It was the housekeeper who found him. 

Nigel Baxter, that is. 

She had knocked on the door several times before her weight had made the door open. She walked in, tentatively asking if Mr. Baxter was awake. Since she had been used to him coming and going at odd hours, she went to work and drew the curtains. That is when she jumped, seeing his lifeless body half on the bed, half hanging off it. His eyes had rolled backwards, and there was dried froth at his mouth. She let out a piercing scream, which made everyone come running into the room. 

Inspector Vikram Rao had been used to his landline buzzing constantly with complaints. The twelve other officers he worked with had told him that most of the time, it was just locals engaged in heated arguments. Nothing interesting had ever happened here. On rare occasions, it would be a tourist being difficult. But Inspector Vikram insisted on checking things out, no matter how small the complaint. He was trying to make the locals feel safer.

Imagine his surprise when the landline buzzed and it was a hysterical guesthouse owner, Neel Kapoor, barely able to string two words together. But it was enough to make him rush to take his Sub-Inspector, Tenzing Bhutia, to Raj House - a sprawling, faded-white colonial mansion turned guesthouse, perched on a ridge. The building creaked with age, and the hallways seemed to sigh at night. It looked perfect for a murder—or a cover-up. The scene was already being processed by two police constables, Anita Sharma and Pradeep Thapa, and the medical examiner, Dr Rekha Tamang, who was hovering over Nigel, and the crime scene photographer, Delia D’Souza.  

Neel Kapoor met them at the steps of Raj House and led them to Nigel’s room, lamenting about the loss, “This is devastating! And right before the season starts.”

Anita Sharma, the rookie constable, stared at him in disbelief. She was about to say something when Vikram said, loudly, “How long was Mr. Baxter staying with you for?”

“A month,” Neel said, “And he had paid for the room upfront too. In cash.”

“What’s the verdict, Dr. Tamang?” Vikram asked, nodding towards Nigel.

“No visible signs of external trauma. No evidence of forced entry or struggle. Tea setup's intact. Cup’s still warm... faint scent of spice. He likely collapsed soon after drinking this.” Dr Tamang said, pointing to the cup that lay next to Nigel. 

“Did Mr. Baxter request his tea to be sent up this morning?” Vikram asked the dishevelled Neel Kapoor. He shook his head. 

“He could have made his pot of tea or coffee,” he said, pointing to the small table at the corner of the room, “Some guests like their own beverages before ending or beginning the day.”

Vikram moved towards the table and stopped short when he saw the small tea tin that sat innocently next to the electric kettle. He knew the logo all too well. A unique blend from Chai & Spice.

Tenzing’s gaze followed Vikram’s, and he whistled softly. “Oh damn. Wouldn’t this make it awkward for you?”

“Excuse me?” Vikram asked, regaining composure.

“Everyone can tell that the new owner of Chai & Spice has a crush on you. We’ve been betting on when one of you will finally make a move at work.” Tenzing said, shrugging, “I am about to lose money. Doesn’t bode well if she’s a murder suspect. Isn’t it?”

“She’s not a murder suspect yet,” Vikram said, annoyed. “She’s merely a person of interest at this time.”

“Mm, hm,” Tenzing said, “Either way, I am losing money.”

Dr Rekha Tamang had moved towards the tea bag that still sat on the countertop. She picked it up and examined it. “Chai & Spice. That’s Meera’s café, isn’t it? This one’s their Kashmiri Kahwa blend. Fairly aromatic—could’ve masked something bitter.”

Vikram held his breath, as Dr Tamang sniffed the bag again and said, “There’s a faint acrid trace—could be aconite or digitalis. We’ll need tox screens to confirm.” She pointed at the Chai & Spice tin and asked one of the constables, “Could you bag this for evidence, please? Thanks.”

“Finish up here, and meet me at Chai & Spice, Bhutia. I am going to go visit Ms. Sanyal,” Vikram said grimly. “And Bhutia - be careful how you speak to your boss? I can easily bench you, make Joy come with me to all the interesting cases.”

As he walked out of earshot, Tenzing yelled after him, “You finally made a veiled threat, Sir. I am back in the running again.”

Vikram flipped him off and continued walking to his car. His mind was spinning. He had always liked Meera Sanyal and her quirky ways. She had inherited her grandmother’s gift of brewing the perfect cup and knew instinctively what blend the person might need. He did fancy her, but they never could spend time alone, away from the locals. Vikram was surprised his entire station knew about his feelings for Meera - he had imagined he had done a good job hiding his feelings. He was also proud of his fledglings. At least they were showing signs of becoming fine policemen and policewomen, even though it did come at his expense!

*

The brass bell above the café door jingled just as Meera finished plating the cardamom-pistachio buns. She looked up to see Clara D’Souza glide in—perfectly pressed linen trousers, an oversized tortoiseshell tote, and that faintly disapproving pout she wore like perfume.

“Good morning, Meera,” Clara said, voice like chilled rosé. “I hope I’m not too late for breakfast?”

“You’re just in time,” Meera replied, smoothing her apron. “Your usual?”

Clara offered a tight smile. “Let’s shake things up today. I’ll try the ginger-peach tea and the savoury scone. No added sugar.”

Meera raised an eyebrow—Clara was famously picky about her routines. But she only said, “Coming right up. Would you like to try one of our new puzzles while you wait?”

“Oh, no thank you,” Clara said, politely, “I don’t want myself distracted by a puzzle right now.”

As she prepared the order, Meera couldn’t help overhearing Clara on the phone by the window, voice lowered but urgent.

“No, I said we can’t delay again. The deal’s already cold... Well then make him sign. I don’t care how charming Dev thinks he is—”

She abruptly noticed Meera watching and ended the call with a sharp, “We’ll talk later.”

Clara turned back with a composed smile, as if she hadn’t just been threatening someone over brunch.

“Business,” she said breezily. “Tedious but necessary.”

Meera set the tea down gently. “Of course.”

Clara took a sip, then scanned the room with a critical eye. “You know, if you ever want to expand your clientele, you might consider soft jazz instead of your—what do you call this—Bollywood-hipster playlist?”

“I call it personality,” Meera replied sweetly.

Clara huffed a little laugh and returned to her tea, perfectly content to hold court from her corner table.

As Meera returned to the counter, she made a mental note on Clara D’Souza: stylish, sharp-tongued, and very used to getting her way.

Nothing unusual.
Not yet.

*

Meera was tending to her regular customers. She smiled when she saw Inspector Vikram Rao come in through the door.

“Good morning, Inspector Rao,” she said, joyfully, “What can I get you?”

“Ms Sanyal,” he said quietly, “I need to speak with you privately. Is there someplace we can talk?”

 “Oh?” Meera’s smile faltered when she saw his grim demeanor. She nodded and pointed to the office she used when she was busy bookkeeping after the cafe closed down at 8 pm. 

Meera had not changed a thing about the old office room. Everything was exactly as her Didu had left it, even the books that had been brought down from the shelf never found their way back. It felt blasphemous to even think about redecorating the place.

“Please, have a seat,” she said, pointing to the chair opposite the desk, and she took her grandmother’s seat behind the desk. Even the knick-knacks on the desk were exactly like her grandmother had left them. 

“I never got a chance to tell you at the funeral,” Vikram said somberly, “But I am truly sorry for your loss. Your grandmother - she was a special woman. She made me feel at home when I first got stationed here.”

“Thank you,” Meera said softly, “But I doubt you visited me to tell me you are sorry for my loss, Inspector. What is going on?”

“We found Nigel Baxter in his guesthouse room - dead,” Inspector Vikram said, without preamble. “We think he was poisoned. I am visiting you because the last thing he seemed to have drunk was a unique blend - that is native to Chai & Spice - the Kashmiri Kahwa.”

Silence stretched between them for a beat too long. Then Meera, realizing what Vikram was getting at, gasped, “You think I poisoned him?”

“Well, we’ll know more after the lab results come back,” Vikram said, sheepishly, “But I am wondering how he ended up with a tin from your collection?”

“He was a tourist here, maybe he bought it. I can look for a receipt,” Meera said, still flabbergasted. 

“That would be convenient, though, wouldn’t it?” Vikram said, slowly. 

Meera banged her fists hard on the table and leaned forward. “Are you accusing me of something?”

Vikram placed his palms on the table too and leaned towards her as well and said, “I don’t know. Do you have anything to hide?”

“Oh, just come right out and say it, then!” Meera snarled, leaning even closer. 

“I cannot because you’re just a person of interest right now,” Inspector matched her heated tones, leaning forward as well.

Their noses were almost touching, and they were staring each other down. Meera had to admit that even though this wasn’t how her fantasies usually started, there was something hot and heavy about this whole situation. It took everything out of her not to grab Vikram by the collar and kiss him right then. But before she could act on her impulsive thoughts, the door to the office flew open, and Sub-Inspector Tenzing Bhutia stood there, looking utterly confused. 

“Sir,” he said apprehensively, “You asked me to meet you here after we were done processing the crime scene?”

“Yes,” Vikram said, remembering himself and drawing back. “Ms Sanyal, don’t leave town. We might have more questions for you.”

“I run a local cafe here,” Meera said, exasperated, “Where would I go?”

Vikram stalked out of Chai & Spice, with Meera glaring at him from behind. Once they reached the Hillview Police Station, Tenzing found Pradeep and whispered, “Are you still taking bets on Virkam Sir and the cafe lady getting together?”

Pradeep groaned, “Neither of them will ever make a move. It’ll be a stalemate forever.”

“Nope,” Tenzing said confidently, “I have a feeling something is brewing. I am going to bet on them getting together. Put me down for 100?” 

*

Meanwhile, Meera was seething with anger, still sitting in her grandmother’s chair. Who did Inspector Vikram Rao think he was? Barging into her tea cafe and accusing her of committing a crime, much worse - murdering someone! What would even be her motive to kill a tourist like Nigel Baxter? 

“I’ll show you, Inspector Vikram Rao,” she snarled, “I’ll prove to you that I am innocent!”