Death of a Mad Hatter (A Hat Shop Mystery) Read online

  “What?” he asked. He looked shocked and appalled.

  Ah, now I had his attention. I reached around him and grabbed the handle to the door, relieved to find it unlocked.

  “You heard me,” I said. “Good night.”

  I stepped inside and shut the door without inviting him in.

  Viv was putting away the hats she and Fee had worn. I lifted the pretty pillbox off of my head and handed it to her.

  “Everything all right?” Viv asked.

  “Peachy,” I said.

  She raised her eyebrows, but I didn’t elaborate.

  “Where’s Harrison?” she asked.

  “He had to go,” I said. Which was not a complete lie in the sense that he really needed to get away from me.

  “Oh, I was hoping he’d come and cook something for us,” Viv said.

  “I can cook,” I offered.

  “And by that, you mean you can place an order for takeaway?” Viv asked.

  “Exactly,” I said. I do like to play to my strengths.

  Fee came down the stairs with her dress returned to its garment bag, which was hanging over her arm. She was back in her capri pants and flats, looking very Cinderella-back-from-the-ball.

  “I have to run,” she said. “My brothers will wonder where I am.”

  “You really need to bring them round sometime,” Viv said. “They might trust you more if they met us.”

  “Or they’d start bossing you about, too, yeah?” Fee said.

  Viv and I exchanged a look. That would not go over well.

  “See you tomorrow,” Fee said.

  She sailed out the front door and I wondered if Harrison was out there waiting for her. Not my business, I told myself. Still, as I locked the door behind her, I shifted the blinds to peer out the glass portion of the door.

  The street was quiet and Fee was striding off on her own, chatting on her cell phone as she went. I wondered if she was calling her brothers to assure them that she was fine. Then I wondered what her brothers would think about her and Harrison. Not that I would tell them about the pair, I’m not that meddlesome; still, they were awfully protective. I bet they’d think Harrison was too old, too.

  “Trouble over there, Scarlett?” Viv asked.

  I dropped the blind and turned around. “No, not a bit. So, what’s your fancy for dinner? We could walk over to Notting Hill Gate and get takeaway soup and sandwiches from Le Pain Quotidien.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Viv said. “I could use a tasty tartine, and if we walk, it won’t stick to my arse.”

  I laughed. Viv never was one to candy-coat things.

  We locked up and stepped out into the cool June night. Soup and a sandwich would surely put things right, and if not, there was always treacle tart with cream.

  • • •

  With Fee and Viv preoccupied with the Butler-Coates wedding, I was left to man the shop, which was not a bad thing since of the three of us, I had the best people skills. Thank goodness or I’d really have nothing to contribute to our enterprise.

  It was midafternoon and business had tapered off enough that I decided to sit in one of our squashy blue chairs and put my feet up. Yes, the minute I put my feet up I should have known something bad would happen. You can almost always bank on that sort of thing in retail.

  I did not see the bad thing coming as Detective Inspector Finchley arriving with his own entourage of crime-scene investigators. I was so engrossed in the latest issue of the Daily Mirror—don’t judge; a customer left it behind—that I didn’t even hear them enter the shop until the detective was standing right beside me.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Parker,” he said.

  “Ah!” I yelped. My feet came down, my paper flew up and my heart about smashed through my rib cage. I put a hand over my chest and tried to catch my breath.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. His jowls wobbled, and I suspected he was trying not to laugh at me.

  “No harm done,” I lied. I was pretty sure a few days had been shaved off of my life, but yeah, no biggie. I stood and faced him. “I take it this isn’t a social call, or are you all looking for new hats?”

  One of the female techs behind him stifled a laugh, and I decided that I liked her.

  “Actually, this is quite serious, I’m afraid,” Finchley said. His brows met in the middle in a severe frown, eradicating any of the humor that had flitted briefly across his face like a cloud over the sun.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “What can I do to help?”

  “The forensic pathologist has discovered that Geoffrey Grisby’s death was not from natural causes,” Finchley said. His face was grim.

  I said nothing. I suppose I should have told him that Tina had already told me he’d been poisoned, but I wanted to wait and see where this was going before I volunteered any information.

  “Are you saying he was murdered?” I asked, because I like to be specific like that. I raised my eyebrows to indicate my surprise.

  Finchley pressed his lips together as if he was trying to determine how much to say. Finally, he gave me an abrupt nod.

  “But how?” I asked. “There was no blood or sign of a wound or anything to indicate a struggle.”

  “Looked at him that closely, did you?” Finchley asked me.

  “I was the one to find him,” I said. “I did turn him over.”

  “Indeed,” Finchley said. For one word, it sure packed a punch.

  “Hey!” I protested. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I have absolutely no reason—”

  “Didn’t you flee the States after battering your lover with his anniversary cake?”

  I felt my heart, which had finally resumed its normal rhythm, stop and fall down into my stomach. My face felt hot with shame. My voice was very quiet when I spoke.

  “I don’t really see what one has to do with the other.”

  “Neither do I,” he said. “But I promise you, if there is a connection to be made, I will make it.”

  It didn’t feel like a threat so much as a promise. Okay, that was intimidating.

  “And I can assure you, there is no connection,” I said. “We were commissioned by the Grisby family to design the hats for the Wonderland tea. That is all.”

  “Then why does Mrs. Grisby refer to your cousin as her old friend Ginny when your cousin’s name is clearly Vivian?” he asked.

  I glanced over his shoulder at the crime-scene techs who had come with him. The woman was checking out our hats. The man was absorbed by his cell phone. So no backup there.

  “Surely, you noticed that Mrs. Grisby is not operating at full mental capacity,” I said.

  “She does seem a bit addled,” he conceded.

  “My cousin felt it was kinder to let Dotty think of her as her old friend instead of insisting that she wasn’t. We’re very nice like that.” I gave him a pointed look, which he ignored.

  “Is your cousin here right now?” he asked.

  “Yes, she’s in back, working on some hats,” I said.

  “You make them here?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “Why?”

  “We’ll need to see your work area,” he said.

  “All right, follow me,” I said. I led them through the shop to the workroom, where Viv and Fee had music playing. Fatboy Slim’s “Praise You,” to be precise.

  Fee was singing along while Viv was bobbing her head. Finchley seemed to take the room in at a glance—an unhappy glance.

  “Viv,” I called to my cousin, but she couldn’t hear me over the music.

  I hurried across the room to the computer, which was live streaming the XFM radio station. With a click of the mouse the music switched off and both Viv and Fee glanced up with What-the—? looks on their faces.

  “Viv, this is Detective Inspector Finch
ley,” I said. “He’s here to ask you some questions.”

  Viv tossed her long blonde curls over her shoulder and stared at him. “Whatever about?”

  “Poison,” he said.

  Chapter 14

  “Poison?” Viv, Fee and I all asked together.

  Finchley took a moment to study all three of us. He handed me a sheaf of legal-looking papers. Sadly, I’d been on the receiving end of these before, and I knew it was a warrant allowing them to search the shop.

  “All right, team, you know what to look for,” he said.

  The man put his phone away and the woman looked up from where she was examining the ruffled tulle on the edge of a fascinator.

  “Excuse me, Detective Inspector Finchley,” Viv said. “But why would I have poison in my shop? And why are you here, anyway?”

  “Geoffrey Grisby was poisoned and traces were found on the hat you made for him,” Finchley said.

  “But I have no reason to have killed Mr. Grisby,” Viv said.

  “Possibly,” he said. “But what of your employees?”

  “I had no reason to murder him,” Fee said. “I wasn’t even at the tea.”

  “Why not?” Finchley asked.

  “Because I was here working,” Fee said. Her brown eyes were wide, and she looked worried.

  “Can anyone verify that?” Finchley asked.

  Fee looked alarmed. “I’m sure I had customers who could.”

  “That’ll do,” Finchley said.

  “Well, I had no reason to murder him either,” I chimed in. “And whatever I did in the States is not relevant and you know it.”

  Finchley studied me from under a pair of bushy eyebrows. “How do I know someone in the family didn’t hire you to do it for them?”

  “Oh, please,” Viv said. Her exasperation was showing. “Do you really think we run a hat shop with a little murder business on the side? Honestly.”

  Finchley shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. “Scoff if you want, but you are connected to the murder whether you like it or not. Besides, hatters are known for being mad, aren’t they? Why couldn’t it be you?”

  “I am getting bloody tired of people telling me I’m mad!” Viv snapped.

  “I didn’t say you were,” Finchley corrected. “I said hatters are known for it, but since you brought it up, who else has called you mad and why?”

  I glanced at Viv. This was not good. The last person I knew who had called hatters mad was Geoffrey Grisby.

  “It is a social stigma,” Viv said, not answering his question. “And if you had done your research before coming here, you would know that the origin of the term ‘mad hatter’ comes from the hat-making industry in the 1800s. A mercury solution was used during the process of turning fur into felt.”

  “Mercury?” Finchley asked. “But that’s poisonous.”

  “We know that now,” Viv said. “They didn’t then, and it caused the hatters to have symptoms such as trembling, loosening of teeth, memory loss, depression, irritability”—she dragged that word out for impact—“loss of coordination, slurred speech and anxiety. It was called Mad Hatter Syndrome.”

  Finchley stared at Viv and I could tell she’d made an impression upon him. I just couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. Finally, he nodded at her and said, “Fascinating.”

  Amazingly, Viv seemed mollified by this.

  “Excuse me.”

  I was leaning against the cupboard when the forensic woman with Finchley gestured that she needed to get in there. I moved. The forensic man did the same to Viv and Fee as he swabbed the table and then carefully put the swabs into a plastic kit that he put in his bag.

  “Oh, this is ridiculous. How are we supposed to work like this?” Viv asked, and she strode to the front of the shop.

  “Go check on her, would you?” I asked Fee. She hurried after Viv and I turned to Inspector Finchley. “What sort of poison was it?”

  He looked like he wasn’t going to say. I crossed my arms over my chest and tipped my chin up. He considered me for a moment. I don’t know if it was the sheer stubbornness of my stance or the fact that he was beginning to believe that we had nothing to do with it, but he gave me a brisk nod.

  “Formaldehyde,” he said. “Mr. Grisby died of acute exposure to formaldehyde.”

  I frowned. I don’t know why, but I had expected it to be arsenic or cyanide or even a bad mushroom. Formaldehyde threw me for a loop.

  “But we don’t use anything like that here,” I said.

  “Then you should be in the clear shortly,” Finchley said. “If you’ll excuse me. This shouldn’t take very long. Am I correct in assuming you live above the shop?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Excellent. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to go up there.”

  He did not leave it open to discussion. I left the room, feeling somewhat like I’d just been run over by a semi.

  I found Viv and Fee sitting in the shop, which was quiet. Viv had picked up the copy of the Mirror—see, it’s like a train wreck: you just can’t look away—and was flipping through it and muttering to herself.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m having flashbacks of the last time the police wanted to search the place,” Fee said to me.

  “A little bit,” I agreed.

  The bells on the door chimed and in walked Andre and Nick. They were looking very dapper in jackets over dress pants with crisp shirts, open at the collar, underneath.

  “You two are looking disgustingly respectable,” I said. “What gives?”

  “Off to the bank,” Nick said. “We’re going to go for a loan to refurbish the studio a bit.”

  “The opening went well, did it?” Viv asked.

  “Better than I could have imagined,” Andre said. He looked amazed at his own good fortune and I couldn’t help but be happy for him.

  “Well, you might want to clear out of here so that our bad luck doesn’t rub off on you,” I said.

  “You could never be unlucky,” Nick protested.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. I jerked a thumb at the door behind me that led to the workroom. “Inspector Finchley is here looking for traces of formaldehyde.”

  “Formaldehyde?” Viv slapped the tabloid onto the table. “But that stuff smells disgusting. I would never let that in my shop.”

  Fee wrinkled her nose. “I do think we would have noticed, yeah?”

  I sighed. “They’re saying that’s what Geoffrey died from and there were trace amounts on the hat you made for him. Thus, they’re looking here.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Andre said. “Have you called Harrison? He’ll get it sorted.”

  “I don’t think—” I began but Viv interrupted.

  “Already done,” she said. “He’s on his way over.”

  “What?” I cried. I glanced at a standing mirror nearby. Why had I chosen to wear my most unflattering top today? I wondered if I had time to change. Then I mentally smacked myself. What did I care if Harrison saw me in a blousy peach shirt that made me look ten pounds heavier than I was? I didn’t.

  I glanced away from the mirror and saw Nick smiling at me. I scowled.

  “So, how did your chat go with Marilyn Tofts?” I asked. “The two of you seemed awfully chummy.”

  “I know,” Nick preened. “I can really turn on the charm when I want some dish.”

  “You mean she’s not your new BFF?” I asked.

  “Oh, ick, no. Andre invited her just for promotion,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “You invited her?” I asked Andre.

  He shrugged, which I took as a yes.

  “So that’s what you weren’t telling me that day at the tea. There I was going on about how I loathed her and you had already invited her to the opening,” I said.

  “Guilty,
” Andre said and hung his head.

  “She’s a horrible woman,” Nick said. “But she is seriously connected, and you know how I love the gossip. Hey, is that a copy of the Mirror? Can I have it?”

  He snatched up the magazine Viv had smacked down on the table.

  “Time, Nick—we have to go,” Andre said, checking his cell phone. “Wish us luck.”

  The three of us waved as they left the shop. The door had barely closed behind them when Finchley reappeared from the workroom with his minions.

  “We’re ready to examine your living quarters,” he said.

  Viv looked like she was going to growl, so I cut her off before she could cause any more suspicion to rain down upon us.

  “I’ll take you up,” I said. “Viv, why don’t you get back to work. Fee, would you mind watching the shop?”

  I turned away before they could balk. Sometimes, I think sharks have it right: stay in constant motion and nothing bad can catch you.

  The bells on the door rang again, and I glanced over my shoulder to see Harrison stride into the shop. So much for my shark theory.

  Harrison shook hands with Finchley in quite the courteous, nothing-suspicious-here manner. Finchley indicated that I had the paperwork, so I handed it to Harrison before leading the way upstairs.

  “Go ahead with Ms. Parker,” Finchley instructed. “I’ll follow shortly.”

  “Hi, Fee, how are you?”

  I heard Harrison greet Fee but I refused to look to see if they were giving each other goofy grins. I pulled open the door that led upstairs and turned to see if the two detectives were following me. Now, I can’t help it if I happened to glance behind them and saw Harrison watching me.

  We held each other’s gaze for just a moment before he gave me a small smile and turned back to Detective Inspector Finchley. Now what was I supposed to make of that?

  I led the way up the stairs. I toured the two detectives around our apartment, where they continued their snooping. You can call it whatever you like, but I’m going with “snooping,” especially when I caught the male portion of the twosome sniffing all of my hair products.

  “Scarlett!” a voice called to me from the living room. I gave the male a look until he put down my very expensive conditioner.