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wore his salt-and-pepper beard short, and his silver hair neatly trimmed. I wasn’t sure whether it was the rectangular wire-framed glasses that he wore or his general demeanor that gave the impression of a studious, thoughtful man. He could have easily been a professor but I knew he owned the Robert Johnson Antiques store across the street.
    â€œNatasha is in charge of the tea and the auction,” I said. “They’re probably discussing how to bring the auction items over here.”
    â€œThat’s a relief! I can’t compete with a beauty queen like Natasha.” Francie surprised me. She had to be a bit older than Robert.
    Velma laughed. “He was married to my sister Livy,” she said, evidently for my benefit. “Trust me, Francie. I loved my sister, but she was no beauty queen.” Velma gazed out the window at the antiques store. “That shop was Livy’s dream. Pity that she never saw it come to fruition.”
    â€œIsn’t he gorgeous?” asked Francie.
    I did my best not to show my amusement. “Why Francine Vanderhoosen! I believe you have a little crush on Robert.”
    â€œMe and every woman in Old Town over the age of sixty,” she grumbled. “Will you look at Patty Conklin over there, squeezed into a girdle? That thing’s so tight she’s popping out on both ends and doesn’t need a bustle under her dress. It’s a wonder she can breathe. And Beverly Hazelwonder must have had Botox this week. Her wrinkles are puffed up bigger than a soufflé.”
    Velma roared. “He’s always had that sort of effect on women. I can’t tell you how many of our friends have called to pump me for information about him. I think it’s still too soon after Livy’s death for him to date, but I suppose I’ll always feel that way. He’s a dear, so it’s bound to happen sooner or later.”
    â€œIf it hasn’t already,” murmured Nina.
    I gazed around the tearoom and realized that a considerable number of the ladies taking tea were over sixty. That was probably normal for a weekday afternoon tea. They were most likely retired and had the time to enjoy a tea. I recognized a couple of other antiques dealers in the crowd. One lone gentleman wore a blazer with khakis and appeared to be working on his laptop.
    My musing came to an abrupt halt when the owner of The Parlour, Martha Carter, arrived with a silver tea service and delicate teacups. As she set the tray on the table, she said, “I selected these just for you, Francie. The cups are antique. They’re Royal Doulton bone china.”
    Velma picked up one of the cups and examined it. It was cream on the outside but alternating panels of cream and pink laced with delicate tracings of gold lined the interior. A gold band flowed around the scalloped edge and the handle was gold as well. I was almost afraid to pick one up and drink from it.
    â€œThese are stunning, Martha,” Francie said. “I bet Queen Elizabeth doesn’t drink from anything prettier.”
    I glanced around. “Do you use a different pattern for every group of diners?”
    Martha smiled. “I confess to being a ravenous china collector. I just love them all. Some of our guests like to choose their own favorites, which I think adds to the fun and the ambiance. By the way, Sophie, I wanted to thank you for contributing your painting to the auction.”
    We had only met once before. I was surprised that she remembered me. “It was my pleasure. I bought it ages ago and never had the right place for it. I’m happy to see it go to a home where it will be displayed.”
    â€œWhere’s Callie?” asked Francie. “You don’t usually do the serving.”
    Martha straightened up. She always held herself very erect. Rumor had it that Martha had lived around the world with her husband, who was some sort of big shot in the military. Although she was still very