Teatime With a Corpse: Cedar Wells Mysteries, #1

By Sherry S. Hall

Everyone loves a party...

that is, until it turns deadly.

The last thing artist and shop owner Sarah Stone needs is to be the center of town controversy.

Scratch that. Truly the last thing she needs is to find herself in the midst of murder steeped in town skeletons. Is someone willing to kill to keep them buried in the past?

Will Sarah uncover the killer before she becomes the victim of the next town secret?

Get the first book in the Cedar Wells Mysteries series now because everyone loves a good mystery!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cabin Books
• Release date: May 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393508069

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Hoping no one had noticed her slipping in late, Sarah Stone sat quietly in the back row at the monthly meeting of the Cedar Wells Historical Society.

So far so good. It seemed everyone’s attention was focused at the front of the room where Maureen Montgomery slammed her hand against the podium. I refuse to have such an unskilled woman represent our organization. She has no formal training and claims the illustrations she creates for those children’s books are art. She’s nothing more than a ranch hand who married money.

Maureen, we are holding a Wonderland Tea Party. Isn’t that from a children’s book? Miss Stella held her gaze on the Historical Society president. Murmurs broke out across the meeting room as Maureen Montgomery turned a deeper shade of purple.

A mixture of anger and hurt welled up in Sarah as she tilted her hat brim to cover her face and scooched lower in her chair. She had slipped in on the back row just as the members of the Cedar Wells Old Towne Women’s Historical Society had begun taking their seats. Sarah was not a member and was only at the monthly meeting due to the persistent prodding of Jewel McLane, aka Miss Stella. Stella owned the restaurant adjacent to the Brush and Plume, Sarah’s shop. The restaurant owner had been after her to join the Historical Society since Sarah and her husband opened the Brush and Plume, but Sarah didn’t fancy herself a society woman. She’d refused Miss Stella’s invitation again just yesterday but had felt guilty and decided to attend at the last minute. And what a mistake that was.

Stella stood, her buxom figure, clad in a 19th Century day gown made of yellow and wine silk, demanding attention. Sarah Stone has more talent than any of those so-called artists Janell showcases here at the gallery. She’s talented, and her shop is one of the main attractions on the boardwalk. Her art would be perfect for the charity auction.

Janell Davenport, the director of the Cedar Wells Fine Arts Museum and Gallery snapped forward in her seat. We showcase some of the finest artists in West Texas—all of whom have formal schooling in the arts, including myself.

Sarah tried to think of a way to escape the meeting without being seen but knew she would only draw attention to herself.

Maureen spoke again from the podium. I will not have her representing this organization.

Stella turned to the crowd, the feather in her wine-colored, straw and velvet Victorian hat bobbing as she spoke. I believe the bylaws say a member can make a motion to bring an idea to a vote. I motion we commission Sarah Stone to paint the Wonderland artwork for this year’s auction.

A lady in the row in front of Sarah seconded the motion.

Stella raised her voice. Those in favor raise your hands. Many of the attendees raised their hands. Sarah tilted her head enough to see a number of women who were disgusted at the thought, though.

Against? called out Maureen.

The angry women shot their hands into the air.

What about you?

Sarah realized a woman from the next row was speaking to her.

A friend of Sarah’s also looked over her shoulder toward the back row. Sarah?

Blood rushed to her face as all of the women turned to stare. Not one to let the world see her fall apart, she composed herself and said, I’m not a voting member. Let me know what you decide,—she paused—and then I’ll let you know what I decide. With that, she stood, squared her hat, and walked out of the meeting room, past the information desk, and out the door.

The Fine Arts Museum and Gallery sat across the river and several blocks away from Main Street and the boardwalk. Sarah walked back to the Brush and Plume at a brisk pace, passing meandering sightseers on the path she had run many times in the last two years. Now a quaint tourist town known for its historic sites and its growing community of artists, Cedar Wells was once the cultural hub of Nineteenth Century West Texas. After the Civil War, settlers began building along the bank of the Ciervo River. Because of the access to water, the fertile land, and the beautiful views along the river valley, by the turn of the century Cedar Wells had grown into a booming city with large ranches surrounding all sides. However, by the 1950s, the community had almost become a ghost town. The county seat had shifted to the town of West Bend, and oil booms farther north had caused men to uproot their families and move in hopes of a better life. In recent years, the community had taken on new life thanks to the business acumen of Gavin Montgomery, a rancher turned oil tycoon, who saw potential in the tourist industry for the quiet town and who also happened to be the husband of Historical Society president, Maureen Montgomery.

Sarah kept her pace until she reached the hundred-year-old plank walkway that ran in front of the shops on Main Street. In fact, many of the buggy tie rings still hung along its edges. The town’s architecture boasted original facades from the late 1800s and early 1900s. The rich history of Cedar Wells had drawn in Sarah and her husband, Tanner, to want to be a part of this community—this same community that now argued over accepting Sarah as one of its own.

She stopped at the enormous antique door of her shop. Its deep red color usually brought a smile to her face, but today’s events had stolen any previous joy the day had promised. She dabbed at the tiny sweat beads on her forehead and sighed. Although only April, the West Texas mornings were already getting hot. Tourists would be on the hunt for air-conditioned shops to browse.

The rusty bells tinkled above the door as she pushed it open to find Maddie, her assistant manager, standing behind the counter at the vintage cash register assisting two customers. Sarah’s husband had tried to convince her to install a computerized register, but she had insisted on keeping everything period correct. She did give in to his ingenuity, though. Just below the counter, out of sight, sat an advanced computer system equipped with credit card functionality, email lists, and digital receipts. The best part about the whole setup was the circuit wiring that connected the old register to the modern system. While Sarah and Maddie pecked away at the old keys, the computer below kept track of sales. The girls had only to punch a few buttons below the counter to change the inventory. How she wished she could throw her arms around her husband one more time and say thank you.

As she pulled off her hat, escaped strands of sandy blonde hair swirled around her face. Sarah had worn a messy bun long before it had become a trend and would likely wear the style long after the trend faded. She had never stayed up with the latest fashions, and at thirty-eight, it wasn’t likely to happen now. She circled around the counter, tucked her hat underneath, and greeted the two women. How are you two lovely, young ladies today?

Mildred and Abbie ventured in to indulge in mystery seasoned with a little romance on a regular basis and had earned the title of classic customers from Sarah and Maddie. Sarah guessed the two seniors were both well into their seventies but knew better than to ask. The duo reminded her of female versions of Abbott and Costello. Mildred stood almost a foot taller than her friend, and, depending on the season, her hair took on various shades of blue. Abbie’s shorter height accentuated her round hips. Unlike Mildred, Abbie refused to take the leap and go gray. Her hair color sat somewhere between pumpkin spice and barn red.

Mildred patted herself on the cheek. Young ladies? Why thanks, darling. She puckered and blew Sarah an air kiss. Abbie and I dropped in to pick up a few books for our trip.

And just where do you think you’re going? Maddie teased.

Abbie spoke up. Mildred talked me into taking one of those cruises for old folks. I hope they don’t ID us, or they might find out we’re just spring chickens! The two widows were good company for each other, and their laughter was infectious, helping to lighten Sarah’s mood.

Well, you two have fun and try to stay out of trouble. We expect a full report when you get back in town. And pictures, of course. Sarah packed each lady’s books in their respective Brush and Plume totes she had given her regular customers last Christmas. Mildred had embroidered each of their names above the logos. The ladies said their goodbyes and waved as they walked out the door and onto the boardwalk.

A half hour and ten customers later, the door of the Brush and Plume flew open, and before Sarah or Maddie had time to say a word, Miss Stella blasted through in a rant. Sarah, don’t you even listen to that old witch! She and her little group of snobby, wanna-be-high-society snits have no business running our Historical Society. You’ve got plenty of people backing you who think your talent is amazing. You left before the real fun started. Janell tried to explain the difference between fine art and what you do. More than a dozen members of the audience put old Davenport in her place!

What happened? Maddie gave Sarah a puzzled look.

Nothing. Sarah tucked an extra bag under the counter, and gave Cowboy a little pat. Prior to Stella’s entrance, the middle-aged corgi had been stretched across his daybed asleep, but now he cowered in a small ball, unsure what was causing Stella’s behavior.

Nothing? Those spiteful shrews tried to block us from using Sarah’s art for the Wonderland Tea Auction. Stella always had a way of moving her body to reflect her attitude du jour, and today’s attitude was fiery hot.

Not wanting to discuss it, Sarah said, Really, it’s not a big deal.

Oh yes, it is! Janell doesn’t have a lick of talent, and she’s knocking you. You’ve got more skill in your pinkie toe than her whole pitiful entourage has, even if you wrapped them all up into one. And Maureen? That woman’s just nasty. Stella squinched her nose and tilted it toward the ceiling to mimic the women from the art gallery.

Maddie chimed in. I can’t stand Maureen! She treats me like illiterate hired help, and I don’t even work for her. I bet her husband bought the friends she’s got.

Stella continued. Jealousy is what it is. Jealousy running pure down to the bone. I’m sorry you had to hear them, but I wouldn’t trade cash money for the look on Maureen’s face when you gave your little speech and marched out the door.

Maddie’s eyes widened. What did you say to her?

Sarah fidgeted with the display by the register. It was nothing.

I’ll tell you. Sarah made a complete fool of Montgomery and then walked out on her. Stella threw her hand on her hip for emphasis and strutted away just as the shop door opened. Sarah and Maddie laughed at the sight of Stella trying to pull her exaggerated strut into a casual walk as a customer entered.

Welcome to Brush and Plume. How can we help you today? Maddie’s genuine care for others came through her voice.

Sarah was so glad she had hired her even though they had to work around her assistant’s college schedule. Sarah had not met many young English majors with Maddie’s gift for literature, especially vintage mysteries. Maddie could talk with customers for hours about almost any mystery book on the shelves of the shop.

The young man walked up to the counter and stuck out his hand to shake Maddie’s. I’m Josh Mason. I’m a freelance writer and photographer. Tall and thin with brown hair that fell partially over his right eye, he looked to be in his early thirties.

Sarah caught sight of Maddie, who stood a little taller, sucking in her mid-section and pushing out her chest, before asking, Can I help you find something in particular?

"Oh, I’m not here to shop. Texas Travels magazine is looking for historical towns that would make intriguing stories and exciting travel destinations. You know, places with a little bit of a—shall we say—questionable past. This town has quite the history if I’ve heard the stories right. From what I’ve been told, Cedar Wells got its start right here on this street."

Stella was the first to answer. Honey, there’s no question. We have a delightful past.

The young man flipped open a small Moleskine notebook. The town built up around the fort in the 1870s, didn’t it?

Sarah nodded. Yes, it’s one of the best-preserved forts in Texas. The government built it to protect the frontier settlements from the Comanche’s hostile threats. Sarah loved the fort and its history. She and Tanner had spent time there every December as a part of Santa’s Market at the Christmas event. Part of the time she’d volunteered wearing period clothing and making soap for the living history tours and the other part of the time selling books and artwork as a vendor. It had been one of Tanner’s favorite events, too. This last Christmas had been so difficult for Sarah—her first Christmas alone.

I was hoping to catch the owner of Miss Stella’s. I understand it was the first business here in Cedar Wells, Josh said.

You’d better believe it, sweetie. Miss Stella was the first proprietor to—Stella winked at Sarah and Maddie—serve the soldiers at Fort Ranson.

And you are? The young man extended his hand again.

Why, Miss Stella, of course. Stella shook his hand and gave him a wink as well.

He stared with a puzzled look until Sarah and Maddie broke out in laughter. Sarah waved a hand toward Stella in a flourish. She’s the current Miss Stella, owner and entrepreneur of Miss Stella’s Restaurant and Museum.

Are you related to the original owner?

Let’s just say we are soul sisters. Stella’s generous hips swayed as she spoke.

I heard stories about the original bordello having a secret tunnel into the bank’s basement. Is that true?

Sweetie, the girls and I would be glad to take you on a stroll through our tunnel.

It’s still there?

Certainly it is. How else could I slip over here for a glass of wine during the dinner run?

He glanced around the shop from bookshelf to bookshelf. To a bookstore? It comes here? I thought it connected with a bank.

Maddie leaned in to whisper to Sarah, Not much of an investigative reporter, is he?

Shhh. Sarah feigned a serious face at Maddie before clearing her throat to answer. This was the bank. Most of the original fixtures were gone before my husband and I bought the building.

He looked around the shop and studied the loft for a moment. I would love to see it if you’ve got the time. By the way, I didn’t get your names.

Mine’s Maddie Hart. I work for Mrs. Stone. She motioned toward Sarah.

And I’m Sarah Stone. This is my shop.

As the young writer shook Sarah’s hand, he said, That’s funny. You have the same name as a children’s book illustrator my sister loves. She’s an elementary school teacher and the mother of a four-year-old. She’s always trying to convince me I need to be writing children’s books instead of magazine and newspaper articles. That’s a sister for you.

Sarah caught Maddie with a well-placed elbow to the side just before her assistant could speak.

Come on, we’ll go over to my place and give you the official tour. Stella motioned