The Tea Shoppe Mysteries

by Darlene Franklin

  Stop daydreaming, Evie. The police wouldn’t speculate on how Sir Geoffrey felt about his adopted home. Even if they did, it wouldn’t be for the same reasons. I dialed my lawyer.

  A minute later I was speaking with Paul. “I’m sure you know that Sir Geoffrey Guilfoyle died this morning. Murdered, in fact, from all appearances.”

  A faint chuckle whispered down the line. “I know. You found the body.”

  “That’s part of the reason I called.” I plunged ahead. “Enos Jenner was just here—”

  “My son-in-law?”

  “Yes. He pretty much accused me of poisoning Marshfield—Sir Geoffrey’s dog, you know—on purpose. I want a lawyer with me the next time I speak with the police.” I paused. “Is there a conflict of interest, since he’s your son-in-law?”

  “I have no problem representing you in the matter.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “But, Evie, is the poisoning of the dog connected with Sir Geoffrey’s murder?”

  “It may be.” I started to explain but decided to wait until we met face-to-face.

  “That might be a different matter. I haven’t handled many murder cases.” He hummed to himself. “Come to my office right after lunch, by one o’clock, and don’t talk with anyone about the dog.” His voice was stern enough to scare me.

  “Yes, sir.” I had one more thing to ask him. “My other question is also about the dog—”

  “Save it.” He hung up abruptly.

  He was right. I just thought he might like to look up the answer before I arrived.

  I checked the clock. Georgina would be busy cooking lunch. I thought about offering my help. Business would be brisk today.

  But people would ask questions, and I wasn’t willing to talk about what had happened. A wearied grief had settled on me. I wanted nothing more than to rest in my recliner until I left for Paul’s office.

  Georgina came upstairs about half an hour later with Mathew in tow. She brought my favorite lunch, a cranberry-turkey salad sandwich on oatmeal bread, with a broccoli salad and an indulgent orange muffin. “I figured you must be hungry.”

  I hadn’t planned on eating, but when I bit into the sandwich, I discovered I was ravenous. To my surprise, Georgina stayed with me while I ate.

  “I prepared cold-plate specials for our lunch service. If they need me for something, they know where to find me.” She gave me a fierce hug. “Are you all right, Gran? That must have been a shock, discovering the body.”

  I expected her words to trigger tremors, but I remained calm. “I’m much better, after that wonderful lunch. You take good care of me.” I patted her hand. “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes to see my lawyer.”

  “Your lawyer?” Mathew joined the conversation. “Is it that serious?”

  I didn’t want to worry them. “Anne Stetson asked if we would take care of Marshfield until we learn if Sir Geoffrey made arrangements for his care.” I shrugged. “I guess no one’s come forward to take him off their hands.”

  Mathew chuckled.

  Georgina’s reaction held no humor. “Oh Gran, no! How can we bake with him around?”

  I squirmed. “We’ll figure it out. I’m sure he can learn how to behave, with the right teacher. He’s a pretty smart dog.” I hoped. I glanced at the clock. “Paul wants me there at one. I’d better get going.”

  I hugged my granddaughter. “After that lunch, I’m ready to take on the world.”

  She rose to her feet. “Let us come with you.”

  I shook my head. “You have to keep the shop open. And Mathew, I know you need to get everything settled before you leave for that pastor’s conference after our services this weekend.” They would protest if I explained I wanted to protect her from the sordid mess. She’d felt the same way about me during her scuffle a few months ago.

  I arrived at the Tuttle Law Office with one minute to spare, and Paul saw me in his office right away. “Thank you for coming so promptly. I planned on calling this afternoon, but you called me first.”

  My insides churned at his words.

  “I’m in charge of Sir Geoffrey’s American estate. I’m glad his family is in town.”

  I nodded. “They were staying at Sir Geoffrey’s house. I don’t know where they are now.” I paused for a moment. “You said you were going to call me?”

  Paul’s expression grew serious. “Ah, yes. Sir Geoffrey made some rather—unusual—provisions in his will. I told him he should warn you, but he said he would let it be a surprise when the time came.” A faint smile played around his lips. “I think he expected to outlive you.”

  The odds were I would have outlived Sir Geoffrey in any case, because women live longer than men. Even so, he was physically fit for a man of our years and not in any imminent danger of death.

  In the end, it hadn’t taken much to end his life. Only a six-foot fishing spear.

  I swallowed the gulp in my throat. “He promised me his recipes.”

  “He did, did he?” Paul smiled. “I expect they’re in his desk.”

  That didn’t do me any good. I couldn’t just waltz in and grab something, even something as innocent as recipes, without the permission of the new owner.

  “You should see the expression on your face. I’m teasing you.” Paul’s grin gave way to a chuckle. “Not to worry. You see, you’re the new owner of Sir Geoffrey’s house and everything in it. He considered you a good friend, and he trusted your judgment in handling his affairs.”

  I must have misunderstood him. “Are you saying I’m his executor?”

  “That duty falls to me. I repeat: you’re his heir. He left you his house, his dog, his money, everything he had invested in America. There’s a lawyer in England handling his other affairs. I have contacted her to let her know of Sir Geoffrey’s death.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it.” He nodded. “He specifically directed you to—let me read it exactly as he worded it.” He ran his finger down the will in front of him. “‘Tell her to keep my dog in healthy teas and cakes and use the money to enjoy herself.’” He looked up at me. “I suggested he set up a fund to take care of the dog, but he insisted that all his funds be left to your discretion. He trusted you with his dearest companion.”

  My thoughts tumbled around like a spinning dryer, too fast for me to catch more than a glimpse of any one thing.

  He was saying something about making arrangements with the bank when I blurted out, “Now they’ll have even more reason to suspect me.”

  “But you just now learned the provisions of the will.” He grew serious. “Or else you’re an even better actress than I thought.”

  I shook my head. “Here I was, coming to you today, hoping you could tell me who Sir Geoffrey wanted to take care of his dog. I promised the vet I would look after him until we found out.” Was it possible they knew Sir Geoffrey’s intentions?

  Paul must have sensed my uneasiness about the project. “Among the provisions of the will, Sir Geoffrey had plans developed to build a kennel next to Tea by the Sea, which he has already paid for. He knew the dog would need a place to roam freely when you’re working.”

  Bless Sir Geoffrey.

  “I’ll have the contractors contact you to set up a schedule as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Tell me about your conversation with Enos.”

  At least Paul didn’t call him “my son-in-law” in this context.

  I gave it to him, verbatim.

  “No other fingerprints.” He stroked his chin. “Someone must have worn gloves.” He wrote on his pad. “Did any of them leave the group?”

  “We all did, at one time or another.” I closed my eyes to recapture the scene. Nothing remarkable. “No one was gone for more than a couple of minutes.”

  Paul tapped his notepad. “We’ll check out the possibilities.”

  His eyes focused inward as if he was drawing the house and calculating routes and timing. He blinked. “I’m assuming none of them has an
y disability that would prevent them from moving around at normal speed.”

  “Not that I noticed. But we didn’t walk about much. Of course we both know Roland. He might move better on the open sea, but he’s as fit as a fiddle, as they say.”

  “The Guilfoyles will probably want to see me about Sir Geoffrey’s estate. We can compare our observations.”

  In all the detective shows I have watched, no one worries about a suspect’s disabilities unless there is some indication of it at the crime scene. Didn’t they mostly concern themselves with forensic details like how tall the killer must be, whether or not they are right-handed or left-handed, that sort of thing? That made me think. “Do you think they’d be able to calculate the height of the killer from the angle of the spear?”

  Paul blinked. “Probably. But only if he was killed while both he and his killer were standing.”

  I thought some more. “Maybe forensics can figure out the killer’s height from the length of the spear and the angle of the wound.”

  Paul smiled faintly. “We need to do some detective work ourselves, in case forensics doesn’t give us any help. Tell me more about your argument with Geoffrey over the dog at the tea shoppe.”

  The incident at Tea by the Sea felt like a dozen days ago. Just the day before, Sir Geoffrey had complained I’d had hot cross buns within reach of Marshfield. As I repeated the conversation, I realized how petty I sounded. “We’d had the discussion many times before. Sir Geoffrey left the dog outside yesterday, but Marshfield came in when someone opened the door.” The memory stirred up the same irritation. “I’m sorry, Paul, but it’s unreasonable for anyone to operate a bakery without chocolate and raisins and other foods harmful to animals. Sir Geoffrey should have left Marshfield in the car.”

  Paul raised his eyebrows. “Or Sir Geoffrey should have trained his dog better, like service dogs. I agree with you, but you should avoid stating your opinion so openly for the time being.” He shrugged. “It makes you sound angry and spiteful.”

  I crimped my lips shut.

  “I know you are speaking as a responsible business owner who likes the dog. Or at least Sir Geoffrey thought well of you, and how you felt about Marshfield. Enough to trust him to your care.”

  I thought of Odie, my faithful canine companion until his death five years ago. Sir Geoffrey and I used to take Odie and Marshfield on walks together, and Sir Geoffrey was a friend when poor Odie died. I felt partly responsible for Marshfield’s misbehavior. Because I gave him dog-friendly treats on our walks, he decided anything from my hand must be fair game.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  I looked up. “Every person who steps into the tea shoppe over the next few days will want a piece of me.”

  Paul tapped his pen on his blotter. “Do you want my advice?”

  “That’s what I’m paying you for.” I opened my hands. “But I can’t afford to go away on a trip, even if Enos will let me.”

  He leaned forward. “Far from it. I suggest you stay right at the tea shoppe where you belong. Let people see you. Tell them how much Sir Geoffrey liked your hot cross buns. Let it slip, without telling the story, that Marshfield loved them too. Make it humorous.”

  He grew serious. “I know you’d rather go home and hide, but you have it in you to act like nothing’s troubling you. You might even throw a welcome party for Marshfield when he goes home with you. When people see the two of you are in fact good friends, they won’t suspect you of holding a grudge.”

  It was an excellent suggestion, even if all I wanted was a chance to mourn my friend in private. But I’d always intended the tea shoppe to be a place for our community to support each other. It was my turn to depend on them. There was no room for a stiff upper lip in my profession.

  “I’ll let you know when I bring Marshfield home.”

  “If Enos wants to see you again, call me straightaway. In the meantime, don’t worry. You above all people know that your neighbors will make up their minds for themselves. They’ll judge you on all the decades of your life, and not on the past couple of days.”

  I relaxed and stood. “Thank you. I feel much better than when I came in.”

  “I’ll add my psychiatrist’s bill to my legal fees,” he said with a smile.

  CHAPTER 6

  The more I thought about what my lawyer said, the more I realized he was right. I not only wanted to remind people of who I was, but maybe I could also learn more about the others, Roland especially. I knew Roland, sure, but we hadn’t remained close. That long ago summer was years in the past—a lifetime ago—Georgina’s lifetime.

  I spent time in the tea shoppe that afternoon and told our guests that soon we would have a new mascot. The contractors showed up the very next day, even though it was a weekend. I loved their plans for the kennel and gave them an immediate go-ahead. They promised to finish the kennel by the end of the week.

  By Monday Marshfield had recovered enough to leave the vet. When Anne called, she asked, “Have you learned who will be taking care of Marshfield?”

  I debated with myself. Loose lips sink ships and all that, but our vet keeps his patients’ confidentiality as seriously as any people doctors. I decided to tell her some of the details I hadn’t told the folks at the tea shoppe.

  “Um, yes. It’s me.”

  She laughed. “I wondered if that was the case. Sir Geoffrey asked my husband’s opinion about it a while back. He gave you a glowing recommendation.”

  “Please don’t tell anyone. They’ll guess soon enough.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I’ll come by for him tomorrow morning.” I wanted one last night of uninterrupted sleep. I wasn’t sure how Marshfield would respond to the change in scenery, or if I could teach control inside our shop. Odie had been perfectly behaved, but I had trained him as a puppy. Marshfield was a different matter.

  I worked with Georgina Tuesday on the early morning shift before I went to the vet’s office. She was lonely with Mathew out of town for the week. The sea traffic alone makes it worth our while to open the shop at five in the spring. We fixed coffee to serve with the previous day’s leftovers while we continued baking for the day.

  Two of our regulars, a pair of fishermen, called “Short” and “Long” both because of their given names and because of their natures, came in before dawn. They asked for day-old doughnuts and filled their thermoses with our best blend of coffee.

  Jacob Short said, “We’d best get to our boat before the patrol wants to take a look.”

  “Ayuh,” Caleb Long said.

  “Why? What’s going on?” Their words set an alarm bell off in my head.

  “Word has it that they’re pumping the boats to figure out who’s selling contaminated fish for pet food,” Short said.

  “Beware,” Long said. “For Marshfield.”

  Of course they knew about the dog.

  I thought about their warning when I went to the store on the way to pick up Marshfield. I hadn’t bought dog food in years. A gap appeared on the shelves where the Sealife pet food normally stood. In fact, I saw that the creator of Sealife, Leah Packer, was in the process of removing the product from the shelves. As a local brand featuring the best of Maine seafood, Sealife was a favorite of many locals for their pets. Sad as I was to see the problem, I wouldn’t take a chance with Marshfield. I reached for a package of food that contained no fish parts. “What’s up with the Sealife products?”

  Leah swept her eyes over the items in my shopping basket. Collar, new tags, leash, bowls, and a big bag of food. “Oh, have you adopted another puppy?”

  “Something like that.” If she didn’t make the connection with Sir Geoffrey’s death, I wouldn’t tell her. “I used to give my old dog Sealife all the time. Has the company had to go out of business?”

  “Not yet, but we’ve hit a rough patch.” She packed another bag into the disposal cart. “Although the police say they’re close to arresting the person responsible for the damage.” She lowered her v
oice. “I would avoid any dog food with shellfish in it for now. They don’t know how far the problem has spread.”

  When I got to the vet’s office, Marshfield’s foot thumped in time to his wagging tail. He placed his right front paw on my knee and barked.

  My heart melted. “It’s like he’s asking me where Sir Geoffrey is. He must be lonely.” I bent over and rubbed his head, tugging at his ears the way I had seen my friend do so many times. He accepted the caress, then moved away from me and barked again.

  Anne and I looked at each other. I brought my face closer to the dog’s. “Your master’s gone, and you can’t go with him.” Oh, if only circumstances were better and I had something of Sir Geoffrey’s that I could give to Marshfield for a familiar scent to reassure him.

  I decided to see my lawyer again. I wanted to ask when I could get into Neptune Cottage, Sir Geoffrey’s house. Since we had decided talking on the phone might not be wise, I drove straight to his office.

  Paul was able to see me right away, “I have a few minutes. What’s up?”

  I explained that I wanted to get something of Sir Geoffrey’s to cheer up the dog.

  “Wait until tomorrow. I have an appointment with the Guilfoyles this afternoon, when I will inform them about your inheritance. I’ll tell them you have full access to the house.”

  “Good. I’ll go over in the morning.”

  “I’ll tell them to expect you.”

  I asked him if he had heard anything about the Sealife pet food recall, but he hadn’t. After we left the office, we stopped for a walk along a deserted stretch of rocks. Marshfield chased about, barking at seagulls overhead and chasing the spray of the ocean waves hitting on the rocks. I wondered if he remembered doing the same with Odie.

  As the older dog, Odie had taught Marshfield how to taunt the seagulls and how to make a game of escaping the sea waves. Sir Geoffrey and I spent hours watching them, becoming good friends in the process.