The Tea Shoppe Mysteries

by Darlene Franklin

  “My dogs,” Harlan wailed. “I can’t leave my dogs.”

  “We’ll take care of them.”

  Harlan clicked his tongue. “Well, I can tell you what happened, but who can explain a broken mind like hers? Like her grandfather’s?”

  “I do not have a broken mind. That man is a serial killer. He killed Trent, Betty, and Mrs. Hodges, and he almost killed me.”

  Detective Hardy instructed his junior officer to cordon off the site with crime scene tape, photograph the area, and round up the two fluffy bichons.

  CHAPTER 16

  Instead of receiving praise for catching a killer, I sat in a closed room with a metal table, waiting for my turn to convince Detective Hardy that my version was the truth. I demanded my phone call. From watching Law and Order reruns, I knew arrested people received a one-call option. I punched in Logan’s number and got his voice mail.

  Exhausted from my long day that began at five thirty this morning and ended in a battle for my life, I rested my head on the table. I must have drifted off, because when the door opened, the clock showed midnight.

  Logan slipped past Detective Hardy and grasped my hands. “Ladessa, how are you?”

  I was so happy to see him that I didn’t mention the absurdity of his question. “Scared, tired, hungry, and relieved.”

  The concern, and perhaps affection, in his dark brown eyes erased my shock and trepidation. Logan’s investigation supported my story about the shady goings-on at Happy Days. Together Logan and I would present the facts to Detective Hardy. Then the lawman would release me and place Harlan Gramford behind bars, permanently.

  Detective Hardy started with the caution: “You have the right—”

  “What? Gramford tried to kill me!” I jumped up with as much indignation as I could muster.

  Logan and Detective Hardy bumped fists.

  “Got you.” Detective Hardy grinned.

  “Not funny!” I glared at the detective, the one I thought flirted with me, but who was actually happily married. “Did you charge Gramford? Is he locked up?”

  “He’s in a jail cell. He’ll transfer out to await trial. We’re not equipped for long-term care.”

  Hardy’s droll comment made Logan chuckle. Their repartee amused the two of them but not me.

  “I’d like to leave. I need a hot shower and some sleep.”

  “I’ll take her home,” Logan said. “After all, you had to rescue her.”

  “He did not rescue me. I saved myself, and I caught the killer.” I flung open the door and stalked out.

  Logan hurried past me and held the heavy oak exterior door. Outside, he wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me in a tight embrace, a scene I’d often envisioned. At that moment, however, my anger made me incapable of response. He released me and led me to his black RAV4.

  In the car, I began to shiver, and Logan cranked the heat up to high. Soon the blower’s force felt like a blazing hot desert wind. I couldn’t wait to get home.

  Home?

  When had Sea Side become home?

  Muscle memory aided me the next day as I bustled about work duties. I expected chatter about Gramford’s arrest but heard none.

  Noelle waved and held a fist to her ear, indicating I had a call. “It’s your grandfather.”

  I took the tea shoppe phone.

  “Ladessa, he’s here again,” Grandpa whispered.

  “Who?”

  “That man, and he’s wearing the same hat and coat, and he arrived in a dark car.” Grandpa’s voice had risen slightly, which made him easier to hear. “The man who was here the night Betty Boyd died. He’s back. I spotted him on my way to play pinochle.”

  “Where is he?”

  “In the lobby. I’m hiding behind the big decorative vase. I heard him ask the receptionist to page Mary Rollins. Do you think he’s planning to kill her? What should I do?”

  This captivated my attention. “Grab as many friends as you can and stay with Mary. He won’t harm her if she’s with a dozen people. I’m on my way, and I’ll call Detective Hardy.”

  Overhearing my comment about someone harming her mother, Noelle had her coat zipped before I removed my apron.

  In Noelle’s car, I dialed Detective Hardy after fastening my seat belt—which I needed—because Noelle’s driving resembled that of a high-speed stunt man. We arrived within five minutes and bounded from the car, ready to save Mary Rollins.

  No chaos.

  The scene looked like a photographer’s pose. Mary, Grandpa, and a gentleman in a tailored suit occupied the sofa, with a dozen residents curved in a horseshoe behind them. Smiles bloomed on all faces.

  “Grandpa, Mary, what’s going on?”

  Screaming sirens drowned all responses. Members of the tableau broke their pose, and giggling and talking generated a spirited cacophony as Detective Hardy sprang from his police car followed by three armed patrolmen.

  The detective whistled, and quiet reigned.

  I asked my question again. “What’s going on?”

  The distinguished gentleman rose. “I’m the executor of Trent Sharp’s estate. He came to me two weeks before his death, a contrite man who wished to make amends to those he’d wronged. He requested that fixed monetary amounts go to some individuals and percentages of the remainder to specific recipients. Betty Boyd ranked first on the list. But the woman died of a heart attack the same day I informed her of her impending windfall.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, are you?” I gave Detective Hardy a conspiratorial glance.

  He nodded to the lawyer. “Let’s hear what this man has to say.”

  “Betty hadn’t signed the official papers, so her allocation reverted to the estate, which meant all the figures changed. I came here today to impart good news and money to Mary Rollins and to John Nolan.” The lawyer smiled.

  Mary raised her hands above her head. “Praise God. Trent Sharp admitted in writing that he was behind the scheme to siphon off the church funds—not my husband, and not John Nolan.”

  The lawyer continued. “Mr. Sharp also requested his confession be read aloud in a service and mailed to the entire church membership. He wanted to clear the name of a good man and reimburse Mr. Rollins’s widow for the personal funds her husband gave to replenish the church coffers, an act that ruined the Rollins family financially. He also has a bequest for John Nolan for the amount of money he used to correct the shortfall in the budget.”

  “I knew about Trent Sharp’s conversion,” Detective Hardy said. “God worked on that man’s heart. Men in the Bible study group share their pain and joy openly and honestly. Sharp realized his actions generated suffering for many. He asked for forgiveness and vowed to make amends to those he wronged.”

  “But one person didn’t want Sharp to change. Isn’t that right, Detective?” I mentally patted myself on the back for giving the local lawman the acclaim for my findings as an amateur sleuth.

  Detective Hardy leaned back and hooked his thumbs under his belt. “I know this will be a shock to you here at Happy Days, but I’ve arrested Harlan Gramford for the murders of Sharp, Betty Boyd, and Alice Hodges.”

  Exclamations, questions, and cries of outrage and denial buzzed. The police officer held up both hands, palms facing the residents.

  Logan sidled up behind me. “Nice of you to give law enforcement the credit.”

  “What can I say? I’m a generous gal.” I didn’t know how Logan happened to be there, but I didn’t care. I leaned back against his broad chest, feeling secure, safe, and something else I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

  The church named the Sunday after Thanksgiving Rollins Day. Noelle, Will, Logan, and I sat in a reserved spot on the second row so we could see a beaming Mary seated next to the pastor. Packed pews meant many people flanked the sanctuary’s perimeter as the minister invited Detective Devin Hardy to speak.

  “Trent Sharp came to our breakfast prayer group as a skeptic but became a believer,” the detective began. He recounted Sharp’s sp
iritual journey and his quest for righting the wrongs he’d committed. He told the congregation that one heavy burden on Sharp’s conscience was his trespass against Pastor Rollins.

  After Hardy’s testimony, the minister read Sharp’s confession and invited congregational members, past and present, to place personal recollections of Pastor Rollins in a basket in the foyer. Then the minister escorted Mary out of the sanctuary, where the two greeted the departing worshippers.

  I nudged Noelle. “You should stand with your mom.”

  “No, it’s her day, hers and my dad’s. Can you believe how many people came? She’ll read and reread every one of those notes.” Noelle dabbed her eyes. “Nice gesture on the part of the minister, don’t you think?”

  Logan leaned around my shoulder. “Will, Noelle, can you come to my place this afternoon about four? Ladessa and I have some news.”

  Noelle’s eyes opened wide.

  I felt heat rush up my neck and over my face. “No, not what you’re thinking.”

  “Do we have to wait until four?” Will asked.

  Logan chuckled. “No, come anytime, and bring Mary.”

  Will, Noelle, and Mary arrived at four, the last of the guests.

  “Come in, take a seat, or grab something to drink and then take a seat. Oh, let me introduce you to all these people.” Logan’s nervous, disjointed chatter showed a side of his personality I’d never seen.

  “I’ll take your coats.” I hung jackets on the coat tree in the foyer.

  Logan stood in front of the fireplace and paced like a lecturing professor. “I’ve been working on a newspaper feature for months and never dreamed where it would lead. One story led to another, but this one introduced me to real friends. It also gave me an opportunity to expose a ring of criminals with the skill of my sleuthing CPA buddy, Ladessa Nolan.”

  That was my cue to speak. “Logan’s research into several senior living facilities confirmed what we witnessed happening at Happy Days. In my memoir course, I heard about the older residents being tricked, bilked, cheated, and cajoled—whatever term you want to use—out of their homes in exchange for a carefree life in a senior living complex. The skimming and windfall profits generated were divided by four insiders at each facility.”

  Will waved his hand, and Logan held up a finger. Logan said, “The plan is quite ingenious, but they had to have stockholders. I tracked down many of the principal shareholders, and they had no knowledge of the fraudulent schemes. They own shares, which produce reasonable and fair returns on investments. One of the investors agreed to come here today.”

  The silver-haired lady sitting in the animal-print chair indicated Logan should continue.

  “The investors want to continue their support of the apartments for seniors, but each facility will need a new staff. The investors found two exemplary resumes on file at Happy Days. Will, they’d like you to assume Gramford’s position as executive manager. Noelle, they’re offering you the activities director’s position.”

  I watched Will squeeze Noelle’s hand, and I knew what their answers would be.

  Will turned to the woman identified by Logan as representing the investors. “We accept the offer. We’ll make sure the residents enjoy happy days and carefree nights.”

  Their decision delighted me. Will and Noelle would make Sea Side their home. I thought of other friends from the tea shoppe, from Happy Days, from the church choir, and knew I’d made the right decision.

  “While we’re all together, I have some personal news to share,” I said.

  “Does it have to do with a wedding?” Noelle asked.

  “No, it has to do with returning home. I’m buying my grandfather’s house. I plan to move to Sea Side and set up a CPA practice with my office right here. I’ll operate as a bed and breakfast on weekends until I establish my business. Jane Mills created a dynamic marketing plan for me before she left, so it may not take that long.” I clapped a hand over my mouth. “I didn’t mean to mention Jane. I’m sorry.”

  Will rolled his eyes. “No problem, Ladessa. I know Jane received the bulk of Uncle Trent’s estate as his biological daughter. Jane admitted she sabotaged my land development deal because of how Uncle Trent and my family treated her mother. I wasn’t even alive when that happened, but Jane blamed the whole family.”

  “Jane booked a round-the-world cruise with part of her inheritance.” Noelle turned to Will. “Does that bother you?”

  “Not at all. My world is right here.” He kissed her nose. “Mary, may I have permission to marry your daughter?”

  “Yes, but I should forewarn you that she’s quite opinionated.” Mary’s comment elicited smiles and laughter.

  “Mom said yes, Will. We need to start planning a wedding.” Noelle inched closer to Will.

  “The sooner the better. Our guests can use Ladessa’s new bed and breakfast,” Will said.

  “Then your wedding will have to wait until February.” Logan draped an arm around my shoulder. “My family is booking Ladessa’s bed and breakfast for all the January weekends. I want my six sisters, their families, and all my extended family members to meet Ladessa.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.” Logan’s eyes danced.

  Those two words sounded sweeter than birds singing in the spring. I hoped I’d get to hear him say them again, soon.

  Linda Baten Johnson grew up in White Deer, Texas, where she won blue ribbons for storytelling. She still loves telling tales. A tornado destroyed the town when Linda lived there, and watching faith-based actions in rebuilding lives and homes after the tragedy influences her writing. Her historical fiction books for young readers, cozy mysteries, and squeaky-clean romances are available in print and e-book and on audio.

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