Murder in a Teacup

by Vicki Delany

  “I remembered something when I was making the breakfasts this morning. Believe it or not, I think Sandra made one last attempt at warning Ed off.”

  “When?”

  “I heard people arguing late one night when I was walking Éclair. I didn’t see the people or recognize the voices or hear much of what was said, but a man told the other person to stay out of it whatever it was, and then called the other person an interfering busybody. It’s not proof positive, but busybody is usually an insult aimed at women, and older women at that.”

  “Irrelevant,” Redmond said, “if she killed him. And I believe, thanks to you, we have enough proof to get a conviction.”

  “And Heather?”

  “Heather fixed the brakes on your grandmother’s car at her grandmother’s suggestion. She continues to insist it was a lark, because she was bored and misses fiddling around with cars, and, besides, she thought you wouldn’t get any farther than the end of the driveway. Which doesn’t matter in court, because you would have been killed if you’d gone over that bluff, and that counts as attempted murder in my book. You might be interested to know that the idea of sending Trisha and your rebooked guests to the Blue Water Bay Resort was Sandra’s, not Heather’s. Heather wanted to move to what she calls a proper hotel, with a pool and room service, but Sandra insisted they remain here. Not because it’s so nice, I hate to tell you, but to keep an eye on you and Rose. I intend to argue before a judge that because Sandra ordered Heather to disable your car, Heather must have known Sandra had killed Ed. Accessory after the fact.”

  From the hall came the sound of suitcases clattering down the stairs and people yelling at each other. The McHenry family was checking out. As predicted, only Amanda, Tyler, and Julie-Ann had dared to show their faces in the breakfast room.

  I let out a long sigh. “So that’s that. Can I go back to work now?”

  “You can,” Redmond said.

  I stood up. “Where’s Detective Williams this morning? I’d have thought he’d be eager to hear the whole story, if only to relate to the press conference later.”

  “Chuck’s on his way to New York City. Send Bernadette in next, please.”

  Chapter 24

  A week after the near-fatal showdown in the tearoom, I was taking the last batch of scones out of the oven. Marybeth and Cheryl had gone home, ready to collapse at the end of a busy day. Summer on Cape Cod was in full swing. Every room in the B & B was booked for the next three weeks, and the reservations book at Tea by the Sea overflowed.

  A light knock sounded on the back door, and Simon came in. “Smells nice in here.”

  “You say that every time.”

  “Because it smells nice in here every time.”

  I pulled off my hairnet and shook out my hair. “You look very presentable this evening. Going someplace special?” Simon had changed out of his overalls into jeans and a clean blue shirt, scrubbed the dirt off his hands and rinsed it out of his hair.

  “I am,” he said. “And so are you.”

  “I am? Where am I going?”

  “Wash up and I’ll take you.”

  “This sounds very mysterious.: I washed my hands and splashed cold water on my face, while Simon put the fresh scones in containers.

  I checked the ovens were off, switched off the lights, and locked the door behind us.

  “I might have guessed we’re going for a motorcycle ride,” I said, “but I don’t see your bike and you’re not wearing your leathers.”

  He took my hand and we walked up the driveway. Instead of going straight, toward Victoria-on-Sea, we crossed onto Matt Goodwill’s property.

  “That’s Bernie’s car next to Matt’s,” I said. “And one I don’t recognize. What’s going on?”

  “Matt’s having a party. A select number of guests, and one very special guest.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “You’ll see.”

  From a distance, Matt’s house looks like any other grand old Cape Cod mansion, although one surrounded by tough weeds and wild grasses. Only when you approach can you see the potholes in the driveway, the rot in the porch pillars, the crumbling gingerbread trim, the holes in the roof, and the loose floorboards of the porch. I hadn’t been inside, but I couldn’t imagine it was much nicer there.

  We didn’t go inside. Simon led me around the side of the house. Plywood was nailed over ground-floor windows, and weeds struggled for purchase in the cracks in the walls.

  “Matt does have his work cut out for him,” I said.

  “He does.”

  We rounded the house. The view from the back was the same as from behind Victoria-on-Sea: Cape Cod Bay spread out in all its glory.

  What had once been a fishpond overlooking the bay was now a puddle of slimy green rainwater. The French doors at the center of the house opened onto an enormous patio, now more cracks than concrete, but the patio had been swept and the glass table on it was sparkling clean, as were the six wicker chairs covered with bright blue and yellow cushions. The table was laid with platters of food, cocktail plates and napkins, and crystal flutes. A bottle of prosecco rested in a silver bucket, and a glass pitcher contained slices of lemon and lime in ice water.

  Éclair rushed across the lawn toward us, ears flying, barking greetings. I bent over to give her a pat.

  Matt, Bernie, Rose, and Amy Redmond sat at the table. Matt stood up when he saw Simon and me. “Good. You got her. I was afraid we’d have to send out a kidnapping expedition.”

  “What on earth is going on?” I asked. “Bernie?”

  She grinned at me. Bernie was wearing her tea dress, complete with pearls and gloves. Rose also wore a dress, blue with swirls of yellow, and Matt had on, of all things, a suit and tie. Redmond had her usual dark slacks and leather jacket, but the jacket was thrown over the back of her chair and she’d rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt.

  “Please,” Matt said. “Have a seat.”

  I sat. Simon took the chair next to me, and Éclair curled up between us. Bernie passed around plates and napkins. A giant silver bowl overflowed with potato chips, a matching dish contained dip. Slices of store-bought flatbreads were on marble platters, next to glass bowls of olives and nuts.

  “I wanted to have a proper tea party,” Matt said. “But Tea by the Sea doesn’t cater. And as I don’t bake . . .”

  “This all looks great,” I said. “But I still don’t get the occasion.”

  Matt lifted the jug, poured water into the glasses, and passed them around. I glanced at Simon. Surely, the flutes were for the wine, not water? I sniffed at mine. Just ordinary water.

  “Originally,” Matt said, “this was going to be a . . . ahem . . . private party.” He glanced at Bernie. “But she wanted to invite you, Simon, and Rose.”

  “Inspector Redmond paid a call on me earlier,” Rose said. “With news. As I knew you’d all be interested, I suggested she join us this evening.”

  “But first,” Matt said, “a toast.” He drank his water until the glass was empty. Bernie did the same. Rose, Simon, and Amy Redmond sipped at theirs and looked confused. Matt crossed the patio to the back door. He flicked a switch on the wall and the lights overhead came on.

  Simon laughed. “I get it. Congratulations, mate! I’ll drink to that.” And he did so.

  “To what are we drinking?” Redmond asked.

  “The fresh, clean water you are enjoying came straight from the tap in the kitchen. And the light you are now basking in is real electricity—provided by the good people of the electricity company.”

  Rose clapped.

  “No more lugging in cases of water. No more trying to hammer nails by flashlight or using a hand-operated drill. Empty your glasses, everyone, and we’ll have a toast with the real stuff to my progress on this house.” He lifted the bottle out of the cooler with a flourish. We all cheered.

  When we had refilled glasses in hand, Rose said, “Your turn, Inspector Redmond.”

  “Detective,” Amy Redmond mutt
ered.

  “She knows that perfectly well,” I said.

  Redmond looked around the table, waiting until she had everyone’s attention. That didn’t take long. Even Éclair sat up. “Sandra McHenry has been charged with the murder of Norman French.”

  “Wow,” Bernie said, “I didn’t see that one coming. You don’t look all that surprised, Lily.”

  “I can’t say I am. If Sandra was prepared to kill Ed French because he wanted a small amount—comparatively—of money from Heather now, how far would Sandra have gone to stop him from getting a full half of the sixty-five million he thought he was entitled to?”

  “Lily mentioned that to me,” Redmond said, “And I . . . that is, Detective Williams and I thought it worth following up.”

  “Norman French had to die,” I said, “as Sandra saw it, because he was going to share his good fortune with his brother. You told me, Rose, Sandra was in New York when Norman died. I started wondering if that was a coincidence.”

  “You were right about the killer, Lily,” Redmond said. “But wrong about the motive. If Sandra wanted to ensure Ed didn’t get a share, she would have tried to kill Ed.”

  “As she did here,” Matt said.

  “Precisely. No, Norman had to die, as far as Sandra was concerned, because Norman was going to divorce Heather.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Heather swears she didn’t know Sandra killed Norman, but I don’t believe her. Heather grew up close to her grandmother, and she would have known Sandra was ruthless in getting her own way, if perhaps not sure of the ends to which she was prepared to go. Heather must have had her suspicions, but she insists she and Norman would have worked out their difficulties despite the fact that Norman was in the process of moving out of the marital home and moving in with a twenty-year-old receptionist he met at his new offices.”

  “The swine,” I said.

  “The NYPD was never entirely satisfied that Norman’s death had been an accident. The cabbie who hit him said Norman stumbled onto the roadway with enough speed to indicate he’d been pushed. But it was a crowded intersection at midday, and accidents happen. When they found out about the separation, the detectives looked into Heather, but she had a good alibi. She was at the spa, and the spa attendants remembered her. Norman’s new girlfriend was at work. They checked into some of his business partners, but nothing threw up a red flag. His brother, with whom he’d had a falling-out over the sale of the company, was at his office in Iowa.”

  “No one thought to ask where Sandra had been?” Bernie asked.

  Redmond lifted her glass to Rose. “The widow’s grandmother? Of course not.”

  “I went to that funeral,” Rose said. “Sandra wept copiously, as I recall. She also kept a firm hand on Heather’s arm the entire time. I thought she was supporting her in her overwhelming grief.”

  “She was warning Heather,” I said, “not to say a word. And Heather never did. What a burden to live with.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for Heather,” Bernie said. “She was happy to carry on enjoying Norman’s money, never mind what it had cost. I don’t see that she devoted the rest of her life to charitable works out of a sense of guilt. Hey! I’ve just realized something. I didn’t like Heather the moment I first laid eyes on her, but you, Lily, told me to cut her some slack. The poor widowed thing. Ha!”

  There’d be no living with Bernie now. I helped myself to a giant handful of potato chips.

  “While I was ripping up floorboards and hanging drywall,” Matt said, “I started some preliminary outlining on the idea I had for a new book. I’m seriously wondering if there are many other cases of the extreme elderly as killers. When, and if, the French/McHenry case is public record, I might include that, but right now, I’m doing some preliminary research. Anything you want to share with me, Detective?”

  Redmond lifted her glass. “Good wine, this.”

  “ ‘Extreme elderly,’ indeed,” Rose sniffed. “I’ll have you know, young man, that Sandra’s younger than I am. I don’t have one foot in the grave yet.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I said.

  Recipes

  Chocolate Chip Cookies

  You don’t normally find chocolate chip cookies as part of the afternoon tea sweets selection, but Lily makes these for the children’s tea. This recipe makes a very soft and chewy cookie.

  Makes approx. 12 large cookies. The recipe can easily be doubled if you need more.

  Ingredients

  8 Tbsp salted butter

  ½ cup white sugar

  ¼ cup packed light brown sugar

  1 tsp vanilla

  1 egg

  1½ cups all-purpose flour

  ½ tsp baking soda

  ¼ tsp salt

  ¾ cup chocolate chips

  Instructions

  1. Preheat oven to 350 F. Microwave butter until just barely melted. Should be almost entirely liquid.

  2. Using stand mixer or electric beater, beat butter with white and brown sugars until creamy. Add vanilla and the egg; beat on low until incorporated, 10–15 seconds (if you beat the egg too long, the cookies will be stiff).

  3. Add the flour, baking soda, and salt. Mix until crumbles form. Use your hands to press the crumbles together into a dough. It should form one large ball that is easy to handle (right at the stage between “wet” dough and “dry” dough). Add the chocolate chips and incorporate with your hands.

  4. Roll the dough into 12 large balls (or 9 for HUGE cookies) and place on a cookie sheet. Bake for 9–11 minutes until the cookies look puffy and dry and just barely golden. (DON’T OVERBAKE: This is essential for keeping the cookies soft. Take them out even if they look like they’re not done yet. They’ll be pale and puffy.

  5. Let them cool on the pan for a good 30 minutes or so. They will sink down and turn into dense, buttery, soft cookies. They will stay soft for several days if kept in an airtight container.

  Shortbread Cookies

  Nothing goes better with a cup of tea than a slice of buttery shortbread, and they’re quick and easy to make, so Lily makes a lot of these at Tea by the Sea.

  This makes about 60 cookies, depending on the size. The recipe can be halved if you don’t want so many.

  Ingredients

  1½ pounds unsalted butter, room temperature

  2¼ cups icing sugar

  1½ cups cornstarch

  ¼ tsp salt

  4½ cups all-purpose flour

  Instructions

  1. Preheat oven to 275 F. Prepare cookie sheets (Lily uses silicone liners).

  2. Cream butter and sugar in electric mixer.

  3. Combine cornstarch, salt, and flour together in medium bowl.

  4. Knead flour mixture into butter mixture.

  5. Roll out dough ¼ inch thick and cut with cookie cutters or by hand.

  6. Place on cookie sheets and bake for 35–45 minutes until cookies are pale gold on the bottom.

  Curried Egg Salad Sandwiches

  Makes 4 full-sized sandwiches.

  Ingredients

  8 hard-boiled eggs

  ⅓ cup light mayonnaise

  1 tsp Dijon mustard

  ½ tsp mild curry paste

  ¼ tsp pepper

  1 pinch salt

  8 slices white sandwich bread, crusts removed

  Instructions

  In bowl, finely chop eggs. Mix in mayonnaise, mustard, curry paste, pepper, and salt.

  Spread on lightly buttered bread, top with another slice of bread, and cut into triangle shapes.

 

 

 
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