Tempest in a Teapot (A Teapot Collector Mystery) by Amanda Cooper

Author:Amanda Cooper [Cooper, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-06-03T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

In the brief glance she had of him, Francis looked dreadful; scruffy, beard coming in, eyes hollow and bags under them.

“I’m sorry, did I startle you?”

“I . . . I didn’t know you were here,” he mumbled, over his shoulder.

“Cissy didn’t want you to be alone. I thought she told you I was here.”

“No, she didn’t bother. I’m not a baby, for God’s sake. You can go.”

Sophie hesitated. On the one hand, with his rudeness there was nothing more she’d like to do. On the other hand, if she was honest with herself, she had come with ulterior motives, and so she’d stay. “Don’t let me stop you from phoning whoever you were phoning. How about I make us some tea? My grandmother always says there is nothing like it to make you feel better.”

He didn’t say anything, so she went back to the kitchen and busied herself with making a pot of tea. Cissy had a complete setup . . . teapot, diffuser ball, loose-leaf tea, strainer, everything. She had Earl Grey, English breakfast, oolong, green and even maté, an Argentinean tea with a bit of a kick to it. Plain-old English breakfast was safest, so she brewed a pot while pondering how to get Francis to talk.

He ambled into the kitchen. His haunted expression tore at Sophie’s heart, and she wordlessly pushed him into a chair and gave him a cup of tea with sugar. He was suffering shock, as any person who witnessed a loved one murdered before their eyes would, and sugar could help, or so she’d heard.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you,” he said, glancing at her, then frowning down into his cup.

“Don’t mention it,” she said, sitting opposite him at the little dinette table. “I know you don’t need babysitting, but Cissy is so worried about you she just didn’t want to leave you alone. When I happened to call about the wedding shower, she asked me to come over. Have you eaten today?”

He shrugged.

She jumped up. “Let me fix you what Nana used to make when I didn’t feel like eating.” She rummaged around and came up with some eggs, milk, sugar, vanilla and a blender, and whipped up a frothy eggnog, poured it into a tumbler and grated some nutmeg over it. “Drink up.”

As she ran water and squirted some dish soap into the sink, she said, over her shoulder, “Go ahead and call the person back, the one you were calling when I interrupted.” Curiosity was eating her alive; to whom did he say, We need to talk? And what did it mean?

“It’s not important. I just left a message on the voice mail of a friend of my mom’s who lives out of state. I really don’t want her finding out about . . . about the thing on the news.”

“Oh. Of course!” Sophie immediately felt bad for what she had been thinking. She sat down opposite Francis again. “Drink! You need to keep up your strength.”

“I miss Mom so bad,” he said, his voice thick with tears.

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