The Diva Serves High Tea

by Krista Davis

“Do you cost a lot of money?” He pulled a few wrinkled dollar bills from his pocket.

  “Kevin, I don’t charge anything—”

  He interrupted. “I can afford that. Then you’ll do it? You’ll help me?”

  I couldn’t help him, of course. And he would think I was a traitor when he found out that his mother said his father’s name to me when she was dying. Why hadn’t she said Kevin? Then I could tell him how much she loved him. I could do that anyway, I supposed.

  He focused on his drink, trying to catch melting marshmallows with his tongue.

  I desperately wanted to help Kevin. He clearly loved his father and being raised by his dad was probably his best shot at normalcy. On the other hand, if his dad really killed Elise, he was a dangerous man.

  But something else was bothering me. I’d been okay with Wolf’s take on Elise’s murder. Certainly Rosey was up to his ears in trouble. But it was peculiar that both Elise and Robert had said the same thing to me. The odds of anyone saying Rosey as a final word were pretty slim.

  And then it hit me. Two people had trusted me with their last breath. They were on the verge of death but they had rallied enough strength to say one word before they left this world. And they had said it to me. Didn’t that create some obligation on my part to be sure we knew what they were trying to say? Especially Robert. Between Wolf and Alex, the mystery of Elise’s murder would surely be solved. I glanced at Kevin. Unless, of course, it wasn’t Rosey who killed her. For Kevin’s sake, I really hoped that was the case. Why had they said Rosey, or Rosie, or Rosy?

  “So? Will you help my dad?” Kevin wore a whipped cream mustache and licked his fingers.

  Once again, I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t want to create false hope. I couldn’t make promises. “I’ll make a deal with you. If you stop running off, I’ll see what I can find out.”

  “Really? Yippee!”

  “Don’t get too excited. Kevin, sometimes these things don’t turn out the way we wish they would.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Well now I’d done it! I couldn’t exactly say maybe your dad really did kill your mom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Dear Sophie,

  The last time my mother-in-law came to visit from China, she said I wasn’t making her Pu-erh tea correctly. It’s obnoxious to have to pry the old compacted leaves loose in the first place, but I did it. Then I put them in a tea ball and steeped them. Do you have any idea where I went wrong? I’d like to get it right this time.

  —Inept Daughter-in-Law in Chinatown, Washington, DC

  Dear Inept Daughter-in-Law,

  Pu-erh ferments in a tightly compressed cake or brick. You use a Pu-erh knife or a tea pick to make three holes in the cake or brick to break off a piece. Instead of using loose leaves, you steep a still-compacted chunk of the tea. Each layer is thought to infuse the tea with its own flavors. Leaves that fall off are discarded. You were making the tea with the parts normally discarded.

  —Sophie

  “Honey, I mean that sometimes we wish we didn’t know the truth because it’s not what we hoped for.”

  He was mulling that over when Alex appeared at the kitchen door. He opened it and gave Kevin a stern look. “I have a bone to pick with you, young man. Why do you keep running away?”

  Kevin didn’t appear to be the least bit distressed. In a most logical tone, he said, “I had to talk to Sophie, and I didn’t have her number.”

  Alex blinked hard and looked at me. I did my level best not to smile or laugh. “Maybe I should give you my number.”

  I fetched a pad of paper and wrote it down for him.

  Kevin emptied the last of his cocoa. He folded the paper neatly and tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks for the stiff drink, Sophie.”

  Alex’s eyes opened wide. He looked at me, his expression incredulous.

  Kevin walked by him, looked up and said, “I needed that.”

  Alex followed him out the door. I closed it behind them, imagining the interesting conversation they would be having on the way back to the hotel.

  I changed into a skirt, nothing terribly fancy, just an A-line in a camel color. It seemed more appropriate for The Parlour. I topped it with a sleeveless dark red mock turtleneck that matched a cardigan in all the glorious colors of fall leaves.

  Once again I walked along the brick sidewalk, glad I’d worn a sweater. The days were definitely getting cooler. At The Parlour, Velma greeted me at the door and quickly ushered me to a love seat grouping at a window. Nina and Francie were already seated.

  I greeted them and as I sat down in a comfortable French-style armchair, Francie said, “We’re trying to seat everyone near the windows so passersby will think it’s busy in here.”

  I gazed around the room. It was mostly empty. I had a great view of the ugly face on the sideboard that no one had wanted. Martha had done her best with it by placing identical thin candlestick-type lamps on each end. A stunning elaborate silver tea and coffee set took center stage, drawing the eye away from the evil face. If it hadn’t been for the horrible carving in the middle, it would have been a lovely piece of furniture.

  Hunter enjoyed a window seat all to himself. He was the picture of modern contentment with his laptop open and a Spode Woodland teacup. Nicely masculine, it bore brown sketchings of flowers around the top and featured what I thought was probably a quail.

  He worried me a little, though. I considered calling him Ed or Eddie to see how he would react.

  I recognized two of Velma and Francie’s friends at the next window. They had called in everyone they could.

  Our table had been set with blue-and-white china. Morning glories were painted on the interiors of the cups. Blue arcs adorned with gold circled the dishes with more morning glories toward the middle.

  “They’re from Germany,” said Francie. “Vintage Bavaria. Aren’t they stunning?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t collect teacups, Francie. You certainly know a lot about them.”

  Martha delivered a platter of little cakes as Francie said, “They’re just so beautiful. You know how I love flowers and gardens, which seem to be a main theme of teacups. But heaven knows I don’t need anything more to dust. I’m much happier admiring them here.” She squeezed one eye partially closed and tilted her head. “Don’t you girls go buying me any as presents. I’m not kidding about that!”

  “Such willpower!” exclaimed Martha. “I’m afraid china is my weakness.”

  Callie brought more goodies to our table. “Martha’s husband and I think she should write a guide to china patterns.”

  “I might do it, too,” said Martha. “Not a guide so much, but something of a history. There are such fascinating stories about china that tie to politics and history. For my personal use, I collect Schumann china from Germany. You’ve probably seen Schumann. It’s very elaborate with flowers and gold. But after World War II, it was marked on the back with US Zone when Bavaria was occupied by the United States. It was a short period of time, but that’s the china I collect. I find it fascinating.”

  Callie waited politely for Martha to walk away before saying, “The open-faced sandwiches are smoked salmon with just a hint of a dill cream. The heart-shaped ones are watercress. Because of the season, we’re trying out pumpkin scones, and those slices are apple bread. Martha would like your opinions on those.”

  “Callie, can you take a break and have a cuppa with us?” asked Francie.

  Callie glanced toward Martha. “Thank you for asking me, sweetie, but I’d better not.”

  “It’s not very busy,” Velma protested.

  “Velma, don’t go getting her into trouble.” Francie plucked a salmon sandwich off the tray.

  “Make sure everyone has what they need, Callie. I know how to handle this.” Velma winked at us and left for a little chat with Martha at the
cash register.

  Martha returned with her and pulled up two additional chairs. “Callie, have you seen the Pu-erh knife? Beverly Hazelwonder has ordered Pu-erh tea again.”

  “I wonder where that thing disappeared to. I haven’t seen it in days,” Callie said.

  Martha excused herself and returned after brewing the special tea for Beverly. “Thank you, ladies, for including Callie and me. I hope there won’t be many days when we can take a break.”

  Callie brought another teapot and additional china.

  “I’m sure people will start coming back,” I said. “We tend to have short memories about little scares like this.”

  Nina shook her head. “It would help if they could identify the source of the botulism.”

  “I doubt that would make a difference.” Martha grimaced. “A lot of people will only remember that they shut us down and will never hear about the restaurant that really provided the tainted food.”

  “Martha, Martha,” Callie said sympathetically. “You shouldn’t listen to your husband. I know you think the world of him but he’s a bit of a pessimist.”

  A smile crept to Martha’s lips. “He is, isn’t he? I love him to death but that man can see the worst in everything.”

  “How did you meet him?” asked Velma. “I bet it’s a romantic story.”

  Martha smiled broadly and for the first time since I’d met her, all the little worry lines left her face. “It’s nothing that special. My parents cobbled together every cent they had to send me to Italy, to my great-aunt, Antonella, to learn to speak Italian. She was a dear. But she was very concerned about a twenty-year-old woman who wasn’t married. She paraded every eligible male in the village by me. From sixteen to sixty, if they weren’t married, I was forced to meet them. Word spread to the surrounding villages and every old widower who needed a housekeeper or a farmhand came to check me out. Of course, I wasn’t having any of it. Imagine me stuttering through Italian. I could hardly understand what any of them were saying!”

  She had us all in stitches.

  “And then one day, Great-Aunt Antonella was at the butcher shop complaining that I was already a dreaded zitella.”

  “What’s that?” Nina bit into a pumpkin scone.

  “The most horrible thing imaginable to an elderly Italian woman—a spinster! The butcher’s wife gave her the don’t-I-know-it speech because her twenty-two-year-old grandson wasn’t married yet. Great-Aunt Antonella couldn’t believe there was a man within fifty kilometers that she had overlooked. It was because he was an American in the military. Alas, he was assigned to a post in Frankfurt. But the two crafty ladies put their heads together, and one day, when he came for a visit with his grandmother, Great-Aunt Antonella gave me a package of cannoli to deliver to the butcher’s wife by bicycle. It was a gorgeous day, and I didn’t mind riding out in the beautiful countryside one bit. What I didn’t know was that Great-Aunt Antonella had pricked the back bicycle tire so that it had a slow leak. About halfway there, it was flat as a pancake. There was nothing to do but walk. And along came this tall young man with the prettiest gray eyes I had ever seen. It was love at first sight. He happened to be riding a tandem bicycle and offered me a lift. When we realized that my destination was his grandparents’ house, we knew that we had been set up. In spite of that, we married six months later.”

  “What a great story!” I sipped my apple spice tea. “How did you end up here in Old Town?”

  “We lived all over the world with the army. Max’s last post was at the Pentagon, and we liked it here. Now he has his own company with military contracts, so this seemed like the perfect place to stay. And I always dreamed of opening a tea parlor, so everything came together as though it was meant to be.”

  “We’re certainly glad that you landed here!” Velma dabbed her mouth with a pristine white napkin. “And that you discovered Callie. These pumpkin scones will be a huge hit.”

  “That was a very lucky break for me. I don’t know what I would do without Callie.” Martha shot her a fond look.

  “It was fate,” Callie said. “The restaurant where I waitressed for a year and a half went belly-up, and I didn’t know what I would do. I was walking by and saw a Waitress Wanted sign in the window.”

  “And when I found out she could bake, well, that sealed the deal!”

  Velma cast a glance at Hunter. “Funny how people come together from all over. You never know what life holds in store.” She leaned forward and whispered, “How are things going with Hunter?”

  “Velma, Francie, don’t get any ideas about puncturing bicycle tires!” warned Callie.

  “Callie!” whispered Martha. “Customers!”

  As they rose, Francie joked, “Approach them slowly. You don’t want to frighten them!”

  They seemed like tourists to me. But any customers were surely welcome.

  Nina looked at the apple bread in her hand. “It would be nice to know what made Robert so sick. I know the health department was here and all, but there is just a hair of a stigma.”

  I noticed that didn’t stop her from eating the apple bread.

  “You have nothing to worry about, Nina,” Francie assured her. “No one else except Mars has reported being ill, and Mars never ate here. If The Parlour were the source, Velma and I would be dead right now, too.”

  She glared at me. “Velma and I have been doing our level best to convince Wolf and a certain other person present at this table, whom we won’t name, that someone murdered Robert, but they simply won’t listen.”

  Nina focused on me. “Alex and Wolf questioned me about finding Elise. I don’t think Alex was very happy with me. But clearly, we have to tell the truth. She said Rosey.”

  “Wolf arrested him today. But exactly as we suspected, nothing was filed against him for Robert’s death,” Velma said.

  “Why would there be?” asked Nina.

  “Precisely!” declared Francie.

  Velma pulled a sheet of paper from her purse. It was their list of women who had visited Robert, presumably whittled down to those with plausible motives. “Well, Sophie?”

  I had had the best intentions of staying out of this matter entirely. But Bernie and Kevin needed help. I took the list of names and perused it. Nina leaned over my shoulder to read it.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll look into it. But I can’t make any promises.”

  Francie and Velma lifted their teacups to each other in a mock toast.

  Leaving the list with Nina, I stopped by the table where Beverly Hazelwonder and Patty Conklin were seated. “Thank you so much for helping us out today. We need to restore confidence in The Parlour again. And Bernie will need the same thing at The Laughing Hound when he reopens.”

  “I was so shocked to learn that’s the source of the poisoning,” said Beverly. “My husband and I go there all the time. In fact, that’s where we like to take out-of-town guests!”

  “Well,” I said as if I were confiding a big secret, “I have it on excellent authority that the health department didn’t find a thing there!”

  Patty gasped. “I have to tell my friends. We had a big club meeting at The Laughing Hound the day before Robert died. We’ve all been watching and”—she crossed her fingers and held them up—“hoping none of us would get it.”

  “And?”

  “Not a one of us came down with it. The health department told us we would know by now if we had any ill effects.”

  Continuing to pretend to gossip, I said, “I’ve heard rumors that Robert was seeing some ladies in Old Town, if you know what I mean.”

  “That’s just not true,” declared Patty. “I don’t know how he developed that reputation.”

  Beverly shifted in her seat uncomfortably and peered in her giant purse for something.

  I nudged them a little more. “They say his refrigerator was packed with food from his ad
mirers.”

  “Oh?” Patty frowned. “We were dating, you know.”

  “I did not know that!”

  Beverly scowled at her friend. “I don’t think hanging out at his favorite bar in the hope you might see him constitutes dating.”

  “That’s how it’s done these days, Beverly. You’ve been married so long that you don’t know about the in scene. Things have changed, sweetheart.”

  “I can tell you where they haven’t changed.” Beverly looked like she might pounce on Patty.

  What had I started? Yikes! I floundered for something to distract them. “Did you hear they’re arresting someone for the murder of that young woman?”

  Beverly clapped a hand against her chest. “Thank goodness for that. It’s gotten to the point where I’m on the alert all the time. That could have been any one of us.”

  “A bar date counts as a date!” Patty wasn’t letting go.

  I said good-bye and felt like a terrible weasel. Not only had I caused friction between friends, I hadn’t learned a single helpful thing.

  A larger group entered when Nina and I left. I was hopeful that business might pick up.

  Nina and I were almost home when we saw a police car parked on our block. We broke into a jog. As we neared, it became obvious that it was outside of Natasha’s house.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Dear Natasha,

  My best friend forever is getting married. My mom and I are giving her a tea party bridal shower. Much as I love my friend, she has the worst taste in the world. Her color scheme is pinks. It’s so pastel that I gag from the sugar rush. Please tell me that I can decorate for the party in grays and blacks.

  —The Maid of Honor in Weddington, Arkansas

  Dear Maid of Honor,

  You owe it to your friend to decorate tastefully in grays and blacks. With any luck, she will learn from you and appreciate your effort to educate her.

  —Natasha

  Panting, we rushed toward Mars, who spoke with an officer.

  “Did someone try to break in again? Is Natasha okay?” I asked.