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CHAPTER ELEVEN

My lips were still tingling when I unlocked The Perfect Steep at five thirty the next morning.

I’d gone to bed with the ghost of Dash’s kiss branded on my mouth and woken up with it still there, like a secret I couldn’t quite keep to myself.

Every time I thought about it—which was approximately every thirty seconds—my stomach performed elaborate somersaults.

The early morning routine helped ground me as I prepared for another day of serving tea while apparently also becoming an amateur detective.

The scent of cinnamon and bergamot wrapped around me like a comforting blanket as I moved through the pre-dawn quiet, measuring loose tea leaves and warming ovens.

By the time I’d finished baking scones and setting out the displays for the day, my regular morning customers had begun filtering in—Howard from the bookstore for his Earl Grey, Mrs. Pinkerton for her chamomile, and the construction crew from the harbor renovation seeking coffee.

For ten years, I’d been Widow McCoy, keeper of Patrick’s memory and purveyor of fine teas.

It was a role I knew how to play, comfortable as my vintage dresses and just as carefully preserved.

But last night, standing in my foyer with Dash’s hands cupping my face, I’d felt something crack open inside me—something wild and unfamiliar that had nothing to do with being a widow and everything to do with being a woman.

And it terrified me more than finding a cockroach in my lingerie drawer.

“I’ve got you under my skin…” I sang softly as I measured loose tea leaves with precision, trying to focus on the familiar rhythm of opening tasks rather than the memory of Dash’s voice, rough with something primal, saying he was looking forward to watching me break free of my cocoon.

Chowder waddled in from the back room, where I’d set up his bed for the early mornings.

He ignored me completely, making a beeline for his food bowl, snuffling and grunting with single-minded purpose.

His entire wrinkled body communicated one clear message—breakfast trumped whatever human drama I was experiencing.

“Well good morning to you too,” I said, pausing my tea measurements to fill his bowl. “At least one of us has priorities straight.”

Chowder didn’t even look up, his focus entirely on inhaling his kibble like it might escape if he didn’t eat it immediately.

“Romance isn’t on your radar, is it, buddy?” I asked, returning to my tea. “Smart dog.”

* * *

The bell above the door jingled as Walt pushed his way in at ten o’clock, after the morning rush had cleared out. His Navy veteran cap was perfectly positioned, giving him an air of military discipline that even his eight decades couldn’t diminish.

“The sheriff called us for a Silver Sleuth reconnaissance update,” he announced, making his way to his usual table by the window with purposeful strides. “The others should be here momentarily.”

“Morning, Walt,” I said, setting down a cup of his usual Earl Grey, the steam curling upward like a question mark. “How was your morning?”

He eyes swept the room with practiced efficiency. “Good. We should operate with an abundance of caution. Have you noticed anyone paying particular attention to the shop this morning?”

“No one’s been lurking around or paying special attention to us,” I assured him.

“During my time in Naval Intelligence, we learned that the most effective surveillance often happens in plain sight. The KGB once maintained a monitoring post in a Finland coffee shop that could pick up conversations in Moscow.”

Before I could respond, the door chimed again as Dottie swept in, immaculately dressed in pants that were patterned like my Spode tea set and a white button-down tied in a knot at her waist. Her jet-black bob sat on her head like a helmet.

“I’ve reviewed those autopsy notes from the Calvert case,” she announced, setting down her purse.

“Cause of death was listed as drowning, but the bruising patterns on the wrists indicate restraint prior to submersion. There’s clear evidence of perimortem trauma that was deliberately downplayed in the report. ”

“Morning, Dottie,” I said. “Tea?”

She glanced up, momentarily distracted from her medical analysis. “Oh, yes. Thank you, Mabel.” Her clinical gaze assessed me quickly. “You look flushed. You have a fever?”

My hand flew to my face. “Busy morning.”

“Hmm,” she replied, clearly unconvinced by my explanation but too polite to press further.

The bell jingled again as Hank and Deidre entered together, followed closely by Bea, who was wearing an eye-catching turquoise pantsuit with peacock-inspired accessories.

“My word, Mabel,” Bea exclaimed, zeroing in on me immediately. “You’re positively glowing this morning. I haven’t seen that particular look since Margaret Wilson got caught with the tennis pro in the country club sauna. You’re looking all hot and bothered.”

“I just finished telling Dottie that it’s been a busy morning,” I said, arranging teacups.

“Clarissa called in sick, so it was just me to deal with the morning rush. Genevieve is going to come relieve me in about an hour. I’ve got to hire a couple of more people.

We’re busy enough that I can justify it, and Clarissa isn’t always reliable.

Not to mention the tourist traffic has already gotten bad and summer hasn’t even started. ”

While the thought was in my head I looked in the drawer under the register and found the Help Wanted sign, and I went to put it in the window.

“Clarissa is always sick,” Dottie said, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture.

“She’s Junie Miller’s granddaughter you know, so that explains a lot.

This generation doesn’t know how to work.

Get a sniffle and then they’re out for the count.

Probably home playing video games. I remember working a double shift once when I was assistant medical examiner.

I had high fever and chills. But I did my job because those people had loved ones who were relying on me. ”

“Good thing the dead don’t care if you’re contagious,” Bea said dryly.

“Before Dottie gets too high on her soapbox, I got a call from Mrs. Pembroke at the crack of dawn.” Bea set her Louis Vuitton on the table with deliberate slowness.

“She said the sheriff’s car was parked outside your house until after midnight. ”

“We were working on the case,” I said, realizing how incredibly lame that sounded.

“Of course you were,” Deidre said encouragingly. “Otherwise Sheriff Beckett wouldn’t have called us all in for an emergency meeting. I’m sure you discovered something very important.”

“Like whether or not he’s had a tonsillectomy,” Bea said, waggling her drawn-on brows. “Lord, if I were forty years younger, I’d be climbing that man like a magnolia tree.”

“Come now, Bea,” Deidre chided, though her eyes sparkled with laughter. “Mabel’s personal life is her own business.”

“In this town?” Bea scoffed. “Sugar, there is no such thing. Especially when it involves Emma Jean Pembroke. That woman could spot a lipstick smudge on a collar from two counties over. Her nose for scandal is sharper than a hound dog on a jailbreak. She was one of my sources for years.”

I was saved from further interrogation by the arrival of Dash himself, looking ridiculously handsome in his pressed uniform. Our eyes met briefly, and the memory of last night’s kiss sent warmth creeping up my neck.

“Good morning, everyone,” he said, his voice steady and professional. “Mabel.”

“Morning,” I managed, focusing on the teapot.

“Well, well, well,” Bea murmured, her gaze bouncing between us. “Isn’t this interesting.”

“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” he said, bulldozing ahead so not to give Bea a foothold in the conversation. “I’ve got a county budget meeting at eleven thirty, but I wanted to review what Mabel and I discovered last night with our evidence board.”

I gave Bea and Dottie an “I told you so” look.

“Based on our mapping of Elizabeth’s connections and the corruption timeline, I’ve identified key individuals each of you should focus on. The sooner we divide and conquer, the faster we’ll get answers.”

I poured tea for everyone, grateful for the familiar task as Dash opened a folder of documents that contained photocopies of our evidence board.

“Walt, I’d like for you to follow up with these former Harrington Construction employees,” Dash said, sliding a list across the table. “Your background gives you the best chance of getting them to open up about the harbor project Elizabeth was doing research on.”

Walt nodded, reviewing the list quickly. “I don’t know some of these names. Transient workers most likely.”

“Possibly,” Dash said. “I had my admin go ahead and pull current addresses and phone numbers for you. All but one name on the list still lives in the Charleston area.”

Walt nodded. “I’ll crack these guys like an egg. If there’s information to be had, I’ll get it. Did you know I used to teach interrogation classes when I was in the military?”

“I saw that in your file,” Dash said. “You’re a scary man, Walt.”

Walt seemed pleased, so I assumed he took it as a compliment.

“Deidre,” Dash continued, “the evidence board pointed to missing records. I need you to dig into the historical archives of the Harbor Development Corporation. Property transfers, permit applications, anything related to the wetlands project Elizabeth was investigating.”

Deidre’s eyes lit up. “The county archives have everything from 1990 to 2000 in the basement. I’ve already called in a favor with the clerk to pull those boxes.”

“Dottie,” Dash continued, “your medical expertise is crucial. Can you analyze the autopsy report more thoroughly? Look for anything that contradicts the official drowning ruling.”