Tea & Temptation: A 2nd Chance Diner Cozy Mystery

by Beth Byers

“She was very lovable,” I said, taking his hand gently.

  “Can you tell us who was the most upset by your relationship?”

  Keith growled, “They all were. Our being together and being happy—it was offensive to all the kids, my ex, her kids less so, but…”

  “But?”

  “Her first husband had died. He never knew…”

  Oh goodness, I thought. He never knew…I could fill in the rest, and I’d take bets that I was right. He never knew that they—Margaret and Keith—had an affair.

  “How long were you together before you left your wife?”

  Sometimes it shocked me that people answered my questions, and this time was no exception. “A while. Off and on. We…the first…we…we were drunk. But it opened the gates. We’d try to stop and end up…giving in.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek to hide my reaction. That was crueler than I expected. Repeatedly cheating on your spouse with her sister. Repeatedly sleeping with your sister’s husband.

  “And her husband never knew?”

  “He had to have guessed,” Keith said. He didn’t explain why, and I was desperate to know, but I had already pushed what people were willing to tell another too far. “My wife—she knew I was cheating. Just not with who. We were toxic. The two of us. Toxic.”

  Yeah they were, I thought. He was anyway. I wanted to ask so many questions of Margaret. She had seemed nice, just a lady enjoying her tea and crumpets. What was it that had murdered her? Temptation to take something that wasn’t hers? Even if what she’d taken was someone else’s spouse. The betrayal of cheating was so great. Especially with a sister. I didn’t want to believe that Kylie, Keith’s first wife, would have killed her sister. I didn’t want to believe that of anyone.

  “The family reunion,” I asked. “Is that just your family? Your kids?”

  “No,” Keith said. “It was Margaret’s family. Her and her sisters. They did it every year. Different places. Why they did it here, I can’t understand.”

  I glanced over at Josephine as he said that and then pulled the cake from the ovens.

  “This was where my first wife and I came when we could afford a vacation. We didn’t have a honeymoon at first. This was…later.”

  There was something in that later, and I had to wonder. Was it later when we were in love? Later when we were trying to make our relationship work? Later when some major event happened.

  “Margaret and her sisters fought a lot. Always. They were raised to compete.”

  The sheer idea of it made my eye twitch and I could see Josephine shake her head at what he was saying. I was guessing she didn’t care for the idea any more than I did. I didn’t have siblings, but I wouldn’t have wanted to grow up like that.

  “But they still do these reunions. It’s like their chance to dig at each other and show off. I’ve always hated them, but Maggie wanted to come. She said she wouldn’t…”

  Again, he doesn’t quite say that Maggie and his first wife were sisters. Which told me he wasn’t all that comfortable with what he’d done.

  “You said you’d been here before when you checked in,” Josephine said idly. “Was that when you and your first wife were here?”

  Oh goodness, Maggie and Keith chose the same B&B as Keith had gone with his first wife? They were really rubbing it in her face. Or maybe…it was revenge for the family not getting a place that had enough room for them all. Everyone else rented a cottage and then did an, ‘Oh sorry, they don’t have room for you.’ Whereupon, they decide to stay in the B&B as a way to poke back?

  Very possibly and very sad. How could you do that to each other? How could they hurt one another so deliberately? No wonder the family was so messed up if you added this kind of nonsense by decades.

  Chapter 7

  The scent of rain lingered in the air despite the sunny skies. Maybe it’s just the strong winds off the ocean. Either way, I have never stopped loving the smell of rain. Even if there’s no sign of it for today. It was barely in the mid-60s, so things haven’t dried out after the last few days of rain. Any way you look at it, or perhaps smell it, the weather is perfect. Simon joined me at the B&B before I was done decorating petit fours with Josephine.

  He came in with a look on his face that seemed to convey the same exhaustion I was feeling. Just hearing Keith talk about his wife had been devastating to listen to. I couldn’t help but put myself into the situation and wonder what I would do if it had been me. I’d like to think that I would never sleep with anyone eles’s husband let alone my imaginary sister’s. I would like to think that if my family fell apart as badly as the Longman family had, I wouldn’t demand that they accept me.

  Keith and Margaret had done wrong when it came to Kylie and her children. It didn’t matter if Kylie hadn’t been a great wife—she’d been the wife. I suppose there was a part of me who wanted to make their actions justifiable, but I couldn’t quite do it. I felt bad for Kylie, and I felt bad for Margaret. I didn’t feel like Margaret got what was coming to her, but I wondered if she and Keith had taken their relationship and given the rest of the family space…would Margaret had been killed?

  “Want to walk a bit?” Simon asked me.

  I nodded. We wouldn’t be able to go down to the beach, and we’d have to stop here and there and give my lungs a rest. Mostly, for Simon, it would be a slow mosey. He was trying to build my strength back up, and I loved him for it.

  Especially when he handed me a hot tea in a travel cup and tangled his fingers with mine.

  “What did you learn?” I asked as we walked. I probably shouldn’t have. It was his job to help with the crime and I was sure there were confidentiality laws, but of course…Silver Falls was pretty backward when it came to those.

  “That family…”

  “Margaret and Keith had an affair for years, did you learn that?”

  Simon shook his head and then said, “How do you get people to tell you that stuff? They clammed up on us and blamed Josephine. Like some random business owner would take up killing indiscriminately. This is real life not Sweeney Todd.”

  I laughed for a second and said, “I love that you made that reference. But yeah, Josephine is no crazed killing barber or tearoom lady. So they just pointed fingers?”

  I told him what I learned. That Keith had an affair long enough with Margaret that her husband probably knew. That he’d loved her since he met her which had me guessing that he probably hadn’t been that great of a spouse to Kylie. I told them that the family hadn’t wanted Keith and Margaret at the family reunion, so they made sure to rent a place that hadn’t had room for them. Guess or not, I was pretty sure. Margaret’s revenge was to choose to stay in the place where Keith and Kylie had gone together.

  “Geez,” Simon said and then cursed before he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “They were determined to hurt each other weren’t they?”

  A minivan and station wagon both go for the same parking spot and we stop and watch as they work it out. Parking around town has been tight, but there is public parking a few more blocks over. The closest one fills up but the farther one usually doesn’t. I glanced at the minivan who lost the battle and saw the flash of small faces in the car. I bet that family didn’t want to drag those kids even farther.

  I wondered, for a moment, if they’d grow up to hate each other like Margaret and Kylie had.

  “How many siblings are there?”

  “Three sisters. The third sister, Gertrude, has one child and two grandchildren. Kylie has four children. They’re all here. Margaret has four children. None of them came.”

  I winced and then asked, “Did anyone notify them?”

  Simon squeezed me and then said, “Carver did. He’s talking to them now.”

  “What a mess,” I said. I’d been thinking it all morning and I kept on thinking it. This was such a mess. “Which of them were at the tearoom?”

  That was the key, wasn’t it? They were there. One of them had to have poisoned teapot that had been given to
Margaret. No one else would do it.

  “They all were. Practically. The sisters. The three daughters. Even two of the grandchildren. Older ones. No one saw anything. They don’t think anyone used the restroom. They all stayed together.”

  “No wonder Keith was so grumpy during the tea,” I said. We were coming up on The 2nd Chance Diner, and I was glad to see that there were full tables and food up. We didn’t go in though. I couldn’t help them out.

  “Makes him see more reasonable doesn’t it?” Simon said, “I’d have wanted to go fishing instead, too.”

  “Or anywhere,” I agreed. “I can’t really believe they came. Now that I know what I know. It’s…”

  “Mean,” Simon said. “Even if Kylie and Keith didn’t have a great relationship, it’s mean to their kids. Mean to everyone. You don’t bring someone’s ex to the family reunion. It’s not ok.”

  “Was there anyone who seemed extra mad about that?”

  “They were all pretty equally furious with Margaret and Keith.”

  I stretched my neck and said, “Josephine didn’t see anyone in her kitchen. Even if that family knows which one left the table, they’ll never say. Keith was in our sight the whole time. How are we gonna figure out who did it?”

  “We need to find out who knew about antifreeze as a poison. Normal people just don’t know that. We’ll look at search histories and if anyone bought any. If we can find the container that was used, maybe there will be fingerprints. Carver has some of the force searching the cabins and cars now. And all around there.”

  “We need them to flub up,” I said. “They don’t have any reason to think we’d have figured out antifreeze so fast. Or at all.”

  Simon stopped and turned to face me, so we could see each other’s expressions.

  “Rose,” he said, “I won’t deny that you’re good at figuring this stuff out. That you seem to sense people’s hearts and put the pieces together.”

  I waited instead of thanking him or agreeing. That had been a leading statement if ever I had heard one. “But I need you sit this one out.”

  “I’m not going to get hurt, and I’m not going to go gallivanting around…”

  “Please,” Simon said. “Please.”

  I nodded and stepped into him, for the hug I knew he’d give me.

  “But we can talk about it right? Because it’s going to bug me until you guys figure it out. It’ll be bouncing around my head.”

  “I’ll give you details,” Simon agreed, “If you promise me to not do anything without telling me about it first.”

  I didn’t need him to explain. I’d come far too close to dying. So much so that when I woke up in the hospital, I was more surprised to be alive than in the afterlife. I had just been walking my dogs when Jake decided I knew too much and needed to die. I had been stupid lucky to live. I didn’t want to put the gift I’d been given at risk, and I didn’t want to ever put that look of torture back into Simon’s gaze.

  “Are we going home today?”

  “I hired Az to paint our room like you wanted. While we’re gone, so the fumes don’t bother you. We can’t go home for at least 24 more hours.”

  “Where are the dogs?” It was an instinctive question, but I was excited. Simon wanted me to decorate our bedroom so it would stop being his and start being ours. He was determined that the first room was just a starting point and that I put my touch all over the house. I’d picked out a pretty purple-gray paint and dark gray bedding with plum accents. I wanted it to be feminine enough to satisfy me while not being so girly that Simon hated it.

  “They’re at Az’s. He set up a run, so they could get out during the day.”

  I nodded. I knew they’d been fine, but…I guess I just needed to hear it. If I ever had a kid, I would probably be one of those helicopter moms.

  “Is there a will or money?”

  “Both,” Simon said, “But they’re pretty sure it’s going to her kids. None of them came. They aren’t fully sure and the sister, Gertrude, suggested that maybe Keith had gotten Margaret to update her will and then killed her.”

  “Nasty move,” I said. “Too bad you’re his alibi.”

  “Yeah, she wasn’t too excited about that when I explained why he wasn’t a suspect. If we hadn’t found the antifreeze in the remnants of her teapot, he’d still be number one. But Josephine said that she randomly delivers the teacups and then makes a note of which person gets them when she fills them. Said the charm of the tearoom is in the details.”

  “It is charming,” I said. “Too bad they turned it into a murder weapon.”

  Simon agreed and then took my tea into the coffee shop and got me a new one. I was being plied with chamomile and mint tea for the last few weeks, and even though I’d always liked it, I would love something like a dirty chai tea or an earl grey latte.

  While Simon was gone, I couldn’t help but feel around the edges of the puzzle. Either, the killer had been to the tearoom before and knew how it worked, or they were prepared to dump in the antifreeze at any time. Did the setup of the tearoom become terribly fortuitous or did they know in advance. I wanted to know if Josephine had created the tearoom herself or it she’d kept it after she bought the B&B. If it had existed before, it seemed to me that the likeliest killer was Kylie. Of course, she was already the likeliest killer.

  But…everyone in that family had to know who got up from the table during the tea. Which meant that everyone in that family knew, or at least had pretty good idea of who the killer was.

  They were protecting the killer—maybe because it was Mom? Maybe because they hated Dad too? Didn’t they realize that by saying nothing, they were poisoning their own life, too? Maybe they protected the killer out of instinct and it hadn’t fully registered what they were doing.

  “Simon, you need to get them separated and then make them say who left the table.”

  “Or,” he said, “We could find out from Josephine who else was in the tearoom and see if anyone else saw who left the table.”

  Oh duh, I thought. I was definitely not back to myself when I missed that huge questioning line. I wanted to go with him to the station and look at their Facebook pages. Or their Instagram. I wanted to see if anyone had posted something stupid without realizing it would be a clue. I did want to keep working, but I had no desire to see Kylie in the flesh and hear her pain, because I didn’t want to empathize with yet another murderer.

  Chapter 8

  I couldn’t stop thinking about murder. When I worked my day job before the 2nd Chance Diner, I used to either dream about cooking or have actual dreams about being on the phones at work. I’d have customers who would never hang up or customers who I would get over and over again. That night, however, I dreamed about watching person after person fall down in front of me. Some were frothing at the mouth, others seized like Margaret and threw up. When it was Simon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I got up from the bed at the B&B and made my way down to the parlor in my big fluffy bathrobe. I supposed it was inappropriate to wander around the public areas not dressed even if I was wearing full pajamas and a robe.

  I didn’t care though. I knew Simon was as tired as I was, and I didn’t want to wake him to know that he was dying in my dreams. I hoped that he wasn’t dreaming at all, that he was in the full embrace of healing sleep. We both needed it. Not just me, on my body, but both of us on our souls. I didn’t see how we’d ever recover when we kept running into people who were willing to murder their family or their partners or their coworkers. What had happened to the world? Had it always been this dark and I’d been oblivious? I wished so hard there was an easy answer.

  I made my way into Josephine’s kitchen and helped myself to tea. I’d brought my iPad down with me, and I connected to Facebook and looked up Margaret Longman’s page. I wasn’t surprised that it wasn’t locked down. If anything, I was surprised by how many people had their posts wide open to the world with nary a concern. Clearly, however, Margaret had needed to be a lot more careful in many
ways. Perhaps, if she’d been more careful, in her relationships she wouldn’t have died.

  I didn’t need to make this her fault though. Sleeping with her sister’s husband? Terrible. Marrying him later…it would damage nearly any sibling relationship. Was being murdered just then? No, of course not.

  I sighed as I made myself the chamomile and mint tea that had become so common for me over the last few months and wondered if there would be a time when I was wasn’t having an internal debate about the justification of murder. Or whether understanding someone’s motives for murder somehow caused me to be guilty. If I could understand why a murder occurred, did that mar my soul as well?

  I pulled out my iPad and started really reading through Margaret’s Facebook page. I found pictures of her wedding, I was guessing that the four children who went had been her children and not her husband’s. I didn’t recognize a single one of the faces.

  As I stared, I tapped on one of the family photos. And then another. And another. Margaret’s first husband had been a slender man and mostly bald when he died. His hair looked to be the same brown as his four children and the same brown eyes. Margaret had a light blue gaze that seemed to laugh at the world. Her youngest son, however, had brilliant emerald green eyes.

  Eyes that matched Keith Longman and not her first husband. Yet, I looked at the photos she loaded up, and the youngest son had clearly been born and raised by Margaret’s first husband. Had he known? He must have guessed with those eyes. Her sister must have known. What it must have been like for Kylie to see her sister raise her husband’s child? No wonder those sisters hated each other.

  The pictures on Margaret’s Facebook told a sad story if you had the frame of the puzzle. She had married a man, had three children by him and one by her sister’s husband. After Margaret’s husband died, she’d married Keith. I would have loved to talk to her about it. Was the child a mistake? A mistake that you tried to rectify?

  It would have taken an extraordinary act of forgiveness for any of their relationships to recover from that. An act that clearly hadn’t happened in the Longman family. I shook my head as I clicked on the sister, Gertrude. Margaret and Kylie were—unsurprisingly—not friends on Facebook. Was Gertrude friends with Margaret because Gertrude couldn’t quite disown her sister? Or perhaps as a spy?