Punch, Pastries, and Poison by Harper Lin (ebook reader for pc and android .txt) 📕

different brands, varieties, and brewing techniques before I was comfortable serving any tea other than what came from some dusty old grocery store teabags after a lovely old British couple asked me for some one day. Now, although I could talk for a solid fifteen minutes on proper brewing temperatures, I still didn’t really drink tea. The same way some poor souls inexplicably weren’t coffee fans, I couldn’t fall in love with tea, no matter how much milk, sugar, syrup, or honey I did or didn’t add to it.

But ginger tea was a different story. Both my mother and grandmother had been devotees of ginger tea for all sorts of things but upset stomachs especially. Any time I’d so much as mentioned my stomach bothering me while I was growing up, a cup of ginger tea would appear as if by magic beside me. I hadn’t been much of a fan of it—its warm, spicy flavor had been too much for me as a kid. I’d gotten used to it, though, and now I found it comforting, especially when my stomach was bothering me.

I pulled my ginger out of the refrigerator, grabbed a hand grater, and started grating it. Ginger tea the way the famiglia Amaro made it wasn’t a true tea, of course, since we didn’t use tea leaves, just grated ginger steeped in water with a touch of honey for sweetness. Normally, I would let the tea brew for about ten minutes before serving it, but I didn’t think I could stand that long and doubted I’d be getting up anytime soon once I sat. So, I put the ginger into a couple of tea balls, plunked them into mugs, filled them from the water tap on the espresso machine, added a couple drops of honey in each, and carried them to the living room. I put one on the end table next to Mike and curled up on the couch with the other.

He opened his eyes just enough for me to see them flick over at the mug. “No. No coffee.”

I was suddenly even more concerned. “Do you need to go home and go to bed?”

“No, I just—” He made a disgusted face. “I stopped at the gas station. Their coffee’s gotten worse since the last time I was there. I don’t think they clean the pots. Maybe I should send the health department over.” He closed his eyes and rested his head back on the chair.

“Well, it’s not coffee anyway. It’s ginger tea.”

If it was possible, he looked even more disgusted. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“It’ll help your stomach. Trust me.” I made a show of taking a big sip from my mug, even though the ginger hadn’t steeped enough, and I wasn’t sure Mike’s eyes were open to see it. In fact, based on the way his breathing was slowing, I was pretty sure he was asleep.

I let him be. He clearly needed the rest, and I could use the time to think. Unfortunately, the first thought that crossed my mind was Ephy standing by the punch bowl, sipping her water. Was she hovering so that she could dump eye drops in the punch bowl or for some other reason? What other reason could she have? Maybe she just didn’t enjoy big social events and preferred to hang out on the edges. Maybe. Or maybe she was as mad at the world as her clothes suggested. I sighed.

Mike stirred in his chair but didn’t wake up—or at least didn’t let on that he was awake.

I sipped my tea. It was perfect. I swirled the tea ball around in the mug, pulled it out and laid it on a napkin on the end table, then did the same for Mike’s cup.

“That stuff will really help my stomach?” Mike opened one eye and turned it towards me.

“Yup.” I took a sip from my mug to make my point.

He heaved a sigh and looked at the mug on the table next to him. He looked skeptical but picked up the mug and brought it to his lips. He made a face but didn’t complain, so I took it as a win. “So, I managed to pull some strings over at the lab, and we have the preliminary results back on the food from the party.”

“It was the punch, wasn’t it?” The words exploded out of my mouth before I realized what a bad idea it was to say them out loud.

Mike’s right eyebrow went up. He stared at me silently, which of course made me nervous.

“I saw Melissa,” I blurted out. “I think you know her. She was at the party last night. The pregnant one?”

Mike’s face didn’t so much as twitch.

“Anyway, I talked to her, and I was worried because of the baby, but she was fine, not sick at all, even though she ate some of everything. Everything except the punch. The spiked punch, I mean. She had the regular punch, which is how we figured out what it was.”

Mike took another sip of his tea without taking his eyes off me. “You just happened to run into Melissa.” It was a statement, not a question, even though his disbelief was clear.

“Yes, I did,” I said, more than a little proud that I wasn’t just telling Mike what he wanted to hear but also being completely truthful.

“Here in the house?” Now both eyebrows were up, and he was looking at me the way he probably looked at his kids when they tried to tell him some far-fetched lie about how it hadn’t been them that climbed on top of the dresser and dumped out Mommy’s jewelry box—it had been the dog, yeah, the dog.

“No, I, um—I went out for a little bit. To get some fresh air.”

“Whe—” He stopped, shut his eyes, and shook his head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath then a sip of his tea. “I’d say you missed your calling,