Tea & Treachery. Vicki Delany

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СКАЧАТЬ you mean me, my entire life,” Cheryl said. “If you mean Tea by the Sea, this is our first summer.”

      “I bet the tourist ladies love it.”

      “They do.”

      Tea by the Sea specializes in traditional afternoon tea. In keeping with the theme of the menu, the restaurant’s decorated as though it were a drawing room in a castle in Scotland or a stately country home in England. Paintings of British pastoral scenes and horses at the hunt are hung on pale peach wallpaper with clusters of pink and green flowers. The wide-planked wooden floors are polished to a high shine; the chairs upholstered in peach and sage green; the tables laid with starched and ironed white cloths and either a single rose in a crystal vase or a lush flower arrangement, depending on what’s currently available in the garden. Several small alcoves, similarly decorated, are tucked into corners, providing space for small parties or intimate gatherings. In the main room, a large antique sideboard, bought at a good price and carefully restored with a lot of elbow grease on my part and advice on Rose’s, exhibits some of the china tea sets we use. The opposite wall has a real fireplace, at this time of year filled with flowers. A small room next to the kitchen displays items for sale—teapots and matching cups and saucers; tea accessories such as infusers and strainers, timers, and tea cozies; several varieties of prettily packaged tea bath salts I make myself from fragrant tea leaves; and locally made jams and preserves. The waitresses wear knee-length black dresses under starched white aprons and small white caps. As I stay strictly in the back, doing the cooking, I usually come to work in jeans and a T-shirt.

      “Do you do a good business here?” the larger man asked.

      Cheryl threw me a glance. “We do, Mr. Ford.”

      His back was to me, so I couldn’t see him smile, but I heard it in his voice. “You know me. Then you know I care about the success of small independent businesses, such as this one.”

      I sipped my tea and listened. Bernie filled her plate with more sandwiches and tarts.

      “If you’re a local,” he continued, “you must realize this place won’t get a lot of business over the winter.”

      “No,” Cheryl admitted.

      “You’re out here in the middle of nowhere. Nice location, close to the sea, fabulous views, but nothing much else around. Am I right?”

      Another flick of Cheryl’s eyes toward me. I still said nothing.

      “Same with the B & B next door. What capacity do they have? Five guest rooms? Maybe six?”

      “I’m not sure.” Cheryl put the strawberry tarts in a paper bag and handed it to him.

      The shorter man said, “Can’t be much more than that. Not enough, really, to keep the place going year-round.”

      He pulled out his wallet, but Mr. Ford said, “Put your money away, Roy. This one’s on me. I can buy you a coffee, I think, without anyone accusing you of taking a bribe.” He laughed heartily. The smaller man, Roy, didn’t return the laugh.

      “We do okay,” Cheryl said.

      “This is your restaurant’s first season,” Mr. Ford said. “Soon the novelty will wear off, winter will set in, and customers won’t be able to sit out in that nice garden.” He handed her a twenty-dollar bill. “You need to keep the customers coming in, isn’t that right, Roy? Keep the change. Nice talking to you. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.”

      They walked away. As they passed my table, Mr. Ford turned his head and looked directly at me.

      He hadn’t been talking to Cheryl, I knew. But to me.

      Chapter 2

      “What was all that about?” Bernie asked after the men had left, Marybeth started stacking the chairs onto the tables, and Cheryl got out the vacuum cleaner.

      “The bigger man was the one Rose was talking about earlier I think. The house next door isn’t selling as a house. There’s talk that a hotel chain wants it.”

      “They want to use it as a hotel?”

      “They want to turn it into a hotel, which isn’t the same thing. Not just a hotel, but a hotel and conference center. Maybe even a golf resort.”

      “It’s big, but it doesn’t seem that big . . .”

      “It’s not, and that’s the point. Right now the property’s zoned residential and small business, same as Rose’s property. There’s some talk of rezoning, so the old house can be gutted and a big new extension added on.”

      “You’re talking as though that’s a bad thing,” Bernie said. “Is it?”

      I let out a breath. “To Rose, it is. I believe the phrase she used is ‘over my dead body.’ You see, what we have here . . .”

      “Nicest piece of private property in this part of the Cape.”

      “Precisely. Peace, quiet, serenity. I don’t know how much of that we’ll lose if they go ahead with the development, but I’m thinking a lot. Hotel, golf resort, conference center. All of which need parking and round-the-clock staffing. A full-service restaurant and bar means delivery vehicles up and down the driveway all day. No, Rose isn’t at all happy.”

      The vacuum cleaner started with a roar. I held up one hand, asking Cheryl to turn it off. “You know who those men are?” I asked her.

      “The one who did all the talking is Jack Ford. He’s a big-time developer. Does work all over the Outer Cape.”

      “Does he, now?”

      “Yup. And he’s as nasty and crooked as they come.”

      “Strong words.”

      Marybeth joined us. “People have strong opinions about him. The old-timers, like Mom and me and the rest of our family, hate him. The newcomers, the big property owners, and the developers love him.”

      Cheryl nodded. “He thinks he’s charming. They say some women fall for that.”

      “Who was the man with him?”

      “Roy Gleeson. He’s a town councillor,” Cheryl said.

      “Thus the comment about not offering a bribe. What do you suppose he was doing here?” I asked. “Not interested in supporting my small business, I assume.”

      When Tea by the Sea had its official grand opening in the spring, plenty of officials from North Augusta and other towns in the Outer Cape came, but Roy Gleeson hadn’t. The mayor of North Augusta had made a speech. Or so I’d been told. I’d been in the kitchen, frantically trying to save a batch of brownies burning in the unfamiliar oven.

      “If Jack Ford wants the property to be rezoned,” Cheryl said, “someone on council has to propose it. Roy’s checking things out. I bet Ford’s courting them all. He’ll be trying to find someone he can pay under the table for it.”

      “Roy’ll get a kickback if the property’s rezoned,” Marybeth said, СКАЧАТЬ