Tea & Treachery

by Vicki Delany

  * * *

  The final guests didn’t come down until one minute to nine, so it was nine twenty before I hung up my apron. We were expecting another busy day in the tearoom; I’d have to miss my relaxing time-out on the porch this morning.

  “You can run along now,” Edna said to Bernie. “I’ll clear up and set the tables for tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. I can’t wait to get home and back to my laptop. I’ve got great ideas for the scene where Tessa O’Flannahan is fired for spilling the soup in Lord Blackheart’s lap.”

  “Tell me you didn’t name a character Lord Blackheart,” I said.

  “I didn’t, but that’s what I’m calling him until I think up something better. This is the opening scene of the book. A fancy dinner party, and poor Tessa is trying to avoid Lord Blackheart’s wandering hands when she spills the soup, but she’s fired for it. Tossed out on her ear to fend for herself.”

  “Women didn’t serve at table at fancy dinner parties,” I said.

  “They do in my book,” Bernie said.

  I poured myself a cup of coffee and took off my apron and hung it on the hook by the door. Éclair knew what that meant, and she got to her feet with a mighty stretch.

  “That’s that done,” I said. “On to the next job. What are you up to for the rest of the day?”

  “Writing, of course. I’m so excited about the scene where Tessa’s fired. Having no other options, she decides at the last minute to join her aunt and uncle and take sail to America. They think they’re going to Boston but end up on Cape Cod.”

  I opened the kitchen door, and Bernie and I stepped outside. Éclair ran on ahead. “You might want to do some historical research before you get too far into it. That way you won’t have to make a lot of changes later.” Such as not having Tessa be a footman. We climbed the three steps to the ground level. Bernie threw out her arms and took several deep breaths.

  “This is so great. I’m so glad I came. All I need is some peace and quiet. Manhattan was too noisy and crowded.”

  “I have a book I’ll lend you. It was in the house when Rose bought it. Some great pictures and drawings of the early days on the Cape. You can come and get it now.”

  “Pictures are good.” Bernie fell into step beside me. “I wish I had a sea view like this one. Anything that overlooks the water is way out of my budget.”

  “You can come here anytime,” I said. “Take a seat on a bench and just enjoy, or have a walk on the beach.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Before I could turn and lead the way to my cottage, something moved in my peripheral vision and caught my attention. “Oh, no. I was just talking about that blasted gate and the stairs this morning. Looks like it’s finally given up the ghost.”

  “You need to get that fixed,” Bernie said. “It’s a long way down.”

  The post securing the gate to the ground leaned at a crazy angle, and shards of shattered old wood hung by one hinge. I ran for the stairs. Éclair streaked past me. I needed to put some sort of warning up to keep people away. I should be able to find ribbon in the tearoom to string across the gap until we could get it fixed. I’d ask Simon to do that right away.

  When I reached the top of the stairs, I realized that more than the gate itself was broken. Portions of the railing had come away, and bits of rotting wood littered the sandy soil. This was more than just a broken gate; the staircase was now dangerous. Éclair stood at the edge of the bluff, peering over the edge and barking furiously.

  “Shush,” Bernie said to her. “Stop that!”

  “Stay here,” I said. “I’m going to put the dog in the house and get something to block this off and warn people away. Someone might get hurt if they try to go down.”

  Bernie clutched my arm. “I think you’re too late.”

  The scattering of freckles stood out on my friend’s pale face. Éclair’s barking was getting louder and more urgent. Bernie’s hand shook as she pointed down the slope.

  A man lay at the bottom, staring up into the blue sky. His arms were flung out to one side, and his body lay half on, half off the staircase. I charged through the broken gate and took the stairs as fast as I dared as they shook beneath my feet. Éclair sped past me, and I felt Bernie close behind.

  I tripped and stumbled but managed to keep my footing. Bernie grunted and swore.

  I dropped to my knees on the rocky sand beside the man. Empty eyes stared into my face.

  I touched his neck and felt nothing move beneath my fingers.

  “Is he . . . ?” Bernie asked.

  I swallowed. “Yes.”

  It was Jack Ford.

  Chapter 6

  “Everything okay down there?” a woman’s voice called.

  I glanced up to see two faces peering down at us. A man and a woman, almost certainly B & B guests.

  I pushed myself to my feet. Bernie took out her phone and called 911.

  “You stay here,” I said. “Wait until help arrives. I need to put the dog away, keep people back, and check on Rose.”

  “Okay.”

  I called to Éclair. She hesitated, and I called again, more sharply this time. She gave Jack Ford one last sniff and then came to me. We scrambled back up the stairs. More people had arrived, and anxious faces studied me when I reached the top.

  “There’s been an accident,” I said. “Please keep back, everyone. The emergency services have been called.”

  “Cool.” A small girl pushed herself forward. “Can I look?”

  An arm yanked her back. “You most certainly may not.”

  “Please go back to the house and carry on with your day,” I said.

  No one took my advice; instead, more people began to arrive. I didn’t know what to do. Someone had to stay here and keep these people off the steps, but I needed to make sure Rose was okay.

  “Is he dead?” A man leaned over the fence to see better.

  People threw each other questioning glances and murmured.

  “Please take care, sir,” I said. “You can see the gate isn’t stable.”

  “Is it anyone we know?” a woman asked. “Can you see, Brian?”

  “Can’t tell from here,” the man said. “He’s not moving, though.”

  Simon McCracken appeared at my side. “What do you need, Lily?”

  I sighed with relief. “Nine-one-one’s been called. We don’t want anyone else falling. I need to check on my grandmother, and I should get Éclair out of the way.”

  “Leave it with me,” he said. “Sir, would you mind stepping back a few steps? Thank you. And you, young lady, need to do what your mother tells you.”

  I slipped away, and Éclair followed. I listened for the sound of approaching sirens, but other than the voices of people gathering, calling questions to each other, and the murmur of waves crashing on the rocks below, I heard nothing. First, I went to my cottage and shut the protesting dog inside; then I returned to the house and entered through the French doors leading into the dining room. Edna was setting tables for tomorrow with our pink and red china, sterling silver flatware, and white linens. She didn’t look up when I came in.

  “What’s going on out there? Are there whales in the bay?”

  “There’s been an accident on the stairs. Have you seen Rose this morning?”

  “No, I haven’t. I don’t think she’s come in yet. What sort of accident? Is everyone okay?”

  “No. Not okay.” I lowered my voice, even though no one else was around. “A man’s dead.”

  Edna dipped her head.

  I let out a relieved breath when I heard a steady tap-tap on the old wooden floor of the hallway and Rose came into the dining room with her leopard-print cane, dressed for the day in red Bermuda shorts and a purple T-shirt dotted with orange flowers. Black socks were pulled up to her calves, and her feet were in sturdy Birkenstocks.

  “There’s been an accident outside,” I told her. “A man fell down the steps.” At last I heard the faint sound of sirens approaching. “An ambul
ance has been called, but I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

  Rose’s eyes widened in shock, and she lifted a hand to her mouth. “Oh dear. Not one of our guests, I hope.” The top of the bluffs was on our property, but hikers often didn’t worry about such things and tried to keep as close to the cliff’s edge as possible. We never asked them to leave if they weren’t causing trouble.

  “No,” I said. “Not a guest . . .”

  “How dreadful. Don’t worry about me, love. You go out and supervise.”

  “It’s Jack Ford,” I said. “He seems to have fallen. He’s dead.”

  Edna sucked in a breath.

  Rose’s eyes narrowed. “Jack Ford? What do you suppose he was doing here this morning? Trespassing on my property.” She walked across the room and took a seat at a table next to the windows. “Edna, I’ll have my tea here this morning.”

  “Only because you seem to be in such a state of shock,” Edna said, “I’ll make it. But just this once. Don’t let it become a habit.”

  “You’ll either have to make your own tea or wait for it,” I said. “I have another job for Edna. Run up to the tearoom and take some cookies out of the freezer. The spare key is on the hook in the kitchen. Lay out coffee and cookies in here. If the police have questions for our guests, we need to give them something to keep them happy.”

  People in uniform ran past the windows. Edna headed for the kitchen to get the key to the tearoom.

  “Your job, Rose,” I said, “will be to keep the guests from speculating as to what happened. We don’t want any talk of unsafe conditions.”

  “I can’t entertain without first having something to wet my whistle.”

  “Stiff upper lip and all that. Pretend it’s the Blitz and you’re in a tunnel in the London Underground while bombs drop overhead.”

  “Really, love. I am not that old.”

  “Use your imagination.”

  I went back outside. Most of our guests had come to see what the fuss was about and were being kept away from the gate and the steps by a scowling uniformed police officer. Simon and Bernie were standing to one side, talking to a short, round man. I walked over to join them, and the newcomer turned toward me. His face was flabby; his jowls loose; his nose covered with a network of fine red lines. Strings of long greasy black hair were plastered across the top of his head in a failed attempt to appear as though he wasn’t going bald. He wore a cheap, ill-fitting suit and a plain tie with a coffee stain on it.

  I held out my hand. “I’m Lily Roberts. My grandmother is the property owner here.”

  He glanced at my hand, hesitated just long enough to seem rude, and then took it in his. I’ve felt firmer dead fish.

  “Detective Chuck Williams. North Augusta PD. I’ve been told this is a bed-and-breakfast establishment.”

  “That’s right. These people”—I indicated the watching crowd—“are our guests.” Whether they were all staying at the B & B, I didn’t know. Other than cooking the breakfasts, I didn’t have much to do with the running of the hotel.

  I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t help myself, and I threw a quick glance over the fence. A woman crouched beside Jack Ford, while a uniformed officer watched. Two medics were climbing the steps.

  When they reached the top, Detective Williams said, “One moment, please. You people wait here,” and went to speak to them.

  “You okay?” I asked Bernie.

  She gave me a weak smile. “Yeah. Tough way to start the day.” She turned to Simon. “Hi. I’m Bernadette Murphy. Everyone calls me Bernie.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Bernie. I’m Simon, the new gardener.” He eyed her totally out-of-place clothes. “Do you work here?”

  “Not if I can help it,” she said. “I hope we don’t have to stand around outside much longer. I’m getting hot.”

  “If you didn’t dress like the bride of Dracula, you wouldn’t be,” I said.

  “I thought I was getting in the mood.” She glanced behind her and shuddered. “This wasn’t the mood I was planning on. Do you think I can go home?”

  “Better wait until the detective says we can leave. They’ll be sure to have questions for us.”

  The paramedics and Chuck Williams talked in low voices. But not that low, and I was able to catch a few words, including coroner and autopsy and head. The medics walked away, taking their equipment with them. The woman who’d been studying the body appeared at the top of the stairs. She was about my age, attractive, with olive skin, dyed blond hair cropped short, and large dark eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. She was slightly taller than me, about five foot nine, and as lean and toned as a racehorse, with all the suppressed energy of that horse when it was about to leap out of the starting gate. Her very presence screamed “cop.”

  She gave Williams an abrupt nod and they joined our little circle.

  “You were with Ms. Murphy when she found the body,” Williams said to me. It was not a question.

  “Yes, I was. I noticed the gate was broken and wanted to have a look at it. We saw . . . him and ran down to try to help.” I swallowed. “We could tell right away it was too late.”

  “Doctor, are you?” Williams asked.

  “What? Uh, no. I’m not a doctor.”

  “But you knew he was dead.”

  I glanced at Bernie. She shifted her shoulders in the slightest of shrugs, and I said, “I did.”

  “Did you have a dog with you?” the woman asked. “There are prints in the sand.”

  “Yes. I’ve put her in the house. I didn’t let her . . . touch the body.”

  “What do you do for a living, Ms. Roberts?” she asked.

  “I’m a pastry chef. I own and run the tearoom near the road. You would have passed it on your way in.”

  “Do you live nearby?”

  I pointed. “That’s my cottage over there. We’d been in the kitchen of the main house, preparing breakfast for the guests, and I was on my way home when I noticed the broken gate.”

  She turned to Simon. “What brings you here? You don’t look like a B & B guest.”

  “I’m not. I’m the gardener.”

  The edges of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Is that so?” She studied him, and I got the impression she liked what she saw. He must have thought so, too, as he flushed and looked away.

  “Where are you from?” Detective Williams asked.

  “England,” Simon said. “I’m here for the summer. I have a work visa.”

  “I’ll want to see that visa.”

  “Sure.”

  More police began to arrive, uniformed officers and people in plain clothes. They struggled into white suits and put booties over their shoes and hairnets on their heads and carried bags of equipment down the stairs. The onlookers murmured excitedly and tried to get closer to the edge of the bluff for a better look.

  “Cool,” the little girl said again. I thought her mother should take her away.

  “Did you know the deceased?” Williams asked me.

  “We’ve met, but only twice and then casually. His name’s Jack Ford, and he’s a property developer.”

  “That’s the name on his driver’s license,” the blond woman said. “He has a North Augusta address.”

  “I know Ford,” Williams said.

  “He was interested in buying the house next door,” I said. “I assume that’s why he was here this morning, but I don’t know why he’d be on our property.”

  “Here comes Rose,” Bernie said.

  I turned to see my grandmother crossing the lawn. Her steps were hesitant; her liver-spotted hand quivered on the head of her cane; her back was bent; and she carefully watched where she placed her feet. Edna hovered slightly behind her, as though ready to catch her employer should she falter.

  Rose had decided to appear as a feeble, frail, and probably confused old lady in need of assistance. I threw Edna a glare. She wisely avoided looking at me.

  “What seems to be the problem here?” Rose’s voice
shook. Her accent was still English, but she’d added some upper-class notes in case anyone here watched Downton Abbey.

  “Sorry to bother you, ma’am.” Williams all but tugged at his forelock. “I hate to tell you this, but there’s been a death on the beach below.”

  She touched the approximate vicinity of her heart. “Oh dear, I am sorry to hear that. People often don’t take the care they should when out in nature, do they?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “Are you Mrs. Campbell?”

  “I am she.”

  Williams looked over Rose’s shoulder and spoke to Edna. “Did you or Mrs. Campbell see what happened here earlier?”

  “No,” Edna said. “I was in the house, working in the dining room. I didn’t look outside. Mrs. Campbell only just came in. Her suite faces east, not over the bay.”

  “Why don’t you take Mrs. Campbell back to the house?” Williams said. “I’m sure I won’t need to bother her with this. I’ll speak to you in a few minutes.”

  “Most upsetting,” Rose said.

  “Uh, perhaps not so fast,” the policewoman said. “Didn’t I see you in town recently, Mrs. Campbell? Weren’t you at that protest over the visiting Russian fishing boats last week?”

  “I . . . might have been,” Rose admitted. “My memory isn’t quite what it once was.”

  I figured it was time for me to intervene, before Rose was arrested for impersonating an elderly person. “Why don’t we all go inside? We have coffee and cookies laid out.”

  “Sounds like a good idea to me. I didn’t have my breakfast this morning.” Williams patted his more than ample stomach. “Let’s leave these people to do their work.”

  “I’d like to ask about—” The blond officer was cut off when a group of men pushed themselves through the circle of onlookers.

  “Detective Williams, what’s going on here?” Roy Gleeson asked.

  “Morning, Councillor,” Williams said. “Unfortunate accident at the bottom of the cliff.”

  “I don’t think—” the female detective began.