Tempest in a Teapot (A Teapot Collector Mystery)

by Amanda Cooper

  Just thinking of Leathorne and Hedges made Sophie’s mind return to the thorny issue at hand. “Nana, if what we think is correct, then Vivienne suspected something wasn’t right with her son’s promotion, and/or the deal for the development,” Sophie whispered. “She was afraid it would come back to bite Francis later. She has always protected him, even from girls she thought were below him and friends that were trouble.”

  “She would be worried that her son was going to suffer in the whole deal if it came to light,” Nana said. “I’d be worried, too, and I’d be trying to figure out how to expose it all without implicating him, if that was my child.”

  That was an aspect she hadn’t considered thoroughly, but it was an excellent point. Sophie needed to look at the list of people in that light. Who could have been endangered by Vivienne’s quest to protect her son? And who, among them, had the ability to cause her death? “I need to meet some of these folks. I’m hoping Cissy will introduce me.”

  “You go ahead, child. Laverne and I are going to find a quiet place and some tea. We’ll let information come to us!”

  “We’ll be like Miss Marple and Ariadne Oliver,” Laverne said, with a snicker.

  “And which of you is Ariadne?” Sophie said, remembering her grandmother’s stack of Agatha Christie novels, and the recurring village spinster and mystery-author character. She had read many of them herself on school vacations spent at Nana’s.

  “Well, I know I must be Miss Marple,” Nana said.

  “That leaves me as Ariadne,” Laverne said. “I won’t eat apples in the bathtub, though. Draw the line there.”

  Sophie spotted Cissy, looking alone and vulnerable despite being on the periphery of a crowd around Francis and Florence. “I gotta go,” she said, and slipped away. She approached and touched Cissy’s arm. The girl whirled, crying out in alarm, then calmed, taking a deep breath. “You’ve been through the ringer,” Sophie said, holding her arms wide for a hug. “And then Phil has to go and make it worse!”

  Cissy fell into her open arms and they embraced. “Thanks, Soph. I don’t know what to do about Phil. If Grandma wouldn’t coddle him so much, maybe he’d straighten up, but she just keeps giving him ‘second’ chances. He’ll second-chance himself right into jail someday.”

  “Was he drunk? He looked it.”

  “He was totally wasted! Grandma is trying to tell everyone he has a chemical imbalance, and that was why he was swaying and slurring. I wish she’d just let him take the fall, for once!”

  “So, who are all these people?” Sophie said. “I recognize Forsythe Villiers, because he belongs to my grandma’s teapot-collector group, and that’s SuLinn Miller, the pretty one with the straight dark hair; she’s also a member. Her husband works with Francis, right?”

  “Forsythe is such a pill,” Cissy said. “He is sucking up to every member of the company like crazy! I heard him tell Harvey Leathorne—one of the founders—that Francis will need a break after this, so he might need to appoint someone else head of the development project.”

  “What business is it of his?” Sophie asked, remembering Forsythe’s name on the teapot list. “He’s just in the accounting department, right?”

  “Exactly!” Cissy exclaimed. “It’s not as if he could be trying to horn in on the project.”

  But he could be trying to help someone else, Sophie thought. She eyed Randy Miller with interest. That didn’t make sense, though, because Randy didn’t have a chance to murder Vivienne. Unless he had enlisted a partner in crime. She sighed. She had too many suspects already and didn’t need one more. The architect was a long shot, so she dismissed him from her mind.

  Cissy then pointed out others and named them. Some were the people on the lists, and she knew them or knew of them already, but wanted more info. “Cissy, I keep meaning to ask . . . I heard that Vivienne made a kind of speech at your engagement tea. Did she say anything odd?”

  “Not that I recall,” Cissy said.

  “What did she talk about?” Sophie asked, exasperated. Cissy was less than no use when it came to noticing anything.

  Cissy frowned and looked down at her polished nails. “She said . . . let’s see . . . that she was so happy I was coming into the Whittaker family, but that she hoped I would find everything in my life easier, not harder, after marriage. She said Francis was . . . what did she say? Francis was a good man who deserved a good wife, and she hoped I would be his mainstay in the difficult days to come.”

  “Wait . . . she predicted difficult days to come?”

  Cissy shrugged. “I think that’s what she said.” Her eyes widened. “Do you think she had, like, a psychic vision of her death?”

  Sophie didn’t think Vivienne Whittaker was prescient. It had to be that, as she and Nana and Laverne had speculated, Vivienne worried that Francis would be implicated in some kind of scandal to do with the development deal. Did Francis innocently or not-so-innocently help the bigwigs push something through? Or did he just know something, and so had to be shut up with a promotion ahead of more-senior staff? And did Vivienne threaten the status quo so much she had to be taken out, either to stop her from talking, or as a warning to Francis?

  “Cissy, what did Francis mean when he said the murderer was in the room?”

  “I asked him and so did the detective, but he just said it stood to reason; everyone Vivienne knew was in the room, so whoever killed her must be there.”

  Sophie didn’t believe that for a minute, but if he wouldn’t tell Cissy or the detective who he suspected, then he sure wouldn’t tell her. “I’d better circulate,” Sophie said. “Could you introduce me around? I’d like to meet some of the folks from Leathorne and Hedges and the others.”

  Cissy did so, taking Sophie around and introducing her as a very old, very dear friend from her childhood. She took a deep breath as Shep Hammond, his eyes wide with delight, slung his arm over Sophie’s shoulders. “Well, aren’t you a special treat! Didn’t know sweet little Cissy had another friend as pretty as herself!”

  Sophie gritted her teeth as Cissy floated away, and said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Hammond. Cissy must be so grateful to you for finding work for Phil all the time.” His arm was heavy over her shoulders, but she resisted the urge to duck away. “What did you think of his display at the memorial service?”

  He shook his head and squeezed her shoulder, rubbing it with one massive mitt. “Awful. Just awful. That boy . . . well, I do give him work from time to time, but he’s unreliable.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Odd jobs.”

  “On building sites?”

  “Sometimes, sometimes personal errands. He’s like family, you know.”

  Personal errands? “I hear a lot about this new development . . . has he been helping you with that?”

  “No, not that,” Shep said, with a hearty laugh that had folks eyeing him with distaste. No one likes big laughter at a memorial for the recently deceased. “I got other folks for that in my pocket, you know,” he said, patting his sport-jacket pocket with one giant paw.

  That phrase had unsavory political implications to Sophie, but she smiled up at him like a fatuous idiot. “I’ll just bet you do! I’ll bet you can pull all kinds of strings if you want. Maybe you could even get town council to strike the bylaw against liquor in Gracious Grove?”

  “Oho, don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind, little lady, but we’re just gonna wait on that, you see, until we have the annexation all right and tight and . . . well, now, I don’t mean to bore you with business talk.”

  Just then a gentleman strolled over, one she had just met. It was Harvey Leathorne. He said, “Shep, we need to talk.” He glanced at Sophie. “You don’t mind, do you, missy?”

  “No, not at all,” she said, as she slid from Shep Hammond’s clutch. It was bad timing because she would have liked to worm more information out of M
r. Hammond. The talk of annexation and his willingness to discuss erasing the anti-liquor bylaw from the books was interesting. He must feel he had access to and the will of the right politicians to accomplish that.

  But she didn’t take off as the two men started talking; instead she drifted close to them, as Leathorne began with, “We have to contain this, and soon. He’s your problem, Shep—you swore you could handle him—and I won’t see him ruin everything.”

  He who? Phil, likely, but could he be Francis, instead? Probably had nothing to do with the murder, but . . .

  “Look, he wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “I know, but that damn detective has been sniffing around all of us involved in GGG, and the last thing we need is the public getting wind of all we’ve had to do to get this thing done. All I wanted was for him to suggest that . . .” Leathorne glanced around, and Sophie felt his gaze settle on her. “Let’s talk about this elsewhere,” he finished.

  They moved through the crowd away from her, and Sophie saw that the two men were joined by two others, the mayor and, surprisingly, Marva Harcourt. What did they have in common? Well, they were all on Vivienne Whittaker’s second list. And maybe they were all involved in the development deal. Gretchen had said that Holly Harcourt was involved, but maybe Marva was behind that.

  Dana edged over to her through the crowd and whispered, “You look like you wish you could follow that crew,” she said, indicating the departing foursome. “What is up with that? I can’t stand Shep Hammond. He’s a real creepola.”

  Sophie eyed Dana; she was way smarter than Sophie had given her credit for, and a little devious, too. “There is something going on in this town, something to do with the new development. It stinks of political payoffs.” She explained her thought process, that the developers, namely Shep Hammond, Oliver Stanfield, the GG Group (whoever that was) and even Harvey Leathorne, had been paying off someone in high places, quite probably Mayor Blenkenship himself, to facilitate an eventual annexation bid—which would surely increase the value of the development land—and maybe even a change to the town’s “dry” status.

  “And you think it’s tied up with Vivienne’s murder?” Dana asked, eyes wide. “How do you know all this?”

  Sophie quickly filled Dana in on the notes naming the developers and others, though she didn’t tell Dana all the names. “You have to keep this to yourself, though, and I mean it. I shouldn’t even have told you that much.”

  The young woman’s eyes danced with mischief. “Want me to follow them and find out what they’re saying?”

  “That would be awesome!” Sophie gasped.

  Dana chuckled. “I used to work here as a server, so I know all the tricks. A lot of the walls in this place are thin as paper, meant to move aside to throw rooms together. Talk to you later!” She sauntered out after them.

  Sophie turned her attention to her grandmother, but Nana and Laverne had cornered Forsythe Villiers, and Randy and SuLinn Miller. Maybe they were finding something out that very minute. That left . . . Jason and Julia, who stood nearby chatting with another group of folks. What was Julia Dandridge’s name doing on one of the lists, and what did she have to do with the new development?

  “Sophie!” Jason said, as she wandered over to join them. “You met Julia the other day, but you haven’t met her husband, Nuñez Ortega. He’s an architect and partner at Leathorne and Hedges!”

  Chapter 21

  Sophie blinked rapidly. Julia Dandridge was married, and Nuñez Ortega was her husband and a partner at Leathorne and Hedges? Was he the reason Julia’s name was on the lists? She realized they were staring at her, Jason with an odd look on his face. Nuñez had his hand thrust out toward her, and Julia was watching with a frown on her face. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a little shaken by everything today,” she said, taking the man’s hand. He was a dark, good-looking fellow in his forties. As he released her hand, he slung his arm over his wife’s shoulders.

  “We all have been,” Nuñez said, his expression and tone somber. “Vivienne Whittaker was a guiding light in this town, a woman of impeccable social conscience. I served on the board of a couple of charities with her.”

  “Really? Which ones?”

  “We were forming an exploratory committee to create a local Habitat for Humanity group. Even in relatively affluent Gracious Grove there are those who could use a hand finding a home for their family. We were on one that may interest you, too, Miss Taylor. We were founding members of Foodies for Families, a group that gleans for the needy.”

  “My husband is talking about the Bible verses, you know, about gleaning the fields . . . but we glean from local restaurants to give the unused foods to shelters and hostels,” Julia said, sending a warm glance at her husband.

  “That is a great cause.”

  “Would you, as a chef, be interested in helping?” Nuñez said. “Jason has told us all about your career in New York. We were thinking of putting together a recipe book as a fund-raiser and would be honored by your input.”

  “I would love to help, and perhaps in a more practical way, too, Mr. Ortega. At Auntie Rose’s Victorian Tea House we often have leftover scones and other goodies. Nana does her best in sending them to folks who can use them, but maybe we can offer some to Foodies for Families.” She paused a beat. “I, uh, I understand you are thinking of investing in a fine dining establishment in Gracious Grove,” Sophie said, turning to Julia. She needed to process the fact that Nuñez knew Vivienne so well. His name was on the first list, but not the second. What did that mean?

  “I asked her professional opinion, as a chef, about opening a fine dining establishment here in town,” Jason said, shifting uncomfortably.

  Maybe he hadn’t told Julia he was going to ask Sophie her opinion. Too bad. It was out there now.

  Julie exchanged a look with her husband and said, “Nothing so formal as thinking about it, even. I know someone who is tossing around the notion, and we would invest if it came to that. But things will have to change in this town, first.”

  “You mean, like it being a dry town?” Sophie asked, glancing from face to face.

  “Well, yes,” Julia said. “It’s ridiculous, in this day and age, that we can’t go out to a restaurant in this town and order a glass of wine, or buy alcohol at a store. It is simply ridiculous.”

  “I know a lot of folks think as you do,” Sophie said, feeling the condescension in the professor’s manner as a slight against her beloved town. “But I wouldn’t count on it changing. I think even Vivienne Whittaker was opposed to a change in that way, was she not?”

  “But she was only one person,” Nunez said. “Town council seems more progress-minded.”

  Progress-minded . . . that was one way of looking at it. Crooked and bought was another way. In developers’ vest pockets yet another.

  “I guess you could avoid that completely by placing the restaurant outside town limits, right? In the new development, say?”

  Nuñez was watching Sophie with a puzzled look. Julia glanced at her husband, then said, “That is one option, to be sure, but my concern is that if it was annexed, would the new development be subject to the same liquor laws as the rest of Gracious Grove?”

  “True . . . that would be a concern.” This was a waste of time. Though both Nuñez and Julia were on Vivienne’s list, neither one of them had had a chance to poison the woman. Julia had not been at the engagement tea, nor had she been at the tearoom at all that day, as far as Sophie knew. There was no random chance in Vivienne selecting the one poisoned cupcake on that plate, so the killer just had to be someone at the party. That didn’t mean one or both of them couldn’t be a coconspirator, and/or might know more than they were saying. She’d have to keep that in mind, but for the moment they were low priority. She spotted Gretchen standing with the older Harcourts, and excused herself, telling Jason she’d love to talk to him in the next couple of days, if
he had some free time.

  So, Marva was back from her discussion with the mayor and the builder. Sophie slid through the crowd and tapped Gretchen on her shoulder. “Hi, Gretchen. How are you doing?”

  Her face frozen in a polite smile, Gretchen murmured that she was fine.

  “Why don’t you introduce me?” Sophie said, smiling at Marva and Holly Harcourt.

  With great reluctance, Gretchen did just that.

  “Your grandmother runs that charming establishment, Auntie Rose’s,” Marva said. “I’ve been there many times. Much better run than Belle Époque, I must say. That Earnshaw woman has no business sense, and her food is atrocious.”

  Gretchen appeared uneasy.

  “Are you saying that because poor Mrs. Whittaker was poisoned there?” Sophie asked, eyes wide.

  “Hey now,” Holly Harcourt said, jovially. “That was an accident, pure and simple. I’m sure that poor old woman didn’t mean to poison anyone. Right? Am I right?”

  “Mrs. Earnshaw didn’t poison anyone on purpose or by accident,” Sophie said, trying to quell her anger. “It was someone at the engagement party, but not Mrs. Earnshaw.”

  “Why do you say that, little lady?” Holly’s tone was indulgent.

  “She didn’t really have any motive, did she? And she’d be foolish to do it in her own place. Right?”

  Marva Harcourt’s face was white. “Enough about the death. This is hardly the time or place to be talking about all of this!”

  Where and when better? Sophie wondered. It occurred to her suddenly that the murder could have been a two-person job: Marva could have planted the poison cupcake, and Gretchen could have been delegated the task of making sure she ate it. It was an interesting thought.