Murder and Herbal Tea

  Murder and Herbal Tea

  Mrs. Miller Mysteries (Book 5)

  By Janet Lane-Walters

  Digital ISBN

  EPUB 978-1-77362-259-0

  Kindle 978-1-77362-260-6

  WEB 978-1-77362-261-3

  Amazon Print 978-1-77362-262-0

  Copyright 2015 by Janet Lane Walters

  Cover Art by Michelle Lee

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Chapter 1

  During the second week of June, Lars arrived in the Hudson River village where I live and where he had a home. The houses in Santa Fe had sold quicker than he expected but he’d kept the ski lodge for his family and mine to use.

  The time had come for our plans to marry to reach fruition. Though I suggested we elope, Lars wanted a wedding. I gave in to his desire. We set the date for a Wednesday in mid-August. While discussing where to live, a house I’d admired located just two blocks from my “Painted Lady” came on the market. Though one day, the sign vanished. I hadn’t realized Lars had put a binder on the house. When he told me I was delighted. With my attorney Richard’s help we completed the sale. Lars and I purchased the house jointly using my attorney for the deal. That’s when the problems began.

  Lars called me on a warm June morning. “Katherine, are you free tomorrow?”

  “I’ve nothing planned.”

  He released a long breath. “Call Richard and have him meet us at Barnes and Jones.

  “Why?”

  “George is upset. He thinks we need some kind of prenuptial agreement.”

  I sighed. While I’m no romantic, the thoughts of legal squabbling made me uneasy. “Must we?”

  Lars laughed. “Wouldn’t want George to appear in the middle of the ceremony and protest.”

  “I’ll call Richard. What time?”

  “One o’clock.”

  * * *

  By two thirty on Wednesday, a scream rumbled through me, one I couldn’t let loose. Lars’ attorney droned on in a voice void of expression. Why had I agreed to this meeting? I looked across the wide, highly polished table at the man who would be my husband six weeks from today. Tall, tanned with a craggy face and hair now more gray than blond. His blue eyes twinkled and he pressed his lips together to hide a smile.

  I clenched my teeth. I wouldn’t scream. This meeting was my punishment for marrying a man of wealth. Oh, I’m comfortable enough but my fortune runs to hundreds of thousands, not millions.

  Just give me the papers and I’ll sign. Those words hovered close to my lips. My foot tapped against the thick carpet in an impatient rhythm.

  Then the attorney mentioned the house. A sprawling ranch with a magnificent view of the Hudson River Lars and I had jointly purchased. I’d admired this house for years but never thought to own the place where I could sit in the living room, dining room or master bedroom and watch the river’s changing moods.

  “Why wasn’t I informed about this purchase?” George Jones asked. “Lars, you must protect your assets.”

  My patience evaporated like dew beneath the summer sun. “Excuse me. Lars and I are adults and able to make decisions. I don’t see why our joint ownership is a bad idea. We contributed equal amounts for the purchase.”

  The pompous man huffed. “You must think of your heirs.”

  “Why?” The question erupted like a shot from a gun. “Neither Lars or I will be around to worry about them when that time comes. Let them fight over the dregs.”

  Lars burst into the laughter he’d contained earlier. “She’s right. Just split the house down the middle. Half to her heirs and half to mine.”

  For a moment George sputtered. He ran his hand over his balding head. “But what if one of you outlives the other?”

  “The same rule will apply.” I leaned across the table and snagged the large pile of papers.

  Beside me Richard Broadhurst, attorney and fiancé of my first floor tenant, nodded. “Mrs. Miller is right. Let them sign and we’ll be done.”

  The next half-hour was filled with signatures, witnesses and the thud of the notary seal. I signed the last paper and turned to Lars. “Next time I’ll marry a pauper.”

  He walked around the table and kissed my cheek. “We should have eloped.”

  “I wanted to years ago but we didn’t. We still could. Blame our families for the delay.” I smiled.

  He shook his head. “We’ve waited too long for this.” A moment of sadness slid through his blue eyes. I clasped his hand to show I understood. He’d thought about his only daughter’s betrayal and death. Though Bonnie’s tantrums had prevented our marriage fifteen years ago, he had loved her. “Let’s go.”

  Lars nodded to George. “Golf next week.”

  “What about Saturday?”

  “Have a date.” Lars clasped my hand.

  Richard gathered his papers and followed us outside. “Call you later.”

  A warm breeze carried the scent of roses and raised my spirits. I walked with Lars to the parking lot where our cars were parked.

  “That’s done.” He chuckled. “Never realized how boring George was. You’re the first person to force him into agreeing to stop pushing. I’m sure he had more points to negotiate. Where are you going?”

  “Home to cook and drink a gallon of iced mint tea.”

  “I thought we could go for coffee. We have other decisions to make like where to honeymoon.”

  My stomach churned. “Not today. I’m going home. Come to dinner. We’ll talk then.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t. My oldest boys and their wives are joining Don and me to choose which pieces of furniture and knickknacks they want from the house. Come and select any of the furnishings you want.”

  Though I knew he wanted my company, his house held his memories, not mine. I clasped his hands. “No need. We made a list, remember? I chose the things from my apartment and you choose from yours.”

  “What if I select something you hate?”

  “Why would I? This is a partnership.” I opened the car door. “Spend time with your family tonight.” I kissed his lightly. “Come tomorrow. I’ll make beef Wellington and there’s part of a chocolate cake in the freezer.”

  “Could you make one for the groom’s cake?”

  “I can do that. Until tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be there.” He pulled me close for a warm kiss. “Until tomorrow. I’ll come around five.”

  “I’ll have drinks waiting.”

  By the time I reached the house, the desire for a mug of mint tea possessed me. I parked in the driveway and strode up the steps to the porch.

  My tenant, Jenna, curled on the white wicker swing with a book. She waved. “Afternoon.”

  I continued past. “Talk to you later. I need a drink.”

  “Mint tea, of course.” She waved a cell phone. “Richard called. Said the session dragged on forever.”

  "How right he is.” I fished my mail from the box and headed upstairs.

  The moment I entered the apartment, Robespierre, my Maine Coon cat, butted my ankle. “Hello to you.” I bent and rubbed his head before opening the refrigerator. The level of tea in the glass container showed enough for a quick fix.

  After draining the glass and pouring the remainder over the ice, I spilled some dried food in the cat’s dish. Moments later, a kettle sat on the fire and I filled a ball with one of my favorite blends taken from a jar on the pantry shelf. I
blend my own teas and grow my own mints. I’d already planted several varieties in the garden at the new house.

  By the time a fresh container sat in the fridge, the phone had rung twice. My daughter-in-law wanted to schedule a shopping day for wedding clothes. Ruth laughed. “Andrea wants you to wear a white gown.”

  “No way.” Andrea is my granddaughter. She’s into ballet and thinks of every event as a show.

  Next, Sarah called to set a date for the shower I didn’t want or need. She rattled on until I stopped her. “I’ll agree if we make the gifts items for the local food pantry.”

  “Great.”

  “I knew you would approve.” Sarah has a large social conscience and is mother to three and foster mother to two children.

  I filled a tall mug with more ice and poured in the fresh brew. The ice crackled. The phone rang for a third time.

  Maria, my next-door-neighbor, spoke. “Mrs. Katherine, I would show you the rings I have make for you and Mr. Lars.”

  “I’ll come tomorrow. I’m bushed.”

  She laughed. “What kind are you?”

  Maria’s from Spain and often has confusion with idioms. “No bush, I’m tired.”

  “Come for tea in the morning. I will ask Mrs. Sarah.”

  I pressed the cool glass to my forehead. Too many cooks wanting to stir the broth of my life. What I needed was an escape, just for a day or two. An idea tickled my thoughts but the fourth call in twenty minutes firmed my resolve. Escape was on the menu. Edward, pastor of St. Stephens, called to finalize the ceremony and the use of Fellowship Hall for the reception, the first of two.

  “Katherine, you know how delighted I am to perform this ceremony. Simply delighted. So delighted I have an idea.”

  A smile teased. Delighted must be his word of the day. “And that is?”

  “St. Stephens’ needs another Elder. I would be delighted to name Lars to help guard our affairs.”

  “You’ll have to ask him.”

  “I will. We’d be delighted to have the two of you for bridge Friday evening.”

  “I’m not sure what we have planned.” Jolted by the desperate need to run away from these many managers of my time, I sighed. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Delighted. We can discuss the wedding arrangements while we play.”

  The dial tone sounded before I reminded him I hadn’t accepted. I called Lars to warn him. This done I continued. “I’m leaving on Friday to visit Joyce.”

  “Wish I could join you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Golf weekend with the boys.”

  “Enjoy. Edward will call you.”

  “I’ll make our excuses. See you tomorrow evening.”

  * * *

  I spent Thursday night at Lars’ home. After dinner we drove there in separate cars since we were both leaving in the morning. Since my bedroom has two antique sleigh beds, it makes spending the night at my apartment impossible.

  Friday morning Lars walked me to my car. I turned in his arms and kissed him. “See you Monday evening.”

  “Drive safely.”

  “Always. Have a good golf weekend.”

  He chuckled. “The boys think you’re wonderful for letting me go away.”

  “Then don’t tell them I’m the fugitive.”

  Several kisses later, I slid behind the wheel and headed for the Tappan Zee Bridge, Vermont and Herbal Haven. My friend’s shop specialized in mint tea blends, fresh and dried herbs and spices plus related items.

  The drive was long and tedious but the day was sunny. I had a stack of classical CDs and a thermos of my favorite beverage. I had thought of bringing Robespierre but the cat hates riding in a car. That’s one time he yowls and carries on. I think he suffers from post-traumatic stress syndrome caused by trips to the vets for shots or the repair of assorted damages from fights with other cats.

  Six hours later I pulled into the parking lot beside Herbal Haven. Two pit stops had refreshed me. My stomach growled and I hoped Joyce could leave early. I never stop to eat when I’m the driver. Food makes me sleepy.

  As I entered the converted farmhouse, now a shop, a bell clanged. I cringed. The new addition had me wondering why a nice tinkling sound hadn’t been selected. This one sounded like one of those on harbor buoys but more brassy. That was new. I inhaled the aromas of mint, herbs and spices flavoring the air. Joyce came from behind the counter.

  Her light brown hair had a few streaks of gray. She grasped my hands. “Kate, it’s so good to see you.” Warmth infused her brown eyes. “Did you really run away?”

  “Absolutely. So did Lars. You have no idea how many people are trying to manage every moment of my life.”

  She laughed. “Might be better than one micro-manager wanting control.” Her whispered remark made me glance around the store to focus on the many changes. Everything was arranged in orderly fashion. The place was less inviting than two years ago. Brenda, I thought.

  Pictures on the wall hung in such perfect precision I felt sure a level had been used to hang them. The glaring slashes and blotches of color had no relationship to herbs and mint tea. They added nothing to the ambience.

  I walked to one of the shelves where tea sets were arranged in stiff formations. The cups looked like soldiers standing at attention before the teapot generals. I moved several to bring from the shadows pottery pots like the one I used at home. They showed a screaming man or woman hanging from the rim as if trying to escape the boiling water.

  Joyce finger combed her short hair. “Brave woman. Just wait.”

  Moments later, Brenda, blonde, tall, elegantly clad with enough bling on her arms and fingers to finance a war, strode toward us. Her smile revealed perfect teeth. My stomach roiled. The woman headed my least favorite list. “Brenda.”

  “Katherine.” She air kissed my cheek. “Mustn’t disturb the décor. I’ve worked for months to create the perfect ambience.” She returned the teapots and moved the cups to their original place.

  “What if I wanted to buy one of the hidden pots?”

  Her lower lip curled. “Why? Joyce told me you’re marrying Lars Claybourne. Surely a man of his wealth wouldn’t want one of those ugly things in his house.”

  “He has one, though instead of a man there is a woman escaping. Says the woman is me climbing out of hot water.”

  Her false laughter disturbed me. “The decorative touches here at Herbal Haven are mine. I’ve arranged the tea sets so nothing can be broken by accident.” She turned to Joyce. “Are the mail orders complete?”

  Joyce shook her head. “I stopped when Kate arrived.”

  “They must be ready ASAP. I’ve already called the delivery service. You know how the driver hates to wait.”

  Did she think she was the sole owner and Joyce her employee? Words I wanted to say remained unspoken. Why wouldn’t she help pack the boxes? Was she afraid of ruining her perfect appearance?

  “I’ll help.”

  “Thanks.” Joyce hurried to a table in the kitchen where boxes sat. “I’ll call the items and you hand them to me. I think I found them all."

  Brenda wheeled and returned to the office that had once been a small parlor. Joyce and I worked steadily and had just sealed and labeled the last box when the deliveryman arrived. The grandfather’s clock struck five times.

  “That’s new,” I said.

  Joyce grinned. “And keeps perfect time so we’ll remain on schedule.”

  Brenda emerged from her office and paused in the kitchen doorway. “Why don’t you two run along? I’m sure Katherine is tired from her trip.” She smiled that plastic one she had perfected.

  “I don’t mind waiting until six,” I said.

  “No, no, no. Go, go., go” Brenda waved her hand as though sweeping us out the door.

  Joyce reached for your purse. “If the deposit’s ready I’ll take it to the bank.”

  Brenda shook her head. “Not finished yet. I’ll take it the way I always do.’

  Joyce and I walked
to the door. Was Brenda getting rid of us for some reason? As I stepped outside I saw her applying lipstick.

  “You’ll have to drive,” Joyce said. “My car’s in the shop. Dana dropped me off on her way to the college.”

  “Why not call her to meet us?”

  “Not today. She’s teaching an evening class for aspiring writers.”

  As we pulled onto the road a bright red car turned into the lot. A fleeting glimpse of the driver showed dark hair and youth. “I know why we were dismissed. Is he her latest?”

  “I believe so.”

  “From what I saw he seems young enough to be her son. College student?”

  “Don’t think so but I haven’t met him. Calls him her teddy bear.”

  We reached a diner just outside town where we’d eaten before. After ordering our meal, Joyce bombarded me with questions about Lars and the wedding. I regaled her with the story of the prenuptial meeting with Lars’ attorney. She laughed heartily. Then I added tales of the other people who wanted to manage my life.

  Joyce looked up. “Might be better having a group. One micro-manager who wants everything her way can be impossible.”

  “Aren’t you partners?” I had noticed Brenda how had pushed Joyce into following her orders.

  “Actually she only has a third interest.”

  “Why do you let her get away with changing everything?”

  “Easier than fighting for every new idea.” She sighed. “Brenda has a temper. She scares me sometimes. I know you warned me about having her for a partner and I didn’t listen. In the beginning things were smooth. The past two years have been hell.”

  “Why don’t you buy her out? Imagine an offer of cash would interest her.”

  “Wish I could.”

  Why not, I wondered. Was there a reason Joyce clung to the partnership?

  “Dessert?” the waitress asked.

  “To go,” I suggested.