Shadow of a Spout (23 page)

“How do you happen to know he’s
not
afraid of blood?”

“Sophie, Bertie was an EMT before his aunt left him the inn,” she said. “He wasn’t very good at it; in fact he had lost his job because of something that happened, some negligence on his part, and a guy died in his ambulance. I know there was some lawsuit, and a judgment against him. He’s got to keep paying it, so if he lost the inn, he’d be bankrupt. But anyway, the upshot is, he could
never
have been afraid of blood, not on that job, not for seven years. I couldn’t think why he was pretending otherwise.”

“I don’t suppose anyone but you would have known that,” Sophie said. She’d had some time to think about things while waiting to be interviewed, and she knew how Bertie had timed it so that she’d be the one to find him with the bloody gash, crying and wailing about his fear of blood, too. She had been downstairs, and he must have known that; he had security cameras trained on the kitchen, after all. When she headed toward the stairs he must have been right there, ready to gash himself. Why? The only reason she could think of was that her questions and intent to get to the bottom of things must have unnerved him.

“So let me get this straight, the innkeeper was setting it up to look like he couldn’t be guilty of bashing the woman over the head because he couldn’t stand the sight of blood,” Jason said.

Sophie nodded. “He couldn’t leave well enough alone. It was the
one
thing over the line among all the tricks he used to cast the blame on different folks. If I’d heard that—what you told the others, Melissa—I would have known immediately, but I was so sure for a while that it was Nora. She had been seen in Bertie’s office—she was apparently trying to figure out if Bertie really did write the e-mail to her—and I knew whomever was guilty had to have access to the key, so she made sense to me. Plus she had ample reason to hate Zunia. Of course, Bertie was the one person who
always
had access to the key.” She paused. “But what about the thunderstorm fear?”

“Oh,
that’s
real enough,” Melissa said.

“I suppose he really was hiding in his panic room while the thunderstorm raged, but he first let poor Pastor Frank out without letting him know it was he who unlocked the door.”

“Why would he do that?” Melissa asked.

Sophie shivered as the air-conditioning finally got to her wet skin and clothes. Jason hugged her close, using his body heat to warm her up.

“He wanted to cast doubt on Frank’s story,” Sophie said. “He could always tell the police that Frank must have had the master key and let himself out, if he decided to lay the blame on him. He made his decision to steal and use Nana’s teapot to point the blame at her as soon as he heard the story of Zunia and my grandmother’s argument, but he was hedging his bets. It was like he was using a scattershot to put the blame on lots of different people, figuring he’d muddy the waters, I suppose. It sure worked for a while. I was so confused I couldn’t figure out who was telling the truth and who was lying.”

“I just don’t know what to think,” Melissa said, tears in her eyes. “Bertie and I got along all right. I can’t believe he’s a killer! Why’d he do it?”

Sophie shook her head. “Fear. He was losing his grip on everything, including this inn, and coming unglued. Zunia was threatening to take the convention away, and he was scared it would be the nail in the inn’s coffin. With her gone he hoped everything would return to normal.” She had a feeling he followed Nora and Frank intending to kill one and frame the other.

Melissa, calmer, sniffled and said, “His aunt, the one who left him the inn, was a lovely person—my godmother, actually.” She grabbed a tissue and mopped her eyes, taking a deep trembling breath. “I guess I’ll take care of things here until the police tell me what to do. I feel like I owe it to
her
more than Bertie. She loved this old place.”

In a thoughtful mood, Sophie accompanied Jason upstairs and led him to her grandmother’s room. Nana, her lined face weary, jumped up as quickly as any octogenarian could when Sophie entered the room to a chorus of her friend’s voices, chattering and asking if she was okay, and what had happened, and was she sure she was all right! Nana stiffly toddled across to Sophie and enveloped her in a hug, trembling. “Thank the good Lord! I was so worried when I heard what had happened. We stayed together; they all kept me from going crazy. How could you do something like that, heading out after folks when there was a murderer among the group? Young lady, I ought to tell your mother!”

“Nana, it’s okay,” Sophie said, hugging her hard. “I’m all right.”

After some chatter and crowding around, and satisfying them all that she really was okay, Sophie changed her clothes and washed up, then joined her friends and Nana. Sophie sat beside Jason cross-legged on a bed in Nana and Laverne’s room with a mug of tea. The room was crowded, but it was hours yet before the coffee shop would open, and everyone wanted to hear what had happened.

She told them all how she had been waiting for Jason, but when she saw Nora slinking out of the back door and staying in the shadows, she felt the need to follow. At that point she was still vacillating as to the identity of the killer. She had first settled on Nora, because Thelma had seen Nora coming out of Bertie’s office; it was a perfect opportunity to snag the key, she figured. But her alternate was Pastor Frank. His evasiveness over where he was that night, his uncertainty over who had let him out of the locked room, his weird obsession with Zunia: it had all contributed to her thinking that he must have done it.

“It was only at the last minute that I decided it just had to be Bertie. There were so many conflicting stories and lies told for a variety of reasons, I was confused . . . still am. So let’s figure this out,” Sophie said, taking in the room at large. “There were several people who
could
have done it. If I’d gotten the text about Bertie not being afraid of blood, I would have figured out he was the guilty one earlier. I mean, otherwise why the sham?”

“So many people were lying about so much,” Nana said.

“I know . . . so many lies, I had trouble keeping track of them all.” The e-mail outing Walter and Zunia’s affair that Bertie claimed he did not write, Orlando lying about being on the phone and claiming he knew all along about her affair and that it wasn’t serious, Bertie lying about having an affair with Nora, Emma refusing to explain where she was all night . . . so many lies, large and small. She glanced around at the gathering. Nana, Thelma and Laverne occupied straight-backed chairs by the little table. Jason sat on Sophie’s cot with her, his back against the wall, while Dana, Cissy and SuLinn—who had not gone home after all—sat on the two double beds. Sophie had been informed by Laverne that Josh was downstairs with the two elderly gentlemen, learning to cheat at gin rummy.

“So . . . what really happened? Are we clear yet?” Nana asked.

They went over the evening before the murder. “What gave us pause,” Laverne said, “was Frank Barlow coming to the Pettigrews’ door and confronting Orlando. Where was Zunia at that point?”

“I have to imagine she was in bed or getting ready for bed,” Sophie said. “She didn’t come to the door at all, right?”

“No,” Nana said. “And Walter was at
his
door, so he wasn’t with her. She must have been in their room, probably fed up with Frank and not willing to talk to him.”

“But when she was found dead she was still in the same clothes she had been in earlier,” Sophie said.

“True,” Nana said. “She either never changed out of them, or put them back on before she went out.”

“I don’t think the police ever found her cell phone, but it’s probably safe to say she got a text or call saying Bertie wanted to come clean about the e-mail, so she went out to meet him.” Sophie explained to the others about the e-mail to Nora Sommer that Zunia believed Bertie had sent, the very e-mail that it seemed he really
did
send, hoping to get Zunia in trouble so deep she’d be thrown out as ITCS New York State chapter president, no doubt. How could he know that she’d pretty much call his bluff with a fake lawsuit? That was likely when the scheme to kill her had occurred to him.

Laverne said, “But her body wasn’t found until three thirty
A.M
. or so. Surely she would have been in her pj’s by then.”

“I wondered, what would I do if I was at an inn, already in bed or ready for bed, and got a text or e-mail asking to meet someone? I’d put the clothes back on that I’d worn that day. Orlando fell into a deep sleep—the scotch and allergy meds made sure of that—so he didn’t even know when she left the room.”

There was a tap at the door just then. Sophie bounced up and crossed the floor, flinging the door open.

Rhiannon Galway stood in the doorway, a smile on her face. “Can anyone join this party?”

“You’re welcome, of course,” Sophie said, and crossed back to the cot. She introduced Rhiannon to Jason and brought her up to speed.

Rhiannon took a deep breath, clasping her hands together in front of her. She glanced around at the gathering. “I can add to the conversation. First, you were wondering about Walter Sommer, right? Where he was when the murder happened?”

Sophie watched her. “Well, yeah, that’s
one
of the things we wondered about.”

“He was out looking for me,” she said, her pale cheeks pinkening.

Sophie felt bad for her, having to admit to that. “But you were with your . . . uh . . . friend.”

“Mike,” she said, with a faint smile. “He called me last night,” she said to Sophie. “He wants to go out for real.”

“Do you want to go out with him?” Dana asked, watching her face.

“I do; he’s a great guy. But about Walter . . . I messaged him about the fight with Zunia, and he wanted to talk to me in person, to reassure me that I didn’t have to worry about losing the ITCS contract for tea supplies. He’d see to that. I didn’t know that then, of course. But he was out looking for me some of the night and got back after the murder. He’s had a rough go of it because the cops have been grilling him.”

“So he lied to us all when he said he was in his room in bed?” Sophie asked.

Rhiannon nodded again.

Dana said, suddenly, “He’s your father, isn’t he?”

“Dana, don’t—” Sophie was about to tell Dana the subject of Rhiannon and Walter’s relationship was off-limits, but she stopped in midsentence when she saw Rhiannon’s nod of affirmation.

“He is?” a chorus of voices asked.

“Can’t you see it?” Dana asked, watching Rhiannon. “She has his eyes and his hands, and the same way of talking. I’ve only met the guy briefly, but I can tell.”

Suddenly a dozen little things fell into place: Rhiannon’s attachment to him, the way he had hugged her—fatherly, not in a lover’s fashion—the fact that Lacey Galway had been among the first members to start the ITCS more than twenty-five years ago along with the Sommers.

“That’s why my mom didn’t stay in the ITCS and why she moved to Arizona when she got married. She just couldn’t handle being around Walter anymore, not with him not willing to acknowledge me openly for so long. And that’s why Nora doesn’t like me.”

“Because you’re a constant reminder of his . . . uh, his behavior.”

Rhiannon shrugged. “I tried to creep around and pretend my feelings weren’t hurt. Nora held it over him all these years, since he had the affair with Mom, and he felt he owed it to her to just keep our relationship on the down low. Zunia picked up on our vibe and figured we were having an affair. That’s why she hated me so much and wanted me out of the ITCS; she was going after him hard, and didn’t want me in the way.”

“Wow. She was quite the piece of work,” Dana said, brows arched high.

“She sure was. I guess she was disillusioned with Orlando and was moving on. Dad did have a fling with her, but said she was an awful person, just spiteful and mean-tempered. He was trying to ditch her, but she was holding on and threatening to expose their affair. Not that any of that excuses murder,” she added hastily, looking around the group. “She didn’t deserve to die, and we would have sorted it all out eventually. Anyway, Dad and I finally had a real discussion, and I’m not hiding our relationship anymore, and he isn’t, either. He’s told Nora she can shove it, or something to that effect.”

Nana got up and went to the girl, hugging her. “I’m happy for you, dear,” she said. “You’re a good girl and didn’t deserve the way you’ve been treated.”

“I’m sorry things went the way they did. As much as I disliked Zunia, she didn’t deserve what Bertie did to her,” she repeated. “I still can’t believe it, but I guess I have to.”

“I could have told you it was that innkeeper. I always said he had fishy eyes,” Thelma said.

Cissy rolled her eyes and said, “Oh, Grandma!”

Chapter 23

E
veryone scattered to try to get a little sleep. The next morning they had coffee in the coffee shop with some of the other convention attendees. The convention itself had been abruptly terminated with no real decision made as to the chapter presidency. Nora and Walter told everyone at the quick meeting they called that they would consider the matter and give everyone their opinion, after which it would go to a mail-in vote.

Pastor Frank was out of the running. He was still in the hospital after his run-in with Bertie, his nervous system completely collapsed, Penelope Daley claimed. She was staying to see him though his crisis, and Laverne was taking bets that she would soon be Mrs. Pastor Frank. Most of the others simply packed up and left, including Emma Pettigrew, whose mother had come to get her. Josh’s mother had arrived at the crack of dawn and packed him up, offering Malcolm and Horace a ride back to Gracious Grove as well.

Faye Alice and Jemima had coffee with the remaining Silver Spouts crew in the coffee shop. SuLinn, Cissy and Dana had all headed back to Gracious Grove early so they could open both businesses: Cissy’s bookshop and La Belle Époque. Thelma was going back with Laverne, while Nana would travel with Sophie.

“We’ll see what happens with the ITCS now,” Laverne said. “I say Rhiannon should take over this chapter. She’s Walter’s daughter, after all, and tea runs in her blood!”

“I’d second that,” Nana said.

Faye Alice harrumphed. “We’ll see. If I’m to stay with the ITCS, I think we’ll need some changes made, and I may just run myself!”

“I’d vote for you,” Jemima said.

“I wouldn’t,” Thelma croaked. “You’re as shifty as that Bertie Handler fella.”

“Says the woman who caused all this trouble in the first place with her lies,” Faye Alice shot back.

“Now, that’s not quite fair,” Nana said. “Thelma pulled a prank, but Bertie intended to kill Zunia anyway; that’s why he had planned it all out ahead of time. It’s just that with so many folks not liking Zunia, it was too easy to find suspects. Including me!”

Her blue eyes sparkled, and Sophie giggled softly. “My Nana, chief suspect in a murder investigation! Wait ’til Mom hears.”

“Young lady, you are to tell Rosalind nothing!” Nana said.

“I said all along that Zunia woman was a murder waiting to happen,” Thelma growled.

The group broke up and they packed their vehicles, ready to go. Before they left, Melissa told them the inn was closing, for the moment, until Bertie was either out on bail or had made arrangements for who was going to take care of things. He had no family, Melissa said. The aunt who left him the inn was the last of his line, besides Bertie himself.

Their arrival back in Gracious Grove was tumultuous, since Gilda was weepy and clingy, and the cats, both Pearl and Sweet Pea, meowed and demanded to be a part of the celebration. They opened both tearooms that day and managed to muddle through.

After a couple of days they learned that Bertie Handler had not yet been arraigned because they were doing a psychiatric evaluation on him. Sophie suspected that he would eventually be found fit to stand trial. He was an emotional sort, but he hadn’t seemed truly imbalanced or incapable of knowing right from wrong.

As for the teapot that had been used to point the finger of blame at Nana, shortly after they arrived home Sophie got an e-mail from a specialist who confirmed that the vessel she had sent him a photo of was indeed a Tibetan holy water vessel and not a teapot at all. Of course, the pot was still in the possession of the Butterhill police department, as it was evidence in the murder case against Bertie Handler. Nana shook her head when she heard, and told her granddaughter that she had no desire to ever have the pot back. If it was offered to her after the trial, if there was one, she’d have to figure out what to do with it then.

Finally it was Saturday, the end of the long week. The day had been hectic, with a couple of bus tour groups, a baby shower, a wedding shower and lots of drop-ins. La Belle Époque had been busy, too. Sophie was looking forward to Sunday because she and Jason were going to go to the lake for a picnic. She was intent on telling him how much she regretted the way they had parted as teenagers, and how she hoped they could become more than friends again.

The bell over the door indicating another customer entering rang and Sophie whirled, ready to tell the newcomer that they were just closing up for the day. Instead she stood openmouthed. “Mom!” she yelped, skipping across the tearoom and throwing her arms around the slim, blonde, well-kept woman.

“Sophie, let me look at you!” Her mother held her away from her and turned her around. “You need a manicure and a proper haircut. Who has butchered your ends?” she exclaimed, grabbing a handful of her daughter’s hair. “And what conditioner are you
not
using?”

“It’s so good to see you,” Sophie said, staring at her mother. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed her in the last four months. “Let me lock up. Come see Nana.”

Sophie locked the front door, then tugged her mother back to the kitchen and hopped up and down in delight as Nana turned and saw her daughter standing by the door. “Rosalind!” she cried. “Oh, my dear, it feels like forever!”

“Mama, I saw you not that long ago; wasn’t it Christmas?”

Rose enfolded her in a long hug, and Sophie saw a tear on her grandmother’s cheek. Rosalind didn’t like Gracious Grove much, though she did visit her mother at least once a year.

“Not Christmas. It was Thanksgiving last year. I’ve missed you so very much.”

When the hug ended, mother and daughter stood and stared into each other’s eyes as Sophie watched. For all their differences, Sophie could see so many similarities in her mother and grandmother.

“I’ve missed you too, Mom,” Rosalind said.

Nana was tired, so though her mother would have liked to go out for dinner, Sophie insisted on cooking, and they ate in Nana’s apartment with Pearl sitting on Sophie’s lap, much to Rosalind’s chagrin. Her mother was going to stay in Nana’s guest room on the second floor, but Sophie wanted to talk, so her mom joined her in her apartment for a glass of wine before bed.

Mother and daughter chatted for a while but eventually the subject came around to Sophie’s plans, as she knew it would.

“You can’t mean to stay here in Gracious Grove indefinitely, darling?”

Sophie watched her mother. A lot of people thought her mom was a typical wealthy man’s wife, and in some ways she was. Sophie loved her father, but he was not cut out to be a dad. He enjoyed work and little else. Rosalind Freemont Taylor had gracefully found a life of her own to keep her occupied. She traveled, shopped and saw the world with the occasional presence of her husband when he was forced to take a vacation.

“I’m really enjoying being here, Mom. You know how much I love this town, and being with Nana.”

The woman smiled and sipped her wine, making a little face and setting it aside. She curled up and said, “What about your goals? You wanted to get back into a really good restaurant, last I heard. You’re such a good chef, darling. Dinner tonight was delicious. Are you going to waste your talent making scones and cupcakes?”

Sophie narrowed her eyes. This was the first time her mother had ever talked about her ambitions with such enthusiasm. “It’s not so bad. I’ve been experimenting with soups and pastas, light lunches. They’re going well.”

“But you’re a chef, not a tearoom cook.”

“What are you getting at, Mom?”

Rosalind uncoiled and leaned forward, setting a few things on Sophie’s coffee table at right angles. “Do you remember Bartleby’s on Shinnecock, darling?”

“Of course.” Bartleby’s was a lovely old restaurant near the Taylor house in the Hamptons, where Sophie spent a few weeks at the beginning and end of every summer when she was a teen, whatever time she could spare from Gracious Grove. “We used to have dinner there every Labor Day, just before you took me back to school.”

Those dinners had always been fraught with so many emotions: sadness, anger, resentment, excitement, but most of all, confusion. Sophie had never been sure whether she most longed for or feared the parting at the beginning of the school year, when she knew she wouldn’t see her family again until Thanksgiving in November. But that restaurant was where she had become familiar with and gained a love of truly fine food. They were legendary for their oyster and lobster dishes. “What about it?”

“They’re under new management. The most darling man has bought it, a gift to his son, who is a fabulous designer.”

A pause, and time ticked. Sophie could feel her stomach churn. “And?”

“And he knows of you from In Fashion, darling.” She flicked a glance up at her daughter, then returned it to a chrome teacup that sat on the table. “It seems your food made quite an impression on him. When I told him you were my daughter and that In Fashion had closed, he was aghast. You weren’t cooking? he asked.” She shrugged elegantly, her pale blue silk pajamas rippling, shimmering softly in the low lighting. She sat back again, watching her daughter.

Sophie waited.

“He has a chef, of course, but it seems they are in desperate need of a sous chef de cuisine, someone who understands New York palates.” Rosalind fished in her purse and brought out a letter, which she handed to Sophie. “He asked me to give you this.”

Sophie took it and tore it open. In florid, expressive language, Hendriques Van Sant begged her to consider coming to work at Bartleby’s. He named a staggering wage. He told her his vision: to reconnect the restaurant to its seafood origins, from which it had strayed. The job was hers, no application nor audition needed. He had eaten her food and was satisfied.

“That would mean leaving here,” she said numbly.

“You could stay at our house in the Hamptons, darling. It would be so much fun! We could spend time together.”

Sophie eyed her mother. “Did you have anything to do with this?” she asked, flapping the letter around.

“The offer? Of course not! As if I would.”

Did it matter even if she did? Sophie regarded her mother. This was the first time she felt like her mom was taking her ambitions seriously, and it meant a lot. “What does Daddy think?” Sophie asked.

“You know your father, he hardly heard me. I swear, I could say I was running away with a gondolier from Venice and he’d just tell me to have a nice time.”

Sophie felt a twinge of remorse. She was sometimes guilty of tuning her mother out, too, but her mom told the same stories over and over or talked about stuff that just didn’t interest Sophie. She’d have to listen better. “I’ll think about this. Can I call him to talk to him before accepting?” Sophie said. This was a test. Definitely a test.

“You certainly can. Oh, I hope you take it!” She clasped her delicate hands together and held them in front of her face, the pearl pink of her nail polish glowing softly. “It’s such a beautiful place, and they are getting ready to open in a month. You’ll not keep him waiting, will you?”

“No, I’ll phone him tomorrow morning.” Just before going on a picnic with Jason. Her stomach clenched yet again. What to do? She had been having budding romantic feelings for her teenage love, but if she was not going to stay, was it fair to reignite the flame that she still felt was banked in her heart?

She wasn’t sure. She just wasn’t. She’d see him tomorrow. Rosalind rose and stretched languidly, very much like Pearl would.

“Good night, Mom. Thank you for this,” Sophie said, folding up the letter as she stood. “It means a lot to me that you believe in me so much.”

“My darling girl, I’ve always believed in you. You just never gave me a chance.”

“I promise, I’ll give you a chance from now on,” Sophie said. She hugged her beautiful mother, feeling the sharp angles of her shoulder bones sticking out. “I’ll
always
give you a chance from now on,” she whispered.