,” Rose said. “They should have taken him to the hospital before this. Instead, they all trooped out to dinner and left the poor man alone.”
“People get all in a fuss over the smallest things these days. It’s nothing but a tummy upset.” Sandra looked at me quickly. “Nothing to do with your lovely tea, dear, I’m sure. Although I couldn’t help but notice the way he plowed through the selection as though the entire tray was for him alone.”
“Is someone with him now?�
�� Rose asked.
“Julie-Ann’s upstairs with him,” I said. “Trisha’s in the drawing room dithering.”
“As could be expected,” Sandra said. “Trisha to dither and Julie-Ann to rush to Ed’s side in his hour of need.”
“There’s a story there,” Bernie said.
“Not mine to tell, dear.” Sandra sipped her tea.
* * *
I was in the kitchen the next morning, putting the day’s muffins into the oven, when Rose came in. I knew right away the news wasn’t good. She was still wearing her long white cotton nightgown under a tattered purple dressing gown. Half of her hair stood in spikes and the other half was flattened against her head. Without her makeup, her face was pale, drawn, and heavily wrinkled, and her eyes were weary.
She dropped into a chair. Even Robbie seemed to be down in the dumps this morning, with less of a bounce in his leap onto her lap than usual.
Edna took one look at Rose and said, “Why don’t I put the kettle on.”
I crouched in front of my grandmother and looked into her eyes. “Ed French?”
She nodded. “Sandra just called me. Trisha phoned her from the hospital. Ed died a short time ago.”
I took Rose’s hands in mine. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Do they have any idea what happened?”
“Not that Sandra told me. I said I’d bring a cup of tea up to her.”
“Let me do that,” Edna said.
Rose smiled sadly at her. “Thank you. They weren’t at all close, Sandra and Ed, but it is still most upsetting.”
“You go to Sandra,” I said. “I’ll come with you. She’s going to be devastated, and—”
“You have other guests to take care of,” Rose said. “They’ll be wanting their breakfasts.”
“But I want to help. Everyone’s going to be in a state of shock. I know I am, and he wasn’t even someone I knew. The guests can wait.”
“If I couldn’t manage to console my longtime friend by myself, love, I’d tell you. But I can. You get yourself back to work.”
I pushed myself to my feet. I took a breath and considered what Rose had said as Edna prepared the tea. I pushed my own shock and sorrow aside and said, “Okay, Rose. Even the French and McHenry families will need to eat.” I chuckled without mirth. “Tyler certainly will. As for their rooms . . . I hate to sound so mercenary, but we should find out what’s going to happen. Heather’s group’s supposed to be staying until Thursday. Do you think they’ll leave early?”
“If I have to hazard a guess, I’d say no,” Rose said. “Heather invited Ed and Trisha, but the others didn’t seem all that pleased to see them. They’re unlikely to cut their holiday short because of Ed’s death. Heather might, though. And here the poor dear was only trying to get the family together again. I assume Trisha will want to stay until arrangements can be made. I have no idea how long that can take.”
“Whatever they decide is fine with us. The poor man. His poor wife.” I started as Éclair leapt to her feet with a sharp bark. Seconds later, a firm rap sounded at the door to the outside. Without waiting for me to answer, the door flew open. Detective Chuck Williams, of the North Augusta Police Department, stood there.
He glowered at me.
I was about to ask what he wanted when I heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. I whirled around to see Detective Amy Redmond walking into the kitchen, a bank of stern-faced uniformed officers behind her.
Robbie leapt to his feet. He arched his back, his long black fur stood on end, and he hissed. Éclair continued barking.
“Rose Campbell and Lily Roberts,” Williams said. “I have a warrant to search the restaurant named Tea by the Sea and everything in it.”
Chapter 7
I watched men and women in white suits, hairnets, blue booties, and thin gloves carry the fruits of my labor out of the tearoom. They took not only my baking, but many of my raw ingredients, and even yesterday’s garbage.
How many of those cookies, tarts, and scones, I wondered, would see the inside of an evidence locker? Many of them, I suspected, would end up being shared around the police station lunchroom.
Simon, Bernie, and Matt were at a table in the tearoom garden with me. Rose was up at the house, trying to explain to our guests why there’d be no breakfast this morning. She’d earlier called the North Augusta Diner and asked them to accept vouchers for breakfast.
That would set us back a pretty penny. Money we didn’t have to waste. The only reason Rose had turned her home into a B & B was to help pay the upkeep and expenses of the grand old house. After three years of barely keeping her head above water, she’d finally convinced me to come and help her by cooking the breakfasts and turning the unused cottage on the property into a tearoom. This was my first season, and the busy summer months had to provide enough income to get us over the long, cold winter when tourists were scarce.
When Williams and Redmond invaded the B & B kitchen, I’d held out my hand. Williams slapped the warrant into it. A malicious spark glinted in his eyes, and he’d barely been able to contain his smirk. He and I had business before—his, not mine. I’d outwitted him (more like tripped over the solution to his case) and he clearly hadn’t gotten over it yet.
The warrant said the police were authorized to search Tea by the Sea for any potentially dangerous consumables. I’d demanded to know what that meant, and Williams had merely smirked again and ordered me to unlock the tearoom.
Simon and Matt came running when they saw the police activity, and Bernie appeared without me quite knowing how she knew what was going on. A call from Rose, probably.
In complete contrast to my mood, it was an exceptionally beautiful morning. Birds chirped from the trees, fluffy white clouds drifted lazily overhead, the rising sun threw warm rays onto my not-smiling face, and the china cups hanging from the branches of the ancient oak tinkled softly in the light, fresh breeze.
“They must suspect he was poisoned,” Bernie said in a low voice.
“That can’t have happened here!” I wailed. “I don’t serve poison! No one else got sick.”
“Then you’ve nothing to worry about,” Simon said. “It’s probably just routine.”
“It’s not,” Matt pointed out. “They have to have a reason to . . .” He noticed Bernie’s not-subtle-enough shake of the head and quickly said, “Yup, just routine.”
Williams and Redmond came out of the tearoom. Williams ignored us, clambered into a waiting cruiser, and drove the two hundred feet up the driveway to the house. Redmond approached me and my friends. She was young and pretty, but no one would ever mistake her for anything but a cop. Her eyes moved constantly, taking everything in, sizing everyone up. Her tall, lean body always looked as though it was ready to leap into action at any moment.
“I know this must be difficult for you, Lily,” she said, “and I’m sorry, but it has to be done.”
“Why?” Bernie asked. “What happened to Ed French? Was he poisoned?”
“The doctor believes he consumed something that made him ill, yes.”
“Well, he didn’t eat it here,” I said. “We had a full house yesterday from opening until closing. No one else has fallen sick, have they?”
“Not that we’re aware of at this time,” Redmond admitted. “No one has presented with similar symptoms at North Augusta Hospital, and we’ve put the word out to neighboring hospitals and clinics to advise us if anyone comes in.”
“So there,” Bernie said firmly. “It can’t have been something he ate here. I was with him and the rest of the group, I ate the same things he did, and I’m not sick.” She held her arms out to her side and smiled at Redmond. “See?”
“I see,” Redmond said.
“I will also point out,” Bernie said, “that there was a total of”—she counted quickly on her fingers—“eleven people at our table, including two elderly ladies. I haven’t seen Mrs. McHenry this morning, but I spoke to Rose Campbell on the phone not long ago and she assured me she feels perfectly no
rmal.”
“Drop it, Bernie,” Matt said. “We get the point.”
“Just making sure we’re all on the same page here.”
“Would you prefer we wait until there’s an epidemic before investigating further?” Redmond asked.
“No,” I said.
“No,” Bernie admitted.
“Glad to hear it.” Redmond turned to walk away.
“But”—Bernie never was one to let anyone else have the last word—“bear in mind, Detective, that the food was served communally. We ate off the same trays. No one had an individual serving of anything. That’s the way you do things here, right, Lily?”
“Usually, yes,” I said. “But in this case, Ed French did have something no one else did.”
The detective swung around. “Is that so? What?”
“Tea. He brought his own personal tea. Scented leaves, anyway. Something noncaffeinated.”
“Yes!” Bernie said. “I remember. He asked Marybeth to make it for him. He didn’t hand her the tea himself. His wife had it in her purse and she gave it to Marybeth.”
“Guests choose what tea they want from our tea menu and we serve it in individual pots,” I said. “But Ed had brought his own mixture for us to use.”
“Mrs. French told us about this tea when we spoke to her at the hospital,” Redmond said. “Thank you for confirming it, Lily. You were at the table, Bernie. Did anyone else try it? Anyone accidently pour from Mr. French’s pot?”
Bernie shuddered. “Not as far as I know. It smelled like wet, rotting grass. Simply dreadful. Hard to mistake that sludge for a proper pot of tea.”
“When can I reopen?” I asked.
“When we’ve learned all we’re going to learn,” Redmond said.
“You do realize this tearoom is my livelihood?”
Redmond studied my face. I shifted uncomfortably. “I am aware of that, yes,” she said finally.
“What happens now?” Matt asked.
“Trisha French told us she and her husband are here for a family reunion. We’ll be talking to the others. She said neither she nor her husband had met you or your grandmother before their arrival yesterday, Lily. Is that correct?”