The Tea Shoppe Mysteries

by Darlene Franklin

  When their order arrived, I deftly managed trays of food as I dispensed mugs of steaming tea. “Enjoy. These crumpets are to die for.”

  “Bad joke, Ladessa.” Sharp selected a spiced orange crumpet. “Since you’re new here, you probably don’t know that death’s shadow looms over this wonderful eating establishment.”

  I yearned to hear the story, but ear-splitting sirens broke the calm.

  Jane jumped to her feet. “Come on! It’s time for the punkin’-chunkin’ demonstration.” She herded the employees from the back and diners in the front toward the street.

  I marveled as the catapult contraption mounted in the bed of a pickup was lowered to the grassy area facing the ocean. Three giant pumpkins, which I gauged with an uneducated eye to be at least fifty pounds each, waited on the green grass for their transport into space. The viewing numbers swelled as a high school band with a drum line played rousing music, preparing the excited crowd for flying pumpkins.

  Georgina flipped the sign to CLOSED and asked if I would watch the shop entrance. I leaned against the door, happy to relax.

  “Anyone want to use the facilities before the big show?” Betty led some people past me and inside the shop while the rest of the crew from Happy Days staked out a prime viewing location. When Betty’s group left the shop, she rummaged through her giant bag and dispensed hand sanitizer squirts.

  So much for my vigilance in guarding the premises. But I couldn’t deny a senior citizen the right to use the restroom.

  Jane manned the public address system and directed a countdown for the release of each missile. The folks cheered when the catapult chunked the pumpkins through the air.

  After the last pumpkin flew into space, I scooted inside, eager to end my shift before the onslaught of customers. All tables were empty except table four.

  “Mr. Sharp?”

  When Trent Sharp didn’t raise his head, I jostled his shoulder. His posture wasn’t normal.

  I felt his hand. Cold.

  I checked for a pulse. None.

  I placed fingertips on the artery in his neck. Nothing.

  I turned his head and lifted an eyelid.

  Dead. The man was dead.

  I locked the front door and punched 911 on my cell phone.

  CHAPTER 3

  Despite entreaties and some threats, I kept the front door locked, ignored the persistent phone, and waited for the police to arrive. My TV binge-watching included detective shows like Elementary, Inspector Morse, Law and Order, and the initialed ones like NCIS, CSI, and FBI, so I knew to keep the area surrounding a dead body sacrosanct. Surely Sharp died of natural causes, but I honored my screen knowledge of an investigator’s code, just in case. My heart hammered as I paced and maintained my vigil. I glanced toward the inert body and stifled a nervous giggle. Instead of finding a tip at table four, I’d found a corpse.

  Who would laugh at a time like this? Maybe I should request a doctor’s appointment for myself, not my grandpa.

  The screaming sirens grew louder as a patrol car and an ambulance slowed for the punkin’-chunkin’ crowds to clear a path. The two vehicles screeched to a stop, using half the sidewalk as parking spaces, and two policemen, followed by a medical duo, hurried toward the tea shoppe. One officer brandished a yellow crime scene tape bracelet around his wrist, and the medical team carried a gurney.

  Gawking onlookers formed a gauntlet for their entrance, and my stomach churned as I recalled Noelle’s comment about Tea by the Sea fighting negative publicity. A dead body might kill the business. I tittered nervously as I unlocked the door and stared into the angular features and steady blue eyes that had altered the course of my life a decade ago.

  “You the one who found the body?” His badge identified him as Detective Hardy.

  I swallowed and nodded toward the table in the back.

  “You touch anything?”

  “Him. I shook him then checked for a pulse.”

  The detective placed fingers on Sharp’s carotid artery then motioned for the gurney. When he actually looked at me, he harrumphed. “Well, if it isn’t my brother’s Brillo-headed beauty. What are you doing here?”

  An unsophisticated whimper emerged. “Discovering a dead body?”

  “Don’t try to be cute.”

  “I wasn’t.” Seeing the uncanny likeness I’d spent ten years trying to forget unnerved me.

  “Sit down. I’ve got questions.”

  I chose a chair painted sunshiny yellow, hoping it might ward off the chills.

  “I’m Devin. Doubt you remember me. You were all wrapped up in my big brother, until he fell for your sister.”

  My cheeks burned as my mind flew back to those tender and terrible days. The detective’s face transported me to that vulnerable summer of my first love followed by rejection.

  Devin Hardy asked questions, and I mumbled answers. Two men bearing the draped body stopped by the table.

  The younger one spoke. “Might have a murder on your hands, Detective. I’m not a doctor, but something’s not right.” He talked in a low, slow voice. “Nobody keels over in a tea shoppe. I suspect foul play.”

  I gasped. “Couldn’t it have been natural causes?”

  The detective shook his head. “Autopsy will tell us. Man was not popular. I can name several people who wanted Trent Sharp six feet under.”

  The man’s callousness upset me. Maybe he’d seen dead bodies before, but this was new to me.

  “I can’t imagine anyone killing another person.” I hoped Devin Hardy would reassure me, but he didn’t.

  The detective stood and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Don’t let that medical tech spook you. And don’t leave town. You’ve kept your curls. Always liked them.”

  My fingers went to my short brown curls. I’d reverted to my natural curly hairstyle only this past spring. Now I wanted an appointment for hair straightening. When Hardy walked out, Sea Side residents surged inside to see what details they might garnish from the new waitress who’d discovered a dead body.

  Logan Hernandez bulldozed his way toward me and covered my shoulders with his leather jacket. “I’m taking you to your apartment and then to your grandpa’s. He’s worried about you.”

  Logan’s orders caused my shoulders to relax, even though I knew his reporter’s nose for a story probably motivated his actions. I yearned for a shower and clean clothes but doubted I could bike home as shaky as I felt.

  After threading his car through the clogged streets, Logan helped me up the porch steps and into what I considered my grandparents’ home. He reheated leftover pizza and offered coffee from the Keurig, which I gratefully accepted. The chills, which started during my conversation with Detective Hardy, morphed into the shaking kind. Logan’s jacket proved ineffectual against my shivers. He grabbed a quilt from the couch and placed it around my shoulders.

  “Thanks.” I tugged the coverlet tighter with my left hand and used my right to manage the pizza and coffee in turn.

  “You’re in shock,” Logan said.

  My shaking continued. “The medical guy thinks Sharp was murdered.”

  He patted my back with the universally accepted gesture of consolation. “What else did he say?”

  “Nothing, but the detective wasn’t happy. Guess a murder requires more paperwork than a routine traffic stop.”

  “Ladessa Nolan, are you making a joke?”

  “Not a very good one.”

  “What questions did the detective ask?”

  I tried to remember. “Normal things like, when did Mr. Sharp come in? Who sat with him? What did he order? How was his mood? Did anyone come visit the table? Did I see him use a phone?” I shook my head. “Since this was my first day, I concentrated on doing my tasks and getting my orders to the right tables. I wasn’t helpful.”

  “We’re all more observant than we realize. Maybe a week from now you’ll remember more details.”

  “Finding Mr. Sharp’s body panicked me. Then seeing Detective Hardy shocked
me.”

  “Devin Hardy presents himself as the law’s stern face, but women don’t consider him shocking.” Logan chuckled.

  “He looks like someone I knew, someone …”

  “That sounds like an intriguing story,” he said quietly.

  “Old story.” I brushed my lips with a napkin.

  “I’m a good listener. I grew up the only boy in a Puerto Rican family. My three older sisters spoiled me, and my three younger sisters idolized me, but they all taught me to listen—and not judge.”

  “Did you like growing up with all sisters?” I turned toward him.

  Logan slid onto the barstool next to me. “Loved it, and our neighborhood was Puerto Rican, so you had a parent in every doorway watching out for you. I had the family circle, neighborhood circle, and then our church circle. How about you?”

  “One sister, four years older. She neither spoiled nor idolized me.”

  “Are you friends as adults?” Logan asked.

  “Not yet. My fault, not hers. I’ve allowed past hurts to define me. I’m journaling about the sister relationship.”

  “Writing is good. I make my living at it.”

  I appreciated that he didn’t push me for more information. “I’m better with numbers than words.”

  “Most CPAs are better with numbers. I might have a job for you.” He raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to ask him what he meant.

  “I don’t want another job. I’m a vacationing CPA. My grandfather roped me into the waitress gig.”

  “And your first day was a heart-stopper!” He placed his hand on mine. “Did my bad joke top yours?”

  “Yes.” I removed the quilt from my shoulders. “I’m finally warm. If your offer to take me to my grandfather’s is still good, I’ll shower and change.”

  “Take your time. I’ll call Jane and Will, see if they noticed anything.”

  “Were Sharp and Will arguing?”

  Logan shook his head. “Nothing serious. They were bickering, not arguing.”

  “Jane’s very attractive.” I pictured Logan and Jane’s flirtatious behavior at the tea shoppe as I folded the quilt.

  “She is.” Logan pulled his phone from his jeans.

  “And interesting,” I added.

  “She is. I think all women are interesting.” His killer smile caused his dark eyes to sparkle.

  When I turned to place the quilt on the counter, my foot caught on the barstool, and he arrived with Spiderman speed, cupping my elbow in his hand. I held up my palm to indicate I was fine and exited with all the grace I could muster.

  Hay bales topped with pumpkins lined the Happy Days driveway, and the front columns wore spiraling gold, burgundy, russet, and green leaves. The apartment complex in daytime looked substantial, well maintained, and inviting. The cheerful facade allayed fears that my grandfather had made a bad decision. If Grandpa John’s apartment looked as good as the building’s exterior, I would be reassured about his new living quarters. However, I needed a long conversation with him, and perhaps the staff, to convince me that my grandfather’s mental and emotional health remained stable.

  Logan and I autographed the sign-in register, stating our arrival time and the person we wished to see, and indicating that we would be sharing an evening meal. The receptionist suggested we wait in the reading room until Grandpa arrived. The blended fragrance of chicken, rosemary, apple, and cinnamon forecast a delicious dinner.

  My grandfather entered before I could examine any book titles on the library shelves.

  “Ladessa, how awful that you discovered Sharp’s body.” He wrapped his arms around me. “Were you scared? You’re a grownup now, but I see you as the tentative toddler who loved building sandcastles and collecting shells.”

  “Grown-ups can be scared too.” I turned so Grandpa could acknowledge Logan. “You remember Logan Hernandez. He’s renting your house.”

  “Sir.” Logan shook Grandpa’s hand while pressing his other hand against my waist.

  When Trent Sharp placed his hand in the same place at the airport, I cringed. I hadn’t liked the dead man’s possessive, teasing attitude, but I couldn’t imagine anger, hurt, or rage powerful enough to consider ending a person’s life. Wanting someone dead was as intriguing a thought as it was repulsive. Maybe I’d quiz the tenants about their former neighbor, the handsome and debonair Mr. Sharp.

  A chime sounded for the first dinner seating. The tables, topped with white cloths, had autumnal centerpieces with a battery-operated candle amid the leaves and nuts. Grandpa led Logan and me to a table near the back where Harlan Gramford and Mary Rollins waited.

  “I invited people you know to sit at our table,” Mary said. “I asked Betty Boyd, but I’m not sure she’ll have dinner. She’s upset about Trent Sharp’s death.”

  “Were Betty and Sharp close friends?” Logan, the reporter, asked my question.

  I’d discovered the body, and I wanted to play amateur sleuth and prove to Detective Devin Hardy that I wasn’t a starry-eyed kid.

  Mary answered Logan’s question. “Betty worked for Sharp’s company before she came to Happy Days. You know, women tell hairdressers as many secrets as they tell their pastors, something I’ve learned over the years cutting and styling.”

  I turned to Mary. “Betty spoke harshly to him at the airport. Did she dislike him?”

  “Try these freshly baked rolls.” Harlan Gramford cut off the conversation between Mary and me.

  “Mr. Gramford, did you know that Sharp and Betty had worked together previously?” Logan asked.

  I admired my escort’s efforts in steering the conversation back to why someone would want Sharp dead. I could learn from Logan Hernandez, and from Harlan Gramford, who ignored the question by lifting a dog for us to admire.

  “Did you meet my dogs today? I visit the tables with Sunrise and Sunset after each meal. The residents love them. Oh, here’s Betty.” Gramford stood.

  Logan held a chair for the heavyset woman, whose face looked splotched and puffy as if she’d been crying.

  Mary squeezed Betty’s hand. “I’m sorry about Trent.”

  Betty blinked rapidly and fingered her pearls. “Thanks, Mary. I loved him once.”

  “It must have been hard to love him after he targeted you for embezzlement,” Logan said. “I reported that case. Sharp appeared to be the guilty one, but you went to prison.”

  My brain registered two important facts. Betty had a criminal record. She loved Trent Sharp. In the past or now? After Sharp tried to make a date with me, Betty ordered him to join her in the van’s front seat. That could have been jealousy at work.

  Mary put a hand on her heart. “Betty, love can last a lifetime. I miss my husband every day, and Noelle still grieves for her father. I prayed to forgive Trent Sharp, and God answered. But Noelle still harbors bad feelings toward the man.”

  Surprise, surprise. This dinner was harvesting a bouquet of clues. I couldn’t imagine Mary Christmas Rollins feeling animosity toward anyone.

  My grandfather peered at Mary over his coffee cup. “I didn’t like the man either.”

  Mary nodded. “John, you and I aren’t the only ones Mr. Sharp caused to suffer.”

  I concentrated on eating, with my ears open. Maybe a good hairdresser or a good amateur sleuth’s secret was simple—be quiet and listen.

  CHAPTER 4

  Logan visited with Betty, Mary, and other residents while Grandpa showed me his apartment. The considerate and handsome Puerto Rican reporter might have aroused my romantic interest if I hadn’t seen him with Jane.

  Grandpa’s place was smaller than I expected. Chairs, a sofa, and side tables, which belonged in a larger venue, competed for space and lost. Seeing his apartment prompted the recollection of how I felt when I saw him at the airport. He’d appeared diminished, and his apartment surroundings elicited the same cramped, restrictive feel.

  “Grandpa, where are your drawings, your awards, your precious mementos?” He’d worked as a researcher at the Wo
ods Hole Oceanographic Institution for decades and earned accolades galore. He also invested in marine biology first edition books and drawings, but they weren’t evident.

  Grandpa scanned the room, bewildered. “Could they be in the garage? I moved so quickly. I didn’t go through all my things.”

  “What was the rush? You knew I planned to help.” Grandpa’s baffled expression tugged at my heart.

  “Mr. Sharp had a renter for a furnished house. The movers gave me three boxes and told me to pick things I needed. They crated the rest and stored them in the garage.” Tears filled Grandpa’s eyes.

  The process he described bordered on cruelty. How could anyone say a quick goodbye to a lifetime of memories? How can one earmark what to pack in a day?

  “We’ll sort through each box in the garage.” I glanced at the petite bookcases, not generous enough to house the books on marine biology, model shipbuilding, and regional recipes he’d collected over the years.

  “I saved some personal things.” He motioned to photos on the top shelf. In decorative frames, Grandma tossed bread into the air for seagulls, I worked on a sandcastle in my Minnie Mouse swimsuit, my cousin Martin waved a diploma, and in the last, my sister kissed her groom. My throat caught when I saw the couple’s sunshiny faces with my squall-like countenance on their right and Devin Hardy, sporting an impish grin, on their left.

  Grandpa sighed. “Ladessa, what happened between you and your sister?”

  I pointed to the groom. “He happened. I thought he cared for me. Then Aletha showed up, and they became engaged within months.”

  Grandpa’s face betrayed astonishment. “He was my colleague. I can’t imagine him acting inappropriately.”

  I shrugged, shocked at the naked pain etched on my face in their wedding photo. “I was young and naive. When Devin Hardy showed up in the tea shoppe today, I tumbled back in time. He looks exactly like his brother.”