Death of a Mad Hatter (A Hat Shop Mystery)

by Jenn McKinlay

  “You scared us to death, yeah?” she cried.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I leaned over toward Viv, who was sitting beside me on the floor in front of the fireplace in our flat above the shop. “Was I this hard on you when you disappeared to Africa a few months ago?”

  “Worse,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I felt like my vocabulary had been whittled down to just those two words.

  “You can stop saying that now,” she said. “To me, anyway. I forgive you. I understand the impulse thing. The others, I’m not so sure.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  Down below the shop was closed. The rain was pouring outside, making the evening sky dark and gray. Viv, Fee and I had escaped upstairs to enjoy a glass of wine by the fire.

  Andre and Nick showed up shortly after that, bearing a box of raspberry and pear tarts. The raspberry was my favorite, as it had a thick layer of cream beneath the raspberries that tasted just heavenly with the crunchy, buttery pie crust.

  When I reached inside the box, Andre smacked my hand away. “Those are for after dinner, assuming we let you have any dessert. I am still very unhappy with you, Scarlett.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I glanced at Nick and puffed out my lower lip just slightly and batted my eyes. “You forgive me, don’t you?”

  “Oh no, you don’t,” he said. “Puppy eyes do not work on me. I am immune. What were you thinking? You could have been killed. No, don’t speak. Save it for dinner, when we’re all here.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at Viv. “All here? We’re expecting more company?”

  “Harrison is coming over with food,” she said.

  A flare of alarm coursed through me. “Cooking with his head injury? Is that wise?”

  “I think he’s picking up takeaway,” Viv said. “He said something about braised pork, black pudding and apple three ways.”

  Okay, I can admit it. If he brought food, I was absolutely letting him in, damn the consequences, which I expected would be significant.

  Nick poured wine for us all and I sipped from my glass while the others chattered about the day’s events. Shortly after, the door to the apartment opened and in came Harrison bearing several bags of carryout food.

  Nick and Andre popped up to help him. Viv and Fee joined them, but I stayed by the fire. I watched Viv kiss Harrison’s cheek and check his bump. He winced. Fee kissed his cheek, too. They exchanged a smile and I felt a tiny spurt of jealousy ignite in my chest. What was going on between them, anyway? They made goo-goo eyes at each other, but then he kissed me. What was that about?

  Maybe he didn’t remember kissing me. Maybe he had been loopy from the bump on his head. Oh, horror! Maybe he thought I was Fee and the kiss hadn’t even been meant for me!

  “So, how is our reigning hero?” Nick asked Harrison.

  “Yes, how is the noggin?” Andre asked. “Did Scarlett nurse you back to health?”

  It was then that Harrison’s gaze sought me out. His green eyes were positively magnetic, and I couldn’t look away even when I tried. I felt my mouth go dry. Did he remember?

  “Yes, yes, she did,” he said.

  “Well, since you were so gallant in saving her life, I suppose it was the least she could do,” Nick said.

  “Oh, I brought those pictures you bought at the opening,” Andre said. “They’re all wrapped up over there.”

  He gestured at three brown-wrapped packages leaning against the far wall.

  “Brilliant,” Harrison said. “It’s been pointed out to me that my flat has less warmth than a low-budget hotel room.”

  He moved into the kitchen area and began to help Viv gather plates and silverware. The table only sat four, so it seemed by mutual agreement that we would all eat picnic style in front of the fire.

  Viv spread a large tablecloth on the floor and Andre opened up more wine. The boxes of takeaway were placed in the center, and everyone helped themselves.

  Fee sliced up a loaf of fresh bread that Viv and I had picked up at Saturday’s market. Nick scrounged in our refrigerator until he found the fixings for a salad. It was mostly made of sliced cucumbers and tomatoes with crumbled feta cheese on top, but no one seemed to mind.

  “Well, now that we’re all here, Scarlett, you have to tell us everything from the very beginning,” Nick said. “Do not skip out on any details.”

  “Fine,” I said. I put my fork back down on my plate. I glanced around to find everyone watching me. I realized I had to make this good but also much less life-threatening if I wanted their forgiveness.

  So I launched into what one might call the Disney version of the events that transpired, starting with my need to see Tina, then George admitting he had attacked Harrison and me, and wrapping up with Dotty bashing Cara on the head after George had admitted that he and Cara were in cahoots to take over the Grisby fortune.

  My audience was rapt and when I finished, Nick refilled my wineglass, this telling me more than anything else that all was forgiven, at least by him.

  Theories flew around the room as to who had instigated the relationship between Cara and George. Andre and Nick thought Cara had corrupted the young man, while Viv speculated that George’s own mother issues had caused him to seek out his grandfather’s mistress and lure her into a relationship.

  “Well, it could have been a business relationship,” Fee said. “Like me and Harrison, yeah?”

  “Business relationship?” I asked. I was trying to look casual but I could feel Harrison’s gaze on my face while I waited for Fee to explain.

  “Didn’t I tell you? Harrison is teaching me how to invest my money so that when the time comes, I have enough capital to open my own shop.”

  “I tried to tell you,” Viv whispered in my ear.

  “So you did,” I said. I tried to ignore the silly burble of happy that was bubbling inside of me. There was no point. I was not going to date anyone for at least another ten months, and Harrison was our business manager. It would be positively stupid to be interested in him. Right?

  “Well, it was very apparent that there was more going on with Cara and George than business,” I said. “I think he was in love with her and I think she was using him to maintain the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed.”

  “And Daphne called us a pair of oxpecker birds on a hippopotamus?” Viv asked.

  “She did not!” Andre cried.

  “She did,” Viv said.

  “Rude!” Nick huffed.

  “A show of hands for tea,” I cried. They all raised a hand and immediately resumed their discussion of the Grisby family dynamic, which to my mind could easily be called dysfunction junction.

  My legs were cramping, so I rose from my seat and took a stack of dirty dishes to the kitchen. I left the plates in the sink and took up the kettle. That raspberry tart simply demanded hot tea to wash it down.

  I had just put the kettle on the stove when I heard someone move behind me. I turned to find Harrison standing by the sink with his arms crossed over his chest, watching me.

  “You’re looking positively domestic, Ginger,” he said.

  “Boiling water is a big step for me, Harry,” I said.

  “It’s Harrison,” he grumbled. He stepped forward and brushed my swollen lip with his thumb. “Does it hurt?”

  “No worse than your head,” I said.

  He reached around me for the teapot and canister of tea. He made the cramped space seem even smaller and as I caught the scent of his particular cologne my mind immediately flashed to that moment in his room. Yes, that moment. I shook my head. It was best not to go there.

  “So, how is your head, anyway?” I asked.

  “It’s good,” he said. He filled the infuser with loose tea leaves and dropped it into the pot. “Or it was until I got a call that a certain someone had gone out to Grisb
y Hall even though she’d promised me she wouldn’t.”

  He turned and faced me as he spoke and when he finished, he was looming over me, a habit of his I did not appreciate.

  “The promise was broken once Tina asked me to help her get to the States,” I protested. I tried to put more space between us, but I was wedged between him and the counter. There was no place to run, because believe you me, I would have.

  “No, it wasn’t,” he said. “Another person’s cry for help doesn’t invalidate a promise you made to someone else.”

  “Yes, it does,” I said. “It’s called an extenuating circumstance.”

  He leaned back and shook his head at me as if he didn’t know what to do with me. Well, that was mutual.

  “Speaking of circumstances, why did you leave so abruptly this morning?”

  “Oh, well, I heard you in the shower, so I figured you were fine,” I said. Maintaining eye contact was suddenly uncomfortable, so I glanced over at the paper-wrapped pictures Andre had propped against the wall. As a diversionary tactic, I said, “That was very nice of you to support Andre by buying some of his work. Which pieces did you choose?”

  He didn’t answer right away, so I glanced back at him to see if he’d heard me. He was studying me intently and I felt that traitorous fluttery feeling that liked to surface whenever he was around. I tried to tamp it down, but his bright-green gaze was wreaking havoc with my ability to concentrate.

  “I bought the pictures of you,” he said. “Well, you and Viv, actually, but mostly, it was the one of you that I wanted.”

  I stopped breathing and had to force the air out of the bottom of my lungs to ask, “Why?”

  “At the time of the opening, it was because I liked them,” he said. “Andre really captured the essence of you in that shot, but now . . .”

  He paused and I held my breath.

  “Well, after last night—” he began, but I interrupted. I had to know.

  “What do you remember about last night?” I asked.

  A slow smile spread across his lips and he answered, “Everything.”

  “Oh.” My voice was little more than a puff of breath, and I was a bit afraid I was going to pass out. I forced myself to inhale.

  “Well, now I guess your picture will have to keep me company, until I get the chance to kiss you again,” he said. He looked at me from under his lashes. “Still determined not to date anyone?”

  Okay, this was too much. He was too handsome, too charming, too much to resist. A girl could only take so much, after all.

  “I—”

  The kettle chose that exact moment to emit an ear-piercing whistle. It interrupted what I had been about to say, and I took it as a sign from the universe that the answer I had been about to give had been wrong.

  “Tea time!” I cried and bustled around him to retrieve the kettle. As I was pouring the water into the teapot, I could have sworn I smelled the faint, very faint scent of lily of the valley. Mim.

  I got the distinct feeling that Mim was a-okay with my decision not to date for a year and that she didn’t want me to give in to the first handsome man who came along.

  Harrison stepped up behind me and leaned close to whisper in my ear, “It’s quite all right. I’ll wait for you.”

  Well, if that didn’t make my eyesight go fuzzy and reduce my innards to jelly. I couldn’t even draw a breath until he walked away and joined the others.

  To think I could have dated him when we were ten and twelve and he would be completely out of my system. In fact, the old me probably would have dated and broken up with him twice by now. The floral scent grew just a little bit stronger and suddenly it made sense.

  “All right, Mim,” I muttered as I arranged cups and saucers on the tray with the teapot, cream and sugar on it. “I’ll take my time with this, but if I lose out on a good one because I waited, I’m blaming you.”

  The scent flared a teeny bit stronger and then disappeared. Mim approved. Great. It looked like I was going to learn impulse control whether I liked it or not. Ten more months until I was datable again; surely if Harrison could wait so could I. Right?

  Dear Reader,

  Traveling to London is always a delightful getaway for me. I just love spending time on Portobello Road in the hat shop with the girls. I never know what’s going to happen next. Can Scarlett really go ten more months without dating, especially with someone as dishy as Harrison hanging about? Is Mim really haunting the hat shop, or is it just wishful thinking for Scarlett and Viv? Only the next book in the series will tell.

  Writing about a locale like London requires me to flex my librarian muscles, which is another reason I so enjoy the series. I can spend days studying everything from London funeral homes to hat shops to afternoon tea both in person (amazing) but also through books and articles. If you’re a research junkie like me, I want to invite you to check out my mystery series for library lovers.

  Featuring Lindsey Norris, a small town library director on the Connecticut shore, this series is full of the quirks and eccentricities, as well as the warmth and comfort, that come from living in a tight-knit community. The crafternooners, for example, are Lindsey’s closest friends. These ladies meet every week to discuss a book, work on a craft and nosh on delicious food. They also like to debate Lindsey’s love life, but she’s very good at keeping the conversation on the book at hand.

  In their upcoming adventure, holiday cheer fills the town of Briar Creek, making even the grumpiest public servant almost chipper. Things take a somber turn, however, when Lindsey finds her brother Jack hiding in one of the library’s meeting rooms. Jack tells her that he’s on the run from someone who wants to kill him and that he’ll explain later. When later comes, Lindsey opens the door to the meeting room to find her brother missing, leaving a dead body in his place. Now Lindsey is in on borrowed time, trying to find her brother before the police or the killer do.

  Keep reading for a preview of On Borrowed Time, available November 2014 from Berkley Prime Crime. You can preorder it now from all major retailers at jennmckinlay.com

  Happy Reading!

  Jenn

  Lindsey Norris, director of the Briar Creek Public Library, strode across the library with her keys in hand. It was lunch hour on Thursday, which meant book talk, crafts and snacks, as their weekly crafternoon book club gathered in a meeting room on the far side of the building.

  Out of all the activities the library hosted, this was by far Lindsey’s favorite. She figured it was the book nerd in her that loved it so, but truthfully, these ladies had become her dearest friends since she’d moved to Briar Creek a few years ago and any moments she shared with them was time well spent.

  “Lindsey, wait up!” a voice called to her from the children’s department. She spun around to see an old-fashioned aviator charging toward her.

  Lindsey squinted. Beneath the leather cap and goggles, well, she couldn’t make out much, but she was pretty sure she recognized the upturned nose and stubborn chin as belonging to her children’s librarian, Beth Stanley. But it was hard to say, as the rest of her was dressed in a white scarf, leather bomber jacket, black pants and boots. Not the typical wardrobe for a woman who spent most of her time doing finger plays, felt boards and story times.

  “What do you think?” the aviator asked. She planted her hands on her hips and stood like she was posing for a photo.

  “I’m not sure,” Lindsey said. “Who are you?”

  “What? Oh!” The woman wrestled her goggles up onto her head. “It’s me— Beth. What do you think of my steampunk outfit?”

  “It’s the bomb,” Lindsey said with a laugh. Beth looked positively delighted with herself and with good reason. “You look like you could have stepped right out of Scott Westerfeld’s Leviathan.”

  “Yes!” Beth pumped a fist in the air. “That’s exactly what I was going for. My teen group worke
d on these at our meeting last night. You should see some of the stuff they made. We’re all getting together at the Blue Anchor tonight to have our holiday blowout and show off our outfits.”

  “I love it,” Lindsey said. Not for the first time, she thought how lucky the community was to have Beth, who truly brought reading to life for kids and teens.

  “I think you look ridiculous,” a voice said from the circulation desk. “Mr. Tupper never let his staff run around in costume, and certainly not out in public.”

  “No one asked you—” Beth began, but Lindsey cut her off.

  “That will do, Ms. Cole,” she said. “Beth has done amazing things to get our teens reading.”

  Ms. Cole sniffed but didn’t argue, which Lindsey felt was a big improvement. Known as the lemon to the rest of the staff, Ms. Cole was an old-school librarian who longed for the days of shushing loud patrons and shunning late borrowers.

  “Walk and talk,” Lindsey said to Beth. “Crafternoon is starting soon, and I need to set up the meeting room.”

  “Who’s bringing the food this week?” Beth asked.

  “Nancy.”

  “Oh, I hope she baked cookies,” Beth said. Nancy Peyton, who was also Lindsey’s landlord, was known throughout Briar Creek for her exceptional cookie-baking skills. Since it was December and the holidays were just weeks away, Lindsey knew that Nancy had been giving her oven a workout.

  “I think that’s a safe bet,” Lindsey said.

  She glanced out the window as they turned down the short hallway that led to the crafternoon room. The town maintenance crew had been decorating the old-fashioned lampposts that lined Main Street with garlands of silver and gold tinsel, and hanging green wreaths with red ribbons just below the lamps.

  The decorations added just the right amount of festive energy to the air and helped ward off the gloom that seemed to be descending upon them in the form of menacing, steel-gray clouds, which were reflected by the water in the bay, giving everything a cold, hard and unforgiving appearance.