Tempest in the Tea Leaves (18 page)

Having no clue where to go from there, I walked down Main Street like I had the night I first met Detective Stone. It was earlier but still just as picturesque as dusk settled over the old-fashioned town. Light snow fell in big fat flakes softly to the well-tended streets, the brass streetlamps flickering to life in the ever-darkening sky. I stopped at the now-familiar corner of Main and Shadow Lane and once again entered Smokey Jo’s Tavern.

Dim lighting, soft music, and mumbled conversations filled the space. Just what I needed. A place to blend in and forget my worries.

“Hey, Sunny, you okay?” Jo asked. “You look like you lost your best friend.”

“More like my partner.” I sighed. “I don’t even know what happened.” I sat down at the bar since the tables were quickly becoming occupied by the dinner crowd. Besides, I was only one person, and it seemed silly taking up a spot meant for at least two.

“What can I get for you?”

“Iced tea, some chicken fingers, and fries.” I was used to eating by myself, but it never failed to remind me how alone I was in this world. I sometimes wondered if it would always be this way.

“Uh-oh. Comfort food. That can’t be good.” She slid the glass of tea in front of me and put in my order. “This one’s on me.”

“Thanks.” I took a long drink and then set the glass down.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite fortune-teller,” Sean said with a big grin, looking hotter than ever in his snug baby blue T-shirt and faded jeans. He carried a bin of clean glasses through the swinging door in the back and restocked the shelves.

“I’m the only fortune-teller, you know.” I laughed, enjoying flirting with the rascal. But I knew it would never amount to more than that with Sean. He was God’s gift to women—
all
women.

“But you’re still my favorite, lass.” He winked, twirling a liquor bottle expertly like something right out of the movies. “So, how’s the case coming along?”

The cocktail waitress brought out my food and then left to check on the ever-increasing customers. Bernard Sampson came in and sat at a table by himself. Guess he was still miffed at his wife, Maude, for missing their lunch date. I could relate to his mood.

“Not so good, I’m afraid.” I dipped a chicken finger in honey mustard sauce and took a big bite, sighing as I chewed the sweet and tangy delight. My mother would be appalled. “I’m worried we’re going to fail,” I voiced my biggest fear.

“Only quitters fail,” said a deep voice from beside me.

“Hey,” I said to Mitch, swallowing hard as I peeked up at him. “You still mad at me?”

“That wasn’t about you, Tink. Cromwell and I have a history. You wound up in the middle of it.” He snagged a fry, dipped it in ketchup, and popped it into his mouth. After he finished chewing, he looked me in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” I said softly, sliding the plate between us.

“Thanks.” He ordered a soda and then pulled out his notebook. “Contrary to one bonehead’s beliefs, I
have
been working. I’ve been doing some digging.”

“And . . . ?”

“Nothing. Not a blessed thing. Looks like we’re back to the drawing board.”

“This day just keeps getting better and better,” I grumbled.

“As much as I hate to admit it, the mayor is right. We are running out of time and out of leads.”

“Then maybe we should up our game.”

He eyed me warily. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m thinking it’s time I became a babe.”

“So, what do I do again?” I asked as I sat at a table in Lulubelle’s kitchen, not feeling like a babe in the least. There were a total of three tables, with four women at each one. Jo’s group was winning, so she was at the head table in the dining room, while the rest of us were at the lower tables in the breakfast nook and island. I sat next to a black-and-white-cow cookie jar and Belle herself.

“You roll the three dice and hope they land on whatever round we’re on. In this case, fives.” She sipped her margarita and nibbled on a finger sandwich. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Bunco is a lot of fun once you get the hang of it.”

I rolled the dice but didn’t land a single five. “Sorry. Hope I don’t make your team lose.”

“Oh, posh.” She waved her hand. “It’s all about the booze and the snacks.” She threw her dice, bouncing them off the chest of the woman across from her. The women snorted on a laugh, and Belle let out a squeal while she tossed her hands up in the air, yelling, “Bunco!”

I clapped my hands, assuming her squealing was a good thing. “I like your bangs, by the way. How’s Big Don?”

“Aw, thank you, doll face.” She beamed, and then her smile dimmed a little. “Still just as big and blind as ever.” She shook her head, and her chubby cheeks wiggled. “Cheers.” She held out her glass.

“It’s his loss, then,” I said, clinking my glass to hers, but I didn’t take a sip. She looked surprised and motioned for me to bottoms up. “I’m not really much of a drinker.”

“Oh, come on, sugar, live a little. They weren’t kidding when they said life’s too short.”

“Well, that’s true.” I tipped my margarita up and chugalugged. “Oh boy.” My eyes nearly crossed. I’d have to pace myself, or I’d be calling one yummy detective to come tuck me in. Hmmm, then again . . . “No.” I blinked. So not gonna go there.

“No what?”

“No way am I ever going to be as good as you, but thanks for letting me be an alternate,” I said after she finished with her victory jig over her latest score.

“No problem. You and Jo actually helped us out. It takes twelve people to play two teams. Amanda Robbins was one of our regulars, poor dear. We still haven’t replaced her.”

“Who is the other regular?” I asked above the music and hooting and hollering women.

“Carolyn Hanes,” Belle said around a mouth full of chips.

“Really?” I leaned in close, not wanting to miss a word. “I don’t know her that well, but she doesn’t seem the type to let loose.”

“Oh, honey, that child is plenty loose—with her wallet, anyway.” She snickered.

“Now that I think about it, her house was full of really nice things. She must like to shop.”

“She loves to shop, so much so it’s become a problem for her.” Belle looked around and then leaned in even closer to me, her eyes sparkling bright as though she loved a good piece of juicy gossip. “I heard she has a shopping addiction. That Home Shopping Network can be deadly.”

“Don’t I know it,” I agreed. “My own mother is addicted. So where is Carolyn tonight, then?”

“Working at Gretta’s Mini-Mart. Poor Carolyn had to take a second job. It’s a shame things didn’t pan out for her, really.”

“What didn’t pan out?”

“Word around town is that she was next in line for the management position at the library. Once Amanda died, everyone thought Carolyn would be a shoe-in. Especially with Maude Sampson retiring. But the board filled the position with some young whippersnapper from out of town, leaving poor Carolyn in the dust. Why, I heard tell that young woman is barely old enough to wipe her nose, let alone run the library.”

“Have you met her yet?”

“Nope, and I don’t plan to. She won’t be getting a neighborly welcome from many. No siree. We here Divinians are a loyal bunch. We look out for our own.” Lulubelle nodded sharply, her eyes cutting to mine. Belle might look like a big, bubbly, fun-loving woman, but she was as sharp as the blade my father uses for surgery and as tough as the steak my mother attempts to cook.

I was suddenly aware I’d better tread carefully when following my lead on Miss Hanes. One thing this new librarian and I had in common . . .

I, too, was an outsider.

But that didn’t stop the questions from running through my mind. Why didn’t Carolyn Hanes get the library job? Was she hurting for money because of her shopping addiction? Was she desperate enough to betray her best friend by working with the bigwig? What had he promised her to make it worth her while? Even more baffling was why the town historian Gladys Montgomery would be in cahoots with a man like Alex Pendleton.

Maybe it was time I got acquainted with this town’s past.

 

 

Early the next morning, the pounding in my head was unbearable. I’d only had the one drink at Bunco last night. I wasn’t that much of a lightweight, was I?

The pounding grew louder, and I suddenly realized the noise wasn’t coming from inside my head. It was coming from outside my front door.

I glanced at my bedside clock. Eight A.M. on a Sunday morning. Maybe if I ignored it, whoever it was would go away. The pounding continued, and Morty pounced on top of the mattress from out of nowhere. He stared me down. I stared back.

“Can’t you twitch your tail and turn them into a pile of dust or something, big guy?”

He gave me a look that said,
You’re on your own. I don’t have time for you silly humans,
then made a noise somewhere between a purr and a growl right before he pranced away.

I threw back the covers. Grabbing my fleece robe and slipping my feet into my enormous bunny slippers, I slowly scuffed my way downstairs to the front door.

“All right already, I’m coming.” I yanked open the door without even looking and then groaned. “Mom? Dad? Seriously?” We had to stop meeting like this.

Mom pushed her way right past me, dressed in her Sunday best. “Chop-chop, darling. It’s time for church.” She blinked at my hair. “Are you getting gray? You must take after your father. You should have that Tracy woman down at the salon fix it. I heard through the rumor mill she’s pretty good. I’d never let her touch my own hair, mind you, but since you don’t seem to care much about your appearance, I’m sure she could do
something
to help.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom. I’ll keep that in mind.” I didn’t even bother to correct her and point out it was Tracy and her salon that had turned me gray in the first place. Pushing those thoughts aside, my mother’s words registered and I gaped at her as though she were from another planet. “Church? We haven’t been to church in years.”

“Yes, well, maybe that’s the problem,” Dad said. “We need all the prayers we can get to clear your name. Dr. Wilcox has rescheduled our dinner twice so far.”

“Can you blame him?” Mom chimed in. “He’s probably still wary of all of us now that we know about his blackmail intentions. To think he even considered breaking his vow as a doctor.” She tsked. “Now, that’s a man who could benefit from a morning in church. He obviously hasn’t gone to mass in quite some time.”

“Not everyone is Catholic, Mom.”

“Doesn’t matter. Confession is good for the soul. You should try it. Father Moody is a lovely human being.”

Poor man’s ears would never be the same after listening to my mother’s confessions, I suspected. I rubbed my temples. “And how did you hear about the librarian’s file?”

“Small town, Sylvia.” Dad grunted. “There’s nothing too trivial for these people to gossip about.”

Good Lord. I groaned, knowing he was right. Not to mention Divinity had a huge Catholic population. Half the town would probably be at nine o’clock mass to see if anyone knew what was in that file. Looked like I was going to church. I bit my lip, made the sign of the cross, and looked up as I mumbled, “Forgive me, Father.”

Twenty minutes later we were headed to Sacred Heart Church on Mystical Drive a half hour early. We entered the small, quaint church with rows of pristine white pews and gorgeous stained-glass windows gracing the sidewalls. I had to admit there was something so peaceful about entering a church of any kind.

The pews were filling up quickly. The front rows were completely occupied by the Mad Hatters—aka the busybody church ladies who thought I was a devil-worshipping heathen just because I was psychic and hadn’t attended mass since I’d moved to Divinity. Not to mention my first reading had ended in a little thing called murder. I had dubbed them the Mad Hatters because, frankly, they were crazy. Stubborn and opinionated and downright self-righteous.

Not even close to the churchgoing citizens they claimed to be.

I couldn’t stand people who were hypocrites, and yet my mother chose to sit right behind them. “Good morning, Alice. Shirley. Mable.” Dad followed close on her heels, tipping his head. “Ladies,” he added as though they were all great friends.

Their red, purple, and green hats swung in our direction. They smiled a lovely smile at my mother and gave her a nod of approval, a charming smile at my father and showered him with expressions of adoration, then looked down their noses at me while turning their lips into a frowning purse of disgust. I just donned a sugary sweet smile and waved at them with my fingertips.

They harrumphed in return.

Then the most remarkable thing happened. Their pursed lips turned into nasty scowls as they looked toward the door of the church. I couldn’t believe they’d found someone to dislike more than me. Craning my head around to look, I saw an average-sized woman with medium brown hair and plain features. Nothing unusual or outrageous about her clothes or makeup, either. I didn’t understand what could possibly have caused such a negative reaction.