Tempest in a Teapot (A Teapot Collector Mystery) Read Free

presentations.”
    “Presentations.” Sophie’s mind was a blank. She gently set Pearl on the back of the chair and regarded the cat; she squeezed her blue eyes shut then opened them wide. Sophie looked back to her grandmother. “Nana, what do you mean by
presentations
?”
    “I guess you’ve never been to one of Auntie Rose’s bridal showers. I do a talk about tea and the Victorian era, the history of teapots, highlights from the Auntie Rose collection, and the presentation of the ‘tea-a-ra’ to the bride. I would like you to take over for this one.”
    “Nana, I couldn’t,” Sophie said, horrified. “Mom says you’ve become famous for what she calls your ‘tearoom shows.’ She sent me a newspaper clipping! I couldn’t do it justice.”
    “Now you listen to me, Sophie Rose Freemont Taylor,” Nana said, her voice stern. “I don’t want you to do
my
presentation, I want you to do your
own
bridal shower presentation! And don’t tell me you can’t do it. You managed In Fashion for three years.”
    “Managed it into bankruptcy,” Sophie said, feeling the familiar tightening in her throat when she thought of her beloved restaurant, shuttered and auctioned right down to the carpets. She turned to Pearl and lifted her gently to her lap again, burying her face in the Birman’s luscious mane of fur. Pearl nudged her hand and purred throatily.
    “That’s the past,” Nana said, putting one warm hand on Sophie’s shoulder and squeezing, while she gently petted Pearl’s head. “I have faith in you. If you don’t do it, I’ll have to cancel.”
    “Cancel? Why?”
    “I need to scale back, honey,” she said, her shoulders drooping. “The showers just exhaust me. This last week we had a bridal shower, a birthday party and four bus tours, and the Silver Spouts meeting is coming up. I’m exhausted!”
    Sophie was immediately stricken by guilt. She examined her grandmother’s careworn face, the wrinkles more pronounced than in bygone years. While she had been puttering around, Nana had been overworking herself. But there was something more there than the workload bothering her grandmother. “Nana, is there some reason you don’t want to do Cissy Peterson’s shower? I mean, other than the work?”
    The older woman looked off into the distance for a moment. She walked over to the shelves, adjusted an art deco round teapot with Bakelite handle and knob. “It’s complicated. I know you see Thelma Mae Earnshaw as just an annoying old woman and she does drive me crazy. Did you know she has started serving a full-on cream tea, and is trying to start her own teapot-collecting club? I just don’t understand the woman. I exaggerated about her not talking to me since Eisenhower was president, but our relationship is strained. Always has been. And yet . . . she was my friend once.”
    Sophie waited for her grandmother to get to the point. Pearl jumped down from Sophie’s lap and headed downstairs, perhaps to beg treats from Laverne, Nana’s only employee in the tearoom.
    “It’s about the wedding,” Nana finally said. “Cissy is marrying Francis Whittaker Junior. Remember him?”
    “Frankie, that . . . that putz? I sure do.”
    “Honey, don’t call him Frankie. Or a putz. Frankie . . . uh,
Francis
is now an architect and still lives in the Whittaker house his daddy built. Vivienne—his mother—moved out to a modern home up in the hills. But you know what Thelma is like; she thinks that the Whittakers aren’t up to her standards. Thelma Mae Earnshaw has always stood on the dignity of her mama’s family being the first to settle Gracious Grove. She’s bad enough now, but you would not believe the way she put on airs when she was Thelma Mae Hendry!”
    “What do you mean, the Whittakers aren’t up to Mrs. Earnshaw’s standards? They’re the richest family in the whole area.”
    “The Whittakers are
nouveau riche
, if you listen to Thelma tell it. After all, the Whittakers’ money came