In Hot Water: A Misty Bay Tea Room Mystery, Book 1

by Kate Kingsbury

Genres: Mystery

Synopsis

Vivian Wainwright is living her dream. The middle-aged widow owns the Misty Bay Tearoom, a quaint English-accented shop on the Oregon coast. But on the eve of the tearoom's second anniversary, the dream turns nightmarish when a man falls to his death from a hotel balcony. 

The body belongs to Dean Ramsey, ex-husband of Vivian's assistant, Jenna. Detective Tony Messina quickly zeroes in on Jenna as the prime suspect, since she was seen leaving the hotel shortly before the body was found. Vivian and her other assistant, Gracie, set out to help clear Jenna's name, using their wit and a bit of criminology know-how Vivian picked up from her late attorney husband. 

Detective Messina is on board, but he's starting to develop feelings for his number one suspect. Puzzling questions persist - chief among them whose clothes Dean was wearing when he landed on the rocky shore. To complicate matters, Vivian's friend, pet-shop owner Hal Douglass, seems to know some secrets about the hotel that could add a long list of names to the suspect list...including Hal's own. Vivian must work quickly because, if she can't, Jenna faces a murder rap - or worse.

Release date: October 12, 2021

Publisher: Crooked Lane Books

Sample

 

Chapter One

The victim lay on the rocks, sprawled facedown, his outstretched arms having failed to slow his deadly descent from the sixth-floor balcony of the Blue Surf Hotel. Detective Lieutenant Tony Messina pursed his lips. The guy wore a bright-pink negligee that partly covered his body. This, Messina told himself, was going to explode headlines across the front page of the Journal.

The quiet seaside town of Misty Bay nestled on the Oregon coast, and although it had its share of tourists, especially in the summer months, the only sensation that had recently made headlines in the local newspaper was a messy invasion of rabbits.

Messina lifted his gaze to a small group of avid spectators. Turning to the officer standing next to him, he nudged his head at the onlookers. “Go talk to them. Maybe one of them saw something that might help.”

The officer headed off, and Messina took a long look around the beach. A few early risers jogged along the shoreline, while a couple of less energetic folks watched two dogs scampering in and out of the ocean.

In the summer months the beach would have been a lot more crowded, even at this hour. But this was late September. The kids were back in school, and the tourists had thinned out.

Messina took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool, salty air. A thick mist still hovered over the rocky cliffs, blocking out the sun. By midmorning the fog would burn off, leaving the town to bask in a pleasant, warm glow for the rest of the day.

Closer to the water, the hungry gulls swooped low over the sand, hunting for their breakfast. Their haunting cries sounded desperate, and Messina’s stomach growled at the thought of food. So far, all he’d had this morning was a mug of coffee.

The officer strode back to him, shaking his head. “Nothing. No one saw anything, except for the guy who saw him tumble over the balcony. He still says he didn’t notice anyone else up there.” He looked down at the corpse and grinned. “That dude was either a cross-dresser or he was really living it up before he croaked. What a way to go.”

The detective scowled at him. Ken Brady was a good officer but a bit of a moron when it came to sensibilities. “Watch your mouth, Brady. Let’s have a little more respect.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.” Brady glanced up at the balcony. “You think he jumped?”

“Guess that’s something we’ll have to look into.” Messina gazed up at the balcony. The hotel was fairly new, having opened less than two years ago. Just six floors but impressive, with its gleaming white walls and aqua-blue balconies enclosed by railings that in his opinion should have been built higher.

There had been an uproar in town when the hotel was being constructed. The majority of residents had resented a large commercial building in what was basically a sleepy, peaceful community. They tolerated the visitors in the summer for the economy, and they treasured the off-season. They were afraid that the hotel would bring an influx of noisy intruders year-round, destroying their idyllic lifestyle.

So far, their fears had not materialized. The hotel blended in rather well with the backdrop of rugged cliffs and forested hills. Although there had been a somewhat larger crowd of tourists this summer, making parking in town a headache, the town had gradually emptied out through September, and things were relatively back to normal.

Except for this. Messina was willing to bet that this man’s death was no suicide or accident. He dug in his pocket for his phone and thumbed in the number for the county’s Major Crime Team. After getting an assurance that the medical examiner would be there ASAP, he ordered Brady to stand guard over the body and then headed for the hotel.

He had work to do, and he had the feeling that things were going to get pretty complicated before this was over.

Vivian Wainwright folded her arms and cast a critical eye over the eight tables set out in the dining area of the Willow Pattern Tearoom. Snow-white tablecloths, pale-pink napkins, English bone china teacups and saucers, and small vases of white daisies—everything essential for a traditional British afternoon tea.

Still missing were the teapots, milk jugs and the tiered cake stands bearing delicate crustless sandwiches and delectable pastries, and of course, pots of strawberry jam and cream for the scones. All of which would be placed on the tables after the customers were seated.

Although the tourist season had wound down, all the tables had been booked for this afternoon. The locals had made the tearoom a popular place to spend a leisurely hour or so indulging a sweet tooth.

The sun aimed its full strength at the windows in the afternoons. Vivian had recently found white curtains patterned with delicate pink and blue wildflowers that shaded the glare without blocking the light. They reminded her of an English garden, like the childhood garden in London her mother had described to her. So much nicer than the pink-striped ones she’d bought when she’d opened the tearoom two years ago.

Everything was ready in the kitchen, so she had a few minutes to relax before her customers arrived. She was debating whether or not to open the carton of tea towels that had arrived from the UK this morning when the doorbell tinkled.

“Sorry I’m late!” The vigorous woman striding across the room thrust a heavy strand of black hair away from her face. “I stopped by the wine shop on my way here, and you know how Natalie gabs. Took me twenty minutes to get out of the store with this.” She waved a bottle of wine at Vivian. “That woman’s flapping tongue will get her in trouble one day. She needs to button it once in a while.”

Vivian hid a smile. Natalie Chastain owned the Sophisticated Grape just down the street and was notorious for knowing everything that was going on in town long before anyone else. If you wanted to know something about somebody, you asked Natalie. What she didn’t know, she’d move heaven and earth to find out—just to be first to spread the news.

“It’s okay. No one’s here yet.” Vivian took a closer look at her friend. Jenna Ramsey had been her assistant and consultant since the day she’d opened the Willow Pattern. It was Jenna who’d suggested the name, pointing at the willow-pattern plates Vivian had lovingly placed on the walls of the tearoom.

The plates had belonged to Vivian’s late mother, Angela, who’d met her future husband when he was stationed at an American air base near her home in the UK. Although she spent most of her life in America, Angela never lost her accent or her hometown traditions.

Growing up with an English mother had instilled in Vivian the British customs and culture that fostered her lifelong dream of opening a tearoom. It had taken more than sixty years, but now the dream was hers.

Its success was largely due to the tall woman standing in front of her. She loved Jenna like a daughter—almost as much as she adored her own two daughters.

“Are you okay?” Vivian frowned. “You look a bit flustered.”

For an ordinary person, that wouldn’t be surprising, knowing how annoying Natalie could be. But Jenna was not an ordinary person. She rarely showed emotion, though she was very good at rattling other people.

Jenna was blunt to the point of rudeness at times, but she was a hard worker, a loyal friend, and if someone was in need, always the first to offer help. Right now, however, her flushed cheeks and overbright eyes suggested she had more than Natalie’s gossiping to worry about.

Obviously, she wasn’t ready to share, however, as she dumped her bottle on the counter, declaring, “I’m fine. Just irritated by that airhead.” She looked around at the inviting tables and across the room to where imported British foods and gifts filled the shelves, tempting customers to buy. “Where’s Gracie?”

“I sent her out to the bank with the deposits. She should be back soon. I—”

Vivian broke off as the bell jingled again and the door flew open.

“You’ll never guess what I heard!” The young woman bounced into the shop, her cheeks flushed with excitement. Her short pinkish-blond hair stuck up in spikes all over her head, and her bright-red lipstick matched the black sweater she wore, which hung down from one shoulder.

She was practically jumping up and down like a wayward yo-yo. For Gracie Jackson, this was nothing new. Impulsive, unpredictable, and ready for whatever adventure waited for her around the corner, she was constantly in a state of excitement.

Jenna rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me. The president’s coming to visit.”

Gracie stared at her. “What? No! Wait. Is he really?”

“Yeah, and he’s invited us all to dinner.”

Gracie uttered a derisive snort. “You wish.” She jogged across the floor to the counter and dipped behind it to stash her oversized purse. Raising her head above the surface, she added, “I’ve got awesome news. Just in case you want to know.”

“Why don’t you tell us,” Vivian suggested, with a glance at her watch. The first customers would be arriving at any minute, and she needed to get this drama over with as soon as possible.

Gracie stood and folded her arms. Triumphant now that she had both women’s attention, she took a second to savor the moment. “They found a dead body on the beach this morning.”

A nasty spasm hit Vivian’s stomach. “What? Who found it? Who was it? Where on the beach?” Aware she was jabbering, she shut her mouth and looked at Jenna.

“Well,” Jenna said, after a breathless pause, “Natalie will be steamed she missed this one.”

“I don’t know much about it.” Gracie walked out from behind the counter. “They were talking about it in the candy store. They didn’t know much either—like, it was a man, and he’d fallen from the top balcony of the Blue Surf.”

Jenna made an odd little sound, then quickly coughed.

The sound struck a chord in Vivian’s memory. “Isn’t that where Dean’s working now?”

“Yes, he’s doing maintenance work there. That won’t last long. He lost three jobs in the five years I was married to him.” Jenna’s voice mirrored her disgust, making no secret of her aversion for her ex-husband.

Vivian turned to Gracie. “Did they say who the victim was?”

Gracie shook her head. “I don’t think anyone knows.”

Hearing the doorbell one more time, Vivian gave Jenna a nudge. “Here come our customers. We’ll talk about this later.” She hurried forward to greet the newcomers, leaving her two assistants to head to the kitchen.

After taking orders for the full afternoon-tea experience, Vivian returned to the kitchen to find Jenna loading kettles of water onto the stove while Gracie carefully arranged sandwiches of fish paste and watercress, along with egg and tomato, on the cake stands.

“I wonder if he jumped,” Gracie said, as she placed an Eccles cake onto each silver stand.

The words slowly penetrated Vivian’s mind, which was focused on the small pots of clotted cream she was taking from the oversized refrigerator. “What? Who?”

“The dead guy.” Gracie picked up a loaded cake stand with each hand. “I wonder if he’d had enough of life, decided to end it all, and threw himself off the balcony.”

Vivian raised her eyebrows. “That’s a bit melodramatic.”

Pouring boiling water into the teapots lined up in front of her, Jenna uttered a growl of disgust. “Do we have to discuss this now?”

She sounded totally exasperated, and Vivian threw her a worried glance. Something was obviously upsetting her friend. She’d have to tackle her about it later. Right now, her customers were waiting, and that took precedence over everything else.

Fortunately, Gracie seemed unfazed by Jenna’s irritation. Pasting a smile on her face, she sailed from the kitchen to present her loaded cake stands to the eager customers.

Vivian was kept too busy for the next three hours to speculate further on Jenna’s sour mood. Between the sandwich making, refilling of teapots, clearing tables, and chatting briefly with the guests, she barely had time to even look at her assistants.

Once the last table had been cleared, however, she followed Jenna into the kitchen, anxious to find out exactly what was going on with her. Two of the tea party customers were now in the rear of the tearoom, browsing the shelves, while Gracie waited behind the counter.

Vivian headed for the sinks, seizing the moment alone with her friend. “I can tell something’s bothering you, Jenna. Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” Jenna’s voice was muffled as she bent over to retrieve a napkin she’d dropped on the floor.

“Okay.” Vivian began cleaning one of the cake stands. “But I’m always ready to listen. Just in case you change your mind.”

Jenna didn’t answer, and giving up, Vivian concentrated on her task, leaving her friend alone to stack the dishes in the dishwasher.

The sound of the doorbell told her that the last customers were leaving. She would ask Gracie to finish cleaning the cake stands while she checked out the shelves to see what needed restocking.

When Gracie appeared in the doorway, however, she looked as if she’d just bitten into a sour lemon.

“What is it?” Vivian dropped the wet sponge onto the counter. “Did you break something?”

Gracie shook her head. “It’s a cop. He wants to talk to Jenna.”

Jenna dropped a plate into the dishwasher with a loud clatter, making Vivian wince.

“I knew it,” Jenna muttered as she strode to the door.

Vivian exchanged a puzzled glance with Gracie, then hurried after her friend.

Jenna stood just inside the doorway, talking to a dark-haired officer. Vivian had met the detective only once, at a fund-raising Christmas bazaar, but he had left a lasting impression.

Lieutenant Tony Messina towered at least four inches above Jenna, who had once confessed to Vivian that she was just under five feet ten.

It wasn’t the detective’s height, however, that had intrigued Vivian. He had the most penetrating eyes—dark-brown orbs that seemed to bore right through her mind and into her soul. His features were craggy, with a slightly hooked nose and a firm jaw, all very pleasing to the eye.

She’d also noticed a shiny gold band on his left hand. That, and the fact that he was a good twenty-five years younger than her, prevented any romantic illusions she might have had. Nevertheless, she was stunned by her reaction to him.

Her husband, Martin, had been dead less than three years. He had gone suddenly, with a massive heart attack. The shock had immobilized her for months. Even now she had moments of disbelief.

The idea that she could be attracted to another man, much less one young enough to be her son, had completely floored her. She’d felt guilty for days afterward, until her sense of humor had kicked in and she was able to joke about it with Jenna.

Right now, however, it didn’t seem as though the detective’s visit was anything to joke about.

Jenna’s raised voice echoed across the room. “I don’t know anything about it. We’ve been divorced for over a year.”

Messina murmured something Vivian couldn’t hear.

Jenna’s voice rose another notch. “Yes, I was at the hotel this morning. He was supposed to meet me to pay me the alimony he owed me. He never showed, so I left. I never saw him. I don’t know what happened to him.”

Thankful that the last customers had left the shop, Vivian hurried forward. “Jenna? Is everything all right?”

Messina’s dark gaze sliced across her face. “Ma’am, this doesn’t concern you.”

Ignoring him, Vivian turned to her friend. To her dismay, she saw an unfamiliar tear glistening in Jenna’s eye. “Oh, Jenna. I’m so sorry. It’s Dean, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Jenna raised her chin. “I always knew that jerk would come to a bad end one day.”

Vivian winced and shot a quick glance at the cop. His eyes had narrowed as he stared at her friend.

“It was Dean they found on the rocks this morning,” Jenna said. “He was probably drunk and fell over the balcony.”

“No, ma’am,” Messina said softly. “There were signs of a struggle. We believe someone pushed him over. We’re looking at a murder case. I need you to come down to the station with me. There are a few questions you need to answer.” He gave Vivian a meaningful look. “In private.”

Jenna stared at him. “You’re arresting me? Are you nuts? I just told you, I had nothing to do with this.”

“I’m just taking you in for questioning, that’s all. I suggest you don’t turn this into a battle.”

Apparently hearing the warning in the detective’s voice, Jenna shrugged. “Okay, then.”

“Wait!” Vivian held up her hand. “You need a lawyer. You don’t have to answer any questions until you have one.”

Jenna smiled. “Don’t worry, Vivian. I don’t need one. I didn’t kill Dean.”

“That’s beside the point. This is a murder investigation. Trust me. You need a lawyer.”

Messina cleared his throat. “Ma’am, this is police business. If you’re smart, you’ll butt out.”

“It’s okay.” Jenna took hold of Vivian’s arm. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I didn’t do anything wrong, and I want this over with. We’ll talk when I get back.”

“If you come back,” Vivian said under her breath, with a dark glance at Messina. With a bad feeling growing in her gut, she watched her friend walk out the door, closely followed by the detective. Remembering Jenna’s bad mood this afternoon, for a second or two she wondered if her assistant knew more about Dean’s death than she was willing to admit.

In the next instant, she obliterated the thought from her mind. She knew Jenna. There was no way that woman would have killed her ex-husband.

“Is she being arrested?”

Gracie’s anxious voice right behind her made Vivian jump. She spun around and made an effort to sound calm. “Of course not. He just wants to question her, that’s all.”

“Then why couldn’t he just do that here?”

Gracie’s eyes were wide with worry, and Vivian hurried to reassure her. “It’s police protocol, that’s all. They have to bring sus … people in to question them so they can put it in the report.”

She wasn’t even sure if that made sense. She just wanted to take that haunted look out of the young woman’s eyes.

Gracie, however, seemed anything but reassured. “You were going to say suspects, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was. But Jenna’s not a suspect. She’s just a possible lead to what happened.” Vivian shook her head. “I just wish she’d asked for a lawyer.” She took hold of Gracie’s arm. “Come on, let’s go have a cup of tea. I’ve been staring at those Eccles cakes all afternoon. I’m dying to eat one.”

She pulled her assistant into the kitchen and sat her down at the small dinette table in the corner by the window. After putting the kettle on to boil, she opened the container of leftover pastries and set it on the table in front of Gracie. “Here, help yourself.”

The young woman stared at the cakes but made no move to take one. “You don’t think she did it, do you?”

Her voice trembled over the words, and Vivian plopped down on the chair opposite her. “Of course not. Jenna would never do something like that.”

“She hated him.”

“Yes, I know.” Vivian let out her breath. “But I know Jenna. She may be outspoken and tends to argue a bit too much at times, but she’d never be violent.” She looked down at her hands, which were clenched in her lap. “Has she ever told you about her past?”

“Her past?” Gracie sounded surprised. “She said she was married five years before she got divorced. Oh, and that she grew up in a Texas border town. She doesn’t talk about herself much.”

Vivian hesitated, uncertain if she were doing the right thing. “I don’t know if she’d mind me telling you this,” she said at last, “but I think it will help you understand her better.”

Gracie’s eyes widened. “Tell me what?”

Vivian sighed. “Well, she didn’t ask me to keep it a secret, ...