IMPATIENT FOR MY meeting with Detective Stewart, I arrived at the Flowering Teapot early. The atmosphere was tranquil; a fair number of customers sat lingering over their tea, enjoying the soft afternoon light and the scents of banana and nutmeg from the day’s special. Apparently the shop’s only anomaly amid all the calm, I sat down at an empty table. My stomach was in knots and I nervously picked at my fingernails.
As soon as she saw me, Lily came over. “Elizabeth! How nice to see you again. What can I do for you?”
“I’m meeting Detective Stewart here.”
“Really?” Her voice rose. “Why? What’s going on?”
I opened my mouth to tell her but thought better of it. Besides, what exactly was I going to tell her? That Detective Stewart thought he had evidence against Aunt Winnie? That I found a necklace with strange initials on it? It would be all over town within fifteen minutes. “Oh, nothing much,” I lied. “He just wants to double-check some things about the other night.”
“Well, I hope they find whoever did it soon. It’s all anyone can talk about around here.” She gestured at the other patrons in the shop, some of whom were openly staring in my direction. If they thought I was interesting now, I’d be absolutely fascinating once Detective Stewart showed up.
“Let me bring you some tea,” Lily said, as the small silver bell on the door tinkled, announcing a new arrival. It was Detective Stewart. With his presence, the atmosphere in the shop changed. The lazy, relaxed feeling was gone, and in its place there was a charged anticipation as everyone surreptitiously watched his movements.
Looking every bit the bull in the china shop, he lumbered in my direction, leaving a trail of slushy snow in his wake. Behind him, Pansy shook her head disparagingly at the mess before going for a mop. Detective Stewart’s heavy black overcoat added at least three inches of mass to his already stocky frame and his bulky snow boots clomped loudly across the floor. With a brief nod to Lily, he sat down in the chair opposite me. “Hello, Ms. Parker,” he said gruffly.
“Hello, Detective Stewart,” I replied. “I’ve just ordered some tea, would you like some as well?”
“Um … do you have coffee?” he asked Lily hopefully.
“Of course,” she answered.
Relief spread across his broad face. “I’ll have coffee, please.”
“Coming right up.” Lily bustled off.
Detective Stewart shifted uncomfortably in his chair, and it occurred to me that my suggestion to meet here had been unintentionally brilliant. Detective Stewart was out of his element and ill at ease. Using this to my advantage, I said, “So what do you think about what I told you on the phone? What do you think it means?”
“You mean the necklace?” He shrugged slightly. “I admit it’s odd, but it doesn’t prove anything. However, we do have some new evidence that does suggest—”
“What do you mean it doesn’t prove anything?” I interrupted. “Someone is missing a necklace that she—or he—doesn’t want anyone to know about!”
Lily returned carrying a tray with two steaming pots. Detective Stewart poured out a cup of coffee for himself and took a sip. His large, blunt hands looked ridiculous holding the delicate cup.
“Ms. Parker, I’m not saying that what you saw isn’t without merit, but—”
“Have you checked it out? What about the initials? Whose initials are they?”
“I don’t have the answer to that,” he said. “But I’m working on it.”
“You’re working on it? What does that mean? I’ve been thinking about this, and the only people not already known around here are the Andersons. Are they who they say they are?”
“As far as I’ve been able to tell, they are indeed who they claim to be.” Reaching into his overcoat, he pulled out his scruffy black notebook. Flipping it open, he read, “ ‘Henry Anderson, age fifty-eight. His first wife, Valerie, died seven years ago from breast cancer. Runs an antiques business. Married Joan Baxter, age fifty-six, four years ago. It is her first marriage. Together they run an antiques store called Old Things.’ ” He closed the book and regarded me calmly.
“I still say there’s something going on there. The night after Gerald’s murder, I found Joan in the dining room. She said she’d been outside smoking. She said that Henry hated her smoking, which was why she was hiding it. But then I saw Henry outside smoking himself!”
“Lots of couples have secrets from each other.”
“I still say there’s something going on there,” I repeated stubbornly.
“And as I said, we’re looking into that.”
“Well, you don’t seem to be looking very hard!” I leaned across the small table and pounded my forefinger onto the linen tablecloth for emphasis. “This is important! And there’s something else. On the morning of the murder, when I was bringing out the coffee, I overheard Joan. I didn’t think anything of it at the time—in fact, I forgot all about it until this afternoon. Joan seemed upset and she said to Henry, ‘I can’t wait until this is all over.’ Now, why would she say that?” I asked. “By her own account, she was looking forward to the evening, so what was she afraid of? And there’s more. Joan and Polly were seen talking together in town today.”
Detective Stewart put down his now empty cup; he had drained its contents in two quick gulps. Wearily rubbing a hand across his face, he said, “Ms. Parker, two people talking in the street isn’t a crime.”
“No, but you have to admit that it’s suspicious, especially when these same two people who are supposed to have no prior relationship were also talking outside in a blizzard, no less! Aren’t you curious to know what they were talking about?”
Detective Stewart stared at me. “Are you always this bullheaded?”
“When it’s my aunt’s life on the line, yes. What’s your excuse?”
We glared at each other while being stared at by most of the shop’s occupants. Detective Stewart put his head back and laughed. It was a harsh noise, like a car speeding down a gravel driveway in reverse. The few customers who hadn’t been staring at us now abandoned all restraint and turned to watch.
“Detective Stewart? Are you all right?” I asked. I was pretty sure he was laughing, but he could have been having some kind of seizure.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Parker. Excuse me. You always seem to take me by surprise.”
I wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. “Detective Stewart,” I said, getting back to the topic at hand, “my aunt did not kill Gerald Ramsey. I’ve known her all my life and for you to think such a thing—for anyone to think such a thing,” I said, a shade louder for the benefit of the shop’s customers, “is ridiculous.”
Detective Stewart lowered his voice. “Your loyalty to your aunt does you credit, Ms. Parker.”
“Elizabeth.”
He nodded his head. “Elizabeth. As I was saying, your loyalty to your aunt does you credit, but there are facts associated with this case that are hard to overlook.”
“Such as?”
He held up his hand and ticked off the items on his beefy fingers. “Well, for one thing, there’s the fact that Gerald Ramsey desperately wanted your aunt’s inn.”
“So?”
“So,” he continued, “this wasn’t just simple coveting on Mr. Ramsey’s part. He was taking distinct measures to force your aunt to sell him the property. We know for a fact that he was using his influence on the zoning board not only to change certain requirements but also to establish new ones, the sole purpose of which seemed designed to drive your aunt out of business.”
“I already knew that,” I said. “Aunt Winnie told me herself my first night here. And I can tell you that she wasn’t concerned in the least about it. My aunt is tougher than you realize. She knows how to handle bullies like Gerald Ramsey.”
The eyebrow that I had grown to despise during my New Year’s Day interview with him now shot up. “Don’t go looking for innuendo where there is none,” I said quickly. “She wasn’t going to let Gerald Ramsey use the zoning board against her. She had her own plan to retaliate, a plan that didn’t include murder. She has a friend on the local newspaper here and she was going to make this story public. You know, corruption on the zoning board, greed run amok, that kind of thing. She was going to fight back, but within the confines of the law.”