The Diva Serves High Tea

by Krista Davis

  “I told you botulism poisoning was a brilliant way to dispatch someone.” Francie folded her arms over her chest, signaling her determination.

  “Do you think the person who poisoned Robert intended to murder Mars as well?” I asked.

  Velma leaned toward Francie. “I thought you said Sophie would understand. She doesn’t appear to get what we’re saying.”

  “She’s just being stubborn,” Francie responded.

  They were impossible! “I’m still here, you know.”

  They avoided making eye contact with me.

  Hah! I knew how to dissuade them. “Okay. Suppose you’re correct.”

  They perked up immediately.

  “Which of the people on this list had a motive to murder Robert?”

  “Any of them who were jealous of the attention he lavished on other women.” Velma shot Francie a quizzical look.

  “Fine. Which ones?” I pressed them a little, hoping they would realize that they didn’t really have a reason to pursue anyone.

  I hated to admit it, but I was happy when they looked at me, dumbfounded. “I’ll make a deal with you. We’ll let Wolf handle this. After all, it’s his job, and he’s the expert.”

  “But he’s wrong!” Francie protested. “Robert’s death was intentional. You saw those notes.”

  “How do you know that? And how do you explain that Mars also ate whatever had gone bad? Give Wolf a chance to interrogate and arrest his suspect. If you’re not convinced after he makes an arrest, then I’ll reconsider. Okay?”

  They looked a little glum when they left but I heard Velma say, “Good thing we have to hang out at The Parlour this afternoon to assist Martha. It will help kill time while the Mountie gets the wrong man.”

  My morning passed rather quietly. I wrote some advice columns and around noon, I took Daisy for a long walk. Our path took us by The Parlour, which was open but didn’t seem to be doing much business. We wound around toward Robert’s house, where the front door stood open.

  Either Velma was airing out the house or planned to carry something in or out.

  I walked inside, remembering the morning I had found Robert near death. The main floor appeared much the same. None of the lavish paintings had been removed yet and the furniture was still in place.

  “Francie? Velma?” I called.

  I stopped dead at the dining room, surprised to see Hunter Landon, who allegedly had a thing for Callie. He appeared to be equally surprised. He had the decency to flush and seem slightly embarrassed at being caught. Of course, I had no more right to be there than he did.

  I could see what Francie and Velma liked about him. Neither slim nor chubby, he had a friendly oval face with a very slightly receding hairline. His eyebrows appeared to be stuck in perpetual worry. And there were tiny dents at the tops of his cheeks. I wondered if he really was a worrying type. In any event, it gave him an air of approachability, like a nice guy who tried to do his best. He wore jeans with a sport coat—informal, yet sufficiently put together.

  “Are you looking for Callie?” I asked.

  His thin lips spread into an embarrassed grin. “Actually, you caught me having a sneak peek. The door was open, so I hope no one minds. This is an amazing house. I knew Robert was an antiques dealer, but he obviously had an eye for the better things in life.”

  “I would have to agree. He had excellent taste.”

  Hunter gestured toward large paintings of men and women from another era. “Think these are family portraits?”

  I walked closer to study them. “I really couldn’t say. I don’t know anything about Robert’s background. They look like they belong in a castle, don’t they?”

  Hunter pointed at a particularly stern woman in a brown gown adorned with lace. “I think her eyes are following me around the room.”

  “She is a little scary.”

  “Probably the wicked governess who married the widowed father.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. He had nailed her! “I guess we can both be glad we’re not related to her.”

  “So what are they going to do with all this stuff?” Hunter asked.

  “I suppose Velma will sell the house, but I understand she intends to keep the store.”

  “I’ll be interested in seeing who buys the dreaded governess.”

  “Do you live in Old Town?” I asked.

  “I’m renting at the moment. I didn’t think I would want to stay here because the houses are packed in pretty tight for a country boy. Turns out that’s not a big deal for me after all. But sometimes I do think I’d like to sit out on the front porch on a summer night, watching the fireflies and looking out over the fields. Not a sound except for a distant owl. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get a little mountain cabin somewhere for weekends.”

  “Do you work for the government?”

  “Not directly,” he said. “I’m self-employed. I do search and rescue training, so governmental agencies often contract me.”

  That explained how he had time to hang out at The Parlour on occasion. “You mean with dogs?”

  “No, I train people. They have to be certified, and municipal governments have to come up with plans for managing big emergencies, so I help them do that.”

  “Are you interested in buying this house?”

  Hunter gazed around. “I think it’s probably way out of my league. I’m fairly handy, so I had a fixer-upper in mind. Robert’s place sure is impressive, though. He obviously lived the good life.”

  “I saw The Parlour opened back up,” I commented.

  “Yeah. I’m sure Martha is happy about that.”

  I felt a little bit awkward—the two of us having no real business in the house. He didn’t appear eager to leave, though. “Is Velma around?”

  “Did I hear my name?” She came barreling along the hallway from the kitchen. “Was taking out trash. Good heavens, I never imagined there would be so much to throw out.” She looked from Hunter to me. “Did y’all come to help?”

  Hunter set his briefcase on a chair and removed his jacket. “Sure. Why don’t I give you a hand with the heavy stuff? You tell me what needs to be done.”

  “You’re like an angel from heaven. I thought I’d have to hire a handyman.”

  “I could pitch in for an hour or so,” I said. “If you don’t mind Daisy helping.”

  She set us to work right away. “Hunter, how about you bring boxes downstairs, and, Sophie, maybe you can empty the linen closet?”

  We worked steadily for an hour. Hunter didn’t complain once about lugging all the boxes downstairs. He whispered to me, “Velma reminds me of my mother. She thinks these boxes are heavy but they don’t weigh a thing.”

  I slid a stack of pillowcases into a box. “Does your mom live around here?”

  “No. She still lives in the little house I grew up in. Never budged from it.”

  “Where’s that?”

  He hoisted a box and paused, almost as if he was wondering if it was safe to tell me. “A little college town called Forest Glen.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Dear Sophie,

  I inherited china stamped Rose China on the back with a picture of a rose. People tell me it’s Noritake. If that’s so, then why does it say Rose China?

  —Confused Collector in Rose Hill, Kansas

  Dear Confused Collector,

  Rose China was made by Noritake immediately after World War II. Some speculate that post-war production was difficult and not up to Noritake standards, so they used the Rose China name instead. Others believe it was a method of circumventing limitations on Japanese imports or that the company did not use its famous name because Japanese products were not in favor with Americans after the war. Rose China also often carries the words Made in Occupied Japan.

  —Sophie

  “I’ve heard of that!” A
ll too recently, I thought.

  “You have?”

  I covered quickly. “I grew up in Berrysville.”

  “No kidding! Small world, huh?”

  Indeed it was. I presumed he knew that Callie had come from a town near Forest Glen. It didn’t mean anything. Clearly I was on edge for no good reason. In fact, maybe that was the reason they were attracted to each other.

  Velma bustled toward me. “Look what I found!”

  She held out a newspaper clipping with the title “Tea Parlor Coming to Town.” Martha smiled in a photograph.

  “She’s quite photogenic, isn’t she?” Velma said.

  I had to agree. Her trademark upswept hair imparted a distinctive elegance. “She’s very attractive. Where did you get this?”

  “It was in Robert’s things. He has piles of papers. I do the same thing. I think I’ll need a letter or a note or a clipping. Of course, when I want it, I never can find it. I’m terrible about filing. And where do you file something like this anyway? It’s not like a bill or a contract or something important. I guess he was like me in that respect. He has stacks of papers but I’m afraid to throw them out without going through every one of them. There could be something important!”

  I felt a little bit guilty about a few piles of papers in my own office and resolved to keep less. Maybe I would buy one of those things that scanned them into the computer.

  “Say, Velma,” Hunter said, “Robert told me about an old necklace he used to wear in the sixties. A carving of an old ship. Have you found it? It sounded kind of cool.”

  “I’ve been through his valet but there was nothing like a ship. I can’t imagine him wearing something like that. Oh my! The sixties were grand, weren’t they? I wore my skirts so short I got sent home from school once!”

  Before long, the linen closet was empty. It hadn’t produced anything of interest. Comforters, towels, the regular items except for some lace tablecloths that were probably antique. I had packed them in another box that would likely go to the antique store.

  Then Velma locked up and sent Hunter, Daisy, and me home to clean up so we could meet her at The Parlour to make it look busy. Velma peeled off to her house, but Hunter walked another block with Daisy and me.

  Hunter asked me about Daisy, who got along very well with him. He’d even played some doggy games with her at Robert’s house. “As soon as I buy a place, I’m heading to the shelter. I’ve missed having dogs and cats.”

  “Nina works at the shelter. In fact she has an adorable foster puppy right now. A beagle named Peanut.”

  “Wonder how fast I can find a place?” He grinned and said, “See you at The Parlour,” before turning right. I kept walking toward home.

  I had walked only a few steps before I heard someone call, “Ed! Eddie!”

  I turned my head, and saw a blond man. It appeared that he had meant Hunter, since he jogged over to Hunter, who greeted him as though they were acquaintances. How odd. Had I misunderstood? Maybe it was a nickname or a middle name. Maybe I would Google Hunter when I got home.

  On the way, I passed The Laughing Hound and spotted Bernie sitting outside on the patio all by himself with a beer and a stack of papers.

  “Sophie!” He opened the gate for Daisy and me.

  “Looks kind of lonely around here.”

  “It’s pathetic. Would you care for a drink?”

  “No, thanks. Taking care of paperwork?”

  We sat down at the table. “Soph, Mars is like a brother to me. Next to my mum, you and Mars are my closest friends. I’m crushed that he got sick from my food.” Bernie placed his elbows on the table and leaned toward me. “Here’s the curious thing. You know how many people have been sickened by this?” He held up two fingers. “When the health department came to collect samples, they told me that Mars was only the second known case.”

  I thought I could see where he was going, and I certainly didn’t want to burst his balloon, but I had to say it. “Mars’s symptoms were so mild that you didn’t think he needed a doctor. There could be others in the same situation.”

  Bernie slapped his iPhone on the table. “I know a few of the regulars well enough to call them and see how they’re doing. No one is sick.”

  “Do you think Robert ate here?”

  “We do a pretty good business, so I don’t see every single person who dines here. But none of the employees recalls seeing Robert during the last few days.”

  “Velma said he didn’t feel well the day of the auction,” I said. “I guess there’s no way of knowing if that was already the botulism at work, or something else. Maybe someone brought him takeout?”

  “I doubt it. Here’s why. From my research on botulism, it doesn’t often occur in acidic foods or fresh foods. That’s why it doesn’t happen much with things like pickles. We cook everything fresh. We use very few items that come in jars or cans. So there’s almost no chance for botulism to be in the food we serve. Mars got botulism poisoning, but I’m convinced that it wasn’t from my food.”

  “Where else did he eat?” I asked.

  Bernie shook his head. “According to Mars, only at your house.”

  “My house!” Oh no! I would be the next one raided by the health department!

  “Don’t look so worried. Your food was fresh, wasn’t it?”

  I relaxed a little. “The pumpkin you used in the pancakes was from a can. But I feel fine and so do you. Mars must be mistaken. Maybe someone offered him a little treat, but he doesn’t remember.”

  “According to Mars, he didn’t even stop to grab a drink somewhere or nosh on a candy bar.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  Bernie sat back in his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Precisely. We serve two to three hundred people a day, but only one is sick?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m planning to talk with the health department. I doubt that they’ll listen to my reasoning but they are going to come up empty-handed in my kitchen. The Laughing Hound is not the source of the problem.”

  I walked home wondering if Francie and Velma could be right. Maybe one of the ladies chasing Robert had been the source of the tainted food after all. That didn’t explain how Mars would have been exposed to it, but it would be more logical since there didn’t appear to be a big outbreak of botulism poisoning.

  I swung open the gate to my property and discovered a sad little figure sitting on the stoop of my kitchen door.

  Kevin’s eyes were red from crying. Tears stained the apples of his cheeks. When he saw me, he ran toward me and flung himself at me, clutching me and burying his head in my abdomen.

  Daisy nuzzled his face, trying to lick him. There was nothing I could do but hug him and stroke his hair. We stood that way a long time. Nothing would bring his mom back. The least I could do was hold him tight as long as he needed.

  When he let me go, he asked, “Did you hear about my mom?”

  I nodded. “I’m really sorry, Kevin.” I didn’t know what else to say to him. “Why don’t we go in the house? Would you like a glass of milk?”

  We walked toward the door.

  “Have you got anything stronger? I got troubles.”

  I tried to hide my smile. Where had he picked that up?

  “How about hot chocolate? With whipped cream and marshmallows?”

  For one split second, I saw a gleam in his eyes and knew for that instant, he’d thought about food instead of his mom. Whipped cream and marshmallows was an overload, but if ever a child deserved a whopper of a treat and a sugar overload, it was this little boy right now.

  I unlocked the door. He played on the floor with Daisy and I excused myself for a moment. I hurried to my office and called Alex. “Your little buddy is here again.”

  I heard him shout, “Found him!” Into the phone he said, “Is he okay
?”

  “Seems to be. But he’s one sad kid.”

  “Poor guy. I’ll be there ASAP.”

  I returned to the kitchen and whisked powdered chocolate into a little water, which I added to the milk and heated. I poured it into two mugs, added marshmallows and the promised dollop of whipped cream. I brought them to the table along with a few leftover macarons and petit fours.

  Once again, without being asked, he washed his hands and dried them before crawling into the banquette on his hands and knees. He settled in and licked the cream on his drink. “They’re going to send me to reform school.”

  I bit my upper lip to keep from grinning. “I’m sure that’s not the case. That’s where they send bad kids.”

  He smacked his palm against his forehead. “Oh great. That’s all I need, being locked up with all the bullies.”

  “Honey, no one will send you to reform school or lock you up. Believe me.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s all my fault,” Kevin said.

  “What is?”

  “My dad killed my mom because of me. He wanted me back.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “My grandparents. And they’re afraid the court won’t let them keep me because they raised a killer and they’re incontinent.”

  That gave me pause. I hoped he meant incompetent. “I’m sure they’re very nice people.”

  “Um-hmm.” He nodded his head. “I’d rather be with my dad but they’re going to lock him in jail and throw away the key!” His voice rose with hysteria.

  People really ought to be more careful what they said around this child. “That’s just an expression. No one will throw away the key. And Alex is going to do his very best to make sure your dad doesn’t go to jail. You trust Alex, don’t you?”

  He thought about it. “Will you help him?”

  “I’m not a lawyer. Remember?”

  “Can’t you find the real killer? Alex told Mom you solve murders.”

  “Not professionally. I just got lucky a few times.”