Objets d'Artifice

Objets d’Artifice

Book III

The Tea Cozy Mysteries series

By Miss J.S. Devivre

Copyright © 2017 J.S. Devivre

All rights reserved.

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Published by E. Gads Hill Press

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Contents

Chapter One – Here Comes the Booze

Chapter Two – When It Rains

Chapter Three – Driving Herself to Distraction

Chapter Four – A New Model

Chapter Five – Back in the Swing, sort of

Chapter Six – Keeping House and Keeping Busy

Chapter Seven – A Dapper Distraction

Chapter Eight – Sizing Up

Chapter Nine – A Change in Circumstances

Chapter Ten – Moving on and Making Waves

Chapter Eleven – Appraising Things

Chapter Twelve – Exhibitionists

Chapter Thirteen – What Now?

Chapter Fourteen – Digging in Deeper

Chapter Fifteen – In the Wings

Chapter Sixteen – Collectibles and Carnage

Chapter Seventeen – Picnic in the Pokey

Chapter Eighteen – Not Again

Chapter Nineteen – Charm School

Chapter Twenty – Making an Entrance

Chapter Twenty-One – Running Hot and Cold

Chapter Twenty-Two – Placation

Chapter Twenty-Three – Clown Court

Chapter Twenty-Four – Bird’s Eye View

Chapter Twenty-Five – Two Down

Chapter Twenty-Six – Smug Silence

Chapter Twenty-Seven – "But why, Hank?"

Chapter Twenty-Eight – Evidence Schmevidence

Chapter Twenty-Nine – Out of the Frying Pan

Chapter Thirty – Yes, We Have No Bananas

Chapter Thirty-One – The Big Four

Chapter Thirty-Two – Plus One

Chapter Thirty-Three – Or Two

Chapter Thirty-Four – Truth Hurts

Chapter Thirty-Five – Cell Sweet Cell

Chapter Thirty-Six – The University Man

Chapter Thirty-Seven – Jagged Pieces

Chapter Thirty-Eight – A Flash of Tin

Epilogue

Recipe ~ Scallops in Saffron Cream Sauce

The Author & Acknowledgements

PREFACE

Despite the fact it took fifteen years of back-burner relegation before the first Tea Cozy Mysteries installment saw ink on a page, the story of the Antiquiteas tearoom and antiques shop has steadily blossomed over the last three years, much like its protagonist, Penelope.

January 2018 will see the launch of this book during a tea party in Pacific Grove, California where the bulk of the series is set. It’s all part of a Walk in the Footsteps of Penelope and Zara trip to Northern California during which my travel companions and I will visit book locations and venues that still exist and/or are in operation nearly a hundred years later.

The next book in the series, Esprit de Corpse, will take the Tea & Sympathy sleuths to Paris during the 1924 Olympics. In celebration, the Tea Travellers Societea will host an Art & Soul tour of Paris in summer 2019.

Whether in person or via your imagination, I hope you can join us as we wrap up Penelope’s story. For now, I do hope you will enjoy your favorite blend of tea while you work to solve the mysteries of Objets d’Artifice.

Cheers!

J.S. Devivre

California ~ 20 November 2017

Chapter One – Here Comes the Booze

She’d never looked more beautiful.

She’d never felt more scared.

It wasn’t as though she thought she was making the wrong decision—more like she feared she’d make a hash of it.

When the first chord of the wedding march pealed through the organ’s pipes, instinct kicked in.

Hold this, she said, handing off her bridal bouquet and reaching under her beaded Chanel gown to pull the flask from her something blue garter.

Minnie Clark! Penelope chided, resorting to calling Zara by her birth name in admonition. Just what do you think you’re doing?!

That’s the problem. I don’t know. Zara swallowed a mouthful of Scotch, secured the flask back under her garter, grabbed her flowers, and shimmied her dress into place. Ready.

Penelope crooked her arm, and Zara deftly slid hers through it. Thus, they commenced the stately march down the aisle.

The capacity crowd in the church murmured en masse, all putting in their two cents about Zara’s decision to have Penelope walk her down the aisle. Penelope was uncharacteristically unruffled, simply because the plan made perfect sense to her—Zara had no family, and the two friends had been boon companions since childhood.

Penelope—who took her duties as escort and maid of honor to a charmingly serious degree—counted the beats as they advanced to ensure they remained in sync with the music. Zara’s teenage wedding planner, Stella Parker, regarded Penelope’s jerky steps from her vantage point in the church’s narthex, half covering her eyes.

The high school senior proved to be a natural when it came to acting as event coordinator. Once a flapper with a cloche-sized chip on her shoulder, Stella had matured into a responsible and level-headed young lady under Penelope’s tutelage. Stella had originally been hired to serve tea at Antiquiteas—Penelope’s combination antiques shop and tearoom—and steadily grew in grace. However, the real turning point came when Penelope and Zara invited Stella to join the Tea and Sympathy Investigative Agency, the female detective firm created to clear Penelope’s name when Penelope was wrongfully arrested for murdering one of her most valued employees.

Not only did their sleuthing efforts result in Penelope’s acquittal, but they helped to identify and bring to justice the real killer, owing in great part to sheer luck; though they preferred to think it was through grit and a degree of brilliance.

Most recently, Tea and Sympathy was hired to solve the murder of J.J. Williams, a college chum of Stella’s boyfriend, Vincent Caruso. In addition to being a sophomore at Stanford University, Vincent worked part time as a forensics technician at the Pacific Grove police department. The man accused of J.J.’s murder, and ultimately proved innocent, was the same man now standing by the church altar perspiring and wearing a big giddy grin—Pacific Grove Police Chief Walter Harrison.

Penelope passed Zara off to Walter with histrionic solemnity, then scooted behind Zara and took two large steps sideways to land on the spot she would occupy as maid of honor. At Penelope’s insistence, the spot had been designated with a masking tape X, lest she miss her mark.

Standing beside Walter in the role of best man was the chief’s protégé, Vincent. Vincent was aware he had not been the chief’s first pick. Walter had wanted Frank Gleason, the head of neighboring city Monterey’s police force, to stand at his side; however the two small towns observed a pact whereby one of their police chiefs would be on duty at all times to cover for the other if needed. It had been the same situation in reverse when Frank tied the knot a year-and-a-half prior—best friend Walter had celebrated the nuptials in a squad car, dashing back and forth between Pacific Grove and Monterey.

Vincent didn’t mind being second choice. His joy at seeing his boss wedded to the most desirable woman in the county was immeasurable, and he grinned nearly as giddily as the chief. The congregation was equally thrilled. Walter Harrison was the most beloved person in the Grove, and all were happy to see him finally find the right woman to settle down with—especially after Penelope’s aunt, Dorothea Tate, had broken Walter’s heart along with their engagement several years prior.

It was Dorothea’s passing that brought Penelope, and ultimately Zara, to Pacific Grove in the first place. Dorothea had willed Penelope her antiques store, and Penelope, a timid bookkeeper from San Pedro in Southern California, packed up and headed north to claim her inheritance and start a new life.

The vows being read and confirmed, Walter dipped his bride and kissed her in a manner that made the prudish in the audience cover their eyes. Some peeked through their fingers. The crowd then dispersed and the picture taking began.

Beautiful ceremony, remarked Penelope’s beau, Hank Edwards, as he wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled her ear. Nearly as beautiful as you.

Penelope placed her hands on his, enjoying watching Zara and Walter pose for wedding portraits. I have to admit, this is a day I thought I’d never see. Zara made up her mind when she was thirteen that she would never marry. Up until last summer, she’d stuck by her guns.

Up until last summer she’d never been courted by a fine fellow like Walter Harrison. Gotta watch out for the nice guys. They’re the ones who get ya when you’re not looking.

Hank’s breath tickled her neck with each word he spoke, sending waves of tingles out to her extremities. She hoped he’d keep talking.

"And are you a nice guy?" she asked in a voice as coquettish as she could conjure.

I’m sure there are more than enough people out there who would reply in the negative. But on that topic, only one opinion matters to me. He turned her around and pulled her in closer, letting his eyes convey his thoughts before bestowing on her an ardent kiss.

Simultaneously, she gasped, blushed, and returned the kiss.

Keep that on the back burner. Penelope’s needed for pictures, Stella said, separating the love birds.

Penelope waved longingly to Hank as Stella dragged her by the hand back up to the altar where Zara, Walter, Vincent, and photographer Fred Butts waited, along with Butterfly Bugle Social Columnist, Elsie Davies. In fact, it was Elsie who arranged for the town newspaper to foot the bill for the photography, sending their staff shutterbug to do the honors.

Elsie, a notorious instigator and social-climber, had mellowed since Zara and Walter had become engaged, no longer trying to compete for the position of alpha glamour girl with Zara. While Zara’s looks routinely stopped traffic, it was her confidence and playful nature that made her so attractive—and had made her something of a celebrity in her earlier life as a courtesan. Elsie had just as much going for her, but had a reputation for using her gifts to manipulate and control those who got close to her. At the moment, she was controlling the wedding photography session, and doing it from a haze of intoxication.

Turn in just a little, Walter. That’s it. Now one with you two looking at each other. Good. Now let’s get one with you seated behind her. Can we get a chair up here? Hello? … You there, Stella, we need a chair.

Stella was not the sort to boss around—not if you didn’t want a verbal lashing or black eye. She looked Elsie up and down, then turned to the bride and groom. Time to get you to the reception. Don’t want to keep the guests waiting.

Thank you, Zara mouthed, winking at Stella.

* * *

By the time the newly wedded Harrisons arrived at Antiquiteas, the wedding celebration was in full force. Dash Parker, Stella’s father who ran the tearoom’s kitchen, had just sent out the last of the canapés and was preparing to serve the plated wedding lunch. The crowd’s chattering turned to cheering as Walter and Zara entered, and Stella made a beeline to the champagne table to make sure the pyramid of coupe glasses had been filled and all the guests had been served a drink with which to toast.

Everybody got a glass? Stella asked, addressing Lily Cooper who owned the general store next door.

Lily raised a thumb.

Thanks, Lily. I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help.

Least I could do, given how much you’re going to be helping me. Have you told Penelope yet?

Stella shook her head. There hasn’t been a chance. I figured I’d wait ’til at least a day after the wedding to drop the piano on her head.

I know she’s really going to miss having you work here. She depends on you, you know.

Yeah, but I have a life of my own to live. I’ve been here since the place opened. Working with my dad is great and all, but …

But you’re ready for something different.

And how! Besides, I’ll still be working with her and Zara at the agency … that is if we ever get another case.

Let’s hope you don’t! Lily said, referring to the fact the detective agency handled unsavory situations such as theft and murder.

Ever wonder why God gave us two hands? Zara said, breezing up to the champagne table, grabbing two glasses of brut from the sides of the pyramid, and downing one at a time in a single swig.

Easy there, married lady. You’ve got a whole party ahead of you, Stella cautioned.

I know. It’s just, I never envisioned being the lady in white. I always thought that role was reserved for suckers.

She picked up another glass, but Stella wrested it away.

Not ’til you get some food in you.

What happened to that reckless, hooch-chugging flapper girl I loved so well.

She’s still here. She just only comes out on special occasions.

Like weddings?

Your attention, please, said Florence Morgan, grande dame of Pacific Grove society, rapping a spoon on the edge of her champagne coupe. It's no secret I took a shine to Walter Harrison the day I first arrived in Pacific Grove nearly twenty-five years ago. Since then, he’s never given me cause to be anything but grateful to have him protecting our town, and even more grateful to call him a friend. Zara, Walter, to quote the proverb, ‘May you be poor in misfortune, rich in blessings, slow to make enemies, quick to make friends, but rich or poor, quick or slow, may you know nothing but happiness from this day forward.’ To Mr. and Mrs. Walter Harrison!

To Mr. and Mrs. Walter Harrison, the crowd cheered.

Penelope took a gulp of her drink and nearly spit it out.

Z, she rasped, speeding over to Zara who was scooting her way to the center of the head table. That bubbling grape juice you ordered tastes just like real champagne.

"It is real champagne, P."

What?! Does the chief of police know you’re serving liquor at his wedding … during Prohibition?!

Nope. He thinks it’s an amazing non-alcohol imitation, Zara said, grinning and drinking down the contents of Walter’s glass. And I intend to keep it that way.

As Zara settled in her seat and fluffed out her chapel-length veil, Penelope retreated to the kitchen, planning to stay there until the champagne was gone and the danger of being dragged off in a paddy wagon past.

Anything I can do to help? she asked Dash, snatching a forlorn canapé off a tray.

No, ma’am. Looks like we’ve got everything under control, Dash said, filling small, double-handled cups with bouillon. Isn’t that right, Camilla?

Camilla Caruso, Vincent’s mother, turned around to flash a smile at Penelope—the kind of smile that befits happy occasions such as weddings. Italian mama Camilla and Cordon Bleu trained Dash were fast friends and feuding chefs, and Penelope often entered the kitchen with a serving tray held up like a shield when the two of them worked together, which only happened at big events such as Walter and Zara’s wedding, for which the whole town turned out.

Shouldn’t you be at the bridal table? Camilla asked.

Yes, but … are you sure you don’t need me for anything? Penelope asked.

Basta! Go! Camilla replied, waving a wooden spoon.

Penelope reluctantly took her seat in the limelight with Zara, Walter, and Vincent.

Aware that Vincent was nervous to give his best man’s speech and would most likely consume too much champagne, Stella had prudently seen to it he was served the champagne substitute: white grape juice and ginger ale with sugar and mint leaves—a fortunate decision given that Vincent downed three glasses while going over his notes.

Once Penelope was seated, Vincent stood up and cleared his throat. His hands shook so badly the rustling of the paper he held nearly drowned out his faltering voice. He flubbed up his words in a handful of places, but by the time he said, Cheers, the general consensus was his speech was one of the most heartwarming and moving toasts of all time.

As the bouillon made the rounds, Penelope consulted the monogrammed menu card before her, counting the courses, all of which had been selected per Emily Post’s exacting instructions:

Bouillon

Lobster Newburg

Suprême of Chicken

Peas

Aspic of Foie Gras

Celery Salad

Ices & Candies

Coffee & Cake

Hank sat beside Florence, as he did at most occasions, serving as her chaperone whenever her husband was back east on business, which was most of the time. Hank’s role as protector to Florence had become something of an ironic joke, given that Florence needed less protecting than any woman in town. Not only was she respected and admired, but had gone undercover as social activist Rebel Black to lead the local women’s suffrage movement.

Penelope took advantage of her position across the room from Hank merely to gaze at him. She so rarely had the opportunity to sit and observe him, but when she did, she was always amazed at his cultivated graciousness and raw virility. She’d long ago pledged herself to finding out his secrets—she was convinced he had some, or at least one enormous one—but when in his presence, all such notions fluttered out of her head.

Surveying the packed room, she reflected in satisfaction on the changes and progress she’d witnessed in herself and her life since coming to Pacific Grove less than two years prior. She’d first set foot in town as a mousey, backward spinster living at a boarding house in a small seaside town outside Los Angeles. Now, she was a successful businesswoman with a beautiful Queen Anne Victorian home, as well as the sweetheart of the most sought-after-bachelor in the region.

Thanks, Aunt Dee. I couldn’t have done it without you.

In addition to taking on custodianship of her aunt Dorothea’s antiques store, Penelope fulfilled her own dream of owning a tearoom by adding one to the business. The antiques housed at the shop were more along the lines of cultural relics procured at great cost than aging curios collecting dust in a cabinet at a bucolic estate. Dorothea Tate had been an adventurer and explorer, so different from Penelope’s mother, Dorothea’s sister. Similarly, Penelope and her own sister were polar opposites, or at least Penelope liked to think so given she considered her sister bossy and boorish.

The original shop sign, Dorothea’s Finds ~ Treasures of Rare Value from Exotic Lands, still hung in Antiquiteas’ office. Penelope kept it as a memento, not only of Aunt Dee’s derring-do, but as an inspiration in times of trial, to remind Penelope of how brave and adventurous she herself had been by dropping everything to move to the new town and carve out a new life away from everything she knew and understood.

P, scoot in, Zara said. P … P!

Yes? You say something? Penelope responded abstractedly.

Earth to Penelope, yes. I need to get by you so Walter and I can dance our first waltz.

Oh, of course, be my guest.

I can’t. Your chair’s on my train.

Penelope scrambled out of her chair and pulled it to the side, enabling Zara to pass. Zara straightened her exquisitely jeweled Juliet cap, looped her train over one arm, and swept out onto the dance floor.

Penelope had never really paid attention to Zara’s dancing, but at that moment she was captivated by her friend’s grace and comfort in her own skin. It was evident Zara understood her own body and knew how to use it. Penelope, conversely, was too self-conscious to look at herself naked in the mirror, despite having a beautifully proportioned physique.

May I? a voice whispered next to her ear. She turned around to accept Hank’s hand gracefully and follow him to the dance floor. Unfortunately, she ended up elbowing him in the stomach.

While she possessed none of Zara’s poise or dance skills, fortunately, Hank made up for what she lacked, effortlessly leading her and making her feel like the heroine in a fairytale.

Little by little, the floor filled with couples, all smiling gaily as they glided to the glorious strains of Johann Strauss II—all except Elsie. No longer on the arm of her former lover, married District Attorney Joel Thomas, Elsie had become despondent and unstable. At the moment, she danced with staff photographer, Fred Butts, whose job security she’d threatened if he did not put down his camera and take up the waltz.

Fred lurched around stiffly as Elsie stumbled in inebriation, bumping into the other dancers and ultimately landing on Penelope’s foot.

Ow! Penelope yelped, grabbing her foot and hopping in place.

Let me take you back to your table, Miss Davies, Hank said gently, steadying Elsie.

I’d rather have you take me to your bed, she slurred. It was no secret Elsie wanted Hank for her own. Most of the women in town vied for the honor of being his lady love, but Elsie was substantially bolder about her desires. The buxom blonde grabbed Hank’s face with both hands and kissed him desperately. Whereas Penelope would have seethed with jealousy months back, now she merely felt pity for Elsie. Furthermore, Penelope had relinquished her fear of losing Hank to another woman. Their relationship was too strong, and he too devoted.

As Elsie pin-balled around the dance floor, Stella judiciously instructed the string quartet to take a break. It’s time for the cutting of the cake! she announced, garnering the approval of the younger guests.

The cake had been created by Dash as a wedding present for Zara, and in her estimation, it was the most beautiful cake that ever existed. He’d designed it to resemble a flapper-style dress, iced with white fondant patterned with beadlike sugar crystals, with strands of pearl candies dangling from its hem.

After the Harrisons cut the ceremonial slice and fed each other adorable little nibbles by hand, Florence took over cake duty, having had decades of practice in the art of wedding cake cutting. Ruby, the tearoom’s backup server who worked full time at the popular Butterfly Café, joined Stella in serving glasses of punch to those awaiting cake. Meanwhile, the lads from the police station piled the wedding gifts into the back of Hank’s truck while Vincent saw to it Walter’s car was outfitted with trails of tin cans hanging off the bumper and a Just Married message written in shaving cream on the back window. All in all, it was the perfect celebration.

Guests trickled out, professing their well wishes; thus, signaling the moment Penelope could remove her new shoes that pinched tighter with each step she took. As the last of the revelers exited, an acutely pregnant woman waddled in, dressed more for travel than for a wedding.

Good afternoon, Penelope said, trying to hide her stockinged feet as she greeted the woman. Is there anything I can do for you?

Yes, I’m looking for Hank … Hank Edwards, the woman said, scanning the room for him.

I’d be happy to get him for you. May I tell him who’s calling?

Tell him it’s Betsy … the soon-to-be mother of his child.

Chapter Two – When It Rains

The wedding gifts are all secured in the truck, Hank said, breezing back into the shop. We’re packed tight and ready to roll.

So I see, Penelope said, nodding at Betsy.

Betsy? What are you doing here? Hank said.

You know this woman? Penelope huffed.

Know me? What do you think? Betsy said, rubbing her protruding belly.

She’s the daughter of … Hank began. She’s … yes, we’ve known each other for years.

I see. So then you’re saying you do know her … in the Biblical sense.

I beg your pardon! Hank blurted.

Don’t act so coy, Hankypoo, Betsy said. "We live in a liberated age. No one cares these days if you marry me after we’re in the family way."

Marry you?! Hank shrieked. … Will you excuse us, Penelope.

Hank pulled Betsy off to a corner as Penelope made a show of collecting dirty dishes from the tearoom tables in an effort to eavesdrop. Though she was unable to make out what Hank was saying, she gleaned from his body language and gestures that he was none too pleased with Betsy.

When Hank came striding back her way, she industriously poured leftover tea from cups into teapots, trying to hide the fact she’d been listening in.

Penelope, I … This isn’t … I will take care of this. You have my word.

Looks like you’ve done enough already.

Hank slid an agitated hand through his hair. I can’t imagine what you must think of me.

Channeling Zara, Penelope played the situation cool. Don’t shortchange yourself, Henry. You have enough imagination to know what I must think of you.

Oh, Hankypooooo, Betsy chirped. Let’s get going. My feet are tired.

Hank gave Penelope an anguished look and leaned in to kiss her cheek, but the kiss went unfulfilled when she leaned back and looked away.

A moment later, she heard the front door close. Alone in the tearoom, she collapsed into an armchair, crying in confusion and heartbreak. Dash and his wife, Lois, along with Mama Camilla crept out of the kitchen where they’d been washing the mountains of wedding luncheon dishes.

Cara mia? Camilla said tenderly.

At hearing the Italian phrase, Penelope broke out in fresh blubbers. Hank often spoke to her in Italian, ever since their date at the San Francisco opera where they’d attended a performance of La Bohème.

Penelope, Dash said quietly, what on earth’s happened?

Penelope opened her mouth to speak, but the truth was too awful and melodramatic to repeat. You’ll have to ask Hank, she ultimately blurted.

Dash and Lois exchanged concerned looks, and Lois put an arm around Penelope’s shoulder. We’ll finish up here. Why don’t you go on home.

And do what? Cry? No, I’d rather be here with all of you … doing something productive.

Camilla walked to the tea service area to put the tea kettle on. As anyone who frequents tearooms knows, a cup of tea is the balm for nearly all mankind’s woes.

Thirty minutes later, Penelope stood on the stoop of her house staring at her front door, having been chauffeured home by Dash. She’d failed at assisting with cleanup, as each item she picked up in some way reminded her of Hank, causing her weeping to intensify. Hence, she’d been shuttled home after having been smothered with hugs from her friends.

Her arm was heavy as she raised it to open the door. The instant she stepped inside, her erratic breathing normalized. She was glad to be back in her safe haven where she could wallow and indulge her emotions with the support and wisdom of her cherished roommate.

Z, you’ll never believe what just happened … never in a million years, she called up the stairs as she dispensed with her gloves and shoes. Bring some of that hooch down with you, will ya? I could use a stiff belt … or two … Z? … You here?

It wasn’t until after she’d ascended several steps that it occurred to her—Zara was married now. That meant the Queen Anne was no longer Zara’s home. Walter’s house was now her home. Zara wouldn’t be coming back to the Victorian, unless paying a social call.