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

that she ought to just give up and marry a rich dude.
    That wasn’t exactly what Rosalind Taylor had said, but it was the thrust of her argument. Sophie squared her shoulders. Nana needed her and she was going to help however she could. If that meant hosting Cissy’s bridal shower, then she’d do it. Maybe it would be fun.
    Right, like tooth extraction or taxes. Fun or not, she’d do it.
    She hustled across the room to relieve Laverne, almost as old as Nana, of a heavy tray of tea things. “Let me,” she said, hefting the tray.
    “Sophie!” Laverne said, her black eyes glowing with fondness. “My sweet godchild. Rose told me you were in town, but until I saw you I didn’t dare believe it.” Without the burden of the tray, she reached out to gather Sophie into a hug.
    Laverne Hodge, whose ancestry dated back to the Seneca Indians and an African-American trader, was honorary godmother to Sophie, adopted as such long ago at a tea party for her fifth birthday. Little Sophie was teary-eyed because her mother had called to say she couldn’t make it to Nana’s for the party. Laverne had said she would stand in as Sophie’s “godmother,” and ever after had showered Sophie with goodies, handmade quilts and all of the homey goods a “mother” could think of.
    Sophie set the tray down and was enveloped in the woman’s suffocating hug. “Auntie Laverne,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by Laverne’s aproned bosom, “I’ve missed you so much!”
    The woman held Sophie away from her in her strong grip. Head tilted to one side, she squinted at her godchild. Laverne was tall and strongly built, so she met Sophie eye to eye. “Now, don’t you say that. You’ve been here three days and I haven’t laid eyes on you ’til today.”
    “I know. I’m sorry.”
    Laverne exchanged a glance with Rose, who counted bills at the cash desk, put the float back in and stashed the extra money in a canvas deposit bag. The two women had been friends for so long they didn’t need words, communicating with shared looks instead. “If you’re here to help,” Laverne said, turning back to Sophie, “we need to set the tables with silverware and dishes so I can get a batch of cranberry lemon scones in the oven. We got a three o’clock bus tour coming in, and it’s near two now.”
    While the three women worked they talked, of course. Sophie caught up on all the news that was fit to spread, as Laverne called it.
    “So Cissy is getting married,” Sophie mused. “And to Francis Whittaker! Why does Mrs. Earnshaw
really
not like the Whittaker family?”
    Laverne looked over at Nana, who was now busy in The Tea Nook filling up the candle display, then bent toward Sophie. “There was quite the scandal back in the day. The Whittakers all belonged to the country club, you know. I worked there as a waitress for a while, and was working the night of the big dustup!” Her dark eyes sparkled.
    “What happened?” Sophie asked, patting the wrinkles out of a tablecloth.
    “Everyone was well oiled, as you can imagine.” The country club, being outside the town limits, served alcohol, one reason memberships were sought. “Alcohol loosened a few tongues and Vivienne Whittaker, she up and threw a glass of champagne in Florence Whittaker’s face and accused the woman of sleeping with her husband!”
    “Really? Was it true?”
    Laverne shrugged. “Always was bad blood between those two sisters-in-law, ever since Vivienne snagged the Whittaker brother who didn’t gamble and drink his money away, and Florence got stuck with the Whittaker that ended up penniless.”
    Nana, who had silently approached, said, “Are you two gossiping about all that old water under the bridge?”
    “Mucky water still runs dirty, you know that, Rose,” Laverne said, dropping a wink in Sophie’s direction. “Those two just barely tolerate each other to this day.”
    “So
that’s
why Mrs. Earnshaw doesn’t like the idea of Cissy marrying Frankie—I mean,