Bitter Tea
A new Mini Mystery!
Try your hand at solving a Mini Mystery and you might win a prize! Just let me know who the guilty party is.
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Bitter Tea by Della Kincaid
Once a year the rich owners of the only fashionable old house in Avery County opened their doors for an arts council fundraiser. The Victorian manor, sitting atop a panoramic ridge, dripped with gingerbread, never-used balconies, and at least three colors of paint on the trim. It was a nice gesture by the owners, but many of the locals who’d lived in the mountains of N.C. for generations felt miffed by the noblesse oblige of it all. Which proves the adage, you can’t win for losing.
I had a foot in both camps. I loved the mountain folks and their down-to-earth ways, but I also enjoyed the arts – not to mention the delicious spread at the fundraiser. I’d piled my plate with a slice of Victoria Sponge, three kinds of pastries (all homemade by the art mavens), and egg-and-watercress finger sandwiches. A nice break from shop duty at Coburns General Store in nearby Laurel Falls.
I was just getting ready for a good nosh when a terrifying scream stopped the string quartet mid-sonata. And my Victoria Sponge mid-mouth. I set my plate and cup aside and hurried toward the commotion.
A woman lay on the grass in front of the wraparound front porch, which was festooned in red-white-and-blue bunting. Someone with a doctor’s air of authority was pressing the woman here and there for signs of life. He set her arm tenderly on the grass and shook his head.
Sheriff Horne arrived in record time. Probably already casing the event for some leftovers. I couldn’t blame him; they were delicious. At least they looked delicious. I had just made my way back to my plate when I heard his booming voice (they didn’t call him Airhorn behind his back for nothing). “Della Kincaid! I need your help.”
We’d worked together on some cases, so I wasn’t totally surprised by his request, though he’d never acknowledged the need for my help before.
Horne had quickly established a crime scene with the requisite yellow tape and shooed everyone well away from the body, which now had a flowered tablecloth draped over it. He rushed me to the side and said in as much of a whisper as he could manage, “Her name is Amanda Swinton. Did she ever come in your store?” I shook my head. “Well, she’s been poisoned. She reeked of bitter almond and the doc confided it was more than likely cyanide.”
I asked, “Do you have any suspects?”
“Well, besides everyone here, there are three people I want to interview. Now. Before they can cook up a cover story. I’m short-handed and need you to join me.”
As a former crime reporter, I never shied away from a good mystery.
Horne had wrangled a private place on the porch, where one by one I guided the suspects. The sheriff was a good interrogator, speaking as soothingly as he could.
“Was Amanda Swinton a good friend of yours, Ms. McGuire?”
“Oh yes. A dear, dear friend.” She pulled out an embroidered hanky and dabbed at her eyes. “Amanda did so much for the arts council.”
“Who placed the tablecloth over her?”
“I did. Right away. I was standing next to her when she collapsed. I didn’t want anyone to see her that way. Except for the doctor, of course. It seemed the kind thing to do. For everyone’s sake.”
When she broke down in tears, Horne excused her and nodded at me to bring the next suspect, Gloria Highwater.
“How long did you know Ms. Swinton?”
“We worked on the finance committee of the arts council together.” She couldn’t find her hanky, so I handed her a tissue from my purse.
“You two handled the council’s money? Any problems there?”
“Not a bit. I will miss her.” The tears started again in earnest, and I was running out of tissues.
Horne waited a moment before asking. “How well did Ms. Swinton know the doctor? Doctor Wingate?”
“Oh, er, um … I’m not sure,” she said between hiccups. “I did see them together in the kitchen today, but then Amanda suddenly left in a huff and he followed her out.”
“Is the doctor’s wife here?” Horne asked. “I understand she made some of the food.”
Ms. Highwater looked around. “She was, but I don’t see her anywhere. Now there’s someone I didn’t get along with, which I imagine you’ll discover when you investigate all of us. I wish she and her pastries had stayed at home. Then we’d be having a nice tea instead of, well, this,” she said, sweeping her hand toward the flowered tablecloth.
Turned out the doctor’s wife had hightailed it out of there right after the unfortunate demise of Ms. Swinton.
“I thought you cordoned everything off, Horne,” I said, disappointed a suspect had gotten clean away.
“Oh, don’t get in a snit, Della. I know who did it.”
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Send your answer to me at spellboundmysterywriters@substack.com
See prizes below.
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Prizes to first three correct answers to Bitter Tea:
Your choice of any e-book from my book list:
2. An early e-copy of Blizzard of Stories, my 10th book in the series. Get an advance copy before it publishes August 16th.
3. A set of four Appalachian Mountain Mystery greeting cards. Lovely artwork and sayings (from my books) on cards blank on the inside. And whoever you send them to gets a free copy of A Life for a Life!
I hope you win!
