Tea Shop Cozy Mysteries - Books 1-6 Read online

  Trisha shook her head, the shaking settling back in with such aggression that the back of her chair started to squeak against the wall.

  “I’m sure it’s just foolishness, kid’s stuff, but the timing…”

  Willow trailed off and turned to face the opposite wall. Watching the parade of horror across Trisha’s face was exhausting. What on earth was the sheriff up to not even bothering to tell this poor woman about her son? Maybe the county sent in this detective with good reason.

  “You worked for Roger for a long time, didn’t you?” Willow’s second attempt at conversation led her straight toward another trap, and she bit her lip to stop from saying anything more.

  Trisha sadly nodded her head. Out on the street, Willow had been taken by how well the woman was put together, not to mention the few years’ grace she had on Willow in age. Now, Trisha looked like a crumpled tissue.

  With her heart overflowing with kindness and pity, Willow leaned over to pat the younger woman’s hand. “I wouldn’t worry too much,” she said. “I just recited a few lines from Miss Walsham, and they let me straight out.”

  At that, Trisha’s face brightened, “Miss Walsham Investigates?” When Willow nodded, she exclaimed, “I love that show.”

  “Me, too. Did you see the episode about the elephant and the zoo and how she worked out from the discarded straw exactly how the lion tamer had done it?”

  “Oh, yes! And just this week, scouring over the CCTV and noticing where the rotten town worker had joined together the film with another day.”

  For a few minutes, Willow relaxed as they compared episodes. To her eternal disappointment, neither Harmony nor Reg were big fans of the show, so her natural enthusiasm for sharing was dampened straight away when she tried to explain things to them.

  “I heard they might be filming some episodes down here, later in the fall,” Trisha said, sending Willow’s pulse dangerously close to raptures.

  “What?” she squeaked, her voice traveling so high up the register that it was barely audible.

  Trisha leaned forward, all trace of her earlier nervousness gone in the delight of being able to tell a secret. “I saw some papers come through Roger’s office, looking to rent out some of his offerings for a few days while they came in, set up, and filmed. One of the emails had an attachment that they’d labeled ‘Terms and Conditions’ but was actually a script they sent by mistake.”

  Willow put a hand on her chest. The steady thumping threatened to crack open her ribcage with its force. “You…Have…A…Script…?”

  “I. Have. A. Script!”

  The two women stared at each other in shared delight. Willow was about to open her mouth and demand access to the precious item when Sheriff Wender let himself into the lobby.

  “Come on, Mrs. Foxglove. I’ll give you a ride back home now.” He turned to Trisha. “Ms. Layton, we have a new detective on board who’s setting up the interview now. I’ll be back in ten minutes, and we can get started.”

  The joy immediately drained out of Trisha’s face, leaving only a pale, trembling ghost.

  Willow wanted to stop the sheriff, reverse time and send him back inside the office for a few minutes more, but it was too late.

  “I’ll see you later,” she said, reaching down to pat Trisha on the shoulder. “Give me a call when they let you out, and I’ll drop by to give you a lift home.”

  Trisha nodded, but Willow wasn’t sure she’d heard a single word. Her eyes were fastened on the floor.

  * * *

  “That Trisha Layton seems like a really nice woman,” Willow declared as the sheriff pulled out of the station parking lot. “I don’t think I’ve met anyone so nice in a long time.”

  “Wouldn’t have thought you two would hit it off,” the sheriff replied, earning himself a frown.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  The sheriff shrugged. “I’d just heard through the grapevine she’d spent a lot of nights working late, if you get my drift.”

  Willow pressed her lips together in a hard line. “You wouldn’t have happened to hear that from a certain sandwich-board wearer, now would you?”

  The sheriff snorted, but he didn’t deny Willow’s accusation. “I’m not at liberty to reveal my sources,” he said, pulling into her street. “And I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.”

  For a second, hand resting on the door, Willow considered telling him about the handbag in the pawn broker’s shop, then she shook her head.

  If Jacob Wender thought he was such a great sheriff, then he could work that bit out all by himself.

  Chapter Eleven

  Willow had only just finished setting Mavis up with breakfast when Harmony knocked on the door. With a strange blocking dance, Willow managed to let her in without the kitten running straight out to freedom.

  “Allergies aren’t improving, then?” was the first thing her friend had to say.

  Willow shook her head, moving back to the kitchen to see if Mavis liked the new brand of cat food any better than the night before. Half of it had been demolished, which was an excellent sign.

  “And it appears she’s got the run of the house,” Harmony said, squatting with a pop of her kneecaps to give the kitten a quick pat and tickle under the chin.

  “I’ll work on that.” Willow tossed up whether to show her friend something for a minute, then pulled open the top of her blouse. The skin where Mavis had fallen asleep on top of her the night before flushed an angry red.

  “I’ve been trying not to scratch it,” Willow admitted, “but it’s driving me crazy, and the antihistamines don’t seem to help.”

  “Well, this can’t go on. Cute as this little kitty is, if we don’t get you sorted, then she won’t be able to stay.”

  Harmony grabbed her handbag off the counter and stalked toward the door, a woman of purpose. When she reached it, she turned and frowned at Willow.

  “Well, aren’t you coming?”

  Willow nodded and grabbed her own bag before carefully letting them both out the front door, Mavis trapped inside.

  Outside, the morning light had been covered over with wisps of cloud. During summer, they’d burn off in a second, but given the change in temperature, it looked like they were set to stay.

  “I’m taking you down to the drugstore so we can get an expert opinion on how to treat your allergy. Barring that, you’ll need to make a doctor’s appointment to discuss your options.”

  “Yes, sir.” Willow gave her friend a small smile, but Harmony was just staring at the road, not paying attention.

  “I hope they have something for you. It’d be awful if you turned into a weeping, sneezing ball of hives.”

  Willow definitely agreed with that sentiment and quickly followed along behind her friend when they reached the strip of shops that included the local drugstore.

  After explaining the problem, the pharmacist at the counter offered a range of creams, then excused himself to go out the back to talk to the dispensing technician.

  “I don’t know if these’ll be equal to the task,” Harmony mused, looking through the range of two percent creams and gels. “I have heard you can get shots that suppress your immune response and help you stop being allergic. I wonder if they can arrange those.”

  The member of staff at the front of the shop walked over. “Do you want me to bag these up for you?” She jerked her head toward the back. “Those two can discuss things for hours if you’re not careful.”

  “Thank you.” Willow followed her along to the counter while she rang up the bill. It was enough to have Willow chewing her lip and peering into her bag to ensure she’d brought her checkbook.

  She suddenly thought of the money the detective insisted Roger had left for her in his will. Her eyes filled with tears for a moment, both at his loss and generosity. Even though Willow had never complained about money to him, he’d been observant enough to notice and kind enough to do something about it.

  “Here you go,” Willow said at la
st, having counted up the change lurking in different levels of her handbag and hoping they reached the right amount. The clerk nodded and rang up the receipt.

  “Were you the ones who turned Trisha’s son in to the police?” the girl asked.

  For a moment, Willow was so taken aback that she could only open and close her mouth like a fish, unable to force any words out.

  Harmony walked up behind her, straightforward and to the rescue as usual. “What’s it to you?”

  “Nothing.” The clerk shrugged. “I’ve just been following the case a bit. Nothing else happens around here, so it’s been a big deal.”

  The girl glanced around the shop to ensure no one else was nearby. “I heard you turned over photos to show Trisha’s son egging Roger’s car.”

  “That’s not your busi—”

  “He was in here a few weeks ago,” the clerk interrupted. “The kid, that is, not Roger. He wanted to buy one of those DIY paternity tests.” She lowered her voice still further. “I think he thought his mom’s boss was his daddy.”

  Willow wasn’t sure if the crawling sensation in her stomach was horror at the thought of what the clerk was telling them or fear that as soon as they left the shop, she’d be sharing Willow’s business with everybody else.

  Harmony appeared to be of the same mind.

  “You can’t just go talking to random people all about your client’s business,” she reprimanded the girl. “There’s a certain measure of trust needed to be involved in medical care. If your boss found out what you were saying, it could well be the end of your job.”

  The girl just stood back a step, scrunching up her nose. “That kid Mael wasn’t a client of ours. We don’t sell anything like that.” She paused for a second, putting a finger up to the side of her mouth to pick at a healing scab. “In fact, I’m pretty sure he stole some of the candy we keep at the front of the store on the way out. I figure I can say anything about him I like.”

  Willow linked her arm through Harmony’s. “Well, you can’t. And I’d better not hear any gossip about me coming out of this store, or I’m going straight to your manager with a complaint. Really, you should know better.”

  The girl turned her back on them, making busywork of stacking shelves already full of product.

  As the pharmacist had returned from his foray out the back, they wandered up to his counter again. “I’m sorry, we can’t do anything else without a prescription. If you call on this doctor, though, she should be able to help. She deals with a lot of allergies—mainly to do with pollen and that sort of stuff—but I’m sure she deals with animal reactions, too.”

  Willow took the card out of his hand, and they got out of the drugstore, vowing not to go back unless it was a dire emergency.

  * * *

  Back home, Willow applied the creams, immediately feeling itchier as a result because she was touching the rashes. “If you weren’t so cute,” she told Mavis, “then you’d have to watch your back!”

  Just as Harmony was excusing herself to go home to her to-be-read stack of books, Reg pounded on the door.

  “I’ve got the cat house in the car if you can give me a hand,” he announced cheerily. “Great! You’re here too, Harmony. That should cut down on the time it takes to reassemble.”

  He chattered the whole time they were taking the odds and ends that formed the contraption out of his car. When it was piled in her lounge, Willow had trouble believing so much equipment had come out of his small vehicle.

  “It’ll be great fun for her, I promise,” Reg said, setting to work. Harmony and Willow could only stand back until he’d put enough together for them to get the idea of the final shape.

  When they were only halfway done, Mavis expressed an interest.

  “Could be that she smells our old cat in there,” Reg speculated, pausing and rocking back on his heels for a minute while the group watched the kitten.

  “Or she just really loves what you built for her,” Willow said, throwing an arm around his neck and giving him an awkward hug.

  Considering the shade his face went, Reg hadn’t been the recipient of a hug in quite some time.

  “This will be great for keeping the cat hair off the furniture and making most of the spaces safe.” Harmony was struggling to fit one of the long hosepipes into a red wooden box housing a scratching pole. “You’re a genius, Reg.”

  “It’s not my idea,” he said, blushing even more. “My wife dragged me to a cat fair one weekend, and we saw something similar there. It was so far out of our price range that we didn’t even consider it, but I made it for her on the sly. My wife loved that cat, and she loved me for making this.”

  “I love you for making this, too,” Willow said, and Harmony chimed in with her agreement.

  “Well, I spent my life as a handyman and groundskeeper for the school. I’m glad those skills came in useful elsewhere.”

  “I still need to get some books out of the library on housetraining.” Willow stood up and stretched out her back, the cries adding to the stiffness in her hip joint. “I’m not sure it’s fair to leave Mavis in her own house when she doesn’t have the know-how to keep it clean.”

  “This’ll help with that,” Reg said, dropping down to roll one of the long tunnels over to terminate in the laundry room. “If she can get out here to access the litter box, that makes it easier for her to learn.”

  “Oh,” Willow said, heading for the bedroom. “I just remembered, I was going to look for Molly’s camera for you to use until the police give yours back.”

  “Too late.” Reg opened his coat and pulled the camera out of one large inside pocket. “They returned it to me this morning. Said they’d got all the photographs off it so didn’t need the equipment anymore.”

  “That’s good. Did you get to keep the photos you took, or are they gone forever?”

  “Nah. They’re still on here. Look.” He tipped the camera screen toward them so they could see the flying egg that had so briefly been a UFO.

  “Here’s one of Jimmy, in case you were still wondering.” Reg tilted the camera on a new picture, this one clearly showing the man with his sandwich board display.

  “What on Earth does the poor guy have on his feet?” Harmony exclaimed. “They look like reflective orange sneakers.”

  “Hm.” Reg stared at the screen for a while, holding the camera farther and farther back to let his eyes adjust. “Can’t say I’ve noticed them before. To be fair, I’m usually staring at the sandwich board rather than looking at his feet.”

  Willow peered at the image. Reg had caught it at such an angle that the man’s head was completely cut off. The shoes did look a very peculiar choice. Young looking, though she supposed that might have something to do with the size of the man’s feet. They were tiny.

  When she’d been modeling in Europe—too many years ago to think of now—there’d been a woman she worked with who was the same five-foot-eleven as Willow, but with feet so small, they looked like a doll’s. Each time they went shoe shopping, she’d end up in the child’s department. “Even when the adult section carries my size,” she used to grumble, “the women’s shoes all look like a kid’s shoe, so I might as well start off there.”

  A knock sounded on the door, startling Willow since practically everybody she knew was already standing in her lounge. She walked over slowly, trying to get a peep outside through the lace curtains. Whoever stood outside was too far over to get a glimpse of, though. She needed to get one of those magic eyes installed.

  “Sheriff Wender!” Willow took a step back in surprise. “I thought you’d finished up with me for the day?”

  The sheriff took his hat off, working the brim between his hands and looking somewhat sheepish. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course,” Willow said, stepping back and then lunging to the side as Mavis ran into view. “Not so fast, little kitty!”

  “This is just a courtesy call, although the news will probably get out into the community fast enough.” The sheriff h
esitated again, looking behind him at the door, then staring down at his feet.

  “Out with it, Jacob. I have other things I want to do today.”

  Willow’s stern voice seemed to jolt the man into action. “We’ve arrested Trisha Layton for the murder of Roger Randall. We’re not releasing the story to the press yet, but…” He shrugged, and the group nodded. No keeping secrets in a small town, especially with Mary-Jo’s penchant for gossip.

  “Are you sure, Sheriff?” Willow began to wring her hands together, distress leaking out of her. “I was just chatting with her this morning at the station, and the woman really seemed an unlikely suspect to be committing murder!”

  “Nevertheless, she confessed to the crime, so we’re as sure as it’s possible to be.” The sheriff nodded his head firmly. “I was there in the interview room when she spilled everything. I’m convinced she did this terrible thing.”

  “I suppose anger can make people do some strange things,” Harmony said, putting an arm around Willow’s shoulders. “I don’t really know Trisha, but she did seem nice.”

  The sheriff sighed and nodded his head. “I’d have had a harder time believing it if I hadn’t heard her admission with my own ears. Anyway—” he turned back to the door “—I just thought you should know.”

  “Thanks for thinking of me, Sheriff Wender.” Willow saw him to the door, keeping an eye on Mavis as she did so. “It’s very kind to keep me in the loop.”

  He nodded his goodbye and walked down to the car while Willow closed the door. The news had left her feeling empty rather than satisfied. As she looked back at her two friends, she just wanted them gone so she could sit alone and have a good cry.

  But they were there for her, and Willow wasn’t about to chuck them out. Instead, she clapped her hands together.

  “Let’s get this contraption finished, shall we?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Once they’d finished, Mavis was ecstatic at her new home. She trotted along the tunnels and played in the active stations with vigor. Watching her, Willow felt like a proud parent overseeing their child at a play park.