by Mary Bowers
I recounted the whole tea party to him, complete with facial expressions and tones of voice, until he was laughing, doing double-takes, and saying again that he wanted to meet her.
When I’d finished, I added, “The way I told you about it might have made it sound like a hoot, but really, she made me squirm. And she insulted Camille right to her face and she was kind of brutal to Helena, who is a sweetie. She’s here by the way; Arielle is showing her the redecorating project.”
“Maryellen?”
“No, Helena. If we go looking, I bet we’ll find her. Maryellen upset her, and she said she didn’t want to be alone right now. Arielle knows her; apparently she and Uncle Oswald might be an item.” I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively. “Arielle was acting like she was all for it, but there was something else going on below the surface there.”
Michael nodded wisely. “I found out a thing or two this morning, while Arielle and I were walking across town and back. I think your friends managed to book the whole B&B for themselves during peak season because Arielle isn’t making it, financially. The redecorating project is an act of desperation, because with outdated décor, no B&B can compete in Key West. Obviously, she didn’t have any other bookings for this week, since the whole place was available, and Teddy’s production company managed to negotiate a discounted price with the promise of publicity. She seemed bitter about that, even though having Teddy Force and his big green eyes around is definitely a plus for her. I think she’s got a fantasy going about him.”
“If she does, having him underfoot for a week will disillusion her.”
“You’re probably right. It would be nice if he could be the answer to her prayers, though. She’s having a bad time of it right now. Running a B&B is hard, physical work, making up the rooms every day, doing laundry, cooking, baking, being available for the guests. She has a girl come in to help with cleaning the rooms, but apparently she needs so much supervision she’s almost not worth it. I wonder if Arielle won’t be forced out of the hotel business soon.”
“Well, she wants to keep this house,” I said. “She was just saying to Helena that she’d never give it up. I wonder how she’s planning on making it?”
He gave me a significant stare. “Uncle Oswald. She let it slip that he helps her out from time to time with an infusion of cash. She believes he’s got a goldmine over there on Duval Street, and that she’s got a right to some of the profits. Like he’s an ATM in the shape of a little old man, and she resents having to ask for permission to use it. She’s really got an attitude about it.”
“Sounds like she talks too much.”
“She’s got a lot on her mind.”
“Do you think she expects to inherit from him?”
He shrugged. “Apparently, there’s somebody else in the running. A male cousin who carries the family name. I thought it was odd that she went out of her way to mention that, that this cousin’s last name is Grist and hers isn’t. Her mother was Oswald’s sister. The cousin is the son of Oswald’s brother. I don’t know why that would make a difference, but judging from Arielle’s attitude, it does.”
I looked at him speculatively. “You found out a lot this morning. You’re not playing detective, are you?”
“I like to help out when I can, and like you said, she was in a talkative mood. So I let her talk. I don’t want to get involved with Teddy and the camera crew, but you do seem to get yourself into in some complicated situations. I’m as curious as the next guy. And greedy relatives,” he added quietly, “always worry me. This legend of the teacup could be coming from anywhere. I’m worried it might be some kind of a set-up. Know what I mean?”
“Helena’s been thinking the same thing with a different twist: she’s worried that Oswald might lower himself to stirring up business with it.”
“What about you? What do you think?”
“Too soon to tell. The history of the teacup so far is just that it’s been owned by older people and it’s no surprise when they die. Oswald’s shop seems to be the biggest of its kind in Key West, so it’s natural that it ends up there time after time. You’d expect there to be a lot of antique shops around a town like this, but I haven’t noticed any others.”
“Neither have I.”
“So there aren’t many other places for the teacup to go except for Oswald’s emporium.”
“I haven’t met this Oswald yet. Do you think he’s especially suggestible?”
I thought about it. “I’m not sure. Maybe. Why? Who do you suspect of filling his head with ideas about the teacup?”
“I don’t know the whole cast of characters yet. Who do you think would be doing it?”
“Camille,” I said without hesitation. “She’s a fortuneteller and she’s full of silly ideas from the get-go. She took a hit to her reputation with a prediction that went terribly wrong, and she may be trying to get her reputation back. And she found the first victim, if he was a victim. That probably set her off. It wasn’t Helena; she’s too nice, and she seems to want to debunk the myth. She’s offended at yet another tall tale being spread around about Key West. I know! Maryellen. She’s mean-spirited enough. Or rather – what do I mean? – she likes a good drama, no matter who gets hurt by it. And she can’t help but spin a story. She probably doesn’t even know she’s doing it; it could all be coming from her subconscious. And now she’s writing a book about it, so get ready for the story to get even wilder. Whatever she puts in that book will eventually get mixed up with the facts and people will think it’s all true.”
“How’s she going to write a book about it when simply possessing the teacup means death? She wouldn’t actually die for a good story, would she?”
“Trust me, she’s not worried about it. That lady’s definitely a skeptic. It could be something as simple as working up a promotion for her new book. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I believe that’s it: Maryellen is having fun making up a legend, and she’s playing everybody. By the time she’s done, everybody in Key West will know about the teacup, and they’ll all snap up her book the minute it comes out.”
“Do you think she’s that calculating?”
“Yes, I do. I just spent the morning with her, and I don’t think I’ll be going over there for tea again anytime soon. But it was worth it to meet Helena. You’ve got to meet her. In fact, as far as I know, she’s still here in the B&B somewhere. Come on, if you’d like to meet her.”
“Okay, but before that,” he said getting up, “while we were at the Truman house giftshop, I bought you a present.”
Bella thumped down onto the floor, then leaped onto the bed, as curious about the package Michael picked up from the table as I was.
He handed me a little box in a brown paper bag.
“Love the biodegradable giftwrap,” I said, but I got that box out of the bag as fast as I could and opened it.
It was an ornament from the White House Historical collection – a beautiful, glittering Christmas tree with American flags and lots of presents. I loved it.
I got up and kissed him, while Bella sniffed the ornament. Then I said, “Let’s go try to catch Helena now. I hope she’s still here.”
We needn’t have hurried. She was in the kitchen with Arielle, having tea and cookies. Again.
“You live on that stuff, don’t you?” I said jokingly, waving at the teapot and 3-tiered silver cookie tray. “Helena, I want you to meet Michael. He’s here on vacation with me, and he’s got nothing to do with the paranormal show.”
Bella had followed us into the kitchen and crossed the room. She settled on a windowsill and began to gaze outside.
“Hello, Michael,” Helena said as he came forward to take her hand. She glanced back and forth between us like a fond grandmother.
“Have a seat, Michael,” Arielle said. “You must need some refreshment after all that walking we did this morning.”
Noticing my exclusion, Helena said, “You come here and sit by me, Taylor.”
They were on tall c
hairs around a cooking island, and “by me” was by everybody else, too, but it warmed me when she said it.
Arielle proceeded to monopolize Michael, irritating me so much I finally began to poke into their conversation and call her Ella every chance I got.
We were getting close to open warfare when there was an intrusion. A man in his fifties that I didn’t recognize walked straight into the kitchen and zeroed in on Arielle without acknowledging that anybody else was present. Bella jumped down and streaked out of the room.
“You did it again,” he said, bearing down on Arielle. “I can’t believe you! After everything we talked about, you did it again.”
“Darrien, I have company,” she said.
Michael shot a knowing glance at me.
“I don’t care if you’ve got the whole town here, we need to talk. Right now.” He glared at her until she stood up and said, “In my office.”
They stalked off, leaving the three of us blinking at one another. Within ten or fifteen seconds, the shouting began.
“Oh, dear,” Helena said.
“Who is that guy?” I asked.
“That’s Darrien Grist, her cousin. They have, um, differences. Really, Darrien shouldn’t speak to her that way. I wonder how he found out. Oswald would never have told him.”
“Is that what it’s all about? They’re fighting over Oswald?” Michael said.
“Isn’t it awful?” Helena said.
We could hear what they were saying very clearly by now, and it developed that Darrien was furious because Oswald had made yet another mortgage payment on The Sailor’s Rest for Arielle.
Helena turned pink again and whispered, “I don’t know why he should worry so much about material things. He’s got plenty of money of his own, and poor Arielle is struggling to get by. If Oswald helps her out from time to time, what of it? He’s her uncle, too. I really do think such things should be done privately, don’t you? All this yelling.” She stood up. “When Arielle returns, please thank her for the tea and cookies. I think I should go now. Oh!” she said as Porter came running, excited by all the shouting.
Teddy came in after him and looked at me. “What’s going on? Who’s that yelling at Arielle?”
“It’s a family matter,” I said. “I think we should stay out of it.”
Teddy ignored me and moved closer to the office, ears flapping.
“Helena, let us walk you home,” I said, shooting up and looking to Michael for agreement.
“Of course,” he said, “we’d love to walk with you, if you’ll have us.”
I got closer to her and whispered, “We should probably get out of here too, until things settle down again.”
She nodded her head. “Everybody’s so out of sorts today. Let’s us three take a walk. It’ll be good to talk to a couple of nice people like you for a while.”
I gave Michael a smile as we all turned to go. He’s so gallant, and I was positive he had remembered me saying that Helena hadn’t wanted to be alone.
Once we were outside in the sunshine, Michael turned to Helena and said, “Where to? Which direction is home?”
“Oh, I don’t feel like going home now,” she said. “There’s nobody there. Let’s go downtown. Have you both seen Oswald’s shop?”
“I haven’t,” Michael said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 9
The way Oswald came forward when he saw Helena warmed my heart. Looking at her, his face took on an expression I hadn’t had a chance to see on him before: one of pure happiness.
“I gather you’ve met Taylor,” Helena said to him. “And this is her boyfriend, Michael.”
“Pleasure,” Oswald said, shaking hands with Michael and giving me a distant nod. Apparently, I wasn’t forgiven for snaffling the teacup yet. I decided I’d better buy something; maybe that would pacify him. I began to look around, and gradually I wandered away from the others.
I walked toward The Sabine sculpture, slowly and not really willingly. I figured I’d pick up something for twenty or thirty bucks, but instead of looking at the little things, I found myself standing by that sculpture again, gazing high up into the face of the struggling woman.
“I find this sculpture profoundly moving,” Oswald said, suddenly beside me. Michael and Helena were twenty feet away, discussing a little desk. “It draws me, as I just saw it draw you. I’m actually in negotiations with an interested party now, but I can’t help but hope I’ll be able to keep it a while longer. It’s a masterpiece. The greatest triumph of art is to touch the living soul, to make one feel, to make one curious, even to make one afraid.”
“I think it’s terrible,” I said, unable to look away from it.
“And yet it commands you – it shatters resistance – you must look. The fruit of genius: to create something terrible and wonderful at the same time. Centuries later, its power remains, undiminished. The original is a masterwork by a 16th-century sculptor named Giambologna. This is a copy, of course, but it’s well executed, using marble from the same quarry as was used for the original. The moment I had it moved into the shop, every other object here became smaller.”
“Wherever did you get it? And who on earth is going to buy it?”
He smiled gently. “Naturally, I can’t discuss my prospective buyer, but if this deal falls through, I won’t mind. Many people who pass through Key West have both the means and the taste to indulge themselves in such an object, and their choice of residences worldwide in which to install it. It originally came from the garden of a man who lived on Sunset Key. You can still see his mansion from Mallory Square, at the end of Key West, but he’s long dead. His daughter inherited it, and had it placed in her own garden just a few blocks away from here. She kept it there until she died an old woman, last year. She was very proud of it. Whenever there was an event in town, she used to throw her garden gates open to the public so they could view it.”
I couldn’t help myself. I gave him a disbelieving look. “But the subject?”
“Ah, now we must take into account the eye of the beholder, Ms. Verone. Whatever the subject, it has a classical majesty; even you must admit that. Lydia treasured it.”
“Lydia?”
“The lady from whose estate I acquired it. You’ve never heard of her, but if you lived in Key West, you would have. She was from a family that had been very prominent locally. Her name was Lydia Stoffel.” He stood back from me and his new, friendly attitude faded slightly. “Or perhaps you have heard of her. You had tea with Maryellen this morning?”
I nodded. “She mentioned Lydia.”
“And you know of her connection to the . . . ?”
“Yes.” I lifted my gaze along the pillar of twisted bodies again and shuddered. “According to Maryellen, Lydia was also fond of lop-eared bunnies. Maybe I should be looking at those instead.”
He smiled upon me and said, “I believe they would be more to your taste. This way, please.”
I suppose I should have been insulted. I can appreciate classical majesty as much as the next guy, and I went on to display rather good taste when I gagged at the bunnies. In the end, I picked up one of Lydia’s Christmas houses, about six-by-eight inches, not too Dickensy-cutesy, and vaguely resembling the Gilded Age mansion that I rented, back in Tropical Breeze. It would look nice on the mantel of the fieldstone fireplace in the great room for the Holidays. I’d arrange it with a few red candles, a little garland and some fiberfill snow.
Oswald and I had worked out a truce by then, and in an odd way, I was glad to have a memento of Lydia. It felt right; the perfect memento of this vacation and Ed’s reality show project. And I suppose I was comforted by the fact that the thing felt absolutely vacant in my hands, just a molded piece of modern-day resin. No vibes. Not even much personality.
As Oswald wrapped it up for me, I remembered telling him the night before that I hadn’t gotten any vibes from the teacup, and I tried to go back to that moment, feel the cup in my hands again. Had it been as devoid of personality as this
Christmas house? With all the drama going on around me at the time, I couldn’t remember.
No. Resin is deader than porcelain. Eggshell-thin cups appeal to you in a way that chunky little buildings do not. And antiques have been part of many lives. Resin is mass-produced, boxed, shipped, scanned and sold, brand new and just like a million others. It’s just not the same.
Taking the box from Oswald, I decided that if I got the chance and nobody was pitching a fit at the time, I wanted another go at the teacup. Just for the heck of it. It had kind of stung when Ed said I wasn’t even trying.
* * * * *
“Let’s go in here,” I said impulsively as we stepped out of Oswald’s shop. We had left Helena with Oswald, and they had seemed quietly content with one another, like an old married couple. I began to have hope, Wentworth-style.
Michael glanced at the sign on the shop next door, then gave me the glistening eye. “Haven’t you had enough of her today?”
“I want to see her on the job,” I said, my hand already on the door. Camille had the “Open” sign turned to the street, and the lights were on inside. The door was unlocked, and a quiet pulse of something not quite like music drew me in.
She had a diffuser going in the parlor-like waiting room, and the air had a scent that was pleasant, yet made me uneasy for some reason. I had expected décor that was heavily-draped and full of tassels, but it was more subdued than that. The colors were soothing: old gold against teal, with one rose-colored lamp on each of two tables. There were a few satin pillows but not a harem-like profusion, and a simple, gauzy curtain toned down the outside light without excluding it. Broad-seated, overstuffed chairs looked newly upholstered and inviting. There was no reading material of any kind that I could see, and no knick-knacks of the trade except in the front window display.
I could hear the murmur of voices beyond a closed door, across the room.
Something had gone ting as we opened the door, but nobody looked to see who had come in. I scanned the room for security cameras, curious about whether or not she might be looking at us on a monitor, but I didn’t see any.
