The Grim Steeper: A Teapot Collector Mystery (6 page)

“Oh,
no
!” Sophie wailed, not able to read further.

“Damn straight,
oh no
,” Dana said. “You’d better call Jason. I’m hanging up right now.
Call
him!”

Jason answered immediately.

“I saw the article. Jason, I’m so sorry! It sounded . . . I didn’t mean . . .” What could she say?

“One question: Did you really say I could easily have hiked Mac’s grade?” His voice was filled with tension, and harder edged than normal.

“I said nothing of the kind.”

He sighed. “Okay. I didn’t think you would. Tara needs to be told she’s wrong.”

“More than that! They should print a retraction, Jason.”

“What I want to know is, where did they get the stuff about drinking and stealing? I don’t get it.” When she didn’t respond, Jason said, “Sophie? What’s up?”

“Okay, the night of the basketball game I didn’t know who she was. I may have said something . . . I mean, you remember
that incident with your cousins’ boat? You took off for a joyride and got in trouble?”

He was silent.

“And I mentioned . . . remember the summer you and Phil Peterson hung out together?” Phil Peterson was Cissy’s older brother, a lifelong troubled soul who was now apparently living out of state trying to get his act together. But when they were teenagers and even beyond he was always trying to smuggle booze into school events, and had been known to sell an ounce of weed occasionally. He had dragged Jason into his mess once or twice, though Jason wised up to the danger of inappropriate friends pretty quickly.

“Why did you get into that with a student?” he said.

“I don’t even know,” she said, feeling about two inches tall. She put her head in one hand. “I don’t normally babble; you know that. But I was uncomfortable, and she looked so harmless. I’m sorry. I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.”

He sighed heavily. “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known the girl was a writer for the newspaper.”

“She said she was there in support of you! That she wanted to start a petition to
help
you.”

“She’s a muckraker. She ought to do well in media.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Okay. It’s all right.”

“Jason, who do
you
think did it?”

He was silent for a moment. “I wouldn’t want to accuse someone unjustly.”

“I promise I won’t say a word to anyone. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“It has to be someone who either loves the basketball team or cares about Mac personally. I’m thinking either Heck Donovan or Mac’s academic adviser.”

“Kimmy Gabrielson. She told me herself that she was
one of the few people who could have done it and had access to the content management computer program. Would she tell me that if she had done it? If you know what I mean?”

“Would she have said that to you if she was the one who changed the grade? She’s smart. It would be a great bluff.”

“True. She didn’t think Heck Donovan
could
have done it. She said she’s not sure he would even have had access to the software.”

“You’ve discussed this in depth, haven’t you?”

“Jason, you never told me a thing. I was blindsided and shell-shocked,” she said, stung by his acerbity. She flung herself down in a chair in her living room and tossed a pillow at the wall. If he wanted to get into it, then she’d tell him the truth. “I think that’s why I talked about it; I was so taken aback.”

There was silence from his end, and she worried she’d offended him. But then he said, “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just . . . this is a mess. Anyway, as you know, Mac was benched pending the investigation, and Heck is furious. He and the dean had a battle royal, I guess. Dean Asquith’s secretary spread the tale across the campus. Heck came storming into my office this afternoon and gave me what for.”

They talked a few minutes more, then said good night. Unsettled by the whole thing, Sophie was tired but edgy. She watched some TV, her favorite true crime stories, and then went to bed to toss and turn with wild dreams of running through the halls of her old boarding school, plaid kilt flapping around her knees, escaping from some maniacal killer who specialized in schoolgirls. After that disquieting night she was happy to awaken in the pretty bedroom and descend to the sunny kitchen to bake scones and cookies and make soup and stew.

Before the tearoom opened she called Dana. She wanted to tell her friend what Jason had said about who he thought
was responsible, but Dana didn’t even let her finish her first sentence.

“Soph, I hate to say it, but I just heard from Kimmy. The dean made a public statement to the students and press this morning. He said in light of the grading scandal, that the one responsible has been discovered and will be dealt with summarily.”

“But that’s good, right? If they’ve found out who did it?”

“I’m not so sure of that. Kimmy thinks they’re going to scapegoat Jason.”

Chapter 6

S
ophie hung up quickly, told Nana she’d be down to open with her, then ran upstairs and texted Jason to call her. She didn’t want to bug him, knowing that weekends were filled with course work, grading tests and essays, and work on his doctorate, but she needed to know what was happening. She paced and fretted, biting her nails, an old habit she thought she had grown out of. He called back ten minutes later.

She breathlessly asked him about the dean’s address to students and the media, and he said she had heard correctly. He sounded tired and worried; she wished he was beside her so she could give him a hug.

“I haven’t been suspended from teaching yet, but it’s not looking good. I don’t think he’s brought in outside help, but the dean has one of the college staff sniffing around asking questions. One of my buddies in the science department said
someone told him that he was asking if I’ve been behaving any differently lately, or if I bought anything unusual.”

“What does that mean?”

“I guess they think there may be bribery involved. I don’t know! It’s making me crazy. I can’t even defend myself because no one is saying it outwardly, they’re whispering behind my back!”

“Oh, Jason, this is awful. As if you’d ever do anything like that!”

“Anyway, even if they don’t suspend me, I feel like everyone is watching me now, judging me, thinking I cheated. I don’t understand what’s going on. I didn’t
do
anything, so I know there’s no evidence against me. Unless the dean’s got someone else in mind and he’s just not saying, I don’t know what to think. He and I have never gotten along, but I don’t think he would take it out on me to cover up the problem.”

She didn’t say what she was thinking, which was, what if it was the dean himself who did the grade altering, not expecting it to come out? “What will you do if the worst happens?”

“The worst? You mean, what if I’m fired? I don’t even know if he
can
do that to me, but I know he’d love to. We don’t get along, and everyone knows it.”

“When do you find out?”

“He’s going to make the official announcement after the weekend. He doesn’t want anything taking attention away from Fall Fling, he said.”

“What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“I’m going to go ahead as if all is okay. I didn’t do anything. If he tries to pin it on me, I’ll fight it, but who knows what’ll happen from there?”

“I know it’ll be okay, Jase, really. You didn’t do it, and they can’t prove you did.”

“I guess you have more faith in the system than I do. Oh well, there’s always Paris.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve always wanted to go to France. Maybe I’ll go there to work.”

*   *   *

T
helma Mae Earnshaw prodded Gilda with one boney finger. “Now get on over there to Rose’s joint, cozy up to Laverne and find out what they’re doing for that dumb tea fling. I know what we’re doing, but I couldn’t overhear a thing at the Spouts meeting about what they’ve got planned.”

“What am I supposed to find out?” Gilda wobbled over to peer into the oven, then tugged at her frizzy hair and sighed. “I don’t know what you want, Thelma.” She grabbed two mitts and opened the oven door, giving the scones a poke.

Thelma ducked her head and eyed the side entrance to Auntie Rose’s through the smeared window. “I need to know what they’re serving to folks, and when they’re making it. And how are they going to keep tea hot all evening for the strollers. Hmph. Sounds like they’re going to be carrying babies;
strollers
!” She picked up her cell phone. Cissy had programmed in some numbers and said all she had to do was find someone’s name and she could call them. She had also explained a few other nifty features, like the camera.

A camera on a phone! She was like a modern-day spy, and could take photos while pretending to call or text, whatever that was, but Cissy said it all the time. Thelma found the little gadget on the screen that looked like a camera, aimed the phone at Gilda’s butt as her employee pulled the tray of scones out of the oven, and hit the little button, but the darn thing jiggled and all she got was a blur. Dang!

Gilda plunked the tray of scones on the counter and pulled off the oven mitts, grumbling under her breath. Then she cast Thelma a sly look. “I guess I
could
go over and have a cup of tea with Laverne. Maybe pick her brain?”

“And find out what they’re doing. Now, scoot! Just don’t be too long. We got a tearoom to run.”

When Gilda had tripped out the wide door in an all-fired hurry, Thelma pulled some sugar packets out of her pocket. Maybe she could pull a few harmless pranks on Rose, just so she’d stay on her toes.

*   *   *

I
t was the end of a long day that had started badly, with the news about the dean’s press conference and Jason’s worries, and continued weirdly, with Gilda, from Belle Époque, coming over and quizzing them all on their Fall Fling plans. Sophie and her grandmother had eaten dinner together, but tomorrow was a big day. Nana was going to bed early to get a good sleep.

Sophie pulled on her skinniest skinny jeans and her beloved pair of Uggs, wound a scarf around her neck and slipped on her blue jean jacket, then paused. October in upstate New York; it could get kind of cold in the evening, but still . . . she was driving the Jetta, it had an excellent heater, and she’d be going directly into Barchester Hall to meet up with Rhiannon Galway and help at the Galway Fine Teas booth. She’d be fine, she decided. She closed her apartment door, raced down one set of steps and nipped through Nana’s apartment to her bedroom, where her grandmother was tucked in bed with Pearl on her lap, a cup of tea at her side and Jessica Fletcher on the DVD player.

She stuck her head in the door. “I don’t know what time I’ll be home. You have my cell number if you need me, right?”

“I do,” Nana said with a sleepy smile. She stroked Pearl’s head gently.

“You haven’t been overdoing it have you?” she asked, watching her grandmother.

“No, Miss Bossy,” Nana said with a chuckle. “I’m getting up there in years. Everything takes twice as long and is twice as hard. But it’s so nice to be back in the tearoom again.” She eyed her granddaughter. “I hope you know how much I appreciate you coming back here, but . . .”

“But what?”

“
But
I never want you to feel you have to stay here if you’d rather be elsewhere.”

Sophie crossed the bedroom and bent over her grandmother, giving her a fierce hug. “I am
exactly
where I want to be. I think it took going back to the Hamptons to get that in my head. I have friends here, and you and Laverne; what else could I want?”

“And Jason?”

“And Jason,” Sophie said, trying to keep her tone light. What would happen between them if he had to leave? She didn’t even want to think about it.

“Are you going to see him tonight?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Say hello to Rhiannon for me.”

“I will. I’m bringing back a fresh box of our tea. We’ll need extra for tomorrow night.”

“Good thinking. Night, honey.”

“I’ll be quiet when I come in. Good night, Nana. And Pearlie-Girlie,” she said, dropping a kiss on the cat’s fluffy head. The Birman stretched and yawned, then curled up in a goofy ball, feet pointing skyward.

Barchester Hall, one of the buildings from when Cruickshank was expanded to accommodate the influx of returning
GIs going to college on the GI bill, was a large building with cement columns separated by aqua, salmon and glass panels. It housed an auditorium theater for speakers, as well as a big room for conventions and displays. She parked and entered the retro lobby, which featured starburst and amoeba designs, veering off toward the convention hall.

The event was in full swing. A few hundred people strolled the long aisles, perusing tea-related displays of all kinds of vendors, from tea blenders, porcelain makers, teapot artisans, antiques merchants and many more. She rushed along the line of tables until she came to Rhiannon’s and hopped into the booth, giving her friend a quick hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Rhiannon, her auburn hair pulled back and woven into a braid, pulled off her emerald-green apron and flung it down on the table. “I need to go to the bathroom!”

“Drink too much tea?” Sophie asked with a grin.

“Funny. Look, can you hold down the fort for a minute? Tell anyone who asks I’ll be back in a sec.” She grabbed her purse and rushed off.

Sophie looked around, familiarizing herself with the booth. It was roughly a ten-by-twelve space, with square shelving units holding a variety of Galway’s special blends in both loose-leaf and tea bag types, as well as imported teapots, infusers, strainers and Irish linens. Rhi had some thermal jugs set up that dispensed hot tea in five different blends.

Folks drifted past and some paused; she served them tea blends, telling them the difference between the two black blends, and the green, Earl Grey and chai teas offered. She pointed out the excellent quality but plain teapots, various steepers, strainers and infusers, and packaged loose-leaf teas.

Rhiannon came back, shoved her purse under the counter and picked up her apron. “I’m lucky you came along when
you did. That time of the month, you know?” She grabbed an extra apron and thrust it into Sophie’s hands.

“Happy to be of assistance,” Sophie said, donning the apron, which had
Galway Fine Teas
in white script across the chest.

They worked together, with Sophie directing folks who had more complex questions or orders to Rhiannon. In between they talked about the problems that Jason was having at the college. Rhiannon said that Cruickshank had always had a lousy athletic program, and she knew because she had gone there on a women’s volleyball scholarship.

“We did our best, but college leadership wasn’t very encouraging,” Rhiannon said, flinging her auburn braid back over her shoulders. She perched on the edge of the green-tablecloth-covered table. “We were ranked first in our division and
still
couldn’t get any money or gym time. Don’t laugh, but back then, besides us, they had great bowling, fencing and archery teams. Totally random, right? Nowadays they don’t have
any
good teams.”

“All I know is, Jason didn’t do what he’s being accused of.”

A passel of locals came by. Sophie recognized some of them from the businesswomen’s association in Gracious Grove. She hailed Elizabeth Lemmon, owner of Libby Lemon’s, a kitchenware store in downtown Gracious Grove.

“Hey, Sophie, Rhiannon,” the woman said, pushing back her dark fluffy curls.

“You two know each other?” Sophie asked.

“Sure. We talked about carrying Rhiannon’s tea in our store. We still may do that!”

They chatted business, in between Rhiannon helping customers and talking about tea. As Rhiannon moved into the concourse to talk to some folks who were interested in having her do a talk on tea for their church group, Elizabeth
leaned in to Sophie. “I’ve been hearing about what’s going on with your fellow, Jason. You know the dean’s wife, Jeanette Asquith? She’s a gossipy soul, and has been spreading the word through every group in town she belongs to.”

Dismayed, Sophie said, “Why would she do that?”

“Jeanette seems frosty, but once you get to know her, you find out she will talk your ear off about anything. She’s a bit of a self-important pain, if you ask me, but she’s such a good customer I can’t shut her up.”

“What did she say? What is she telling people?”

The woman took Sophie’s arm and drew her out of the booth toward a private curtained area behind, which was storage for the vendors. It was dimly lit and lined with boxes. “In the last couple of days she’s been telling anyone who will listen that one of the instructors has been caught red-handed upping one of the athlete’s grades. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess she means Jason Murphy. It was being talked about even before that story in the
Clarion
.”

“Do people in Gracious Grove actually read the
Clarion
?”

“Off-campus students live in town, so a lot of places carry it and many local business advertise in it. I don’t; no student is in the market for high-end kitchen gadgetry. But Peterson Books ’n Stuff carries it and advertises in it, especially since they supply school texts to a lot of Cruickshank students.”

That was how Dana knew about the newspaper article before anyone else. “I don’t get why Dean Asquith’s wife would be spreading around the rumor.”

Elizabeth touched her arm. “Look, you didn’t hear it from me, but she’s got a friend on the side.”

“I’ve already heard that. What has he got to do with it?”

“Paul Wechsler is systems engineer at Cruickshank.”

Sophie, mystified, shook her head.

“
Think
about it! Who could change those grades easier at any point than the fellow who has access to every area of the computer system?”

“But why would he?” Was she being dense? She didn’t get the connection.

“Okay, let me spell it out. You’re not the gossipy type, right?”

Sophie shook her head.

“Okay, well, the scuttlebutt is that Paul is so in love with Jeanette that he’d do anything for her. He wants her to leave Dale Asquith, but knows she won’t do it as long as Paul just works for the college. I could be wrong, but I think he may have done it for a bribe from Mac MacAlister’s parents, who are already wealthy, but hoping he gets an offer from the NBA. His dad played here back in the seventies. Their dream is for him to play for the Knicks. If the bribe was big enough, Paul thinks he could start the IT company he’s been talking about for a year, make it big and tempt Jeanette away from Dale.”