Grandpa smiled at the photo of the couple. “They complement each other. They have a good marriage. You should be happy for them.”
Grandpa showed no befuddlement now, so I asked the question nagging me. “Grandpa, why did you invite me here?”
“You’re my favorite grandchild.” Grandpa touched my nose. “But I really need your intuition, practicality, and puzzle skills. Remember that Shakespeare quote about something not being right in the state of Denmark? Well, something isn’t right in Maine, specifically Sea Side, and you’re the one to figure it out. My mind tricks me. Sometimes I see things clearly. Sometimes I don’t.”
His admission offered an entry for my concern. “Let’s visit your family doctor. Maybe your meds need adjustment.”
“I don’t see my old doctor. The Happy Days medical staff cares for us.”
A persistent tapping on the door stayed my response.
Logan jangled his keys. “Sorry to interrupt, but Detective Hardy asked Will to claim his uncle Trent’s body, and Will asked me to go with him.”
Grandpa motioned for me to leave. “Run along, Ladessa. Detective Hardy is a stickler for the rules. His brother was a colleague of mine. Did you know him?”
My heart constricted. Grandpa had conversed so lucidly just moments earlier. “Yes, Grandpa. That brother married my sister.” I slung my pocketbook over my shoulder. “Can you come to town with the Happy Days group tomorrow? We’ll go to the garage apartment, unpack a few boxes, and see what we find. I’ll cook dinner.”
“Why don’t I cook?” He searched the bookcase. “Where are my cookbooks?”
“We’ll look for them tomorrow. Don’t forget.” I kissed his cheek.
Logan shook Grandpa’s hand. “I’ll see she gets home safely, sir.”
Before Logan eased the car from the parking space, he began interrogating me. “What is your grandfather looking for?”
“Cookbooks and other things.” I faced him. “What did you learn?”
We sparred for information until Logan said, “I’m interested in your grandfather’s relationship with Trent Sharp.”
I reciprocated. “Sharp insisted on a sudden sale and property transfer. The man serves as one piece in my grandfather’s upheaval. My puzzle-solving skills impressed Grandpa when I was a kid, and he wants me to employ them again.”
Logan stopped by Will’s car. “I’m a puzzle master. We should work together.”
“Sure you wouldn’t take all the credit?”
Logan rubbed his chin and asked in a playful tone, “If I do the majority of the work, shouldn’t I take the majority of the credit?”
“Then I think I’ll work alone,” I answered in an out-of-practice flirtatious manner.
When we arrived, Will and Noelle descended the steps from Grandpa’s wraparound porch. I cringed, mentally correcting myself. The beautiful blue two-story trimmed in white served as Logan’s rental house, not Grandpa’s home.
“Sorry to disturb your evening, Logan, Ladessa.” Will chewed on his lip. “I don’t want to go to the morgue alone. Noelle offered, but no lady should see a dead body.”
“And you had no trouble asking me?” Logan teased.
“You’re the strong, manly type. I knew going to a morgue wouldn’t bother you.” Will’s kidding didn’t fool me or anyone else. He was anxious, uncomfortable, and scared.
“Do you have an appointment?” Logan asked.
“Eight thirty,” Will said.
Noelle grasped Will’s hand. “Ladessa and I will go with you. We’ll wait in the car. We can get coffee after.” Noelle turned to me for confirmation.
I nodded, happy she suggested waiting in the car. I’d been in the same room with Sharp’s corpse longer than I’d wanted.
Our wait in the car for Will’s official identification took less time than the drive to the morgue. Both men showed somber faces as they walked across the parking area.
Logan spoke. “The doctor says the death was anaphylactic shock, a horrible way to die, but fairly quick. He wouldn’t have been able to breathe. It happened while we watched the punkin’-chunkin’ exhibition.” Logan’s words trailed off as he fastened his seat belt. “Is the pancake place on Fir Trail okay for coffee?”
Will blew out a long breath. “My uncle always carried an EpiPen because of his peanut allergy. Why didn’t he use it? My grandparents are arranging the cremation and memorial service. Glad they’re doing it, because I wouldn’t know where to start.”
Noelle touched Will’s shoulder. “When Dad died last year, I went through the grief stages of denial, anger, and depression while Mom handled the funeral and estate details. I was useless when she needed me. I returned to Sea Side to make up for failing her during that time.”
“I don’t know much about your uncle. Would you like to talk about him?” I felt it was a lame suggestion, but Will responded.
“Uncle Trent was my mom’s only sibling, and they weren’t close. My grandparents give …” Will paused. “I should say they gave Uncle Trent an allowance every month, and he was over fifty years old. The man had plenty of money from all his endeavors, yet they gave him a monthly stipend, which he banked.”
“Did your grandparents give your mom an equivalent allowance?”
“She refused it. My parents have plenty, and Mom wasn’t close to her little brother. Trent flitted from school to school growing up. My grandparents would arrange admittance, but he’d mess up, and they’d find somewhere else. They stopped educating him and created jobs for him in their philanthropic endeavors. He reveled in the galas and the big events, but routine administration bored him. He always had a get-rich-quick scheme going, which usually worked.”
Logan edged his RAV4 into a front-row parking spot. “Not too many people eating pancakes tonight, no nosy eavesdroppers.”
After our drinks arrived, Will circled his spoon in his coffee until the dark liquid sloshed out on the saucer. “My parents think I’m like my uncle. Maybe I am. It’s hard to measure up in a type A family that socked away millions. My mother resented her brother mooching off their parents, so she and Dad adopted a tough-love policy for me. I’m to receive none of the family money until I’m forty. Forty! They want me to earn my own way. In one way, I am like my uncle Trent, I guess. I never met family expectations.”
Noelle stopped him. “Don’t sell yourself short. You handled this land development deal by yourself.”
I listened without contributing. I remembered Mary’s comment earlier about how talkative people could be, and I was learning a lot about Trent Sharp. My fingers itched for pen and paper to jot down salient points.
“Will has faced a setback, Noelle,” Logan said.
“More than one,” Will added. “Jane Mills has it in for me. She blocks my every suggestion with the city council. I can’t get the permits or zoning changes. At breakfast Uncle Trent told me my building requests had been bumped again, but he knew whose palms needed to be greased.”
“Will, you wouldn’t do anything illegal.” Noelle gazed at Will, who squirmed.
“Noelle, small gifts or favors are considered business expenses.”
“Can you get the project funded without giving gifts? Greasing palms sounds like bribery,” Noelle said.
“Uncle Trent promised seed money for the project.” Will gave us a wry smile. “Actually, my uncle may contribute a sizable investment. I expect to be his beneficiary. He has no one else. The family can’t withhold proceeds from a death.”
“Whoa!” The exclamation escaped my lips before I realized I’d said the word aloud.
Noelle and Will hadn’t heard me, but Logan mouthed, Whoa, which made me snicker, and I spilled my coffee.
Will’s comment whooshed me to the tea shoppe and the medical man’s comment that Sharp’s death didn’t feel right. Would Will resort to murder to fund his pet project and to gain access to the family money he considered his birthright?
CHAPTER 5
Logan agreed to go with Will to Boston
for Trent Sharp’s memorial service. I wasn’t surprised, because he’d shared stories about his own family’s closeness and proved himself observant, kind, and considerate. I didn’t link the adjectives kind and considerate with investigative reporters, but I decided Logan might be the exception. And his absence permitted me to continue sleuthing.
As a waitress, I overheard many conversations about the recently deceased. People ignored my presence just as they did the squawking seagulls and the roaring ocean. I jotted notes on my phone between taking and delivering orders and perused them at day’s end.
After four days, I surmised Sharp enjoyed the ladies—of all ages. He fawned over established Sea Side women, aka women over sixty. He sought companionship with eligible Sea Side women, aka women from eighteen to sixty. He teased younger girls, aka any female under eighteen.
I also discovered he liked himself as much as the ladies. He had standing appointments for manicures, massages, tanning, and hairstyling—not haircutting. A beautician at table three explained the distinction between cutting and styling to her companion and confided that Sharp didn’t tip well, expecting his charm to suffice.
“Ladessa.” Noelle spoke loudly.
I poked my phone back in my pocket. “What? Do I have an order up?”
“No. I asked you twice if you wanted to join my yoga class and our church choir, but you were in another world.”
“When do they meet? I’m going through boxes with Grandpa on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He’s answering questions so I can document his memories for the family.”
Noelle nodded. “Perfect. Both are at the church from six thirty to seven thirty. Yoga is on Mondays, choir on Wednesdays. Don’t bother saying you can’t sing. You hum old show tunes all the time. Want me to pick you up for yoga tonight?”
“No, I’ll walk or ride the bike. I’m not getting on a scale until November, but if I’m not losing weight, I’m getting fitter. A CPA does more sitting than walking, and I’m discovering muscles I never knew I had.”
“You’ll love yoga. Uh-oh. Our friendly law enforcement officer is here. I’ll get his favorite crumpet, and Ladessa, he prefers the house blend tea with cream.”
Before Detective Hardy settled into his chair, I served his tea and crumpet.
“I’ve got more questions for you. Come by the station after you get off work.” He didn’t say please or ask if the time was convenient. He acknowledged my agreement before continuing. “I wanted Mr. Sharp’s death to be accidental, but you don’t always get what you wish for, do you?”
Did his offhand remark refer to Sharp’s death being a murder, or to the whirlwind marriage of my sister to his brother, which broke my heart? I scurried off to serve other customers. My previous investigating involved determining the dead man’s character, a morbid curiosity about someone I barely knew. Now the detective implied Sharp’s death was murder.
One thought led to another. Was I a suspect?
At the police station, Detective Hardy placed me in what my TV crime shows called the interrogation room. I tried to relax, knowing the mirror allowed others to view the suspect from the hallway.
After a suitable wait time, Devin Hardy strode in and threw a file on the table. “Ladessa, you found the body, secured the scene, and called 911?”
I muffled a nervous giggle. “Yes.”
“Describe exactly what you did, and don’t leave out anything.” Detective Hardy leaned back as if getting comfortable for a lengthy stay.
I repeated what I’d reported to him when he first arrived at the tea shoppe.
“Did you check Sharp’s pockets?”
“No,” I said. “Why would I?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you felt he owed you a tip. He was not a generous tipper. Or maybe you removed the peanut-tainted scone from the table.”
“He didn’t have scones. He had crumpets.”
“Don’t joke about a police investigation.” Detective Hardy scowled.
“I wasn’t joking. I thought you were trying to trip me up.”
“Why would I?” He leaned across the table, his face now inches from mine.
“I don’t know. Maybe you don’t have any suspects, so you’re focusing on the person who found the body, me.”
“We have a long list of suspects, including you. Isn’t it strange that Sharp drops dead at your table the day after you arrive in Sea Side?”
“But I had no motive. I only met him once.”
The detective crossed his arms. “You love your grandfather, don’t you?”
“Yes. Do you love your grandfather, Devin?” I bit my tongue. I shouldn’t throw out sarcastic comments, especially in an interrogation room.
“My grandfather is not a suspect, Ladessa. Yours is.”
“You can’t be serious! My grandfather would never hurt anyone.”
Hardy stood and looked down at me. “Don’t leave town. We’ll talk again.”
“Is that it?”
“For now.” The detective held the door.
My mandatory interrogation was a ruse. Detective Hardy brought me in to gauge my responses. Despite the law officer’s hokey bluster, my rubbery knees barely supported me as I left the building. I walked the bike to the apartment. I didn’t trust my balance.
When I arrived for yoga class, several women sat cross-legged, chatting. Noelle waved a magenta mat in my direction. Even in loose-fitting pants, she exuded grace and composure. If this class earned me Noelle’s carriage and presence, I’d endure the aches and pains.
Noelle instructed us in mindful quieting, urged us to listen to our bodies and ignore our classmates. I couldn’t obey. I peeked at ladies in front, who did not suffer the wobbles. Jane Mills, the petite redheaded dynamo, did downward-facing dog and tree poses like a master. Betty Boyd, Mary Rollins, and I might have been mistaken for the Three Stooges, but then no one gawked at the exercisers except me.
At the end, Noelle praised us for making time to care for our bodies and lowered the lights. Then she guided us through corpse pose, a deep relaxation technique. Within minutes, Betty Boyd’s sonorous snoring echoed off the basement walls.
Subdued talk emanated after class, and Noelle invited Jane, Betty, and me to her apartment for cucumbers, hummus, and protein shakes to celebrate Jane’s birthday. Her offer sounded great—except for the cucumbers, hummus, and protein shakes.
While pretending to sip my thick green drink, I zeroed in on Jane Mills. She’d sat at the table with Sharp on the day he died, which garnered her top billing on my suspect list.
“Jane, how did you end up in Sea Side?” I hoped her relocation did not involve handsome reporter Logan Hernandez.
“Trent Sharp,” Jane said. “I wanted to get to know him.”
Betty, sitting on the sofa, leaned forward to stick her nose in the conversation of the floor-sitters. “But you didn’t like Trent, Jane.”
“I didn’t. My mother worked for him in Boston, but when she became pregnant with me, Sharp dismissed her.” Jane dipped a cucumber slice in the hummus.
“But that’s illegal,” I sputtered.
“I know. My mother was not the confrontational type. Sharp liked attractive secretaries, not waddling pregnant ones, so he ousted her. Mom managed—she was tough. Breast cancer took her two years ago, and the medical expenses gobbled up her savings and mine.”
I remembered Betty had been Sharp’s office manager and glanced her way, but she appeared to have lost interest in our conversation.
“I’m sorry about your mom, Jane. Is your dad still alive?” This was turning out like a college all-nighter with facts flowing, only we drank protein shakes, not alcohol.
“I never knew my dad. Mom said he left when he found out she was pregnant.”
“How heartbreaking. Your mom lost her job, and your father ducked out on her?”
Jane bobbed her head. “Noelle, this dip is amazing. Ladessa, don’t feel sorry for me. I had a super childhood. Mom showered me with love.”
My mind leapfrogg
ed from one topic to another. Jane Mills had a motive for bumping off Sharp—her mother’s unjust treatment at his hands. “Did your mom get her job back after you were born?”
“No. I was a sickly baby and needed constant care. I also needed operations to fix my eyes. Mom begged Sharp for her job, but he refused. She told me that he feigned sympathy and presented her with a termination settlement, which didn’t come from him but from a trust account. It was the Sharp family who offered a lump sum. My mom accepted, and my eyes were fixed.”
I bumped Betty’s leg with my shoulder, looking up at where she sat on the couch. “Betty, could you have known Jane’s mom?”
“No, how could I? Jane and I are close to the same age.” Betty kept her eyes closed, head resting on the sofa’s back.
I raised my eyebrows and looked at the others, who fought to stifle laughter. Betty had to be at least twenty-five years older than Jane.
Noelle did a few neck rolls then turned to Jane. “Your story explains why you might not like Sharp, but why don’t you like Will?”
“Same family, same values,” Jane said.
My yoga instructor reminded me of a cat ready to pounce. “That’s unfair. Are you creating stumbling blocks for Will’s development because of his family?”
“Noelle, I’m against Will’s development because I believe such an enterprise would destroy Sea Side’s charm. Tourists flock here to experience rustic and rural magic. That project would decrease, not accelerate, this town’s growth.” Jane crossed her arms.
Noelle stood. “Then we have differing opinions.”
“About the development, we do. About yoga, we’re aligned. I should go.” Jane rose from sitting on the floor to standing in one clean motion.
“Me too.” I struggled to get up, steadying myself with one hand on the small table and the other on the couch. “We’ll have those crumpet-hungry New Englanders waiting for us before the birds start singing.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” Noelle said. “Mom, are you and Betty ready to go back to Happy Days?”
I gleaned information this evening and survived yoga and a protein shake. Life was good.
The Tea Shoppe Mysteries Page 30
