Tea & Treachery. Vicki Delany

you patronizing little twit. I’ll calm down when you’ve taken your ridiculous plan and driven away.”

      Éclair sniffed at the men’s pant legs. They ignored her.

      Three vehicles were parked in the weed-choked driveway at the side of the neighbor’s house: a gleaming blue Audi, a sleek Lexus SUV, and a black Toyota Camry. The house itself could be used for a Halloween display. The windows were covered in plywood; the Victorian gingerbread trim ripped and sagging, the paint coming off in strips; some of the gutters threatened to crash to the ground; and weeds invaded the cracks in the porch and foundations of the house. A privet hedge lined most of the property line, keeping the house out of view of many of the rooms in Victoria-on-Sea. The hedge was neat and trimmed on one side, a ragged mess on the other.

      The hedge ended close to where the land dropped to the beach as well as at the point farther toward the road where the two driveways almost touched. Grass as lush and well cut as could be seen on a golf course was on our side; the weeds and beach grasses on the other were as high as the men’s knees.

      The weeds reached my grandmother’s thighs. Meaning she was on their property.

      “What seems to be the problem here?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light and friendly.

      “Allow me to handle this, Lily,” my grandmother said.

      One of the men held his hand out to me. “You were in the tearoom yesterday. Sorry we didn’t get a chance to chat. I’m Jack Ford.”

      I took his hand in mine. His grip was strong, too strong, as though he was engaged in some sort of dominance display. He held my hand a fraction of a second too long as he stared into my face in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. I pulled my hand free. “Lily Roberts. This lady is my grandmother. What’s going on here?”

      “You need to take your grandmother home,” the third man said.

      Rose drew herself up to her full five feet, two inches. “I am not a dog nor a small child, to be taken home so the adults can talk in peace.”

      “Peace,” the third man said, “would be nice.”

      Bored with the lack of attention she was getting, Éclair wandered off to sniff at her surroundings.

      “The issue of this property’ll be coming to council shortly,” Jack said. “I wanted to have another look at it. I haven’t come to any final decisions regarding putting an offer in on it yet.”

      Rose harrumphed. She pointed a finger at Roy Gleeson. “Paid you off, has he?”

      Roy stiffened. “That’s an insulting accusation. I’m acting strictly in the best interests of the people of North Augusta. It is not in anyone’s interest if this property continues to remain an eyesore. Not to mention dangerous.”

      I couldn’t help but glance at one of the gutters, swinging cheerfully in the breeze. “It doesn’t have to be rezoned to be sold. Perhaps someone would like to buy it as it is. They could fix it up to be a nice house again.”

      “Are you interested in purchasing it, miss?” the third man asked.

      “Me? No. I don’t want anything that big, and I couldn’t afford it even if I did.”

      “Which is exactly my problem,” he said. “No one wants a house that big, certainly not one that needs work before it can be inhabitable. I’m Lincoln Goodwill. This is my property. Your grandmother is trespassing, and I have asked her to leave.”

      “You should be ashamed of yourself,” Rose said. “Selling off your family’s land to a common hotel chain. What would your ancestors have to say about that?”

      Lincoln turned around. He studied the house, slowly crumbling into the sandy soil, the gardens, nothing but tough weeds, wild beach grasses, and stunted bushes. “I doubt my ancestors would like to see it drop off the cliff.”

      “If the property’s developed to its full potential,” Jack Ford said, “the benefits to the entire community will be enormous. That includes your B & B and charming little teahouse.”

      Patronizing twit, indeed.

      “This is a delicate stretch of oceanfront environment,” Rose said. “The cliffs are fragile. Birds nest there and in the trees surrounding.”

      “The town will take all of that into consideration when . . . I mean if . . . we decide to rezone,” Roy said.

      “You’ve obviously already made up your mind,” Rose said.

      “Nothing to decide,” he said. “The rezoning is in everyone’s interest. Almost everyone.”

      “If you’ll excuse us. I’m a busy man.” Jack turned to the others. “Let’s have a closer look at these cliffs. We’ll need to take their fragility into account.”

      “I’m thinking the clubhouse could go there,” Lincoln said. “Nice view out to sea.”

      “Clubhouse!” Rose yelled.

      Jack lost his patience, and the fake neighborly smile was instantly replaced by something very nasty indeed. “Mrs. Campbell, your opposition to this project is indefensible. You can’t expect to live in solitary splendor the remainder of your days.”

      “I see no reason why not,” Rose replied.

      “Your neighboring landowner disagrees.”

      Rose waved her cane in the developer’s face. “This project will go ahead over my dead body.”

      “Don’t tempt us,” Lincoln muttered. Jack laughed.

      “Watch it,” I said.

      Startled by my tone, Éclair lifted her head and barked. Lincoln had the grace to flush and duck his head.

      “Come on, gentlemen,” Roy said. “We can’t stand around chatting all day. We’ve all got work to get back to.”

      “I suggest you don’t make idle threats, Mrs. Campbell,” Jack said. “That cane can be turned into a weapon.”

      “I assure you,” Rose replied, “I never make idle threats. If not my dead body, perhaps someone else’s.”

      I touched her arm. “This has gone far enough, Rose. Let’s go back to the house.”

      “I’m not moving.” She planted her cane and her feet firmly among the long grasses and the weeds.

      “You’re trespassing,” Jack said. “If you don’t leave, Mr. Goodwill is within his rights to call the police and have you removed.”

      “I don’t want any trouble,” Lincoln Goodwill mumbled.

      “Whether you want trouble or not, you’ve got it,” Rose said. “Trouble and more, if you go ahead with this project.”

      “The project isn’t up to me,” he said. “I don’t care what anyone does with the property once they own it. All I want is to sell this eyesore my father saddled me with. No one in our family has come here for years, but my father had sentimental reasons for keeping it. And so he kept paying the property taxes on it. I don’t want it, and I can’t afford to repair it. Mr. Ford here”—he nodded toward the big man—“is considering buying it as it is. A win-win. The entire community will benefit—”

      “It is not a win-win for me,” Rose said. “I will not benefit.”

      “Please, Rose. This isn’t doing anyone any good.” I took her free arm and tucked it into mine. “Let’s go home. Maybe you can start making some phone calls. Ask the neighbors for their support at town council.”

      “Neighbors. That’s the entire point. I don’t have any neighbors. And I don’t want any. Much less a golf course! If I find one golf ball on my property, or a single spare nail, I’m calling the police.”

      She wrenched her arm out of mine, spun on her heel, and