Chapter One
If a Southern woman was ever in her element, it was hosting a tea party. And today wasn’t just any tea party. It was the annual tea party fundraiser put on by the Historical Society, with Queenie French and Mary Elizabeth Moberly, my adoptive mother, in charge.
Instead of hosting it downtown this year, Mary Elizabeth had convinced the Historical Society there wasn’t a more fitting place than the Milkery, her and Dawn Gentry’s working dairy farm and bed-and-breakfast that sat right on the outskirts of the Daniel Boone National Forest.
The long blacktop driveway leading up to the property was lined with white Kentucky post-and-rail fencing and massive oak and maple trees along each side of the driveway.
Off in the distance, silos stood tall against the Daniel Boone National Forest, with THE MILKERY painted in big white letters down the sides.
If I had to hear “Mayyy-bell-ine, you do not hold your pinky out when you are sipping the tea,” one more time from Mary Elizabeth during the multiple tea tastings, I was going to have a fainting spell right there in the middle of the event.
The fundraiser tables had been spread out across the back lawn behind the massive, renovated farmhouse where the bed-and-breakfast guests stayed year-round. White-clothed round tables sat beneath the shade trees, with floral centerpieces, polished silverware, and delicate china teacups that Queenie French had personally overseen arranging.
Off to the side, guests could see the greenhouse sitting beyond the vegetable gardens, where rows of tomatoes, cucumbers, and herbs were already growing thick for the season. Nearby, the chicken coop sat in all its ridiculous glory. Mary Elizabeth had better heating and air-conditioning in that henhouse than most people had in their homes, and more than once she’d been caught rocking in the chair inside, reading bedtime stories to the hens because she swore it improved egg production.
I glanced around and watched the women I considered family rushing around to help one of our own, Queenie French, make sure the teacups were set on the saucers, the small china plates were situated slightly to the left and down an inch from the cup, and the linen napkins framed the polished silverware in the perfect measurements all the way around.
The weather was perfect for the summer day, and the large oak trees scattered around the property gave the best shade that included a rare summer breeze. The smell of fresh cut grass mixed with biscuits and country ham drifted out from the farmhouse kitchen where the bed-and-breakfast staff was still bustling around, getting trays prepared for the guests.
I noticed Cheryl Paisley, the owner of the Stitchin’ Post, at one of the many white-clothed round tables, picking up each teacup and looking at the bottom. I had already set it perfectly and gotten a thumbs-up from Mary Elizabeth to move on to the next.
“What are you doing?” I asked Cheryl.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” she said with an exhausted sigh. “But the strangest things have been stolen from the Tough Nickel Thrift Store, and though the items don’t hold a lot of value, Buck is beside himself.”
While she told me about the thefts, I couldn’t help but glance over toward one of the produce barns and the little farm stand where the Milkery sold fresh bread, jams, candles, soaps, and vegetables. Tourists staying at the bed-and-breakfast wandered around carrying baskets and mason jars while others snapped photos of the cows grazing farther out in the pasture.
“Teacups?” I questioned the item in her hand.
“Yes. One teacup here, one saucer there,” she said then placed the teacup back on the saucer with the handle pointed to the left. She tossed her honey-blond hair behind her shoulders. There was a small hint of the silver highlights that gave her a fresh, well-kept look.
“The only reason he noticed teacups was because he’s had them for so long, there’s a ring of dust where they sat in one of his old china cabinets.” She laughed. “Not that I think Mary Elizabeth would take a teacup, but she did purchase most of these from there. So I thought I’d check, in case we gave her the one by accident.”
The truth of the matter was that there really weren’t very many valuable items in the thrift store. Buck mainly went around to garage sales and bought boxes of junk for five or ten dollars so he could stock the store, where mainly tourists and hikers came to shop.
Granted, a lot of his camping items would sell fast, but teacups? Those didn’t seem like a hot commodity in Normal, Kentucky, where we literally catered to hikers, rock climbers, off-roaders, and thrill seekers more than tea drinkers.
“That’s an odd thing for someone to steal,” I told her and then twisted the teacup so the handle was facing to the right. “And how would you know what teacup to look for exactly?”
“To make a little extra money, I was telling Buck how he needed to put some of his items on eBay, where he listed the one cup,” she said. “He has to get rid of some stuff. The shop is busting at the seams.” She continued to walk around the table and pick up the cups. “And wouldn’t you know that books and teacups are huge sellers.”
“Really? So are books missing?” I questioned, itching a curious side that someone maybe from out of town possibly saw the items on eBay and lifted them without Buck noticing.
“Not a single one. Just a teacup that someone has bought on eBay, and now it’s not there.” Cheryl sighed, blinked her pale-blue eyes, and shook her head.
“So you’re going to go around to all of these tables right before the fundraiser starts to see if the teacup is here?” I asked and looked up where there had to be twenty round, white-clothed tables that had been set along with nameplates.
Mary Elizabeth was big on nameplates. Her theory was friends shouldn’t sit with friends at these things, which meant she deliberately didn’t put me with any of the Laundry Club Ladies. Small talk just wasn’t my thing, but today, I had to make it my thing.
“Until your mother stops me,” she teased and gave a chin throw to something behind me. “Speaking of.”
I turned to see Mary Elizabeth stalking toward me with a small box, and her face was all contorted. Not in a good way either. It looked like she’d just eaten the sourest dill pickle in the world. Behind her, the rolling fields of the farm stretched toward the thick tree line of the Daniel Boone National Forest while a few calves milled around near the fencing.
“Are you okay?” I asked and realized Cheryl had skipped out on me, leaving me to face whatever cattywampus issue that had obviously arisen.
“Do I look okay?” She whined and held the box out in front of her. “I am trying to help Queenie put on this dig-nee-fied party, and she’s gone and let Glenda and shirtless Tex promote their little hippie smells.”
I glanced down into the box where there were small roller-type bottles I’d seen in Glenda and Tex’s Cascades Mobile Spa, or what I liked to call the pamper camper, when they came to Happy Trails Campground during one of their events for my clients.
“It’s fine,” I assured her. “They are homemade with parts from the Daniel Boone National Forest, and this tea is hosted by the Daniel Boone National Forest Historical Society, if you’ve forgotten.”
“It’s good marketing.” My sister-in-law, Abby, had walked up when I was talking, and she was the best at marketing, so her backing me up gave Mary Elizabeth a little pause. “We certainly need to make it all about the forest when it comes to fundraising.”
Abby nodded, I could see Mary Elizabeth soften just a smidge. Then she went in for the kill.
“I bet if there’s leftovers from today, Mae will be happy to take them to the big fundraiser tonight that she’s hosting at Happy Trails,” Abby added, which made Mary Elizabeth think she could just give me all the bottles as she shoved the box in my chest.
“I’m not taking all of these,” I told her. “We’ve already got everything all set up at the campground. I’m happy to take extras and put them out, but that’s it.”
“Here,” Abby said in her soft voice and reached for the box. “I’ll quickly go around and set them on the table for you in the middle. It’ll be pretty, and if the table guests would like to take one, they will.”
It was Abby’s way of not bringing any hissy fits or conflicts right before the event was about to start, in just a slight way to satisfy Mary Elizabeth’s crawl up her drawls.
“Thank you, honey.” Mary Elizabeth’s lips puckered as she nodded in approval. “She’s the sweetest,” Mary Elizabeth said then took her hand to tuck a strand of my unruly curls behind one of my ears so she could lean in a little closer where she knew I could hear her.
“Don’t forget,” Mary Elizabeth whispered. “No pinky. It’s something that is only in the movies and has no class. Hold the handle, use the linens, and put the spoon on the saucer.”
“I know.” My whisper had a little bite to it. “It’ll be fine. I can be a table host. I know exactly what Queenie wants me to say in order for these women to give more money for this year’s funds.”
Literally a second later, I was completely tossed out of her mind as she saw something she needed to address and stalked off.
She didn’t have too much time to take care of whatever had popped into her head because Queenie French cut in on the microphone from where she stood near the back patio beside the farmhouse, with Blue Ethel and the Adolescent Farm Boys warming up behind her.
Queenie’s usual eighties-style spandex, leotard, and sparkly headband were replaced by a nice floral, hippie-chic caftan with a turban to match. When I had complimented her earlier, she harrumphed and mentioned something about the biggest donor, Florence Sparks.
“Thank you, volunteers,” her voice boomed out. “If you are a table host, please go find your table because your guests should be coming any minute now.”
She gave a few more orders that didn’t pertain to me, so I headed on over to my table and made the mistake of looking over at Mary Elizabeth, who was eyeballing me. As soon as we made eye contact, she lifted her hand and wiggled her little pinky in my direction.
I shook my head and stood behind the chair where my nameplate was located. Before too long, the entire lawn at the Milkery was filled with women of all ages with fancy hats, dresses, and heels.
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