by S. Y. Robins
Which left Suzanna here, wanting nothing more than to run home and not have this meeting. She was so nervous she had hardly been able to eat breakfast, and she was seriously considering hailing a cab and running away.
“Here, I’ll quiz you.” Eliza held up the note cards. As a family, they’d tried to come up with anything the investors might ask. Now, Eliza pulled a notecard at random from the stack and looked at it. “How do you expect to make a profit, Miss Thomas?”
“Um…” Suzanna took a deep breath. “Why don’t I just give them a piece of cake?” She held up a covered glass plate with The Cake on it—one of her plans to get the investors on board.
“And what are your advertising plans?”
“Hand out cake all over town.”
“Suzanna!” Eliza was laughing.
“Come on, dear,” her mother prompted. “I know you practiced this. Just one more go around before we get there. How do you plan to make a profit?”
“Urgh. Okay. Well, given that tearooms have much higher profit margins than restaurants, the important thing is to have enough customers to cover the costs of energy, rent, and staff. We’ll try to hire college students in the area and launch in early summer so we’ve gotten all of the people looking for summer jobs while we search for more permanent staff, we’ll buy all of the ingredients wholesale, and we’ll do targeted advertising that plays to nostalgia, what with Eliza’s wonderful decorating plans.” Suzanna flashed her sister a smile.
“And the customers will pour in.” Eliza grinned back.
“Excellent. Okay, next question—”
“We’re here!” Suzanna broke away and ran, heels clicking on the pavement. The shop was sandwiched between a bookstore and an accountant’s office—Suzanna already had dreams of bringing free scones to the accountants so they’d talk up the tearoom to their clients. She peered into the interior of the shop, hardwood floors bare. The room was north-facing, and full of light, and Suzanna bit her lip, trying to imagine it.
“We’ll want the counter over there,” Eliza said, pointing. “It’s the darkest corner, so you’ll want to draw people in, and it’s not like they aren’t going to look at the pastry case, right? You can put shelves up there, right inside the entrance, with all of the jams and so on that people are eating, and vendors can sell through you so people can take a jar home.”
“Tell me you’re going to be my business manager.”
“Finally you ask,” Eliza said, with a grin. “Of course I will!”
“You mean you’re both moving away?” their mother asked plaintively. She sighed, then waved a hand. “No, go on, you’re both happy. Of course, if someone had told me when you two were in your teens that you’d voluntarily run a business together, I’d have told them they were crazy. How you two used to fight…”
“And now we’re all grown up and not insane anymore,” Suzanna said, smiling.
“Speak for yourself.” But Eliza was only halfway paying attention. She leaned against the window, peering inside. “Okay, you can keep this color awning, the yellow will draw attention. Gingham curtains inside, just little ones in the windows, right?”
“Right.” Suzanna squinted up at the top of the windows, trying to imagine the effects of red and white checked curtains. She liked it. “And you said to decorate it like a grandmother’s kitchen, right? So we need cross-stitching on the walls, and some doilies and old coasters on the tables.”
“Oh, and some of those paintings of landscapes that everyone’s grandma had!” Eliza clapped her hands. “I used to hate those, but you just know it’ll bring people right back. They’ll walk in, and it will be like a little slice of their hometown right here in the city. They’re going to love it.”
“They are, aren’t they?” Suzanna closed her eyes. She could see it now, the kitchen hot and flour on her cheek, racks of scones in the display case, the scents of spices and tea and peach preserves heavy in the air, and the low hum of conversation as people settled down to talk. It would be perfect, absolutely perfect. “The investors will think so, won’t they? Oh, God, I can’t do this.”
“You can,” her father assured her. “They’re going to love you. Just tell them what you want, tell them what you’re picturing, and they’ll fall all over themselves to give you funding.”
“You think so?”
“I do.”
“But you’re not actually nervous about the meeting,” Eliza said. When they looked over, she leaned against the window, arms crossed and a wicked smile on her face. “Tell them what you’re really nervous about.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on. We’ve all seen you looking at your phone all the time lately. You’re texting someone. And I know you made plans for dinner on Tuesday.” Eliza narrowed her eyes speculatively. “But who could it be…? You weren’t seeing anyone before the whole murder thing…”
“It’s no one,” Suzanna said, giving her sister a look. “You mind your own business.”
“It’s Harry!” Eliza said suddenly. She clapped her hands as Suzanna flushed. “It is, isn’t it? It’s totally Harry.”
“Fine.” Suzanna crossed her arms. “You were right, he’s really nice.”
“And younger than you. You’re a cougar.”
“Eliza!”
Eliza only laughed. She smiled over at Suzanna, eyes bright.
“How’s he doing?” she asked. “What with Emma and all.”
“She got out of the hospital a couple of days ago. And yes, mom, I know she’s filed for divorce. Everyone knows she’s filed for divorce.” The old ladies of the town, usually quite obsessed with proper behavior, had come out in force in their support of Emma. How good of her to take care of her brother, they said. How brave of her to stand up to that awful man. And when he nearly killed her! Well, they had just never heard anything so vile as that. Suzanna imagined them all clutching their pearls and sipping sweet tea as they exclaimed over it, smartphones clutched in their hands. The world really was changing.
And on a little street in Savannah, there would be a tiny slice of home still left, a little tearoom that called to mind the quiet afternoons of the past, with tea and scones in grandma’s kitchen. She looked up, and as she saw the men in suits walking towards her, she felt her trepidation melt away.
“All right,” she said quietly. “I’m ready. Wish me luck.”
The End
BONUS
Thank you for supporting this book. To extend your reading pleasure, here is a selection of books that you may like.
Enjoy!
Crafty Murder
Sweet Cozy Mystery
About the Book
After her parents died in her teens, Emmeline was adrift, but determined to make something of herself. That was what her parents would have wanted, right? She aced college and went to business school, then moved to her brother’s new town, hoping to settle down. But plans have a way of not working out, and after a few years, Emmeline quit her stable, sensible job to open a tea shop.
Successful and happy for the first time in years, Emmeline thought she had just about everything a girl could want. Who cared if she was pining after her downstairs neighbor, Nick? Who cared if the shop was just barely turning a profit? She got to do a job she loved all day every day. And with the town craft fair coming up, she set her sights on winning the big craft competition.
Only… Emmeline’s life is about to turn upside down. Because a murderer is lurking in her tiny town, and when they strike at the craft competition, they make sure that the blame falls squarely on Emmeline.
1
Emmeline threaded her way through the dense knot of people, glowing with pride as she heard snatches of conversation—and plenty of compliments for her work. She probably wasn’t going to win first prize in the craft competition, but her honey-spice cupcakes were a definite hit, and she had almost sold out of the premeasured mix she made on a hunch.
Today was special for more than just the competition. A year ago
to the day, she had screwed up all her courage and quit her job at the local bank, using her savings to buy a vacant storefront on Main Street. Emmeline’s Tea and Cakes had opened less than a month later, filled with comfy armchairs and thrift store tables, and with a freshly painted pink-and-gold sign she’d labored over on her living room floor. The shop had been a hit at once, and Emmeline now spent her days up to her elbows in flour and spices, turning out batches of her famous cakes.
The town craft fair seemed the ideal place to get a little more exposure. It was pricey to set up a booth, but Emmeline had bribed a few family members with a lifetime supply of cakes if they would sell mix for her, while she herself circulated through the fair with samples of her cupcakes.
Today, on the third and final day of the fair, she was hoping against hope that all the people who loved her cake had turned out to vote for her. She had stiff competition. Audrey, the mayor’s wife had been making exquisite quilts for as long as anyone could remember, and they had won at the craft competition for the last two years. The quilt this year, a depiction of the four seasons with falling leaves, flowers, and snow swirling to the center, took Emmeline’s breath away.
The only possible competition she might have was from James Pike, a town newcomer. Emmeline had seen him a few times at her tea shop, and had never taken much notice of him. With his sandy brown hair, roundish face, and retiring manner, he escaped attention most of the time—until three days ago, that was, when everyone found out he made gorgeous statues. The one he’d entered, a brass weeping willow, looked like something she might see in a high-end art gallery.
“This cake is delicious,” someone said nearby, and Emmeline flushed with pleasure, turning to look as an out-of-towner polished off the last bite of a cupcake. She was so preoccupied with watching the woman fill out her ballot that she ran headlong into Audrey.
“Mrs. Galloway! I’m so sorry.” She bent to help the woman pick up a sheaf of papers and a plastic bottle caught her eye. “Is this yours?”
“Yes,” Audrey said coolly, reaching out to pluck them from Emmeline’s hand. “Those are my husband’s eye drops.”
Emmeline stood awkwardly. She had never warmed to Audrey, despite many people’s assurances that the woman was a great force for change in the community. Notably younger than her husband, Audrey seemed to have fended off the accusations of trophy wife by spending her time makeup free and involved in charity work. Audrey, people told Emmeline, had successfully lobbied for state funding for the local libraries, donated her time to a number of charities, and was always signing up to bring casseroles to new parents and sick people.
Secretly, though, Emmeline wondered just how much of the adoration was for Audrey’s good works, and how much was for her stunning looks. The woman looked like a model, with perfect skin, waves of auburn hair, and eyes of a gorgeous bright green. Tall and slim, she drew eyes wherever she went, standing silently at her husband’s side through charity dinners, ribbon cuttings, and school soccer games. No one seemed to notice that she rarely smiled.
All at once, Emmeline felt ashamed of herself. If Audrey was doing so much good for the citizens of the town, how could she secretly sneer at the woman? She knew herself well enough to know that she was jealous: jealous of the woman’s striking looks, of her simple, elegant clothing, and of the way she seemed to have time for charities, casseroles, and all of those stunning quilts. Emmeline was pretty enough in her own way, with dark brown hair and a full mouth, but she rarely got her socks to match and she’d never made a casserole in her life. Lunch was toast as often as not, and her apartment never seemed all the way clean.
Yes. She was just jealous. She smiled at Audrey, determined to make nice.
“I’m really sorry I ran into you. If you stop in at the shop, I can make it up to you with a free cupcake.”
Much to her surprise, Audrey smiled, and it transformed her face entirely. Had Emmeline thought the woman looked like a model? She’d been wrong. Audrey looked like a queen. It was like being noticed by the most popular girl in school.
“That would be nice,” she said, and she really seemed to mean it. “Marvin brought home some of your scones the other day. They were delicious.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed them.” Was she actually blushing? She needed to get a hold of herself. “It’s really nothing compared to your quilts.”
“Thank you.” Audrey’s face went cold again. “But I think the people this year will prefer that sculpture.”
“Mmf.” Emmeline couldn’t bring herself to admit that she’d voted for the sculpture as well. It had been on a whim—she’d never thought that it would win against the vibrant quilt at the head of the room, but she wanted James to know someone had seen it and liked it. From the whispers she heard all around her, a lot of people had done the same…and the man had a real chance of beating Audrey. “I didn’t realize he was a sculptor. I thought he did…”
She had no idea what James might do. She’d always pictured him as an accountant, perhaps, or an office worker at some big corporation.
“He’s a financial advisor,” Audrey said, muted anger in her tone. “You know, when I saw him on Tuesday, he said he loved my quilts and he was sure they would win this year. And then he comes here with some sculpture that’s probably not even his—” She broke off.
“I’m so sorry. You know, I really don’t feel well. I think I’m going to head home.” She managed a ghost of a smile.
“But you’ll miss the awards ceremony,” Emmeline protested. The ballots would be taken and counted in only a few minutes; it seemed preposterous to leave now.
“I don’t think I’ll win anything this year,” Audrey said bitterly. “Do you?”
And she was gone, pushing her way out of the crowd while Emmeline stared after her in confusion. That had been odd, indeed. Whatever she’d expected from Audrey Galloway, that wasn’t it.
“Aunt Emmeline!” Someone tapped her on the shoulder.
“Hello, David.” Emmeline was still getting used to looking up at her nephew. After business school, she’d moved here on a whim, hoping to get closer to her older brother and his wife. His son was already eight years old at the time, and now, at 12, the boy was already six feet tall.
“They just took the ballot boxes away.” David was grinning. “And tons of people are talking about your cake! I even saw the guy with the sculptures saying he voted for it! He took three pieces of the sample cake.”
“Did he? That’s nice.” A socially graceful maneuver at any rate, but Emmeline didn’t want to share such a jaded sentiment with her nephew.
“I think you’re going to win,” David said earnestly. “I really think so. Remember saying you’d crush all the competition? I think you will!”
“You’re sweet.” Emmeline looped her arm through his and stood on tiptoe to peer through the crowd. “Let’s go get closer so we—so I—can see.”
They waited anxiously as the count commenced, Emmeline’s brother Harry and his wife Jenna arriving at a run after having closed up the tent.
“You ready to win?” Harry asked encouragingly, and Emmeline smiled up at him.
“I have the best family.”
“You do. I’m glad you recognize that.” Her brother grinned back cheekily.
They waited for minutes that felt like hours. Emmeline had entered the competition for the exposure, but the positive response had started a new dream in her head: of winning, and being able to show off the little trophy on the counter at Emmeline’s Tea and Cakes. The atmosphere of the crowd was intoxicating, and she found herself bouncing nervously back and forth.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” The call came out over the crowd. The chief organizer of the craft fair stepped on stage, smiling at everyone. “We have very exciting news this evening. We have…a tie!”
Oohs and aahs greeted this pronouncement.
“Yes, indeed! In third place, we have Audrey Galloway with her Four Seasons Quilt.” A smattering of applause gave way to murmurs w
hen Audrey did not appear. “And tied for first place in the craft competition are James Pike with his beautiful Wind in the Willows sculpture, and Emmeline Hayes with her honey-spice cake!”
The roar of the crowd was deafening, and Emmeline’s family crowded in on her, cheering.
“Now, now.” The chief organizer held up his hand. “The committee couldn’t decide on one or the other, so we brought in Mayor Galloway to make the final choice! Sir, please come to the stage!”
Everyone cheered as the mayor climbed the steps, giving a charming smile to everyone assembled. With salt and pepper hair, he was still a handsome man, trim in his well-tailored suit. He took the time to shake the hands of every committee member, and then took the mic as everyone held their breath.
“This is a tough decision,” he said, smiling.
Emmeline grabbed her brother’s hand and nearly crushed it.
“Now, I did like that honey cake…but I’m going to have to say that the Wind in the Willows statue is my first choice.”
A cheer went up, and disappointment hit Emmeline in a wave. She managed to clap, smiling bravely as people looked over at her, and climbed the stage to accept her second-place trophy.
“I think you should have won,” James told her earnestly.
“No, no. You deserved it.” But she knew everyone could see the disappointment on her face, even though she was smiling. As soon as she could, she fled to the bathroom and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, breathing deeply until she got a hold of herself.
