Tainted Teacup Read online

  Tainted Teacup

  Michelle Busby

  Patent Print Books Panama City Beach, Florida

  This is a work of fiction, and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. The characters, places, and incidents portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Tainted Teacup

  Published by Patent Print Books

  www.patentprintbooks.com

  Patent Print Books and the fingerprint colophon are registered trademarks of Patent Print Books

  Copyright ©2020 by Michelle Busby

  Cover design ©2020 by Patent Print Books

  Edited by Ann W. Carns

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be scanned, uploaded, reproduced, distributed, stored in a database or retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever, without the prior written permission of the author and publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Edition: April 2020

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN 978-0-578-67062-4

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020

  10987654321

  Dedicated to my children,

  who were the most difficult mysteries

  I ever tried to solve.

  In Appreciation

  I want to express my appreciation for those who had a part in the inspiration and completion of this book: my publisher, my editor, my proofreaders, my fellow sleuths, my friends, and especially my family.

  Introduction

  “Yes, that’s it!” said the Hatter with a sigh, “It’s always tea time …”

  “Take some more tea,” the March Hare said to Alice, very earnestly.

  “I’ve had nothing yet,” Alice replied in an offended tone, “so I can’t take more.”

  “You mean you can’t take less,” said the Hatter. “It’s very easy to take more than nothing.”

  ~ Lewis Carol,

  Alice in Wonderland

  Have you ever wondered how and why tea and teatime have figured so prominently in history and literature?

  Teatime refers to the time of day at which tea is taken—somewhere between late afternoon and early evening— to fill the gap between the noon meal and the evening meal. It is characterized by simple snacks of bread and butter, cakes, pastries, or tiny sandwiches paired with a hot beverage—tea.

  Its invention is credited with Anna Maria, Duchess of Bedford, who conceived of it in the 1800s as a social event for the wealthy upper crust of England. By the 1900s, it was observed by both upper- and middle-class citizens. Somewhere along the way, teatime lost its formality and was brought to the masses in the form of tearooms, which were similar to coffeehouses, and at which people of all walks of life could gather and “decompress” from the day’s stresses to dunk a pastry and sip a cup of the tasty infusion.

  Tea originated during the 3rd century AD in Southwest China, where it was a medicinal drink. Legend tells of a great Emperor of China who decreed that his subjects boil their water to prevent disease. One day, some leaves floated into his cup, and he didn’t remove them. He found the taste of the water infused with the brewed leaves delicious and restorative.

  Tea drinking spread quickly throughout the East Asian countries. It was introduced in Europe during the 16th century by Portuguese priests, and its popularity exploded from there to the entire world. Now, tea is the most consumed beverage in the world, second only to water. In addition to drinking, teas (especially herbal tea mixtures) can be used in medicinal remedies, salves, or wound compresses. (I saved my dog from succumbing to parvo by dosing him regularly over several days with an herbal tea blend until he could be seen by a veterinarian.) For those with a mystical bent, the dregs in the bottom of a teacup can be read by a “seer” in a process called tassiomancy to divine one’s fortune.

  There are many types of teas: black, white, green, and herbal among them, but most are made mainly from the bitter leaves of plants. Harvested tea leaves are processed by grinding, pounding, pan-frying, oxidizing, fermenting, brewing, boiling, steeping, and any number of novel ways in which to extract the taste or enhance the restorative properties. Herbal teas are not exclusively made from the leaves; they are frequently brewed from flowers, stems, bark, and the fruits of plants, and often their usage is medicinal, as well as for a tasty sipping beverage.

  Tea’s popularity spans all cultures. The Irish drink it throughout the day; they are the second biggest tea consumers in the world. In Asian cultures, the brewing and serving of tea is a tradition, and tea ceremonies are highly ritualized and revered as a symbol of peace and beauty. At one time in America, tea was a commodity as valuable as currency and was as coveted as bootleg liquor during prohibition. (Remember the Boston Tea Party in 1773?)

  In West Africa, the “gunpowder” tea drinking ritual is a rite of passage for determining the mettle of a man (or woman). They brew it strong and bitter, and serve it piping hot in a shot glass. The visitor must endure the highly caffeinated substance without complaint through three rounds. The first drink is unsweetened and symbolizes the trials and harshness of life. The second brewing of the same leaves is milder and sweetened with a touch of sugar. It symbolizes a more pleasant life of patient endurance. The third and final preparation is poured into a shot glass packed with sugar. The person who is determined and can endure to the last shot is deemed trustworthy enough to be called a friend. I participated in this ritual during a short trip to a village outside Senegal. I was called a friend … but I didn’t sleep for three days afterward!

  Finally, there is the age-old debate between coffee and tea. Both have their pros and cons, but the bottom line is that most people prefer one or the other. For those who choose to abstain from drinking either, Thomasina Watson recommends you try an herbal blend with fresh, clean water. What’s my take? I listen to Tommie Watson.

  ~ Michelle Busby

  Chapter One

  “Would you like an adventure now, or shall we have our tea first?”

  ~ J.M. Barrie,

  Pater Pan

  What can happen in 13 minutes?

  At 12:15 on an unseasonably warm February Monday in North Florida, Coral Beadwell entered Watson’s Reme-Teas for a cup of the special house blend.

  At 12:28, Coral lay dead on the floor with her head in the puddle of caramel-colored liquid that had spilled from her favorite teal and yellow teacup, her fingers still clutching the broken ceramic handle.

  What can happen in 13 minutes? Murder.

  Chapter Two

  Thomasina “Tommie” Watson slammed the dark grey stone grinder into the matching granite bowl with a fierceness the delicate herbs did not deserve. The rectangular ottoman she was using as a counter responded with a slight bounce as she pounded the pestle into the mortar over and over. Unable to sleep, she had laid a wooden cutting board on the footstool so she could sit on the loveseat as she prepared the herbs for a soothing bedtime tea.

  Her eyes misted yet again, recalling the events that unfolded on February 11, 2019—just 12 hours before—when Coral Beadwell died on the floor of Tommie’s shop. She sighed raggedly. Has it really only been twelve hours? she wondered, absently wiping the tears away with the sleeve of her night shirt.

  Monday had started out business as usual at Watson’s Reme-Teas, her herbal teas and natural remedies shop on Bottlebrush Boulevard in downtown Floribunda. She had happily leased it from her cousin Sanderson Harper in late October. When he was using the space, he called it Sandy’s Sandwiches and sold simple cold cuts
on bread with a bag of chips and a canned soda. It was not a booming business, but it was something he could do when he had down time from being the Floral County Coroner.

  The shop, under Tommie’s creative rebranding and renovation efforts, was beginning to show a decent profit. It seemed the Floribunda townsfolk liked having a resident herbalist who could make natural remedies and cosmetics, as well as delicious, healthy tea blends.

  Less than two weeks ago, however, on the 30th of January, Beverly Cantrell from Floral Real Estate had dropped a bomb on her with a single phone call.

  “Tommie, darling. It’s Beverly,” she purred.

  “Hello, Beverly. What can I do for you?” Tommie asked while she measured out chamomile flowers and willow bark for soaking to extract the calming and analgesic agents. The macerated herbs would be combined with coconut oil for a soothing acne fighting face cream, and the strained liquid would be the base for a headache remedy.

  “I hate to be the bearer of potentially bad news, but your duplex has been sold.” There was a lilt in her voice that made Tommie feel Beverly enjoyed delivering bad news.

  “What do you mean it’s been sold,” she asked. Tommie stoppered the herb containers and sat upright on her high barstool.

  “Well, you know our rentals are always for sale if someone should come by and want to buy them. It’s in the lease agreement you signed. You remember?”

  “Vaguely. I wasn’t in a very good frame of mind at that time.” Tommie raised her left foot and propped it on the shorter stool beside her. Her leg was still clad to the knee in the heavy black walking boot to support her broken ankle.

  “Well, be that as it may, you signed it, and the duplex has been bought by a man from Dublin.”

  “Dublin … as in Ireland? What are you saying Beverly? What does that mean?” Tommie could feel the morning’s breakfast rising into her throat. She swallowed reflexively to quell the feeling.

  “I really couldn’t say at this point, but yes, Ireland. Imagine that! He bought it sight-unseen over the internet and wired us the money today. My understanding is that he is moving from Dublin and will be taking up residence here at the end of next week. The good news is we have a few other rentals available now, but they won’t last long, so don’t be caught short. You’ll be given a full three weeks to move out, so you can start your new lease on the first of March.

  “Your initial deposit may be returned, or you may apply it toward the new rental. Your pet deposit was non-refundable, of course, and you will have to make new applications for both of your dogs when you decide on another rental. You are still responsible for the final maintenance and cleanup, to be done to the satisfaction of the new owner. You’ll have to work that out with him.”

  Tommie could not miss the overt satisfaction and condescension in Beverly’s voice as she went through her spiel. She was a hungry shark who trolled tirelessly for her exorbitant commissions and excessive leasing agent fees.

  “Beverly, how am I supposed to do all that while I’m still recovering from this broken ankle?” Tommie asked, trying to ignore the insistent throbbing in her toes from leaving the foot down too long.

  “Oh, I thought surely it was healed by now. It’s been over four months.”

  “I have nerve damage, and it’s taking a lot longer.”

  “Oh my, that’s too bad. Now, don’t you have an adult son nearby and some friends who can help you? They moved you in, didn’t they? Well, I’ve got to run. Just wanted to give you a heads up. Have a nice day,” she said and abruptly disconnected.

  Tommie fisted her hands into her short salt and pepper hair and rested her elbows on the counter, blinking back angry tears. Dangit all, Beverly Cantrell, she thought, and you, too, you mystery man from Ireland. Why can’t you just stay in your own country?

  In one short phone call, the world, which was just returning to some semblance of normalcy, suddenly spun out of control. She didn’t have the money to put down on a new place to live, nor could she do the physical packing, moving, and final maintenance on the current place.

  Tommie had just gotten to the point where she could comfortably hobble around without additional assistance from a wheelchair or a walker, but she was far from healed. Even with surgically placed pins and a plate, the bones of a 64-year-old didn’t knit as well as they would have, were she younger. There was also the complication of the damaged nerves. Adding insult to injury, her doctor had pointed out the weight factor. After an entire life of being slim and trim during the childbearing years from her three failed marriages, Tommie’s 5’2” body had inexplicably reverted to the genes of the heavy side of her family. At 200 pounds, regardless of the countless diets with which she tortured herself, the stress to her ankle was significant.

  When Tommie regained control of her temper, she did the one thing she could think of: she called her friend Maggie Kohl in Rivertown. After explaining the situation, she prayed Maggie would give her some sage advice. Maggie did.

  “Tommie, let’s put this in perspective like we always do when you have a crisis,” she said.

  Maggie meant nothing untoward in the comment, and Tommie took it as it was intended. She did, indeed, have multiple crises—as did Maggie—but together, they always figured out the solutions to their problems.

  “I know, I know. What’s this, number 24,399?” Tommie asked with a laugh.

  “No, I think it’s 24,400. But who’s counting?”

  “OK. What can I do? I’m financially tapped out, and I’m physically and emotionally the same,” Tommie lamented.

  “Just wait. We’ll figure it out. Point A to point B before we try to jump to point Q.”

  “Right. Point A is where I’m at—January 30, 2019 in Floribunda, Florida. I’m sublimely happy in my little duplex with my dogs, loving my herbal shop, finally getting some pretty good repeat customers, but I’m not making enough to do all the deposits and stuff.”

  “And point B is where you need to be. But at this time, we don’t know where you need to be, or even when.”

  “I’ll have three weeks to get out of the duplex and do the final maintenance and cleanup on it once he moves in.” Tommie sighed heavily, fighting to control the tears.

  “Not necessarily. What’d that woman say? She couldn’t really tell you what would happen, right? Maybe he won’t want you to move? Maybe you can continue to rent and pay him instead?”

  “I suppose.”

  “What’s today? Wednesday? He’s coming at the end of next week. That’s, um … let me see … nine days away if he comes on Friday. You can chill for nine days. No need to make any plans before then. After he moves in, you must take him a goodie-filled welcome basket with a special herbal tea … the Irish do love their tea. Oh, and that sweetener you make with the honeysuckle blossoms and raw clover honey. He’ll be so appreciative. You’re charming, and wonderful. How can he not want you to keep living there?”

  “You give me too much credit, Maggs. I’m wonderful but not that charming.” Tommie chuckled despite herself.

  “Oh yes, you are! Stop putting yourself down. Fwap-fwap!” She made slapping sounds, which caused Tommie to laugh aloud. “You’re an amazing person, and Craig and I just love you so much.”

  “You do, you do. All right. My face is officially stinging from your smacking. I’ll make up a special blend for him. Maybe even bake a banana bread or something.”

  “There you go. And I shall light a pink candle and pray for your success,” she said in the cheerfully dramatic and musical quality her voice took on when being emphatic.

  “Thank you, Maggs. I’m sure that’ll do it.”

  “It will. Point A to point B, and he shall be your new landlord. He is point B. Believe it, and the universe shall make it so. Get to work, Tommie Watson, and concoct your magic potion for him,” Maggie said, making kissing noises before hanging up.

  Talking with Maggie always left Tommie in a good mood, as much for the advice as for the complete focus Maggie gave to helping solve her pr
oblems. If ever there was a true friend in the world, that friend was Maggie Kohl. Not to say that Terry Jackson and Annie Lang weren’t also her true-blue friends. They absolutely were, but in different ways. Maggie had been her soul sister for more than 30 years, and they could nearly read each other’s minds.

  Tommie got busy and mixed up more of the sweetener she called Honey-Honey, which she would take the Irishman in nine days or so. Afterward, she portioned out the herbs to make his tea blend: lavender and chamomile flowers for a mood elevator and to reduce stress and muscle tension, lemon balm leaf for calmness, basil leaf to combat irritability and fatigue, and a pinch of powdered cardamom as an aphrodisiac to make Tommie seem more alluring to him. She crushed the seeds, bruised the flowerheads and leaves to release their oils, put the mixed herbs into a zipper lock plastic bag, and labeled it Laid-back Landlord.

  She did a Google search and found that the Irish prefer milk with their tea instead of lemon. Tommie planned to make him a special creamer that would ensure he had a good night’s rest with pleasant dreams while he thought about her living situation. She set aside whole nutmeg and a small vial of rose water. Just before she took him the welcome basket, she would grind out ½ teaspoon of the nutmeg, combine it with one tablespoon of the rose water, and mix it into eight ounces of fresh milk. She called it Dreamer Creamer.

  Once her preparations were done, Tommie brewed a cup of her homemade Blues Reme-Tea, made with an infusion of St. John’s wort, spearmint leaves, nettle leaves, lemon balm, dried oregano, and basil leaves steeped in filtered water, and sweetened with 100% grade A dark maple syrup.

  Nine days. Tommie felt she was prepared after Maggie’s pep talk, and she could endure the next nine days. She sipped the warm tea and savored the sweetness of the maple syrup. She found herself feeling much better. Sadly, her respite was short-lived.