Tempest in the Tea Leaves (6 page)

“It’s only a matter of time before you slip up, Tink.” He let go of my hand. “And when you do, I’ll be waiting. There has to be something more you’re not telling me.”

Oh, there was. Like the fact that my father was a world-renowned doctor who had access to digoxin. Now more than ever I needed to find the real killer before Detective Stone locked me up and threw away the key for good.

A knock on my door later that afternoon had me hoping and praying for another customer. Maybe someone hadn’t listened to the rumors and had decided to give me a shot. If people didn’t give me a chance, I was doomed to fail for sure. And the last of my trust fund money was dwindling fast. If that happened, I’d be forced to go homeless or go home. I wasn’t sure which option would be more unpleasant. I took a deep breath and opened the door with a smile.

My smile vanished like a puff of incense smoke, and I gasped. “Mom? Dad?”

Vivian and Donald Meadows stood on my doorstep, in the flesh, within touching distance. Something they’d promised would never happen, and I’d prayed they were right. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, I quickly ushered them inside and closed the door behind them.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Nice to see you, too, darling.” My mother air-kissed my cheek as always.

“Sylvia.” My father nodded and then patted my shoulder.

“I hope you’re not here to convince me to come home with you,” I said. “Because that’s not going to happen. This is my home now.”

“Oh, we’re not leaving anytime soon, dear,” Mom clarified. “Of course, we’re not staying in this dreadful place, either. Why, it’s simply spooky is what it is. I don’t know how you sleep at all.” She tsked. “Oh my God, what is that thing?” Mom raised her fingertips to her lips, careful not to touch her cashmere gloves against the perfectly lined mauve lipstick. “An albino rat?”

Morty turned up his nose and wandered upstairs, not giving my mother the time of day. “That
thing
is Morty, and he’s not a rat. He’s a cat.” I’d have given anything to turn my back on my parents and follow his lead right about then.

“You hate cats.”

“No, Mom, you do.”

She shuddered. “All the more reason not to stay here. Your father and I both cleared our schedules and will be staying at that charming inn on the edge of town. We’re here to support you one hundred percent, darling. After all, family is family, you know.”

“So you’ve always said. You can’t choose your family ; you have to make the best of what you’ve got. That works both ways, Mom. Does that mean you’ve finally accepted me for who I am?” I purposely looked at my sanctuary and then back at them. “For
what
I am?”

“We’ve accepted you need help, Sylvia,” Dad chimed in, nodding once. “And that is precisely what we are prepared to do. Help you out of this little mess you’ve gotten yourself into before you tarnish all our names.”

I should have known it was too good to be true. They were worried about their own name. Okay, so maybe they didn’t want to see their only child go to jail, but one thing was certain. If I let them help me, there’d be consequences. They’d insist I go home with them. I’d rot before I’d let that happen. “Hey, wait a minute. I know news travels fast, but come on. How’d you find out about the murder so soon?”

“Murder?” my mother shrieked, losing her composure, which never happened. “No one said anything about murder. Donald, we have to do something.”

“Don’t worry, Viv. We’re not leaving until this case is closed. Things are much more serious than I thought. Do you see why we should never have let her leave?” Dad paced my foyer. He only paced when he was really worried. “He said you were in trouble, and he needed to ask us some questions. Nothing about murder.”

God, when would I learn to keep my big mouth closed? For someone who could read the future, I hadn’t seen that one coming at all. Wait a minute. . . .
He?
“Um . . . who needs to ask you some questions?” Suspicion clawed at my insides. I swear to God if a certain someone had brought this misery to my doorstep, I’d—

“Mr. and Mrs. Meadows, so glad you could make it.” The devil himself waltzed through my front door without even knocking. “The name’s Detective Stone.”

Only one thought ran through my mind over and over: here was a murder I’d gladly do the time for.

“I’d ask you to come in, Detective, but gee, you already did.” I closed the door behind the real rat in the house. Where was Morty when I needed him?

“Sylvia, mind your manners, dear,” my mother said. “I raised you better than that.” I knew she was frowning on the inside even if her Botoxed wrinkle-free face didn’t show it.

“Sorry, Mom, it’s been a long day,” I mumbled, feeling like a child. Every time I was around them, they had that effect on me. Might as well roll with the mood I was in. I stuck out my tongue at the detective behind her back, and his lips twitched. If he laughed at me, I’d smack him good. “I was about to take a lunch break when you guys, er, surprised me. Anyone hungry?”

“We already ate,” my dad said, following my lead to the kitchen.

“Tea, then?” I entered Vicky’s massive kitchen with her well-worn hardwood floors, antique harvest table, and chipped china.

This room had been frequented regularly over the years. I could see why. The table sat right by the large windows that allowed the glorious rays of afternoon sunshine to pour in and warm the area, making the room come alive. The decor in this room, like the rest of the house, was older than my great-grandmother’s hope chest. So full of charm and history. I loved it all.

A musty whiff of mildew and mothballs drifted past my nose. I smiled warmly. Morty was here, somewhere, no doubt hiding. And watching . . . always watching.

“I’ll take coffee if you have some,” Dad said to me, then turned to the detective. “Not a big fan of tea, although Sylvia’s is reported to be outstanding.” He went to sit at the head of the table, and the chair slid from beneath him all on its own. He fell down hard, and my mother rushed to help him up.

“Oh, dear me, this place is a death trap.” Mom dusted off the back of Dad’s coat.

“Gotta watch these old houses and all the creatures within.” Detective Stone glanced around warily, and I knew he was looking for Morty. “They can be temperamental.” He chose his seat carefully on the side of the table. “I’ll take tea. I’m pretty observant.” He stared me down. “Maybe I can guess what’s in it.”

“Sorry, Detective.” I smirked, sitting at the head of the table with ease and relishing the looks on their faces. Most people would be freaked out, but I wasn’t most people. I didn’t spook easily. “Can’t give away my award-winning secret recipe, now can I?” I said to the detective.

“Depends on the
secret
part.” He swirled his tea around as he talked. “What you put in it could land you in jail.” He smelled it and took a couple sips.

“She’s not going anywhere.” My mother sat up straight, her eyes taking on a calculating gleam, her tone becoming no-nonsense.

“Says who?” Detective Stone met my mother’s gaze, studying her closer, no doubt reassessing her.

“Says her lawyer,” she said matter-of-factly. “Pass the cream and sugar, please.”

Um, yeah, not going to happen.
“Wait a minute, Mom. You’re not my lawyer. I don’t need a lawyer because I’m innocent.”

“Innocent of what, exactly?” My father slid the cream and sugar in front of my mother and faced the detective head-on. “What exactly has my daughter done this time?”

“Dad!”

“I take it she has a history of getting into trouble?” The detective set his nearly empty tea down and wrote in his notebook.

“Not trouble per se.” Mom waved her hands about. “Just predicaments with her little hobby.”

“Mom!”

“Hobby?” Detective Stone asked, writing more of God-knew-what in that damn notebook of his.

“You know, her little fortune-teller act,” Mom clarified.

“So you don’t believe she’s psychic, either?” The detective looked at both my parents with renewed interest.

“Good Lord, no,” Dad answered. “She’s seen some things that have come true in a roundabout way, I suppose, but we simply chalk it up to coincidence. Being a man of science, it’s hard for me to be a ‘true believer,’ as she calls them.” He looked at me and winced. “Sorry, honey. The truth hurts, but you need to hear it for your own good, so you will stop wasting your life and do something real.” He took a sip of his coffee, then cursed.

“Careful, dear,” Mom said, dabbing the corners of her mouth, her eyes darting about the kitchen. “There’s something odd about this house and everything in it.”

“That burned my lip.” Dad rubbed his mouth. “I don’t remember the coffee being that hot. It’s almost as if the cup heated itself.”

I ground my teeth hard, as if I were grinding fennel seeds in the mortar while making my tea. “My fortune-telling is not an act, Mother. Or a hobby. It happens to be what I do. Who I am. Like it or not, Dad, I’m not normal like you guys.”

The detective grunted. “I could have told you that.” He never looked up, still writing in his book . . . until his pen broke and spurted ink all over the front of his white dress shirt. “What the hell?” He jumped back and grabbed a napkin, scrubbing the darkening stain.

“Serves you right. And you might want to blot, not rub, the threads right off,” I pointed out, enjoying every minute of my afternoon tea.

“Thanks.” Detective Stone narrowed his eyes.

“Anytime.” I batted my lashes at him. “On a more serious note, just because I have visions doesn’t make me a freak. It makes me special. You should be glad I can see into someone’s future. And if you had listened to me, Detective, Amanda Robbins might still be alive.”

“Oh, dear Lord, this whole mess doesn’t have something to do with one of your visions, does it?” Mom asked.

“She had a ‘vision’ of the librarian getting murdered by a man, and then it came true,” Detective Stone explained. “Or so she claims.” He shot a look at me and then turned to my dad. “Mr. Meadows, is there any way your daughter could have gotten hold of some of your digoxin?”

“Absolutely not. I don’t have digoxin lying around. No doctor does. It’s a controlled substance. Pharmaceutical reps aren’t allowed to sample it. The only way to get some would be to have a doctor write a prescription, and I can assure you, I didn’t write any for her. Since I know Sylvia doesn’t socialize with a doctor-type crowd, I’m confident there’s no way she could have gotten hold of digoxin. Why do you ask?”

“The tea leaves she gave the librarian were laced with digoxin.”

My mother spit her tea out all over my table, and a soft noise echoed from the other side of the room, sounding suspiciously like a chuckle. Mom puckered up her face. “Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d swear that bizarre cat of yours is close by and laughing at me.”

“Mother, please.” I wiped up the mess. “You don’t seriously believe I murdered that poor woman, do you?”

“No more than I believe cats can laugh, but someone obviously wants us to think you did. You need a lawyer whether you like it or not. Putting our differences aside, you know I’m the best there is.”

“That settles it. We’re not going anywhere until this case is solved.” Dad nodded.

“Oh, yes you are.” I stood. “You’ve got an inn to check in to, and I can defend myself. I’m twenty-nine years old. I can make my own decisions.”

“Fine, but we’re still not leaving, dear. You’ll change your mind, I’m sure of it. Come along, Donald.” Mom got up and led the way to the door. “We’ll be right here in town waiting when you do, Sylvia.”

“Good day, Detective.” Dad slapped his hat on his head. “You know where to find us if you have any more questions. You have our full cooperation. Our daughter might be a little different, but she’s not a murderer. You have my word on that, and a Meadows never breaks his word.”

With that, they were gone.

I sighed, rubbing my throbbing temples, and a deep meow rumbled softly, sounding more like a groan.

Detective Stone twisted completely around, his hand hovering just above his weapon. “I, uh, gotta run, Tink, but make no mistake . . . I’m nowhere near done with you. I’ve got a case to solve. I won’t let up on you until I get some answers.” He bumped into the table, knocked over his teacup, and the last little bit of liquid spilled into his saucer. He righted the cup and set it down on the table. “Thanks for the tea.”

“You’re welcome, Detective. Just know I won’t go down without a fight.”

“I’m counting on it.” He nodded once, with a gleam in his eye that said he loved a challenge, and then he closed the door on his way out.

I huffed out a breath, then couldn’t help but giggle a bit. “Where are you, you stinker? You are one mischievous old cat.” Vicky might have character, but I had a suspicious feeling I’d just discovered who was doing the haunting.