I couldn’t nap, though I tried. Luckily, I got a text from my mom, and rolled up to click my laptop open with a practiced flick of my wrist, the familiar hum of machinery springing to life almost as soothing as the hiss of steam from a freshly brewed pot of Earl Grey. My fingers danced over the keys, tapping in the password—tea leaves and tangents, a tribute to my shop’s bestselling blend and my notorious habit of side-tracking during conversations. As I set up the video call, my stomach did that uninviting jitterbug routine it reserved for moments like these.
“Deep breaths, Penny,” I muttered to myself. “It’s just Mom and Dad.”
But the butterflies in my belly knew better. This wasn’t your everyday how’s-the-weather chitchat. With the Swiss Alps as my current backdrop instead of the cozy clutter of my tea shop, and a mystery brewing, my parents had every reason to be worried.
The screen blinked, and suddenly there they were, their comforting smiles pixelated across miles and time zones. “Penny dear! How are you?” Mom’s voice warbled through the speakers, her eyes scrutinizing me as though she could X-ray my well-being through the webcam.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad.” I offered them my most reassuring grin, which felt about as sturdy as a chamomile petal in a tempest. “I’m good, really. The resort is beautiful.”
Dad’s mustache twitched—a sure sign he was mulling over his words like a connoisseur over a fine oolong. “We’ve been reading the news, Penny,” he said, finally. “This business with the murder… it sounds dangerous.”
“Your father’s right,” Mom chimed in, her hands knitted together as if she could weave a protective barrier around me. “You’re there to relax, not play detective. Can’t this be… someone else’s pot to stir?”
“Mom, I have to clear my name…” I hesitated, keenly aware that my next words could tip the scale from supportive to full-blown parental panic. “…But it’s really not dangerous.”
“Penelope Hawthorne,” Dad intoned, using my full name—the verbal equivalent of a teapot whistle signaling that the water’s boiled. “Do you need a lawyer?”
“No?” I said, the word sounding like a question.
My dad sighed. “We support you, pumpkin, but we also want you back home, safe and sound, with all your leaves uncrumbled.”
Their love washed over me, warm and supportive. “I promise, Dad. And hey, maybe when I solve this thing, I can create a new blend—‘Alpine Adventure,’ or maybe ‘Mystery Mélange.’”
Mom laughed, the sound tinkling through the speakers like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. “Just make sure it has a happy ending, darling.”
The call ended with a click, and the room fell silent except for the soft hum of my laptop. They had tried to keep the worry out of their voices, but it was there, a faint tremor beneath their words—like a delicate teacup with an almost imperceptible crack.
I leaned back in my chair, my fingers drumming against the polished wooden desk. Mom and Dad’s concerns echoed in my mind, a haunting refrain that whispered of the risks I faced. A sane person might take their advice, pack up her bags, and leave the mystery for the local authorities to untangle. But there was the pesky fact that I couldn’t leave the country.
And sanity had never been as persuasive to me as curiosity.
My reflection in the laptop’s darkened screen stared back at me, eyes wide and resolute. The very notion of giving up now, when I felt so close to unearthing the truth, felt as unsatisfying as a weak cup of chamomile—lacking depth and wholly incapable of soothing my restless spirit.
“Alpine Adventure” wouldn’t just be a fanciful name for my latest blend; it would be my declaration of intent. I vowed then and there, amidst the peculiar silence of my Swiss retreat, that I would solve this mystery—and soon.
I rose from the plush armchair and tucked my resolve into the pocket of my apron like a secret ingredient. Making my way out onto the resort property, I let the cool alpine breeze tease away the last remnants of my parents’ worried voices. The Swiss landscape, normally a picture-perfect postcard that could lift any spirit, spread before me in a tableau of tranquility, its beauty starkly at odds with the jumble of emotions brewing within.
“Keep it together, Penny,” I chided myself, as my feet crunched on the gravel path winding through gardens that rivaled Eden’s own. Despite the cold, a riot of colors burst from flowerbeds, each petal and leaf meticulously cared for, undoubtedly reflecting someone else’s orderly life. My gaze lifted to snow-capped peaks piercing the sky, their majestic presence a silent reminder that nature, much like my current predicament, was both awe-inspiring and unforgiving.
I couldn’t shake off the feeling of being steeped in a pot of paradox—the serenity of the surroundings clashing with the tempest of my thoughts. Here I was, ensconced in luxury, yet struggling with an unease that wouldn’t subside. As I passed by the fragrant herb garden, the one where I had found inspiration for countless blends, a subtle shift in the environment pricked at my senses. It was the kind of feeling you get when you add milk to lemon tea—something just curdles. I scanned the area casually, my eyes darting from the neatly trimmed hedges to the stone benches dappled with sunlight.
There it was—a shadow, flickering just beyond my periphery, elusive as the perfect infusion time for oolong. At first, I attributed it to a trick of light, or perhaps a gardener making their rounds, but the instinctual tug in my gut told me otherwise. This shadow had intent; it moved with purpose and a certain stealth that set my heart thumping against my chest.
Probably just another guest enjoying a stroll, I tried to reassure myself, my inner sleuth not quite convinced. Yet, the figure kept pace, mirroring my every turn with the precision of a dance partner in a routine we hadn’t rehearsed.
When I glanced over my shoulder, the figure ducked behind the topiary. I quickened my step, feigning nonchalance, while my mind whirred faster than a barista during the morning rush. Each rustle of foliage, each snap of a twig underfoot, tightened the noose of suspense around my neck.
I took a sharp turn, my boots crunching on the gravel pathway that serpentined through the manicured lawns of the resort. The majestic backdrop of the Swiss Alps stood in stark contrast to the cat-and-mouse game unfolding at their feet. I stole another glance over my shoulder, hoping to catch the elusive face of my pursuer, but was met with only the tail end of a disappearing figure. They slipped behind a sculpture of an alpine ibex, as enigmatic and untouchable as the mountain it represented.
Every few steps, I’d pause, feigning fascination with the quaint architecture of the chalets or the intricate designs of the garden. But really, I was biding my time, waiting for the figure to reemerge. My sleight of hand was worthy of a magician—or at least a street performer—as I discreetly scanned the area.
Keep your friends close and your potential stalkers closer, I mused, recalling one of Grandma’s more unconventional pearls of wisdom. Grandma always did have a flair for the dramatic, but her advice had never felt quite so literal.
With each step, I maintained a delicate balance between curiosity and caution, my senses finely tuned. This wasn’t how I pictured my getaway in the Alps, but then again, I never was one for predictable holidays.
As the figure slipped around a particularly gnarled apple tree, their movements were both graceful and elusive—a wraith in broad daylight. I quickened my pace, careful not to crunch too loudly on the gravel path beneath my sensible boots.
The figure darted behind an ornate fountain adorned with cherubs mischievously spouting water from their puckered lips. I skidded to a halt, using the momentary cover to assess my next move. My heart drummed a calypso rhythm against my ribs, syncopated with the splashing water.
And then, just like that, they vanished.
For a second, the only trace of them was the faintest whisper of movement—a rustle of leaves, a shadow flitting across the cobblestones. My pulse raced as I considered the possibilities. Were they someone involved in the mystery? A fellow sleuth on the same trail? Or perhaps just a guest with an aversion to social interaction?
I pressed on, my heart thumping like a drum in a parade as I wove through the labyrinthine pathways of the resort. Every shadow seemed to be an accomplice, conspiring to keep the mysterious figure just out of reach.
The realization that the figure had slipped away sank in, leaving behind a cocktail of unanswered questions and a shot of unease. I stood still for a moment, my hands on my hips, staring up at the majestic mountains that towered over the property. They were immovable, unwavering, much like my resolve—but unlike those peaks, my patience was starting to erode.
With a deep breath, I turned on my heel, making my way back through the maze of opulence and intrigue. I might have lost sight of my shadow, but I wasn’t about to let them cast a pall over my investigation. My inner sleuth was wide awake, and she didn’t take kindly to being ghosted.
My phone buzzed, startling me. I swiped the screen to check, finding not a chat request from Mom and Dad, but an invite from Lucas.
Meet me in the library, it said.
On my way, I replied instantly.