Tempest in a Teapot (A Teapot Collector Mystery)

by Amanda Cooper

  “C’mon, chill, Marva honey,” Holly Harcourt said, with another chuckle. “I like this girl; she’s cheeky.”

  “What did you all think of Phil Peterson’s display? I guess he can be forgiven for worrying about his grandmother.” Sophie watched Marva’s eyes. There was a lot of white around the irises, like she was nervous or frightened.

  “It was appalling,” Gretchen said, in her snootiest tone. “He had no right to bust in here and say that everyone was gunning for his grandma.”

  His expression sober, Harcourt said, “Vivienne was a grand lady. That lack of decorum would have upset her greatly.”

  She was aching to mention seeing him at Auntie Rose’s with Vivienne, but she didn’t want to upset the apple cart just yet. “Poor Cissy is right in the middle, with her grandmother and Phil on one side, and the Whittaker family on the other.”

  “If she’s smart, she’ll side with the Whittakers. That’s where the money is,” Marva said, her tone nasty. “That Earnshaw-Peterson family doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. Thelma Mae Earnshaw goes around with her nose in the air acting like Francis isn’t good enough for her precious granddaughter, but I can tell you, Vivienne felt like it was the opposite way around.”

  Where the money was . . . and yet Vivienne had said something about those whose only use of money was to make more money. “But Mrs. Whittaker got Francis and Cissy together in the first place,” Sophie said.

  “That was before she knew what a mess that family was! She was regretting it, I can tell you,” Marva said.

  From what Sophie had learned, it seemed that Vivienne was reaching out to Cissy, trusting her over her country club friends. Or maybe she just wasn’t sure who she could trust. “Did the police give you any sense of what they were thinking when they interviewed you about being at the engagement tea that day?” Sophie asked, watching the older woman’s face.

  Her eyes widened and she shook her head, but she remained mute.

  “Why did you leave so early?”

  “She is an impossible woman to get along with, that Thelma Earnshaw,” Marva said, moving her clutch purse from under one arm to the other.

  Holly Harcourt was more emphatic. “She told my wife she had no business mucking about in the food. Imagine that! Marva was just trying to help her out.”

  “That’s too bad. Mrs. Earnshaw can be a bit touchy at times. Did you bring something special?” she asked, still watching the woman.

  “I brought whole-wheat wraps; nutritious food instead of the garbage she serves. I thought she’d be grateful, but instead, when I just tried to plate them, she got upset. She said it was the last straw, that folks had better stop rooting around in her cupboards or she was going to call the police.”

  Holly patted his wife’s shoulder in a vague attempt to soothe her. From what Mrs. Earnshaw had said, it seemed like Marva Harcourt was doing a little investigating and then commenting on past-date items in the fridge or cupboard—bad form for an invited guest, no matter how true it was.

  Right now everything was a jumble in Sophie’s mind. Phil Peterson could not be the murderer, that she was sure of, and the same reasoning applied to Thelma Mae Earnshaw. Whoever did it had made sure that there was one poisoned vanilla cupcake, and that it would be the only one Vivienne Whittaker would choose from a plate of red-velvet cupcakes.

  Though Cissy certainly had the opportunity, perhaps more than anyone else, given that it was her grandmother’s establishment, she didn’t seem to have a motive. Cissy had no feelings of ill will toward Vivienne, and she was not the type of girl to plan a murder, certainly not at her own engagement tea in her grandmother’s tearoom.

  But Marva . . . Sophie could see Marva happily poisoning someone she didn’t like or resented. However, there was no evidence that she felt that way toward Vivienne. And that brought Sophie back to Holly Harcourt. “Mr. Harcourt, I happened to see you at my grandmother’s teahouse one day with Mrs. Whittaker just before her death. I was clearing the table next to you. You were talking about Francis, if I overheard correctly?”

  Gretchen gasped and Marva blanched, stretched face as pale as could be under beige matte foundation. But Holly looked Sophie over for a long moment and then replied, “Vivienne and I, uh . . . we were talking about Francis, it’s true. She’d heard that folks were gossiping about his promotion, saying that it was fishy.” His gaze was censorious. “I think I see now what she meant by gossips. Is this some kind of inquisition?”

  That was intended to put Sophie in her place, but she was not cowed by his booming voice and grave manner. It was an explanation, she supposed, but not a particularly good one. What she found interesting was that it had seemed to take an awfully long time for him to say anything. Had he been trying to remember word for word what Vivienne had said, so he could respond in a way to deflect suspicion?

  “I think we ought to go mingle, Holly,” Marva said, taking his arm and tugging him away. Gretchen followed, throwing worried glances over her shoulder toward Sophie.

  Sophie spotted Dana slinking along the periphery of the crowd. Marva had been first to return, but now all the principals from that impromptu meeting were back in the ballroom. She caught up with Dana and pulled her into a private alcove away from the crowd. “So what did you overhear?”

  “I don’t know if any of this has anything to do with anything,” Dana said, with a frustrated shrug. “It was a lot of babble.”

  “Like about what?”

  “Well, Leathorne kept talking about ‘value for dollar spent,’ and fussing about the ‘deal’ going sour. Those are the only words he used, over and over, ‘deal’ and ‘development deal.’ Marva Harcourt griped about her ‘investment.’”

  “Investment . . . hmm. I wish I’d known that a few moments ago when I was talking to the Harcourts.” Sophie ducked her head out of the alcove; Marva and Holly were now over in a corner with a couple of the others, the same folks together time and time again. What had been so crucial for them to talk about at such an event? “So what did the mayor have to say?”

  “Typical politician; he said a lot, but most of it was gabble. He kept talking and talking . . . he said he wanted the best for Gracious Grove and truly believed that development would help the town prosper and grow, giving their economic future just the shot in the arm it needed . . . and blah, blah, blah . . . whatever. He said something about ‘changes needed before annexation can be considered.’ A lot more stuff like that.”

  “Annexation . . . I keep hearing that word. Interesting. What about Shep Hammond?”

  “That guy is a piece of work!” Dana exclaimed. She waved and smiled at someone who drifted by their private nook and paused, waiting for that person to go out of earshot as Sophie fidgeted impatiently. “He said, and I quote, ‘We need to contain the tearoom talkers ’cause they’re gonna cause trouble. I say we send out a stern warning not to get their knickers in a twist.’ Don’t even ask me what the hell he’s talking about, but there are only two tearooms involved, your grandmother’s and Cissy’s grandmother’s.”

  “Tearoom talkers,” Sophie mused. “That could mean anything, though! It might be a group who meets at one of the tearooms. Nana has several groups that meet once a month, or once every other week, and I know for a fact that Forsythe Villiers has a group of Leathorne and Hedges young professionals who meet at Auntie Rose’s. As a matter of fact, the Gracious Grove Businesswomen’s group met at Nana’s tearoom, too.” And those women, with their action committee in the works and their critical view of the Gracious Grove political climate, just might be the “tearoom talkers” Hammond was so concerned about.

  “Like I said, I have no clue what he’s talking about. I just report!” Dana eyed Sophie. “Have you been asking questions? Nosing around?”

  “Not much before today, or not so anyone would notice, anyway.”

  “So they don’t mean you!”

 
“I hope not. Thanks for your snooping, Dana, I really appreciate it.” Sophie watched her drift away. Dana joined the group that surrounded Francis and touched his sleeve, then put her arm over his shoulders. Sophie had kind of forgotten about Francis and Dana once being an item, but was vividly reminded.

  “She’d love to push little Cissy out of the running,” Gretchen Harcourt said.

  Sophie snapped around, surprised to find the young woman so close. “No. Dana and Francis are still friends, but anything else was over a long time ago.”

  “You sure about that?” Gretchen watched them for a long minute. “I say she still has the hots for him, or at least for old Whittaker money. And new Whittaker money!”

  “New Whittaker money?”

  “Well, sure! He’s been promoted and given a handsome raise, and I heard that he got his mama to invest in the new development pretty heavy, so her estate—and Francis, I suppose—stands to make a bundle.”

  Where is my money? Vivienne had written on the note in the safe. Did she know she had invested in the development? Or was that where her money had gone without her being aware of it?

  Money, the root of all evil, it had been said. Or rather, the love of money was the root of all evil. But did Francis really love money so much? He didn’t drive a flashy car, didn’t appear to have a lavish lifestyle, and his mom seemed inclined to be generous to her son and daughter-in-law-to-be. No reason for Francis to want her dead.

  She turned to the girl, remembering something she wanted to ask her. “Gretchen, I was wondering about something. You told me adamantly that you were never in the kitchen, but Gilda said you were in there poking about in the fridge and checking out the sweets. What’s up with that?

  Gretchen was silent for a long moment. “I did go in there. Guess I just plumb forgot.”

  Eyes narrowed, Sophie watched her. “Did you bring something to the tea?”

  She swallowed. “I did. Red-velvet cupcakes, homemade from my mama’s recipe. It’s a down-home tradition.”

  “Why didn’t you say that before?”

  “It just didn’t seem important.”

  “Why red velvet?”

  She shrugged. “Someone mentioned them, and I said I had a good recipe, that’s all.”

  “Who mentioned them?”

  She licked her lips. “I . . . I can’t remember.”

  “Oh, come on . . . was it your mother-in-law, maybe?”

  “I told you,” Gretchen cried. “I don’t remember!”

  “Did you put the cupcakes out?”

  “Well, sure. I put ’em on the same plate as those awful store-bought ones.”

  “And yet you didn’t think that was important enough to mention?”

  The young woman shook her head with a self-conscious look. “I . . . I gotta go,” she mumbled, and headed away, across the room.

  Sophie stared at her for a long moment. Was there anything else Gretchen Harcourt was concealing?

  Chapter 22

  The crowd was breaking up and folks were drifting off. Sophie had a lot to think about, but just as she was considering gathering her group and leaving, she saw Jason heading toward her. He made her nerves flutter, but that ship had sailed long ago. The somber thought steadied her nerves.

  “Hey, Jason. How are you doing?”

  “I’m good. I thought I’d talk to you before I left, but I didn’t want to do it in front of the others.” He hesitated, frowning, and looked over his shoulder toward his group of friends. “Nuñez seems antsy about this development everyone is talking about, worried somehow. Is Leathorne and Hedges involved?”

  She nodded. “They’ve apparently got the design contract. Must be a big one. Francis has been appointed lead architect on the project, so I’m assuming it’s a done deal. I’ve heard that there is jealousy in the firm over his promotion; some thought that he was pushed ahead of more-senior architects, but maybe there’s a reason for that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Sophie shrugged.

  “You’re not saying there’s anything fishy about it, are you?”

  Sophie sighed. “I’m no hard-nosed cynic, Jason, but I’ve been up close and personal with business, and I’ve seen how it works. I’ve been offered great jobs if I was willing to cozy up to the right people. I’ve been denied jobs I was qualified for because someone’s nephew or daughter got it, with less experience.”

  “Francis always did take the easy way, when he could,” Jason mused.

  Sophie thought about that for a long moment, wondering if Phil had been telling the truth after all about Francis’s involvement in the bootlegging. Not that that had anything to do with anything, now, but it was an interesting thought. “So, did Nuñez think he ought to have gotten the job, rather than Francis?”

  “I didn’t say that; he’s a partner, so I would imagine he’s way beyond that. From what I understand he mostly deals with higher-end commercial buildings and some out-of-town properties. He’s lead architect on an office tower in Ithaca. He just acted . . . a little odd. When someone tried to talk to him about the development, he kind of hushed them.”

  “Who tried to talk to him?”

  “Uh . . . I think it was that Hammond guy. He’s got a booming voice and Nuñez looked uncomfortable. Maybe it was just that he didn’t think it was appropriate to be talking about work at a memorial service. Anyway, Julia doesn’t like Hammond. Nuñez had him over to dinner a few times, but she told me she thinks he’s a creep.”

  “Along with every other female in Gracious Grove.” Sophie pondered the implications and a question popped into her mind. “So why would Nuñez have Hammond over to dinner?”

  “I don’t know. Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Because the guy’s a creep.”

  “If we only associated with people we wholly approved of, we’d never socialize,” Jason said.

  “Thank you for that lesson; I didn’t know.” Sophie knew immediately that she had gone too far, and saw the hurt look on his face. “I’m sorry, Jason, but that just sounded—”

  “Pompous? Sententious?” He gave a quirky grin. “I think becoming a college professor makes you that way. Sometimes I listen to the stuff that comes out of my mouth, and I’m appalled at how pedantic I sound.”

  “I didn’t mean it,” she said, one hand on his sleeve. “I think I’m a little . . . sensitive. Coming back to Gracious Grove has been great, but I’m a different person than I was when I last stayed here for any length of time. I’m constantly being reminded that I was kind of standoffish and seemed snobby, when all that time I just longed to be a part of the group. I’m older and I’ve grown up, but it’s hard for people here to see that.”

  “I see it,” he said, warmly. He pulled her in for a hug. “Time hasn’t stood still for any of us.”

  It was good to be in his arms, but he was different, too, a man now. He had been a boy the last time he had hugged her this way.

  Julia Dandridge approached. “Are you ready to go, Jason?” She gave Sophie an apologetic look. “I wouldn’t interrupt, but Jason is our ride and I have a million things to do back at work. Nuñez needs to get back to the office, too.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “I have to get Nana and friend back to the tearoom. We’re opening late today.” She and Jason said a brief good-bye, and Sophie crossed the room to her grandmother and Laverne. They were deep in conversation with Josh Sinclair.

  “No one could have known what they intended to do with the property, Josh. I know your mom’s upset, but it’s not her fault.” Nana looked worried, and had one wrinkled blue-veined hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Sneaky doings in Gracious Grove, that’s what is going on,” Laverne said, with a hmph of disapproval.

  “It’s a free world, Laverne,” Nana said. “Don’t you worry about
it, Josh. Everything will be all right.”

  “Anyone want to clue me in?” Sophie asked.

  Nana said, “Josh’s grandma’s house, just down the street, finally sold. He just found out it was bought by a group that’s going to turn it into another tearoom. He’s worried that will cut into business.”

  “Not yours,” Sophie said, though it was a bit of a shock. “People will still come to Auntie Rose’s Victorian Tea House for the Auntie Rose experience. Bookings are up this year, right?”

  The boy looked relieved. “That’s good. I was so mad when I heard, I just thought it was a jerky thing to do.”

  “It’s business,” Sophie said. “Business is never personal.”

  “But you don’t expect someone you like to do something you think is jerky, you know? I like the professor. I’m taking a college-level preparatory English Lit course from her as a part of my accelerated program,” he explained. “I’m going to Cruickshank for a year before going to an out-of-state college; my mom thinks I’m too young to leave home yet. But she’s a nice lady, so I guess I’m just surprised.”

  “Professor? She? She who?” Sophie said, still a little confused.

  Nana said, “Oh, that’s right. You weren’t here for the whole conversation. The house was bought by a college professor and her husband. They’re going to convert it into a New Age tearoom, so Josh tells me.”

  “Are you talking about Julia Dandridge?” Sophie blurted out.

  “Yeah. She’s a great teacher, actually,” Josh said. “But why would she buy an old house to make it into a tearoom on a street where there’s already two tearooms?”

  Sophie was stunned, and she watched as Jason and his group left. Julia caught her eye and waved. Sophie didn’t wave back.

  • • •

  Thelma sat in an alcove hidden from view and thought over the day. Poor Phil had been troublesome, as usual. That boy . . . he needed a whooping, but it was kind of late in his life for that. She couldn’t help worrying that despite what folks were saying—she had heard that the poison was in a cupcake, of all places—that Phil’s little addition to the punch had been lethal for Vivienne Whittaker. Did she drink it? She couldn’t have drunk it. But what if she did drink it? That thought kept rattling around in her brain like a hamster in a wheel, over and over. All this worry was going to make her sick, if she didn’t watch it.