“Did she say why?” I prompted.
Grandpa shook his head. “I saw him arrive. He wore a black topcoat, a fedora, and leather gloves.”
“Did he drive a car or come in a taxi?” This lawyer might have been the last one to see Betty alive, or he might have ended her life.
Grandpa thought. “He drove a black car.”
I asked other leading questions to decipher make or model but knew that was futile. My grandfather, who could name and describe every fish in the ocean, couldn’t tell one car from another. He purchased only silver sedans and then wedged a red ball between the dashboard and the passenger windshield so he could recognize his own car.
Grandpa continued. “Betty said the lawyer needed to verify her identity for an inheritance. She wanted me to hear her good news, so I waited for her meeting to end.”
“What did the lawyer tell her?” I laced my fingers around the warm mug.
“I don’t know. The lawyer came out. Betty didn’t. After a while, Harlan Gramford and his dogs went into Betty’s office, but they didn’t stay long.”
“You didn’t knock on her door?”
“No. Some friends needed a fourth for bridge, and we played several games in the foyer book nook. I could see her office from where I sat. I thought she forgot about me. After the staff doctor went in, I knocked and asked if Betty was okay. The doctor said she died. Ladessa, the lawyer must have killed her, and I saw him.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“No. His hat was tilted forward.” Grandpa hadn’t drunk any of his hot chocolate.
“You can’t identify the car or the man?” I asked.
“No, but what if he can identify me?”
“Did he see you?” Concern for Grandpa’s safety escalated when he responded with a nod.
“He touched his hat brim in a salute when he left. He knew I was there.”
“Did you tell Harlan Gramford or the staff doctor?”
“No. I called you. I’m afraid to stay at Happy Days. The killer knows where I live.” Grandfather assessed his surroundings. “I can hide out here, but I’d like some sudoku and crossword books, and my e-reader.”
“We can get the books, but we shouldn’t go back to Happy Days for your reading device. We should eat. We’ll get the puzzle books when we get take-out. How about Chinese?” I prayed I could figure out what was going on so I didn’t have to leave my grandfather here by himself for very long.
After sharing dinner, we hugged good night, and I returned to Sea Side, to normalcy. Was normalcy possible for an amateur sleuth with more questions than answers? I called Happy Days and informed a yawning receptionist that my family invited Grandpa to join them for a long weekend. She assured me she’d log the information.
Tea by the Sea buzzed about the town’s second death in October. When Noelle asked about Grandpa’s urgency the day before, I laughed it off and said my family swooped him away for a short visit. That little fudging of the truth went over rather well, if I do say so myself. I asked Noelle for scuttlebutt about Betty’s death.
“Mom said Betty had a heart attack,” Noelle said.
“Did she have a history of heart problems?”
“Mom wouldn’t speak ill of anyone, but she said Betty suffered with high blood pressure, was borderline diabetic, and weighed more than she should. If you add those factors to her stressful environment, you have a recipe for a heart attack.”
Contrary to Noelle’s opinion, Mary had spoken ill of Trent Sharp, but today I needed to focus on Betty.
“When is the service? The viewing?” I remembered the aqua scarf livening Betty’s black attire on her final day. The residents would miss her, and so would the people of Sea Side.
“No viewing. She was cremated,” Noelle said. “Memorial is at five on Saturday at Happy Days. Harlan gave Mom the songs Betty wanted played at the service.”
“Cremation? No autopsy?” I asked.
“No autopsy. Ladessa, do you have a will? I don’t.”
“No, we should do that. Two unexpected deaths makes you think.” I found the scenario of dual deaths in October too buttoned up, too pat.
“Mom says all residents are required to have wills, powers of attorney, medical directives, and instructions for final services.” Noelle rubbed her arms as if warding off the cold. “That gives me the chills. It’s practical but creepy.”
“Who files the documents?”
“I don’t know. Happy Days probably has a lawyer who does those things.” Noelle nodded toward my waiting customers.
As I went to their table, my mind lingered on the unexpected lawyer visit, a sudden heart attack, and a hasty cremation.
During my break, I called Harlan Gramford and offered to guide a special memoir session that afternoon focused on writing tributes to Betty. I mentioned that some residents might wish to read their pieces at Betty’s memorial, and Gramford complimented me on my thoughtfulness.
What he considered my concern was in actuality cunning, because I planned to sneak into Betty’s office and search for clues.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to sneak. Gramford opened Betty’s office so I could look for memoir session materials, which I knew weren’t there. I grabbed several sheets of plain paper from the copier and searched for anything indicating foul play. Nothing. The writing session produced glowing homages about Betty, and we voted to determine which tribute should be shared at the memorial service.
I returned home and opened another of Grandpa’s boxes. Surely a clue would miraculously appear.
“Anyone home?” Logan stood on the threshold, balancing a large pot of golden mums atop a pizza box. “Trying to make amends. May I come in?”
“Yes, since you come bearing pizza. I was just wondering what I could rustle up for dinner.” I placed the mums on a table near the window.
“Plates or paper towels?” He opened the pizza box then removed soda cans from his jacket pockets.
“Both. How about a salad?” I handed him paper towels, plates, and glasses.
“Salad sounds good, and I have dessert in the car. Thought I might need to offer dinner, flowers, and a box of chocolates to get back in your good graces.”
“Time heals, and so does chocolate. Get the candy while I chop our salad.”
In a few minutes, he returned, waving a Russell Stover’s box.
I dished up the salads and sat. “Mind if we say a prayer before we eat?”
In lieu of an answer, he held out both hands and bowed his head.
Sharing a meal with him felt cozy and natural. I embellished the wild events Jane Mills organized for Sea Side during his absence, and he told me about his forays around New England, checking other festivals and researching senior living facilities.
“Senior living facilities? Happy Days? Does your research involve info you uncovered before you waited in the dark in my apartment?”
“I’ll explain when I have more facts.”
I wanted to know more about his investigation, but I cut him some slack since he provided chocolate, flowers, and dinner.
After the meal, Logan helped me tidy the kitchen. “Will came back with me. He’s going to push one more time to get the development approved, but the project seems doomed. He has no money and no backers, and the city officials are leaning toward rejection.”
“How is he?” I remembered how animated Will had been when we first met.
“He runs hot and cold. Seeing Noelle will be good for him. The lawyer told Will that Sharp’s conscience caused him to change his will.”
“Who’s getting the money?”
“Sharp made bequests to several people he’d wronged, but the majority goes to a love child. This hasn’t been announced, because eager claimants would be crawling out of every bog in New England.”
Was it a coincidence Jane Mills worked in Sea Side? Did Logan know Jane’s story?
CHAPTER 10
Despite a dizzying day with Grandpa and my late night with Logan, I felt en
ergized as I began work. Noelle, on the other hand, looked exhausted and burned her first batch of crumpets, which resulted in a run on scones. She snapped at my cheeriness and ignored my attempts to lift her dark mood.
When a disheveled Will Tomlinson arrived, demanding coffee at a tea shoppe, I surmised the reason for Noelle’s distraction. I served Will a black brew without sugar or cream and offered a spirited welcome back to the community. He grunted a response, leaned his elbows on the table, and stared at the coffee.
The best and worst thing about a small town is that you know everyone and their business. Word about Trent’s bequests and Will’s exclusion circulated in whispered conversations before his return to Sea Side, though how people possessed that knowledge remained a conundrum. His appearance this morning brought a crescendo of whispers.
The phone in my pocket rang. Grandpa. “Hi, are you okay?”
“I guess so. I ate some leftover Chinese for breakfast, and I have a little heartburn. I could use some antacids. And I’m going to need a more difficult sudoku book.”
“Are you okay?” I repeated the question, hoping to get to the reason for his call as I noticed two orders waiting for pickup.
“Yes. You said to call if I needed anything. I need antacids and a sudoku book.” He sounded indignant.
“Why don’t you call me after three when I get off work? You might think of more items you’d like.”
He clicked off without comment.
I began to question my judgment. I’d spirited him away from Happy Days to keep him safe. Was that the wrong decision? Did he need full-time care? I’d raced around yesterday trying to protect my grandfather. Perhaps I exposed him to harm instead. Was he in peril at Happy Days, or did the senior living facility shield him?
As I placed the plates on a tray, Noelle told me the crumpets were ready and slid me a small plate with a couple fresh from the oven. “Take these to Will and tell him to eat.”
Will’s coffee level hadn’t changed when I set the plate on the green table. “Will, Noelle sent these for you. You should eat something.”
He looked up with heavy-lidded eyes. “Uncle Trent lied. He didn’t leave me a penny. I expected his entire estate and got nothing.”
“I’m sorry.” Those words seemed inadequate.
“Meeting with the city council this morning, to make one last pitch. If it doesn’t work, I don’t know what I’ll do.” Will idly picked at a crumpet. “This is all Trent’s fault. He told me all I had to do was show up, shake a few hands, and earn a huge commission.”
“Will, don’t you want to look your best for the presentation? You know the expression about it not being over until it’s over.” I hoped he would take the hint and go shower and shave.
“Right, I’ll dazzle them with my charm.” He stumbled out without finishing his coffee or crumpets.
I didn’t know whether to pity Will or be angry with him, but I had too many customers to think about either action. My dedicated grandpa phone buzzed again.
Grandpa whispered, “Ladessa, someone just knocked on the door. What should I do?”
“Ask who it is. I’ll stay on the line.” I waited.
“The lady said she’s with housekeeping. What do you think?”
“Grandpa, tell her you won’t need housekeeping this week. Tell her you’ll take care of things yourself.” I heard Grandpa repeat my words and the maid’s agreement.
“But what if I need soap or paper towels?” Grandpa fretted.
“Make a list. We’ll go get things when I’m free. See you soon.” I slipped the phone back in my pocket. I needed a different plan for him.
Bouncy, cheerful Jane Mills, dressed in bright purple and green, entered with Logan. Her high heels clicked across the shop and straight to table four. People began using what I considered the death table without hesitation the day after the murder. Apparently murder didn’t faze stoic New Englanders.
“Morning!” I offered menus and a bright smile.
Jane ignored the menu. “I’ll have the special. Oh, the big event in Sea Side this week is pumpkin poems. You should enter the contest. Make up some words about pumpkins or autumn leaves or spooky nights and write them in rhymed verse.” She paused to appraise me. “Ladessa, I think you’re losing weight. How many pounds have you dropped?”
I felt my face burning.
“Make that a double on the specials, please.” Logan held up two fingers.
I practically ran from their table. I did not want to chat about pumpkin poetry or my weight with Logan sitting there. Jane Mills exhausted me. The woman had obviously received a double dose of gusto at birth.
I sneaked back into the kitchen to see Noelle. “I suggested Will shower and change before his appointment.”
Noelle offered a wan smile and glanced at the clock. “His appointment is at eleven. I made him promise to stop by after the meeting.”
“What will he do if this doesn’t work out?”
“Work for his parents, I guess.” Noelle shrugged. “This land development job is the only thing he’s done on his own, and they hired him based on his uncle’s connections.”
I grinned. “It isn’t easy being rich.”
She didn’t return the smile. “It isn’t easy being poor if you’ve always been rich.” Noelle nodded to the front. “Your detective is here.”
“He’s not my detective, but please pass me his favorite crumpet. He never looks at the menu. He’s boringly predictable.”
Detective Hardy nodded his appreciation when I placed the crumpet and the house-blend tea with cream on the table. “Thanks, Ladessa,” he said. “I can relax now. A murder solved and a murderer no longer with us. With Betty Boyd’s death, Sea Side’s investigation into Trent Sharp’s demise can be sealed.”
“You never explained your proof. Betty was a good person. She’d never murder another human being.”
“I guess she fooled Sea Side’s amateur detective.”
Should I gloss over the insult he’d just served me? “Why don’t you tell me what I missed, Detective.”
“Well, on the day of the murder, Betty had nasal spray and an EpiPen in her bag.”
“That doesn’t make her guilty. It makes her perceptive and prepared. I bet she also had bandages, alcohol swabs, lozenges, and tissues.”
Detective Hardy motioned for me to stop my defense. “The spray thing, the nasal spray, was Trent Sharp’s. What do you think of that?”
“She worked with him daily. They had a connection. That doesn’t surprise me.”
“It had been doctored with peanut oil. When Sharp inhaled, he experienced a severe allergic reaction. The medical examiner said death occurred within five minutes. First the airways constrict, which limits the breathing, and then the circulation shuts down. Sharp did not have an EpiPen on him, and he always carried one.” Detective Hardy raised his eyebrows, as if asking for a compliment.
I tapped my pen on the order pad. “And Betty’s sudden and unexpected heart attack solved everything.”
He rubbed his hands together. “Yep. Report’s been filed, and I can get back to catching out-of-town speeders and policing Jane’s zany events.”
The phone in my pocket buzzed again. Grandpa. I excused myself. These frequent calls meant he felt lonely and scared. After acknowledging we would buy Raisin Bran on the next grocery run, I called Logan and invited him for an early dinner. I needed to trust someone, and why not the hunky reporter?
Now that I had a car, I was able to shop for more than four things. Toting groceries on a bike was not easy. I gassed up the rental, made a pharmacy stop, and lingered in the grocery. I hadn’t eaten, and every aisle offered delectable possibilities. I planned to wow Logan’s taste buds with a black olive lasagna then propose my idea before heading to Grandpa’s extended stay. If everything fell into place, I could be with my grandfather before seven.
Both Logan’s SUV and Noelle’s car occupied spots near the house. Could Logan, Noelle, and Will be celebrating the success
of Will’s land development proposal? My gut told me no, so I fussed with storing away purchases and put together the lasagna, which delayed my visit.
The silence when Logan answered the door told me my instinct was correct. He shook his head. “City turned down Will’s proposal, and when he informed the development company, they terminated his employment, effective immediately.”
“Sorry, Will.” My lame condolences added an additional layer to the already glum atmosphere. “I brought snacks and lasagna. Mind if I pop it into your oven, Logan?”
He set the temperature and eyed the contents of the snack bag—a cheddar wheel, apples, crackers, walnuts, and yogurt-coated pretzels. “I see you shopped when ravenous. We can help you eat some of this.”
“Want the cider hot or cold?” My comment elicited no response, so I filled four cups and placed two in the microwave.
Will finally spoke. “I don’t want to rely on my parents or grandparents, but I don’t have a work history. I’ve just been fired from the only job I’ve held outside the family circle.”
Noelle handed him the cold cider. “We’ll work something out. You’re smart, you’re hardworking, and”—she poked him gently in the chest—“you’re a good-looking guy with great presence.”
I emptied the walnuts onto the platter. “Noelle’s right. Take a month or two, decide what you really want to do.”
Will lifted his cup in salute. “To a new and improved Will Tomlinson, whoever that may be.”
I answered with the first “Hear, hear,” but somewhere in my mind lurked the niggling belief that Will’s depression might be hiding something more nefarious than a job loss.
I didn’t believe Detective Hardy’s premise that Betty had committed the murder. Could Will have done it?
The timer buzzed, and my phone rang. I checked the time, only five. After taking the call, I motioned for Logan to join me in the living room. I prayed he would be amenable to hiding my grandfather in the house where he’d lived for fifty years.
The Tea Shoppe Mysteries Page 33