Maybe she’d have to get her one of those blasted things after all. Then she’d be able to call Cissy whenever she wanted! She nodded. That’s what she was going to do, and then she’d be one step up on Rose Freemont, a senior pioneer in a brave new world!
* * *
Sophie was just adding another name to her notes because it had occurred to her that the pastor’s weird obsession with Zunia, combined with his apparent lack of success with her despite his delusion that she was about to run away with him, made him a prime candidate for murderer as a spurned lover. Just as Pastor Frank took his place on her suspect list, there was a tap at the door. Sophie got up, flung the door open and Cissy threw herself into Sophie’s arms.
“Soph, oh, Soph, is Grandma okay? Are you sure she’s not a suspect? I’d feel just awful if she had done something stupid.”
Sophie held up under the assault and exchanged a wry look with Dana Saunders, who entered behind Cissy and shrugged.
“I’ve been trying to tell her on the whole drive here that it is just her grandmother dramatizing herself again, but Cissy is convinced the woman is in trouble. I never knew that ‘drama queenism’ was a gene mutation.”
“What does that mean?” Cissy asked, looking over her shoulder at her friend and employee.
“Nothing! Nothing at all.” Dana rolled her eyes.
“First, no, Cissy, your grandmother is not a suspect. Nana kinda is, kinda isn’t, which is why it’s important they get the right person.” Sophie hugged Cissy, then released her. “I’m so glad to see you guys. Have I got a lot to tell you!”
Just then SuLinn poked her head in the open door. “Is this a private party, or can anyone join?” she said, with a shy smile, her straight black hair swinging down over her shoulders.
“SuLinn! So you did sneak out of the lecture.”
The young woman sighed, dramatically. “Oh my word, boooring! The woman knows her stuff, but I swear she could tell me the most interesting piece of gossip and I’d still fall sleep. I don’t care about silver hallmarks anyway.” Her tone changed subtly, as did her expression. She eyed Sophie and murmured, “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“We know when we’re not wanted,” Dana said, tossing her streaked dark hair and widening her eyes. “We came prepared to stay overnight, but the inn owner says he’s got no rooms, so Cissy and I will drop our bags in your room, SuLinn. Then we’ll go get into some trouble downstairs. Meet us down there and we’ll find a place to eat.”
“Not here,” Sophie said. “The dining room dinner was awful last night.”
“Someplace else, then,” Dana agreed. “Meet us in the lobby, you two. After brunch I have something to show you.”
When the other two had gone, Sophie drew SuLinn over to her folding bed and sat down cross-legged opposite her. “So is rooming with Mrs. Earnshaw as much of a drag as I’m afraid it would be?” she asked as they settled.
SuLinn shrugged. “She’s okay, I guess, but she kind of scares me. She’s like my grandmother, always watching to see what I’m doing, trying to find something else she can criticize.”
“But that’s not what you wanted to talk to me about,” Sophie guessed.
“No. It frightens me, the murder happening so close. It was right outside our rooms.” She wrapped her arms around herself, like a big hug.
“And?”
SuLinn looked down for a moment, then released herself from the hug and looked into Sophie’s eyes. “I can’t keep this to myself. I thought I could, but I have to tell someone. Rhiannon Galway and Zunia Pettigrew had a nasty fight the evening before Zunia died, and Rhiannon said that the other woman had ruined her life and she wished she was dead.”
“What?” Sophie goggled at the news, stunned.
“I hate this so much!” SuLinn said, hugging herself again, her voice trembling. “Telling on her, I mean. She’s a nice person, but . . .” She sighed and shook her head. “When I saw her yesterday for just a moment I asked her about where she was that evening, and managed to work in the time I know I saw her. She told me she was home, but she wasn’t. She was here in the inn, fighting with Zunia.”
“Did you confront her?”
SuLinn’s eyes widened. “No, of course not! I’d never do that.”
“Maybe she mistook the time.”
But SuLinn was already shaking her head. “I was pretty specific about the time because I had just checked my watch before I saw her. And anyway, how could she mistake where she was in the evening, when there was no reason for her to be at the inn? I came down to the lobby to call Randy. There was no way I was going to call my husband with Mrs. Earnshaw in the room.” She blushed, a beautiful rosy tinge on her tan cheeks. “She listens to everything!”
Sophie was silent, trying to digest the news. She could think of a hundred reasons why Rhiannon might be at the inn in the evening, but not why she would lie about it.
Anxiously, SuLinn said, “I wouldn’t have told you about Rhi lying about where she was, and about the argument, but if they’re accusing Rose . . . we can’t have that. And I wanted to tell someone the truth.”
“You didn’t tell the police?”
Her dark eyes wide, she lifted one shoulder. “They never asked me about Rhiannon. It probably doesn’t mean anything, right? She was just mad.”
Sophie reached out and touched SuLinn’s arm, patting it. “I appreciate you telling me. I was going to go talk to Rhi anyway, but now I know what to ask.”
“You won’t tell her what I told you, will you?”
“If I do I won’t say it was you who told me, okay? Anyone could have overheard them or seen them arguing.”
She nodded, a relieved look on her face. “I’m so glad you’re here, Sophie! It’s good to have friends.” She hesitated, but then with an earnest look on her oval face, she said, “It’s weird, but in the year that I’ve lived in Gracious Grove I feel like I’ve lost my identity. You wouldn’t have recognized me in New York. I was the assistant manager for advertising at a food and lifestyle magazine. I was so decisive, so take-charge, with staff answering to me.”
“Are you looking for a job in GiGi? Someone with your skills could probably find something good.”
“Randy and I have been trying to start a family, but it’s not happening yet. I think I am going to look for a job. He didn’t want me to start something just to have to quit if I got pregnant, but there’s no sense in waiting.”
“It’ll happen,” Sophie said, hoping it was true.
“Right this minute I’m glad you and Dana and Cissy are here. You all make me feel happier to be in GiGi,” she said, calling their town what all locals called it.
“Let’s go down and meet them.”
Once they gathered in the lobby, where Dana was looking at the postcards, they decided to give the coffee shop a chance and Sophie was pleasantly surprised. The French toast she ordered was thick, properly soaked in the egg mixture with a hint of cinnamon, and seared on the flattop to a golden brown crust with a creamy interior. It was served with real butter and blueberry coulis. As they enthusiastically ate, they discussed what had happened. Sophie told them her theories.
“We’ve decided we’re staying until tomorrow morning,” Dana said, stirring sweetener into her coffee. There was mischief in her eyes. “I want to be in on the case again. I’m starting to think I missed my calling in life. I should have been a detective.”
“Speaking of which, I saw the one my grandmother was interviewed by,” Sophie said. “He was talking to the inn owner and the poor guy looked like he was going to have a heart attack!”
“That’s Bertie Handler,” SuLinn told the other two. “He’s a real sweetheart, but kind of nervous. Terrified of storms. There was an awful one that evening right into the night. I was sitting in the lobby trying to call Randy, and I heard him telling one of the waitresses that he was going to hide o
ut in the cellar if it got bad.”
“That’s where the kitchen is, in the cellar,” Sophie said. “Su, was that before or after the . . . the other thing?” she asked, obliquely referring to the argument between Rhiannon and Zunia. “Not that it matters.”
“Uh, just after.”
“Okay.”
Dana raised her brows but didn’t ask about the exchange.
“About the cellar,” Sophie said, returning to the topic. “I came through there from the parking lot when I arrived, guided by one of the staff. There’s a lot more than just the kitchen down there.”
Cissy roused herself out of her abstraction and said, “I stayed here once in high school when we came to Butterhill for a swim meet. A bunch of us were doing a scavenger hunt and I was looking for . . . I can’t remember what. I went downstairs and got lost, ended up in this little tiny room, no windows at all. I got locked in and it took hours before anyone found me!” She shot a side glance at Sophie. “We didn’t all have cell phones back then. That was just for rich kids.”
Like me, Sophie thought. She’d had a cool red Nokia phone the summer she was sixteen that had been the envy of them all, but she only ever used it to call her mom, because no one else she wanted to talk to had a cell phone.
“Enough about murder, as fascinating as I find the topic. I have someplace to show you girls, but you have to promise not to tell a soul,” Dana said, standing and stretching.
She was gorgeously attired in an off-the-shoulder top with a peacock feather design and white walking shorts, her feet clad in gold Roman sandals. Her long dark hair was now streaked with gold and it lay in perfect loose curls caressing her heck. Peacock feather earrings dangled from her perfect lobes. She was flawless, as usual, Sophie thought, watching her.
“What is it you want to show us?” SuLinn asked as Cissy grabbed her taupe bucket purse off the bench seat.
“Shopping! It’s a consignment shop with to-die-for fashions. I called and made sure they’re open on Sundays, and they are!”
“You buy your clothes there?” Sophie asked. “I’m in!”
They all laughed together and headed out to the lobby, but were arrested by the sight of a tall, dark, good-looking man in a chocolate-brown suit jacket and tan slacks. He was at the check-in desk, his profile showing close-cropped hair, a clean-shaven sharp jawline and full lips. Bertie Handler bustled out of his office up to the desk and the man asked in a rich, carrying voice, “Could you tell me when the teapot society meeting is going to end?”
“Hubba hubba,” Dana murmured, eyes wide.
Sophie approached and said, “My grandmother is a society member. Can I help you with something?”
His gaze moved from Sophie to the cluster of young women and settled on Dana, who eyed him back. Definite sparks, Sophie thought, her gaze flicking between the two.
“I’m Detective Elihu Hodge,” he said, putting out his hand. “My aunt, Laverne Hodge, is also a member. And you are . . . ?”
“Sophie Freemont Taylor,” she said, taking his hand. It was warm but not damp, and his clasp was firm. “I’m Rose Freemont’s granddaughter.”
He nodded. “Okay, sure . . . the chef who moved back to Gracious Grove. And your friends?”
She introduced them, Dana last, and their hand clasp lingered just a little longer. Dana actually blushed. Sophie hadn’t ever seen her blush. Detective Hodge was a very good-looking man, the Seneca and African-American heritage showing even stronger in him than in Laverne. He had blue-gray eyes, crazy cool and hypnotic, set under a dark fringe of lashes and thick brows.
He tore his gaze away from Dana and spoke to Sophie. “I was going to take my aunt and granddad to lunch, but the chief asked me to help my colleagues investigate the murder that happened here. I’m going to have to cancel my lunch date, though I will be around the inn for most of the day.”
Sophie was on her guard immediately. She was going to go speak to Rhiannon, but she was certainly not going to divulge to the police what SuLinn had overheard—not yet, anyway. There was no way Rhiannon had anything to do with the murder of Zunia, but Sophie felt it was important that the tea purveyor ’fess up to why she was in the hotel that night. Then they could decide if she needed to tell the police.
Just then the meeting room doors opened and the ITCS members—or what was left of them, since a few had gone home—spilled out in chattering groups. The detective caught his grandfather and aunt’s attention as they emerged and took them aside to explain. He held his grandfather’s elbow in a solicitous manner and both older folks listened to him intently, looking up at him with affection. Dana watched closely, her focus purposeful.
“What do you think?” Sophie said, sidling up to her.
“If he’s single, I’m going to marry that man.”
Sophie smothered a chuckle. “Come on, Dana, you don’t even know him. He could be impossible!”
“Look at how he holds his grandfather’s arm and how he talks to them! He’s handsome, well mannered and dedicated to his relatives. He’s employed. He’s ambitious, or he wouldn’t already be a detective.” She glanced over at Sophie, eyebrows raised. “What’s not to like?”
“Well, all right. I don’t suppose he has anything to say in the matter.”
“Oh, it’ll all be up to him,” Dana said, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. “Or at least he’ll think it’s all his idea.”
Thelma trudged out of the convention room, looking grumpily around until Cissy waved. Her eyes lit up and her expression changed in a moment, from irritable to eager. Sophie thought that was adorable. She had decided to look at Thelma Mae Earnshaw as a special snowflake, an Oscar the Grouch in a world of happy Muppets. They all had to just accept her as she was, because she wasn’t truly going to change. That she and Nana had reached a truce—or at least a cessation of hostilities, which was not quite the same thing—was a miracle, one to be protected and coddled at all costs, especially since they were next-door neighbors and in the same business.
Cissy reunited with her grandmother as Sophie took SuLinn aside. “I’m going to check in on Rhi and see what I can find out. Can you take care of the girls and give the message to Nana? Just say I have an errand to run. I want to do this on the sly, no questions asked.”
SuLinn nodded.
Sophie slung her bag over her shoulder, slipped out the front door onto the sidewalk and oriented herself. She had to go south a couple of blocks, she thought. She got out her cell phone and checked her GPS app. She was right, and started walking. The day had turned hot and muggy, with a lowering sky that held in the humidity and foretold a storm in the evening. It was fortunate that she was wearing shorts and a tee and had her dark hair in an updo, because it was sweltering, the steamy air feeling like a warm breath on her skin.
Butterhill wasn’t a big town and Rhiannon’s tea shop was not that far away, seven blocks, maybe. It was an older building right on the sidewalk in an older part of town. The picture window with GALWAY FINE TEAS in gold lettering was shuttered and the lights off; a sign on the door said SEE YOU TUESDAY!
Sophie had expected that; Rhiannon was closed on Sundays and Mondays. But she lived behind the shop, so Sophie went down the sidewalk to the little blue door with the number 735 on it. Rhi’s Ford was parked in the lane, so she was probably home. Sophie tapped on the door.
It took a couple of more taps, but finally the lock clicked and Rhiannon opened the door, blinking sleepily. “Soph! What are you doing here? Was I supposed to meet you? What day is today? What time is it?”
“Hey, Rhi. I’m here to see you, and no, you weren’t supposed to meet me, and today is Sunday, and it’s about eleven. You ran out of the dinner last night before I had a chance to talk to you.”
The girl yawned and stretched, then pulled her tee down over the top of her thin cotton bed shorts. “Do you want coffee? Or tea? I’ve got English breakfast
, Irish breakfast, rooibos, maté, chai, oolong . . . you name it.”
“Nothing hot,” Sophie groaned. “It’s sweltering out here! Are you going to invite me in or what?”
“Sure, of course . . . Come on in.” She turned and headed back into the dark apartment. “Make yourself at home,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m going to get some clothes on.”
Sophie entered the living room, closing the door behind her and looking around curiously. It was cool, with a slightly stale odor that hinted at poor dusting habits. A stained beige sofa and scratched coffee table were lined up in front of an old-style clunky TV, with a side table sporting an ugly lamp and a stack of magazines on a chair by the window that overlooked the lane. A vase with dead flowers was on the windowsill, alongside a fern that was brown and crispy.
On the wall by a bookcase there was a collage photo frame surrounded by other pictures. She scanned them as she tried to figure out how she was going to ask Rhi the difficult questions, like . . . Why did she lie to SuLinn about being at the inn that evening? What had her relationship with Walter Sommer truly been? Was it an affair, as the rumormongers would have it? And did she kill Zunia Pettigrew? There was no delicate way to tiptoe around a question like that, but she had to try. Though she didn’t believe it possible that Rhi was a killer, it sure would be good to hear about her innocence from Rhiannon herself.
Sophie absently looked over the photos of Rhi when she was a kid, in her mother’s shop, at the lake, as well as at various ITCS conventions through the years, first with an older dark-haired woman who must be her mother and then more recently alone, with the Sommers and various other members. It was an important part of her life, it appeared, and had been for many years.
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