Tea & Treachery. Vicki Delany

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 approximate vicinity of her heart. “Oh dear, I am sorry to hear that. People often don’t take the care they should when out in nature, do they?”

      “No, ma’am,” he said. “Are you Mrs. Campbell?”

      “I am she.”

      Williams looked over Rose’s shoulder and spoke to Edna. “Did you or Mrs. Campbell see what happened here earlier?”

      “No,” Edna said. “I was in the house, working in the dining room. I didn’t look outside. Mrs. Campbell only just came in. Her suite faces east, not over the bay.”

      “Why don’t you take Mrs. Campbell back to the house?” Williams said. “I’m sure I won’t need to bother her with this. I’ll speak to you in a few minutes.”

      “Most upsetting,” Rose said.

      “Uh, perhaps not so fast,” the policewoman said. “Didn’t I see you in town recently, Mrs. Campbell? Weren’t you at that protest over the visiting Russian fishing boats last week?”

      “I . . . might have been,” Rose admitted. “My memory isn’t quite what it once was.”

      I figured it was time for me to intervene, before Rose was arrested for impersonating an elderly person. “Why don’t we all go inside? We have coffee and cookies laid out.”

      “Sounds like a good idea to me. I didn’t have my breakfast this morning.” Williams patted his more than ample stomach. “Let’s leave these people to do their work.”

      “I’d like to ask about—” The blond officer was cut off when a group of men pushed themselves through the circle of onlookers.

      “Detective Williams, what’s going on here?” Roy Gleeson asked.

      “Morning, Councillor,” Williams said. “Unfortunate accident at the bottom of the cliff.”

      “I don’t think—” the female detective began.

      “It’s not Jack Ford, I hope,” Lincoln Goodwill said. “We’ve been looking everywhere for him. His car’s parked in front of the house, but he’s not around.”

      “I’m afraid so,” Williams said.

      “Jack Ford?” From the depths of the crowd of onlookers, a woman snorted in laughter. “What do you know? Glad to hear it.”

      I didn’t have time to wonder what that meant.

      “Did you have plans to meet Mr. Ford this morning?” the policewoman asked.

      “We did,” Lincoln said. “We’d arranged to meet here—I mean next door—at nine o’clock. Who are you?”

      “Detective Amy Redmond. North Augusta PD.”

      “You must be new,” Roy said. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Roy Gleeson, North Augusta town councillor.” They shook hands.

      “Detective Redmond joined us only last week,” Williams said. “From Boston. She’s brought her big-city way of doing things to our quiet little town.”

      The words were said in a light banter, but I sensed a thread of underlying hostility. If Amy Redmond had brought fresh new ideas, they were not welcome in Chuck Williams’s patch.