Grand Theft Retro (Style & Error Mystery Series Book 5) by Diane Vallere

now.”
    He looked at the tray, and then at me. His features looked less friendly than judgmental. I felt like he was trying to send me a message. It might have been don’t-overstay-your-welcome, it might have been get-out-of-here now. Hard to tell.
    He left the room through the door that led to the upstairs.
    “Jennie, how well do you know Mr. Charles?” I asked, wondering how I was going to go about implying that her employee was possibly involved with Pritchard.
    “I know him better than I’ve known anybody in my whole life.” She patted the afghan on her lap and the fluffy white cat woke up. “Have you been formally introduced to my kitties? This is Navajo.” She scratched the cat’s ears and the cat tipped its head back, exposing an exquisite turquoise and red Indian beaded choker around its neck. “The tabby is Harvest Gold, and the calico behind the piano is Bohemian Rhapsody.” She smiled at them. “You can take the girl out of the Seventies, but you can’t take the Seventies out of the girl.”
    “Has Mr. Charles been in your life all along?” I asked. Not that I didn’t enjoy meeting the cats, but Jennie Mae was either trying to distract me or was getting off topic.
    She poured the tea into her cup. “We lost touch for a long time. Quite by chance, he learned that I was living in Amity and he looked me up. We discovered that a friendship remained in place of what we’d once had. Plus, he knows exactly how I like my afternoon tea,” she said. “I hope it’s not too strong for you.”
    “Strong? I’ve always been more of a coffee drinker, but I’m sure this’ll be fine.”
    She filled my mug and set the pot back onto the tray. She added a few sugar cubes to her mug and stirred, and then took a sip. Her eyes closed and she sat back against her chair, a smile on her face.
    I reached for my own mug and blew on the hot liquid. I set the cup on the saucer and looked at Jennie Mae.
    Her smile grew more broad. “A good cup of tea does make a difference, doesn’t it? This is just the pick-me-up I needed.” She took another sip, and then another. Before I’d even started my mug, hers was empty. She refilled her cup and drank half of her second mug.
    That must be some good tea. I lifted the mug to my lips and swallowed a gulp.
    Whoa! That wasn’t tea, it was bourbon!
    My eyes went wide and I coughed. Jennie Mae opened her eyes and tipped her head. “It’s an acquired taste, I admit,” she said. “But you’ll soon find that no other tea compares.” She drained her second mug and sat back. Navajo jumped onto her lap and she closed her eyes and stroked the cat’s fur.
    Now, I’m not the type to judge people by their clothes, surroundings, or pets, but the combination of all three of these very things, in addition to the spiked tea, was making me wonder if I’d stumbled through the looking glass. I stood up and immediately felt the booze all the way to my knees. I sat down. Maybe it would be a good idea to eat something.
    I ate two pieces of banana bread before I stood up again. The room spun. I was what the kids called “a lightweight,” and drinking bourbon on a mostly empty stomach at one thirty in the afternoon was an unfamiliar experience. And on top of all of that, I had to pee.
    “May I use your bathroom?” I asked.
    “Of course,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. “It’s at the top of the stairs through the white door.”
    I carefully stepped around the furniture. My platform shoes made slight indentations in the plush carpeting. I kept one hand on the wall to steady myself until I reached the stairs and was able to grab the wooden banister. This didn’t feel right. My head was cloudy and my feet felt like they each weighed fifty pounds. I reached the landing. The bathroom was in front of me, just like in my own house at home. But the staircase that led to the upstairs attic—the attic that Pritchard had chased me out of just yesterday—was right there.
    Right.