The Tea Shoppe Mysteries

by Darlene Franklin

  CHAPTER 11

  Rain and overcast skies dampened the yoga participants’ spirits, but after Noelle led us through the poses, we relaxed and remained on our mats, chatting.

  Jane’s popular ventures to promote Sea Side’s tourism produced fruitful results, with local businesses showing substantial increases over the previous year. She blathered on about November and December plans. Even though she’d mentioned my weight in Logan’s presence, which ticked me off, I found her effervescent attitude irresistible. Both her employment and mine would terminate before Christmas, and I’d miss her.

  My customers reported that the malaise at Happy Days continued as residents mourned the loss of Betty and her efficiency and direction.

  “Noelle, why don’t you apply for Betty’s position? You’re organized, caring, and you like telling people what to do.” I winked to assure her the last part was a joke.

  Mary reached for her daughter’s arm. “Honey, that’s a wonderful idea. You wouldn’t have to go back to Boston, and Ladessa is right. You’d be perfect.”

  Noelle gave a slight nod. “I might. Will is meeting with Harlan about Sharp’s position. He could handle publicity and presentations to attract new residents for Happy Days.”

  “Does anyone think it’s unusual for Betty to be cremated so quickly?” My new topic didn’t stimulate much interest.

  Jane shook her head. “I think cremations are done quickly because you don’t embalm the body. At least that’s what I’ve heard. I haven’t made funeral plans, but I’ll either donate my body to a medical school or request cremation.”

  “I could never do that,” Mary said.

  “Since breast cancer took my mother, perhaps my body holds information that would help researchers.” Jane rolled up her mat. “I had an interesting call today from the DNA website where I submitted my sample. They’re asking for a more detailed test. They’ve found a possible match for a close male relative. I wonder if the man could be my father.”

  “Would you meet him?” I asked.

  Jane inhaled. “I don’t know. I’m curious, but I still feel connecting with him would be disloyal to my mother. I haven’t even decided whether or not to do the test they requested.”

  I recalled Logan’s comment about Trent’s love child named as the estate’s recipient. Could that child be Jane? One glance at Noelle told me our thoughts ran parallel.

  Noelle turned to Mary. “Mom, we need to call it a night. I have to return the key to the church office before eight.”

  “When you take me home, Noelle, ask for the activities director’s application,” Mary said.

  I held the basement door, and Noelle switched off the lights. “I agree with your mom,” I said. “You should apply.”

  “I will,” Noelle said. “It seems Trent Sharp is trying to ruin another person’s life from beyond the grave. His crazy disbursements ruined Will’s life. What if Jane is the heir? If she gets the money Will thought would come to him … Well, I don’t know how he’d react.”

  Logan flashed the porch lights when I parked. I appreciated him allowing Grandpa to stay in the house. The two men had developed a compatible relationship, and Grandpa no longer called me at work. I hurried across the path with my laptop and tapped on the door.

  “Come on in.” Logan’s rich voice sounded as good as the chocolate aroma permeating the house smelled. He lifted a bowl with vanilla ice cream peeking over the rim. “Double chocolate brownies fresh from the oven. Help yourself.”

  “No. I just finished a yoga class.”

  Logan waved a full spoon toward me. “One bite?”

  I scarfed it up before he could change his mind. “Delicious.”

  “Your grandpa made them. He adds cinnamon and walnuts. And, before you ask, he’s fine.”

  Grandpa looked up. “Have you seen this Ken Burns special on country music?”

  “I haven’t. Is it good?” I placed my hand on Grandpa’s shoulder. “Want me to take your empty bowl to the kitchen?”

  Grandpa nodded. “Have you seen this show on country music?”

  “No, I haven’t.” Was my grandfather aware he’d repeated himself? I took his bowl to the kitchen then squeezed into the space between the two men on the sofa.

  Logan leaned and whispered in my ear. “I think you should have his medications analyzed. I have a friend in a Boston laboratory who can do it.”

  I grimaced. “I’m still searching for Grandpa’s medical records. I’d like to compare the meds he received before he moved to Happy Days with the ones he’s getting now. His scripts are currently filled by the on-site pharmacy.” I stole a glance at Grandpa. “I think getting those checked is a good idea. Let me know what it costs.”

  “I can put it on my expense account. The prescription thing might be a sidebar for my story.”

  “When are you going to tell me about your hot story research?” I admired Logan’s physique, which distracted my concentration. Even his winter sweaters fit snugly, showing off his muscular upper body.

  “When you tell me about your murder investigation.”

  “Murders, plural. I think someone killed Betty too. I’m putting together my suspects and motives.”

  “Are you working with Detective Hardy?”

  “No. He’s convinced Betty killed Sharp and then suffered a heart attack. Two deaths tied up with a pretty ribbon.”

  “I thought the detective might want to keep the case open so he could consult you.”

  “Consult me? What are you talking about?” I scooted farther from Logan and bumped Grandpa, disrupting his TV watching.

  “Gossip travels fast in a small town. I hear he’s a tea shoppe regular, but I’m not insecure. The lawman is a handsome guy, but not as good-looking as I am.” Logan’s banter was light and funny. He didn’t exude braggadocio, but spoke the truth. Logan Hernandez was one fine-looking man, and I felt as if he had some heavy-duty magnet pulling me toward him.

  “The detective is practically family. His brother married my sister.” I pointed to my laptop.

  “Oooh.” Logan drew out the sound. “I’ll clean up the kitchen and let you work.”

  With Grandpa zoned in on the story about country music’s legendary Carter family, I opened a spreadsheet on my laptop labeled MURDER SUSPECTS. I deleted the word MURDER then deleted the word SUSPECTS and retitled the column SEA SIDE FRIENDS. Unfortunately, all the murder suspects were friends. I listed the deceased Betty Boyd first. Technically, she ranked as a candidate for Sharp’s murder. My headings also included RELATIONSHIP TO SHARP, MOTIVE FOR MURDER, OPPORTUNITY, and MEANS. Then I set up a page for Betty’s murder with the same headings. Were there two villains or one?

  Engrossed in my list, I didn’t notice Logan until he sniffed ostentatiously.

  “Your hair smells great. Is that a hint of pear? What product do you use?”

  “Really? You’re asking about hair products? You’re spying, trying to look at my suspect page.”

  Logan feigned hurt. “I told you about my six sisters. I was their judge for shampoos, lotions, and perfumes. The same soaps or body wash smelled different on each one. I have a good nose.”

  “You also bragged about your nose for news. Is that why you peeped at my spreadsheet?”

  “Ladessa, we should work together.”

  “We’re working on two different things. You’re researching Maine fall festivals and senior living facilities. I want to find Trent’s and Betty’s murderers.”

  I slanted the laptop’s cover, curious if Logan noticed his name on the list.

  “I’m a suspect? If you plan to strap me down and grill me, you should do it soon. I have another lead to chase.” He gave me that melt-your-heart grin. “Do you think your grandfather can manage while you’re working?”

  “I guess we’ll find out. Thanks for letting him stay here.”

  My grandfather’s rapt attention to the screen seemed to make him oblivious to the discussion between Logan and me.

  “Perhaps he
should go back to Happy Days,” Logan said. “You could ask Noelle’s mom to keep an eye on him.”

  Logan’s practical solution made sense, but the idea raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

  “When do you leave?”

  He ran his fingers up and down my arm. “Thursday. I need to go, but I wanted to give you a heads-up.”

  His consideration earned him more points on the likability meter. I hoped he wouldn’t break my heart. My past assessment of men and their motives was less than stellar. My first love dropped me for my sister. My next romantic disaster involved a man I met at college who charmed me until I discovered he lied about attending college, where he lived, his age, and his recreational hobbies. The following calamity involved a CPA I met on a company retreat then found out he already had a wife. My last love, a church friend, chose seminary over our relationship. Should I trust my feelings for Logan?

  I placed my hands over his. Logan might be a deceiver, a liar, a married man, or committed to his career, but right now I needed the kindness and practical advice he offered. “You’re right. I’ll talk to Gramford tomorrow.”

  Logan cradled my head in his hands and then bent to kiss my forehead. Surely this gentle and considerate person wasn’t a murderer.

  The country music credits ran, and Grandpa turned to me. “Great show. I love those Ken Burns specials. Ladessa, did you see the one about baseball?”

  “I think I missed it.”

  “Honey, if you want me to go back to Happy Days, I will.” Grandpa had heard our conversation.

  “You said you didn’t feel safe there. What changed your mind?”

  “I don’t want you to worry about me. Adults worry about their children and grandchildren, not the other way around.”

  Logan patted Grandpa’s shoulder. “No need to rush, Mr. Nolan. I’m not leaving for a few days. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you and hearing stories about Ladessa.”

  I wondered what stories Logan had heard about me but instead addressed Grandpa’s return to Happy Days. “Grandpa, your group visits the tea shoppe tomorrow. I’ll tell Harlan to expect you.”

  Grandpa looked from Logan to me. “I’m like a body being spirited away from the crime scene, except I’m still alive.”

  I didn’t like that image, and I prayed this decision was the right one.

  After saying good night, I went to my apartment, reopened my spreadsheet, and studied the suspects for Sharp’s murder. Betty Boyd, Noelle Rollins, Mary Rollins, Jane Mills, Logan Hernandez, Grandpa John, Will Tomlinson, and Harlan Gramford. Only Logan lacked a motive—that I knew about. All the others had a motive, an opportunity, and the means to kill him. Sharp’s peanut allergy was common knowledge. Any person could have tampered with the spray. Then Sharp administered the fatal dose to himself when he sniffed to clear his allergies.

  I closed my eyes and went back to the horrific day I discovered the body. What was I missing?

  CHAPTER 12

  October screamed toward November with a rolling thunderstorm and a drenching rain, which transformed into sleet. We had no Halloween trick-or-treaters, so Grandpa watched another television special while Logan and I compiled his medical history. I selected samples of prescriptions my grandfather used and bagged them for analysis.

  I’d confirmed his return with Harlan, who asked no questions about Grandpa’s vacation with family. That was a relief as I’m not good at lies, and Grandpa might not remember.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I tried to sound cheerful.

  “I’ll walk you across the lawn and up your stairs. The steps might be icy.” Logan buttoned my coat, tightened the hood around my face, and kissed my nose.

  I liked his sheltering arm around my shoulder as we plodded toward the garage, our faces turned down, avoiding the pelting ice. He waited until I produced a flashlight, in case the power went out.

  “You could sleep in the house,” Logan said. “It’s a miserable night.” He stood on the small entry rug, jacket dripping.

  “No, I don’t want to go back out in the weather, and my alarm rings at five thirty, which might be too early for you.”

  “I’ll call you with the drug results.” Logan didn’t open the door.

  “Knowing the truth about that will give me peace. I prefer to blame Grandpa’s forgetfulness on something other than aging.” I returned to where Logan stood, touched his cheek, and lifted my face in invitation.

  When his lips touched mine, lightning followed by a thunderous boom caused us both to jump.

  I giggled. “Wow! That was some kiss.”

  “Should we see if it happens again?” Logan kissed me a second time, a lingering, tender kiss, unaccompanied by bright light or noise.

  Despite the icy designs on the window the next morning, I felt like warm sunshine surrounded me. We were now in November, which meant no more October Punkin’-Chunkin’ shirts. I pulled on a yellow polo, much better suited to my coloring. The festivities Jane had arranged for the past month brought cash into the local businesses and tourists to Sea Side, as well as fostering goodwill in the community, but I happily dispensed with October’s ugly orange uniform.

  I shucked off my heavy coat and headed to the kitchen, which smelled of pastries and a symphony of flavored teas.

  Noelle handed me a steaming mug. “Coffee, don’t tell.”

  “Umm. Thanks. Are your crumpets ready yet?” We had eight minutes to chat before the hour.

  “I’ve mastered the timing. They’ll be ready when the front door opens.”

  “Grandpa’s returning to Happy Days tonight.” I swilled down a big gulp to ensure I didn’t add details.

  “Mom missed him. She says the residents are in different grief stages.” Noelle leaned against the counter. “I didn’t know either Sharp or Betty very well, but even I’m sad. Maybe it’s Sea Side’s small-town atmosphere, where everyone bonds.”

  I eyed the clock. “Did Will apply for Sharp’s position at Happy Days?”

  “He did, and I have an interview for Betty’s position this afternoon. Will and I think it’s a bit creepy that we’re both applying for dead people’s jobs.”

  Incessant knocking indicated someone wanted inside before the big hand pointed straight up.

  I peered around the corner. “It’s Jane. I’ll let her in.”

  When I turned the key, Jane squeezed inside with four stacked boxes.

  “I have new shirts for the employees.” Jane reminded me of a birthday cake candle as her fiery red hair topped an all blue outfit.

  When she lifted the lid, my heart sank. No beautiful russet, dark green, burgundy, or apple-red Thanksgiving shirt colors. These were the same horrid orange as October’s shirts. The front lettering said THANKFUL TO BE IN SEA SIDE, MAINE, and the shop’s name and logo showed on the back. Surely December would be red, green, or white.

  Jane, bubblier than usual, passed shirts to employees. “Oh Ladessa, I have the most amazing news. Remember the DNA place that wanted additional testing? They confirmed a match, but the man is dead. I’m going to be wealthy!”

  Noelle emerged from the kitchen. “Don’t forget your friends.”

  Jane’s enthusiasm waned as she spied Noelle. “Oh, you may not be happy, Noelle. Trent Sharp was my biological father. It’s his estate I’m receiving.”

  “Really?” Noelle couldn’t mask the sarcasm in her voice.

  “The estate lawyer said Trent specified amounts for people he’d wronged, and I get the rest.”

  “Do you know if Will, his only nephew, got anything?” Noelle’s crossed arms told me she fought to curb her temper.

  “Why should he? Will’s family has money, so he’ll be fine. My mother deserved this windfall. I’m sorry she can’t enjoy it, but I’ll take every penny that scoundrel bequeathed.” Jane’s exuberance and happiness seemed to devastate Noelle.

  I moved between the two women. “Jane, you despised Trent Sharp because he treated your mother unfairly, yet you’re willing to accept the money.”


  Jane bobbed her head, accenting her wavy red hair. “I am. This is Sharp’s guilt money, and I’ll delight in spending every penny.”

  “Jane, did you know Trent Sharp was your father before hearing the results of the test?” I asked.

  “The thought crossed my mind,” Jane admitted.

  That comment moved Jane up to my number one suspect slot. “Did you know Sharp planned in his will to right the wrongs he’d done?” I persisted.

  “Rumors aren’t facts. You’re a CPA. You should know that.” Jane did a finger-roll wave and headed for the front door. “I have a whole new life ahead.”

  Noelle’s face looked as turbulent as last night’s thunderstorm. “How can she be happy about snatching Will’s inheritance? Will needed that money. He counted on it.”

  I kept my mouth shut. I feared anything I said would feed Noelle’s rage and resentment. I slipped the orange November shirt over my head and offered one to Noelle.

  “I’m not wearing that thing!” She flung the shirt on the counter and stalked to the kitchen.

  After work I picked up Grandpa and we went to The Old Mill Inn, a restaurant Logan recommended. A harpist serenaded us as we enjoyed a lobster dinner in a room with a cheerful fire. As we concluded our meal with lemon sorbet and coffee, I decided to address the return to his apartment.

  “Grandpa, will you be okay at Happy Days?”

  “Yes. I’ve been concerned about Mary. I need to keep a watchful eye on things.”

  “What things?” Tonight his conversation had been lucid, and I wanted to understand his comment.

  “Gramford, Sharp, and Betty ran Happy Days, and only Gramford’s left.”

  “Yes.” Where would this conversation lead?

  “Mary Rollins should run Happy Days.” Grandpa added more sugar to his coffee.

  “Is that what she wants?” I asked.

  “She knows the people better than Sharp or Betty ever did.” He patted his lips with a napkin. “We must tell Logan about this restaurant.”

  I rephrased the question he hadn’t answered. “Does Mary want to be in charge?”