Tea & Treachery. Vicki Delany
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I’ll get you the key to the garden shed. Everything you need should be in there. If you have to buy anything, keep the receipts and we’ll reimburse you. Gerry had me save coffee grounds and used tea leaves from the tearoom for him to use in the garden.”
“I’ll take them, too. Plants love them. Plus any kitchen scraps I can use for compost.”
“In exchange, if you can bring us fresh flowers in the morning to put on the tables, I’d appreciate it. Don’t decimate the plants. Just cut any extras they can spare.”
“It’s a deal,” he said.
“One more thing. You’re welcome to pop into the kitchen here and make yourself a tea or coffee at any time. The doors are only locked at night.”
“Thanks, Lily. I know I’m going to enjoy working here. If you don’t mind my saying, that looks dangerous.” He pointed to the steep staircase leading down to the beach. Some of the boards were cracked or tilting ominously, and the railing had come unfastened in places. A few steps were missing altogether. The gate at the top of the steps rattled on its rusty hinges.
“I know. It’s but another thing we need to get done. Gerry was supposed to fix it. He’d been saying for months he’d get around to it. He never did.”
“I saw kids playing near here yesterday, when I was poking around. You don’t want any accidents. I’ll do it this weekend if you want. I can fix the gate for a start.”
“That would be marvelous. Thank you.” The last thing we needed was a lawsuit. Another lawsuit, I should say.
I smiled at him. He smiled at me.
“Good morning!” Two women crossed the lawn, heading for the stairs. They were dressed in khaki shorts and sturdy shoes, with binoculars around their necks and hiking poles in each hand. They walked with firm, determined strides and looked as cheerful as only people on vacation could. They unlatched the gate, stepped through it, and carefully closed it behind them.
“Careful on the stairs,” I called after them.
“Let’s get that key, shall we?” Simon said.
* * *
By six thirty, I had two types of muffins in the oven—banana chocolate chip for the children and bran and walnut for the adults—and sausages sizzling on the stove. I was grating cheese for the herb and red pepper frittata, which would be an optional extra this morning, when the kitchen door opened.
“Spot on time,” I said. “First, lay out the cereal with milk and the pots of yogurt in the dining room in case anyone comes down early, and then start cutting the fruit for the salad.”
“I know what to do, Lily,” Edna said.
I turned around. “Oh. Good morning. I wasn’t expecting you today.”
“Why not?”
“Because last night you were fired and then you quit. Or did you quit and then were fired? I forget the exact order of events.”
She shrugged and took her apron down from the hook. “Life goes on. Rose says things she sometimes doesn’t mean. I have to admit that I do, too, on occasion.”
“I’m glad you’re here. Before you start, something upsetting happened last night I’d like to ask you about. Did your husband show Jack Ford the letter Rose sent to the paper?”
She twisted her mouth into a moue of disapproval and took the cheese grater and the cheese from me. I started cracking eggs.
“I assume by your question that someone did,” she said. “I can assure you it was not Frank. He wouldn’t have done that, particularly if he didn’t intend to print the letter, but he has a summer intern working at the paper, and I don’t approve of her. She’s far too ambitious and far too impulsive. I wouldn’t put it past her to have sent Rose’s email to Jack, hoping for a reaction.”
“She got one. Why does your husband keep her on if she’s not working out?”
“One, she’s free. And two, she’s our niece. Frank’s brother’s daughter Ilana.”
“Oh.”
“Oh is right. Ilana intends to be the next Rachel Maddow. Frank’s too kindhearted to fire her. I hope he does if he finds out she did what you think she did.”
“Jack has filed papers to sue Rose over that letter.”
“Sorry I’m late.” Bernie burst into the room. She wore a calf-length black dress with long sleeves and a stiff white collar, thick black stockings, and black flats. She’d tied her mane of curls into a severe bun at the back of her head, removed all the hoops from her ears, and her face was clear of makeup. “Hi. I thought you were fired?”
“I unfired myself,” Edna said.
“Why are you dressed like that?” I asked.
Bernie held out her arms and twirled around. “Like it? I’m getting myself totally into the part. I want to feel the oppression of the working classes, so I’m dressed like a footman.”
“Footmen are men.”
“Not much I can do about that,” she said.
“I guess not, but if you want to truly feel the oppression of the working classes, you should try running a restaurant in the tourist season.”
“Or working for Rose Campbell.” Having grated a mountain of cheese while we talked, Edna took containers of yogurt out of the fridge, poured milk and orange and apple juice into jugs, and got down cereal boxes.
I laughed. “I’m glad you’re here. We’ll be busy this morning, and Edna can use the help.”
“I certainly can,” Edna said. “But what’s this about suing?”
“Oh, yeah,” Bernie said. “That. You probably heard Rose yelling all the way in town. I learned some new English expressions last night.”
“Jack has to have seen the email Rose sent to the paper,” I said. “He’s suing her.”
“Have you seen this letter?” Edna placed everything on a tray.
“Sadly, yes.” After Cheryl called last night, I’d insisted on Rose taking me to her computer. I searched the sent folder and found the email. It wasn’t, to say the least, flattering to the property developer. She didn’t actually come out and say he was working for the mob, but it was implied. She did more than imply that he was either accepting bribes from members of town council or bribing them.
“Suing her over an unpublished letter seems a drastic step,” Edna said.
“It’s a good way of ensuring everyone in town reads the contents of a letter that was going to otherwise remain unpublished,” I said.
“Jack’s a local boy who’s done well for himself,” Edna said. “Some say not entirely by following the letter of the law. He has his enemies around here, for sure. Maybe he’s expecting someone else to come out against him soon, and he decided to send them a message.”
“And Rose just happened to be the nearest target. She’s going to have to back down. We can’t afford to pay him a cent or to hire a lawyer to fight this for us.”
“Do you think she will?” Bernie asked. “Fight it?”
Edna snorted, and I said, “Rose back down? Not a chance. She’s going to push forward more than ever, guns blazing. What a mess. Nothing we can do about that right now. I’ll have a talk with her later and try to talk some sense into her. Last night she was almost gleeful at the thought of taking him on. Bernie, get to work. You can slice the tomatoes and mushrooms. If we’re lucky, the suit won’t go ahead. He’s only trying to intimidate her.”
“Little does he know,” Edna said, “that Rose doesn’t take terribly well to intimidation.”
“Guaranteed