Live and Let Chai

by Bree Baker

  The rest of the guests inched toward the door.

  Clara’s brows furrowed, her angelic face uncharacteristically forlorn. “You don’t have to go,” she called. “We can play Yahtzee! Or bridge! Sit out on the deck?”

  Henry went to Fran’s side and grabbed a jar of tea. He tapped his glass to hers and drank it straight down. “This is fantastic.” He eyeballed the empty jar. “Really, really good. Have you thought of bottling for retail?”

  I slumped onto a bar stool and dropped my chin into my hands. “No.”

  A man in a black jacket and tie took the stool beside mine. “Don’t worry about them,” he said. “They’ll come around.”

  I gave the lone encourager a closer look. “Mr. Blackstock?” My ninth grade history teacher smiled warmly at me, empty tea jar in hand. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see your café. It’s very well done.” He patted my shoulder. “And for the record, it’s nice to have you back. Not just for the tea.”

  “I wish everyone felt that way.” Seeing him again brought a true smile to my lips. Mr. Blackstock had opened my eyes to the history all around me. As a teen, I’d barely thought beyond the present moment, until I took his class. He gave me an appreciation for my aunts’ cuckoo obsession with passing family stories along. It didn’t matter if I believed them, or even if the stories were true, only that they were part of my legacy, formed in the minds and spoken from the lips of ancestors who couldn’t possibly know we’d still be repeating them two centuries later. The concept was pretty cool if I remembered to think of it that way. “I don’t suppose you know what Mr. Paine was working on lately?”

  He made a face. “I do, actually. It’s funny that you ask, because I rarely had reason to speak with him.”

  “Really?” I’d started to feel like a pest for asking everyone I met the same question, but it had finally paid off. “Go on.”

  He chuckled. “My wife is on the town council. She handles the calendar, scheduling, that sort of thing, but she attends all the meetings and hears all the drama. She’s nicer than me. She calls any issues that come up ‘dilemmas.’” He made air quotes. “One of the council’s biggest dilemmas involved Paine battling a local real estate developer over turning multiple historic homes into bed and breakfasts.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Yeah, and here’s the kicker, this guy wanted his B&Bs to share a name.”

  My jaw dropped. “A dreaded chain.” Good grief. It wasn’t exactly a set of golden arches or a Hilton, but if the poison hadn’t killed him, and the B&Bs went forward, he might’ve had heart failure instead. “Who was it?”

  “That I don’t know, but I can ask.” He stretched and got to his feet, checking his watch. “Good news. All the suspicion and funny looks? I’ve got a great historic quote for you: ‘This too shall pass.’ Everything does. Meanwhile, I’ve got to go. I came to say hello, but most of the folks who left just now were probably here killing time before the funeral. I’m sure there was no offense intended by their sudden departures.” He patted the counter and waved goodbye with a jaunty whistle.

  Funeral? The word bumbled around in my brain. “There’s a funeral today?”

  Aunt Clara put Mr. Blackstock’s glass in the dishwasher. “Mr. Paine’s, dear.”

  “That’s today? Right now?” An image of the silent, staring crowd popped back into mind. Now that I thought of it, I realized an unusual number of people had been wearing black. No wonder everyone had seemed so dressed up. “They came to the place where they think he was poisoned ten minutes before his funeral? Amelia was right. People are strange.”

  Aunt Clara came around the counter and slid a soft palm over my hand. “I’m sorry that didn’t go better. I wanted them to come by, try the teas, and remember who you are—not just the fact that someone poisoned a man’s tea which you happened to brew.”

  Aunt Fran stood at her sister’s side and wrapped an arm around her back. “They’re warming. Give them time.”

  “How did I not know the funeral was today?” I rose to my feet, feeling frustrated but energized. “Never mind.” I’d missed the town gossip meeting, and I hadn’t kept up with the blog. “I remember: nobody tells me anything anymore.”

  I paced in a small circle, formulating a new plan. “Aunt Clara? Aunt Fran? I have something to do. Would you mind locking up when you leave?” I needed the name of this bed and breakfast developer.

  They smiled. I kissed their cheeks and shook Henry’s hand, then darted upstairs to look for something black to wear.

  I had a funeral to attend.

  Chapter Ten

  I speed-walked through town in a simple black dress with matching flats, forgoing the boardwalk for the sake of time and heading for Boardman’s Funeral Home as quickly as I could without breaking a sweat. There were three locations for an eternal send-off in Charm, but Boardman’s was the most popular and almost double the size of our other two options.

  The breeze grew unseasonably cool as dark clouds rolled onto the horizon and snuffed out the blistering sun. The proverbial April showers had loomed for a week, threatening in spurts but without making good on their promise. I just hoped the storm would hold off until I reached my destination.

  Outside the local resale shop, I eyeballed a rusty old Schwinn. It was pink beneath the corrosion, with faded letter decals and a filthy white woven vinyl basket that was partially coming undone. The price tag said ten bucks, quite a deal for a woman racing the rain to a funeral. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to stop.

  The funeral home parking lot was full, and Detective Hays’s SUV stood sentinel at the curb.

  I detoured to a side entrance to avoid him. Was he there as part of his investigation? As a caring new local? Or as security? Hopefully, the first option. He needed to figure this thing out before I got another threat; I was already nervous to be home alone as it was.

  I followed the sounds of doom and gloom to a door marked “Paine Celebration,” then took a seat in the back. The bleating organ easily covered the soft snick of the door behind me.

  I crossed my ankles and tried to look as if I’d been there all along.

  Lucinda was in the front row, leaning on a younger woman. Dozens of Charm families filled the seats, mixed with a sprinkling of strangers I assumed were Mr. Paine’s family, or folks who’d moved to town while I’d been away. The remaining members of the town council filled the second row. Mr. Blackstock sat beside a small brunette.

  Detective Hays was nowhere to be seen.

  I slouched in my seat, searching each face for someone who looked suspicious, keeping myself on high alert in case the cranky detective appeared and busted me. He’d definitely think it was inappropriate for me to be at Mr. Paine’s funeral, given that he seemed to suspect I’d killed him, but imagine the gossip if I didn’t come. People would think I’d stayed away out of guilt.

  It was hard to guess who would approve and who wouldn’t, so I had to lay low, do my reconnaissance, and make sure a couple people saw me so they could spread the word later that I’d come to pay my respects.

  A man in the middle section across the aisle took notice and smiled at me. His bushy salt-and-pepper hair looked premature against his youthful face, but I’d have recognized Martin Paine anywhere—Mr. Paine’s nephew had been a man in demand on the beach every summer when we were teens. He’d lived up north somewhere but spent the weeks between each school year in Charm, making my town his annual playground.

  I waved in a silent greeting. His smile grew and I flipped my gaze forward before he drew more attention my way.

  “Excuse me,” he whispered, rising to a hunched position and shuffling past the others seated in his row. “Pardon.” He held his jacket together with one hand and guided himself with the other, using the seat backs as balance.

  He ducked across the aisle and parked himself on the empty seat at my sid
e. “Hi.” He shook my hand.

  “Hi.” I forced my attention back to the preacher.

  Martin crossed his legs and settled in.

  Twenty long minutes later, after some rambling remembrances of what a dedicated man Mr. Paine had been, the mourners were excused. Folks stood and filtered toward the front, congregating around Lucinda.

  I headed for the hallway, followed closely by Martin Paine.

  “Quite a turnout,” he said, once we’d broken free.

  “Quite,” I agreed.

  His smile remained easy and true as he gave me a long look. “I can’t believe how little you’ve changed since high school.”

  I guffawed. That was a total lie, but nice of him to say anyway.

  “You remember me, don’t you?” he asked.

  “Who could forget?” Martin had left for college and stopped visiting Charm the year I became a junior in high school. Girls had flocked to him back then, and time had been good to him, so I imagined not much had changed. Personally, I’d always preferred rough and rugged to clean and shiny. “I’m so sorry about your loss,” I said. My heart ached for him.

  Martin’s smile turned slowly downward. “I know you didn’t kill him,” he said. “I hate that he’s gone, but please know I don’t blame you. I’ve seen you rescue crabs and worms drying out on the sand or sidewalk—there’s no way you could hurt another human being. You jumped in on an escalating argument between me and Ned Kester my senior summer here, remember?”

  I scrambled backward mentally in search of the fuzzy memory. “Oh, that’s right. I hate bullies.”

  Martin’s brows rose over his forehead. “You thought you were saving me from a bully? Ouch.” He patted his chest.

  “I wasn’t?” Confusion muddled the memory. “That guy had fifty pounds on you. What did I walk into, then?”

  “He’d just caught me kissing his girlfriend. In my defense, I hadn’t been here since the previous summer, so I had no idea she had a boyfriend, and she didn’t offer up the information.” Martin rubbed a manicured hand across his lips to contain the smile.

  Clearly, I’d defended the wrong guy.

  I chewed my lip and weighed my options. I could ask Martin what he knew about his uncle’s death and risk offending him in the process, or I could keep my mouth shut and lose a golden opportunity.

  Curiosity and the need to end this whole mess opened my mouth. “Have you heard anything more about what happened to your uncle?” I lowered my voice to a whisper, then checked for prying ears. “The detective thought someone had put something in the tea.”

  “Mom said it was a prescription medicine of some kind. I don’t remember what. She was crying. I was shocked.”

  “Sure.” I nodded. “I can’t imagine getting news like that. Losing one of my aunts would be devastating. Knowing someone had killed her…” My throat tightened until I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  My addled brain struggled to make sense of the new information. Who would have had access to him like this? Someone had been close enough to overdose him with a prescription. I lifted my gaze to his. “Martin, how well do you know Lucinda?”

  “Aunt Lucinda?” he asked with a slight laugh. “Pretty well.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Why? Are you looking for her?” He twisted and peered over the crowd still clustered in the viewing room. “Do you want me to find her for you?”

  “No,” I yipped. “No, no.” I shook my head. “I just wondered if you knew how well she and your uncle got along. Someone said they were still in contact, and she wasn’t very nice.”

  Martin blinked. The intent behind my questions seemed to register, and his jovial expression faded. “Aunt Lucinda had no reason to fight with Uncle Benedict. They’ve been divorced for years.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be rude,” I said. “I’m just trying to figure out what happened that night. Someone knows, but half the people I talk to treat me like I have the plague and the other half literally run the other way when they see me coming.”

  Martin watched me with furrowed brows. He tipped his head sharply over one shoulder, then moved in that direction.

  I followed him around the corner to a quiet hallway with a love seat anchored beneath a seascape oil painting.

  Martin took a seat, hiking one ankle onto the opposite knee and blowing out a long, weary breath. “I appreciate that you’re trying to find out what happened to my uncle, but you don’t need to. There’s a detective assigned to the case. From what I understand, this guy’s the real deal. He’s very good.”

  I bit my tongue and nodded.

  Martin stretched forward, balancing his elbows on his thighs. “I can tell you’re going to push, so let’s get it over.”

  “Thank you.”

  He shook his head sadly. “Uncle Benedict had his own ideas about how life in Charm should be. I’m sure you know that. He loved his life here and his position on the town council, but I think the job made him as many enemies as friends.”

  I lowered onto the cushion beside Martin, unable to disagree. “He made me half batty wanting ingredient lists for everything in my café, but I can understand why he was so adamant. He wanted things done right, and he wanted the best for this town.”

  Long, dark lashes cast shadows across his smooth cheeks. Indecision played on his features. “This is probably nothing, so if you follow up on it, leave my name out of the conversation, okay?”

  I leaned closer in anticipation of whatever news he had to share. “Of course.”

  “There’s an entrepreneur in town named Metz. Uncle Benedict said he was a greedy, obnoxious putz who wanted to rezone an historic colonial into a commercial B&B with a gift shop. I guess he’s had a construction crew out there on Bay View for a couple of weeks, pointedly ignoring Uncle Benedict’s protests against the requested zoning change. I’m not sure how that works, but it was making my uncle crazy.”

  I made an uh-oh face. That sounded a lot like my situation with Mr. Paine and even more like the guy Mr. Blackstock had told me about. “Your uncle fought me on opening the café at my place too. When we dug into the records, I learned the property had been rezoned during the Great Depression to allow home-based businesses as long as the owner resided on the property, which I do. So his hands were tied, and I opened Sun, Sand, and Tea six weeks ago.”

  “This guy doesn’t even live in Charm,” Martin said. “And the property is strictly residential. Always has been.”

  Which meant Paine would’ve gone to battle to keep it that way. But how hard was Metz willing to fight back? “Do you know if Metz was working on more than one renovation project here?” A chain, perhaps?

  Martin rubbed his palms against the fabric of his black slacks. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. I still can’t believe Uncle Benedict is gone.”

  I set a gentle hand on his. “Me either.” I offered a tight smile when he looked my way. “I’ll find out what happened to him. I promise.”

  Emotion glistened in Martin’s eyes. He lifted his gaze over my head.

  The low buzz of a crowd filtered to us, echoing from the main hallway. A few mourners looked our way as they dispersed toward the parking lot and Lucinda came into view, her gaze locked on me.

  I bounced to my feet and shook Martin’s hand overenthusiastically. “I’d better get going. You should stop by Sun, Sand, and Tea sometime,” I told him. “I’d love to make you lunch, maybe a glass of tea.”

  He smiled. “I’d like that.”

  “There!” Lucinda’s voice sliced through the soft murmur of the crowd. “She’s with my nephew. Stop her!”

  I snapped my head in the direction of her voice, but Lucinda was invisible, swallowed by the mass of mourners.

  A familiar set of steel-gray eyes nearly leveled me. Detective Hays was moving in my direction.

  Holy teacups! Lucinda had sicced t
he law on me!

  I tossed Martin one last wave and made a run for the emergency exit sign at the end of the empty hall. I didn’t slow down until I hit Bay View, the newest destination in my mission log.

  It didn’t seem like I’d been followed, which probably meant that Lucinda and Detective Hays were hounding Martin for information about my presence there, and I was sure to hear about it later.

  The steady pounding of hammers and whistling of drills drew me to my destination like a tractor beam. Soon, the historic colonial came into view, covered in the construction crew I’d shared my tea samples with.

  “Hello.” I waved one hand overhead while shading my eyes with the other.

  A few men took notice, one met me on the sidewalk. “No iced tea today?” His congenial smile was a welcome sight. “That was good stuff.”

  Something crashed in the distance, and I winced. A string of curses rose from within the regal structure.

  “No tea today,” I said, “but I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  He jutted his bottom lip in a playful pout. “Then what brings you by?” He rocked on his heels and gave me an appreciative look. “You on your way to a party?”

  “Funeral.” I hooked a thumb casually over my shoulder. “I don’t suppose your name is Metz, by any chance?” I forced a smile, hoping this was the man I’d come to see. The fact we’d already met would make it easier to ask him about his feud with Mr. Paine.

  “Nah.”

  Another round of blatant profanity flew through the air. Two men in drooping tool belts bustled out of the home’s front door and disappeared into the side yard, hard hats sliding over their heads. A third man emerged with vengeance in his eyes. His high-end suit was a contrast with the dusty work zone.

  The man before me ducked his head. “That’s Mr. Metz. Good luck.” He followed the other workers around the corner, leaving me to face off with the pathological cusser.

  I squared my shoulders and shored up my nerve. “Mr. Metz?” I used my most pleasant voice in an attempt not to be yelled at. “Hello.”

  He slid a linen suit jacket on over his pit-stained shirt, then smoothed a hand through his thinning hair. “Hello.” His shoulders were broad and his legs were long. He was over forty, but had clearly been an athlete. “I’m Leo Metz.” He smiled. The tip of a gold-capped tooth twinkled in the sun. “Can I help you, Miss—?”