Murder in a Teacup

by Vicki Delany

  I sent Rose a text: Cops are looking for me.

  Rose: Wait.

  I waited. While I waited, I heard Williams on the phone asking for the results of a record search on Edward French, Brian McHenry, and Lewis McHenry. Unfortunately, he didn’t repeat what he heard, just muttered a lot. Noticeably, he didn’t ask about the women in the group. And that, I thought, was a big mistake.

  “Everything all right here, Constable?” Rose’s voice came from outside the linen closet.

  “Perfectly all right, ma’am,” the uniformed officer replied politely.

  “It’s so comforting,” she said, “knowing you’re standing guard right here in the hallway.” She took the English accent up a notch, probably thinking it made her sound more important. Or maybe more like a dotty old lady.

  “My pleasure, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve been asked to get your granddaughter, but she isn’t in the dining room or the kitchen. Do you know—”

  “I . . . I . . .” Rose’s voice wavered. “Oh, my goodness. I don’t feel so well all of a sudden. I . . . I . . .”

  “Whoa!” he cried. “I got you. Careful there, ma’am. You need to sit down. Let me—”

  “No! Not there. I wouldn’t want to be in anyone’s way. I’ll take a seat in the dining room. Oh, dear. Everything is swimming. If you could help me to a chair. No one else seems to be around at the moment.”

  “Do you need me to call a doctor, ma’am?”

  “That won’t be necessary. These spells come over me now and again. I’ll be fine after a few minutes of peace and quiet.”

  Their voices faded as the young officer helped Rose into the dining room. I crawled out of the secret room and slipped out of the closet. I was rearranging table linens when the drawing-room door opened and Chuck Williams stuck his head out. “Where the heck is . . .”

  I smiled him.

  “Oh,” he said, “there you are. Where’d Officer LeBlanc get to? Never mind. You’re next. Come in.”

  I took a seat on Rose’s favorite damask-covered wingback chair. I crossed my legs at my ankles, my hands in my lap, and smiled sweetly at Detective Williams.

  The drawing room at Victoria-on-Sea, like the guest bedrooms and other public areas, is intended to put our visitors in mind of a stately English home, as though one had been invited by the Countess of Grantham for a stay at Downton Abbey. The room was papered in blue, flecked with gold leaf; the carpet a rich cream with blue accents; velvet sashes tied the heavy blue drapes back from the wide windows overlooking the expansive gardens. Inset bookshelves, painted white, were crammed with well-used paperbacks and a selection of board games. The reproduction antique desk beneath the windows was a match to the one in the hallway. Prints of eighteenth-century British paintings hung on the walls, and couches of well-worn brown leather studded with brass hobnobs were on either side of the working fireplace, which, rather than a fire at this time of year, contained a silver vase full of yellow roses.

  The door flew open and the young cop came in. “I can’t find . . . Oh, there you are. Never mind.”

  I smiled at him and then turned my attention back to Detective Williams.

  Who, try as he might, couldn’t get me to confess that I’d poisoned Ed French’s tea or that I was careless when handling food. I repeated that I’d never met Ed or anyone else in his party before this week. I had no reason to kill him and no knowledge of why anyone else might. His wife had given his bag of leaves to Marybeth, and Marybeth had added them to a pot of boiling water. That was all.

  “Are you positive he was killed by whatever he ate or drank?” I asked.

  “The autopsy will say for sure, but at the moment, I’m acting on that assumption. The doctor who treated Mr. French when he came in last night was pretty sure it was something he’d recently consumed. His wife told us about this special tea of his, and she gave us what she had left of it. We’ll be having it analyzed. Mrs. French said his tea was made for him at your place, so I’ve sent Detective Redmond to speak to your staff.”

  “The teapot was left unattended for several minutes,” I said.

  He cocked his head and studied my face. “What does that mean?”

  “It means the teapot was left unattended for several minutes. Darlene and Brian told you . . . I mean, I assume someone told you about the motorcycle incident.”

  “Yeah. The kid stole your gardener’s motorcycle and crashed it. He was lucky he wasn’t hurt. I had a word with him about that.”

  “I’m sure you did.”

  “He says Heather French is going to pay for the damage. Why would she do that and not his own father?”

  “You know Heather has the money in this family, right?”

  “She does?”

  “She does. But that’s not what I’m trying to tell you. Tyler crashed Simon’s bike and everyone in the tearoom ran outside to see what was going on. This was after the tea was served, but before the food was brought out. Which means the teapots were left on the table unattended.”

  “Everyone went outside?”

  “I believe so. It was quite a mad rush, and, of course, we had other customers besides the French party. We were full, both inside and outside on the patio.”

  He stroked his chin. I tried not to fidget. He’d missed a spot on his lower right jaw when shaving this morning. I tried not to point that out.

  “You can go,” he said at last.

  I stood up. “When can I open my tearoom?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “Detective, it’s obvious Mr. French wasn’t killed by my food. No one else has taken ill or has the slightest symptoms, including two elderly ladies.”

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said.

  The uniformed officer edged toward me. I stood my ground. “My tearoom is important to the tourist business of North Augusta. It’s the beginning of the season. I’m sure my good friend the mayor will have something to say about this. And if not, Lincoln Goodwill will.”

  I’d met Mayor Susan Powers once or twice, so by no stretch of the imagination could be she called my good friend. Town patriarch Lincoln Goodwill, father of my next-door neighbor, Matt, couldn’t care less one way or the other what happened to my little business. But Chuck Williams knew who held the reins of what might be called power in our town, and he cared more about that than he should.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  Officer LeBlanc escorted me out.

  Chapter 8

  When I emerged from the drawing room, the house was quiet. I peeked into the dining room, but it was empty. The coffee cups and side plates had been cleared away and the tables were freshly laid for tomorrow’s breakfast.

  I found Rose and Sandra ensconced in their chairs on the veranda. I perched on the railing, and we watched Detective Williams and Officer LeBlanc drive up to the tearoom. Williams got out of the car, went through the gate, and approached Bernie, still at her post.

  “Bad business,” I said.

  Rose and Sandra nodded.

  “How are you holding up, Sandra? This has been such a shock.”

  She gave me a tight smile. “Thank you for asking, dear. I’ll be fine. We old Midwestern biddies are a lot tougher than most people think. Isn’t that right, Rose? It’s sad, of course, and dreadful for Ed’s family, but I must confess that I haven’t had much to do with anyone in the French family, other than Heather, of course, for many long years.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but yesterday at the tea when we all went outside to see what Tyler was up to, I don’t suppose either of you saw anyone interfering with Ed’s drink?”

  “I assumed that was what Williams was trying to ask us, without coming right out and saying it,” Rose said. “Man’s a blasted fool. Ask the blasted question already, don’t let us dance around the subject. He sent Amy Redmond into town to speak to Marybeth and Cheryl. He should have sent a uniform to do that and let Redmond ask the important questions, such
as ‘Did you kill Edward French?’ ”

  “I can’t accept that someone in my family killed a man,” Sandra said. “I won’t accept it. He was substantially overweight, wasn’t he? He must have had a bad heart. Poor man.”

  Rose patted her friend’s hand.

  “The teapot?” I prompted.

  Rose and Sandra exchanged glances.

  “I don’t remember,” Sandra said. “We were settling down to enjoy ourselves and then we heard that crash. It was all so confusing.”

  “Everyone leapt to their feet and was milling about,” Rose said. “We went outside along with the others to see what was going on. Much ado about nothing.”

  “That’s right,” Sandra said. “When we saw Tyler was unharmed, we returned to our table.”

  “Yes,” Rose said, “but we went to the ladies’ room first.”

  “Did we?” Sandra asked.

  “The ladies’ was occupied,” Rose said, “so I went into the men’s room and left Sandra on guard outside. You really should have two ladies’ rooms and one for the gentlemen, love.”

  “Right. With all the empty space we have,” I said.

  “The point being,” Rose said, “we did not see anyone interfering with Ed’s tea. Or anything else.”

  Sandra nodded in agreement.

  “Where’s everyone now?” I asked.

  “Trisha’s in her room resting,” Rose said. “She shouldn’t be alone, but she insisted she wants to be. Julie-Ann brought Robbie up to her room, supposedly to comfort her, but Trisha made quite a fuss and ordered her to get Robbie out. Not everyone is as fond of cats as I am.”

  “Julie-Ann,” Sandra sniffed in disapproval, “is not always sensitive to the feelings of others.”

  “I told Trisha I’ll be here all day,” Rose said, “if she needs anything. The others have carried on with their plans. Brian, Lewis, and Tyler have gone fishing, and Heather, Amanda, and Julie-Ann are about to leave for the spa.” Rose also sniffed.

  “Don’t judge them, Rose,” Sandra said. “No one in my family was at all close to Edward or Norman, his brother.”

  “Except for Heather,” I said.

  “My granddaughter doesn’t ever need to explain herself to me,” Sandra said, “but she told me a day at the spa will help her deal with her grief better than sitting alone in her room.”

  I pushed myself away from the veranda. “I’m going up to the tearoom to see what’s happening.”

  The two women waved me off.

  * * *

  The forensic van and two cruisers were still parked at the side of the tearoom, fully visible from the highway. Not good advertising for either the restaurant or the B & B.

  Williams had gone inside by the time I reached the tearoom, and Bernie was typing on her phone. She looked up when I came through the gate and put her phone away.

  “How’d it go? Dare I hope someone confessed?”

  I dropped into a chair. “Sadly, no. Williams spoke to you?”

  “More like growled at me and ordered me to confess. When I failed to do so, he went inside the tearoom. Before she left, Redmond asked what I saw here yesterday afternoon. I saw nothing and told her so. I also told her I didn’t know Ed French or any of the people who had tea with him, other than Rose, of course, so I can’t be of any help. What do you think happened, Lily?”

  “I’m not saying anyone poisoned Ed’s private stash of so-called tea, but that seems to be the assumption the police are working on, and that’s probably the right thing to do. No one else has taken ill. Not that we know of, anyway. His entire batch of tea might have been poisoned, which would point to his wife as the killer, I guess. Or someone who had access to their room or her purse.”

  “The rooms all have locks on the doors, don’t they?”

  “They do, but not everyone uses them. Some guests assume that anyone who can afford to stay here isn’t going to be the sort to rifle through other people’s rooms. Not always a safe assumption.”

  “As I know from my former job. You wouldn’t believe the petty crimes some of my firm’s most important clients were accused of. Hey, that might be an interesting angle for the book. Rose and Tessa are able to trap a top criminal mastermind because his son . . .”

  Bernie, like Rose, is perfectly capable of holding and contemplating two totally different thoughts in her mind at the same time. I sometimes have trouble walking while chewing gum. “Can we return to the matter at hand, please?”

  “Sorry. Go ahead.”

  “Trisha gave the police Ed’s unused tea, and Williams told me they’ll be testing it. If the whole batch wasn’t poisoned, it’s possible that whatever substance was used had been put into the teapot after the leaves were steeping. Which means after Marybeth made Ed’s tea. If that is what happened, then almost anyone who’d been in the tearoom at that time could have done it. But they would’ve needed to be unobserved, and this is a busy place . . .”

  “Busy. Except when everyone ran outside.”

  “Precisely what I’m thinking. Tyler stole Simon’s bike and got as far as the tearoom before crashing it.”

  “He was darn lucky he didn’t get to the highway.”

  “That he was. Whereupon everyone in the tearoom, including me, ran out to see what was going on. You were with him when I got there, as I recall.”

  “That’s right,” Bernie said. “I heard a scream from the garden and then a crash. I figured right away there’d been an accident—the whole building shook. I ran outside. I think I was the first. People came behind me, but I can’t place anyone in particular. I got to Tyler, but I didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t moving. Then you and the doctor arrived.”

  I leaned back in my chair and thought. I tried to draw up a mental image of who was where when, but it was all a blur. The only person I could place until everyone trooped back inside the tearoom was Lewis, who’d stayed with his son until the police arrived. Lewis, and Tyler, of course. Then again, I hadn’t noticed when Lewis left the restaurant. I didn’t remember seeing Ed or Trisha at all. Even Sandra couldn’t be accounted for the entire time. Rose said she left Sandra guarding the door to the men’s room.

  Meaning anyone of them might have had the opportunity to poison Ed’s tea. It would be no more than a matter of seconds to ensure no one was watching, then open the teapot and drop in . . . something.

  “Ed might not have been the intended victim,” Bernie said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe someone got the teapots mixed up.”

  “That would depend on what was used, I guess. Most of our teas are subtly flavored. It would be noticeable if anything was added.”

  “If it had a strong taste,” Bernie said. “Not everyone’s a regular drinker of fine tea. They might not know if something was obviously out of place.”

  “True. I don’t suppose the police will tell us what they find.”

  “Highly unlikely.”

  “He might not have been murdered, you know. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe his tea was bad, or something.”

  At that moment, a car pulled up and Amy Redmond got out. She saw us watching and gave us a nod. She went into the tearoom the back way.

  “I absolutely hate this,” I said. “Sitting outside, helpless, while they destroy my business.”

  “If it makes you feel any better,” Bernie said, “I don’t think they’re destroying anything. I don’t hear the sound of roof beams being shattered or floors dug up.”

  “I’ve been avoiding it, but I’d better check the tearoom voice mail.”

  I’d left a message on Tea by the Sea’s number to say we were closed for an emergency. I called up the voice mail and soon wished I hadn’t. It was filled with cancelations, some stretching into next week.

  “It’s hit the news,” Bernie said. “This place was mentioned by name. Don’t look at Twitter if you want to keep your blood pressure down.”

  I next accessed the online reservations system. More cancelations.

&nb
sp; “This isn’t good,” I said.

  “Nope.”

  “I wonder if the same thing’s happening at the B and B.”

  “I didn’t see Victoria-on-Sea mentioned on social media, so you might be safe there.”

  A car drove slowly past. The man in the front passenger seat rolled down his window, leaned out, and took a picture. I refrained from sticking out my tongue.

  Amy Redmond came out of the tearoom. She put her sunglasses on as she walked toward us. “We’re finished here, Lily,” she said. “For now.”

  I brightened up. “So I can open tomorrow?”

  “You’ll remain closed until we tell you otherwise.”

  I deflated. “Can I go inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I bake?”

  “Yes, but you can’t serve customers. You might want to visit the supermarket first. We’ve had to take some of your supplies.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it, Lily?” Bernie said. “Baking is Lily’s happy place, Detective. My happy place is the swim-up bar at a luxury resort on a Caribbean island, but each to her own. What about you? Do you have a happy place?”

  Redmond peered at her over the top of her sunglasses.

  Bernie threw the detective a big smile. “Just being friendly.”

  The forensic van drove away, followed by one of the two cruisers. I was happy to see them go.

  “When’s the autopsy?” Bernie asked.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Redmond said. “First thing.”

  “You’ll let us know what you find out.” Bernie phrased her sentence so it wasn’t a question. Redmond didn’t bother to reply.

  “Thanks,” Bernie said, as though the detective had agreed.

  I cleared my throat. “In case it wasn’t made clear, you need to know there was some tension between the French and McHenry families.”

  “Why would you think it wasn’t made clear?” Redmond asked.

  “No reason.” The always-helpful citizen, I smiled at her.

  She didn’t return the smile.

  “Wouldn’t the people involved tell the police that?” Bernie said.