Tainted Teacup

by Michelle Busby

  “Charles doesn’t really have an alibi,” she stated.

  “No, lad. He does not.” He upturned his mug and drank the last of his tea. Then, he leaned back against the chair, took the pipe, and hung the stem onto his mouth.

  “That’s a classic Sherlock Holmes kind of pipe. Do you actually smoke that?” she asked.

  “This? Oh, no. This is a replica of the Cherrywood pipe from the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stories. Mine is crafted from African Mahogany Wood and has a Meerschaum insert bowl. It’s sometimes called a Calabash pipe, although it is not made from a melon. I used to smoke fags.”

  “Probably shouldn’t say that here in America,” she warned. “It’ll be misconstrued.”

  “Hm. Perhaps not. Cigarettes, then. I gave up the habit. The pipe here gives me the feel of having one in my mouth without actually smoking. I feel it helps me concentrate,” he explained.

  “Now you really look like the legendary detective,” she said with an amused smile.

  “Quite. Continue please, missus,” he said with a slight dismissive wave of his hand.

  “OK. Charles lied when he said he drank coffee and not tea, because he ordered exactly the same drink as Coral.”

  “But he did not drink his tea. He only bought it.”

  “True. That could be because he either didn’t like tea or he thought the blend was bad. That’s speculation again. Truth? He walked over with Coral, and they entered together. That’s all I can say. Oh! And he touched her teacup.”

  “Did he, now?” He shifted the pipe to the other side.

  “Yes. He grabbed her cup. She got mad, and I gave him the second cup. Come to think of it, Beverly touched the teacups, as well. Yikes.”

  “That goes under yer observations, Thomasina. Let’s finish up with his interview, and then you can go back and write down yer observation on Beverly’s list. Whom does Charlie implicate?”

  “No one ... except me.”

  “Right. He does at that. Gossip is the same as that for Beverly. They had to split the sales moneys.”

  “Questions. Oh, I have so many, but I don’t know how to even start. I’m a little confused right now,” she admitted with chagrin.

  “Have a sup of your tea. Then, I want to hear why you suspect each of them,” Holmes said.

  Tommie finished up her tea while Holmes sucked on his empty pipe. When she had drained her cup, she wiped the fine bead of sweat beneath her nose.

  “Sarah Beth Brewster. She has means but not much motive. She was not in the shop, but she does have a key and can come in any time she wants. She wouldn’t want to put me out of business, even though I have the Episcopal women. That’s only 28 people. And as far as holding a grudge for Coral’s involvement with giving me that business, I don’t see it as so significant. If I went out of business, Sarah Beth couldn’t pick up the lease on my place, and Charles Williams couldn’t buy it. It belongs to my cousin Sanderson Harper. It’s a family holding and can’t be sold without a family member’s name on the deed. Harper is my maiden name. Sarah Beth even offered to front me money to relocate in case you wouldn’t let me stay here,” she said.

  “That’s very kind of her. Henry Erving?”

  “I think he has pretty good motive, but I don’t know if he has the means. How could he have tainted the teacup? He came in after Coral died. I suppose he could’ve had an accomplice, but that’s unlikely. He told a lot of half truths about Coral and Beverly. That bears more questioning. If he’ll meet you for a drink, you can probably get more information. If he’s all right, that is. He mopped up the poisoned tea with napkins, and it was all over his hands.”

  “Yes, he seemed rather ill when we talked to him. Fits the symptoms of cyanide exposure. We should check on him again this afternoon, d’you think?”

  “Wouldn’t be a bad idea, just to be sure. Do you think he could have purposely cleaned up to get just enough on his hands to get sick? To throw attention away from him?”

  “It’s a possibility we should consider. Continue.”

  “Beverly Cantrell touched the teacups. I had forgotten all about it. She ran in and got a couple of drinks from the coolers, and when she put her money on the counter, she bumped her hand against the teacup caddies.”

  “Is that where Ms. Beadwell’s cup was?” he asked.

  “Not in the caddies, but just beside them. I kept it separated because it’s the only one she likes … liked … to drink from. Beverly could easily have dropped poison into the cup or smeared it on the rim.”

  “And Charlie? You said he touched Coral’s cup directly,” Holmes said.

  “He did. He grabbed it and pulled it toward himself. She got ticked off and told him to let it go. They argued about it. I was so focused on their faces I didn’t even look at their hands. He could have been putting poison in her cup while she and I were distracted by the argument.”

  “A distinct possibility.”

  “Finbar, we didn’t profile Don and his sisters yet.”

  “No, and we shan’t. After interviewing them, I am convinced they do not qualify as suspects. They were, as you said, extras on a film set. They are most important, though. They seem to have a direct line with the local gossip, so I believe it is in our best interest to cultivate them as sources ... like confidential informants. What d’you think?”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more. We have one real suspect left to interview, and I happen to know exactly where she will be at 4:00 this afternoon—St. Mary’s Catholic Church. You said you like betting on horses, Finbar, and playing card games. How about we go play some Bingo?” she said with a grin.

  Chapter Seventeen

  St. Mary’s Catholic Church ran the best Bingo game in town. In reality, it ran the only Bingo game in town. Because it was held in the church, and the proceeds went to charity, people tended not to consider it gambling. The fact that money was spent to buy the cards and it was a game of chance did not matter to the locals. The church sanctioned it, and Father Duncan was the number caller. It was a booming business for those who did not have Wednesday evening services, so there were few, if any, Protestants in attendance at the games.

  Tommie and Finbar bought game cards when they entered the door of the large Bingo room. Looking around the rows of tables, Tommie spotted Linda Beadwell at the third one on the right in the second row. There were two empty seats beside her. She pointed them out to Finbar and sent him over to commandeer them before someone else did, she having to hop along more slowly. He slipped through the meandering players and grabbed both chairs beside Linda, just as a large woman in an oversized t-shirt and yoga pants was about to claim one of them.

  “Sorry, madam,” he said, “but I’m holding this for my friend. She is handicapped. Thank you, kindly.”

  The woman looked as though she would fight for the chair, but when she saw Tommie limping over, she shrugged and went to another table. Finbar settled Tommie in one chair, and he sat in the one nearest Linda.

  “So, tell me, lad. How is this game played?” he asked.

  “It’s pretty simple. Your card is a grid of 25 numbers below five letters that spell B, I, N, G, O. The Priest calls out a letter and a number. You look on your card. If you have it, you cover it with a colored token. When you get a full line covered either horizontally, vertically, or diagonally, you call out ‘Bingo!’ for the win,” Tommie explained.

  “Ah, ‘tis simple, indeed,” he said, laying on the accent for the benefit of Linda beside him. “It sounds grand.” He turned to Linda, who was carefully arranging her Bingo paraphernalia on the table, which included several small knick-knacks—a stuffed kitten, a black obsidian rock, a tiny jar of pink salt, and a naked resin troll with garish fuzzy green hair.

  Finbar pointed to the figurine. “I do like yer be-baws, lass. That one in particular. He looks to be a leprechaun much like meself?”

  Linda gave him a startled look, reflexively touching the green hair of the doll. “It’s a troll,” she muttered.

  “
Ah, is it, indeed? How like a leprechaun he is. I hope himself brings you some Irish luck.” He laughed, and she almost did. “But lass, I see you have no tokens for yer cards. What d’you do when you get a number?

  Linda gave him a closer look. He was a comical sight, with his wispy hair, large ears, and blinking sky-blue eyes, and she caught herself before she laughed at him.

  “I have my daubers,” she replied, indicating the fat cylindrical self-inking fluorescent stamps on the table.

  “Ah, ‘tis a clever woman, you are. And I see you have cards a-plenty. D’you not use them over? But, sure, you cannot if you daub them, eh?”

  “No, I buy sets of disposable paper cards. They’re four to a page, so I can play four cards at once.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely. Ms. Watson, why did we not get the multiple chances to win like … I’m sorry, lass. We’ve not been introduced. I’m Finbar Holmes, formerly from Dublin, but now from Floribunda,” he said with a flourish, extending his hand.

  Linda took it reluctantly and shook it. “I’m Mrs. Linda Beadwell. My family was born and raised here in Floral County,” she said with a sniff. She leaned forward and regarded Tommie coolly. “Hello, Ms. Watson. Are you two together?”

  Before Tommie could answer her, Holmes continued talking. “Oh yes. Ms. Watson is my tenant, meself now the owner of a duplex house on Camelia Street. D’you know Camelia Street? ‘Tis a right pretty little place. And where might you be living, Missus Beadwell?”

  “I know where you’re talking about,’ she said with another sniff. “I live in the large historic colonial house on the corner of King’s Mantle Street and Bottlebrush Boulevard.”

  “Oh, is that the grand house with the flag flying in front?” he asked.

  “No, that’s the main house, the historic Beadwell House. Mine is the West Wing House. They were formerly joined by a covered walkway. But I’ll soon be rejoining the houses with a new walkway and moving into the main house.”

  “Now that’s a right smart move, lass. ‘Twill be ever so much nicer to have a grand mansion to call yer own. Good on you. I’ve got a thirst. Have they something to drink here?”

  “They have coffee and tea on that back table, but you’d better hurry. He’ll be pulling numbers soon,” she said.

  Finbar got up and headed for the refreshment table, leaving Tommie to interview Linda.

  “Linda, I’m so sorry about your sister-in-law. I’m sure Tom is very upset. Is there anything I can do for you?” she said, showing sincere sympathy.

  “I think you’ve done quite enough, don’t you?” Linda quipped, giving Tommie an icy look.

  “Linda, I had nothing to do with Coral’s death. It just happened to be in my shop.”

  “I think, if you had better sanitary procedures, it would not have occurred at all,” she accused.

  “That’s not true. Coral’s death was foul play, Linda. It was no accident and had nothing to do with hygiene or sanitary procedures. Someone else caused it.”

  “That’s crap, and you know it. I saw your cups just sitting out there exposed on your counter. Anything could get on them. And those canisters where anybody could just open them and contaminate their contents. And your so-called natural remedies. You’re not a doctor. You don’t have any kind of license to dispense medicines, but you put a bunch of herbs and ingredients together and call them medicines. Thomas is a pharmacist, and he told me it was just a matter of time before somebody died from one of your supposed cures. You’re a menace, Tommie Watson, and we’re glad you’re closed down,” she hissed, her tone of voice full of malice.

  “Really, Linda? And just what were you doing in my shop that day Coral died? You don’t drink tea, so why did you sneak in my back door?”

  “That’s a lie! Who says I was in your shop?” Linda said, her voice a trifle too loud.

  “I heard you come in, and I saw you leave out the back door,” Tommie said, eyes narrowed.

  Linda sat with her mouth open, and then she shook her Prince Valiant hair back from her face and stared fixedly at her cards.

  “So, Linda. Why were you in my shop before I opened for business?” Tommie pressed.

  “I had to use the bathroom. Is that a crime?”

  “It’s not a crime, but it’s odd, considering you just live three blocks away.”

  “I … it was an emergency.”

  “Sarah Beth has a bathroom. Why didn’t you use hers in the coffee shop?”

  “Because she forced me out, and I didn’t want him to see me,” she barked.

  “Him?”

  “You’re twisting my words. She forced me out, and I didn’t want anyone to see me. I couldn’t wait to go all the way home. That’s what I mean. You stop harassing me, Ms. Watson. You caused my sister-in-law’s death. That’s all I know. Now leave me alone!” She shouted.

  People all around the Bingo hall twisted in their seats to get a look at the commotion as Linda Beadwell huffily gathered up her cards, daubers, and good luck idols, and moved them to another table. Tommie sat still, red-faced with embarrassment. Finbar approached and casually sat down, benignly sipping from a Styrofoam cup of tea until the room settled down.

  “That went well, missus,” he remarked.

  “Yeah, just great. I’ve probably lost a dozen more customers in that short exchange, but I think I got some useful information,” she said with a half-smile.

  “Did you, now? Good work. Shall we go?” he said.

  “Don’t you want to stay and play our cards?”

  “Nah, never was so thrilled with the Bingo. Moves too slow for me,” he said, helping her stand.

  “Wait. What? You’ve played Bingo before?”

  “Of course, I have, Watson. Am I not Catholic?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Officer Earl Petry called that night after Tommie got home from Finbar’s home, and she was in a great mood. Together, she and Holmes had finished filling out Linda’s interview chart, being sure to note her argumentative demeaner and the blatant lies they had caught her in. Other relevant misrepresentations and observations they noted included her reference to not only moving into the main house but joining her current house to it to make it even larger. Tommie pointed out Linda’s slip of the tongue excuse about not wanting “him” to see her. Tommie was certain that meant Charles Williams. She felt Linda had strong motives, and Finbar agreed.

  Tommie had already fed the dogs and was nibbling on a grilled cheese sandwich when Earl called.

  “Hello, Ms. Tommie Watson. This is Officer Earl Petry. How are you holding up?” he asked. His bass voice was smooth and melodious and made her stomach flutter.

  “Pretty good, Earl. What’s going on with you?” she asked, glad that he called. Though Tommie was not on the dating market at the moment, she found Earl Petry more than attractive, with his smoldering smokey eyes, heavy brows, close cut silver hair, and neatly trimmed white beard. (Tommie was a sucker for facial hair.) Should she decide to put herself out there again, Earl would be at the top of her list.

  “I wanted to let you know that you’re no longer an official suspect. You are now just a person of interest.”

  “I like that. A ‘person of interest’ sounds a whole lot better, anyway.”

  He laughed, and she found herself smiling broadly.

  “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook, Tommie, and your shop is still closed because it’s a crime scene. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She sighed. It had been an exhausting day. “When do you suppose I can get in there to clean up?”

  “A day or two, but don’t go in there anymore.”

  “What makes you say that? Did someone tell you I had been in there?” She kept her tone guarded.

  “Oh, come on, Tommie. Number one, you’re an independent woman who does what she pleases. Number two, you’re an independent woman whose shop is very important to her current lifestyle. And number three, I could see where your boot dragged in the fingerprint dust.”

&nb
sp; “Oh,” she said quietly, her face reddening.

  “Darlin’, I know you want to be in there to get your herbs and things sorted out, but I have to ask you to keep your distance for a few days until I say it’s cleared. Please?”

  “All right, Earl. But only because you asked me. Can you tell me if you’ve found out anything about how Coral died?” she asked.

  “Um hmm. She was poisoned, but you already knew that. It was likely cyanide … just like Sandy told you,” he said.

  “But … I … um.”

  “Lord, Tommie. I like you a lot, and that’s why I’m going to trust you with information you really shouldn’t have just yet. I’m not a stupid man, and you’re not a stupid woman, so it’s best if we’re honest with each other. OK?”

  “OK, Earl. I’m sorry.” She was genuinely ashamed.

  “No need. But, let’s don’t try to herd cats. I’ll tell you whatever I can, and you leave it at that. Coral Beadwell was murdered. She was poisoned, and it appears to be cyanide. It didn’t come from any of your product. It was placed in her cup before you fixed her tea. There was a significant amount, and she didn’t have a chance of survival, so Sandy says. What I want to know is, do you have any idea how it got there, Tommie?”

  “Earl, I don’t. I promise you. I’m extremely fastidious about sanitizing those teacups and all my equipment. The cups are always washed each night, even the ones that haven’t been used. When they’re dry, I stack them in the caddies, covered with a tea towel, just before I lock up to go home. The only way they could be tainted is for someone to put that poison in or on them before I open the door at 12:00, or for somebody to do it unnoticed while I’m serving customers or preparing their tea.”

  “You told me Linda Beadwell was in your shop before you opened up at noon.”

  “Yes, she was, Earl. She even admitted it.”

  “How did you not see her when she came in?”

  “I was on my hands and knees in the Alice in Wonderland window display—the Mad Hatter Tea-Party one to the left of the front door.”