Cups and Killers Read online

  Cups and Killers

  A Taylor Quinn Quilt Shop Mystery

  Tess Rothery

  Copyright © 2020 by Tess Rothery

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Also by Tess Rothery

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Everybody dies at that place.” Grandpa Ernie frowned in his mirror as he adjusted his bow tie.

  “Everybody dies everywhere.” Taylor Quinn smiled at the handsome old man. His eighty-seventh birthday was around the corner, and everyone in the town of Comfort, Oregon agreed it was time for him to move to the Bible Creek Care Home, specifically, their memory care wing.

  Taylor didn’t disagree.

  And yet, at two in the afternoon, while using his portable oxygen tank, Grandpa Ernie was his regular old self, and Taylor hated the idea of him not being at home.

  Grandpa Ernie gave his well-polished cordovan loafers one last look. “Delma bought me these.”

  Delma was Taylor’s grandmother. She had been gone for eight years now.

  “Best shoes I ever had.”

  “Best wife too.” Taylor smiled. Delma had been everything a grandmother ought to be. Soft, warm, dimpled. She baked cookies, sewed quilts, attended dance recitals, kissed boo-boos and founded Flour Sax Quilt Shop, the family business. The business that turned Comfort into an out-of-the-way destination town.

  One year and three months ago, Taylor’s mom had been murdered. She’d moved back to Comfort to raise her teenage sister and run the family business.

  Belle, her sister, was now eighteen and about to start the last year of her undergrad program at the University of Oregon. She was pretty much a genius, though she still groaned and rolled her eyes if she caught Taylor telling anyone that.

  Belle was only home for a moment, it seemed. And between running around with her boyfriend and visiting her bio-family in Portland, Taylor wasn’t seeing much of her. Next up, Belle was headed to Hungary for the summer to intern at the House of Houdini, a specialist museum on the Castle Buda grounds. Taylor couldn’t figure out if Belle’s future lay in magic, history, or just getting away by any means possible.

  Right now, this exact moment in history, things were the best they had been for the last fifteen months.

  Sending Grandpa Ernie away would ruin it.

  On the other hand, the increasingly difficult symptoms of what his doctors had recently told her was vascular dementia, caused by several tiny strokes no one had noticed and exacerbated by age, would also ruin what felt like the “golden hour” of their new family life.

  “Boggy Hudson considers you his only hope. You have to at least go to the tea.” Taylor gave his elbow a gentle nudge.

  “Boggy Hudson will probably die.”

  “Yup. Most likely. I can’t think of anything more likely, in fact, than your best buddy who happens to be a good ten years younger than you and in perfect health, dropping dead at the summer evening tea that Bible Creek Methodist Church is hosting at the old folks’ home.”

  Grandpa Ernie turned to Taylor, his bushy eyebrows drawn over dark eyes that held a little mischief. “Watch and see.”

  “Careful, Grandpa. If he really dies, everyone will think you did it.”

  He harrumphed into his bushy mustache and led her out.

  Boggy’s grandson, Hudson, was waiting in the living room.

  While tea with their grandfathers wasn’t the most romantic date they’d ever been on, it wasn’t their least romantic either.

  Hudson gave her a kiss on the cheek and then helped Grandpa Ernie into his truck.

  She smoothed the fabric of her tea-length party dress before climbing into the jump seat. She felt silly, like mutton-dressed-as-lamb, in the vintage rose-print cotton dress with poufy skirt and sweetheart neckline. She had very recently turned thirty, and this did not feel like the kind of dress a thirty-year-old woman would wear. But Taylor and Hudson had planned ahead, and whatever he really thought about the silly dress, Taylor thought he looked rather delicious in his crisp-pressed blue jeans and seersucker jacket.

  “Blue jeans, young man?” Grandpa Ernie shook his head. “I was told this was a formal event.” Grandpa Ernie wore his gray wool suit. It was his best, and he had made it himself at the heyday of his career as a tailor. It was beautifully cut and only tugged a smidge around his comfortable waist.

  “They’re my Sunday go-to-meeting jeans, sir.”

  “Doesn’t his jacket look nice?” Taylor patted Grandpa’s shoulder from the back seat. “You made that one for Boggy years and years ago.

  “Boggy always was a funny one.”

  Bible Creek Care Home sat on the edge of their little town, bordered by the creek. The old folks’ home was a sprawling campus of cottages and meeting halls, some connected by open-air breezeways, some by enclosed halls. Bible Creek Care Home arranged several events a year, both to entertain the residents and to let locals see what life was like on the inside.

  The tea party was held in the quadrangle, a lush, grassy arena in the center of the campus. A bright early summer sun glinted off the French doors that led to the dining room. Opposite the dining room matching French doors led to the fitness center. Taylor doubted Grandpa Ernie would get much use from the weight room or swimming pool, though he might enjoy the Wii Sports setup.

  The tea party tables were hosted by ladies of the local Methodist church and residents, each table laid with a favorite tablecloth and beloved tea set. Spring flowers were just ending as summer flowers began to bloom—a magical moment for gardens in the Pacific Northwest—and the quadrangle looked like a Thomas Kincaid painting.

  Hudson led Taylor’s party to a table in the center of the quad. Taylor recognized the hand-embroidered cutwork tablecloth as her Grandma Delma’s favorite, and a periwinkle china tea set belonging to her dad’s mom sat in the middle. Something funny caught in her throat. She was about to have some soft, tender feelings when Grandma Quinny’s resonant voice intervened.

  “Taylor, you look pale.” Grandma Quinny stood from her spot at their table and took Taylor by the shoulders.

  “Well, thank you, Grandma.” Taylor leaned in for a kiss.

  “Don’t be defensive. I’m worried. You aren’t getting outside enough. I drove past your house earlier this week, and the garden…” Grandma Quinny clucked.

  Hudson pulled a chair out for Taylor. “Your grandmother graciously offered to be Grandpa Boggy’s plus one.”

  Boggy Hudson sat next to an elderly lady Taylor had never met before. Her face shone like it had been freshly scrubbed. Her lips and cheeks were pink, and if Taylor was pale, the tiny elderly lady was a ghost, but refreshing, nonetheless. She hadn’t been pressed into wearing an adult version of a child’s Easter dress, and Taylor was jealous of her teal and gray pants suit.

  “Quinny’s my date?” Boggy goggled at the elegant,
loud woman. “Old Quinn would kill the man who tried that. I’m here with Mrs. Sylvester.”

  The silver-haired doll of a lady next to him pursed her lips. “You’re just a child. I could get arrested for that. I turned ninety-two on Friday.”

  “I like a mature woman.” Boggy threw his arm around the lady who was almost old enough to be his mother.

  “Oh, Boswell.” Grandma Quinny took her seat like it was a throne, the flowing chiffon sleeves of her floral caftan billowing as she adjusted herself. “I’m here with my family, to fill up numbers. Angus sends his thousand thanks for sitting with us so that he could supervise what is likely our last harvest of the year.” The Quinns lived on a strawberry farm that was mostly a hobby. Harvests were completed by their staff of grandchildren, both young and old.

  Taylor finally sat in the chair Hudson was so politely still standing behind.

  Then he helped Grandpa Ernie to his seat.

  Taylor was curious about this Mrs. Sylvester. The elder lady was a good five years older than Grandpa Ernie, but Taylor still felt like she ought to have known her. “Mrs. Sylvester,” she asked, “are you from Comfort?”

  “No, no. I’m from Robinette, but it’s underwater now. I lived there till they put in that dam.”

  “I’m not familiar, where is that?”

  “Robinette’s been gone since the fifties,” Grandma Quinny interjected. “Where did you live next?”

  “That’s when I came here.” Mrs. Sylvester’s rosebud lips turned up, just a little. “I suppose I’m not new anymore, but only because all the folks that had been here before me are dead.” She shimmied her shoulders to help herself sit up straighter. “It’s no fun moving to a small town when you’re already an old married lady like I was.”

  “Mrs. Sylvester was the librarian at the grade school.” Grandma Quinny’s statements felt, somehow, like announcements.

  Mrs. Sylvester blushed like she had been complimented.

  Taylor wasn’t sorry her Grandma Quinny had come to the tea, she loved her very much, but Grandma Quinny had a way of taking over a conversation.

  Taylor caught Hudson’s eye.

  He took her hand under the tablecloth.

  Before Taylor could learn more about Mrs. Sylvester’s life, the host of the party, who was also chaplain of Bible Creek Care Home, Pastor Leon Farkas, tapped the microphone. “Good afternoon, friends!” His voice carried across the quad, reverberating through the bright clear air. “Welcome to afternoon tea. Don’t worry, there are no dormice in the teapots.”

  Taylor vaguely recalled a mouse at a tea party in Alice in Wonderland.

  Grandma Quinny’s boisterous laugh triggered a ripple of gladness across the audience.

  “Shh!” Mrs. Sylvester held a thin pale finger to her mouth. “That’s my boy up there.”

  “Today’s many treats were prepared by Chef Joey here at Bible Creek, and the tea was generously provided by Café Olé, everyone’s favorite little Spanish coffeehouse!” A light smattering of applause indicated their thanks.

  Taylor’s real favorite coffee shop, Cuppa Joe’s, had sold out and become Café Olé over the spring. It was nice to have a place to find fresh baked conchas, flan, and her favorite tres leches cake in their little town, but she missed the actual coffee. She would swear on a stack of Bibles that she wasn’t fussy, but Cuppa Joe’s had been good. Real good.

  A little woman in a tall white chef’s hat, buttoned-up chef’s jacket, and black-and-white checkered pants stepped out of the open dining room followed by two waiters carrying a five-tiered cake. The bright candy-colored decorations were eye-catching, and after a moment, Taylor recognized an Alice in Wonderland theme, illustrated with red heart playing cards, pink flamingos, white rabbits, and top hats in many colors.

  The crowd erupted in laughs and applause.

  Mrs. Sylvester’s eyes grew wide and her mouth made a sweet little “o” of surprise.

  Grandma Quinny leaned forward, peering as though maybe her glasses prescription needed updating.

  Chef Joey helped the waiters set the cake on a table in front of their host. It was a good thing Leon was a tall man, or they wouldn’t have been able to see his grinning mug above the dessert.

  Chef Joey gently nudged Leon aside with her hip and spoke into the microphone. “Leon didn’t know we were doing this, but we wanted to celebrate his fifth anniversary with us. More than just a chaplain, Pastor Leon has been a friend, a handyman, an extra hand for bridge, a van driver for day trips, and someone who always makes us laugh.”

  Hudson snorted when Joey said handyman.

  The little chef gave Leon a side hug.

  Leon seemed at a loss for words. He shook his head, mouth open to speak, but said nothing. Then he leaned into the hug, knocking the chef’s hat off. Joey rocked under his weight, but Leon seemed to list to the side, pushing the chef into the microphone with a screech of feedback.

  “Hold up, it’s okay.” The chef giggled a little as she attempted to help straighten the big man.

  With a groan, and a frantic reach for the mic stand, Leon wavered slowly, then fell face first, smashing the beautiful cake.

  The crowd gasped, and white-shirted wait staff flocked to the mess, trying to help Leon stand.

  A scream broke through the hubbub, bringing a chill of dead silence.

  “Someone call the police!” a young male voice cried out.

  Phones everywhere popped up.

  Taylor squeezed Hudson’s hand tightly and then dropped it. She wanted to get closer to the catastrophe. The buzz in the room was high volume now. Residents were rising from their seats and exiting in a flurry of wheels and walkers and grandchildren’s arms.

  Taylor tripped over a cane, landing on her knees in the well-watered grass. “Be careful!” The sharp voice was matched by a sharp whack on the shoulder from the cane.

  She exhaled, rose, and sidled through the crowd.

  The servers surrounded Leon, but Taylor managed to peek between two heads.

  Leon lay in the cake, limbs dangling off the table. The black handle of a kitchen knife stuck out from his left side, just high enough to have hit something important. Blood seeped into his yellow shirt.

  Taylor wobbled and grabbed the shoulder of a server to get her balance again.

  The server turned, face pinched. “Hey!”

  It was Dayton, one of her sister’s best friends.

  “Dayton!” Taylor breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Taylor!” Dayton grabbed her hand and pushed their way through the crowd to the privacy of a back hall. “I think I just witnessed a murder!”

  Chapter Two

  Small but mighty was a description Chef Joey had learned to hate. The way it highlighted her height was condescending.

  But she appreciated her ability to take command as the police ushered her and her staff into the dining room to wait for their turns to answer questions.

  She settled her staff of cooks and servers into the chairs closest to the salad bar.

  “But, Joey, what happened? You were right there.” Her assistant, Skye, seemed younger than her twenty-two years as she appealed to her boss.

  “My mind was on that stupid cake. I was concerned the table wasn’t sturdy in the grass. I don’t know what went on behind me while I was talking.”

  “But you were literally right next to him.” Skye’s tone was accusatory, this time, but still like a child.

  “Yes, I know. Trust me.” Joey looked over Skye, to the whole crew. “I was right there, but I wasn’t looking at Leon or behind Leon. The police are going to come in and ask us questions. Probably just our names and phone numbers, since there were so many people in the quad. Don’t be scared of them. Just answer what they ask.”

  The small crowd erupted in questions. Joey held up a hand. “Guys, I don’t know what they’re going to ask. We just have to wait and see. Until then, just sit and breathe and pray this ends well.”

  “Ends well? Are you crazy? Pastor Leon wa
s murdered.” Robin, one of the new servers, piped up. “Murder can’t end well.”

  The server next to Robin had gone green, then drained of all color.

  “Dayton, lean forward, put your head between your knees. Robin, help.”

  Dayton leaned forward.

  Robin froze.

  “Everyone take a deep breath in through your mouth and hold it. Then let it out slowly through your nose. I don’t need any of you passing out right now. Skye, hand these out.” Joey grabbed the serving dish full of saltine crackers packets and handed it to her friend. “We’ll get through this. I promise.”

  Skye started the basket of crackers around the group.

  Two sheriff’s deputies came into the dining room.

  “Why don’t you come over here with us?” The deputies both had severe, tired faces, though one looked as young as Dayton and the other could have been his mother.

  Joey followed them to a table in the far corner of the dining room and hoped no one sitting in the room with her was actually a blood-thirsty killer.

  The sheriff might have thought he was in control of processing the crowd who had witnessed Leon’s death, but Grandma Quinny had other thoughts on the matter. At least concerning the members of her own table. She insisted that Mrs. Sylvester get to talk to the deputies first because of her age and close relationship with the deceased, then Grandma Quinny escorted Mrs. Sylvester to her own apartment, whether the deputies wanted her to or not. When she returned, she cut in again with Grandpa Ernie. The rest of the residents grumbled, but she persisted.

  When Grandpa Ernie had given his name, address, and general impression of the night, Grandma Quinny swept him into her new Lexus to take him home—to her home. “You kids go out and have some dinner. Ernie and I will be just fine.”