Murder and Herbal Tea Read online

  Joyce nodded. “Rhubarb pie for me.”

  “Make that two. Let’s take a piece for Dana.”

  “She’ll bless you. I’m so glad you came.”

  “So am I.” Hearing about her problems took my mind from the wedding and plans that wanted to swamp me.

  As we paid at the counter, the waitress put three boxes in a bag. Though Joyce protested, I paid. “Take advantage. I’m marrying a wealthy man.”

  She laughed and followed me to my car.

  * * *

  When Dana knocked on the door, Joyce let her in. Unlike her mother, the young woman’s hair hung straight. She looked stressed. “Problems?” I asked.

  “Bad day.”

  “What happened?” Joyce asked.

  “One of my students ended in the emergency room. Spaced out on uppers.”

  “Will she recover?” I knew the toll amphetamines took on the body.

  “I think so. Zach asked me questions about her and wanted me to talk to her."

  “What did he want to know?” Joyce asked.

  “About drugs on campus. I didn’t think they were prevalent. He said the student refused to say where she got them. As if she’d tell me. All I know is she decided to pull an all-nighter to finish a paper due tomorrow.”

  For a short time we let her talk. Dana was only a few years older than her students, but being a teacher kept her out of their loop.

  When she wound down we went to the kitchen and ate pie.

  “Thanks for bringing me a piece.”

  “Wouldn’t have been fair if we hadn’t.” Joyce turned to me. “Where are you and Lars going to live?”

  “We bought a house on the river.”

  “You’re giving up that magnificent Victorian?”

  “My apartment was too small and his house too large.”

  She grinned. “You’ll love the river view.”

  “Definitely. The house is on the left side of my favorite viewing place. It’s across the road from the doctor’s huge house.”

  Dana leaned forward. “Where are you honeymooning?”

  “That’s under consideration and one of the reasons I bolted. We’ll eventually reach a compromise.

  * * *

  On Saturday, I drove Joyce to Herbal Haven and then returned to her house. I planned to cook dinner. As I drove, the uniformity of the small town struck me as interesting. Streets lined with white clapboard houses and a village commons gave a serene feeling. This was not like the polyglot assortment of homes found in my Hudson River village. There, the houses range from those built by the early Dutch settlers to ultramodern structures. The variety suits me.

  I sat at the kitchen table sipping mint tea and planning a menu. After studying the spice rack I jotted several I needed and didn’t find. Convinced they were available at Herbal Haven, I drove there. A half dozen cars lined the parking lot. Inside, the place buzzed with energy. Joyce and Brenda stood at the counter ringing sales.

  I paused. The shop was in a converted farmhouse. Joyce had removed many of the walls dividing the lower floor into rooms to create an open space. Behind the counter a door opened into the kitchen. A smaller parlor was now the office. Today, the area seemed cluttered with the multiple shelves forming precise rows, Brenda’s doing.

  After selecting the things I needed and a new spice grinder, I walked to the counter to pay. Hearing Brenda chastise a customer, I turned and stared.

  “Do not touch the displays. Ask for assistance.”

  I sucked in a breath and observed Brenda scurry from the counter to confront one of the woman shoppers.

  “I wanted to see this clever teapot.” The customer pointed to one of the pottery ones.

  “You do not want that ugly thing,” Brenda said. “We plan to remove them from the store.”

  The woman grasped her purse. “Don’t tell me what I want. Did you ever hear the customer’s always right?” She strode to the door. The bell clanged. One lost customer.

  Brenda spotted me. “Katherine, take my place. I must check the computer. There hasn’t been a moment since we opened, especially since Joyce insists on holding the tea brewing sessions. I’ve told her a dozen times they’re a waste.”

  Though I had no desire to act as a sale’s clerk, a glance at Joyce’s slumped shoulders told me she needed help. “I can give you an hour. I’ve a dinner to prepare.”

  The hour stretched to nearly three. The steady tide of customers ebbed. I left the shop, drove to the store and revised my dinner menu. With filled canvas bags, I drove to Joyce’s house, determined not to return to Herbal House today. Anger at Brenda would make me snap and say things the women wouldn’t like. Joyce didn’t need more stress.

  At six thirty Joyce arrived. Anger flashed in her eyes.

  “What did she do now?” I asked.

  “Decided to halt the Saturday morning demos. They interrupt her routine.”

  I pulled the prepared ingredients from the fridge and started the rice. “You need to buy her out. She refused to sell a customer a teapot. All because Brenda doesn’t like the piece.”

  “I know. When I mentioned that, she said we needed to elevate our stock.”

  “Why?”

  Joyce shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Buy her out.”

  Dana strode into the room. “Mrs. M is right. Get rid of her. She takes half the profits and she lives rent free.”

  I gasped. “Rent free. That’s crazy.”

  “She paid for the changes in the apartment.” Joyce sank on a chair. “This afternoon I offered to sell my share to her. She refused but with sixty thousand she would sell to me. She only put in thirty. I offered thirty-five or forty.”

  What did she say?” I dropped the garlic and ginger into the wok and added the chicken.

  “She wanted to think about it but she felt she should make a profit.” Joyce moved to the stove and turned the heat under the rice to simmer and put a lid on the pot. “She won’t be at the shop tomorrow. She and her friend will be away until Monday.”

  Dana picked a snow pea from the bowl. “Who is he?”

  “No idea.”

  “Looks like she hasn’t changed,” I said.

  “Never will,” Joyce grinned.

  The peal of the doorbell broke the conversation. “What time is it?” Dana asked.

  “Six thirty or so,” I said.

  “Good thing he knows where I hang out.” Dana ran to the door.

  I added the scallions, bok choy, snow peas and cashews and stirred.

  Dana returned with a handsome young man. His hair was dark and his eyes blue. “Mrs. M, this is Zach.”

  I smiled. “Are you joining us for dinner?”

  He turned to Dana. “We planned to grab a bite before heading to the movies.”

  “Stay,” Joyce said. “Kate cooked for an army.”

  “Smells great. Dana?”

  “We’ll stay. Mrs. M is a fabulous cook.”

  I turned the burner off and transferred the mixture into a large bowl. Joyce put the rice in another while Dana added two place settings.

  Conversation flowed easily. Zach was a local police detective. He’d met Dana when he’d taken one of her classes. No one mentioned my crime-solving attempts and I relaxed.

  * * *

  On Sunday, Herbal Haven opened at one and closed at six. In Brenda’s absence, the atmosphere seemed relaxed. Joyce and I blended several new tea mixtures and brewed pots for tasting.

  The woman of yesterday returned for the teapot Brenda had refused to sell her. “I love this.” She selected a second one. “This one’s for a friend.”

  I wrapped and boxed them. “You’ll enjoy them. I use mine every day.”

  “The gift one goes to someone who needs a laugh.” She inhaled the aroma of one of the teas we’d brewed. “Delicious.”

  “Feel free to taste them all,” I said.

  She purchased a full assortment of the teas and noted what I’d said about the virtues of each blend. Joyce
really should print cards to display with the teas.

  As I rang up the sale, Joyce gave me a high five. “This is how the business should be run.”

  “Buy her out.”

  “I will.” She rang several more sales. “Kate, I’m so glad you came. I feel so much better than before you arrived.” She filled two cups with tea. “Here’s to sole ownership.”

  “Just think, you’ll have to hire a clerk and be helping the economy.”

  She laughed. “That’s a thought.”

  Chapter 2

  Sunlight shone through the windows of the second floor apartment of the Victorian house I own. The hum of the air conditioner and the sound of classical music filled the living room with sound. A pile of RSVPs sat beside me. Another chore for the wedding. A smile lightened my spirits. In one week Lars and I would wed. For a moment I thought of our years of friendship and wondered what changes taking this step would bring.

  Would marriage change our closeness? We’d both been alone and independent for years. I was sure there would be clashes. No marriage, no matter how mature the couple was, remained smooth and even.

  Stop delaying. I reached for the first of the envelopes on the antique Queen Anne’s sofa. A list on a clipboard sat on the coffee table.

  Do the list.

  Lars’ request rang as loud as if he was present. I’d promised the tally of guests who had accepted the invitation to the second reception would be in his hands today.

  Why two receptions? A compromise. The first of many we would make. Lars felt the one at the church following the ceremony wasn’t to his taste. I hadn’t wanted a ballroom evening affair with orchestra and dancing. So we would have both.

  Using an antique letter opener, I slit envelopes and set the cards aside. Crumpled papers hit the floor. Robespierre batted each white ball as if a mouse had invaded his space. The pile of cards, read one by one, produced check marks on the clipboard list.

  One hour later I checked the last card in the pile and studied the sheet. One line remained blank but today’s mail hadn’t arrived.

  A long sigh escaped. The finished chore called for a reward. With a stretch to relieve stiff bones, I strode to the kitchen to brew a pot of mint tea and to defrost a brownie from the freezer. The cat abandoned his battle and padded after me. While the water heated, I pulled my favorite teapot from a shelf. It was a duplicate of the one Brenda had refused to sell. I smiled.

  Some days I felt as though I was the woman climbing from hot water. Though I dearly love Lars, I wished he’d agreed to elope. Instead I was stuck with a summer wedding and two receptions, the first at the church and the other at Cedar Inn. At least he’d agreed to a list of local charities instead of gifts we would never use.

  The kettle whistled. After warming the teapot, I hung a stuffed tea ball on the rim and poured. A cloud of aromatic steam brought a moment of relaxation. With a filled mug and a brownie on a plate, I walked to the living room. Robespierre abandoned his food and followed.

  While sipping tea and eating the chocolate treat, I sat on the window seat and stared outside. When I converted the house to apartments I’d chosen the second floor. When the trees lose their leaves I have a great view of the Hudson River. A nice treat in winter during the days when a walk was impossible. The cat curled beside me. His rumbling purrs set me into dreams of the coming day.

  Nearly thirty years of being a widow have given me a sense of independence. Lars has been a widower for twenty years. My husband and I had been friends with Lars and his wife. Those bonds of friendship hadn’t been broken by death. This winter’s events in Santa Fe had removed the obstacles to our marriage.

  Was I sorry Bonnie had been killed? My sorrow was for Lars’ pain. His only daughter had been responsible for the death of his daughter-in-law and for trying to steal his investment company and turn it into the kind that buys and ruins businesses for profit instead of lending a hand. Years ago, as a teenager, Bonnie’s tantrums had ruined Lars and my chance of a wedding.

  My thoughts shifted to the coming day. Suit and shoes were in the closet. Hair appointment to keep my tresses the auburn of my youth had been made. All was set, even our honeymoon plans.

  While we were gone, Paul and Maria would feed and spoil the cat. Actually, he spends more time at their house than at mine. He loves chasing a ball when their toddler rolls one.

  Jenna and Richard, my first floor tenants, recently engaged and soon to be owners of my “Painted Lady” would see to the mail and the garden.

  All my near and dear would be at the Wednesday ceremony. Lars’ sons, daughters-in-laws and their children would attend along with a number of business associates. Of all the invitations to the dinner dance, only Joyce hadn’t responded. This lack of word puzzled me, especially after my weekend escape and watching her partner in action.

  Robespierre leaped to the floor. I glanced outside and saw the mailman striding up the walk. I rose and followed the cat downstairs. A handful of mail waited. Holding the pieces in my fist, I crossed to sit on the wicker swing.

  The drone of bees, the creak of the swing and the laughter of the neighborhood children made me smile with contentment. I inhaled the aroma of the roses on the bush that blooms all summer and into the fall and sorted the mail. Two bills to be paid, one magazine and four pieces of junk mail. No RSVP from Joyce. Worry brought a need to know the reason zooming to the surface. Curiosity is one of my banes and like a cat, I would stew until I knew why she hadn’t responded. Had Brenda found a way to micro-manage Joyce out of the trip?

  I gathered the mail and waved to Sarah who stood on the porch of the house across the street.

  “Come over,” she called.

  “Maybe later. There’s something I need to do.” My cell sat on the kitchen table. I seldom remember to take the dratted thing with me. I always figured if I missed a call, the person would call back. Thoughts of being available all the time gave me the chills.

  With the handheld from my land line and my phone directory I sat on the window seat and dialed the number I remembered. Joyce answered. “Herbal Haven, how can I help you?”

  “It’s Kate. Is there a problem?”

  She groaned. “The invitation. I meant to send the RSVP weeks ago. We’ve been busy.”

  Something in the tone of her voice puzzled me. “What’s going on?”

  She cleared her throat. “Nothing new.”

  “Brenda?”

  “Yes, she has agreed.”

  “Good news.”

  “Except I can’t find the money. Local bank turned me down. The books are anemic. She wants a lump sum.” Joyce sighed. “I’m stymied.”

  My forehead tightened as I sought an answer. “What do you mean by anemic? If the shop’s busy that makes no sense.”

  “Herbal Haven is barely breaking even. Brenda says in this economy she has to pay our suppliers when we order. The amount we spend on supplies boggles me.”

  How odd. What she said still made no sense. Much of their inventory was grown in the greenhouse. “I have an idea. Lars often loans small businesses money to help them expand. He doesn’t press for payments. As far as I know none have failed.” I recalled the winery and the ski resort on New Mexico. “Let me talk to him about Herbal Haven.”

  “I hate to bother you with my problems when you have a wedding next week.”

  The reluctance in her voice sharpened my determination to help her. After all, I’d been the one to convince her to open the shop after her husband’s death and her decision to move closer to her daughter and retire from teaching. “I’ll talk to him and call you back.”

  A rat-a-tat on the door let me know Lars had arrived. I laughed. “How fortunate. He just arrived. Don’t go too far from the phone.”

  “Kate, even if he doesn’t agree, thank you.”

  “He will.”

  I hung up and turned. Lars stood in the sunlit kitchen. “Afternoon,” he said.

  “Was just talking about you.”

  “Favorable, I
hope.”

  “Always.”

  He handed me my cell phone. “I wish you would keep this handy. Been trying to reach you most of the day and all I heard was a canned message or a busy signal.” He pulled me into his arms. “How is my favorite woman?”

  I raised my head and kissed him lightly. “Feeling accomplished. I took the phone off the hook so I could finish the list and I was out for a bit. Left the cell on the kitchen table. Good thing you have money since a hundred plus guests accepted the dinner invite.”

  He laughed. “The arrangements at the Cedar Inn will be completed this evening.” He tapped my nose. “What’s the problem?”

  “How did you know there was one?”

  “Your voice and your expression. Spill.”

  “It’s my friend in Vermont.”

  “Joyce?”

  I nodded. When I returned from my escape weekend he had heard about the shop and Brenda. “Joyce decided to follow my advice but obtaining a loan has proved impossible. That Herbal Haven isn’t making money makes no sense and that wicked woman wants a cash buyout.”

  “There’s more.”

  “I know you’re not doing loans since you closed the Santa Fe office but could you help her?”

  He laughed. “I haven’t completely closed the business, I’m just doing less. Tell your friend I’ll help.” He kissed my fingers. “We can stop there on the way to Montreal. I’ll check her books and the partnership agreement and arrange for the transfer of money. Shouldn’t take more than a day.”

  “You’re the best.”

  He winked. “So are you. I know how much you care about those you’ve admitted to your extended family. Maybe I can learn more about this tea shop at dinner?”

  “Not a tea shop. Herbal Haven.” I stepped away. “Dinner. I haven’t anything planned yet.”

  “You’re not cooking. We’re due at Cedar Inn at six thirty for a tasting of appetizers so we can choose which ones to serve. I’ll pick you up at six.”

  “I’ll be ready. Here’s the list.” I checked Joyce’s name in the coming column.