The Tea Shoppe Mysteries

by Darlene Franklin

“Do you live at Happy Days, Noelle?”

  Noelle’s rich laughter made me smile. “No, seniors only, no youngsters allowed. Mom does hair and nails for the residents and plays piano for special events, so she gets a break on the rent.”

  Mary patted my hand. “It’s a nice place for your grandfather, Ladessa. He won’t have to worry about keeping up with house maintenance or remembering to pay his bills.”

  I filed that information with tonight’s other bewildering events. Was Grandpa having memory problems?

  The van’s sharp turn caused me to bump into Noelle. “Ladessa, I’m here to beg you to work at Tea by the Sea. Our manager, Georgina, extended our breakfast hours, and we’re shorthanded. Georgina is Evie’s granddaughter. I’m sure you remember Evie. She was the original owner of the shop. When your Grandpa heard about the business needing another waitress, he suggested you.”

  “I did waitress there once, but …”

  Grandpa squeezed my shoulder. “Big festival in October, and my friend needs help. Working will keep you busy.”

  “You think I should wait tables again?”

  “Georgina would appreciate it, and the change might be good for you.”

  Bewildered by Grandpa’s encouragement for me to waitress, I turned to Noelle. “Do you work at Tea by the Sea?”

  “Yep. I’m a baker.”

  “So, I’m working at the tea shoppe?”

  Noelle nodded. “We open at seven, and early-rising New Englanders will be waiting by the door.”

  “I took three months off to help Grandpa move and to record his memories for the family. I don’t need an interim job.” I twisted my body toward Grandpa, but he rested, eyes closed, with his head against the seat’s back.

  Mary stroked my hand, which I’d balled into a fist. “Your grandfather has suffered several upheavals. Major changes can overwhelm us, can’t they?”

  This rhetorical question required no answer, so I didn’t give one. I struggled to quell my resentment that these people knew more about what was going on in my grandfather’s life than I did. And why would my grandfather arrange a job for me? I’d waitressed as a physically fit teenager. But how would my thirty-year-old body respond to standing all day, carrying trays, cleaning tables, and biking to and from work?

  Noelle chatted about my future in Sea Side. “All businesses gear up for pumpkin month, and Tea by the Sea expects record sales. Crumpets are my signature offering.” She lowered her voice. “Now, weren’t you the one who dragged me from church to indulge in decadent pastries when we were kids?”

  Noelle’s companionship provided a bright spot in my evening. I’d dreaded returning to Sea Side, where my heart had been broken ten years ago, because I still bore the scars. But when Grandpa called me, I reconstructed the Norman Rockwell–style community from my childhood memories, not the college years when I’d suffered the roller-coaster, heart-squeezing pangs of love freely given but not returned.

  Soon Betty maneuvered the van into a parking spot and issued a command to disembark.

  I linked my arm through Grandpa John’s. “Want to show me your new place?”

  “Not now, sweetie. I’m tired. Why don’t you bike out here tomorrow?”

  “Okay. You’re not going to check to see if I have a nickel behind my ear?” I tilted my head so he could perform his magic ritual.

  He appeared confused then recalled the ceremonial habit. “Uh-oh. I’m fresh out of nickels, Ladessa. Noelle offered to drive you to town.” He entered the doors labeled HAPPY DAYS without turning to wave goodbye.

  Noelle sensed my mood and drove in silence until she reached the beautiful Victorian that had been my grandparents’ home.

  “Thanks for the ride. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Are there uniforms for the waitresses?” Maybe I could delay my start date until properly attired.

  “Wear jeans. And don’t fret. Diana, the other waitress, will help you,” Noelle said. “On the wardrobe front, we’re getting October shirts promoting Punkin’-Chunkin’ Month tomorrow.”

  “I’m afraid to ask what that means. See you in the morning, and thanks again for the ride.”

  After I unloaded my bags, Noelle beeped the horn and drove away.

  My first hours in Sea Side dumbfounded me. I’d be living in a garage apartment, not in the Nolan family home where I’d spent summers from my birth until my college years. I had a job as a waitress. My grandfather lacked the clarity he’d always possessed. And some reporter lived in the home I loved.

  Scenes shared with my sister in the beautiful house reeled through my mind. We readied fishing gear on the porch, watched seagulls dip and soar, baked brownies, and sang show tunes with Grandma. We flew kites with our cousins, decorated bikes for the Fourth of July, primped for church, and then returned for the week’s best meal, Sunday dinner.

  Tears snaked down my cheeks. Could Grandpa John’s change be a delayed reaction to Grandma’s death? He’d whispered for me not to leave him until we talked, and then he’d sent me away. Grandpa wasn’t the robust, cheerful man I’d idolized in my childhood. His eyes didn’t twinkle.

  I wrestled my suitcases up the outside garage steps and wondered what other surprises awaited me. Then the stairs creaked, and someone shone a light into my eyes. The brightness blinded me.

  “Who goes there?” Chuckles followed the question, but the brilliant light remained unwavering.

  “I’ve always wanted to say that,” said a second voice.

  I sheltered my eyes. “It’s been said. Now would you please lower the light? I have permission to live in this garage apartment.”

  “We’ve been expecting you. My pal, Will Tomlinson, is a Sea Side short-timer, and I’m Logan Hernandez, featured reporter for Maine’s finest newspaper. Have you heard of me?”

  “No, I haven’t.” The speaker’s cockiness stoked my annoyance after his spotlighting joke. “I’m Ladessa Nolan, a doggone good CPA for Mullins and Hancock. Have you heard of me?”

  “Ignore Logan and come join us for a slice of pizza. Delivered minutes before you arrived.” That voice, warmer and more personable, must belong to Will Tomlinson.

  Curiosity about the state of my grandparents’ home trumped my good sense. Anyway, this was Sea Side, and perhaps the obnoxious reporter could explain why he inhabited my grandfather’s beautiful house while I bunked in the garage apartment.

  “I am hungry, and pizza sounds great. I’ll be down after I stow my bags.” I flipped the switch, and when the lights blazed, I offered a prayer of thanks for working electricity. I rolled my luggage to the bedroom, brushed my teeth, checked to make sure my eyes weren’t red from crying, and headed to the house I loved.

  The aroma of cheese, pepperoni, sausage, and onions elicited a rumbling from my stomach. I accepted a large slice and noted familiar family furniture in unfamiliar spots. The navy-and-white striped sofa where I’d read Number the Stars and Dear Mr. Henshaw sat against the far wall. In place of the game table where Grandpa and I clashed in chess, Battleship, and Monopoly stood a card table with a computer. A metal bookcase replaced my grandma’s glider, and pictures of our clan on the beach, at cookouts, sailing, and hiking were nonexistent.

  The renowned reporter led the way to the kitchen’s familiar oak trestle table. “Ladessa Nolan, doggone good CPA, what brings you to the little town of Sea Side?”

  “If you’re a good investigator, I’m sure you know.” I regretted my snarky comment when I bit into the pizza and the cheese burned my mouth. The pain served me right for being mean-spirited. “Sorry.”

  Logan’s dancing brown eyes betrayed amusement, not chagrin, and an alertness that told me he might be good at his job.

  Will Tomlinson’s taller, lanky frame reminded me of a scarecrow dancing in the wind, but his nice cheekbones and friendly openness invited trust. His preppy attire of slacks and collared shirt contrasted with Logan’s tight jeans and fitted T-shirt that showed off hard-earned muscles.

  I allowed the pizza to cool. “I shoul
d ask you two that question. Logan, Will, what brings you to a coastal town in autumn?”

  Logan, not the style of reporter who listened more than he talked, answered. “Will is jumpstarting a business development, bringing bigger stores and maybe some cottage industries to Sea Side. He’s lining up backers and fighting city hall to get permits. I’m here to cover local fall festivals in Maine, and I’m chasing a big story on a topic I’m not at liberty to disclose.” He offered a devilish grin.

  “Too important to share with peons?” I instantly lamented my comment and muttered another apology. If I spent much more time around Logan Hernandez, I’d have to put a rubber band on my wrist to pluck each time he annoyed me. I maintained my best behavior through two more slices and chitchat with the interlopers inhabiting my grandfather’s house.

  When Logan offered more pizza, I demurred. “I need sleep. I’m waitressing at Tea by the Sea tomorrow.”

  Demonstrating his good manners, Will rose before I stood. “Logan and I will see you there. Tomorrow is the punkin’-chunkin’ demonstration, and Sea Side will be elbow to elbow with tourists and inquisitive townsfolk.”

  I groaned, dreading my first day as a waitress after ten years. On the bright side though, I wouldn’t have time to worry about my grandfather’s mental state or grieve over the changes in the home where I’d spent happy childhood days.

  CHAPTER 2

  I did a double take when I checked the clock. I’d only waitressed an hour, but my calves ached and my biceps burned from carrying trays laden with enticing goodies to customers and then dirty dishes to the kitchen. Willing the minute hand to move faster, I retreated to the bakery area where Noelle reigned.

  “You made it through the early bird group.” Noelle kneaded dough on a flour-covered island. “The next wave will arrive about nine.”

  “I hope they’re as patient as the first group. I served scones instead of crumpets to three tables by mistake.”

  Noelle gasped. “No! When you can’t remember the order, serve my scrumptious crumpets.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” I pushed the swinging door with my backside while carefully balancing the order for table six. The mix-and-match tables and chairs painted in cheerful yellow, green, pink, and white created an ambiance of shabby chic and happiness. The atmosphere, combined with aromas of baking breads and sweets, elicited smiles from most who entered Tea by the Sea.

  The warmth in the shop came from companionship as much as the ovens in the back. Minutes became hours as customers chitchatted across tables about neighbors, families, and travel plans. The talk reminded me of the sheltering love I’d felt during my Sea Side summers from elementary school until my sophomore year in college—when my sister showed up. I knew I couldn’t allow my sis to shoulder all the blame for stealing my ideal man. I later made my own mistakes in the relationship department. I’d chosen poorly four times. Maybe five, not three, would be the charm.

  This year I’d acted on my New Year resolution to change my loner habits. I joined the singles group at church and took a class about coaching your life to success. Last night I shared pizza with Logan Hernandez and Will Tomlinson, a baby step in independent socializing. Maybe this visit to Sea Side would prove beneficial. The door banging interrupted my musings.

  Cool salty ocean air accompanied a striking red-haired woman who waved an orange T-shirt in her right hand while holding a box tucked against her left side. She stopped at each table to talk, her rapid-fire speech sounding like a jackhammer’s rat-a-tat-tat as she worked her way around the room. The pink sweater flattered her fiery short hair, freckles, and green eyes. When she offered me an orange shirt, I realized how short she was, even with her three-inch heels.

  “I’m Jane Mills. I work with the Chamber of Commerce, and I know you’re Ladessa Nolan, John’s granddaughter. We’re delighted you’ll be helping with the fall festival.”

  Chalk up another surprise for me.

  Jane continued, hardly taking a breath. “We’re gearing up for October events. You may know about Damariscotta, Maine. They do pumpkin smashing and a regatta where contestants paddle pumpkin boats. We hope our town’s experience will rival theirs.”

  I’d never heard of Damariscotta’s festival, but if anyone could organize a bigger and better event, I’d bet my money on this tiny, enthusiastic redhead. I gestured to new customers entering the shop, and she took the hint.

  “Just pull your October shirt over what you’re wearing.”

  Orange is a horrible color for me. I envisioned myself looking sallow and washed out for the whole month, attired in the ghastly shade that promoted Sea Side’s Punkin’-Chunkin’ and other fall festival events.

  Jane addressed the customers. “Folks, the punkin’-chunkin’ demonstration is at three today, right in front of Tea by the Sea. Remind your friends to come watch. We’re also having a pumpkin derby race. You’ll love the events we have planned.”

  The woman’s vitality infected both patrons and employees. When she finally took a breath, employees hustled from the kitchen to claim shirts.

  Jane rummaged through the box. “Georgina purchased two shirts for each of you. I’ll snap a picture of the employees under the Tea by the Sea sign. The shop could use some good publicity to counter the negative press. Come outside. Line up.”

  I stood next to Noelle. “What did Jane mean about negative press?”

  “Gossips have tried to connect murder and death to Tea by the Sea. The shop struggled, but the longtime residents support the business. And then, of course, there’s Harlan Gramford.”

  “Who is Harlan Gramford?”

  Jane admonished us to smile as she photographed the group, then promised Georgina a poster for the window with our picture and a listing of October’s events.

  Noelle led the way inside. “You asked about Harlan Gramford. He owns Happy Days, where my mom and your grandfather live. I think he champions the shop because he loves baked goods. Harlan reminds me of the Pillsbury Doughboy. Short, pale, and puffy. Anyway, he schedules the van to bring the seniors for tea each week. Tea by the Sea is a fixture in the village. The locals want it to survive.”

  “Is that why we’re working here?” This made more sense than Grandpa’s suggestion that I needed spending money or something to do.

  Noelle shrugged. “Might be. My mother nudged me to work here, just like your grandfather encouraged you. Think working will keep us out of trouble?”

  “I’m a changed woman, Noelle. I go to church voluntarily.” I glanced at the front door where several people pressed inside, including Grandpa John.

  “The Happy Days crowd has arrived.” Noelle mouthed, Crumpets, as she retreated.

  I recognized Betty, the activities director, and Mary, Noelle’s mom. I guessed the pudgy, fair-skinned man with Grandpa would be Harlan Gramford. His black-rimmed glasses perched too far forward on his nose, and his double chin attested to too many sweets and too little time in a gym.

  I went over to Grandpa John’s table and kissed his cheek, pleased that his eyes looked brighter today.

  “Ladessa, say hello to Harlan Gramford. He owns Happy Days. He makes certain we have stimulating opportunities. The facility has current event sessions, book clubs, exercise classes, and games. Sometimes we play Clue, Monopoly, or Battleship. Remember the hours we spent playing games?”

  Harlan extended his hand. “We have the best residents in the world. John loves living in our place, although Sharp and I had to persuade him he should move.”

  I massaged Grandpa John’s shoulders. “My grandfather isn’t easily convinced to do anything. We grandkids had to present facts and reasons for any request. Begging, whining, and whimpering never worked.”

  Harlan said, “I think my four-legged pals, Sunrise and Sunset, convinced your grandfather.”

  “His dogs,” Grandpa explained. “They’re powder puff dogs—don’t bother people with allergies.”

  “Bichons. The residents like the dogs more than they like me,” Harlan said
. “My mother suffered from allergies, among other things.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Gramford.” I suggested the crumpets and got several takers.

  The place buzzed with talk about upcoming events and the shirts worn by the staff. I even sold four ugly orange shirts to senior citizens, who were pleased the purchase would support the tea shoppe and Sea Side.

  Grandpa waved me to his table. “Ladessa, come to Happy Days about six, have dinner with me and see the apartment.”

  “I’ll be there.” I wanted to see the furniture, pictures, and mementos he chose to keep.

  My shift ended at three, which meant I could watch the punkin’-chunkin’ event, if I didn’t collapse. I alternated standing on one foot and flexing the other, then bent my knees to alleviate their aching. Another of my resolutions was to drop fifteen pounds, but I’d never established an exercise regimen. Maybe waitressing and riding a bike would remove the unwanted weight.

  I’d just wolfed down a petit four—not a healthy choice—when Logan and Will arrived. As I grabbed menus, I noticed they were not alone. Logan’s arm encircled Jane’s waist, and Will followed Trent Sharp. They took table four in the back corner.

  When I arrived with menus, Logan whispered in Jane’s ear while she beamed. Will’s face looked like a storm cloud ready to burst, and Sharp offered me a sunshiny smile.

  “Ladessa, my offer for a shopping trip still stands. Just name the time.” Sharp placed his nasal spray on the table.

  “I think my wardrobe is set. We employees just received these nifty work shirts.” I glanced toward Jane for a reaction, but Logan held her attention.

  “Uncle Trent, consider your age.” Will glared at the older man.

  “Just being polite.” Sharp turned to me. “I can’t have anything with peanuts.”

  “Everyone knows you can’t have peanuts,” Will said.

  The handsome senior tapped the menu. “What do you recommend, Ladessa?”

  I suggested the spiced orange or the pumpkin crumpets, and Sharp ordered a combination platter for the group. I placed the order, bussed tables, and took my time rolling silver in napkins to avoid going back to table four. Logan and Jane continued their short-distanced conversation while Sharp and Will were nose to nose in what appeared to be an argument.