The Tea Shoppe Mysteries

by Darlene Franklin

  Apparently the age of electronics hadn’t taken over the need for handwritten notes. He tucked the notebook away. “You may join the others. Only—don’t mention the buns or the cleaning yesterday.”

  I wouldn’t talk about it with Roland or either of the Guilfoyles. I just might talk things over with Georgina when I got home. She would probably insist that I call in her fiancé, Mathew, the pastor of our church. Like it or not, our tea shoppe was once again embroiled in a murder.

  How should we handle it? Last year’s mystery had given our little shop a certain amount of notoriety and increased business. Two murders, on the other hand, could seem like bad luck.

  Oh, for the freedom to make a phone call. To go home! I hoped Georgina’s experience helped her understand the situation.

  “Why did he keep you so long?” Freddy demanded when I returned to the living room. “What were you talking about?”

  Roland took a long look at me. “You won’t get her to spill secrets.” He laughed. “Some eateries are known as gossip central. And you can generally get the pulse of Sea Side at the Tea by the Sea.” He put a finger to the side of his nose. “But no one is better at keeping secrets than Evie here. I’ve told her some of my secrets that she’s never repeated to anyone else.” He paused for effect. “And that was thirty-five years ago.”

  My mind went blank for a minute. Thirty-five years ago, the tea shoppe was a new business that took every ounce of my time and mind and energy. Roland was a teenager working on his first job on a fishing boat, the career path he’d eventually followed. At the end of the day, he would stop by and ask for any leftover donuts for half price. I gave him what I could. I didn’t have a son of my own, just two daughters.

  And he had a helpless crush on Georgina’s mother. She didn’t give him the time of day. She’d already met her future husband. The memory brought a smile to my face. “I think things worked out for the best, don’t you?”

  He winked, and his smile grew wider. “See what I mean? Even now she doesn’t reveal my secrets.” He grew serious. “With all sincerity, I say, I wouldn’t be the man I am today without Evie Holland.”

  I was touched. “Those were rough times for both of us,” I told him. “Made me feel good to think at least one teenager wanted to hear my wisdom. My daughter was out searching for her own way.”

  “This sounds like Sea Side’s version of The Young and the Restless,” Freddy drawled. “What’s next, a May-December affair?”

  I snapped around but managed to control my tongue. I had no reason to defend myself against bad manners.

  Roland laughed it off. “May-December? You think I was interested in Evie?” At least he wasn’t offended. “No, I was interested in her daughter, who wanted nothing to do with me. It’s a good thing too, or else I never would have married my Maggie.”

  “Freddy can’t object to May-December romances,” Daisy said comfortably. “I was fifteen years younger than his father.”

  Daisy’s words reminded me of something Sir Geoffrey had told me, but I couldn’t chase it down. Maybe it would come back to me later.

  Freddy shrugged. “Enough about old times, Mother. I want to know what the detective said to Ms. Holland.”

  Someone knocked on the door. I jumped up to answer it before Daisy could. Two technicians stood there. They’d come from the only lab in a ten-mile radius that performed forensics when needed. I recognized them but couldn’t remember their names.

  “Mrs. Guilfoyle?” the young man around Georgina’s age asked.

  “That’s Mrs. Holland, from Tea by the Sea.” His companion was a middle-aged woman of Vietnamese descent. “She found the body.” She turned to me. “Where is Detective Bennett?”

  “Down the hallway, in the kitchen.” I pointed the way.

  They carried forensics kits with them. I shuddered, glad I didn’t have to dig into the muck of death.

  Freddy followed them but was turned back.

  No one said anything for a few minutes. Roland stood by the window, watching what was going on outside. When another car approached, he announced, “The vet’s here to look at the dog.”

  I joined Roland at the window. Marshfield had been Sir Geoffrey’s pride and joy. I drew a sigh of relief when he wobbled to his feet to greet the newcomer. I recognized the vet, Dr. Stetson. He loaded Marshfield into the back of his van before speaking with the officer for several minutes.

  “Bet you’re wishing you could eavesdrop on their conversation,” Roland said.

  “Am I that obvious?” I was a little embarrassed.

  “It has to be related to Sir Geoffrey’s death.”

  The police officer backed away from the van, and Dr. Stetson took off. Then the officer grabbed a small black bag from the back of the patrol car and headed toward us.

  Fingerprint time, I’d guess.

  Once again I opened the door.

  He apologized for how late it was getting. “You must be eager to go home.”

  Not really. If I was at home, I’d be worrying about Sir Geoffrey and wondering what was happening. At least this way I had a chance to help.

  CHAPTER 4

  The sergeant took our prints, ignoring Daisy’s protests.

  “Be quiet, Mother.” Freddy proffered his fingers willingly. “We want Uncle Geoffrey’s murderer to be brought to justice.”

  If he was the murderer, he was doing a good job of playing innocent.

  Tom called me in right after they took my fingerprints. I was a little nervous, but he only asked me a few routine questions about my arrival. What had I touched and observed, that kind of thing. Then he dismissed me. “I’m sure your tea shoppe needs you. I’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.”

  I was almost disappointed that he didn’t tell me to stay in town. It was as if he didn’t think me capable of murder.

  Well, I didn’t think I could murder anyone. But they say everyone is capable of murder if pushed hard enough. Not many things get me angry nowadays though. Irritated? Frequently, almost every time Sir Geoffrey brought Marshfield to the tea shoppe. Hostile anger? No.

  Tom instructed me to leave by the back door—so I couldn’t report to the others, I supposed. I sat behind the wheel of my car, feeling the weight of the morning’s events. Georgina needed me at the tea shoppe, but first I wanted to check on Marshfield.

  Fortunately, Dr. Stetson’s clinic was on the way back to the tea shoppe, more or less.

  “Evie, this is an unexpected surprise.” Anne Stetson, the vet’s wife, worked as his receptionist and assistant. Her face grew somber. “I heard about Sir Geoffrey. What a terrible thing to happen.”

  I plopped into a chair.

  “My goodness, you’re shaking.” She disappeared into a side room and reappeared with a cup of coffee and some crackers. “This should perk you up. I could offer you something sweet, but …”

  I shook my head. The crispy, salty cracker did help settle the acid I didn’t realize had been building in my stomach.

  Once Anne was satisfied I was better, she asked, “What brought you here, Evie? Are you ready to adopt another dog? We have three young pups at present.”

  “Not yet.” I shook my head. “I was worried about Marshfield, Sir Geoffrey’s dog.”

  “That poor thing’s in mourning. His master died—and dogs can tell.”

  I nodded. I knew exactly what she meant. “But what upset his stomach?”

  Her expression told me what I wanted to know.

  “He ate the raisins in my hot cross buns.” I made it a statement.

  “He ate several.” A smile replaced the frown on her face. “The good news is he should make a full recovery. My husband was able to pump out all the stomach contents that were left.”

  She glanced at me. “You do know that raisins are poisonous to dogs, don’t you?”

  I stamped down my annoyance at the question. I already felt guilty enough for Marshfield’s illness. I started to tell her someone else had given the dog the buns on purpo
se. But the detective had told me to keep my mouth shut.

  Instead, I simply said, “I know.” I sighed. “And I had certainly warned Sir Geoffrey plenty of times.” I left my comments at that. “I’m so glad to hear he’ll make a full recovery.”

  “We’re lucky we got to him in time,” Anne said. “If the affected dog isn’t treated within the first ninety minutes, poisoning can be fatal.”

  Ninety minutes. My mind started reeling. “And the dog got here, when?”

  “About nine fifteen.”

  That means he must have eaten the buns around eight. Either Roland, Daisy, or Freddy must have fed the buns to the dog. No one else was in the house.

  And it seemed logical that the dog poisoner was also the murderer.

  Anne’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Marshfield should be well enough to leave in a couple of days. Only, do you know who’s going to take him in?”

  My nose wrinkled while I thought about it. “I have no idea. Someone as thoughtful as Sir Geoffrey may have included provisions in his will.”

  She made a snuffling sound that suggested she was about to make a request of me, a request I wouldn’t welcome. I swallowed past my frustration. “What is it?”

  “They may not finish the probate for several weeks. I’d hate to see Marshfield stuffed in a kennel for that long.”

  I put all my mental energy into discouraging her from making the request she was about to voice. “I expect Daisy and Freddy—that’s Sir Geoffrey’s nephew, who inherited his title—will be here until after probate is completed.”

  Anne shook her head. “But Marshfield doesn’t know them. He knows you. He trusts you. You’re his friend who brings him tasty treats.”

  It was inevitable. “The tea shoppe is a dangerous place for a dog,” I reminded her.

  “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” She smiled brightly, taking my agreement for granted. “So that’s settled, then. I’ll let you know as soon as we can release Marshfield.”

  Georgina would have something to say about it. Speaking of my granddaughter, I decided to head home before any more time passed. I wasn’t in charge of daily operations at the tea shoppe anymore, but I’d missed the entire breakfast service—an innovation Georgina had introduced—and by now they were involved in lunch prep.

  A dented white car followed me when I left the clinic. When I looked in the rearview mirror, I thought I spotted the sergeant who was working with Tom Bennett. Had the detective sent someone to keep an eye on me? And why was that?

  Was I under suspicion? A tremor passed through my body. I told myself not to be silly. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  The person who discovered the body fell under suspicion. Mystery Fiction 101, right after, “Look at the spouse first.”

  Since Sir Geoffrey had no spouse, that left me, the one who discovered the body, with a big target on my back.

  The white car didn’t stay on my tail. Perhaps we were just headed to the same place—the tea shoppe. Except, why would he go there? What connection did he suspect between us and Sir Geoffrey’s murder?

  While I was debating the question, the sergeant passed me right before we made the final turn to my road and raced ahead of me, exceeding the speed limit in the process.

  I puzzled over his behavior until I arrived at the tea shoppe about ten minutes later. The white car was in the parking lot.

  Was Georgina in trouble? I hurried to the shop.

  I could hear Georgina from the entrance. She ran her words together, and her tone was nearly a shout. Compared to her, the sergeant was practically whispering.

  Georgina stood a few feet away from him. “I told you nothing happened. Gran did nothing wrong.”

  I stayed outside the door where I could listen without being seen.

  “How do you explain the accounts I heard, then?” The pages of a notebook riffled. The sergeant consulted his notes. “This is the second time this week Sir Geoffrey’s dog got sick from eating something your grandmother baked.”

  I could imagine Georgina’s eyes bulging. “But that was just an accident!”

  “An accident Sir Geoffrey blamed Mrs. Holland for. His exact words were, ‘Maybe we should ask Miss Evie to bake pet-friendly treats.’”

  Too bad Mathew wasn’t there. He would have helped Georgina calm down. It was time for me to make my presence known. I rattled the doorknob and walked in.

  “Mrs. Holland.” The officer acted as though he’d been expecting me. “I thought you would be here when I arrived, since you left before I did.”

  “I went to check on Marshfield—that’s the dog you’re accusing me of poisoning. He’s recovering nicely, thank God.” The sergeant’s badge read E. JENNER. Ethan? No, Enos. I pulled the name from my memory.

  I had checked on Marshfield out of genuine concern, but in the present circumstances it probably made me look guilty. I couldn’t admit that I felt responsible for his illness. I’d be making Enos’s argument for him.

  Instead, I redirected the conversation by blurting what I had just learned about the dog. “Marshfield will be my guest for the time being, at least until the will is read.”

  I was certain Sir Geoffrey had made arrangements for his dog, not because he’d told me, but because he was that kind of person.

  Enos shook his head as if it didn’t matter. “Since you knew the dog was allergic to these”—he consulted his notes—“sultanas, why did you put them where he could reach them this morning?”

  My irritation stepped up, and I reminded myself not to get agitated in the same way Georgina had. “I didn’t. I put them on the top shelf of the pantry, where that little bulldog couldn’t reach. The box was sealed, but of course a determined dog could take care of that.”

  He wrote everything down. “When was that?”

  “As soon as I entered the house. About 7:15 this morning.”

  Enos frowned at his notes. “The box was found at 8:32 this morning, on the countertop in the pantry, open, with two of the buns missing. How do you explain that?”

  Suddenly I felt like laughing. I was old enough to be his grandma, and he was playing one of my own tricks on me. I relaxed. I’d have batted my eyelashes if they were long enough. “I would guess that the murderer fed them to the dog, wouldn’t you? I know you checked out fingerprints. Check out who else’s fingerprints are on the box.” I couldn’t resist a final sentence. “Except for Detective Bennett’s, of course. I doubt you suspect him.”

  Enos looked at me for a few long seconds. “As a matter of fact, we have. And there were only two sets of fingerprints on the box. Yours and Bennett’s.”

  I managed to keep my composure—just barely. Of course it was too easy. “They could have worn gloves.”

  “That’s one possibility.” Enos nodded. “But often we find the most obvious solution is the correct one.”

  Georgina had had enough. “You’re as good as accusing my grandmother of harming that dratted dog, and maybe Sir Geoffrey as well. I’m calling a lawyer.”

  Enos cocked his head. “I’m following the line of evidence, ma’am.”

  Keep your temper, Evie, I reminded myself. “Sergeant, I’m not going to answer any more questions unless I have a lawyer present.”

  “That’s your right.” He made a few notes in his notebook and tucked it back in his belt. I wished I had Supergirl’s vision so I could read what he’d written about me. “I was about finished anyhow.” He snapped his hat on his head.

  “You might want to drive the speed limit on the way back,” I called after him as he left the tea shoppe. “It would be too bad if you were caught speeding.”

  “What was that about?” Georgina asked.

  “How long was Enos here before I arrived?”

  “Five minutes, thereabouts.”

  I explained about seeing him on the road. “What did he say before I arrived?”

  Georgina shuffled her feet. “He was asking me if you’d had any arguments with Sir Geoffrey. I just said you’d a
sked him to leave his dog at home. That was before I knew someone had fed the poor thing more of the hot cross buns.” She hugged me. “Oh Gran, surely he doesn’t think you killed Sir Geoffrey?”

  “Of course not.” But beneath my reassuring words, I knew something was wrong.

  CHAPTER 5

  Our server popped her head in the door at that moment. “We have people ready to order lunch.”

  Georgina looked at me, distraught. “We’re not done talking about this. Please promise to stay nearby until we’ve had a chance to talk things over with Mathew.”

  “Mm-hmm,” I grunted noncommittally. Mathew had helped Georgina when she came under suspicion of murder last Christmas, and they had fallen in love. A month ago they had become engaged, and my granddaughter was still dewy-eyed.

  But I was used to acting on my own, and I didn’t know how long I could stay. That depended on the phone call I had to make. I wanted to get my lawyer’s advice before I spoke with the police again.

  I dialed the number for Paul Tuttle and Associates. To date, his associate consisted of his daughter, Meg.

  Wait a minute. Meg was now Mrs. Jenner, married to Enos the police officer. I closed my eyes in frustration. The Tuttles were Sea Side’s only lawyers.

  I told myself not to worry. They must have dealt with this issue before, about her office representing someone her husband had arrested. I usually worked with her father, in any case. He would steer me to someone else if necessary.

  In addition to my own problem, I also wanted to ask about the dog. I had to make sure Paul knew Sir Geoffrey was dead, although I suspected by now everyone in Sea Side, maybe even in the entire county, had heard the news. But maybe not. For the most part, the people of Maine respect the privacy of the famous literati and artists who make their home in our state.

  Besides, Sir Geoffrey was most definitely not “from” Sea Side. He technically wasn’t even an American. A person has to be born to a local family to claim he or she is from the town. Even Georgina, who was born when her parents were in college, is from “away.”

  I felt a sting of sympathy for Sir Geoffrey. He never really belonged to Sea Side, although we loved having him. But he’d been gone from England so long he didn’t belong there either. Meeting Daisy and Freddy had made me aware of how very American he had become during his stay in our small town.