The Tea Shoppe Mysteries

by Darlene Franklin

  My days melted into a cycle including work, yoga, Grandpa, and choir. I loved the little church with the stone facade and bright red door. The worn wooden floor and pews testified to generations worshipping in the same sanctuary. Some kneeling benches had needlepoint covers, each with a unique design and the stitcher’s name. All the handiwork was impeccable.

  It had been years since I sang in a choir, and harmonizing with others awakened a joy I didn’t realize I’d missed. Reviewing hymns and practicing special music for Sunday service each week in this two-hundred-year-old church fostered both contentment and a yearning for a closer walk with God.

  Life in Sea Side took on a special rhythm as time passed and the temperatures dipped lower. My yoga friends hailed me in the grocery store or Tea by the Sea. Choir members encouraged me to join a weekly Bible study on Sunday afternoons, which I did. Time with Grandpa provided many fascinating stories about his life before he met my grandmother and then snippets of their courtship and early years.

  We developed a system. I opened a box in the garage, tucked all I could in the bike’s basket, and pedaled off to Grandpa’s. I listened to memories about the items then journeyed back to the apartment and documented the stories. This worked until I opened the box labeled CHURCH and discovered why Detective Hardy believed my beloved grandpa wanted Trent Sharp dead.

  CHAPTER 6

  I called Grandpa and canceled our evening in order to explore my own inquiry. I created a computer file and labeled it MONEY TRAIL. Why were three years of church financial books in Grandpa’s possession? Could this be a second set? Mary might know. If Grandpa served as treasurer, he should have transferred the ledgers to the succeeding officer. I started at the beginning. Engrossed in checking each credit and debit, I jumped when the phone rang. Logan’s name popped up, and I swiped to answer.

  “Logan, how are things in Boston?” My neck and shoulders ached from hunching over financial books, so I massaged my tight muscles with one hand while listening to Logan’s report about Sharp’s memorial service.

  “Will and I are staying in Boston another week.”

  “And missing the fun activities in Sea Side? Pumpkin carving is scheduled this weekend, with prizes by age category.”

  “If I don’t enter, then some other adults will have a chance,” Logan said.

  I pictured his teasing expression. “Competition scare you? I carve a mean jack-o’-lantern.”

  “I make friendly ones.” He paused. “Ladessa …”

  “What can I do?” If he wanted a favor, he could’ve called Jane. When I saw either Jane or Logan, a mental image of their flirting ballooned in my head.

  His tone became all business. “Will expected to be Sharp’s beneficiary, but he’s not.”

  “Oh no. He needs funds to keep his dream afloat.”

  Logan sighed. “The project fails without start-up money, and his parents and grandparents refuse to back his venture.”

  “Do you think they should?” I waited for his answer, knowing his response would color my opinion of his character.

  “No. In profile stories I’ve researched, people who have to fight and struggle to attain their dreams are happier and more successful.”

  I remembered the Bible verse about the love of money being the root of all evil. I grabbed a pen and jotted Will’s name with “Fortune expectation,” followed by a question mark. “Did Mr. Sharp change his will recently?”

  “The third week in September, and he died on October 2. The lawyers, yes plural, are tracking down designees. The prior document named Will as recipient. If Sharp’s death had occurred two weeks earlier, Will would be wealthy.”

  Not sure how to respond, I changed the subject. “Since your return will be delayed, should I water your plants, feed the cat?” I teased.

  “Don’t have either, but I could use your help. Also, if you need to get in the house, the key is under the decorative urn next to the porch swing.”

  “Happy to help.” I muffled my excitement, thrilled to have Logan’s blessing to enter Grandpa’s house. Maybe I’d find more financial records connecting Grandpa and the Sea Side church.

  “I’ve unearthed new leads for my blockbuster story about a scheme called ‘lifetime investment living’ complexes. I may need your help following a money trail.”

  “What?” I inhaled too quickly and suffered a coughing fit. “What money?” I finally squeaked.

  “I don’t want to get it wrong, because most retirement homes serve older people with love and care. Unfortunately, I’ve discovered some strange statistics for seniors who select an assisted living complex with a lifetime investment model. Their life span is less than average, and their investment is greater than average. My fear is that older citizens may be in mortal danger in these facilities because of the greedy owners. I can’t print anything until I have a larger sampling to support my premise of money obtained unethically by this scheme. Will you help?”

  “Sure,” I agreed. “I have a nose for numbers.”

  His money investigation had nothing to do with the church financial irregularities, so I breathed easier. The conversation waned. I praised the glorious leaf colors, a visual treat for me since I’d lived in Dallas for the past eight years. Logan reminded me to enjoy lobster rolls, baked beans, and clam chowder. He didn’t ask about the investigation into Sharp’s death, and I didn’t bring it up.

  My spirits soared after a weekend of zaniness in Sea Side. The town selected a pumpkin princess, opened the pumpkin maze, and fielded a contest for Sea Side’s original pumpkin song. I loved Maine in autumn. Fall is the best time in a fiscal year for a CPA to take a vacation, and this respite proved delightful—except for discovering a dead man.

  Grandpa and I developed a sweet rapport as I recorded his memories. We visited the Happy Days physician, who assured me Grandpa was fine, but his officious words didn’t convince me.

  Not content with that doctor’s evaluation, I sought out Noelle the following Monday at work.

  “Will your mom be at yoga tonight? I’d like to ask her opinion about my grandfather’s mental health—and mine.”

  Noelle lifted her hand. “I can help you on the second item. You’re crazy, lady.”

  “I’d prefer a kinder, gentler consultation.”

  “She’ll be there.” Noelle pointed to the dough she was mixing and motioned for me to leave. “Go sell crumpets, Ladessa.”

  When yoga class ended, I fidgeted while waiting for my one-on-one visit with Mary. I was mentally planning my speech when Jane’s comment to someone else snagged my interest.

  “Those DNA kits are a popular item for Christmas. I received one for my birthday, but I’m wary of delving into the past.”

  “I’d do it in a minute,” I said. “I know my parents and grandparents, but I’d like to find a dashing pirate or a member of some royal court in my family line.”

  Jane turned. “What about children who find out they are adopted, or twins who were separated? I think there’s more sadness than joy in chasing down DNA roots.”

  “So you’re not going to do it?” I asked. “You said your dad left before you were born. Would you want to meet him? You might have another family.”

  “My mom loved and cared for me every day. Trying to find a dad who abandoned me would be disloyal to her memory. Why open Pandora’s Box?” Jane tucked her rolled yoga mat under her arm and headed for the exit.

  I knew that if I were in Jane’s shoes, I’d search for my biological father. I’d confront him about leaving. I’d want him to see me as a healthy, happy, successful adult and to regret abandoning me. Those thoughts circled back to my own reluctance to repair the damage with my sister, a consideration I discarded when Mary signaled me.

  “I’m looking for wisdom,” I told her.

  “Ladessa, your heart often knows the answers you seek.” Mary patted a metal folding chair.

  “It’s about my grandfather. The Happy Days doctor says he’s fine, but what do you think? You see him e
very day. Should I encourage him to get a second opinion?”

  “What are you looking for, Doctor Ladessa?”

  I interlocked my fingers and thought. “Well, some days he’s forgetful. I worry that he has dementia or the beginning of Alzheimer’s.”

  “He’s been through a lot.”

  “Mary, you said the same thing when I arrived. Help me understand.”

  “Perhaps his mind is on past events that can’t be changed.” Mary had a faraway look in her eyes as if she meant the statement for herself, not me.

  “Maybe it’s my accounting background, but I like concrete explanations.”

  Mary took my hand. “Even if the facts can’t be erased or altered?”

  “I want to help him.”

  “You are, Ladessa. Your grandpa looks forward to those sessions when he shares stories about the items in the boxes. All grandparents should be granted time with a grandchild. He’s pleased you came. I’d love for Noelle to marry and give me a couple of grandkids to spoil.”

  I debated about bringing up topic two but barreled ahead. “Mary, among Grandpa John’s boxes, I discovered three church ledgers. Why would he have them?”

  Mary dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her yoga top. “Your grandfather is an honorable and loving man, just as my late husband was. The two tried to salvage an unfortunate situation and couldn’t.”

  “Could you explain it to me?”

  Mary’s eyes suddenly gleamed with anger, and she erupted with vehemence. “Trent Sharp killed my husband. He might as well have plunged a knife into that sweet man’s heart. Sharp presented a ‘foolproof’ investment for church funds, which failed. In addition, he blamed my husband, who was dismissed in disgrace from the pastorate he’d served eighteen years. Don’t go there, Ladessa. Nothing good can come of it.”

  Despite Mary’s wise words, I knew I wouldn’t leave the mystery alone.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Grandpa, what are these?” I held the church ledgers that I’d been through line by line.

  He traced the letters on the first cover. “You know what they are, Ladessa.”

  “Why do you have them?” I didn’t enjoy grilling my grandfather, but Mary’s response made me want to clear the names of two innocent men, Grandpa and Mary’s husband.

  “These are duplicates. The church has the originals—the updated originals,” Grandpa said.

  “For the same period?”

  Grandpa stared at the ocean and squinted at the glare of the evening sun reflecting off the water.

  I tried again. “Most businesses keep all their records in one place.”

  “Some errors cropped up. They were fixed,” Grandpa said softly.

  “Did you fix them?”

  “I helped. Mary’s husband, the associate minister, tried to be a good steward. We invested the capital campaign monies in a sure investment and lost the money. I put personal funds into the same venture, bet my house on it. Shows how confident I was.”

  “So you both lost money?”

  “Pastor Rollins and I scratched up enough cash to reimburse the church fund, but news leaked out about our bad decision. The church board requested that Rollins resign. Leaving the church broke his heart. I think it killed him. I don’t think Mary knows the whole story.”

  I decided not to mention what Mary told me and brought up Noelle’s opinion. “Noelle blames Trent Sharp for discrediting her dad. Do you?” I asked.

  “Sharp fed the town gossips news about the imprudent investment.”

  “But wasn’t Sharp on the committee?”

  “Yes. He portrayed himself as an innocent and didn’t contribute a nickel in reimbursement to the church. Sharp blustered about the incompetence Rollins and I displayed in not analyzing potential investments. He insisted the church stewards, meaning me and Rollins, bear the blame and make restitution.”

  “So you lost the house and then forfeited your savings to reimburse church funds. Is everything gone?”

  “Everything. Don’t tell your parents, your aunt, uncle, or anyone. I hoped you could help me with this huge mess, but I’m sure it’s too late.”

  Grandpa’s calling it a “huge mess” understated the problem.

  “Where did you invest the money? I wasn’t able to tell from the disbursements.”

  “Trent Sharp had connections with a venture capital company backing senior apartment complexes like Happy Days. He showed us all the figures. Pastor Rollins and I believed the investment would multiply the money, like the talents in the Bible.” Grandpa’s retelling seemed to shrink him.

  “Then the venture failed?”

  “Company moved its headquarters to the Bahamas and disappeared, along with our church’s money and my personal investment.”

  “And you created two sets of financial records—one that showed the specifics of the disbursements to the bogus company and another that only showed the withdrawals and the reimbursements. The result is the same, Grandpa, whether the funds disappear because of a bad investment or embezzlement.”

  “Not the way I see it. Embezzlement is willful. We placed our trust in the wrong person. The fiasco bankrupted both Rollins and me. I have my pension, but the church revoked Pastor’s retirement allowance. So Mary does hair and nails, plays the piano, anything to bring in a buck, and I don’t have any money to help her.”

  “Does Noelle know what happened?”

  “She knows Sharp fueled the rumors about her father’s lack of integrity. She blames him for the loss of her father’s position and his self-respect. She doesn’t know that Trent was the one who suggested the investment then left her father and me to make up the shortfall in the church coffers.”

  “Oh Grandpa.” I held out my arms, and he allowed me to hold and comfort him.

  “That’s not the end. When I sold my house to replenish the church funds, Trent bought it, turned it into a rental, and shuttled me off to Happy Days. I stay here until my death, with room, board, and medical provided.”

  My smart grandfather didn’t make foolish decisions. I couldn’t imagine him investing money in any stock or company without examining it thoroughly.

  He continued. “I signed so many papers, I was dizzy. Felt like I’d been bilked, but I was too ashamed to call my daughter or son and admit my foolishness. Then I remembered you’re a CPA. My situation is beyond help, but if you can figure out what happened, maybe my misfortune can warn other seniors.”

  I didn’t want to disappoint Grandpa. But was his current situation the result of a conspiracy to fleece elders or just the culmination of bad decisions?

  Somehow, waiting tables increased my self-esteem and made me believe I could help my grandfather. I felt better about myself today than I had two months ago when I labored in a prestigious firm. I wore an orange Punkin’-Chunkin’ shirt and running shoes, not a tailored suit and heels. My clients were friendly regulars or tourists rather than stressed-out company executives. I offered happiness with crumpets and tea, which wouldn’t work with accounting clients organizing detailed records.

  That’s what I needed: records—Sharp’s records. Grandfather said Sharp presented this certain-to-make-money investment. If I connected Sharp to the scheme, then I’d have …

  Then I’d have a motive for Grandpa or Mary to commit murder.

  At Wednesday’s choir practice, I saw Mary and Noelle seated on the front pew. Even from the back, I could tell the mother-daughter exchange was confrontational. Their rigid body postures warned me not to interfere. Of course I did.

  “Evening, Mary, Noelle. Is it cold in here, or is the frosty atmosphere coming from the vibes you two are giving off?”

  Both murmured hellos, and Noelle answered, “Mom’s being stubborn. I want her to leave, to shake Sea Side’s dust off her feet. She can live with me in Boston. I left a thriving business there, and they’ve requested I come back. It would be a clean start for Mom. She can put the past behind her.”

  When Mary turned to me, I felt like a judge, with the
Rollins women each pleading her case. I hoped I wouldn’t have to render a verdict.

  Mary spoke as if Noelle wasn’t an arm’s-length away. “Noelle knows her father is buried in the church graveyard and that I place flowers on his stone every week. She should understand why I don’t want to leave.”

  “And my mother should understand why I do want her to leave. Visiting Daddy’s grave every week is admirable, but it prevents her from starting a new life.”

  I learned things by keeping quiet, so I endeavored to keep my face neutral and my mouth closed.

  Mary turned to me again. “Noelle needs to give up this campaign to get me to leave. She can go back to Boston. I’m happy here, just as I am.”

  This three-way tête-à-tête was becoming weirder and weirder.

  Noelle took her turn. “Ladessa, Mom knows I don’t want to abandon her. She knows a location change will be in her best interest.”

  “Noelle needs to forget about me going to Boston, a big city I don’t know. A young woman needs her space, and so does an old one. Ladessa, you agree with me, don’t you?”

  Both waited for my astute conclusion. I had nothing. “Maybe this is a no-win argument.”

  Noelle and Mary grumbled their agreement, and arriving choir members thwarted any extended analysis. We vocalized before practicing Sunday’s congregational hymns and the choir’s special music. I loved singing in a group. How could anyone be angry with another when all worked together to create harmony?

  The music convinced me not to tell Mary or Noelle what I learned studying the ledgers. I recalled a verse from Ephesians Mary had us memorize as children. “Be ye kind one to another.” In kindness I would say nothing until I had facts I could prove about Sharp’s role in the disgrace of a beloved husband and father.

  We stopped in the tea shoppe after choir practice, where my fellow waitress, an orange-clad Diana, offered us sweets and tea. We chose tea.