The Grim Steeper: A Teapot Collector Mystery (10 page)

Nana toddled over to the counter and peered through the dark across the lane at Belle Époque. Absently, she picked up a cloth, wet it and began wiping down surfaces that were already spotlessly clean.

“Remember what the doctor said?” Sophie asked her grandmother. “You’re to get enough rest.”

“My darling Sophie, I know that,” she said, turning back to Sophie. “But a man has been murdered on our doorstep. It’s terrible. I feel like I’ll never sleep again. I know it doesn’t seem so to you, but to me he was so young! So much life to live.”

“My darling Nana,” Sophie said, leaping up to her feet and hugging her grandmother, hovering over the tiny lady with a fierce desire to protect her. “That’s true, I know. But I don’t care about him, as hard as that sounds. I care about
you
. You can’t help him now, but you
can
take care of yourself. Go upstairs and get some sleep.”

“What about you?”

Sophie straightened. “Didn’t you know I’m invulnerable? When I ran In Fashion, I made do on about three hours of sleep a night. My sous chef claimed he thought I was an alien who lived on the energy of other beings. One sleepless night isn’t going to kill me.” She made a face when she realized what she had said. “I mean, it won’t hurt me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to do what I do best when I’m thinking; I’m going to cook.” In her mind she added,
And I’m going to figure out who did this on our doorstep so that Auntie Rose’s Victorian Tea House doesn’t become synonymous with murder, and so that Jason Murphy isn’t for one second suspected of the dean’s murder
.

And that was that!

Chapter 10

N
ana agreed and toddled up to bed, with Pearl softly thumping up the stairs after her.

Sophie got out some ingredients and began to cook. She went back to basics and made trays of cookies and muffins, mindless chores she had been doing since she was a child. While she worked, she reviewed what she knew about every person who had a reason to be angry with the dean. That she knew of, anyway; there could be a legion she didn’t know about.

Vince Nomuro, the registrar, had been shadowing him at the basketball game, and openly told his assistant that he didn’t trust the man. He had been named as one of the people who could have changed the grade. His assistant Brenda Fletcher was likely just as capable.

Sherri Shaw, his mistress, was angry at him, while he appeared to be trying to get rid of her. And yet here she was, hanging around, clinging to him. Didn’t the woman have
any dignity? That was a puzzle to Sophie. But was she angry or hurt enough to kill him? Sophie pulled another tray of muffins out of the oven and tested them for “bounce back.” They seemed done, so she set them on a rack to cool.

The spouse was always a suspect, and in this case there were numerous reasons why Jeanette Asquith could want the dean dead. He had a girlfriend, she had a boyfriend and then there was money. There was
always
money. Did she want to get rid of him but didn’t want to leave the marriage without financial security?

Sophie didn’t know who, in that relationship, had the most money. He was the one working, but for all Sophie knew Jeanette had a job, too, though she doubted it. On the other hand, the dean’s wife had spoken of her family’s home in the Hamptons, and she knew Sophie’s mother. Rosalind Taylor drifted in exclusive circles; Jeanette might be the one with wealth, and maybe she didn’t want to share it in a divorce.

Sophie needed to know more about the woman, her past and her marriage, and she had a ready-made source. She would call her mother and ask about Jeanette Asquith. That meant speaking to her mother, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that yet, given how angry she still was about the bribery of the restaurant owner, but . . . she had to talk to her sometime.

The police would be looking at Jason; that was a given. She eyed her phone, sitting on the small table by the window, but wasn’t sure if she should try calling or texting him just yet. Would it look like she thought he was guilty if she warned him about the dean’s death?

And then there was the grading scandal, and the number of people who could be angry with or worried about the dean’s involvement and impending announcement. Among those, there were several at the tea: Vince Nomuro and Brenda
Fletcher, who she had already considered. Kimmy Gabrielson. Tara Mitchells was there, too; Sophie wondered if it would be worth talking to her as a source of information. The girl had an agenda, true, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t a sharp-eyed reporter who noticed things. What had she seen last evening? Even though she was furious with the girl for tricking her into talking about Jason and then twisting her words for the newspaper, she could talk to her, if it came to that.

Of course the very best source of information at some point was going to be right down the street from Auntie Rose’s: Julia Dandridge. The professor had been with those people all evening, and had further insight into their character and interactions that even Jason didn’t have. Sophie’s stomach rumbled. Were her nerves finally getting to her? Was it the fear of Jason being railroaded with accusations? He had a powerful motive to be angry with the dean, but she hoped his innocence would protect him.

Her stomach rumbled again. It was now three in the morning; she hadn’t slept and hadn’t eaten since her sandwich supper the evening before. She slunk through the dark tearoom and peeked out the front window. The body was hidden by a white canvas tent ablaze from within by brilliant lights, mysterious shadows moving inside as investigators did their job. She moved to look out the window on the other side of the door. Out by the road there were cruisers lining the street and uniformed officers clustered in groups, illuminated by the streetlights.

Every one of them must be hungry and tired, maybe more so than herself. One thing she could do was feed people. She slipped back into the kitchen and fortified herself with a muffin and glass of milk while she put on the big coffee urn. She pulled over a stepladder and got down paper cups from the highest cupboard, and set to baking more comfort food. Tea
biscuits, mini-muffins and cookies. By four she had coffee made and another big batch of muffins baking in the double industrial oven. She grabbed her hoodie, pushed her feet into runners and snuck out the side door, down the alley and to the front.

There was Detective Morris alone, by the front bumper of a cruiser. Sophie strolled close, her ears perked, and heard the detective muttering into her phone, but the woman caught sight of Sophie and stared at her as she put her phone away in her suit jacket pocket. “Yes?”

Sophie folded her arms over her chest. “I thought you all might be tired and hungry and cold. I’ve put on a big pot of coffee and got out paper cups. I’ve made muffins, too.”

“I appreciate the offer, Sophie, but we can’t accept. I can’t allow my guys to have anything from your kitchen. Not right now.”

Her stomach clenched and her hands trembled. “Why?”

The woman shook her head and sighed. “I can’t explain.”

“Please, tell me. I don’t under—” She broke off as it came to her. There
was
only one possible explanation; they suspected the dean may have been poisoned. Her mind raced and she turned away, examining the scene, remembering the man as she had last seen him, bluish and contorted, with the string of drool from his mouth.

The small front yard of Auntie Rose’s was bordered by hedges. Why was the dean there? She recalled something she had told the detective already, about the sound of the car door, and looking out the front window to witness what had looked like two people embracing or dancing. A chill raced down her spine as she truly realized that she had quite likely witnessed the dean and his assailant. Perhaps he was being wrestled into the graveled area under the tree, dead or still alive. But why? Unless . . . did the killer want to pinpoint the
blame? Did he or she want Sophie or Jason to be implicated? Or had they witnessed the dean’s reaction earlier when he drank the salted tea and thought to use that to point blame at Auntie Rose’s? If only she had run downstairs when she saw the two!

She turned back and noted the detective calmly watching her, sharp eyes focused. “You must think that I could be involved in the dean’s murder, given the drama lately. But you’ll discover that I wasn’t, and Jason wasn’t, either. If you wait until you figure that out, though, the killer might have already escaped.”

The detective took a deep breath, clearly suppressing her first reaction.

“I’m sorry. That sounded snarky, didn’t it? I didn’t mean it that way,” Sophie said. “I’ve thrust my foot in my mouth more than once lately.”

“You were helpful last time, when the murder next door occurred,” the detective said evenly. “But you can trust me to not jump to conclusions. Just because I say we can’t have anything to eat or drink from your place, and you know we are investigating you and your friend as suspects, it doesn’t mean we aren’t casting a wider net. There are officers right this minute questioning many others, across our whole town. Some are knocking on doors in this very neighborhood. No stone will be left unturned.”

Sophie nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was questioning your ability, or your methods, Detective. I have nothing but respect for you and your team. I hope . . .” Her voice caught and she cleared her throat. “I guess I’m scared. I’m so sorry this happened, and it’s only complicated things for Jason and me, truly. This is the
last
thing either of us wanted to happen.”

The detective nodded but said nothing more.

“Okay. I’ll go now.” She returned up the dim alleyway and slipped inside the warm kitchen as the timer went off. She took the muffins out of the oven, set them on a rack to cool and turned away from the dark window, tears clogging her throat, like a lump she couldn’t swallow past. Pearl had descended and sat at the bottom of the stairs looking up at her. Sophie plunked down cross-legged on the floor and picked the soft fluffy cat up, cradling and stroking her. It was instantly calming as the Birman purred and snuggled down with a contented sigh.

Her phone chimed. She grabbed it off the edge of the table. There was a text from Jason; all it said was,
Sophie, you up?

She tapped back
Yes
, and waited.

It chimed. “Jason?” she said.

“So it’s true?” he said. “The dean was found dead outside Auntie Rose’s?”

They talked over their shock about what happened, but he seemed distracted. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Soph, I didn’t want to upset you last night. You were so busy and stressed! But the dean and I had a run-in before the fling. I tried to talk to him but it got out of hand. I told him he needed to hold off if he was thinking of accusing me, because I wasn’t guilty, and he’d look like an idiot—actually I said he’d look like a cloth-headed oaf of infinite absurdity—if it came out later who really changed Mac’s grade.”

“Cloth-headed oaf? That probably wasn’t the smartest thing you’ve ever done.”

“I know. I’ve been reading too much Shakespeare lately. But he had just told me that I should think about getting my resume in order. It was the way he said it, with a smirk, and in front of the Board of Governors! I’m sure every one of them will tell the cops how I reacted. I lost my cool, Soph. I yelled.”

“But you’re always so calm!” What a time for him to lose it.

“I love Cruickshank, and . . . you and I are just getting to a good place.”

Sophie was silent for a moment, processing everything that he had said as she stroked Pearl’s silky fur. It all tangled in her mind until she didn’t know what to think, but it meant a lot that he included their relationship in his concerns. “If you end up leaving Cruickshank, will it affect your PhD, too?”

“I don’t think so. Hold on a sec; I’m getting another call.”

He was silent for a moment, then came back. “That was Julia. She heard about the murder and wants us to meet her at SereniTea. Are you up for that?”

“Sure. Right now?”

“In one hour.”

She had a shower, dressed in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, pulled a hoodie on over top and left a note for Nana. It was still dark when she slipped out the side door once again, but a light gleamed through an upstairs window next door. Mrs. Earnshaw or Gilda must be awake. She could only imagine what the Belle Époque owner had told the detective about the previous evening. She and Nana had talked about Mrs. Earnshaw a lot over the years, but Sophie still didn’t understand her. The woman was more impetuous than a teenager; you never knew how she was going to react. She saw any exclusion as a slight, and would not listen to reason. That behavior, along with impulsiveness and a tendency to fume, had been constants in her life, from what Nana said, since she and Thelma were teenagers and friends.

Hearing how Mrs. Earnshaw’s lack of self-awareness had caused her to never grow beyond her flaws had taught Sophie that if she wanted to cure her own youthful faults, it would take work. Therefore, she decided that when she talked to her mother, she would do her best to have a rational adult
discussion. She emerged from the dark alley to the street. The detective was no longer there, but uniformed officers, including Wally Bowman, were still in abundance. She gave a brief wave, and he acknowledged her with a nod, then turned away.

Sophie dug her hands into her hoodie pockets and strode up the dark street toward SereniTea, three houses up the street. A car engine thrummed from the other direction, coming closer. She paused at the street as Jason drove up in his aging Chevy, killed the engine and got out, slamming his car door shut, the sound echoing loudly in the quiet neighborhood. Sophie felt eyes peering at them from behind blinds and curtains. Residents on the street, awake since the sirens wailed, were watchful, waiting until dawn so they could scurry about and share notes on what had happened at Auntie Rose’s after the Fall Fling tea stroll.

Jason strode over to her and took her in his arms. She leaned against his chest, then turned her face to look up at him. He surprised her with a kiss: warm, lovely, unexpected. Her heart was pounding and she melted. This was not how she had planned her first kiss from him in years, but it was so very lovely. Reassuring. He cared about her; she felt it now and didn’t need to ask.

But there was no time to react. He took her arm and tugged her hurriedly toward SereniTea’s new entrance, through a redwood pergola. The door was unlocked and the place was cool and dark. He led her through the teahouse, actually several rooms constructed like individual Japanese tearooms and then one large open area that was used for yoga classes.

“Where are we going?”

“Back to Julia’s office. She had a space created for bookkeeping and staff. Her manager lives in the apartment upstairs.”