I did a double take when I checked the clock. I’d only waitressed an hour, but my calves ached and my biceps burned from carrying trays laden with enticing goodies to customers and then dirty dishes to the kitchen. Willing the minute hand to move faster, I retreated to the bakery area where Noelle reigned.
“You made it through the early bird group.” Noelle kneaded dough on a flour-covered island. “The next wave will arrive about nine.”
“I hope they’re as patient as the first group. I served scones instead of crumpets to three tables by mistake.”
Noelle gasped. “No! When you can’t remember the order, serve my scrumptious crumpets.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I pushed the swinging door with my backside while carefully balancing the order for table six. The mix-and-match tables and chairs painted in cheerful yellow, green, pink, and white created an ambiance of shabby chic and happiness. The atmosphere, combined with aromas of baking breads and sweets, elicited smiles from most who entered Tea by the Sea.
The warmth in the shop came from companionship as much as the ovens in the back. Minutes became hours as customers chitchatted across tables about neighbors, families, and travel plans. The talk reminded me of the sheltering love I’d felt during my Sea Side summers from elementary school until my sophomore year in college—when my sister showed up. I knew I couldn’t allow my sis to shoulder all the blame for stealing my ideal man. I later made my own mistakes in the relationship department. I’d chosen poorly four times. Maybe five, not three, would be the charm.
This year I’d acted on my New Year resolution to change my loner habits. I joined the singles group at church and took a class about coaching your life to success. Last night I shared pizza with Logan Hernandez and Will Tomlinson, a baby step in independent socializing. Maybe this visit to Sea Side would prove beneficial. The door banging interrupted my musings.
Cool salty ocean air accompanied a striking red-haired woman who waved an orange T-shirt in her right hand while holding a box tucked against her left side. She stopped at each table to talk, her rapid-fire speech sounding like a jackhammer’s rat-a-tat-tat as she worked her way around the room. The pink sweater flattered her fiery short hair, freckles, and green eyes. When she offered me an orange shirt, I realized how short she was, even with her three-inch heels.
“I’m Jane Mills. I work with the Chamber of Commerce, and I know you’re Ladessa Nolan, John’s granddaughter. We’re delighted you’ll be helping with the fall festival.”
Chalk up another surprise for me.
Jane continued, hardly taking a breath. “We’re gearing up for October events. You may know about Damariscotta, Maine. They do pumpkin smashing and a regatta where contestants paddle pumpkin boats. We hope our town’s experience will rival theirs.”
I’d never heard of Damariscotta’s festival, but if anyone could organize a bigger and better event, I’d bet my money on this tiny, enthusiastic redhead. I gestured to new customers entering the shop, and she took the hint.
“Just pull your October shirt over what you’re wearing.”
Orange is a horrible color for me. I envisioned myself looking sallow and washed out for the whole month, attired in the ghastly shade that promoted Sea Side’s Punkin’-Chunkin’ and other fall festival events.
Jane addressed the customers. “Folks, the punkin’-chunkin’ demonstration is at three today, right in front of Tea by the Sea. Remind your friends to come watch. We’re also having a pumpkin derby race. You’ll love the events we have planned.”
The woman’s vitality infected both patrons and employees. When she finally took a breath, employees hustled from the kitchen to claim shirts.
Jane rummaged through the box. “Georgina purchased two shirts for each of you. I’ll snap a picture of the employees under the Tea by the Sea sign. The shop could use some good publicity to counter the negative press. Come outside. Line up.”
I stood next to Noelle. “What did Jane mean about negative press?”
“Gossips have tried to connect murder and death to Tea by the Sea. The shop struggled, but the longtime residents support the business. And then, of course, there’s Harlan Gramford.”
“Who is Harlan Gramford?”
Jane admonished us to smile as she photographed the group, then promised Georgina a poster for the window with our picture and a listing of October’s events.
Noelle led the way inside. “You asked about Harlan Gramford. He owns Happy Days, where my mom and your grandfather live. I think he champions the shop because he loves baked goods. Harlan reminds me of the Pillsbury Doughboy. Short, pale, and puffy. Anyway, he schedules the van to bring the seniors for tea each week. Tea by the Sea is a fixture in the village. The locals want it to survive.”
“Is that why we’re working here?” This made more sense than Grandpa’s suggestion that I needed spending money or something to do.
Noelle shrugged. “Might be. My mother nudged me to work here, just like your grandfather encouraged you. Think working will keep us out of trouble?”
“I’m a changed woman, Noelle. I go to church voluntarily.” I glanced at the front door where several people pressed inside, including Grandpa John.
“The Happy Days crowd has arrived.” Noelle mouthed, Crumpets, as she retreated.
I recognized Betty, the activities director, and Mary, Noelle’s mom. I guessed the pudgy, fair-skinned man with Grandpa would be Harlan Gramford. His black-rimmed glasses perched too far forward on his nose, and his double chin attested to too many sweets and too little time in a gym.
I went over to Grandpa John’s table and kissed his cheek, pleased that his eyes looked brighter today.
“Ladessa, say hello to Harlan Gramford. He owns Happy Days. He makes certain we have stimulating opportunities. The facility has current event sessions, book clubs, exercise classes, and games. Sometimes we play Clue, Monopoly, or Battleship. Remember the hours we spent playing games?”
Harlan extended his hand. “We have the best residents in the world. John loves living in our place, although Sharp and I had to persuade him he should move.”
I massaged Grandpa John’s shoulders. “My grandfather isn’t easily convinced to do anything. We grandkids had to present facts and reasons for any request. Begging, whining, and whimpering never worked.”
Harlan said, “I think my four-legged pals, Sunrise and Sunset, convinced your grandfather.”
“His dogs,” Grandpa explained. “They’re powder puff dogs—don’t bother people with allergies.”
“Bichons. The residents like the dogs more than they like me,” Harlan said. “My mother suffered from allergies, among other things.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Gramford.” I suggested the crumpets and got several takers.
The place buzzed with talk about upcoming events and the shirts worn by the staff. I even sold four ugly orange shirts to senior citizens, who were pleased the purchase would support the tea shoppe and Sea Side.
Grandpa waved me to his table. “Ladessa, come to Happy Days about six, have dinner with me and see the apartment.”
“I’ll be there.” I wanted to see the furniture, pictures, and mementos he chose to keep.
My shift ended at three, which meant I could watch the punkin’-chunkin’ event, if I didn’t collapse. I alternated standing on one foot and flexing the other, then bent my knees to alleviate their aching. Another of my resolutions was to drop fifteen pounds, but I’d never established an exercise regimen. Maybe waitressing and riding a bike would remove the unwanted weight.
I’d just wolfed down a petit four—not a healthy choice—when Logan and Will arrived. As I grabbed menus, I noticed they were not alone. Logan’s arm encircled Jane’s waist, and Will followed Trent Sharp. They took table four in the back corner.
When I arrived with menus, Logan whispered in Jane’s ear while she beamed. Will’s face looked like a storm cloud ready to burst, and Sharp offered me a sunshiny smile.
“Ladessa, my offer for a shopping trip still stands. Just name the time.” Sharp placed his nasal spray on the table.
“I think my wardrobe is set. We employees just received these nifty work shirts.” I glanced toward Jane for a reaction, but Logan held her attention.
“Uncle Trent, consider your age.” Will glared at the older man.
“Just being polite.” Sharp turned to me. “I can’t have anything with peanuts.”
“Everyone knows you can’t have peanuts,” Will said.
The handsome senior tapped the menu. “What do you recommend, Ladessa?”
I suggested the spiced orange or the pumpkin crumpets, and Sharp ordered a combination platter for the group. I placed the order, bussed tables, and took my time rolling silver in napkins to avoid going back to table four. Logan and Jane continued their short-distanced conversation while Sharp and Will were nose to nose in what appeared to be an argument.
When their order arrived, I deftly managed trays of food as I dispensed mugs of steaming tea. “Enjoy. These crumpets are to die for.”
“Bad joke, Ladessa.” Sharp selected a spiced orange crumpet. “Since you’re new here, you probably don’t know that death’s shadow looms over this wonderful eating establishment.”
I yearned to hear the story, but ear-splitting sirens broke the calm.
Jane jumped to her feet. “Come on! It’s time for the punkin’-chunkin’ demonstration.” She herded the employees from the back and diners in the front toward the street.
I marveled as the catapult contraption mounted in the bed of a pickup was lowered to the grassy area facing the ocean. Three giant pumpkins, which I gauged with an uneducated eye to be at least fifty pounds each, waited on the green grass for their transport into space. The viewing numbers swelled as a high school band with a drum line played rousing music, preparing the excited crowd for flying pumpkins.
Georgina flipped the sign to CLOSED and asked if I would watch the shop entrance. I leaned against the door, happy to relax.
“Anyone want to use the facilities before the big show?” Betty led some people past me and inside the shop while the rest of the crew from Happy Days staked out a prime viewing location. When Betty’s group left the shop, she rummaged through her giant bag and dispensed hand sanitizer squirts.
So much for my vigilance in guarding the premises. But I couldn’t deny a senior citizen the right to use the restroom.
Jane manned the public address system and directed a countdown for the release of each missile. The folks cheered when the catapult chunked the pumpkins through the air.
After the last pumpkin flew into space, I scooted inside, eager to end my shift before the onslaught of customers. All tables were empty except table four.
“Mr. Sharp?”
When Trent Sharp didn’t raise his head, I jostled his shoulder. His posture wasn’t normal.
I felt his hand. Cold.
I checked for a pulse. None.
I placed fingertips on the artery in his neck. Nothing.
I turned his head and lifted an eyelid.
Dead. The man was dead.
I locked the front door and punched 911 on my cell phone.