Steeped in Murder: A Tea and Tarot Cozy Mystery by Kirsten Weiss

Author:Kirsten Weiss [Weiss, Kirsten]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cozy mystery, culinary mystery, Tea and Tarot, tea room, tearoom, murder, killing, crime, amateur detective, woman sleuth
Publisher: misterio press
Published: 2019-05-20T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Brik walked me to the tearoom.

I told him the good news about the building. “So, you can start work for real.”

“Groovy,” he said, and I was pretty sure he was using the word unironically. The contractor unlocked the rear door. “And congratulations.”

“Thanks!” I retrieved my purse and called Hyperion from the front room, the bare cement cool through my sandals.

Brik propped open the blue front door. A cross breeze scented with sea air flowed into the room. It fluttered the hem of my red dress.

The phone rang five times, and a machine picked up. “This is Hyperion Night. Someone shot me in the leg with a nail gun, but I'll be working today in spite of my disability. Leave a message.”

I winced. “It's Abigail.” And then I blurted. “We got the building!”

Brik glanced at me and unclipped a retractable measuring tape from his belt.

There was a click and an answering squeal. “I knew it! I told you we would! Wait, does that lawyer know about me? Forget it, it doesn't matter.”

The contractor measured a window.

“He knows,” I said. “How's your leg?”

The measuring tape rattled back into its casing, and Brik made a note in a small pad.

“My leg hurts like hell,” Hyperion said. “But at least my tetanus shot is up to date.”

“Um, speaking of up to date, Mr. Bonnet wants three months’ rent in advance.”

There was a long silence. “I guess we had to expect that. But you ran the numbers, didn't you? We can do it, right?”

“Y-es.” But Hyperion should have known the answer without asking. True, not everyone is a numbers person. I was lucky to have my grandfather to advise me. But our Tea and Tarot room would be Hyperion’s too.

“Then it's settled,” he said.

Brik measured another window.

My brows drew together. “Maybe we should go over the numbers again? Together?”

Another clatter of measuring tape.

“Why?” Hyperion asked. “You and your grandfather checked them over.”

“Yes,” I said, “but this is your money too. It's important you understand everything. I don't want to have any misunderstandings down the road.” Or to find out I’m working with a snarky version of one of my parents.

He blew out his breath. “Fine. Come to my studio. I'm free for the afternoon. We can go over whatever it is you want me to look at.”

“I'll come now. Bye.”

He hung up.

“You going somewhere?” Brik asked.

“To Hyperion’s office. No more trailing suspects. Promise.”

“Are your fingers crossed?”

“Funny, funny.”

In the parking lot, I searched for Hyperion online and found his address on his website — sleek, colorful and simple. At least he knew design, or he knew to hire someone who did.

I dumped the phone in my purse, opened the Mazda's door, and hesitated. Retrieving my phone, I returned to the internet and an online review site.

Hyperion was listed. His reviews averaged four and a half stars. There was one complaint, from a woman who said he was self-righteous, talked nonsense, and was obviously cold reading. Biting my lower lip, I shifted against the hot car. But that was only one review out of fifty-two.

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