Death by Tea (2 page)

“Competition?”

“We talk about the book, and whoever understands it and can articulate it best wins the prize,” Albert put in.

“Prize?” I wanted to break out of my rut of asking one word questions so I added, “What prize?”

“The silver teapot, silly!” Rita said with a gesture to the teapot in my hand.

I looked at Vicki, who simply shrugged. Who'd ever heard of a book club competition? Without having to ask, I knew Rita had been the one to come up with it. No one else would have thought of something so . . . odd.

I knew I was going to regret it, but I asked anyway. “How do you determine who the winner is?”

Rita gave me a look like I'd just asked her if the world was round. It was Albert who answered.

“We hold a public discussion. We alternate towns, and this year Pine Hills has the honor of hosting the event. We discuss the book amongst ourselves during the evening for a week, and then we have the big public discussion. Quite a lot of people turn out for it. The crowd votes for the winner.”

I had a hard time believing what I was hearing. I mean, a book club competition? Really? I plowed on anyway. “Doesn't that skew the results?” They both gave me a blank look. “Won't the people from Pine Hills vote for the Pine Hills team and vice versa?”

“Oh no,” Rita said. “This is much too important for that.”

If she said so, I wasn't going to argue. None of this was making much sense to me.

“So, you are going to have the meetings here?” I asked, still trying to feel my way through.

“We are,” Rita said. “We usually hold them at the library, but Jimmy here has kindly agreed to move it here this year.” She leaned toward me as if she was about to share some deep, dark secret. “He's the local librarian, you know.”

Jimmy gave me something of an annoyed smile, telling me he wasn't all that happy with the move. He wore a sweater vest and brown slacks with loafers that just about screamed librarian. His hair was buzzed short and his jaw square, juxtaposing the nerd with military. He was a good six feet tall, and I caught a hint of muscle beneath his plaid undershirt.

“It's nice to meet you,” he said in a surprisingly nasal voice. “It's Jimmy Carlton.” He put his arm around the short, round woman next to him. “And this is my wife, Cindy.”

Since introductions were already started, I turned an expectant look on the Cherry Valley group.

“Vivian Flowers,” the oldest member said with a shrug when my eyes landed on her. She looked to be at least eighty and probably weighed not much more. Her dress was covered in white lilies. I wondered whether she chose it because of her name, or if she simply liked the pattern.

The next man in line squinted at me through thick, black-rimmed glasses. “Orville Rush.” He was clutching the paperback copy of his book close to his chest, and even then his hands shook. His hair was but a wisp on his head.

The tall man whom Rita had indicated earlier smiled at me. He wore a fedora, pulled down low over his eyes, and an unbuttoned suit coat over a white shirt. “David Smith.” He tipped his hat toward me, and I nearly swooned. The man's voice did something strange to my insides. He was clearly from across the pond, if his accent was any indication.

“Sara Huffington,” the woman with the pearl necklace said in a bored tone of voice. She snuggled in closer to the Brit and promptly ignored the rest of us.

“And as you know, this is Krissy Hancock, daughter of our beloved author.” Rita put an arm around me. “She has kindly agreed to host the event this year, so I do hope you can show her some respect.” The last was aimed at Albert, who looked away, frustrated.

I tore my eyes from David and handed Rita the teapot. “I guess I should get back to work, then.” The argument seemed to be over, and I wanted to get as far away from these people as I could before another one broke out. “It was nice to meet you all.”

“Likewise,” David said in his silky smooth voice. It was followed by a wink.

I made a little squeak before spinning and hurrying away, Vicki hot on my heels.

“Cute, isn't he?” she asked as soon as we were back downstairs.

“Uh-huh.” It was all I could manage. I fanned myself off.

“Do you think it will be okay to allow them to have their meetings here? If they argue like that all of the time . . .” Vicki looked worriedly back up the stairs.

“I think they'll be fine.”

And if it meant I got to sit back and watch David Smith while I worked, I don't think I'd mind a little arguing, either. I mean, what could possibly be the harm?

2

I spent the rest of the day with half of my mind on work, the other half on the book club. Rita and the others left the store an hour after I talked to them, claiming they'd be back for the real meeting that night, yet every few minutes I'd find myself looking upstairs where they'd sat, wondering how it was going to play out.

The bell above the door jangled, and Mike Green walked in. He was a tall and lanky man with shoulder-length brown hair swept back from his face and liberally coated with hairspray or some sort of gel. He was one of those people with such a baby face, he was still carded at the movies, despite the fact he was in his mid-twenties. I even went as far as to make sure his ID was legitimate when he'd applied for the job. Pimples speckled his chin and forehead, and he was sporting his best attempt at sideburns, though it looked more like peach fuzz to me.

“Hey, yo,” he said with a nod to me. “I'll take the register.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Been a busy day.”

His eyes gleamed at that. “Can't wait.”

I went to the back to return my apron to its peg, feeling only mildly guilty for the shorter day. Lena had left an hour ago, and I was off in five minutes. Vicki, who'd been there all day, planned on staying until close with Mike. When I'd tried to tell her I'd stay later, she shook me off with a “You have a long day coming up.”

In a way, I was thankful. At least now I wouldn't have to stare at Cardboard Dad any longer. Every time my eyes passed over him, I shuddered. Something about it bothered me, though I couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. Maybe it was just the idea that it had been in Rita's bedroom and was now standing in my shop, staring out the window, scaring off customers.

Or maybe it was just because it was my dad, and darn it, no one wanted a life-sized cutout of a parent hanging around while they worked. It's downright creepy.

By the time I was on my way home that evening, my feet were killing me and I was mentally exhausted. I still couldn't wrap my mind around the idea of a book club competition, and no amount of thinking about it helped. It was just another one of those strange quirks of Pine Hills, I supposed. The town was like nowhere else.

I pulled into my driveway and parked. I had a fleeting thought about adding a garage but dismissed it pretty quick. You had to have money for that, and while I wasn't eating out of trash bins, I wasn't rolling in the dough, either. A garage would have to wait.

I made a pointed effort not to look toward Eleanor's house as I got out of the car. I could feel her staring at me with those binoculars pressed to her eyes. I focused instead on the sedate looking Phan household on the other side of my property. His pink car was nowhere in sight, but a white SUV was parked out front. I'd seen it a few times since I'd moved in and could only assume it was owned by his significant other, Lance. I would need to head over and officially meet the man sometime. So far, I'd only seen a picture. From what I gathered, he kept himself busy, often out of town doing whatever it was he did for a living.

But the introductions could wait until another night. I dragged myself to the front door, rubbing my eyes. You'd think that with the extra sleep, I would have had more energy, but no siree. I felt dead to the world, and after about fifteen minutes inside, puttering around, I figured I
would
be.

Yawning, I fumbled for my keys. I stepped up to the door and just about face-planted when I kicked something lying on my front stoop. My hand made a solid
smack
as it slammed against the door as I caught my balance.

A wrapped package lay at my feet. Pink paper was tied together with a long length of twine. I picked up the package and shook it, just to make sure it wasn't a bomb or maybe a bag of dog poop. It wasn't very smart, I'll grant you, but I was tired, so I could be forgiven. There was a faint, decidedly foodlike rattle from inside. A little card was taped to the top. It read, “To Krissy. From your loving neighbors, Jules and Lance.”

“How sweet.” I glanced toward the Phan house, but the lights were all off. Either they'd gone to bed early or were out running around somewhere. I'd have to save my thanks for later.

Unlocking the door, I tucked the package under my arm and headed into the house. Misfit darted for the door, but after years of practice I knew how to deal with the fuzzy demon. I pushed open the door far enough to insert my foot, gently pushing him away as I eased inside. The screen slammed closed, and I stepped aside to close the inner door. Normally I'd get a good swipe on the ankle for my effort, but tonight all I earned was an annoyed kitty huff.

“You feeling okay?” I asked the cat. He was sitting on the floor, staring at me, tail swishing from side to side. Okay, maybe he wasn't looking at
me
, but rather the box in my arm. “I don't think so,” I told him, holding the package even higher. “It's a gift for me and I get to open it first.”

Misfit followed me into the dining room where I set my purse and package onto the island counter. He jumped up and immediately made for the colorful packaging. I snatched it up before he could get his greedy claws into it.

“Can't you be good for a whole minute?”

He gave me a look that quite clearly said, “Of course not, moron. Who do you think you're dealing with here?” before pawing at me.

Holding the package away from him, I turned it over in my hand. The pink paper was covering what felt like a flimsy cardboard box, about the size of a shoebox. The twine itself was one continuous piece that wrapped around the entire thing in a way I could never manage on purpose.

I opened my junk drawer and removed a pair of scissors, knowing I'd never figure out how to get it open otherwise. I snipped the twine close to the knot and unwound it. The paper came next, and I set the wrapping and twine on the counter, next to the sink—which was about as far from the cat as I could get it without leaving the room. He gave me an annoyed look but remained firmly planted on the island, eyeing the box.

“I don't think you'll be eating these,” I said, peeking under the lid. It was filled nearly to the brim with freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. I removed one and sampled it.

Misfit's eyes narrowed as I chewed. His tail picked up speed as he watched me, growing more and more annoyed by the second.

“Sorry,” I said, wiping drool from my lips. The cookies weren't just good; they were
amazing
. I might have to hire on whoever made them, because there was no way I was ever going to make something this delicious. “You can't have chocolate.”

Misfit hopped from the counter and sauntered off toward the bedroom. I considered following him, knowing he was going to get back at me some way, but I decided against it. Better now than when I was trying to sleep.

I looked at the cookies in the box and knew I should put them away, but they were just too darn good. I grabbed a chipped mug from the cabinet, turned on the coffeepot, and went about creating bliss.

After the first sip, I realized I could die right then and there and be content. Little bubbles escaped from where the cookie sank to the bottom of the mug to absorb the chocolaty, sugary goodness. The smell of coffee and chocolate filled the kitchen as I sat down at the dining room table to drink.

A horrible hacking sound came from down the hall, followed by the sound of rampaging elephants as Misfit hurried away from the mess he left me, like I wouldn't realize it had come from him. I swear that cat revenge pukes. He ran straight down the hall and into the laundry room, where he would more than likely play the game of
Miss the Litter Box
. It looked like I'd be dealing with two messes tonight.

The thought nearly pulled me away from the bliss of the cookie. I tried hard to focus on drinking and chewing the little chunks that broke free from the whole, but other thoughts invaded. I kept seeing Rita's smug smile as she held up the cardboard cutout of my dad. I could deal with the book club and listening to them bicker for a week or so, but that? No sir. I don't think I could handle going to work every day with
that
looking at me.

I finished my coffee and grabbed a spoon. I could try to talk to Rita and see if she would take Cardboard Dad back home, but somehow I knew it would be pointless. Just asking would probably offend her enough that she'd make a scene. I supposed I could ride it out, but what would that do to my sanity? I had the tendency to let the smallest of things bother me, and having a flat version of my dad waiting for me at work day in and day out would drive me insane.

That did it. I scooped up the cookie and ate it. I am sure it tasted like pure heaven, but I hardly noticed. I took the mug to the sink, rinsed it out, and then just stood there, staring at the remains.

If I didn't do something, I'd have to look my dad in the face every single day for the rest of my life, or at least until Rita decided to take him back. It would feel the same either way.

I glanced up, toward the window that looked out over the Phan property. Night was coming on fast and it would soon be dark.

A plan started to form.

Now, I'll admit, I'm no evil mastermind, able to concoct elaborate plans to foil my enemies. I didn't even register on the devious scale. I might have said a few choice things in my time, might have used my wiles to trick a police officer into taking me into a crime scene, but that hardly counted.

But I couldn't just let this go. If I didn't get rid of Cardboard Dad, it would eat at me until I either did something about it or exploded. I dwelled on stuff like this, much to the annoyance of anyone who knew me. It would be far better to take care of this now.

I calmly grabbed the paper towels from the counter and the can of Spot Shot from beneath the sink and headed to my bedroom. Not surprisingly, Misfit had left his mess right where I'd normally step if I was getting in or out of bed. I knelt down, cleaned it up, and then took the wet, lumpy paper towel to the trash. The spot would be wet until morning, but I could deal with that.

Misfit watched me from the hall and I made sure to smile at him, as if his actions didn't bother me. If I showed him my frustration, he'd only do it again.

“That's a good kitty,” I said, patting him on the head as I headed for the laundry room. His ears flattened and he bolted for the living room as if I'd just threatened him with a trip to the vet. It took me a moment to realize that those were indeed the words I usually used when I
was
taking him to see the kitty doctor. Oh well.

I would have apologized, but having him out of the way made things easier. I didn't like him watching me, especially since I was planning to do something shameful once I was done cleaning up after him. It was like having him sit there and watch me while I am on the toilet; there are just some things that are never comfortable, no matter what.

I quickly cleaned up the mess he left outside the litter box, sprayed the room with air freshener, and then headed into my bedroom to wait.

Time ticked by so slowly, I very nearly fell asleep. The smart thing to do would have been to work on a few puzzles, maybe watch TV or browse the Internet for a few hours, but I wasn't being very smart right then. It should have been a sign, warning me that leaving the house tonight would end in disaster.

But I couldn't go to work tomorrow with Cardboard Dad there. I'd quit first.

After about twenty minutes, I couldn't take just sitting around anymore, so I began to organize my closet. When I'd unpacked the moving boxes a few months back, I'd haphazardly shoved my clothes onto hangers and put them into the closet with no apparent organization, which wasn't like me. I removed everything and sorted my shirts and dresses into separate piles. All of my dressy clothes—what few there were—went on the right. T-shirts in the middle. Everything I never planned on wearing ever again went on the left.

Once that was done, I hung everything up, except for a plain black shirt, and moved to my dresser to repeat the process with my drawers. I left out a black pair of yoga pants I'd bought in a fit of insanity and had never worn. I removed the tag, tossed the pants next to the shirt, and found a pair of white tennis shoes, which would clash with the darks but would have to do.

“Am I really going to do this?” I asked the clothing. I knew what I was doing was stupid. I could suck it up and just tell Rita the cutout had to go. If she took offense, well, I'd apologize and stand firm.

But there was a sense of excitement now that I was started, something that I hadn't felt since I'd chased down a murderer and nearly gotten killed. I wouldn't call myself an adrenaline junkie, but I definitely was feeling it as I considered my plan.

After a moment of silent contemplation, I slipped out of my work clothes and got dressed into the mostly dark ensemble. From there, I went into the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror.

A groan escaped my lips as I viewed the result. The yoga pants made it evident I hadn't worked out in a long time, and the shirt, though black, clashed with it. The yoga pants went down to mid-calf, so I was thankful I couldn't see most of my legs. I could only imagine how white they looked—probably as white as my shoes.

I considered changing but decided there really was no reason to. I wasn't doing anything
that
illegal. And when I got home, I could slip off my shoes and lounge around in the rest. The yoga pants weren't as uncomfortable as I'd thought, and with the way they looked on me, they might motivate me to do a few lunges and sit-ups before bed.

Misfit was curled up on the couch. He opened one eye, started to close it, and then raised his head to look at me.

“Shut up,” I said, turning to the kitchen. It was still too early for me to leave, so I filled my mug with coffee, dropped in a cookie, and then took my time to enjoy it.