The Diva Serves High Tea (22 page)

Dear Sophie,

We're having a tea party outdoors. It's going to be very pretty in the shade of trees by a lake. But we don't know if we can serve iced tea. Somehow that seems wrong but when it's hot, will anyone want to drink hot tea?

—Overheated in Hot Spot, Kentucky

Dear Overheated,

Why don't you serve both? That way your guests can choose what they prefer.

—Sophie

I grew so cold at his words that my latte didn't even warm me.

“Why you were in Robert's house?” I asked.

“We knew Robert came from a wealthy family. If I had killed a girl like he did, I would have spent my life in prison. I wanted to see how Robert spent his life. I wanted to see
what Rosie's life would have been like if Robert had been a decent man. Looked pretty comfortable to me. I heard you found him. Is that true?”

I nodded.

“Did he suffer?” He whispered it and looked at me with hopeful eyes.

I was cognizant of the people surrounding us. The shoppers and the store employees. I feared I was facing the man who murdered Robert. Nevertheless, I told the truth. “Yes. I think his was a terrible and frightening death.”

I expected an evil grin or satisfaction, but he didn't seem outwardly happy. We were in a public place, so I dared to confront him. “Hunter, did you murder Robert to avenge Rosie's death?”

His eyebrows jumped. “Wish I had. Few have ever deserved it more. And now, after a lifetime of hunting the elusive Robert Johnson, it has almost come to an abrupt end.” He leaned back and tossed his coffee cup into a trashcan as though he was throwing a basketball. “Now that he's gone, I find myself oddly free to do whatever I like. I've never felt this way in my adult life.”

He stood up. “See you around, Sophie.”

I sat there for a time, sipping my latte and thinking about Rosie's family and Callie living their lives in quiet desperation. The rest of us went about our business, none the wiser about their troubles.

I finally snagged a shopping cart and picked up a few items. Thick pork chops were on sale. Mars and Bernie probably had an empty fridge now that Bernie wasn't bringing home leftovers from The Laughing Hound. I bought extra pork chops in case they came over for dinner. I could always freeze them if they didn't. I didn't have my grocery dolly with me so I couldn't buy anything too heavy, but I couldn't resist buying a few apples now that the new crop was in. And the fresh figs were a rarity. I had to have those! I added a package of mixed baby greens, paid for my food, and walked home as darkness fell over Old Town. I checked behind me several times. It was best to be wary.

A block away from my house, I saw Nina walking Peanut.

“Dinner at my place?” I asked.

Nina took one of my bags and fell in step with me. “Did Wolf find you?”

“When? I saw him a couple of hours ago.”

“He wanted to ask you something about tea,” Nina said.

“I bet the ringer on my phone turned off again. We'll be home soon.”

As we passed Bernie's house, he and Mars fell in step with us. I was beginning to feel like the Pied Piper.

“Soph,” Mars said, “I've been wondering if I can start visitation with Daisy again when I'm home. Bernie's okay with her sleeping over.”

I unlocked the door. “I bet she'd be very happy if you walked her right now!”

Mars grabbed her leash and said, “C'mon, Daisy.”

Nina handed him Peanut's leash. “Since you're going anyway . . .”

Bernie started a fire while I unpacked the groceries and filled a pot of water for country-style mashed potatoes. With all the odd things going on, I craved comfort food and the sad truth was that I would happily hop into a vat of mashed potatoes and eat my way out.

Nina retrieved martini glasses. She and Bernie launched into a discussion of how to make caramel appletinis while I sliced juicy pears and chopped walnuts for a crunchy fall salad, and popped halved red potatoes into the boiling water.

I waited for Mars to return before starting the pork chops because they cooked quickly. In the meantime, I tossed cold butter, and flour in the food processor and whipped together a quick pastry for an apple galette. I rolled out the dough and arranged the apple slices in the middle. A dash of apple pie spice and a little brown sugar were all the fresh apples needed. I folded the dough up around the edges, leaving the center exposed, and slid it into the oven to bake while we ate. I sliced one of Mars's favorites, zucchini, and cooked it gently with nothing but butter and a dash of salt.

Mars barged inside muttering, “Cold snap! It's freezing outside tonight. I'm not ready for it to be so cold.”

I tossed the salad with an apple-cider vinaigrette and started the pork chops. Next I put on the kettle and filled a tea infuser with a caffeine-free blend of rose hips, hibiscus, and a hint of mint.

I looked over at my friends, gathered around the table they had set. There was something reassuring about the warmth of my kitchen and their friendship. It pained me to think of Hunter/Eddie, Callie, and Velma, all suffering from Robert's callous actions. Not to mention poor little Kevin. It brought a smile to my face to think how much he would enjoy our dinner. He would have wanted to cook it, too!

Bernie divided the salad among plates and carried them to the table.

Using tongs, I placed a thick pork chop on each dinner plate and spooned the sauce over top of each one. A generous dollop of the mashed potatoes with the skins on, a little zucchini, and we were ready to eat.

The conversation quickly turned to botulism, which didn't seem appropriate for a dinner discussion at all. “Just to be clear, I didn't use any canned foods in this dinner,” I said.

“Not even in the salad?” asked Mars.

I chuckled. “The vinegar and the oil I used in the vinaigrette, I guess. But vinegar prevents botulism from forming. So we're down to the oil.”

Nina looked at her fork, which held a bite of mashed potatoes. “I read you can get it from canned potatoes.”

Bernie nodded. “Non-acidic foods usually.”

“Have you heard from the health department?” I asked.

Bernie groaned. “So far everything looks fine. Which brings me back to my belief that Mars ate something somewhere else.” Bernie shot him a look of exasperation. “If only he could remember!”

“Bernie, you know I would be the first to help you out of this mess if I could,” Mars said. “I'm telling you for the nine hundredth time that I haven't eaten anywhere else.”

“Any luck on finding the elusive Rosie?” asked Bernie.

I filled them in about Hunter/Eddie, Callie, and Velma's sister. “Robert may have turned a lot of ladies' heads, but the ones who had the misfortune of being involved with him came to violent ends. Callie was lucky to escape him.”

“Maybe it
was
Robert who was following Callie.” Nina said.

I shook my head. “He had dinner with Wanda that night.”

“He could have done it afterward. Didn't he make an excuse about not feeling well?”

“I guess that's possible, but we know he wasn't the one who killed Elise.” I savored a bite of the creamy mashed potatoes.

“They died in the wrong order,” said Nina. “It all would have made more sense if Elise had died first. We would be thinking that Robert had murdered her.”

“Does anyone else think it's suspicious that Hunter and Callie are an item?” asked Mars. “What if the two of them are lying? What if they knew each other before?”

“That's not out of the question. They grew up in neighboring towns,” I said.

Bernie sniffed the air. “Is your galette ready? I smell baked apples.”

I pulled it from the oven and set it on a rack to cool while we finished dinner.

Mars pulled his list out of a pocket. “First Natasha was attacked. Then Callie.”

“But that might not have had anything to do with Robert or Elise,” said Nina.

Mars scowled. “I don't understand how Natasha figures into the equation, but it seems to me that the attacks on Callie and Elise might have been similar. Callie might have been his first victim if Sophie and I hadn't happened along.”

Bernie cut a bite of pork chop. “But she didn't know Rosie.”

“Unless she's lying,” I said.

“You know who's missing from this grisly scenario,” Bernie said, “is the fiancée.”

“Callie!” I blurted.

They looked at me like I had gone nuts. “How old do you think Robert was?” I asked.

“Sixty-seven,” said Nina.

“You sound so sure. How do you know that?” asked Mars.

“I helped Velma and Francie clear out some of his stuff.”

“How old do you think Callie is?” I asked.

Nina shrugged. “Sixty-five?”

“What if she was the one Robert was engaged to when Rosie got pregnant?”

Nina perked up. “And Hunter knows that! Maybe he's not interested in dating her at all. He wants revenge or something.”

“Then why would she have been running from someone on the street that night?” asked Mars.

“I didn't see anyone. Did you?” I asked.

“You're saying she made that up?” Mars asked.

Bernie finished his dinner and lay his knife and fork neatly on the edge of his plate. “Let me get this straight. You're suggested that Callie was engaged to marry Robert. He murdered Rosie so he could be with Callie? Then why didn't they marry?”

“Good question,” I said. “Maybe they thought it would be too obvious if they were together? Or maybe the strain of murdering Rosie came between them.”

“And then she found Robert in Charlotte and went to work for the same company,” said Nina.

“Stalking him?” asked Bernie.

“Or resuming her relationship with him, and maybe she's the one who murdered Robert's wife?” I said. “He followed her here. All that baloney about why she moved here was lies. And she bakes. She probably brought him goodies to eat all the time. He had no reason to suspect she would poison him.”

“Then why did she kill him?” asked Mars. “She finally had what she wanted.”

“Maybe she didn't,” I said. “Maybe he refused to marry
her. He lived in a fancy house, and she had that teensy little place. If they had married, she could have had a life of leisure.” I could feel my face flushing with excitement.

“And she murdered Elise because she was jealous of Robert's relationship with her.” Bernie nodded in agreement.

Mars cleared the table while I fetched dessert plates, whipped cream, and the apple galette. I was cutting the galette when Mars said, “There are two very big holes in this scheme. The first question remains, why break into my house and attack Natasha? And why did Robert and Elise say
Rosie
when they died?”

Dear Sophie,

Why is it that I drink black tea in the morning to wake up, yet I also drink black tea when I'm upset and need to calm down? That doesn't make sense to me.

—Anxious in Blacksburg, Virginia

Dear Anxious,

A study by scientists has concluded that black tea reduces cortisol, the stress hormone. It doesn't actually reduce the stress, of course, but it makes you feel calmer.

—Sophie

Mars had poked a big fat leak into my balloon. I didn't have answers.

Even the tempting warm apples in a flaky crust on the plate in front of me didn't make me feel any better.

Very quietly, Nina said, “Because it was Callie who murdered Rosie, and Elise knew it?”

“That actually makes sense,” I said. “Robert could have confided in Elise. Velma has been having a hard time accepting that Robert killed anyone. Maybe Callie murdered Rosie and Velma's sister, and Elise. All out of a deranged love of Robert.”

Mars and Bernie exchanged a look.

Mars said, “This doesn't work from Robert's perspective. If what you're suggesting is true, Robert was engaged to Callie. One of them knocked off Rosie, but they married
other
people. Why wouldn't they have gotten married after killing Rosie? Then they got back together and had a years-long affair until someone killed Robert's wife. Meanwhile, Robert was also having an affair with Elise? What was he? Some kind of sexual superhero? I don't think so.”

“Men have been known to have more than one lover before,” Nina insisted.

“Maybe we're overlooking something. I think it's Callie.” I finally took a bite of warm apples topped with whipped cream. “Mmm, I love baked apples.”

A knock on the door surprised us. I unlocked it and let Wolf in. “Hope I'm not interrupting.”

“How about a pork chop and some potatoes?” I asked.

“I've eaten, thanks. But I wouldn't turn down some of the apple thing you're eating. How come it's freeform and not in a pie pan?”

“Just for fun. Hot tea?”

“Sounds good. It's cold out.” He sat down next to Bernie. “Sorry about your restaurant. I hear they haven't turned up anything.”

“I guess that's the good news. It would be worse if they had found something,” Bernie said.

I set the teapot on the table along with cups for everyone.

“How are you feeling, Mars?” asked Wolf.

“Okay. The stuff they gave me worked right away. Anyone else get sick yet?”

Wolf let out a deep breath. “No. We're past the likely time that anyone would get sick, so either people had a mild case, like you, and didn't see a doctor, or . . .”

“Or what?” I handed Wolf a plate with apple galette.

He spooned whipped cream onto the top. “There are several possibilities. The most likely situation is that only Robert ate the contaminated food. Mars could have gotten it from something else entirely. Or the contaminated item is something that is being doled out slowly—”

“Huh?” Nina sipped her tea. “I don't get that.”

“This whipped cream, for instance,” Wolf said. “It's rich so you wouldn't eat it all at one time. If it were contaminated, you might get a little sick, like Mars. Then I might come along and have some two days later and feel ill.”

“I can be a piggy about whipped cream,” Nina jested.

“You're kidding, but that could be what happened. Robert ate more of it and didn't get help in time,” Wolf said.

I could see irritation simmering on Bernie's face. “Wolf, they didn't even eat at the same place.”

“I don't know what to tell you, Bernie. We're doing our best to locate the source. Actually, I'm glad you're here.” Wolf pulled a sheet out of his pocket and unfolded it. “Two experts are better than one. Is this some kind of kitchen knife? We thought it was a hunting knife at first but apparently not.”

The sketch showed a blade with three semi-circular notches on each side and a handle with a rope around it.

Bernie's eyes met mine. Together we said, “It's a tea knife.”

“What would you use a tea knife for? To open tea bags?”

“There's a kind of tea—” I started.

“Pu-erh,” said Bernie. “I had a nanny who insisted it kept her brain sharp because it was aged.”

“It comes in a compressed cake or a brick. The knife is used to wedge a portion loose to make tea,” I explained.

“You said it's aged?” asked Wolf.

“Right. All black tea is fermented, but Pu-erh tea matures and is actually labeled with the year and area of production. Kind of like wine. There are years that are coveted and some that are considered less desirable,” I said.

“Could it form botulism?”

Bernie shrugged. “I don't think so. It's exposed to air. More likely it would grow mold.”

Wolf looked at Mars and Nina. “Have you ever heard of this tea?”

Mars shook like a wet dog. “Ugh. I don't think that's anything I'd like to try.”

“Me, either,” said Nina. “How come you know about it?”

“Someone asked a question about it on my advice column,” I said. “Have you ever noticed that you hear about something new and then it pops up all over the place? Apparently, Beverly Hazelwonder is a big fan of Pu-erh tea and orders it at The Parlour.”

Wolf ate calmly, but I was putting two and two together. “Not many people around here would have a tea knife. Is this the knife that killed Elise?” I asked.

Wolf drank his tea and refilled his cup. “Beverly Hazelwonder, you said?” He jotted her name on a pad. “And clearly The Parlour must have such a knife if they serve the tea.”

“Wolf! It's gone. It went missing the day of the auction. I was admiring the huge array of teacups, and I remember Martha searching for it,” I said.

Wolf raised one eyebrow. “Who else was there?”

“Half the town,” said Nina.

“Robert, Natasha, Elise, Beverly Hazelwonder, Hunter Landon—” I said.

“I can confirm,” Nina said. “I was there the other day when Martha and Callie were talking about not knowing where it was. Callie again!” She shook her head. “It all fits together. Who would have thought it?”

We told Wolf our ideas about Callie.

He didn't say anything. I hated not knowing what he was thinking.

“Well?” Nina demanded.

Wolf cleared his throat. “I think you've cobbled together an interesting theory. I can make a phone call to the Forest Glen Police Department tomorrow morning, and then we'll know the identity of the fiancée. It might take them a few days to find the old file, though.”

Nina pulled out her cell phone. “Wait a minute.” She keyed in some words. “Meh. Not much here. Just a paragraph. Rosie
Barnes disappeared . . . She was supposed to meet her boyfriend, Robert Johnson . . . Some bones found. Murder unsolved
.
”

Bernie asked, “Do we even know for sure that Rosie was murdered? How do we know she didn't fall into the water and get swept away by a current?”

Wolf thanked me for the tea and galette. “As I said, many theories. I have to work with facts.”

When Wolf left, Mars said, “Pour another round of tea and let's look at those facts.”

Bernie tossed another log on the fire, while Nina and Mars helped me wash and dry dishes.

When we sat down again, Mars said, “Natasha was attacked. Then Robert ate something with botulism.”

“Which may or may not have been intentional poisoning,” I pointed out.

“Then Callie was chased, but that might not be true,” said Mars.

“And Elise was murdered.” Mars toyed with his tea. “Good grief. No wonder Wolf is skeptical. When we cut this down to facts, we've got nothing.”

“Who would want to get rid of Elise besides her husband?” asked Bernie.

They all looked at me.

“Thank you so much. I'm flattered to be your suspect, but I did not kill Elise,” I said.

“Alex?” mused Nina. “I guess that's kind of far-fetched. What about Hunter/Eddie?”

“Did she even know him?” asked Bernie.

“Martha Carter? They talked a little bit the day of the auction,” I said.

“You're grasping at straws! Be serious,” said Mars.

“Okay, how about this?” I offered. “Rosie is definitely dead. And someone wrote those threatening notes to Robert. I can think of one person who would do that—her brother.”

“Hunter/Eddie?” Nina sat forward. “There would only be two reasons to do that. To torture Robert, or to make sure he didn't think he got away with her murder.”

“How would this Hunter/Eddie fellow get hold of botulism?” asked Bernie.

Nina poured herself more tea. “The same way I would. He could have bought something, opened it, and realized it had gone bad.”

“But wouldn't other people have bought the same thing?” Mars frowned at her.

She shrugged. “So they threw it out.”

“What about Velma?” Mars leaned back in his chair. “She's the only one who was definitely linked to Robert.”

“And she
was
spying on him,” Nina added.

“Why would she want to get rid of him?” I asked. “She seemed to like him.”

“
Seemed
would be the operative word there,” said Bernie.

“Perhaps she's been play-acting all along,” suggested Bernie. “What if she always suspected Robert of killing her sister? What if her sister confided Robert's infidelity to her?”

I shuddered. “That would give her the motive to murder both Robert
and
Elise! And botulism would be such an easy way for an older woman to dispatch a man. Francie was right about that.”

“Do you think she could have stabbed Elise? Is she strong enough to do that?” asked Mars.

“Maybe.” Nina got up and broke off a piece of the galette on the counter. “Adrenaline can give people amazing strength. They can lift cars and all kinds of crazy things.”

“Perhaps she caught Elise unaware?” Bernie tilted his head.

“So we have four people with motives.” Mars tapped the pen on the paper.

“Four? I only count two?” Nina looked at me.

“Callie, Velma, and Rosey,” Bernie speculated. “Rosey had reason to kill his wife and her lover, Robert. But who is number four?”

“Hunter,” muttered Mars. “Hunter didn't have a motive to kill Elise, though.”

Nina gazed around the table. “Not that we know of.”

I didn't get much sleep that night. I prowled through my house in the dark, Mochie and Daisy underfoot. I finished the apple galette while Mochie and Daisy chowed down on treats.

I believed that Hunter/Eddie was Rosie's brother. If someone had murdered my sister or brother, I would have hunted them down to the ends of the earth, too. Ohh. Maybe that's why he called himself Hunter. Had Elise discovered that Hunter killed Robert? Was that why he murdered her? Was that why she had said
Rosie
, too? Or were we overanalyzing everything? Had Elise's husband, Rosey, rolled into town and murdered them?

When it came to Callie and Velma, I wasn't sure who to believe. But what reason would Callie have to make up such a horrible story about Robert if it wasn't true? And I had seen Velma's face when Callie described Livy's death. Not many people were that good at acting.

The next morning, I didn't know anything more, except that I felt the need to protect Francie. If Velma or Callie was the murderer, and Francie stumbled upon that fact, she could be in danger, too.

I phoned Francie when I rose. She was planning to meet Velma at Robert's house. I walked over with her, worried because I couldn't protect her around the clock.

Velma was in a tizzy when we arrived. “The Realtor is coming! Can you two help me get some of the boxes and papers tidied up?”

I stacked boxes for them, and we did our best to bring a little bit of organization to the house. Luckily, they were working slowly and the entire downstairs was still intact and would show well.

In Robert's office, I stacked papers that Velma had been going through until my hand fell on a newspaper clipping announcing that The Parlour was coming to town.

I glanced at the date. It was before The Parlour opened.
Before Robert had moved to Old Town. Why would this have caught his attention? If he didn't want to move here, then why clip this out? Unless he knew Martha. Was that possible? There was only one way to find out.