The First Four Read online

  The Tea Series

  Books 1-4

  Sheila Horgan

  Copyright © 2010-2011 by Sheila Horgan.

  Smashwords Edition

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, businesses, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. No reference to any real person is intended or implied.

  The Tea Series: Hot Tea (Book One), Sweet Tea (Book Two), Iced Tea (Book Three), & Green Tea (Book Four) All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, or distributed without the written permission of the author, with the exception of short quotes for purposes of review.

  Cover Art by David Avila

  Edited by Christie Giraud www.eBookEditingPro.com

  Proofreading by J. Jeffers www.JJeffersEditing.com

  Interior Design by CyberWitch Press LLC CyberWitchPress.com

  Hot Tea

  Book One

  ONE

  I SHOULD KNOW better than to start off any conversation with a question like, “Just how stupid am I?” Of course, that realization hit me right after I’d blurted it out, so I had to correct myself, which left me in the weaker position from the get go, an ongoing problem. I rephrased, “Better question, how stupid is this idea?”

  My beautiful sister, bless her wee little heart, is nothing if not honest. She shrugged and said, “Pretty stupid.”

  “But I need the money.”

  “Everybody needs money, Cara. Sane people don’t decide to solve a murder to collect the hundred thousand reward. I thought you were going to win the lottery.” She gifted me with her first eye roll of the day. “Even I will admit that the lottery thing is a better plan than becoming a murder huntress, and I’ve been making fun of the lottery plan since we were the same height. Before the big growth spurt of the fourth grade. Dear God, Cara, it’s hard to believe, but putting all your eggs in the lottery basket might be the more sensible plan. Do you see how insane that is?”

  She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, through her perfect little nose, a not so subtle reminder to me of her status as the long-suffering sister. “Cara, I may have to reconsider my belief that you are, at the very least, semi-sane.”

  I wish I could do the one eyebrow thing, kind of like a female version of that painfully handsome wrestler who has the perfectly arched brows. I just know he waxes those puppies. Anyway, he can raise one independent of the other and halfway up his skull. I can’t do that. I lift both and lower my chin, not the same effect at all, more of a wannabe ‘mother look’ than what I was hoping for, but you have to go with what you’ve got.

  What I lack in facial expression, I can always make up for in the tone of my voice. I don’t have much eyebrow control, but the vocal cords rarely fail me, which is good, because more than one person has accused me of talking too much.

  In perfect pitch, only slightly valley girl, I responded with, “Semi-sane? Excuse you?”

  “Come on, Cara, didn’t someone once say that the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over and expect a different result? I give you credit for being semi-sane only because we’re from the same gene pool, so there must be some sanity hiding in that brain of yours. Somewhere. Maybe.” She pulled a face. “What about sticking to your lottery plan? Why not just buy a lottery ticket and call it done?”

  “I did buy a lottery ticket. That’s my sure thing. This is my backup.”

  “If the lottery ticket’s a sure thing, by definition, you don’t need a backup.”

  I jutted my head forward, like a chicken on steroids, not an attractive pose. “I am certain that I’ll win, Teagan. I’m just not sure when I’ll win. On the off chance that it isn’t this week, I have to have an alternative source of income. That doesn’t mean that I’m not going to win the lottery someday; it just means I may not win it today.”

  “That makes perfect sense.”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’. Also proves I’m sane, because I’m never sure that the lottery ticket I buy this time is the winner. I just know that one of the lottery tickets I buy will win. You have to pay attention to the subtleties in life, Teagan.”

  “So, tell me, how do you intend to find a killer without getting yourself killed? As much as I’d love the I-told-you-so moment, getting yourself killed would be very inconvenient. Mom would then have more time to focus on me. We can’t have that.”

  My look was somewhere between confused and offended. I’m good at that look. I used to practice it in the mirror. Got me out of getting grounded once. It’s even been known to work on a harried nun, which came in handy, since we went to Catholic school. But it seldom, if ever, works on Teagan. Still, it was worth a shot. I huffed, “Your love and concern for my safety is underwhelming. I intend to find the murderer without putting myself at risk. That simple.”

  Eye roll. “Sure it is. That’s why they’re offering a hundred thousand dollars. Because they think it’s so easy.”

  I tried not to sound exasperated, but really, I’m pretty sure she was being annoying intentionally. Annoy the crap out of Cara is an old ploy. Piss me off and she wouldn’t have to be involved. Worked when we were kids. I try to pretend I’ve matured.

  I said, quite calmly, “I didn’t say it was easy; I said it was simple. If it were easy, they wouldn’t offer the money.” I took a breath to calm myself, and started my latest sales pitch; after all, that is what a conversation is when you are trying to get your little sister to do your bidding. “All we have to do is find the killer.”

  “I get that part. What I don’t get is how we find the killer. And can I just say — we?” My sister rolled her beautiful blue eyes again, “What is we? How did I become a part of this?”

  “One question at a time is all I can handle. The Internet is the way we find the killer.”

  “What?”

  “Teagan, why are you making me repeat myself? We find the killer on the Internet.”

  “What the hell is the killer doing on the Internet? How do you intend to find him? Log on to find a bad guy dot com and ask him to stand at the corner of Fifth and Bouchard with a red rose between his teeth? For the love of all that’s holy Cara, what are you thinking? Your only plan to support yourself is to catch a murderer or win the lottery? Those are the two best options available to you? Why can’t you just admit that you have no plan? Your plan is not to have a plan.”

  “Don’t be like that. It’s a great plan. Listen. I was watching TV last night when it all became very clear. Some talking head said you could find anything on the Internet. It’s true. Think of one thing that you can’t find on the Internet.”

  “Other than your sanity?” She took a breath and counted off on her fingers. “Um, let’s see. A comfortable bra; the name of the killer; a reason I shouldn’t tell Mom what you’re up to; a straight, well-adjusted, good-looking male, whose only goal is to fulfill my every fantasy. Should I go on?”

  “Could we stick to the subject? Please? And if there’s only one female on this planet that does not have the right to complain about her lack of male companionship, it would be you. Teagan, they line up outside your damn door. You’re such a little ingrate.”

  She had the good grace not to comment. I went on, “We can track down the murderer. All we need is information. It’s on the World Wide Web. We just have to feed the computer the right stuff, and it will tell us everything we need to know. I know it will.”

  I didn’t really like her tone when she continued, “We type in the right stuff, and the computer gives us the name of the murderer. Gee, I wonder why no one else thought of th
at.”

  I smiled, never a good sign in the middle of what my mother describes as a discussion, but what I call a potential fight. “Wow, I’d say you’re being a perfect ass, but that would be a compliment, and you are being really annoying, so the last thing you’re getting from me is a damn compliment.“

  Deep breath. Pulled back from the edge, I said, “I’m not saying his name will magically appear on the monitor. What I’m saying is that the information we can find online will definitely tell us how and where to find him. All we need is the right information to feed into that puppy.”

  “That’s great. Where do we find the right information?”

  I gave her my most angelic smile. “That’s where you come in.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She hadn’t even rolled her eyes. I had her attention. Before I lost it, I rushed on. “I was thinking about it, and I think the best shot we have at tracking our murderer is your boobs.”

  She took half a step back, looked down, and said, “Again, excuse me? What happened to the Internet? My boobs are good, but they don’t type!”

  “I don’t need them to type. I can type. The closest thing I have to boobs is the fact that I can put my right foot behind my head, so I need to borrow your boobs. Come on, Teagan, isn’t that what a good sister’s for?”

  “You can put your right foot behind your head? When did this happen?”

  “I’ve been stretching out every night. My goal is to get both my feet behind my head, but so far, I can only get the right one back there. Kinda. Sometimes I look very Madonna-like, the singer not the Virgin, and sometimes I just flip over on my back and look like a distressed turtle.”

  She looked like she’d just emptied a whole Pixie Stick into her mouth. “Thanks for the visual.” A bit of a shudder and she was back to her normal self. She’s really quick with that whole transition thing. It’s a gift. One I don’t possess.

  She said calmly, “And this foot-behind-your-head thing is your version of boobs? How does that work?”

  “Ok, close your eyes.”

  Dutifully, she closed her eyes and said, “Done.”

  “Picture the look on any guy’s face when he sees your boobs.”

  She smiled and said, “Done.”

  “That is the very same look I get when I just happen to mention that I can put my foot behind my head.”

  Her eyes sprang open, and she blurted, “The two aren’t even close.”

  “I understand that, but it’s as close as I get. Besides, some day your boobs are going to be down around your ankles, and my ankles are still gonna be up around my ears. At that moment, I will have the last laugh. All those years of flat chest jokes, and for once I will be the laugh-er and not the laugh-ee.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Why can’t you let me have this?” I whined at her. “You were wearing lace when I was wearing a t-shirt. You went through the alphabet like a teacher in a bad mood. I think an A. No, wait, a B. Will you look at that, a C! No, we’d better go with a D. It’s so unfair! You’re still wearing lace, and I’m still wearing a damn t-shirt. Why can’t you let me have this? You have the boobs. You have lace. You even have thong underwear! Why can’t I have this?”

  “Wait a minute, what do you mean I have thong underwear?”

  I started to pace while I explained, “Thong underwear goes with lacy, big-boobed bras. Thong underwear does not go with a t-shirt. Cotton bikini underwear goes with a t-shirt, and if I’m going for really sexy, maybe I’ll get some at Victoria’s Secret, so that the little elastic band says their name, so Mr. Right, should I ever actually find him, will know that at least I know there is sexy underwear out there, even if it’s not for me. Let’s be honest, my womanly figure more closely resembles a ten-year-old boy than Marilyn or Raquel. I’m many things in life, but exotic goddess isn’t on the list, Teagan.”

  She rolled her huge blue eyes. “You can wear a thong if you want to.”

  “No, I can’t. It wouldn’t look right. And now that I can put one foot behind my head, and I’m working on the other, it could cause some damage.” The look on my sister’s face was priceless. I love that look. Deer in the headlights meets prom queen. I continued my thought. “Anyway, I’m thinking about going commando.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  “No, it isn’t.” I argued, “You only wear clothes once before you wash them, so what’s the difference?”

  “The eeewwww factor!”

  “Can we get back to the issue at hand?”

  Her turn to be exasperated. “Fine, guys drool when you say you can put your foot behind your head. How does that solve a murder?”

  “My foot isn’t going to solve it; your boobs are.”

  “Right. Run that past me again?”

  I tried to sound really confident in my new plan. “You’re going to put on a nice tight top and go apply for a job at the police station. When they hire you part-time, you’ll have access to the information we need to type in the computer and have the Internet tell us who killed the woman. Then we’re going to collect my hundred thousand dollar reward.”

  “That’s your plan?”

  “That’s it.”

  She muttered, “Oh Lord, here we go!”

  The look on her face said it all. It was the same look she had on her face when she was ten and I suggested that we climb the fence down at the corner swimming pool. Things didn’t really work out that night, but I’m sure they’ll be better this time.

  Besides, I’m a little old to be grounded.

  Nothing to worry about here.

  Moving on.

  TWO

  TEAGAN SWEPT INTO the room without a word. No “Hello, how are you? How’s life? Hate it when you pull your hair back.” None of her normal comments. Nothing.

  My own fault really. When I’d gotten out of the car, I’d decided on ‘a lazy man’s load,’ as my mother calls it. You know what I mean, when you try to carry more than you really should instead of making multiple trips back and forth.

  I was carrying my dry cleaning and my groceries, my purse, and my mail, which included a check to cover expenses for collecting the lottery monies I’d just won in some unknown part of the world, again. Which means there’s really no need to check it out online, again, which can be a trauma for me.

  It’s a long story, how someone my age is so inept at all things computer. Suffice it to say that I’m a late bloomer. Not only on the computer, but that’s another long story.

  I was thinking about all of that, which is why I left my door unlocked for the four point three seconds it took for Teagan to show up and shove her way in.

  Without precursor she said, “You were right.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You were right.”

  “What?”

  “I said you were right, Cara. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  I smiled. “It’s just so rare for you to say anything like that to me, I wanted to hear it again. What was I right about?”

  She started putting away groceries as she talked. “That you can find just about anything on the Internet. I went online last night when I got home, and lo and behold, there was information about the reward and a little bit of information about the murder you happen to be so obsessed with. They think the amount offered will probably go up. Whoever the murderer is, he isn’t too smart. You should never murder a person that has friends with deep pockets. Everyone knows that. Either side, murderer or murdered, big pockets puts you on a whole other playing field.”

  “So what did you find out?”

  She helped herself to an apple. “What do I know, or what do I think?”

  “First, what do you know?”

  She grabbed a dishtowel off the handle on the oven door and started to polish her apple. “Ok. I know that there is a reward of a hundred grand for information that leads to the arrest and conviction of the person that committed the crime.”

  “We knew that.”

  “Yes, bu
t when you stop and think about it, that means that the money isn’t going to be available to you for years.” She bit down on a perfect granny smith. The look on her face was somewhere between bliss and ecstasy. My sister likes her food.

  I ignored her obvious relish and said, “How do you figure that?”

  “They specifically say conviction.” Apple juice was going everywhere. How come she always grabs the best one? She slurped and went on, “That means that the trial has to take place, and the bad guy has to actually be found guilty. That means if some legal technicality gets in the way, even if you find the right guy, you aren’t going to get the money.”

  “That isn’t going to happen.”

  “Excuse me? How do you know that? I can think of at least one high profile case where everyone thought the guy did it. Seemed pretty cut and dried, excuse a very distasteful pun, and he wasn’t convicted.”

  I stood there trying to decide between a banana and an orange. Teagan chose an orange for me. It, of course, would be perfect. I started to peel it, saying, “You know my theory on that one.”

  She shook her head, “Yes, but you’re the only one on the planet who has that theory.”

  “Maybe, but that doesn’t make my theory any less valid. Has it dawned on you that I could be right? Maybe that same brilliance is just what is needed to solve this case. Just because I’m the only one with a theory, Teagan Shannon, does not make that theory any less valid. Besides, my theory makes perfect sense.”

  “You think the son actually did it.”

  “Yep.”

  She rolled her eyes, “And that’s why the blood evidence was just a little off.”

  “Yep.”

  Her rendition was a little sing-songy. She’s used it more than once to make me feel a little foolish. It never works because I’m committed to my theory, so her lack of enthusiasm about it does me no harm. She couldn’t help herself; she couldn’t let it drop; she had to say it all one more time.

  She was just trying for a reaction. “The father had no real concern about going to jail because he was actually innocent, and if push came to shove, it would come out that his crazy kid did it. The DA couldn’t do much, since he’d already put all his eggs in one basket. Worst case, it all comes out in a last-second court drama. Great for TV ratings. The kid goes into treatment for a few years, dad might even be a hero by the time the PR people are done spinning it, and everybody gets rich on the book and movie rights. If the father is actually found innocent, the kid never suffers any consequences for his actions, God knows what happens to the kid’s brain at that point. The father gets even more smug — he’s pulled off the perfect crime. Then he waits a few years, writes a book, and gets rich anyway. It’s a win-win.”