Table of Contents
Tea Thyme and Murder
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Tea,
Thyme,
and
Murder
A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery
Book Thirteen
By
Carolyn Q. Hunter
Copyright 2018 Summer Prescott Books
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Tea,
Thyme, and
Murder
A Pies and Pages Cozy Mystery
Book Thirteen
Prologue
“And here we have it,” Kyle Jankes announced, unlocking the front door of the empty shop and leading the way inside with a toothy smile that only a businessman could muster.
Susan nonchalantly swept her waist-length silver hair aside as she followed the building owner into the shopfront. She gazed around the room with a critical and examining eye. Carved wood panels covered much of the walls, and where those were not in place, traditional brick showed through. The ceiling was low, sitting at approximately eight feet high, but created a sense of comfort rather than claustrophobia. It too was paneled in wooden squares carved in a uniform pattern.
On either side of the front door sat glass display windows with molded frames. The floor was tiled but matched the rest of the setting. What caught her attention the most, however, was the long bar across the length of one side of the store. Built-in shelves sat behind it, likely at one time holding a vast assortment of beer, wine, and other forms of alcohol.
“A truly historic storefront,” she commented, making a second pass of inspection with her eyes. “Most impressive.”
“I thought it would be to your liking, Mrs. Green.”
Her eyes narrowed at the man. “It’s just Miss, Mr. Jankes. I’ve never married and never had a desire to,” she corrected him, while adjusting the wooden hair pin that kept the strands from falling in front of her eyes.
Kyle smiled to hide his embarrassment. “My apologies, ma’am.”
“Also, you couldn’t know that this location would be to my liking because you don’t personally know me,” she noted matter-of-factly.
None of these comments came off as overtly rude or condescending. It was more like she was just stating truths. Even Jankes, who still felt the hint of embarrassment warming his cheeks, could tell she wasn’t trying to put him down or judge him.
Still, something about this woman intimidated him—and Kyle was not easily intimidated by anyone. As the owner and manager of many of the storefronts and buildings in the historic Old Market district of Culver’s Hood, Nebraska, he was used to being the intimidating one. He’d had his fair share of having to come down on renters or even evicting them without blinking an eye.
Susan Green was different. Unlike many of the other renters, fairly new business owners who aspired to simply open a semi-successful novelty shop in the Old Market, Susan was a well-accomplished woman of business.
Her place in the herbal recipes and remedies community was monumental. She’d written multiple best-selling books on the topic, owned an online shop, had opened and managed a day camp for adults, and even won the Best of Small Business award in Nebraska.
Usually, when showing a shop location, it was the prospective renter who was trying to convince Jankes to allow them to open their store. They were required to provide a business outline and renter credentials.
This time the tables were turned. Kyle was desperate to get this successful woman in as one of his renters and draw in more business to the Old Market.
“It certainly interests me, though,” Susan went on walking toward the back of the shop to look at an old wooden staircase going to a second floor.
“There is an upstairs apartment that goes with this space as well. Many renters sublet it.”
“I have no intention of doing that. How could I trust them around my products? Many herbs, plants, and medicine can be used dangerously if in the wrong hands. They can also be dangerous if someone doesn’t know what they're doing.”
“Some renters also stay in their apartment,” he noted.
“How convenient. On evenings when I don’t feel like making the drive home, I can stay here,” she noted, showing her intention of using it as a second home.
“You can do that, certainly,” he commented with another big smile.
Susan paused, tapping a finger against her chin as she turned once more to look over the space. “Well, Mr. Jankes, I’ll have to think on it and then give you a call in a few days.”
He gave a slight nod of his head, somewhat disappointed that she wasn’t committing right away. “I see. That’ll be fine, but just in fairness, I need to let you know I have one other interested party who is considering this space.”
Susan turned on him with one raised eyebrow. “Are you trying to push me into a fast sale, Mr. Jankes?”
He put up both hands. “No, no, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he insisted. “It is simply possible that the other potential renter will choose to take the space. If she puts down a deposit before you, I would be legally obligated to grant it to her instead.” It was true about the other renter, but also a lie that he was using it as leverage to push Susan into a contract. He much preferred the idea of her moving in over the other woman.
She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “I see. Well, in that case, let’s draw up the papers now, shall we?”
Kyle let out a subtle sigh of relief and put on his biggest smile yet. “Very well. Shall we?” he motioned toward the front door.
Chapter 1
Bert had both hands on the flour-strewn counter, her face red from the heat the kitchen’s ovens let off, and looking down at her incoherent scribbles of notes on the piece of scratch paper she’d been writing on.
“Go
od morning,” a familiar voice sing-songed as the front door to Pies and Pages opened, ringing the bell hanging above.
Bert glanced up to see her best friend, Carla Reed, walking toward the counter of the pie shop. It was just past ten in the morning and the usual influx of brunchies would be arriving at any moment.
So far, the shop stood empty.
“Morning,” she replied with a sigh.
“My, you look busy,” Carla noted, setting her purse on the counter and leaning in to examine her friend’s reddened face.
Bert chewed her lower lip, her eyes going over her notes again. “Yeah, I’m just trying to come up with a new pie recipe.”
“A new one? Why fix what isn’t broken? Your current menu sells like hotcakes.” Carla walked behind the counter and poured herself a mug of coffee from the still steaming pot.
“No, I know. Everything I serve is sweet.”
“And it’s supposed to be. Pie is a dessert,” Carla reminded her, taking a sip from the mug. “Woowee, this is some strong stuff,” she declared.
“Yeah, I’ve sort of gotten addicted to that Black Death Coffee brand. It’s very rich and gets me going in the morning.”
Carla waved a hand as she walked over and took a seat at the table closest to the counter. “I’m not complaining.”
Bert picked up the paper, shook off the excess flour that had gotten on it, and tossed it in the waste bin. Putting her hands on her hips, she turned to face her friend. “I want to make something savory, something to draw in even more of the brunchies.”
Carla’s brow wrinkled. “Brunchies?”
“The brunch crowd?” Bert clarified.
Carla scoffed at the idea.
“What’s so wrong with that?” she pressed, pulling an apple pie from under the warmer and proceeding to cut a slice out of it for her friend.
“Aren’t those brunch people kind of snobby? I mean, what do they call them nowadays?”
“Brunchies?” Bert reiterated the former phrase she’d literally just used.
“No, no. Something else. Unflattering, I think.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,” Bert noted, putting the slice on the plate and then walking over and setting it down in front of her friend.
Carla smiled as steam from the pie brought the combined aromatic scents of allspice, nutmeg, cinnamon, and apples to her nose. “Yum. Smells great.”
Bert, seeing that there were no customers quite yet, took a seat with her own cup of coffee—her third that morning. In all her efforts to figure out a new delicious pie dish, she’d come up short. Thankfully, the coffee kept her chugging through the process.
Also, her employee, Shiv, would arrive soon to help so Bert could continue the invention process.
“In any case, I’m trying to figure out some sort of savory pie to put on the menu for a while. It’ll be a test run.”
Carla swallowed the bite she’d just taken. “Well, I won’t continue to argue with you. What sort of pie did you have in mind?”
Getting the chance to talk about baking, especially pies, always thrilled Bert. It was especially true when she was trying to come up with something new. Leaning forward and cradling the warm mug in her hands, she grinned. “I was really leaning toward some sort of herb-based dish. Maybe herb and cheese? The only trouble is, I can’t quite figure out what kind of herbs or spices I’d use, let alone what type of cheese.” She threw up her hands. “Do you know how many types of gourmet cheeses there are?”
Carla moaned hungrily. “Ohh, I do love a good cheese plate.”
“You’re not helping,” Bert teased.
A lightbulb turned on in Carla’s head, her eyes widened, and a smile tugged at her lips.
“What?”
“You said an herb pie, right?”
“Yeah, do you have any ideas?”
“No, I don’t, but I just might know someone who does.”
* * *
Bert had to wait until her lunch break at twelve before making the three-block walk over to the new store that Carla had told her all about. One of Bert’s favorite things about having moved out of her old cottage in the northwestern part of the city and into the apartment above Pies and Pages was the fact that everything was now in walking distance from her. She could do her grocery shopping at a local market shop and she had her choice of restaurants. There were theaters, museums, art galleries, and several other attractions to see. There were even a few doctor’s offices and urgent care centers.
Since she’d been walking more often from place to place in downtown Culver’s Hood, she’d been feeling better than ever—health wise. Not to say she’d been in poor health previously, but now she really felt top notch.
The only times she really had to get in the car and drive was for carting food to catered events or attending church functions with her regular congregation near her old cottage home.
Additionally, Bert loved the fact that new and interesting businesses always seemed to be opening in the Old Market, just like this one.
Standing on the sidewalk outside, she looked up the wooden sign that hung above the door giving the already rustic location an old-fashioned appearance. It was fitting, seeing as Wild Herbs looked like it belonged in another time period completely. Glass jars filled with various plants and spices sat in the front window, accompanied by more dried plants hanging down from the ceiling.
Bert was sure, if there was one place she’d be able to get ideas for a delicious herb and cheese pie, it would be here. With a smile on her face, she pushed her way inside. The little bell above the door made a tinkling noise, announcing her entrance.
She was immediately greeted with a wide array of smells, some bitter, some sweet, and some spicy.
“Welcome. Come in, come in.” A woman in a long flowing green dress sashayed from behind the counter, her face brimming with a white-toothed smile. A sparkling scarf tied her long silver hair back and her extra long nails were painted green to match the outfit. “What can I do for you today?” she asked.
Bert blinked a few times, surprised by just how warm the welcome seemed to be. It wasn’t like she was the only customer. The small shop had at least five or six other people who were milling about and examining the offerings.
“Hi, I’m Bertha Hannah,” Bert introduced herself to the shopkeeper who was focusing her attention on her.
“Welcome, welcome. I have to admit, your name sounds familiar,” she noted.
Bert couldn’t help but smile at this comment. While she was never the type of woman to seek fame or renown, she did like it when people knew who she was. It meant that word of her store was getting around and gave her high hopes for a successful future. “I own the pie shop just down the way,” she noted, answering the question of why she might seem familiar.
“Ah, yes. I saw it. Pies and Pages?”
“That’s right,” Bert returned.
“Of course. Kyle Jankes told me about you and a few other shop owners here. He’s quite proud of the little community he’s created here in the Old Market.”
“Well, we do all try to be friendly and work together,” she admitted, neglecting to mention Reba, the candy shop owner who never seemed to get along with anyone.
“And you’re here to seek out the best spices for a new recipe,” the shop owner said matter-of-factly.
Bert’s eyes widened, and an astonished “O” came to her lips. “Did my friend Carla stop by?”
The shopkeeper taped the side of her nose. “I just have a way of knowing these things, my dear. Call it intuition if you like—but I just pride myself on being able to read my customers.”
Bert let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, if that’s the case, then I think you’ll do very well here.”
“I know I will,” she proclaimed confidently waltzing as if on air over toward a tall shelf of spice jars. “I have in every other facet of my career.”
“You definitely seem passionate,” Bert said, giving her that much. Th
e woman’s excitement was infectious, but Bert still couldn’t say she could stand behind such open boasting. No matter how successful of a career the woman may have had, wouldn’t it be better to humbly keep that sort of thing to yourself instead of proclaiming it to the customer who’d just walked in?
After all, she hadn’t even introduced herself yet.
None of that stopped the shopkeeper from moving forward with her salesmanship, and somehow, Bert couldn’t keep from smiling about it all.
“Now, do you know what kind of pie you’ll be cooking up next?” the woman asked, turning her gaze on the shelf of bottles nearby as if she already knew the answer.
Bert took a few steps forward to look at the merchandise in question. “As a matter of fact, I’m wanting to create a cheese and herb pie to appeal to the brunch crowd who often comes to the Old Market.”
“Ah, yes. Brunchies is what they’re calling them now, am I right?”
“I believe so, yes,” Bert agreed, eyeballing the array of dried herbs and spices before her. “I was thinking of perhaps using goat cheese as the base. I know a wonderful goat farmer who is at the local Farmer’s Market each week—and his cheeses are divine.”
“And goat products are great for the body and soul,” the shopkeeper chimed in.
“Do you have any specific suggestions?”
She held up one finger and tapped it against her cheek as she smiled. “As a matter of fact—” she began, but she didn’t get to finish her sentence.
“Susan,” a demanding voice insisted harshly. The sound of it was hushed, but still audible to most of the store.
The shop keeper’s eyebrows twitched, showing only the slightest hint of irritation before she answered. “I’m with a customer,” she called back with a song in her voice.
Bert stood up on the tips of her toes to see over Susan’s shoulder, noticing another woman come marching forward from the back of the shop. The resemblance between the two was astonishing, despite the difference in haircut and dress style.
Tea, Thyme, an Murder (Pies and Pages Cozy Mysteries Book 13) Page 1