by Vicki Delany
“Don’t read too much into it,” Jenny said. “Carla would come to the opening of an envelope.”
Mia glared at her. “You can’t say that. She loves community sports. She made a real effort to come out today.” Her phone rang, and she checked the number. “Sorry. I have to get this.” She stepped away from us.
“Why was it an effort?” Bernie asked Jenny.
Jenny glanced at Mia, who’d turned her back to us and was stabbing the air with a finger. Jenny leaned toward us. We leaned toward her. She lowered her voice. “Something happened that’s upset her dreadfully. A good . . . uh, friend of hers died over the weekend.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said.
“She can’t talk to anyone about it and has to pretend she doesn’t much care. She’s not doing a good job of that.”
“Why does she have to pretend?” Bernie asked.
Jenny broke into a smile. “Here she comes.”
Carla Powers left the field to scattered applause from the parents. The girls ran in all directions, taking their places.
“Just get it done,” I heard Mia snap into her phone. “I want no more of your excuses.” She put her phone away and slapped on a smile as she walked back to us.
“Good afternoon,” Bernie and I said when Carla joined our little circle.
Mia introduced us. I reminded the mayor that we’d met at Tea by the Sea, and she asked me how business was.
“Great,” I told her.
“I’m afraid we have to be going,” Mia said. “Your Honor, you have an appointment with the budget controller in fifteen minutes.”
Carla gave me a “What can you do?” smile. “Nice talking to you, Lily. I must pop into the tearoom again. I hear such great things about it.” She started to walk away.
We were supposed to be asking Carla what she knew about the death of Jack Ford, but I had absolutely no idea how to go about doing that. Bernie, however, did.
“While we’re here,” my friend said, “Lily and her grandmother are wondering if you have any idea what’s going to happen to the Goodwill property out near the bluffs. Jack Ford was interested in buying it, wasn’t he? Now that he’s dead, is the rezoning going to go ahead?”
Carla Powers burst into tears. Mia and Jenny exchanged worried glances.
“Gosh,” Bernie said. “I’m sorry. Is something the matter?”
Carla snuffled. “Jack. We were not exactly friends, but I knew him as a citizen and a prominent member of the community. I’m naturally upset about his death.”
“Naturally.”
“We need to be going, Carla,” Mia said.
Carla turned to me, her eyes wild. She grabbed my arm. “He died at Victoria-on-Sea, isn’t that right? Your grandmother’s place. What happened? Did you see him that day? I hope . . . he wasn’t alone, was he? When he died?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.” I didn’t mention that I’d been the one to find him. Or that if anyone had been with him, that person had probably killed him.
“They say he fell over the cliff. I don’t believe that for a second,” Carla said. “He was a strong, fit man. He wasn’t at all clumsy.”
Mia pried Carla’s hand off my arm. “Time to go!”
Carla shook her off. Now that she’d started to cry, she couldn’t stop. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, and she made no attempt to wipe them away. “I found out when I heard it on the radio. No one thought to come and tell me.”
“Maybe they didn’t know,” Bernie said in a low, kind, sympathetic voice, “how close you two were. You were close, weren’t you?”
“We were in love! On Friday I told my husband I was leaving him for Jack, but no one else knew. Not yet.”
“Carla!” Mia said. “We have to go.” She threw a panicked look at Jenny. Rather than make a move to help, Jenny smirked.
“I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you,” Bernie murmured sympathetically.
“We were going to get married,” Carla wailed. “To be together forever.”
Mia threw up her hands and took a step back. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and punched buttons.
“The police are saying they suspect foul play,” Carla said. “I told them that’s nonsense. No one would kill Jack. Everyone liked and admired him.”
Bernie and I said nothing.
“I can’t get her to stop,” Mia said into her phone.
“You were there.” Carla clutched my arm again. She had a mighty powerful grip. “Did you see anyone acting suspiciously? Anyone threatening Jack?”
“No, I didn’t. Accidents do happen.”
“Not to a man like Jack. It might have had something to do with the Goodwill property. There’s some opposition to the rezoning proposal.”
“Really?” Bernie said. “Imagine that.”
“You don’t think Lincoln Goodwill had something to do with it, do you? I never did trust that man.”
Mia shoved her phone up against Carla’s ear. I could hear a man shouting on the other end. Carla took a deep breath. She shook her head, and her eyes focused. “Sorry, sorry,” she mumbled into the phone.
Carla pulled a tissue out of her pocket and blew her nose. “I’m so sorry. You don’t need to hear my story.” She emitted a strangled chuckle. “You won’t, I hope, be repeating this conversation to anyone?” She gave us a plaintive look.
“Just between us girls,” Bernie said.
“What do you think’s going to happen with the rezoning proposal now?” I asked.
“It’s coming up for debate at council next week,” Jenny said. “Just because one developer is dead”—she emphasized the last word as she gave Carla a sideways peek—“doesn’t mean another won’t be interested. Lincoln Goodwill’s pushing for it. He needs to sell that property, and he wants top dollar for it.”
Now Mia and Carla were tripping all over themselves in their haste to get away.
Jenny gave us a grin and said, “Nice one.” She followed them, making no attempt to catch up.
Out on the field, a girl, ponytail flying, long thin legs and arms pumping, rounded third base and headed for home plate. On the bleachers, one group of parents rose to their feet, cheering.
“I think we also hit a home run,” Bernie said.
“Was that weird or what? Why would she tell us, people she doesn’t even know, all that personal stuff?”
“Because she’s been holding it inside and it’s bursting to come out. All we had to do was nudge open the floodgates. This detecting stuff is pretty easy, I must say. I suspect our mayor has political ambitions beyond our little town. Mia seems to be invested in keeping her out of trouble, and that man on the phone told her to shut up mighty fast.”
“Having an affair with a married man wouldn’t help her political prospects,” I said.
“No, it wouldn’t. Divorce and remarriage isn’t any sort of scandal these days, but illicit affairs still are. I wonder if Jack had any intention of going through with it, or if he was just stringing her along.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“If Jack was going to marry Carla, he’d have to divorce the current wife first. Janice Ford didn’t seem to know anything about that.”
“Or she didn’t consider it to be any of our business.”
“What did you think of Jenny?” Bernie asked.
“I’d say she’s not too fond of her boss, and so close to retirement, she figures she doesn’t have to pretend anymore. Can we go now? I have to get back to work.”
As we drove out of town, I thought about what we’d learned. Carla Powers had been genuinely distraught at Jack’s death. I didn’t know her, but I doubted she was that good an actor. It was possible, however, that she’d been responsible for his death and now regretted it.
I wondered if the police knew she was planning to leave her husband for Jack Ford. That information opened the door to a whole bunch of suspects: Mr. Powers and Mrs. Ford, as well as Carla herself.
T
he police might not know. They might not have questioned her, not if they weren’t aware she was involved with Jack. We only knew about it from bridge club gossip, and now from Carla herself.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Bernie asked.
“If you’re thinking Carla Powers might have killed Jack Ford, I am.”
“Or maybe Mr. Powers. We don’t know anything about him. You need to talk to the police about this.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you’re involved. I’m nothing but a helpful observer.”
“I am not involved.”
She turned into the driveway. “Sure you are. You . . . Oh, look who’s here.”
Three vehicles were parked in front of the Goodwill house.
“Let’s have a chat,” Bernie said.
“I don’t want—”
She drove past the tearoom. Every seat in the patio was taken, and Marybeth stood at a table for six, writing their order on her notepad.
“I have to be at work, Bernie.”
“Won’t be a minute.” She pulled to a halt behind Roy Gleeson’s SUV.
Three men stood near the broken front porch. They turned to watch us approach. They didn’t look at all welcoming, but that wasn’t necessarily because they didn’t want to talk to us. Easy to tell by their body language they’d been arguing among themselves.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” Lincoln Goodwill said. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t a good time.”
“Don’t be rude, Dad. It’s always a good time to be friendly.” Matt gave us big smiles. I smiled in return. Bernie stuck her elbow in my ribs. I tried to ignore her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I don’t see that that’s any of your business,” Roy Gleeson said.
“Just being neighborly,” she said.
“We’re discussing plans for the property,” Matt said. “I’m thinking it won’t be too expensive to restore the house, not if the owner did a lot of the work himself, and did it over time, as funds allowed.”
“Not going to happen,” Lincoln said. “I’m sorry, ladies, but I have to ask you to be reasonable. I don’t want any trouble, but this is my property, and I have a right to do with it what I like. You can tell your grandmother that.”
“She didn’t send us,” Bernie said. “We’re perfectly capable of opposing an environmentally detrimental project all on our own.”
“Hardly environmentally detrimental. We’re talking about a good hotel designed to be respectful of the surroundings.”
“My father and I have a difference of opinion.” Matt grinned at Bernie. She tossed her mane of red hair and harrumphed.
“So the rezoning will be going ahead,” I said.
“That will be decided by town council,” Roy said. “As they see fit.”
“Egged on by you,” Bernie said.
He spread out his hands. “Not at all. I put the proposal forward, but now I’m stepping back from it. I have no skin in this game. I’m happy to let the town councillors decide whatever they think best.” He turned to the Goodwills. “Speaking of which, I have to be off.”
“I need your support, Roy.”
“I told you, Lincoln, I’m listening to all opinions, and I expect the other councillors to do the same. Jack knew that.” He nodded to us and took a step toward his SUV before hesitating and turning back. “Can you move your car please?”
“Which way is Mayor Powers likely to vote?” I asked.
“She hasn’t shared her thinking with me,” he said.
“But . . .”
The edges of his mouth turned up. “But . . . she and Jack Ford were close. Very close, I’d say. She would have done whatever he wanted her to do. Although that’s a moot point now, isn’t it? Move your car please, miss.”
Bernie stood her ground.
I gave her a nudge and said, “Let’s go, Bernie.”
“Mrs. Campbell is going to fight you,” Bernie said. “Are you prepared to be seen going up against an elderly widowed lady who only wants to spend what few years she has left in peace and quiet?”
Lincoln sputtered.
Matt laughed. “Answer the lady, Dad.”
“I don’t want any trouble,” Lincoln said.
“Tell her to present her case in front of the town council,” Roy said. “The meeting’s next Tuesday at seven p.m., and the public is welcome to speak. We do listen to the people’s concerns, you know. She might even change a few minds.”
Lincoln bristled. “What are you saying, Roy? Whose side are you on?”
“I told you, Lincoln. I’m on the side of the people of North Augusta, as always.”
“I’m a citizen of North Augusta. My family’s been here since—”
“That’s the problem, Dad,” Matt interrupted. “No one cares how long our family’s lived here. Times have changed. For the better in a lot of ways. Except for afternoon tea. Nothing like the old ways for that. I might pop in later, Lily. How long are you open?”
“Until five.”
“They’re completely full for the rest of the day,” Bernie said.
“We are not,” I said.
“In that case,” he said, “would you like to be my guest for tea, Ms. Murphy? I’m sure you have the connections to get us a good table.”
“Will you move your car!” Roy yelled. “I’m late as it is.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t get all excited.” Bernie turned and stomped away.
“Does this mean you’re not having tea with me?” Matt called after her.
I chased after my friend and jumped into the car. Bernie revved the engine and backed up in a spray of sand and gravel. She executed a tight three-point turn, drove much too fast for the distance to the tearoom, and screeched to a halt beside the gate.
“Calm down,” I said. “There’s no point in antagonizing them.”
“Antagonizing them? They antagonized me. So patronizing. Will I have tea, indeed? Don’t you start getting friendly with Matt Goodwill.”
Roy Gleeson’s SUV roared past. He barely slowed before turning onto the main road.
“I’m not getting friendly with him,” I said, “but why shouldn’t I? He seems nice.”
“I don’t trust him. That good cop, bad cop routine he has going with his father? Ha. You don’t think he wants to see the property sold for the big bucks? He’ll inherit eventually, remember.”
“You don’t know anything about their family situation, and neither do I. Maybe he has ten brothers and sisters all in line to inherit ahead of him, or his father plans to leave everything to a shelter for homeless cats. Lincoln might have a much younger wife, who will outlive Matt. Maybe—”
“Enough, Lily. I get the point. I’m telling you, he’s not to be trusted. Now, are you going to work or not? I need to report to Rose on what we learned.”
“Don’t get her riled up. She’s as bad as you are.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Bernie said as I got out of the car.
She backed up again, did another three-point turn, and headed down the driveway for the B & B. I watched her go and then glanced over to the Goodwill property.
Lincoln’s finger was waving in front of his son’s face, while Matt gestured toward the house and out to sea. The sound of raised voices drifted toward me on the wind, although I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Matt threw up his hands and then abruptly turned and walked toward his car with strong, angry steps.
I ducked my head, opened the gate, and went to work.
Chapter 18
By six o’clock, I couldn’t put off calling the police any longer. The tearoom was closed, everything neat and tidy and ready for another day. Scones and sweet treats were baked, eggs boiled, chicken salad in the fridge, supplies checked. Nancy, the berry farmer, had promised to have a delivery to us first thing in the morning.
I poured boiling water over leaves of Creamy Earl Grey into a teapot and pulled out my phone while waiting for the tea to stee
p.
She answered immediately. “Amy Redmond.”
“Hi, Detective. It’s Lily Roberts here. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“You’re not,” she said.
“I . . . uh . . . I learned a few things I thought you might want to know. If you don’t know them already, I mean. About the death of Jack Ford.”
“I’m not on that case any longer, Ms. Roberts. Detective Williams decided my . . . expertise could be better used elsewhere.”
“Oh. Uh, okay. I guess I should phone him, then.”
“As it happens, my other case isn’t all that urgent. How about if we talk in person? I’m not far from your place now. Are you at home?”
“I’m still in the tearoom.”
“I can be there in ten minutes.”
“I’ll put the kettle on,” I said.
Amy Redmond knocked on the front door of Tea by the Sea in seven and a half minutes. I let her in.
“I’ve made tea. The coffeepot’s switched off, and the leftover coffee thrown away, but I can start a small pot if you’d prefer that.”
“Tea will be fine.”
“We can talk out here.” I indicated the dining room. “I don’t have any chairs in the kitchen.”
I’d laid out a teapot and two place settings. Perhaps because I wanted to be surrounded by something pleasant when I talked to the police about death, I used my personal set of Royal Doulton. I’d taken some of tomorrow’s baking out of the pantry and arranged a proper setting for afternoon tea with scones, pistachio macarons, and slices of chocolate tart, and had put small bowls of strawberry jam and clotted cream on the table. Today’s flower arrangement, red roses in a thin glass vase, was still fresh.
Amy Redmond studied the table. She tried not to smile. “Is this a bribe, Ms. Roberts?”
“Call me Lily. I was preparing my own tea when I called you, so I thought you might want to join me. You can consider it a bribe, if you want.”
She sat down. “This looks lovely. Do you know, I don’t think I’ve ever had a proper afternoon tea.”
“Time to start, then.” I lifted the teapot and poured. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I’ve made my favorite. This is a Creamy Earl Grey.”
She took a deep breath, clearly enjoying the rich, fragrant scent. “Isn’t tea just tea? Usually black, but green in a Chinese restaurant? Served with ice in parts to the south.”