by Vicki Delany
All that was missing was the monocle and cigar.
Trisha hesitated in the doorway, glancing from one person to the other.
No one said a word. Finally Heather stood up. “Here,” she said, “you need to sit down.”
“Thank you,” Trisha said in a low voice. She crossed the room and took the offered seat. I went to stand next to Bernie, who waggled her eyebrows at me.
“Gang’s all here,” Tyler said.
“Be quiet,” Brian snapped.
Detective Williams cleared his throat. He puffed up his chest and spread his feet a bit wider. I glanced at Amy Redmond. She kept her face impassive, but looked quickly away when she saw me watching her.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve called you all here,” Williams said, when every eye was on him.
“That goes without saying,” Sandra said. “Get on with it, man. What do you have to tell us about Ed? I hope you’re here to say you’ve apprehended his killer and we can go home.”
“What about our whale-watching trip?” Tyler said. “We’re going to miss the boat if we don’t leave soon.”
“Will you be quiet,” Brian said. “That’s hardly the most important thing at the moment. Have you done the autopsy, Detective?”
Trisha wept into her tissue. Heather rested her hand on Trisha’s shoulder.
“Sorry,” Brian muttered.
“Don’t be,” Sandra said. “It’s what we all want to know. Spit it out, Detective.”
“We have . . . uh . . . yes . . . completed the autopsy on Mr. French. The pathologist is reasonably confident that he died as a result of something he ate or drank Monday during the afternoon to early evening.”
People murmured to each other. Trisha continued sobbing. Brian put his arm around his wife’s shoulder and Darlene nestled closer to him. Julie-Ann and Lewis didn’t look at each other. Heather bent over and whispered something into Trisha’s ear. Rose stroked Robbie, and Sandra sat stiffly in her chair, her cane by her side.
“That is so awful,” Amanda said with a dramatic shudder.
“I’ve been told,” Williams said, “that Mr. French didn’t go to dinner with the rest of you Monday evening because he wasn’t feeling well and that nothing was taken to him in his room. Therefore, I have to conclude that he consumed. . . uh . . . whatever did him in . . .”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Lewis muttered, “although not exactly tactful.”
“. . . at the tearoom.”
“Good thing I wasn’t there,” Tyler said. “You can’t accuse me of doing it.”
“I’ve had about enough of you,” Brian growled.
“Whatever,” Tyler mumbled.
“Leave him alone,” Julie-Ann said. “We’re all on edge.”
Tyler didn’t bother to hide the smirk he threw at his grandfather. Brian didn’t try to hide the glare he threw at Julie-Ann.
As Williams spoke, Redmond was studying the people in the room. I avoided her eyes. I knew I hadn’t killed Ed French, but even so, I felt compelled to look away.
“Have any of you thought of anything you might have forgotten to tell me yesterday?” Williams asked.
No one spoke.
I heard footsteps on the stairs and voices in the hallway as our other guests went about their day. Outside, people strolled in the gardens, and cars drove down the long driveway. Simon was deadheading the geraniums on the window boxes lining the veranda.
“The food served at the Monday tea was not prepared for individuals, and everyone ate from communal trays,” Williams said. “Or so you all say.”
I pulled my attention back to the room. “That’s the way it’s always done at afternoon tea. If needed, I can accommodate special diets, such as gluten-free or vegan, but that didn’t happen on Monday.”
“Gluten-free,” Williams said. “My wife put me on that last year. More like flavor-free if you ask me.”
“Which is neither here nor there,” Redmond said. “Mr. French drank tea served only to him. I”—she glanced at Williams—“I mean, we pointed that out to the pathologist.”
“Yeah,” Williams said. “Traces of green stuff were still in French’s stomach, and—”
Trisha let out a low moan. Tyler laughed.
Amanda said, “Ew! Gross,” and Brian snapped, “Have some delicacy, please, Detective. My mother is present.”
“Don’t mind me,” Sandra said.
Redmond cleared her throat. “What Detective Williams is trying to say is that a toxicology analysis is currently being done. When the lab people know what they’re looking at and for, it speeds things up considerably. We’re hoping to have a complete chemical analysis shortly. We’re also analyzing the unused tea that was in Trisha French’s possession, as well as what we can find from the tearoom trash. In the meantime—”
“It had to have been an accident.” Lewis looked directly at me. “Carelessness on the part of the restaurant staff.”
I blinked, not quite sure what he was saying.
Rose was quicker than me to react. “Let me assure you, Lewis, my granddaughter and her employees are not careless in the least.”
“A busy place,” he said. “A lot of pressure. Things happen.”
I found my voice. “That’s preposterous. We boiled the water for Ed’s own supply of tea. That’s all.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Lewis said. “You might want to see if you have grounds for a lawsuit, Trisha.”
“What! I . . . I . . . ,” I sputtered.
Sandra pounded her cane on the floor. “Not another word, Lewis, or I’ll cut you out of my will. Lily’s a highly responsible cook and restaurateur. Ed, I’ll remind you all, provided his own tea. I’d be more interested in where that came from than accusing the people who work at the tearoom. Trisha, what do you have to say about that? Trisha!”
Trisha lifted her head and blinked. “What?”
“Where did Brian get that foul mess he grandly called tea?”
“His tea? We brought it from home. I buy it at a health food store in Grand Lake. It’s supposed to be good for—”
“You will instruct the Grand Lake police to remove this tea from the store’s shelves,” Sandra ordered Detective Williams.
“We’ve been in touch with them,” Redmond said. “In the meantime, in light of this development, we’re asking you to remain in North Augusta until further notice. Any questions? No? Thank you for your time.” She took a step toward the door, but wasn’t quick enough.
Lewis leapt to his feet. “What do you mean we have to remain in North Augusta? I can’t stay here. I have a business to run. Our return tickets are for tomorrow. Do you know what it costs to change flights at the last minute?”
“For heaven’s sake, Lewis,” Heather said. “Is money all you can think about?”
“Easy for you to say,” Julie-Ann said. “Some of us weren’t lucky enough to fall headfirst into a mountain of money.”
“I would hardly call the death of my husband lucky,” Heather said.
“Julie-Ann didn’t mean it that way,” Lewis said.
“Of course, she did,” Heather replied. “Julie-Ann’s so green with envy she puts Kermit the Frog to shame.”
“Stop that!” Sandra yelled. “Do I have to remind you squabbling children that a man has died and the police are asking for our help? Which we will be happy to provide as and when we can.”
Lewis had the grace to duck his head. Julie-Ann and Heather glowered at each other. Heather turned away first. “As for the cost,” she said, “it’s not your problem, anyway, brother dear. I bought your tickets in the first place, so I guess I’m the one who’s going to be out of pocket to replace them.”
“Business class would be a nice gesture,” Julie-Ann said, “seeing how traumatized we all are by recent events.”
Heather ignored her.
“Don’t you people get it?” Tyler said. “The police are saying Ed was murdered, and that means someone in this room killed him.”
&
nbsp; “Well, it wasn’t me!” Amanda said.
I expected Williams or Redmond to object. Instead, they remained quiet, letting the drama play out. Rose and Bernie watched everyone. Robert the Bruce washed his whiskers.
Brian leapt to his feet. “I’ve had enough of you, Tyler. You’ve caused nothing but trouble on this trip. That’s a preposterous idea. I suggest you keep your mouth shut from now on.”
“But it did happen.” Trisha’s voice began to rise. “My husband is dead, and someone killed him. You McHenrys always had it in for Ed. Are you happy now, Brian?”
Brian glared at her.
“Watch your mouth, Trisha,” Sandra said. “The McHenry and French families have had our differences over the years, but no one in my family had any reason to kill Ed.”
“I bet it was a random killer. Like a serial killer or something,” a wide-eyed Amanda said, not at all helpfully. “Waiting for a chance to poison someone and get away with it. You should check the national police databases for similar cases. I bet you’ll find something.”
“This is preposterous,” Brian said. “You’re all making something out of nothing. The man was a walking heart attack. Sorry, Trisha, but it had to happen one day. And you,” he said to Williams, “are a small-town cop trying to play at solving what you want to be a murder so you can get your picture in the paper.”
Williams turned red. He sputtered. Redmond made no further move for the door; she simply looked from one person to another, taking in the family dynamics.
Amanda stood up, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “Can I go now? I’m sorry Mr. French died, but I didn’t know him.”
“Me neither,” Tyler said.
Williams hesitated. They took that as approval and bolted for the door. “I cannot wait,” Amanda said to her brother, “to call Madison. Imagine. I was right there, at the same table. If he’d offered me some of his tea, I might be dead now! When they catch the killer, maybe the papers’ll want to interview me about my close escape from the Tearoom Killer.”
That was not a phrase I ever wanted to hear repeated.
Sandra was next to get to her feet. “Thank you for coming all this way to tell us personally, Detectives. It’s what we were expecting to hear, but upsetting nonetheless. I’m very tired and need to retire to my room.” She leaned heavily on her cane and walked slowly across the room.
Lewis turned to his wife. “Will you see Grandma upstairs? Please.”
Julie-Ann sighed mightily, but started to stand.
While everyone had been talking, Trisha had sat quietly, pulled in on herself, sobbing steadily and tearing at the tissue in her hands. Now she looked up. Her eyes blazed and she lifted one hand. She pointed directly at Julie-Ann. “Don’t you dare leave this room. You think I didn’t know you’ve been trying to get back with Ed? Sending him messages at night, asking to meet behind my back.”
Julie-Ann’s mouth dropped open. She glanced around the room. “That’s not true. I never . . . I mean, Ed and I had business to talk over.”
Trisha stood up. A vein pulsed in her neck, and her eyes were wild. “You always were a horrid, selfish woman. You couldn’t bear it, could you, knowing he didn’t want to be with you again? So you killed him. Detective, I demand you arrest that woman. She murdered my husband.”
Chapter 10
“You’re out of your tiny mind,” Julie-Ann shouted. “Can you hear yourself?” She turned to Detective Williams. “Trisha might not hear herself, but we all heard her loud and clear. She thought her husband was interested in me, but I can assure you such was no longer the case. Ed and I had some business transactions, that’s natural enough. We live in the same small town. You must have mistaken me for someone else, Trisha. Was he having an affair? I wonder who that person might have been, but it doesn’t matter now, does it? Maybe you killed Ed, fearing he was about to leave you?”
“How dare you?” Trisha said. “That’s a vile accusation.”
Sandra had stopped halfway to the door. She pounded her cane on the carpet. “That’s enough!”
No one paid her any attention.
Williams and Redmond watched silently as Julie-Ann continued the attack. “If you thought Ed was still interested in me, Trisha, why did you agree to come on this little vacation, anyway? Seems a funny way of keeping him away from me.”
“I didn’t know you were going to be here, did I? She didn’t tell us the whole miserable lot of you had been invited, but I should have known. Miss High-and-Mighty, with her secrets and her money, playing people like they’re pieces on a chessboard.”
“I assume that jab’s aimed at me,” Heather said. “Pardon me for trying to get everyone together for a reunion.”
“I knew not to trust you one bit, but not Ed,” Trisha said. “Ed was always too kind for his own good. ‘Let bygones be bygones,’ he said. Look where that got him.” She burst into tears and ran from the room.
No one tried to stop her. Lewis grabbed Julie-Ann’s wrist and pulled her onto the couch beside him. “Not one more word,” he snarled at her.
“I’m only telling the truth,” she said. “Someone has to.”
“I hope,” Sandra said, “you’ll forget that unpleasantness, Detectives. We are all naturally very upset. Saying things we don’t mean.” She threw a look at Julie-Ann that could have melted the delicate porcelain statue on the table next to her.
The chances, I thought, of the detectives forgetting what’s been said are mighty slim.
“If that is all, I’ll be resting in my room.” Sandra lifted her head, straightened her back, gripped her cane, and proudly, although slowly, walked out of the room.
“Anyone else got any confessions or accusations to make?” Williams said.
No one spoke.
“Mrs. McHenry,” Redmond said to Julie-Ann. “I’ll need to talk to you privately.”
“No,” Brian said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My daughter-in-law is . . . confused. She didn’t mean what she said. I’d prefer it if you didn’t take the matter any further.”
“I don’t much care,” Redmond said, “what you’d prefer.”
“It’s all right. I’ll do all I can to help.” A slight smile touched the edges of Julie-Ann’s mouth. It put me in mind of a cat playing with a mouse.
“And then,” Redmond said, “I’ll have a private chat with Trisha French and get her side of the story.”
Julie-Ann’s smile died.
“What a waste of time.” Darlene spoke for the first time since we’d gathered. “You should be searching for whoever killed Ed, not harassing my family.”
“Harassing?” Redmond’s eyebrows arched. “Mr. French was deliberately poisoned. And, in light of the circumstances surrounding that poisoning, it’s clear that someone in this house was responsible.”
* * *
“That was interesting,” Bernie said.
“It would have been interesting if it had been on TV,” Rose said. “In my house, it was not interesting—it was potentially disastrous.”
We were back in the kitchen. The McHenry family had been ordered out of the drawing room so Redmond could talk privately first to Julie-Ann and then to Trisha. Williams had been about to settle himself into a vacated chair, but Redmond suggested maybe he should guard the door to prevent people from trying to listen in.
Unfortunately, that meant I wouldn’t be able to sneak into the secret room.
Once we were all standing in the hall, I gave Williams a broad smile. “You’re making great progress, Detective. Good job. With your permission, I should be able to open for business in a couple of hours.”
“Huh?”
“My tearoom? I assume I can reopen?”
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, you cannot reopen. Not until I say so. And I am not saying so.”
“But you said the poison was in Ed French’s tea. As we didn’t provide the tea, he brought it himself, we can’t be considered to ha
ve been at fault in any way.”
“When we have the tox reports, I’ll decide. Not before.”
“But—”
“No buts, Ms. Roberts.” He peered at me from under his overgrown eyebrows in a look he no doubt intended to be intimidating. I wasn’t intimidated, but I recognized the signs. Any further attempts by me to press the point would only have him digging in his heels further.
Rose put her hand on my arm. “I feel in need of a restorative cuppa, love. Let’s see what’s left of this morning’s coffee cake.”
“Coffee and cake would be good,” Williams said.
I refrained from asking if he wasn’t afraid it had been poisoned and let Rose drag me away. I put the kettle and coffeepot on as Bernie rummaged in the B & B fridge for leftover baked goods. “No coffee cake, but there are some nice-looking muffins in here.”
“Wait while I find the box of arsenic to sprinkle on Williams’s,” I said. “It must be in here somewhere.”
“Don’t joke,” Rose said. “He’s not here, but the walls have ears.”
“As we know,” I said.
“What does that mean?” Bernie asked.
“Nothing,” Rose and I chorused.
My friend gave us a suspicious look.
The kettle began to boil, and I poured water over tea bags in a small pot. I put the pot and a cup in front of Rose and took a jug of milk out of the fridge. I then poured three mugs of coffee: one for Bernie, one for Williams, and one for me.
“Not a word until I get back,” Bernie said. “We need to come up with a plan of attack.” She carried a tray containing the mug of coffee and a muffin—unpoisoned—out to Detective Williams.
I sat at the table and put my head in my hands. Éclair wiggled her muzzle onto my lap and I automatically stroked it. “This is a disaster, all right,” I moaned.
“Potentially so, yes.” Rose stirred milk into her tea. Robbie put his front paws on the milk jug and tried to stick his nose into it. I snatched it away. He pretended not to mind.