Earl grave tea, p.1
Earl Grave Tea, page 1
PRAISE FOR GRETCHEN RUE
Mystery and magic combine in this charming tale of murder and mayhem.
KIRKUS REVIEWS ON THE GRIM STEEPER
A compelling debut with a mature amateur sleuth, a solid supporting cast, and a cat to rival Miranda James’s Diesel. For readers who enjoy the paranormal elements in Juliet Blackwell’s and Bree Baker’s cozies.
LIBRARY JOURNAL STARRED REVIEW OF STEEPED TO DEATH
A fantastic series debut, this twisty mystery has all the cozy goodness – baked goods, enchanted tea blends, a bookstore, a fat orange cat, a charming small town full of quirky characters, and a witchy heroine who’s funny, smart, and strong . Just my cup of tea!
BAILEY CATES, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
A story that will fit you to a “tea” from page one, Gretchen Rue has crafted a cozy that will warm your heart, keep you reading late into the night, and leave you wishing for a little magic of your own. Don’t miss this one!
PAIGE SHELTON, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
“[A] charming, magical cozy.”
- BOOKLIST ON DEATH BY A THOUSAND SIPS
EARL GRAVE TEA
A WITCHES’ BREW NOVEL
GRETCHEN RUE
Copyright © September 16, 2025 by Ashley MacLennan
Cover art by Adrian DKC
ebook ISBN 978-1-939291-46-2
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For Amanda T, who very politely informed me that if Raven Creek were real, it would be a desert, and not rainy, and who graciously accepted, “I guess the weather there is magic, too,” as an explanation. Here’s to magical rainy deserts.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Gretchen Rue
CHAPTER ONE
“By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.”
I glanced up from where I was crouched behind the counter of my tea shop-slash-bookstore, The Earl’s Study, to focus on my full-time salesperson, Imogen Prater. I’d been doing an inventory of my loose-leaf teas to see what needed to be restocked and which seasonal summer teas I could further discount to make room for fall and winter blends.
Imogen was staring out the front window, and while it was hard to see her expression from my position on the floor, her stiff demeanor told me I wasn’t going to like what she was looking at.
Imogen didn’t usually bust out the Shakespeare quotes on a whim.
The bell over our front door jangled, and I got to my feet, cursing my late-thirties knees and joints for slowly starting to turn on me. The moment I was standing, I wished I had stayed on the floor.
The unmistakable bright red hair of Raven Creek’s resident busybody—and my self-declared nemesis—Dierdre Miller was standing in our foyer, shaking her umbrella off just outside the door.
Raven Creek was nestled deep in the heart of Washington state, a good drive from both Seattle and any other nearby settlement. Aside from the small city of Barneswood about twenty minutes away, our closest neighbor was an old mining ghost town.
That made our little town one of those places where everyone knew everyone, at least by sight, and Dierdre Miller made it her business to know everyone’s gossip as well.
About a month ago, her nephew Dylan had finally had the grand opening of his artisanal soap and candle shop At Wick’s End just two doors down from The Earl’s Study, and unfortunately that meant Dierdre was showing up a lot more frequently as she ostensibly passed by on her way to pay him a visit.
From all my encounters with Dylan—which had been admittedly scant—he seemed like a nice enough guy. He was in his late twenties, and was polite and friendly whenever he came around, though he did seem incredibly shy.
It had to be hard transitioning his totally online business into a brick and mortar one, and I wondered sometimes if his nervous energy would be an issue when it came to making sales.
The Earl’s Study had been undergoing the opposite transition over the previous year, as we tried to adapt to the changing times and get our books and tea available online. I was forever grateful to my full-time online retail employee, Daphne, for handling that aspect of the store, because she was an absolute whiz with online formats and social media. I swear she had single-handedly doubled our monthly sales. I made sure her pay reflected her efforts.
Dierdre dropped her damp umbrella into the umbrella stand at the door and flashed a smile at us, though it was about as friendly as the toothy grin of a moray eel.
“Ladies, how are you both this morning?” She wore a bright red raincoat that clashed horribly with her hair, and her mascara had smudged under her eyes. Normally I might tell someone about their melting makeup, but Dierdre wasn’t exactly my favorite person in the world. She’d figure it out eventually.
“Morning, Dierdre,” I said to keep Imogen from saying what she was really feeling, because it probably would have been along the lines of fine until you walked in.
Right now, Dierdre was being too smiley. Too nice.
She wanted something.
“Can I get you a cup of tea?” I asked, hoping she would decline. It was, however, definitely cup of tea weather. The calendar page had just flipped to October the previous week, and our almost too-warm September weather had vanished right along with it.
I was a huge fan of fall, but the change had felt more abrupt than usual this year. Leaves were now changing at a steady clip, and as soon as the rain let up, Imogen, Daphne and I would get to work on the exterior Halloween display for the shop.
Raven Creek was obsessed with holidays. It was one of the big draws that brought tourists out of their way to visit us, despite our remote location. The holidays were never subtle here, and that, combined with our town’s mishmash of incongruous European architecture, made Raven Creek an idyllic spot to visit any time of the year.
Dierdre made a face at my offer of tea, then shook her head. “No thank you, Phoebe, though I’m sure you’ve whipped up something lovely for the season.”
There were several good reasons why Dierdre was hesitant to eat or drink in my shop, so I didn’t hold the unintentional grimace against her.
When I’d first arrived in town after the death of my beloved Aunt Eudora, having been left her house, her business, and her chubby orange tabby cat named Bob, I had thought that was the extent of the curveballs she had posthumously thrown at me.
As it turned out, she had one more.
Not only was I now a cat mom, but I was also a witch. It was something I was still adjusting to a year after finding out the truth, and sometimes when I worked magic it went a little… wrong. Dierdre had been at the receiving end of one of my first efforts to combine witchcraft and baking, and while I don’t think she really understood what had happened, she had been a little on edge in my shop ever since.
Unfortunately, that hadn’t stopped her from visiting us three times this week already. Except this time, she definitely looked to be a woman on a mission. She also looked eager for us to ask why she was here, something I didn’t particularly want to indulge her in.
“Did you want us to order a book for you?” Imogen asked.
Bob, who had been dozing on one of the armchairs in the bookstore half of the shop, had come meandering into the foyer. Often, he would rub up against newly arrived customers by way of greeting, but he took one look at Dierdre and hissed.
I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh.
I guess I couldn’t force all my staff to be polite.
Dierdre shot Bob an unfriendly look, which did nothing to boost my warmth in seeing her here. I hadn’t been a cat person before I inherited Bob, but I’d quickly come to realize that I trusted his opinion more than that of most humans I knew.
Bob just fundamentally understood when people were no good and wasn’t afraid to be vocal about it.
Still, Dierdre wasn’t evil; she was just mean, so I gently shooed Bob back into the bookstore, where he returned to his armchair. In the spot beside him, our daily regular Mr. Loughery was snoozing with a copy of a Patricia Cornwell book propped open on his stomach. A cup of Irish Breakfast tea was growing cold beside him.
I’d much rather be in th
Dierdre straightened herself primly and seemed ready to get to the point of why she’d come. “As you know,” she began as if reading from a rehearsed speech. “Raven Creek is well known for our Halloween festivities. And as a member of the Town Council, it falls on me to make sure we are constantly finding new and innovative ways to draw tourists in for these major holiday events.”
Imogen and I just stared at her, not sure if she needed us to interact with her, or simply listen to the speech like a good little audience. We both opted for the latter, though I gamely gave my head a quick nod to prove that we were paying attention. Maybe it would hurry her along.
“I’m incredibly pleased to announce that I… we have outdone ourselves entirely this year.” She clapped her hands together delightedly, causing Mr. Loughery to awaken with a start in the other room, letting out a small oof of surprise.
It was Imogen’s turn to fight back laughter this time.
Dierdre did her best to ignore us, which for some reason only made me want to laugh more. I could sense a fit of the giggles was on the cusp of overtaking both Imogen and me and hoped that Dierdre would be gone before the unladylike snort laughing began.
Dierdre chugged along, unstoppable. “I’m thrilled to say that Raven Creek has landed a very rare performance from the Seattle-based improv troupe Something Wicked, and they’ll be doing a one night only showing of both Edgar Allen Poe’s ‘The Raven’ and a stage adaptation of Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None.”
I had anticipated Dierdre’s news would be a bit of a letdown, but this was anything but. When I’d lived in Seattle, my ex-husband Blaine and I had season tickets to the theater where Something Wicked performed. Their shows were high-energy, compelling, and often incredibly funny spins on old classics. Several actors from the troupe had gone on to become big Hollywood stars, and sometimes they would pop up for performances with no notice, making it an exciting gamble to know you could see an Oscar-winner or A-list comedienne in your performance of an improv spin on Hamlet on any given night.
“Dierdre, that’s incredible. How did you manage that?” I wasn’t above giving her credit where credit was due. Something Wicked rarely travelled for engagements, and coming to a small town like Raven Creek would be a huge coup for the community.
“Well, as it turns out, Dylan was dating one of the cast members when he was living in Seattle, and they remained quite close. He was able to pull some strings.” Apparently, Dierdre could give other people credit, as long as it doubled as an opportunity for her to brag about her beloved nephew.
I wasn’t going to complain.
“Are they the ones who did a performance of As You Like It while dressed as inflatable T-Rexes?” Imogen asked.
I nodded eagerly. “I got to see that performance; it was incredible.” Reviews had been mixed as to whether it was genius or an abomination against the Bard, but I had been wheezing so hard from laughing I had to give it to the performers. It had been unforgettable.
“That, of course, brings me to why I’m here.” Dierdre needed the attention back on her. “For starters, we are hoping you will display a sign prominently in your store’s window.”
“Absolutely. We’ll put a few up around the store.”
Dierdre rifled through her large purse and handed me a few papers, which were miraculously pristine, given that they’d been in her bag.
She waited, and I wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted from me next, so I put the papers down on the counter and met her expectant gaze. “Was there something else?” I asked.
“Yes, well… You see, while the Something Wicked crew will be performing ‘The Raven,’ it’s going to be up to locals to fill the roles for And Then There Were None. So, I’m counting on the staff of The Earl’s Study to turn out for auditions. Even if you don’t think you want to participate, we don’t want to seem like we’re poor sports, do we?”
She handed me another paper, this one with audition details for later that week, and a place online to download the audition scene. I glanced over at Imogen, who I expected to be making some kind of face, but instead she grabbed the paper out of my hand and was immediately absorbed in the details.
“I don’t think anyone wants to see me act, Dierdre,” I said.
“And while I’m sure that’s true, Phoebe, I expect to see you there all the same.”
CHAPTER TWO
Dierdre left, back into the rain, taking her scathing last words with her, and once she was gone, Mr. Loughery toddled out of the bookstore, carrying his mug of tea, and joined us at the counter.
“Did I hear that old Nosy Nancy say there were going to be acting auditions?”
Imogen handed him the paper. “According to this, they’re casting all genders, ages, and races, so you and I both have a chance, Norman.” She beamed at him.
“I’ll be the age, you be the beauty,” he said with a smirk, and for the first time since I’d met her, I saw Imogen blush. Mr. Loughery was too smooth. We had to find him a lady friend, lest his championship flirting skills go to waste.
“Let’s make a deal,” Imogen said. “If you agree to audition, I’ll agree to audition.”
Mr. Loughery mulled this over before giving a decisive nod and extending his hand for a shake. “Miss Imogen, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
They shook on it, then turned and looked at me expectantly. I held my hands up as if to push their eager gazes away from me. “I wasn’t kidding; no one wants to see me act. I auditioned once for Fiddler on the Roof in high school, and they banished me to set design for the rest of the time I was there.”
“That’s a musical, though,” Imogen protested. “Just because you can’t sing doesn’t mean you can’t act.”
“One: ouch. Two: I promise you, for my own mental well-being, this is something I’m just going to have to sit out.”
Imogen and Mr. Loughery were inflexible. They stood side-by-side, Imogen’s arms crossed, and Mr. Loughery’s brow cocked, and between the two of them, I was having a hard time coming up with a good excuse. I mean, there was no harm in auditioning—except maybe to my ego when I got rejected.
Bob sauntered into the room and sat where he could see me, then let out a long mreeowwwww noise, as if he just wanted to participate.
I threw my hands up in the air, then grabbed Mr. Loughery’s empty mug from his hand before offering up a handshake to the both of them. They high fived each other.
“But when I get laughed out of the auditions, you two are responsible for the emotional damage, just know that.”
Imogen held a hand over her heart. “I promise to bring ice cream and give you a pillow to scream into, but honestly, Phoebe, no one is going to laugh at you.”
“Well, that remains to be seen.” I topped up Mr. Loughery’s Irish Breakfast and handed the mug back to him. It was one of our Earl’s Study branded mugs that he’d insisted on buying and asked to keep behind the counter for him.
Ever since Mr. Loughery’s wife died, he’d been a staple in the bookshop, something that pre-dated even my ownership. He came in almost every morning, sat down with his tea and whatever mystery series he was working his way through, and stayed well into the afternoon. About half of that time was spent napping, but just having him around was a soothing presence. It also meant our staff were very rarely actually alone in the place.
