Tempest in the Tea Leaves (15 page)

Morty stuck his nose in the air, sniffed, puckered his face as though he smelled something he didn’t like, and then sauntered around to the back of the house like he owned the place. Oh, who were we kidding? He and I both knew he did. He was probably off somewhere killing his dinner and then sneaking back inside through some secret entrance. I had to admit, he kept things interesting.

“Thanks, Sean. We’ll have to do this again some time.” I held out my hand.

Sean smiled slow and sweet, took my hand, then pulled me into him. “Anytime, love. Now let me show you how we say good-bye in Ireland.” He bent his head, kissed me square on the mouth, and turned on his heel toward his beat-up SUV.

He was such a sweet, cute, fun guy, but I had truly felt absolutely nothing from that kiss. Not like when . . .

“If you’re done goofing off and making out with Boy Toy, don’t you think it’s time we got to work?” said a deep voice from the shadows.

I whirled around and grabbed my heart. “Would you stop sneaking up on me like that? And we weren’t making out, not that it’s any of your business. He was saying good-bye.”

Mitch grunted. “According to you and your stupid vision, it should be my business. Lucky for you, I don’t buy into any of that. I don’t like waiting around for twenty minutes,” Mitch snapped. “You said you would be done with Boy Toy at four.” He tapped his watch. “It’s four thirty, Tink. Shouldn’t you be turning back into a pumpkin by now?”

“Wrong fairy tale, and you are so not Prince Charming. Besides, the mice turned into horses and the pumpkin turned into a carriage. Cinderella was just trying to be herself. Kind of like me.”

“Mice?” he said, scanning the tree in front of the yard. “Don’t cats eat mice?”

I opened the door and went inside, realizing I’d either left it unlocked by mistake, or Morty really was a Houdini cat. “It’s freezing out,” I said to the detective. “If you want to talk to me, you’re going to have to come inside, cat or no cat.”

Several minutes later, the detective finally came inside and closed the door behind him, his hand hovering above his weapon. “But I thought we could go get something to eat and go over our notes.”

“I’m too tired to go anywhere else today. He’s not going to get you, you big scaredy-cat.”

“You’re not the one he pulls those freaky
Exorcist
moves on.” The detective followed me to the kitchen, his eyes darting around constantly. After a few minutes, he relaxed and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Quit being so grumpy. You want tea?” I asked.

“No, I want food, and I’m not grumpy,” he growled. “I’m starving.”

“This isn’t a diner, you know.”

“Relax, Tink.” He barked out a laugh. “I’m not fooling myself into thinking you can cook.”

“I can cook.” I opened my pantry and realized I had nothing but the cat food I’d bought when I first moved here, the cat food Morty never ate. Hmmm, maybe . . . “Want some tuna fish?”

The detective peeked in the cupboard from behind me and that darn eyebrow of his inched up in the most annoying way again. “Nice try,” he said sarcastically. “I’ll take my chances with takeout.”

He knew me too well already. I’d serve him cat food in a heartbeat and not lose a wink of sleep over it. “Suit yourself.” I closed the cupboard. “So much for getting rid of the tension between us.”

“Hey, you’re the one who told me about your ridiculous vision.” He shook his head. “If you hadn’t read my tea leaves, there wouldn’t be any tension between us.”

I faced him head-on. “Thought you felt nothing?”

His eyes locked on mine and then dropped to my lips as he mumbled, “I didn’t.”

“Then why are you even grouchier than usual?”

He surged to his feet and squared off in front of me. “Because I’m hungry, dammit!” He stared at my lips again, definitely looking hungry, but I doubted food had anything to do with it. With a growl, he huffed off to my wall phone and ordered Chinese.

I opened another cupboard to make a cup of tea and sucked in a sharp breath. I quickly shut the cupboard door before Mitch returned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning at me as he walked back into the room. “You look a little green.”

“I’m fine. Just lost my pixie dust is all. Too much excitement for one day. I couldn’t eat a bite if I tried. Can we do this another time?”

The lines between his brows deepened further. “Fine, but we need to compare notes no later than tomorrow. Call if you need anything.”

I nodded, followed him to the door, and locked it tight, but Detective Stone was the last person I would call concerning this matter. I headed right back to the cupboard I’d opened for the tea and stared at the bottle of digoxin, with the name scratched off the prescription label, sitting right next to the canister.

Someone was setting me up.

Early the next morning, the doorbell rang. I padded in my Elmer Fudd pajamas and Bugs Bunny slippers to the front door to see who had the gall to ring my bell this early.

I looked through the peephole and should have known.

Opening the door, I yawned and stepped back. “Morning, Mom. Dad. How’s it hanging?”

“It isn’t hanging, but
you
might be if you don’t quit slacking off,” my father said as he pushed his way inside while checking his pulse. He wore his black running suit and white sneakers as though he’d been out power walking all morning. Yet he still didn’t have a hair out of place.

“We’ve let you play cops and robbers long enough, darling.” Mom followed close behind, sporting a cream track suit, a matching visor, and sneakers as well. They looked like cover models for a seniors’ fitness magazine. “It’s time we got serious about solving this case,” she continued. “I want to know everything. What you have, who you’ve talked to, where you’re going.”

“All before hot chocolate?” I asked. “Scratch that. Forget the cocoa, I’ll take a cocktail. It must be five o’clock somewhere,” I added, shutting the door behind them.

A hand slipped in between the wall and the door at the last second, pushing it back open until a head popped inside. “I’ll take some coffee.” Mitch stepped inside, looking fabulous in a matching soft gray NYPD sweat suit left over from his former glory days. “How about that talk we never got to have last night, Tink?” he asked. “You look like you’re feeling better.”

“And you guys look like the Three Stooges.” I crossed my arms over my tank top self-consciously. It was 7 A.M. I wasn’t exactly dressed for company. “What are you guys, the exercise brigade?”

“I heard you bailed on your exercise session. You should try it sometime. Like maybe shovel your driveway for a start.” He stomped the snow off his sneakers.

“I was too tired last night, and you three are way too peppy this early. How did you meet up, anyway?”

“I bumped into your parents on my run this morning.” Mitch shoved a hand through his hair. “One thing led to another, and we decided to continue in your direction and all work together. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.” He winked.

I scowled.

The only reason he was in a good mood was because he’d caught me off guard and he’d flustered me by bringing my parents over. I’d get him back, but right now I had no choice except to play along. I sooo couldn’t function without my morning hot chocolate, and he knew it.

“It’s déjà vu all over again,” I said as I closed the door behind Detective Stone. “My life totally sucks.”

“Sylvia, please. The good detective is only trying to help.” My dad’s face puckered like a dried tea leaf. “And it had better not be déjà vu.” His eyes looked toward the kitchen. “I think I’ll take my coffee out in the living room this time.”

“Where is that albino rat of yours, anyway?” Mom asked, searching the room warily.

“He’s around,” I said, not bothering to correct her. It would do no good, anyway. “Do we really have to do this right now? I’m not even awake yet,” I whined.

“Honestly, Sylvia, if I didn’t know better, I would think you don’t care if you have to do thirty years to life for murder.”

I sighed. “Of course I don’t want to do time for a murder I didn’t commit. However, you all are making solving this case very hard on me.” I walked toward the kitchen. “Anyone want tea?”

“Hell no,” Mitch blurted. We exchanged looks, and his horrified eyes told me all I needed.

“How about we have coffee by the fire out in the living room?” Dad suggested.

Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t read coffee grounds, can you?”

“I’ll never tell.” I tossed a wink right back at him.

“You don’t scare me, Tink.” He leaned in until our faces were mere inches apart, and my heart sped up. He glanced at the pulse throbbing in my neck, and the corner of his lip tipped up a hair. “Bet I scare the hell out of you, though, don’t I?”

“Fine,” I snapped, taking a step back. “You guys find a spot to sit, and I’ll join you in a minute.”

Mitch scanned the room even more warily than my mother had.

“Now who’s the scared one?” I wrinkled my nose. “Morty is still upstairs if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Who says I’m worried?” he muttered.

“Um, your hunched shoulders and stiff neck.”

He relaxed and stood up straight. “Nonsense.”

“Whatever.” I trudged into the kitchen and suddenly remembered I had been too tired last night to deal with the digoxin. It was still in the cupboard by the tea canister.

“Need any help?” Mitch said from behind me after following me into the room.

I whirled around, wide-eyed.

He studied me carefully. “I really do scare you, don’t I? I was just kidding, Tink.”

“I’m fine,” I said, and put the coffee on.

He opened a cupboard to take out the mugs, and I nearly had a heart attack, yelping, “No!”

His hand froze, and he looked at me over his very broad shoulder.

I bit my bottom lip and peeked inside, but the digoxin was gone. Just a paw print remained from my furry Houdini friend.
Thank you, Morty
, I thought, and closed my eyes, wilting against the sink. When I opened them, I caught Mitch eyeing me critically.

“You’re not fine,” he said. “Something more than
me
is bothering you for a change, and I want to know what.”

“It’s just this case.” I loaded up a tray with mugs, cream, sugar—Splenda for Mom, of course—and cocoa packs. “You’re right.” I turned to him. “We need to compare notes. Figure out a new lead before someone else gets hurt.” I grabbed the coffeepot and headed into the living room with Mitch right behind me, carrying the tray.

Once we were all seated and sipping our brew, I began to feel more human and a little calmer. I had to figure out where Morty had hidden the evidence.

“Okay, ready to get started?” The detective rubbed his hands together and then took out his notebook and pen.

I gaped at him. “You carry a notebook on your run?”

“I always have my notebook with me,
especially
when I run. Exercise is a great way to sort things out.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I shook my head.

“With your aversion to exercise, you must have an amazing metabolism. You look great.” Mitch’s gaze roamed over my body.

“Thanks.” I felt warm all over and didn’t bother to cross my arms this time.

His eyes lingered on his way back up, and after an endless moment he met my eyes but didn’t say a word. His smoldering look said it all.

“Let’s start with what we know so far,” my mother said.

The moment was ruined. I knew I couldn’t have him, but that did
not
mean I didn’t want him. And no matter what he said, I could tell he wanted me just as much.

We were so screwed.

“Right. Good idea.” Mitch opened his notes. “Amanda Robbins went to see Sunny at five P.M. on the night she was murdered. Sunny read her tea leaves, and the reading revealed Ms. Robbins had twin tumors in her uterus and would be murdered by a man. Naturally, Ms. Robbins was upset. Sunny gave her some calming tea to drink later, and she left at six P.M. The coroner determined the murder took place at six thirty. Sunny called the police at seven, and I found the body around seven fifteen.”

The detective took a sip of his coffee and scanned his notes before continuing. “Kip—that’s the coroner—discovered Ms. Robbins had an allergic reaction to nuts that day, but that’s not what killed her. She died from the tea she drank that was laced with digoxin and then hit her head when she fell. We found a set of small footprints outside of the deceased’s window, but other than that there was no sign of a forced entry, leading us to believe Ms. Robbins knew the killer.”

“Detective Stone brought me in for questioning shortly after that because the tea leaves laced with digoxin were mine,” I interjected. “I was home at the time of the murder, trying to sort out my vision, but I don’t have proof of my alibi. Yes, my feet are small, but I don’t have access to digoxin. And the most important part of proving my innocence is that I don’t have a motive.”