Tea & Treachery. Vicki Delany

      

      Tea & Treachery

      VICKI DELANY

      KENSINGTON BOOKS

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

      Table of Contents

      Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Acknowledgments Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Recipes Notes

      This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental.

      KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2020 by Vicki Delany

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

      Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2020931305

      Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      ISBN: 978-1-4967-2506-6

      First Kensington Hardcover Edition: August 2020

      ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2508-0 (ebook)

      ISBN-10: 1-4967-2508-5 (ebook)

      To Alex, who loves a perfect afternoon tea

      Acknowledgments

      Afternoon tea, done properly, truly is an experience, and I’d advise everyone to give it a try at least once in your life. But remember, it is a treat and an indulgence. Thanks to my daughter Alexandra Delany, who enjoyed afternoon tea with me in places as diverse as the National Portrait Gallery in London and the Prince of Wales Hotel in Niagara-on-the-Lake in order to assist with my research, as well as tossing around ideas for the story and the characters in the car.

      Karen Owen, tea lover extraordinaire, took the time to answer my tea-making and serving questions and gave me a tour of the marvelous delights (and a perfect cup of tea) to be found at Murchie’s shop in North Vancouver.

      Many thanks to my good friend Cheryl Freedman, who brought her ever-keen editor’s eye to the manuscript and advised me to tone some things down a bit.

      Thanks to the gang at Mystery Lovers’ Kitchen for giving me a forum to express some of my foodie ideas and challenging me to expand my usual repertoire. I’ll be posting some of the things I learned, in writing this book, to that blog.

      Thanks are due also to Wendy McCurdy for loving the idea of this series, and to my superagent, Kim Lionetti, of BookEnds, for bringing us together.

      The right to name Rose’s cat was won by Linda Torney at a charity auction. I hope you like what I’ve done with Robert the Bruce, Linda.

      Chapter 1

      “Creamy Earl Grey.”

      “Darjeeling.”

      “English breakfast.”

      “Darjeeling. Doesn’t the name say it all? The romance of travel. Misty hillsides and light, warm rain. Green plants and fragrant leaves.”

      “We’re drinking tea, not writing a novel, Bernie.”

      “I like to think I can do both. At the same time.”

      “Very well. Two Darjeeling, please, Cheryl.”

      “You could have ordered a pot each, you know,” the waitress said as she went to place the order.

      My friend and I grinned at each other. “You sure you want to do this?” I asked her.

      “Drink tea?” she replied with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

      “You know what I mean, Bernie. Completely and totally change your life in order to pursue your dream.”

      She threw out her arms. “Absolutely completely and totally. Lily, this is the moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life. The point at which everything I’ve been learning, everything I’ve been doing, converges into one great promise.”

      “Your entire thirty-two years of existence has come into focus at this moment?”

      She beamed at me. “Exactly.”

      I didn’t say I’d been joking. This wasn’t a joking matter. Not to Bernie, anyway.

      And neither was the matter of what beverage to select for afternoon tea.

      Bernie glanced over my shoulder, and her face lit up. She gave a squeal of delight, leapt to her feet, and held her arms out wide. I twisted in my seat to see my grandmother coming into the tearoom. I was pleased that she’d brought her leopard-print cane with her today. She insists she doesn’t need help walking, but I worry about her on the long driveway between her house and the tearoom and on the rough flagstone path in the garden.

      The two women hugged each other. My grandmother’s a great deal tougher than she looks, but I’m always afraid Bernie will crush her one day. They’re about as opposite as two women can be. Bernie, whom I called the Warrior Princess when we were kids, is six feet tall, lean, and smooth muscled, with an always out-of-control mane of