Tea Shop Cozy Mysteries - Books 1-6 Page 12

  “I don’t know what they’re doing at the moment,” Willow admitted. “The boss didn’t turn up for work this morning, and his two employees didn’t have much idea of what they were meant to do.”

  She looked over her shoulder, as though somebody else might have snuck into the house when she wasn’t looking, and dropped her voice. “The boss fired two other employees as I was getting home yesterday. Luckily, I heard him shouting from the gate so I could avoid the whole scene.”

  “That sounds dreadful,” Harmony said, taking the cup offered to her and retreating into the safety of the lounge. “If he has left you in the lurch, you’ve got recourse. I made sure the balance of your payment is kept in escrow until the job is finished.”

  Willow nodded, trying to look relieved but ending up with a puzzled expression on her face. Before she could humbly admit she didn’t know what her friend was talking about, Harmony gave a small giggle.

  “Don’t look so worried. It just means that a third party has the money until you confirm that the job is done to your satisfaction. If the builder really has run out on you, either he negotiates someone else to complete the building work, or you get your money back.”

  “Right now, I wish I could take back the last month and wipe the whole thing from my memory.” Willow took a sip of her valerian tea, feeling the mild sedative effect drift through her bloodstream.

  “Has it been that bad?”

  “Probably not,” Willow admitted. “But I’m so used to my comforts that I’ve been out of sorts since the builders moved in.” She sighed. “I keep telling myself that it will all be behind me one day, and I’ll have a thriving tea shop bustling with customers, but every time I try to visualize that, another worry gets in the way.”

  “You know,” Harmony tilted her head to one side. “I think you’re very brave doing something like this at your age.”

  “We’re the same age,” Willow protested, not understanding.

  “I know.” Harmony put a hand on Willow’s knee. “That’s why I understand how much courage it took you to embark on this adventure. People half our age start up new businesses and fail in the first year, and they’ve got about twenty times the energy I seem to have lately.”

  “You’re not saying you think I’ll fail?”

  Harmony laughed and shook her head. “No, I don’t. If I thought that you wouldn’t go through with this, or work hard to make a success, then I would’ve talked you out of it by now. I really do admire you, but you know that I also have your back. I’m not going to let you do something silly and then point the finger and say I told you so.”

  “I feel rather like saying that to myself, these days,” Willow admitted. “Every morning I wake up thinking that I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.”

  “Well, you can count on Reg and me. If you ever need help chewing, give either of us a call.”

  Willow was about to ask if Reg had visited Harmony at the library the day before as promised when a tap came on the door. “That’ll be the sheriff.”

  “What?” Harmony jerked back. “Why would Sheriff Wender be knocking on your door?”

  Willow tried to think back over their conversation, feeling sure that she’d told Harmony about her morning.

  Nope.

  It appeared she’d skipped straight over that horror. “I found a body this morning,” she said quickly, scooting over to the entrance hall. “In the river, down by Phillip’s place.”

  Over Harmony’s loud exclamation, Willow opened up the front door. One look at the sheriff’s face, and she knew something was terribly wrong.

  Chapter Five

  “I’m afraid they’ve identified the body that you and Phillip found this morning,” Sheriff Wender said. “It’s your head builder, Jeff Waterman. I need to ask you to account for your whereabouts at the time it’s estimated he was killed.”

  “But you can’t think Willow had anything to do with it!” cried Harmony, shoving her chair back from the table and walking over to stand by the sheriff. “That makes absolutely no sense. She wanted the builders to finish up the job as quickly as possible, not be stuck in limbo for weeks or months while an estate figures out what to do with the company.”

  Sheriff Wender sighed and looked across the table to Willow. He raised his eyebrows and gave her the ghost of a smile. “And do you think you could repeat that in your own words?”

  Harmony gave a huff of annoyance and moved through to the lounge to slump down on the sofa. Willow cast a quick glance to see her friend was okay, then looked back to the sheriff.

  “I definitely didn’t kill Mr. Waterman.” Willow ran a hand through her hair, a losing fight to keep the fringe out of her eyes. “The man was utterly obnoxious, and I couldn’t believe the way he treated his employees, but I personally had no quarrel with him. I determined that I’d stay out of his way until the job was done, then I had no further need of him.”

  “Well, somebody was annoyed enough with his obnoxiousness to hit him over the head with a blunt object, then toss his body in the river.”

  Willow felt a smile play around the edges of her own lips and fought to keep a straight face. “I said I found him obnoxious, Sheriff. I’d have to find a person a lot more despicable than that to go to all that effort. I could get Mr. Waterman out of my hair by sitting tight and waiting for him to finish the job. I didn’t need to kill him.”

  The sheriff sighed and flipped his notepad shut, then opened it again, turning to Harmony. “What about you? Why you were so quick to come over here this morning? Are you covering your tracks?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Harmony said, snorting. “I came over here to reassure Willow that her contract with Mr. Waterman was watertight if he didn’t complete the job. At that point, I didn’t even know she’d found a body.”

  Harmony glared a clear message at Willow—even though I should have!

  Sheriff Wender turned back to Willow. “You said that the victim mistreated his employees. What in particular did you mean by that?”

  Willow sighed, flicking her fringe away from her forehead again with a twinge of annoyance. “He fired two of them yesterday. Apparently, he also underpaid them badly enough that several of them needed to take other jobs to make ends meet. I don’t have a lot of specifics, I’m afraid.”

  “What? Mr. Waterman fired them, right in front of you?” The sheriff looked aghast.

  Willow pursed her lips and shook her head. “Not exactly. I was out on a walk at the time, but he was shouting loudly enough when I returned that I knew what was going on. I decided to keep walking for a while, until I saw that he’d left the house.”

  “Do you know who he fired?”

  At that question, Willow shifted on her chair. She didn’t like to tattle on people. It made her feel like she was back in the playground, reporting on cheats to the teacher.

  But this wasn’t the schoolyard. This was a murder investigation. Her own qualms didn’t matter when stacked up against the theft of a man’s life.

  “It was a young man called Lee Harrington and an older man called Charley. I don’t know his last name, but he’s got a British accent, so he shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

  “Charley Lacy,” the sheriff replied, nodding. “Yeah, I know him. Got himself into trouble a few times down at The Old Chestnut.”

  “That sounds like the same.” Willow hesitated for a lot longer, then sighed. Sheriff Wender would find out soon enough when he started interviewing Jeff’s employees. “Reg was over here yesterday, too. He got into an argument with Mr. Waterman.”

  The sheriff raised his eyebrows. “Serious?”

  Willow shrugged. “I wouldn’t call it that, but it was certainly loud and heated.”

  When he continued to stare at her with a searching expression, Willow sighed again. “It was about the UFO sightings and governmental cover-ups. You know Reg’s pain points as well as I do. Jeff seemed determined to press on every hot button that Reg possesses.”

  “And he d
id this yesterday?” Harmony asked, a moue of disgust crossing her lips.

  “Why?” The sheriff glanced quickly from one to the other. “What was special about yesterday?”

  “It’s the anniversary of Reg’s wife’s death,” Willow said sadly. “He always has a tough time on that day.”

  Sheriff Wender stared at his notes for a second, then snapped the pad shut again, this time with an air of finality. “Well, as you said, the victim was obnoxious. I’m sure there’ll be a trail of enemies lining up with that attitude.”

  “Good luck with that,” Harmony said, apparently forgiving the sheriff for his earlier transgressions. “I hope you catch him.”

  “Or her,” Sheriff Wender said, letting himself out of the house.

  * * *

  Now she knew the true reason behind it, the quiet in her home unsettled Willow. After Harmony left, she popped the TV on as loud as she could bear and started to clean up the space in the conservatory.

  It took a good hour before she could accurately assess the amount of work left to be done. Not much, when she looked at it from a laypersons point of view. Perhaps more detailed requirements were hidden from sight.

  The central detail had been a second kitchen and the plumbing and electricity to back that up. Although Willow could have used her existing kitchen, after the strain of having a set of builders co-using the space, she was glad she’d opted for the addition.

  The extra room for that had pushed the conservatory wall farther out into the garden. What had once been a path from Willow’s kitchen to her shed, was now flush with the wall. Although the area was drab with the chill of winter, by the time she was ready to open the teashop, it should be bursting with flowers full of joy and color.

  Feeling comforted by her investigation, Willow retreated to the lounge to sit down. The TV blared mindlessly into the room, a set of infomercials for nothing she wanted to buy. It would be a long time until her favorite show was on—Miss Walsham Investigates.

  It still sent a thrill down Willow’s backbone to think that the cast and crew would be visiting her small town of Aniseed Valley to film a couple of episodes for the upcoming season. The date was marked in her diary with a big sunburst. The teashop would be open for business by then, but Willow had no qualms whatsoever about closing it down for a week to star-chase. She hoped that the reality of operating the shop wouldn’t intrude on that dream.

  Even with the noise of the TV blaring, Willow still jumped when the phone rang. She pumped the volume down and hurried over to grab the landline from its cradle. After the morning she’d had, it made sense to be a bit cautious, so Willow answered with a tentative, “Hello?”

  “It’s Reg.” There was a pause as her friend gasped or sobbed. Either one, it sent a wave of distress running through Willow. “I’m down at the sheriff’s office. They’ve been questioning me for a couple of hours, and they still won’t let me go. Wender said I only had one call, and I didn’t know who else to phone.”

  “The sheriff is questioning you?”

  “He said it’s going to be hours yet. I don’t know why—I’ve answered all his questions, but he just keeps going over the same stuff, again and again. It’s like he’s trying to trip me up!”

  Willow felt a jolt of panic as her knees tried to give way again, dumping her on sofa unexpectedly. She closed her eyes and attempted to focus on what advice to offer. Although it had been a few months since her own foray into the sheriff’s office, the experience felt closer than that, popping to the top of her thoughts in bright technicolor where other, more recent happenings, faded and drifted away.

  “If you’ve already answered a question, then you tell the sheriff ‘asked and answered.’ Have you got that?”

  “Does that work?”

  “I don’t know, but if he’s going over the same area, then he’s trying to catch you out on something. Don’t give him the opportunity to twist your words or offer up a suggestion. That’s how false confessions happen.”

  Although her words were meant to reassure Reg, his breathing edged into short, frantic pants. “You think they want to pin this murder on me?”

  “I don’t know what they want. I’m sure that the sheriff is just trying to get things right. Last time there was a murder, he had another department stride in and take him over, remember?”

  Detective Jones’ face sprang into Willow’s mind. If that man had been in charge of the last investigation from the start, then she felt confident she would now be appealing for help from a jail cell.

  “Don’t worry, Reg.” Willow tried to inject a note of soothing into her voice, even as her own levels of panic increased. “It’ll all be over soon. After all, it’s not as though you actually killed Jeff Waterman, is it?”

  There was a long pause, then just as Reg came back on the line, it clicked off. Dead. Willow hung the phone up, waiting tensely for a few minutes in case it rang again—her friend having accidentally terminated the call. When it didn’t, she gave a firm nod of her head.

  Reg was in trouble, and when a friend was in danger, Miss Walsham had taught her there was only one thing to do. Investigate!

  Chapter Six

  It didn’t take Willow long to draw up a list of suspects. There would be others, she felt sure of that, but the ones she knew about were the two employees who’d been fired and the woman whose building job Jeff Waterman had screwed up.

  First, she would tackle Charley. Not because he was the most familiar to her—though that was a reassurance—but because Willow thought she knew where he’d be. The Old Chestnut. The day was hardly over the yardarm yet, but if the man liked a drink in his local, then that’s where he’d go after bad news.

  And if she was wrong? Then she’d go to the library and enlist Harmony’s help to track down the others.

  It turned out Willow was spot on in her assessment. As she walked from the bright winter sunlight of the town square into the dowdy recesses of the pub, she immediately spotted Charley propping up the bar.

  “What’ll you have, love?” the bartender called out. His cheerful voice was at odds with the atmosphere, the lighting was subdued, and the clientele occupying the space so far were quiet.

  Willow gave a thankful nod and paused. She didn’t drink much and wasn’t sure what the current fashion was. “A glass of white wine?” she said, more of a question than a statement.

  “Right you are,” the barman said, walking over and opening up a refrigerated cabinet. Willow took a seat next to Charley who so far hadn’t even turned his head at the exchange.

  When her drink arrived, condensation beading on the side of the glass, Willow nearly fell off her barstool at the cost. She’d expected something akin to the outrageously priced coffees that were served in the café opposite. Instead, the bartender informed her it was double that. Willow paid the money over reluctantly, even more sure that she wouldn’t fall prey to the allure of alcohol. It would eat through her savings far too quickly.

  “Hey, Charley,” Willow said when the man seemed determined not to acknowledge her.

  A grunt was the only answer, so Willow picked up her glass and had a sip. The sour taste and coldness would have been refreshing in the height of summer. Now, despite the warmth of the bar, the mouthful just made her shiver.

  “Not often we get a pretty lady in here, is it, Charley?” The bartender’s attempt to engage the man in conversation fell as flat as Willow’s.

  Charley took a mouthful of his pint, seemingly enough to tease out the words, “Shelby was in here just last night.”

  “True enough. I think the keyword there was pretty.”

  The bartender's quip drew nothing more than an eye-roll from its audience.

  As Willow looked around, uncertain how to go ahead with questioning such a recalcitrant man, her eye was caught by the antique mirror at the back of the spirits bar. Between the muted lighting and the sheen of age on its surface, the reflection it gave of her wiped a good twenty years off Willow’s age.

&nb
sp; She turned her head from one side to the other, appreciative of the temporary change. If she genuinely looked like that, modeling would still be an option open to her. Not the fashion runways of youth, but a sweet gig selling momsy-type things to the masses. An infomercial, like the ones she hadn’t watched that morning.

  Not usually vain, Willow was so entranced with the alterations—as enticing as a funhouse mirror—that she almost didn’t notice when her companion finally turned and acknowledged her existence.

  “Didn’t he tell you?” Charley asked in a low grumble. “I’m not working for Mr. Jeff Waterman and his terrible building business any longer. If you want to complain about the workmanship, it’s not me you’re looking for.”

  He took another long swallow of his beer, draining a third of the pint glass in one go. Willow took another sip of her wine to keep him company, once again shivering a little as the cold liquid hit her palate.

  “Didn’t you hear about your old boss, then?”

  “Hear what?” Charley turned to look at her with an expression somewhere between blank and shocked. He seemed different in here than he had in her kitchen, making jovial conversation in his British accent while waiting for a cup of tea.

  “Jeff Waterman is dead.”

  “I told you that, Charley,” the bartender said, wandering back along to where they were sitting. “Don’t you remember?”

  Charley smiled suddenly, his face transforming in an instance into one of joy. “Aye. I’d forgotten. That deserves another round.” Charley drained the last of his beer and held the empty glass aloft.

  But the barman was shaking his head. “I’m afraid not. You need to get home and eat something. Once you sober up, you can come back in, but I won’t serve you again today. You’ve had too much as it is.”

  Charley looked disgusted and pushed back from the bar, spinning and almost falling off the side.