Tea Shop Cozy Mysteries - Books 1-6

  * * *

  Unfortunately, Howard and Tess Prebbleton didn’t appreciate or want the chance to talk about things.

  “We’ve had it up to here with folks dropping by and sticking their noses in,” Tess said with darkening clouds on her face. “Seems nobody can be bothered to speak to us half the year round, but a bit of gossip happens on our land, and suddenly we’re the most popular couple in Aniseed Valley.”

  “Okay. Well, we just wanted to check in on you, seeing as how we were here on the day the sheriff found the body.” Willow backed up toward the door, seeing with perfect clarity how Tess might brandish a shotgun in the middle of the night. The woman’s politeness filter had been worn clean off.

  “The sheriff didn’t find the dead man, I did.” Howard stabbed a finger into his chest. “On the TV I’d be offered counseling to get over the horror of finding him in the state I did”—he paused to swallow hard, then continued with difficulty—“but nobody gave me anything.”

  Willow’s sympathy was aroused. “I’ve stumbled across a few bodies myself in the past year,” she said, reaching out to pat Howard’s arm, a gesture that was immediately thrown off. “It’s a terrible thing. I found that sitting down for a half-hour, just stroking my pet kitten before going to bed is a great way to keep the images at bay.”

  Howard shook his head and pursed his lips. “I don’t have a cat. It’d just get into things around the farm it shouldn’t. And I can hardly cuddle up to a cow, now can I?”

  “Maybe you’d like some calming tea. I have a range in stock and I’d be happy to bring some over.”

  “We can’t afford fancy tea.” Howard stepped forward, beginning the process of shooing them out of the house. “We’re scraping the bottom of just-getting-by as it is.”

  “No charge,” Willow called out just before he slammed the door in their faces. She shrugged at Harmony, unsure if the couple had even heard.

  “Reg might be able to get a bit further,” Harmony said as they rode down the long driveway. “Since he’s already got a relationship with them.”

  Willow sighed. “It’s probably not worth the trouble. I don’t think they’d know much about the case, anyway. If someone was keeping them informed with developments, I expect they’d be in a better mood about the whole thing.”

  “You should still send him over with the tea, later.” Harmony set her chin in a determined line. “Then at least we’ll know, one way or the other.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Willow smiled and gave a mock salute. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  They drove into the center of town and stopped at a café to get their leisurely morning back on track. Even though Tess and Howard’s upset demeanor had a perfect explanation, it still left Willow with a hollow feeling of guilt for bothering the couple. Perhaps she’d send Reg over with the tea later, or maybe she’d renege on her promise to Harmony and leave well enough alone.

  As they took their cups of hot chocolate, made with real dark chocolate and a rich helping of cream, over to a window seat in the café, Tiffany and her two children walked into the shop.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she exclaimed, wandering over to their table. “We’ve just taken a load of stuff to Goodwill, so I thought the kids could do with a treat.”

  Tiffany’s husband had been killed earlier in the year. A dreadful event sapped of all sympathy for the man because he’d taken his wife hostage and trapped her in the trunk of his car not long beforehand.

  Given the amount of time Willow had left her own deceased husband’s belongings sitting around in her house, even though she didn’t have any use of them, she thought it must be a good sign that Tiffany was dealing with it a lot sooner.

  Harmony shifted over in the booth seat to make room. Willow was about to point out Tiffany didn’t have to join them—after all, meeting your employer on the weekend wasn’t necessarily a welcome event—but the woman was already sliding in.

  Tiffany dispatched her children to the counter to collect their order and turned to Willow with a conspirator’s smile. “I bumped into Sara at the Goodwill this morning. She was donating the towels not good enough for the rooms any longer, but still with a lot of wear left in them.”

  For a moment, Willow couldn’t place the name, then she nodded. Sara Glassman ran a select Bed and Breakfast with only four rooms. A home away from home as the advertising said.

  “She told me the man who was murdered out by the Prebbleton’s farm was a complete crook.” Tiffany sat back, looking pleased with herself for furnishing the gossipy tidbit.

  “Goodness.” Willow couldn’t think of anything else to say. She’d expected another tale of woe and plummeting booking numbers, so the curious admission took her completely by surprise.

  Harmony was on the ball though. “Why’s that?”

  “He’d booked into her place for the antique swap meet and she said he skipped out without paying the bill. Just for the two nights, but given her rates, that’s a fair whack.” Tiffany scooted over in the booth seat as Jeremy and Rachel returned, carrying two large milkshakes. The boy set his down, then ran back to the counter to fetch his mother’s order.

  “Maybe he thought it was paid in advance?” The idea seemed a long shot, but Willow didn’t like to think ill of the dead. “Nowadays, it’s easy enough to do that with all the stuff taking place online.”

  But Tiffany was shaking her head. “Not from what she told me. Sara said the man—what was his name? Albert?”

  “Matthew Albert,” Willow supplied. The name was engraved in her memory from the repeated broadcasts.

  “That’s it. Sara said he came down for his cooked breakfast the morning before he was found dead, and kept ordering extra rounds of everything, from the toast to the eggs. When she brought the last extra out to the dining room, he’d done a runner through the side door, taking his case and everything. She tried to charge the room on the credit card imprint he’d given her, but it was already canceled.” Tiffany shook her head. “She was absolutely furious.”

  “So she should be!” Willow pulled her mouth down at the corners. “What a cheek. Especially after putting her to extra trouble as well.”

  “She said he left his room in a right state, too. Sara thinks he used the bedsheets to polish up the antiques he was selling because there were smears of blackening from silver, and wood stains.”

  “I wonder if she’ll be able to claim it from his estate now?” Harmony posed the question aloud, though, judging from her expression, she didn’t really expect an answer.

  Tiffany shook her head. “Don’t worry. Sara sorted it out in the end. She saw his car sitting just down the road from The Old Chestnut. When she went to the bar, she loudly explained to everyone inside exactly what the guy had done.”

  “I bet that made him popular.” Willow wrinkled her nose and smiled.

  “Yeah.” Tiffany laughed. “It didn’t take more than a few minutes for him to come up with the cash. Apparently, he’d been telling everyone in the bar about a deal where he’d sold a statue to someone for ten times the price it was worth. After all that showing off, he could hardly pretend not to have the money!”

  The enthusiasm in Tiffany’s voice made Willow laugh. “I hope she charged him extra for the cleaning bill for the sheets, too.”

  “I’m sure she did. It’s hard to put one over on Sara.”

  Harmony leaned forward. “Who’s the person he sold the antique to for such a high price?”

  “Why?” Tiffany gave a chuckle. “Are you thinking of pulling a swift one, too?”

  “I just thought they might know a bit more about him. The sheriff doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere with the case—”

  “So, you thought you’d help him out?” Tiffany shrugged. “Good luck to you. With the way things have gone in the past year, I’m sure you’re as equal to the task as Sheriff Wender is. I can’t help you with the name though. Either Sara didn’t hear or didn’t tell me.”

  “That’s okay.”
Willow nudged Harmony in the shoulder. “We can go to The Old Chestnut and ask the barman, Ade, for ourselves. He’s a man with a good memory.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Oh, yeah,” Ade said with a fond smile. “I remember that. Caused quite a stir at the time.”

  “And it was definitely the same man who they later found dead?” Willow clarified. When Ade nodded, she asked, “Do you remember who he’d sold the antique to?”

  “It happened at the swap meet, but I must’ve been serving when he got to that part. Hey, Bobby?”

  A man wandered through from the back, wiping his hands on the front of a stain-smeared apron. “Yup?”

  Ade put the question to him and Bobby tilted his head to one side, eyes half-closed as he thought about it. “I reckon it was that Kruller man from down Eastward Lane. He has lots of collections going at any one time. If I’m remembering rightly, he was the one who organized the swap meet with the out-of-towners, to begin with.”

  Bobby turned and ambled back through the door, then stopped and looked back with a grin. “I don’t reckon he’ll be doing that again for a good long while. Even before the man turned up dead, I think Kruller might’ve been a bit sore about the whole thing.”

  “Who’s the Kruller man?” Harmony asked, a frown carving wrinkles into her forehead. “That doesn’t ring any bells with me.”

  “Timothy Kruller. He keeps to himself so that’ll be why you haven’t run into him. We see him in here occasionally because of his hobbies—the bar’s an easy place to arrange a meeting. Otherwise, I never see him out and about.”

  Willow shrugged. The name didn’t mean anything to her either, and she thought she knew everyone in town. “Is he older than us?”

  Ade laughed. “He’s a lot younger, but he acts much older if that makes sense.” The two women nodded. “I think his parents were wealthy, and they both died young. It’s a shame, really. If Timothy didn’t have the inheritance, he might’ve made something of himself through working. As it is, he’s turned into a total recluse.”

  To Willow, the thought of being shut away seemed horrific but judging by the dreamy expression on Harmony’s face, it hit her friend at a quite different angle. Come to think of it, apart from the fact she did most of her reading at the library, Harmony did tend to set herself apart from others all day long—with her nose forever buried in a book.

  Not that she wouldn’t leap to a friend’s assistance without the slightest hesitation.

  “I wonder if Timothy was so upset over the transaction he took matters into his own hands?” Willow tried to picture the argument that might have led up to the man being shot, then shook her head. “Although I still don’t understand why he was found out where he was if that was the root cause of his demise.”

  “Maybe he was involved in a secretive exchange and decided to meet outside of town.” Harmony twiddled her fingers beside her face. “Considering how underhanded the man acted in his short time in town, I can see him acting like a spy in a thriller movie. He could’ve been using a spot on the Prebbletons’ farm as a drop spot.”

  “Mm-hm.” Willow raised her eyebrow. “Any other thriller plots stored up in that head of yours?”

  Harmony twisted off the bar seat and headed toward the door. “I’ve definitely got a few more up my sleeve if it’s necessary but for the time being, how about we track down an address for Mr. Kruller and ask him directly what was going on?”

  “I suppose that works, too,” Willow said, following closely along behind.

  * * *

  The house looked abandoned as they pulled up outside Mr. Kruller’s property. The search for an address had taken all of five minutes. Harmony tapped his name into her phone and it appeared on the third listing down.

  It seemed his love for antiquing far outweighed any desire for privacy. He had his details publicly listed on a whole range of different sites.

  “Shouldn’t we tell somebody where we are?” Harmony grabbed hold of Willow’s arm as she strode up the path to the front door. “If he killed somebody over a measly trade gone wrong, I hate to think what he’ll do if we accuse him.”

  “If he kills the two of us, whether somebody knows quickly, or they take their time finding out won’t matter. We’ll be dead, either way.” Willow disentangled her arm from her friend’s clutching fingers. “If you prefer, why don’t you wait in the car, then you can raise the alarm if I don’t come out in a reasonable time.”

  Although Willow made the offer, it was as a gesture of appeasement and she was surprised when Harmony accepted. As her friend scurried back to the vehicle, she wondered if it was a mistake to confront Timothy Kruller on her own.

  Don’t be a crybaby. He’s a recluse who likes collecting antiques. How dangerous could he be?

  Willow rapped her knuckles on the door before she could change her mind. After a short pause, she heard shuffling noises inside, then a few moments later a man wearing a toweling robe and slippers answered her knock.

  “Mr. Kruller?”

  He nodded, tilting his head forward to reveal a balding pate. Even though Willow didn’t look the best when she first crawled out of bed in the morning, she fancied her appearance was a million miles better than his.

  “What do you want?” Mr. Kruller asked, rubbing a hand over his face and releasing a cascade of dried skin. Willow watched, fascinated for a second by the large flakes drifting down to land on his robe.

  “My name is Willow Foxglove, and I’d like to ask you a few questions about a purchase you made earlier this week.”

  At that, Mr. Kruller’s expression turned even sourer. “If you’ve come here to write an article pointing out that I’m a laughing-stock, I’ll save you the trouble. It’s already been gloated over on every online forum I frequent.” He waved his hand. “Go on, have a laugh. Don’t mind my feelings.”

  He began to shut the door and seemed surprised when Willow inserted her foot to stop that happening. “I don’t want to talk to any reporters,” he insisted, twisting the neck of his robe. “It’s bad enough I’m out money without trading in any more of my dignity.”

  “I can assure you, Mr. Kruller, I have nothing but sympathy for your position. If Matthew Albert took advantage of you, I’m afraid to say you weren’t the only one.”

  The man’s eyes widened, and his face softened. After a second, he stepped back and waved Willow through. It took every bit of resolve to stop her turning and nodding to Harmony before she disappeared indoors.

  “Did he scam you out of money, too?” Timothy Kruller led her through into a dim lounge room, then opened the curtains to let in the sunlight. It needed the windows opened as well, Willow thought, to let out the musty air, but it would be rude to ask.

  “Not me, but he tried to skip out on the charges from a friend of mine.” Calling her ‘a friend’ was stretching it, but it sounded better so Willow went with the white lie. “Sara who runs the B&B nearly lost out on the entire bill for his stay.”

  “Did she catch him making a runner, then?” Timothy asked. When Willow frowned in temporary confusion, he explained, “You said nearly.”

  “She caught up with him a few hours later, spending the money he’d cheated you and her out of in The Old Chestnut.”

  At the mention of the bar, Timothy ducked his head down and kept his eyes fixed on the carpet. Willow wondered if he’d had a bad experience in there. Given his strange appearance and odd manner, she wouldn’t be surprised.

  “Anyway. Sara explained the situation in a loud voice to everybody there and they managed to change Matthew Albert’s mind about paying the bill.”

  This time, Timothy met her gaze with an expression of ferocious glee. “I wouldn’t have minded seeing that. A pity I didn’t find him and explain myself in the same kind of situation.”

  “Did he cheat you out of very much money?” Willow tempered her voice to be low and kind. The fug inside the room was starting to make her feel the tiniest bit sick. The sooner she got out of there, the bett
er. As far as she could tell, Timothy Kruller was the least likely man to shoot a person out of all of Aniseed Valley.

  “Yes, he did.” An expression of pure fury crossed Timothy’s face, then he sighed. “But only because I let him. What’s that old saying, you can’t cheat an honest person? Well, that came and bit me right where the sun doesn’t shine.”

  “How do you mean?”

  Timothy ran his hand through his thinning hair, releasing a puff of dandruff. To Willow’s eyes, it looked as though the entire man was flaking away, one piece of dry skin at a time.

  Considering how effeminate he looked in his robe, she was also surprised to note engine grease clinging around his fingernails. It looked ground-in, like he’d fiddled about with his car days ago, then hadn’t known how to get the stains off.

  The man tracked her gaze and clasped his hands together behind his back. It exposed more of his chest through the ill-fitting closure in the dressing gown than Willow wanted to see but that helped redirect her gaze back up to his face.

  “I arranged for a group swap meet to come into town ages ago.” Timothy spoke with a whine, as though everything he did was a thankless task performed for somebody else. “It takes a lot of planning to get these things off the ground. It was through an online board where I met all the folks I invited. With the promise of a big gathering for exchanging antiques, and getting our hands on rare pieces, it’s worth the expense of traveling. Just the savings in posting the items and insuring them during the journey is less than staying a couple of nights in town for some.”

  “It does sound like a good idea,” Willow agreed, though she was surprised at the amount of money involved in what the group was trading. For two nights’ accommodation to be a blip on the radar, their goods must be well above her own means.

  “When Matthew Albert listed the Bucket Boy on the site for sale, I couldn’t believe my luck. The photographs showed it was one of the original castings—they had a mistake with the first mold, so the hair had a thin cowlick at the front.”