The Diva Serves High Tea (21 page)

Dear Sophie,

Is it inappropriate to serve wine or champagne at a tea party? My sister is throwing a fit about a party without alcohol.

—Feeling Dumb in Champagne, Louisiana

Dear Feeling Dumb,

No need to feel dumb! No one was born knowing this. There are no hard and fast rules. Serve what you like! A delicious sweet dessert wine is traditional, but if the party is a celebration, what better way to enjoy it than with a glass of champagne in addition to tea?

—Sophie

I felt like I'd been hit by lightning. Eddie? Could there be a connection to Hunter? Was it remotely possible that the Rosie I had been looking for was Rosie Barnes? I rushed to my house to tell Wolf.

But when I placed my hand on the door handle, I paused. There were probably millions of people named Eddie. And in any event, Hunter was far too young to be Rosie's father. I was grasping at anything in desperation.

Wolf probably wouldn't be questioning Natasha for very long. Still, I ought to make them some tea. I let myself in and very quietly put the kettle on.

Natasha needed a tea that would relax her. I selected a gentle spiced orange tea. I poured it into teacups on a tray, added napkins and a plate of macarons, and carried it into the living room.

Wolf sounded very patient but Natasha was giving him bizarre responses. She wasn't helping herself!

“Approximately what time did you go down to the river?” Wolf asked.

“I don't really know. I didn't look at my watch,” Natasha said.

Wolf didn't say anything for a moment. I assumed it was because of my presence, so I scurried out of the living room, but lingered in the foyer where I could hear what was being said.

Finally Natasha blurted, “There's nothing illegal about walking down to the river!”

Wolf's voice was calm. “That's true.”

“This is America. I can take a walk at night if I want to!”

“You were seen pitching something into the river.”

I wasn't sure if that was true or he was making it up. She
had
thrown Wanda's bottles into the water. But in the dark of night would anyone really have been able to see that?

With a start, I realized that I was holding my breath.

“Why would I do that?” Natasha asked.

“Maybe you had something you wanted to get rid of.”

“I doubt that was the case.”

“You
doubt
it? Don't you know?”

“I couldn't sleep.”

Hah! She dodged answering by changing the subject. Maybe I didn't give her enough credit.

“Who was with you?” Wolf asked.

“Why would you ask that when you clearly know who ratted on me?”

“Why do you call it
ratting on you
?”

“Look, Wolf. You must be a nice guy or you never would have put up with dating Sophie.”

Oh! The nerve of her!

“I heard you found a knife. I would assume that you want to pin the murder of that woman on me. I hate to disappoint you, but I didn't even know her, much less murder her.”

“Ah, but you see, Natasha, your presence at the river might make you an important witness. Someone threw the knife in the river.”

Wolf was smooth. How clever of him to make her feel important. Now she wouldn't be on the defensive.

“Why didn't you say so? There was someone else there. I thought it was Sophie.”

I leaned my head against the wall. Maybe that was the truth, but now
I
might be in trouble. After all, Elise had told everyone she was dating my boyfriend, and I had found her. Thank goodness Nina was with me! Still, if it wasn't Wolf who was on the case, I knew the police would be looking at me more closely.

I heard them coming and skedaddled into the kitchen. Picking up a mug of tea, I leaned casually against the island, as though I'd just been hanging out.

Natasha left but Wolf spied me in the kitchen.

“All done?” I asked brightly.

Wolf appeared somewhat tired. “Were you down by the river?”

Ouch. He cut to the chase. “No. It wasn't me.”

His mouth twisted to the right. “The witness says you were there.”

“Oh, very nice. You're lying to scare me into admitting it. Hah!”

“Sophie, look into my eyes. Were you down by the river with Natasha?”

I looked straight into his eyes and craned my neck forward. “No.”

Wolf looked down and scratched his neck. “See, the problem is that I'm not lying. The witness specifically named you.”

“It doesn't change the fact that I was not there. Your witness must be mistaken.”

He sighed so hard his shoulders heaved.

“Sophie, I'm not trying to pin this on you. Did you see anyone else down at the river that night?”

“Wolf, I wasn't there. Besides, anyone could have tossed the knife into the water.”

He nodded but I could see that he was frustrated. “I think we have our man. They're checking for fingerprints now. I just need to put all the pieces together. I'd hoped you or Natasha might have seen him. Thanks for the tea and cookies. Not many people would do that.”

“That's because they're nervous when you come to visit.”

Wolf nodded. “Makes a cop wonder what Natasha had to be nervous about.”

I wasn't telling!

When Wolf left, I grabbed a jean jacket and my purse, and hoofed it down to The Parlour even though it closed at four in the afternoon. Sure enough, The Parlour was already locked up. A sign on the door said
See You Tomorrow!

It figured. Of course, Hunter hadn't been there earlier. Maybe he skipped a day. The issue of someone calling him Eddie wasn't really a big deal, but I had so few leads to follow that I was becoming obsessed with getting to the truth about him.

I strolled over to Callie's place. It wasn't as though I thought I'd see Hunter hanging around on the street. Would it be rude to knock on the door and ask Callie if he happened to be there? Or maybe she knew where he lived.

I was standing on the sidewalk debating when I heard someone say, “Psst. Sophie!” I turned around to see Francie and Velma beckoning to me from Velma's front door.

I dashed across the street to them. “Don't tell me you're spying on Callie.”

“Spy? We've never spied on anyone, have we, Francie?”

“Never!”

“You just happened to open the door when I came along?” I asked.

“That was just a nice coincidence,” Francie said. “What do you want with Callie? She has company.”

“We think they're going out for dinner,” added Velma.

“Hunter is with her?” I asked. “I was hoping to talk to him.”

“Oh, marvelous!” Velma started across the street.

“I knew it was a fortuitous coincidence.” Francie hurried after her.

They stopped traffic, waving their hands at cars as though they owned the street. By the time I caught up to them, Velma had knocked on the door.

Callie opened it and seemed quite surprised to see us. “Ladies! Oh my. Won't you come in?”

Hunter rose to his feet and nodded in greeting. “Ladies.”

Velma had been correct when she said Callie's home was small. One tiny room with a large bay window served as both dining area and living room. It was the ultimate of shabby chic. A beat-up wood door in faded turquoise hung on one wall and a stunningly beautiful quilt in pastels hung on another wall.

Francie admired it.

“My mom made that,” Callie said. “She calls it the square dance pattern.”

A love seat and a chair had been draped in a creamy muslin. A small brown table with two matching chairs that had been painted turquoise occupied a corner near a tiny fireplace. Throw pillows picked up on the turquoise and cream theme.

The kitchen, barely large enough for one person, was separated from the living room by a counter. All the cabinets had been replaced by rustic shelving in turquoise. Delicate flowers and butterflies on her dishes and mugs could only be Lenox's Butterfly Meadow pattern.

Callie's home was enchanting. Like a little cottage one might find out in the woods somewhere. It made me wonder if that was where she longed to be.

Velma and Francie sat on the love seat. Hunter took one of the turquoise chairs.

I could barely squeeze by the love seat. I stumbled over Velma's feet and caught my balance just before I fell. But not before I saw a briefcase that I thought belonged to Hunter.

The initials on it were EAB.

“Who
are
you?” I blurted.

Was that anguish or horror I saw on his face? He gazed around at us uncomfortably, his breath coming fast.

“Honey, are you all right?” asked Francie.

He nodded. “I guess it doesn't matter anymore now that Robert is dead.”

Velma leaned forward on the love seat. “What's this about Robert?”

“Hunter's briefcase, or should I say
Eddie's
briefcase says his initials are
EAB
.”

“Edward Allen Barnes. Eddie.” Hunter took a deep breath. “Robert murdered my sister.”

Dear Natasha,

My father-in-law insists that tea should not be in bags. He says loose tea should be placed in a tea strainer and hot, not boiling, water should be poured over it. I think he's making a fuss about nothing. I can just microwave his mug and dunk a teabag into it.

—What's the Big Fuss? in Strain, Missouri

Dear What's the Big Fuss?

Your father-in-law is quite right about traditional tea. However, times have changed. Don't let him see you microwave his tea, and he'll never know the difference.

—Natasha

Eddie, if that was his real name, appeared miserable. “I'm sorry I couldn't tell you. The reason I've been hanging out at The Parlor, well, at the beginning, anyway”—he smiled
at Callie—“was to spy on Robert. He, uh, he got away clean. My family has been looking for him for years.”

“Your sister?” asked Callie. Evidently confused, she looked at Velma and back at Hunter. “Are you two related?”

“No,” I said. “He's Rosie Barnes's brother.”

“Excuse me?” Velma was clearly outraged. “I'm sorry if you think me audacious, but how dare both of you come along after Robert is dead and accuse him of murder?” She gazed at Francie. “I don't believe this. What's that saying about not speaking ill of the dead? You could accuse him of anything. He's not exactly in a position to deny it, now is he?”

Eddie/Hunter didn't seem bothered in the slightest by her outburst. “It's not an accusation. It's a fact. I wish I had said it to his face. It's my only regret—well, other than having to fool you lovely ladies.”

“What happened? Why do you think that Robert was the person who killed her?” I asked.

“Let me be very clear. I don't
think
he did, I know he killed her. Rosie was seventeen when she got pregnant. She'd been seeing a local college student named Robert Johnson. Apparently, he was engaged to be married to someone else. My parents were very pleased when he called off the wedding and promised Rosie he would do the right thing by her and the baby. And then she disappeared.”

“Wanda told us about her. She said it was in the newspaper every day,” said Francie.

Eddie swallowed hard. “It was. We were crushed. You can't imagine what it's like when a member of the family doesn't come home. Rosie was a good kid. She was never in trouble, didn't do drugs or anything. My dad and I went out looking for her that night. We checked out all the college hangouts, and her friends' houses. No one knew where she was. But one of her girlfriends told me Rosie was supposed to meet Robert at a spot on the river. It was somewhat secluded and popular among the college crowd for necking. There was no sign of her. I tracked down Robert at his dorm
room. He pretended he didn't know where she was, either. Of course, my parents went to the police. We did everything possible. We searched fields and parks. The whole town turned out to look for Rosie. Everyone loved her.”

“How awful that must have been for you. And your poor parents!” I said.

“They aged ten years in ten days. You know, we were pretty simple people. From the wrong side of the tracks you might say. We all knew Robert was behind it. It wasn't hard to figure out that he didn't want her, and he didn't want the baby.”

Eddie stopped talking and raised his hand, palm out. “There are no words to express the terror. You can't sleep. You can't eat. And worst of all, you can't think of anything else. You imagine the most horrific things. Is she lying somewhere injured or dying? Is she alone? Is she locked up?” He closed his eyes. “It's the worst nightmare you can imagine. Except it's real. You never wake up.”

We all listened in silence, shattered by the mere thought of a loved one who had gone missing.

He opened his eyes. “The second day, my dad went to Robert's dorm room to beat it out of him. If the police weren't going to do it, then he would take things into his own hands to find Rosie. But . . . Robert had left. Everything that belonged to him was gone. There wasn't even a pencil or a piece of trash left in his room. One of the kids told my dad two guys came and packed everything up. Turned out Robert came from money. He lived in a town not too far from ours. I used to drive over and hope I'd catch a glimpse of him coming out of the house. Big place with a brick fence and one of those automatic gates. Their lawyers circled the wagons and even though the police questioned Robert, he was never arrested.”

“But I thought Wanda said they found Rosie,” said Callie.

“Years later a fisherman found some bones washed up along the riverbank. That's all that was left of our sweet Rosie and her baby, just a few bones. Our lives have never been the same.”

Velma jumped to her feet, knocking the love seat against the wall. Pointing her forefinger at Eddie, she said, “Rosie is dead and you are, too.
You
murdered Robert!”

Eddie stood up. “I think I'd better go. I'm sorry if I upset you, Velma, but your brother-in-law was a vile man.”

Eddie left in a flurry, and Velma looked like she might have a meltdown.

Callie made her sit down. “Could I get you some tea, Velma? It will calm you.”

“I don't want to be calm. He's the one. He all but admitted to killing Robert. And how dare he make up stories about him like that? Did you notice that he didn't have any evidence? Not a shred. Did you hear any? I didn't.”

“Velma, dear!” Francie seemed genuinely worried and patted her hand.

Callie swallowed hard. “I believe Hunter, er, Eddie. Poor Rosie got in the way of Robert's plans. Just like Livy did.”

Velma trembled. I was afraid it had all been too much for her. “There's no proof,” she whispered. “No proof.”

Francie helped her home. The two of them shuffled across the street. Callie and I watched from her doorway.

“Think Velma will be all right?” asked Callie. “Maybe I'll look in on her later on.”

“She'd probably appreciate that.”

“Well,” Callie said, “once again I have fallen for a liar.”

“You think he's a worm?”

To my complete surprise, she started chuckling. “I guess I can't hold it against him. I ran away from Robert and kept it a secret from everyone when he showed up. I'm not exactly in a position to criticize him.”

I said good-bye and walked away thinking that Callie was right when she said Robert got rid of the women who were in his way. I headed for home, but stopped by the grocery store and discovered Hunter, who was really Eddie but would probably always be Hunter to me, sitting at a table drinking coffee. I bought a latte, summoned courage, and sat down at the same table.

“Had enough of tea?” I asked.

“I like to switch it up. Keeps things interesting.”

“I hear you have a tattoo.” I tried to sound casual about it.

His eyes met mine straight on. “A rose in memory of Rosie.”

There wasn't anything sinister about that. In fact, it was sort of sweet and sentimental. Still, that didn't mean he hadn't murdered Robert. “So you just happened to find Robert here in Old Town?”

A glimmer of a smile danced across his mouth. “I've been looking for him since the day Rosie disappeared. Did a couple tours in the army when I couldn't search, but I never forgot about him. Do you know how hard it is to track down someone named Johnson? There are millions of them.”

“Robert is a popular name, too.”

“Exactly. I figured he would have changed his name or used his middle name or just his first initial. There were a lot of variables.”

“So how did you find him?”

“There was a little column in the newspaper. New stores and restaurants around the area, something like that. And there was his name—Robert Johnson Antiques. I lived in Arlington, not too far away, so I came over and realized that The Parlour was perfectly positioned to watch him. I didn't think it could possibly be the Robert Johnson I had looked for. Surely the man who murdered my big sister wouldn't broadcast his name by posting it on his store.”

“How do you know it was the same man? He's a few decades older,” I said.

He took a swig of coffee. “I knew it in my gut the first time I saw him. He was the right age and even though he was older, he had a certain swagger, a confidence, like he thought he ruled the world. Funny, once you have a little information, it leads to a whole lot more. Before I knew it, I had the story of his life. He changed colleges. I guess he couldn't go back to the one where he killed Rosie. Or maybe he was afraid of running into us Barneses in town. He married Olivia and went to work for a furniture company before he opened his own store in Charlotte.”

“He never recognized you?”

“I don't think so. Remember, I was just a kid, and he only saw me once. I don't look much like the teenager he met anymore. But I didn't care if he knew. For a long, long time, my biggest fear in life was that Robert would die before anyone could make him suffer for what he did to Rosie.”