Tea & Treachery. Vicki Delany

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ