The Diva Serves High Tea (15 page)

Dear Sophie,

Our school is hosting a tea party fund-raiser. Some of the parents think the cucumber sandwiches should contain eggs or mint. Not everyone is in agreement on this issue. We're letting you decide.

—Lizzie's Mom in Mint Hill, North Carolina

Dear Lizzie's Mom,

Eggs in sandwiches are egg salad sandwiches. And mint would only overpower the delicate cucumber flavor. I prefer to stick with the traditional recipe.

—Sophie

I almost spilled my coffee. Had they found something else? “How so?”

“For starters, he's ignoring Robert! I don't want to besmirch Robert's reputation.” Velma wriggled with discomfort. “I had the highest regard for him. My whole family
did! Well, almost. My parents thought he was wonderful. But my husband never cozied up to Robert. What I saw as genteel and refined, my husband, rest his sweet soul, interpreted as a façade. He thought Robert had carefully crafted an image as a distinguished gentleman but he felt something else simmering underneath.”

“That's no reason—”

Velma held up her hand. “As you know, Francie and I had been keeping an eye on Robert. Honey, a stream of widows and divorcées visited him.”

“We tried to tell Wolf,” Francie said, “but he wasn't a bit interested in our logic. Here's how we see this. The incubation period for botulism is twelve to thirty-six or seventy-two hours, depending on your source.”

I nodded. That was consistent with what Wolf had said.

“And now we know they're opening The Parlour again, so he clearly didn't get it there.”

Velma picked up the thread. “Consequently, he must have eaten something that was home canned, which we have suspected all along. We know for a fact that Robert wasn't into canning. He wasn't much of a cook at all. That means one of the ladies who visited him was probably the murderer.”

I tried to interrupt them but they chattered at me and didn't give me a chance to say a thing.

“I don't mean to be trite,” said Velma, “but there's a lot of truth in that saying about a woman scorned.”

“But—”

“Ahh, my little chickadee”—Francie winked at me—“you overlook the obvious. If he had eaten something in a restaurant, then more people would surely be ill by now.”

“And we have a source with intimate knowledge,” said Velma, “who confirms that no such unlucky person has turned up. Thus, we return to our original theory that one of Robert's many admirers slipped him the poison.”

“Ladies!” I raised my voice just enough to get their attention. “I hate to disappoint you, but they shut down The Laughing Hound yesterday. Mars has botulism, too. Looks like The Laughing Hound is the culprit.”

“But we made a list—” said Francie.

“And checked it twice,” said Velma, who withdrew a folded sheet of paper from her pocket. “These are all the women we saw coming—”

Francie interrupted her, “—or going—”

“—from Robert's house.”

I set my coffee on the table and examined the list to humor them. “Ladies, you have married women on here.”

“We are fully aware of that. We're simply reporting that they were seen.” Velma sat back, satisfied.

“We can't account for what might have gone on
inside
the house.” Francie smiled at me sweetly.

“What do the stars mean?” I asked.

“Those are people who cook. The others are less likely to have canned food themselves.” Velma gazed at the list. “Seriously, I don't think Angie Lowenstein has ever stepped foot in a kitchen, much less tried canning. There are some others like that. We visited each of them and peeked in their kitchens for any evidence of home canning.”

“You did what?”

“Don't worry, they didn't know what we were doing,” Velma said.

I looked from one to the other in astonishment. They went to people's homes and snooped? “I don't believe you two.”

“I know! Who'd have thought we would make such great sleuths?” Velma flexed her fingers in delight. “We've narrowed down the list considerably.”

“Natasha and her mother are on here!”

“Naturally. We didn't play favorites.” Velma was so earnest that she was beginning to scare me.

Francie pointed at the list. “Beverly Hazelwonder and Patty Conklin are on there, too. Velma plays bridge with Beverly, and Patty is in my garden club. You see? We're covering all our bases and being very thorough.”

“I'm not on the list.”

“Well, of course not! We never saw you stopping by Robert's place.” Velma's eyes narrowed, and she pulled a pen out of her purse. “Did you?”

“I did
not
. I didn't even know where he lived until I saw you two spying on his front door. But that raises some questions. What if someone went in through his back door? And for that matter, what about women who visited him in his store? Someone could have brought him a tasty treat that he ate on the spot.”

The startled looks on their faces almost made me feel guilty for ruining their fun.
Almost
. “Look, I got into a lot of trouble a few months ago when I unknowingly interfered with an investigation. Wolf just assured me that he has a suspect in Elise's murder. I hope they'll have enough evidence to make an arrest today or tomorrow, so I really don't think you need to go to all this trouble.”

“But don't you see? He'll arrest the person who killed that woman.” Velma clutched a hand to her chest. “Robert's murderer will get away with it.”

What did it take to convince them? “Now that Mars—poor guy—is sick, too, Robert's death was obviously accidental.”

“I told you botulism poisoning was a brilliant way to dispatch someone.” Francie folded her arms over her chest, signaling her determination.

“Do you think the person who poisoned Robert intended to murder Mars as well?” I asked.

Velma leaned toward Francie. “I thought you said Sophie would understand. She doesn't appear to get what we're saying.”

“She's just being stubborn,” Francie responded.

They were impossible! “I'm still here, you know.”

They avoided making eye contact with me.

Hah! I knew how to dissuade them. “Okay. Suppose you're correct.”

They perked up immediately.

“Which of the people on this list had a motive to murder Robert?”

“Any of them who were jealous of the attention he lavished on other women.” Velma shot Francie a quizzical look.

“Fine. Which ones?” I pressed them a little, hoping they
would realize that they didn't really have a reason to pursue anyone.

I hated to admit it, but I was happy when they looked at me, dumbfounded. “I'll make a deal with you. We'll let Wolf handle this. After all, it's his job, and he's the expert.”

“But he's wrong!” Francie protested. “Robert's death was intentional. You saw those notes.”

“How do you know that? And how do you explain that Mars also ate whatever had gone bad? Give Wolf a chance to interrogate and arrest his suspect. If you're not convinced after he makes an arrest, then I'll reconsider. Okay?”

They looked a little glum when they left but I heard Velma say, “Good thing we have to hang out at The Parlour this afternoon to assist Martha. It will help kill time while the Mountie gets the wrong man.”

My morning passed rather quietly. I wrote some advice columns and around noon, I took Daisy for a long walk. Our path took us by The Parlour, which was open but didn't seem to be doing much business. We wound around toward Robert's house, where the front door stood open.

Either Velma was airing out the house or planned to carry something in or out.

I walked inside, remembering the morning I had found Robert near death. The main floor appeared much the same. None of the lavish paintings had been removed yet and the furniture was still in place.

“Francie? Velma?” I called.

I stopped dead at the dining room, surprised to see Hunter Landon, who allegedly had a thing for Callie. He appeared to be equally surprised. He had the decency to flush and seem slightly embarrassed at being caught. Of course, I had no more right to be there than he did.

I could see what Francie and Velma liked about him. Neither slim nor chubby, he had a friendly oval face with a very slightly receding hairline. His eyebrows appeared to be stuck in perpetual worry. And there were tiny dents at the tops of his cheeks. I wondered if he really was a worrying type. In any event, it gave him an air of approachability,
like a nice guy who tried to do his best. He wore jeans with a sport coat—informal, yet sufficiently put together.

“Are you looking for Callie?” I asked.

His thin lips spread into an embarrassed grin. “Actually, you caught me having a sneak peek. The door was open, so I hope no one minds. This is an amazing house. I knew Robert was an antiques dealer, but he obviously had an eye for the better things in life.”

“I would have to agree. He had excellent taste.”

Hunter gestured toward large paintings of men and women from another era. “Think these are family portraits?”

I walked closer to study them. “I really couldn't say. I don't know anything about Robert's background. They look like they belong in a castle, don't they?”

Hunter pointed at a particularly stern woman in a brown gown adorned with lace. “I think her eyes are following me around the room.”

“She
is
a little scary.”

“Probably the wicked governess who married the widowed father.”

I couldn't help laughing. He had nailed her! “I guess we can both be glad we're not related to
her
.”

“So what are they going to do with all this stuff?” Hunter asked.

“I suppose Velma will sell the house, but I understand she intends to keep the store.”

“I'll be interested in seeing who buys the dreaded governess.”

“Do you live in Old Town?” I asked.

“I'm renting at the moment. I didn't think I would want to stay here because the houses are packed in pretty tight for a country boy. Turns out that's not a big deal for me after all. But sometimes I do think I'd like to sit out on the front porch on a summer night, watching the fireflies and looking out over the fields. Not a sound except for a distant owl. Who knows? Maybe I'll get a little mountain cabin somewhere for weekends.”

“Do you work for the government?”

“Not directly,” he said. “I'm self-employed. I do search and rescue training, so governmental agencies often contract me.”

That explained how he had time to hang out at The Parlour on occasion. “You mean with dogs?”

“No, I train people. They have to be certified, and municipal governments have to come up with plans for managing big emergencies, so I help them do that.”

“Are you interested in buying this house?”

Hunter gazed around. “I think it's probably way out of my league. I'm fairly handy, so I had a fixer-upper in mind. Robert's place sure is impressive, though. He obviously lived the good life.”

“I saw The Parlour opened back up,” I commented.

“Yeah. I'm sure Martha is happy about that.”

I felt a little bit awkward—the two of us having no real business in the house. He didn't appear eager to leave, though. “Is Velma around?”

“Did I hear my name?” She came barreling along the hallway from the kitchen. “Was taking out trash. Good heavens, I never imagined there would be so much to throw out.” She looked from Hunter to me. “Did y'all come to help?”

Hunter set his briefcase on a chair and removed his jacket. “Sure. Why don't I give you a hand with the heavy stuff? You tell me what needs to be done.”

“You're like an angel from heaven. I thought I'd have to hire a handyman.”

“I could pitch in for an hour or so,” I said. “If you don't mind Daisy helping.”

She set us to work right away. “Hunter, how about you bring boxes downstairs, and, Sophie, maybe you can empty the linen closet?”

We worked steadily for an hour. Hunter didn't complain once about lugging all the boxes downstairs. He whispered to me, “Velma reminds me of my mother. She thinks these boxes are heavy but they don't weigh a thing.”

I slid a stack of pillowcases into a box. “Does your mom live around here?”

“No. She still lives in the little house I grew up in. Never budged from it.”

“Where's that?”

He hoisted a box and paused, almost as if he was wondering if it was safe to tell me. “A little college town called Forest Glen.”

Dear Sophie,

I inherited china stamped Rose China on the back with a picture of a rose. People tell me it's Noritake. If that's so, then why does it say Rose China?

—Confused Collector in Rose Hill, Kansas

Dear Confused Collector,

Rose China was made by Noritake immediately after World War II. Some speculate that post-war production was difficult and not up to Noritake standards, so they used the Rose China name instead. Others believe it was a method of circumventing limitations on Japanese imports or that the company did not use its famous name because Japanese products were not in favor with Americans after the war. Rose China also often carries the words Made in Occupied Japan.

—Sophie

“I've heard of that!” All too recently, I thought.

“You have?”

I covered quickly. “I grew up in Berrysville.”

“No kidding! Small world, huh?”

Indeed it was. I presumed he knew that Callie had come from a town near Forest Glen. It didn't mean anything. Clearly I was on edge for no good reason. In fact, maybe that was the reason they were attracted to each other.

Velma bustled toward me. “Look what I found!”

She held out a newspaper clipping with the title “Tea Parlor Coming to Town.” Martha smiled in a photograph.

“She's quite photogenic, isn't she?” Velma said.

I had to agree. Her trademark upswept hair imparted a distinctive elegance. “She's very attractive. Where did you get this?”

“It was in Robert's things. He has piles of papers. I do the same thing. I think I'll need a letter or a note or a clipping. Of course, when I want it, I never can find it. I'm terrible about filing. And where do you file something like this anyway? It's not like a bill or a contract or something important. I guess he was like me in that respect. He has stacks of papers but I'm afraid to throw them out without going through every one of them. There could be something important!”

I felt a little bit guilty about a few piles of papers in my own office and resolved to keep less. Maybe I would buy one of those things that scanned them into the computer.

“Say, Velma,” Hunter said, “Robert told me about an old necklace he used to wear in the sixties. A carving of an old ship. Have you found it? It sounded kind of cool.”

“I've been through his valet but there was nothing like a ship. I can't imagine him wearing something like that. Oh my! The sixties were grand, weren't they? I wore my skirts so short I got sent home from school once!”

Before long, the linen closet was empty. It hadn't produced anything of interest. Comforters, towels, the regular items except for some lace tablecloths that were probably
antique. I had packed them in another box that would likely go to the antique store.

Then Velma locked up and sent Hunter, Daisy, and me home to clean up so we could meet her at The Parlour to make it look busy. Velma peeled off to her house, but Hunter walked another block with Daisy and me.

Hunter asked me about Daisy, who got along very well with him. He'd even played some doggy games with her at Robert's house. “As soon as I buy a place, I'm heading to the shelter. I've missed having dogs and cats.”

“Nina works at the shelter. In fact she has an adorable foster puppy right now. A beagle named Peanut.”

“Wonder how fast I can find a place?” He grinned and said, “See you at The Parlour,” before turning right. I kept walking toward home.

I had walked only a few steps before I heard someone call, “Ed! Eddie!”

I turned my head, and saw a blond man. It appeared that he had meant Hunter, since he jogged over to Hunter, who greeted him as though they were acquaintances. How odd. Had I misunderstood? Maybe it was a nickname or a middle name. Maybe I would Google Hunter when I got home.

On the way, I passed The Laughing Hound and spotted Bernie sitting outside on the patio all by himself with a beer and a stack of papers.

“Sophie!” He opened the gate for Daisy and me.

“Looks kind of lonely around here.”

“It's pathetic. Would you care for a drink?”

“No, thanks. Taking care of paperwork?”

We sat down at the table. “Soph, Mars is like a brother to me. Next to my mum, you and Mars are my closest friends. I'm
crushed
that he got sick from my food.” Bernie placed his elbows on the table and leaned toward me. “Here's the curious thing. You know how many people have been sickened by this?” He held up two fingers. “When the health department came to collect samples, they told me that Mars was only the second known case.”

I thought I could see where he was going, and I certainly
didn't want to burst his balloon, but I had to say it. “Mars's symptoms were so mild that you didn't think he needed a doctor. There could be others in the same situation.”

Bernie slapped his iPhone on the table. “I know a few of the regulars well enough to call them and see how they're doing. No one is sick.”

“Do you think Robert ate here?”

“We do a pretty good business, so I don't see every single person who dines here. But none of the employees recalls seeing Robert during the last few days.”

“Velma said he didn't feel well the day of the auction,” I said. “I guess there's no way of knowing if that was already the botulism at work, or something else. Maybe someone brought him takeout?”

“I doubt it. Here's why. From my research on botulism, it doesn't often occur in acidic foods or fresh foods. That's why it doesn't happen much with things like pickles. We cook everything fresh. We use very few items that come in jars or cans. So there's almost no chance for botulism to be in the food we serve. Mars got botulism poisoning, but I'm convinced that it wasn't from my food.”

“Where else did he eat?” I asked.

Bernie shook his head. “According to Mars, only at your house.”

“My house!” Oh no! I would be the next one raided by the health department!

“Don't look so worried. Your food was fresh, wasn't it?”

I relaxed a little. “The pumpkin you used in the pancakes was from a can. But I feel fine and so do you. Mars must be mistaken. Maybe someone offered him a little treat, but he doesn't remember.”

“According to Mars, he didn't even stop to grab a drink somewhere or nosh on a candy bar.”

“That makes no sense.”

Bernie sat back in his chair and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Precisely. We serve two to three hundred people a day, but only one is sick?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm planning to talk with the health department. I doubt that they'll listen to my reasoning but they are going to come up empty-handed in my kitchen. The Laughing Hound is not the source of the problem.”

I walked home wondering if Francie and Velma could be right. Maybe one of the ladies chasing Robert had been the source of the tainted food after all. That didn't explain how Mars would have been exposed to it, but it would be more logical since there didn't appear to be a big outbreak of botulism poisoning.

I swung open the gate to my property and discovered a sad little figure sitting on the stoop of my kitchen door.

Kevin's eyes were red from crying. Tears stained the apples of his cheeks. When he saw me, he ran toward me and flung himself at me, clutching me and burying his head in my abdomen.

Daisy nuzzled his face, trying to lick him. There was nothing I could do but hug him and stroke his hair. We stood that way a long time. Nothing would bring his mom back. The least I could do was hold him tight as long as he needed.

When he let me go, he asked, “Did you hear about my mom?”

I nodded. “I'm really sorry, Kevin.” I didn't know what else to say to him. “Why don't we go in the house? Would you like a glass of milk?”

We walked toward the door.

“Have you got anything stronger? I got troubles.”

I tried to hide my smile. Where had he picked that up?

“How about hot chocolate? With whipped cream
and
marshmallows?”

For one split second, I saw a gleam in his eyes and knew for that instant, he'd thought about food instead of his mom. Whipped cream and marshmallows was an overload, but if ever a child deserved a whopper of a treat and a sugar overload, it was this little boy right now.

I unlocked the door. He played on the floor with Daisy and I excused myself for a moment. I hurried to my office and called Alex. “Your little buddy is here again.”

I heard him shout, “Found him!” Into the phone he said, “Is he okay?”

“Seems to be. But he's one sad kid.”

“Poor guy. I'll be there ASAP.”

I returned to the kitchen and whisked powdered chocolate into a little water, which I added to the milk and heated. I poured it into two mugs, added marshmallows and the promised dollop of whipped cream. I brought them to the table along with a few leftover macarons and petit fours.

Once again, without being asked, he washed his hands and dried them before crawling into the banquette on his hands and knees. He settled in and licked the cream on his drink. “They're going to send me to reform school.”

I bit my upper lip to keep from grinning. “I'm sure that's not the case. That's where they send bad kids.”

He smacked his palm against his forehead. “Oh great. That's all I need, being locked up with all the bullies.”

“Honey, no one will send you to reform school or lock you up. Believe me.”

“You don't understand. It's all my fault,” Kevin said.

“What is?”

“My dad killed my mom because of
me
. He wanted me back.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“My grandparents. And they're afraid the court won't let them keep me because they raised a killer and they're incontinent.”

That gave me pause. I hoped he meant incompetent. “I'm sure they're very nice people.”

“Um-hmm.” He nodded his head. “I'd rather be with my dad but they're going to lock him in jail and throw away the key!” His voice rose with hysteria.

People really ought to be more careful what they said around this child. “That's just an expression. No one will throw away the key. And Alex is going to do his very best to make sure your dad doesn't go to jail. You trust Alex, don't you?”

He thought about it. “Will you help him?”

“I'm not a lawyer. Remember?”

“Can't you find the real killer? Alex told Mom you solve murders.”

“Not professionally. I just got lucky a few times.”

“Do you cost a lot of money?” He pulled a few wrinkled dollar bills from his pocket.

“Kevin, I don't charge anything—”

He interrupted. “I can afford that. Then you'll do it? You'll help me?”

I couldn't help him, of course. And he would think I was a traitor when he found out that his mother said his father's name to me when she was dying. Why hadn't she said Kevin? Then I could tell him how much she loved him. I could do that anyway, I supposed.

He focused on his drink, trying to catch melting marshmallows with his tongue.

I desperately wanted to help Kevin. He clearly loved his father and being raised by his dad was probably his best shot at normalcy. On the other hand, if his dad really killed Elise, he was a dangerous man.

But something else was bothering me. I'd been okay with Wolf's take on Elise's murder. Certainly Rosey was up to his ears in trouble. But it
was
peculiar that both Elise and Robert had said the same thing to me. The odds of anyone saying
Rosey
as a final word were pretty slim.

And then it hit me. Two people had trusted me with their last breath. They were on the verge of death but they had rallied enough strength to say one word before they left this world. And they had said it to me. Didn't that create some obligation on my part to be sure we knew what they were trying to say? Especially Robert. Between Wolf and Alex, the mystery of Elise's murder would surely be solved. I glanced at Kevin. Unless, of course, it wasn't Rosey who killed her. For Kevin's sake, I really hoped that was the case. Why had they said Rosey, or Rosie, or Rosy?

“So? Will you help my dad?” Kevin wore a whipped cream mustache and licked his fingers.

Once again, I didn't know what to say to him. I didn't
want to create false hope. I couldn't make promises. “I'll make a deal with you. If you stop running off, I'll see what I can find out.”

“Really? Yippee!”

“Don't get too excited. Kevin, sometimes these things don't turn out the way we wish they would.”

“What do you mean?”

Well now I'd done it! I couldn't exactly say
maybe your dad really did kill your mom
.