Steeped in Suspicion

by Eryn Scott

  “Hi …” I croaked through the tight fear closing around my throat.

  “You lost?” he asked, furrowing his bushy white eyebrows.

  I gulped. “Nope, just walking through. You?”

  He smacked his lips together. “Off to see a woman about a billy goat.” He spun on his heel and exited the alley.

  Once my heart slowed, the defeat of losing the incriminating blueprints weighed on my shoulders like a soaking-wet sweatshirt. If I didn’t find cover soon, I was going to be experiencing that feeling both figuratively and literally. The rain continued to slash down on the little fishing village as I wandered the streets. I slicked my long hair back into a ponytail. It was so wet the end dripped water onto my sweater as I walked.

  I couldn’t even fathom going home and breaking the news to Asher that I’d lost the evidence. Not yet.

  The sign hanging over one building toward the end of the downtown strip caught my attention. The Pebble Cove Tea Company. Maybe it was time to check out the competition. I jogged over, taking cover under the awning, but when I pulled on the door, it didn’t budge. A handwritten note taped to the glass read Closed Until Further Notice.

  Anger wound down my fingers, curling them into fists. Was she closed because she was anticipating having to sign the papers for the new business she was trying to swindle away from me? Well, that wouldn’t happen. I felt like laughing in triumph.

  Braving the rain again, I headed toward my car. But now the suggestion of a hot beverage sounded too good, and with Jolene’s tea shop closed, I was still empty—and chilly—handed.

  Luckily, I passed by a café situated on the edge of the pier, looking out at the fishing boats in the cove. The Marina Mug seemed like the perfect place to wallow for a bit while I decided what to do with my life.

  When I opened the door, I expected the building to smell of sea salt and old fish given its proximity to the harbor. But the smells that hit me were that of grilled cheese, toasted bread, browning butter, and—best of all—sweet, doughy confections. It was cozy and warm inside with an iron woodstove piping out heat from the corner. Sliding into a booth close to the stove, I snuggled against the wall and contemplated the quiet harbor through the rain-spattered window.

  I was the only person in the place, well, until a woman came out from the back room and strutted toward me.

  “Hi there, honey,” a middle-aged woman approached my table. She wore a blue apron, a wide smile, and kind eyes with lovely wrinkles at the corners. “What can I getcha?” she asked.

  I ventured a glimpse at her name tag—well, the place where her name tag would’ve been if she wore one—but didn’t see anything. There were definitely some businesses in the smaller, artsy communities of Portland that didn’t require their workers to wear name tags though, so I wasn’t caught too off guard.

  “Hi, I’d love a hot chocolate, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  The woman grinned at my request. “Sure thing, Rosemary. You got it.”

  A stiffness began creeping up my spine at her familiarity. How did she know my name?

  But before she turned away, the woman leaned close and said, “I’m Vicki. We met when you were younger, but it’s so nice to see you again.”

  Smiling, I scanned my memory. Vicki has a bunker full of canned goods in her basement, Asher’s words repeated in my mind. My shoulders relaxed, and I sat back. He was right. Knowing as much about these townspeople as they seemed to know about me helped a little.

  “Thank you, Vicki. It’s great to see you.”

  The woman clicked her tongue and then went off to start my drink. A few minutes later she set a steaming cup of cocoa in front of me, complete with marshmallows. I wrapped my fingers around the mug and closed my eyes out of the comfort of it all.

  And even though the hot chocolate was sweet and delicious when I took my first sip, I couldn’t help but wish it were a mug of tea. I craved the balance of the bitter black leaves with the spices and sweetened additions. A day in my grandma’s tea shop and I’d become a full-on tea person. The realization made me let out a little snort of laughter, but what started as a laugh soon morphed into a sob.

  Everything I’d been carrying fell like too many grocery bags being transported from the car, ripping and spilling in the driveway. Tears spilled down my face. The emotions surrounding my grandmother’s death, the opportunities to reconnect with her I hadn’t taken, mixed with the knowledge that I was going to let someone down no matter what if I stayed or went back to Portland.

  Luckily, Vicki stayed in the back room for a few minutes, so she didn’t see me sitting in her café, crying into my hot chocolate. Unluckily, the door opened in that moment, and a flood of customers came in to escape the now torrential rain. They shook off their coats, eyed me warily, and then sat as far away from me as possible.

  I sucked in my last few tears with a deep breath and pulled myself together. Controlling my sadness seemed much easier than answering questions about if I was okay when Vicki emerged from the back room, which she did a moment later to serve the new customers.

  The Marina Mug filled up. Almost all the tables were stacked with people as the rain worsened. I sipped at my hot cocoa as the storm intensified outside, grateful for the safety of my warm window seat.

  What is it about observing a storm from inside? There’s something so wonderful about the act as if we’re somehow rubbing it in the storm’s face. Look here, you can’t get me. I’m enjoying this immensely, the opposite of what you wanted.

  After a few minutes, and half my cocoa, the door opened again and in stepped Althea Pine, my grandmother’s friend. And just like that, those tears I’d gently folded away broke free.

  Her eyes locked onto my now teary ones, and she hurried over. “Oh, Rosemary.” Shaking off her wet jacket, she stuffed herself into the booth next to me and wrapped an arm around me.

  Sniffing back my tears, I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I’m having a weird day, and seeing you brought it all to the forefront again.”

  Althea squeezed me tight. “It has to be tough.”

  Again, Asher’s inside information about her, how she’d come out here to start her restorative center, The Pines, after making a medical mistake that ended her career, made it easier to talk to her.

  “It’s hard to be here, to realize that I didn’t know her, or haven’t for so long,” I admitted.

  Althea rubbed a hand on my back. Clearing her throat, she raised her voice as she said, “Pebble Cove, who has a good Helen Woodmere story they can share with her granddaughter?”

  A man from across the room popped his head above the crowd and said, “Helen used nothing but tea to cure my arthritis. What are we going to do without her?”

  At his kind words, more tears streamed down my face.

  “Well, thanks, Joe. You just made her cry more,” Althea said dryly.

  The whole place laughed.

  “How about some fun, quintessentially Helen stories?” Althea clarified.

  “Like the time she called everyone out to Pebble Beach to help her save a beached whale, and by the time we got there, she’d already used some driftwood as a lever and pushed it back into the ocean by herself?” the Rickster called from the next table.

  I hadn’t even noticed him come in. After a quick glance, I ascertained there was no goat with him. The room erupted in dissent at his story.

  “She did not,” a woman scoffed. “That’s impossible. It was the tide. When we arrived, the tide had come in and helped pulled the whale back out.”

  The Rickster shook his head. “False. I saw her do it.”

  Althea’s smile widened, and my face pulled into a grin.

  “Regardless of what actually happened, yes, stories like that are helpful.” Althea glanced at my drying tears. “What else ya got?”

  “Remember when she dressed in a cat suit for a full week?” a man near Vicki’s counter said.

  “Yes, Kyle. That was last month. We all remember it.” Althea’s to
ne was deadpan, but her face was bright with humor. To me, Althea said, “She wanted to bring attention to her 'Keep Our Mayor Furry' campaign.” Althea chuckled. “And she sure did with that outfit. Looked like she could’ve been a cast member of Cats.

  I giggled at the mental picture.

  An older man near the back, who was a dead ringer for the picture that would come up if you typed The Old Man and the Sea in a search engine, said, “Two years ago, I broke my leg and was housebound. You guys remember that?”

  Murmurs of agreement trickled through the crowd.

  “Well, I was having a particularly bad day, and Helen called, like out of the blue, asking if she could bring me some tea and soup. She was always doing nice things like that.”

  People’s faces softened in sadness, and I felt the tears welling back up.

  “Watch it, Eric. I said funny stories,” Althea warned him.

  He held up a craggy fisherman’s hand. “Don’t worry, I’m getting to it. When she showed up, I tried to get the door, but fell. I got myself wedged between the couch and the coffee table, and I couldn’t seem to get out of the spot. Helen witnessed all of it through the window in my front door. She knew I wouldn’t be able to get up without her help, so she picked the lock using only the hairpins in her bun.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “She was spicy, that Helen,” a woman said.

  “Fighting for good causes,” another said.

  “Or just plain fighting,” a man added with a laugh.

  “Heck, she was even fighting with Doc Gallagher the day she died,” someone else said.

  Most of them smiled and shook their heads like this was old news, but the part of me that knew she’d been murdered perked up at this story. To them, it was simply a fun story of how spunky she’d been until the end. And it would’ve been to me too, if I didn’t know what I knew.

  “Rain’s letting up,” one fisherman said, pointing outside.

  The clouds were retreating, leaving a crisp evening in their wake. About half of the people downed the rest of their drinks and left money on their table, proving they’d only come in as a respite from the storm.

  “Who’s Doc Gallagher?” I asked Althea as the majority of them left.

  “He’s the retired local doctor. Doctor Ellis took over for him, but he still lives downtown,” Althea explained.

  Vicki came over and took Althea’s drink order. “Can I get anything else for you?” she asked me.

  Looking over at the grilled sandwich I saw her place in front of another customer, I paused.

  “We’ll take two of the grilled clubs, please,” Althea ordered. “And get this girl another hot cocoa.”

  I let my body relax and settled in for a dinner with my grandmother’s best friend.

  “So why were she and the old doctor fighting?” I asked Althea.

  “Who knew,” she said. “It was always something new. They hated each other, flat out despised the idea of the other person. He represented traditional medicine in this town, and your grandma always had a natural, nontraditional cure for everything.”

  I nodded. Boy, did I know that.

  “I heard about their fight that day though. It sounded pretty bad.” After a moment of silence, Althea added, “I’m not sure how long you plan to stay, but I’d love it if you came up to The Pines before you leave. We have a sauna, a labyrinth, great nature trails, and even a masseuse on staff if you need to relax.”

  “Thank you.” I wrapped my hands around my mug even though it was empty. “I think I might stay for a bit, try to tie up some loose ends. I’d love to come visit your place.”

  As I said this, I became very aware that the whole café had gone quiet, and most of them were listening to me. Vicki was even standing near our table, frozen with a mug of coffee for Althea. Just as quickly as it happened, the customers went back to speaking, and Vicki set down Althea’s coffee.

  We chatted more about Grandma over my second cocoa and our sandwiches. And for the first time since I stepped foot in her house, I felt like my grandmother was near.

  But I couldn’t shake the suspicion that had shivered under my skin at the way these people paid attention, listened to every word.

  Was it genuine small-town curiosity, or was there a killer among them watching my every move?

  13

  By the time I made it back home from downtown, the sun had set. Now that I had a few hours in between me and my blunder with the recycling, it was easier to admit how I’d lost out on the clue. Asher paced through the tearoom as I explained the events of the afternoon.

  “And you’re sure you read it correctly?” he asked after I told him about the blueprints I’d seen in the recycling bin.

  I nodded. “Positive. Meow knew what he was showing me. He knew something was sketchy.”

  “I guess the cat understood what we were saying, then.” Asher lifted his eyebrows. “When you were in the store yesterday, I mentioned how we suspected his new counterpart in your grandmother’s murder.”

  “Well, there you go.” I held my hand out. “He dug up proof for us. Except I ruined it by not grabbing the blueprints.” I mentally scolded myself once again.

  Asher sighed. “Beating yourself up about it won’t help. I bet Sam put them out right before the recycling truck came, for that reason. There has to be some other way to tie him to the development.”

  “We can only hope. Also, it sounds like this other teahouse owner, Jolene, is cementing herself as a suspect too.” I filled Asher in on what Gretta had told me about Jolene’s terrible tea and the low amount she’d offered for the house and business.

  He ran his fingers through his brown hair as he listened. “So Sam, Jolene, and Carl all had a motive to get your grandmother out of the way.”

  “And when I was in town, I found out she had a huge fight with some Doc Gallagher the day she died,” I said. “We need to look into him.”

  “She and Doc Gallagher definitely had a choppy history. I didn’t need to pay close attention to town drama to see that clearly.”

  “But still Carl seems to have the greatest opportunity, living next door. What we need to do next is figure out where those three were on the night Grandma died.” I tapped my fingers along the tea bar.

  Outside, darkness cloaked the beach. My shoulders slumped with fatigue. I hadn’t done much, but the emotions I’d experienced made me feel like I’d run a marathon. An emotional marathon, maybe.

  “It’s been a long day,” Asher said. “How about we look into it more tomorrow?”

  I nodded, leaving the bar and heading into the library. Asher followed. I felt the weight of the day disperse as I sank into the couch, closing my eyes for a second. When I opened them, they landed on a picture of my parents on their wedding day.

  Asher must’ve caught the object of my focus because he said, “I’d love to hear more about your dad … if you don’t mind.” He settled into his favorite chair across the room.

  My mom and dad had met in college, marrying after they’d graduated. They were so young, so carefree in their wedding picture. My dad didn’t yet have his signature dark beard, and Mom’s hair was teased and fluffed out in a way that made her look like a different person.

  “He was a pianist, but he taught music theory at the same university where my mom worked as a research librarian.” Keeping my eyes on the picture of the two of them was easier than looking at Asher. “Dad was larger than life.” I stopped, swallowed. But through the sadness, a smile curled at the edges of my mouth. “He wasn’t exceedingly tall, but the man had huge hands and when they were on those keys, they were magic. He had a deep, booming laugh, one you could hear a room or two away.”

  Asher’s head tipped to one side like he was resting it on the wingbacked recliner. He looked so peaceful and relaxed as he listened to me.

  “Dad and I had this deal. I would go to bed without complaint, but only if he would play a song for me on the piano.”

  “What would he play?” Asher
asked.

  I snorted. “I loved all the popular movie soundtrack songs. He learned them for me. The man could play Debussy, Gershwin, and Beethoven, but I made him play the Titanic theme on repeat.”

  My focus moved to the small piano in the library.

  “He loved playing in this house. Said the acoustics in Victorian houses differed completely from other buildings.” I shrugged, still unsure if I believed that were true. “I kinda just think he loved this house.” I studied my fingers in my lap. “It’s part of the reason I want to stay. It reminds me of all the good times I had with him and my mom, and Grandma too.”

  When I glanced up, Asher was smiling at me.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’m glad you’re staying,” he said then added, “at least for a little while,” after I gave him a pointed stare.

  A warmth spread through my chest. “I am too.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to go stay at the cannery while you’re here? I’ve been spending quite a bit of time there lately. It’s something of a local ghost hangout.” His forehead creased in worry.

  “Absolutely sure,” I said. “I’ve never lived with anyone other than my mom. It’s kind of fun.” I paused. “As long as you don’t mind me being in your space.”

  Asher scoffed, “Do you see this?” He pointed to his smiling mouth. “I’m ecstatic to have company. Plus I made peace with the fact that this isn’t my space anymore decades ago. This is your house now.”

  I studied my shoes for a moment. Now that I’d told Asher I was staying, I needed to tell Mom. I grabbed at my phone.

  “Hey …” I said, emerging from the couch cushions I’d sunk into during my story. “I should probably go break the news to my mom. It won’t be easy.”

  Asher stood. “Do you want some company? Moral support?”

  “I think I should do this alone.”

  He nodded. “Okay. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  I went to grab the mail while I was already outside. The walk up to the mailbox was long, being that it was all the way down at the end of the easement, along the main road, Misty Drive. As I walked, I fiddled with my phone, using its flashlight to guide my way in the dark. What was I going to say to my mom? And why didn’t I feel like I could say it in front of Asher?