Of course, the Black Cat Café was a slightly mixed blessing for Kiwi: it was run by two partners, Nora and Priscilla. While Priscilla adored Kiwi, Nora detested him. Thankfully, Nora was now away for a month, visiting her relatives in North Carolina. So there was no chance of running into Nora, or “Nora My Nemesis,” as Kiwi called her, when we went to the Black Cat Café.
“Oh! There’s my pretty boy!” said Priscilla, as soon as we walked in.
“Gee, thanks,” I said with a mock pout.
“And welcome to you, too,” said Priscilla with a laugh.
“Pretty boy,” repeated Kiwi.
Priscilla handed him a cheese puff which he snatched up with a shocking lack of manners.
“Pretty lady,” cooed Kiwi.
Priscilla smiled delightedly and handed my familiar another cheese puff, while I considered giving him a clip around the ear until I realized he didn’t have any.
“Counter or booth today?”
“I think it better be a booth. It’s been a long day and I’ve got this monster with me,” I said, waving a slightly threatening hand near my shoulder.
Priscilla went to hand me a menu to take over to the booth, but I declined it. “Meatloaf and a sparkling water, please.”
“And I’ll bring over some cheese puffs for the prettiest boy in Sequoia Bay!”
“No, thanks. He’s had quite enough for one day.”
I felt a talon squeeze into my shoulder and a deafening squawk in my ear. “Pretty lady,” Kiwi said, “Pretty lady!”
Priscilla smiled happily at Kiwi. “Are you sure? He’s such a good bird!”
“Well, maybe a small bowl.”
As soon as we got to our booth, Kiwi hopped down onto the table and gave me a smug look.
“Watch it, you,” I said.
He cocked his head at me like he didn’t understand and then started to pace back and forth across the table while he impatiently waited for his treat. Although “treat” probably wasn’t the right word to describe what cheese puffs were to Kiwi. Something you eat all day every day could hardly be a treat, could it?
Kiwi stopped pacing and tilted his head like he was listening. I did the same.
I’m not an eavesdropper by nature.
I think it’s a terrible habit—it’s rude, you hear things you’re not meant to hear, and it just feels wrong—but the two men who were talking were exceptionally loud, and once I heard the words ‘Cypress Estate,’ I found myself straining to hear every word I could.
Some of the conversation was inevitably lost to the din of the restaurant and the chatter of other customers, but the snippets I caught had me rapt with attention.
“...it’s built, the city can expect... in tax revenue!”
“...what do you mean ‘if’—when it’s built, haha!”
The two men lapsed into laughter followed by talk in a more hushed tone. They soon rediscovered their voices though.
“...terrible thing, terrible thing... But what luck!”
“...great timing... largest resort in the area...”
Cypress Estate. Terrible things. Good timing. A resort. Goodness, they were talking about the death of poor Fletcher Davenport.
I removed a napkin from the dispenser on the table, and after a surreptitious sweep of the surrounding area I dropped it onto the ground. I stood up and bent over to pick it up, nosily looking down the restaurant aisle to see who was doing all this talking.
Squawk, went Kiwi inquisitively. I quickly sat back in my place.
“It’s Donovan, the mayor!” I whispered to Kiwi.
He nodded his head up and down, like he knew already. Maybe he did. He had pretty good hearing for an animal with no visible ears.
“Who’s that sitting with him?” I whispered.
Kiwi shrugged his wings and resumed his pacing up and down.
“Do you think I should go over and speak to them?”
Kiwi shook his head no and gave a negative squawk. He was probably right. What if one of them was the murderer?
“Here you go! For my favorite customer, dinner is served,” said Priscilla, before placing a bowl of cheese puffs down on the table.
I gave her a questioning look. Kiwi gave a delighted screech and started pecking at the bowl.
“Yours will be just another couple of minutes,” she said, smiling at me.
“Can I ask you something?” I said, catching her before she turned away.
She raised her eyebrows at me. “You just did.”
I smiled at the joke, even though it was less funny than Kiwi. I leaned in, so our heads were close and my voice wouldn’t travel too far.
“Who is that with the mayor?”
Priscilla gave me a curious look. She was the gossiper around here, not me, and she was clearly surprised that I of all people was digging after information. Usually I was the one lecturing other people about gossiping. But Priscilla was the expert, and she didn’t fail to come up with the goods this time.
“Well, that’s Turner Johnson. Do you know him?”
I shook my head.
“He’s a developer. Big time. He’s come up from San Francisco, and it’s not the first time. He and the mayor have been hoping to build a resort in Sequoia Bay for years, but it never got anywhere—until now.”
“I bet I can guess where he wants to build the resort.”
Priscilla gave me an impressed look. “Oh?”
“The Cypress Estate, right?”
She nodded. “Very good, Aria. We’ll make something of you yet!”
I knew her something meant a gossip, and I planned to disappoint her in that regard.
I was not being a busybody, I told myself; I was simply investigating a murder in which I’d been implicated. The little thrill I got from gaining semi-secret knowledge was something I’d make sure I did not learn to enjoy.
“He’s planning on tearing the whole place down, and developing the entire estate into a large resort. The largest one for miles and miles. It’s really going to shake things up around here, if it ever happens.”
There was a loud coughing from just behind me. I turned around to see Margaret Honeywell, an older lady who I’d seen out and about around town, though she’d never been a customer in my shop. She had been married, and separated, before I ever even opened the doors.
“I say,” said Mrs. Honeywell, “is that true? They’re buying the Cyprus Estate?”
“That’s what they’re talking about,” said Priscilla, nodding her head in the direction of the pair of men two booths back.
I was blushing with embarrassment. Look at us, talking about those two men when they were just two booths away. They could hear us at any minute.
“Goodness! I live right next door. Can you imagine it? A resort? Right next to my house? Who knows what it would do to the traffic? And all those lost holidaymakers, stumbling about, walking onto my land. Oh no, this sounds terrible. You sure you’ve got it right?”
“That’s just what I’ve heard,” said Priscilla. “The whole estate is going up for auction soon. It turns out old Fletcher hadn’t been paying his taxes. The city has a lien on the land, and they’re going to put it up for auction in a few weeks. He had no living relatives, so the city is first in line. He hadn’t paid taxes in over a year.”
“Well, I think it’s terrible. If it goes to auction, I’d rather buy the house myself and stop them. Turning a lovely town into a resort? It’s bad enough with all those rude tourists, and weddings.” She glanced at me with a knowing look. “I don’t blame you for that by the way.”
“Thanks,” I said begrudgingly.
“Tourists, brides, out-of-towners! I miss the good old days,” said Mrs. Honeywell. “Used to just be farmers, fishermen, and small town businesses. None of these big city visitors and glamorous jetsetting weddings,” she said with a haughty sniff. “In fact, I’ve just about had enough of it all. I’ll take my leave, if you don’t mind.”
Priscilla and I looked on as Mrs. Honeywell wal
ked away, and I wasn’t sorry to see her go.
I bet she really did blame me for the out-of-towners coming in. Maybe there was some truth to it; after all the successful weddings I had put on, word got around, people told their friends and cousins and other relatives, which led to more weddings. No, I was partly to blame.
But it wasn’t something which I thought a blame should be placed on. I was bringing people to town, and they were all spending money.
There were plenty of towns that had fallen into despair, their downtowns boarded up, shops closed, businesses gone. At least we were thriving here at Sequoia Bay. And I liked to think I was, at least partly, responsible for some of its continuing success.
“Oh, don’t mind her,” said Priscilla, as though she’d read my mind. “She’s getting more bitter by the year.”
“Oh?” I’ll admit I was a little intrigued. I didn’t know much about Mrs. Honeywell.
“She was actually quite charming when she was younger. But ever since her husband Thomas left her, she’s been getting grouchier and grouchier. Soon she’ll be one of those bitter old crones—no offense—without a good word to say to anyone.”
“...None taken,” I said, mildly offended. “I suppose she has a point about all the tourists though. It seems we have just the right amount to keep us vibrant now, without being overwhelmed.”
“That’s the way of the world though, isn’t it? Why have the right amount of a good thing when you can have too much of it instead. Money, money, money!”
I looked at Priscilla curiously. “Money?”
“Of course. If they do manage to build a resort, the tax revenue will be immense!”
With an attempt at being surreptitious, I casually looked over my shoulder again, as if looking for a friend or to see where the bathroom was. The mayor and the developer were now each holding an unlit cigar and looked like they were about to head outside to smoke them.
“You don’t think there’s a...” I let my words trail off, not quite ready to say it.
“What?” asked Priscilla.
“You know, a... connection? Between Davenport’s death and the developer?”
Priscilla arched her eyebrows at me and pursed her lips.
It seemed there was a fine line that even gossips of Priscilla’s caliber were wary of crossing. But the angle of her eyebrows was clearly not an outright dismissal of the possibility, just a reluctance to discuss it with the possible perpetrators sitting nearby.
“Your meal must be plated up by now. Back in a minute.”
Kiwi cocked his head at me.
“We’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry,” I told him.
“And I’ll get to the bottom of this... bowl,” replied Kiwi quietly, before sticking his beak back into the cheese puffs.
Chapter 6
Silence.
Glorious silence.
There were no customers in the shop, and Kiwi had gone wherever Kiwi went when he wasn’t with me. I think he has a secret hideout upstairs but he claims he doesn’t.
“Good morning!” A loud voice boomed at me and the shop bell rang wildly, swinging back and forth. The door bounced off of the back stopper before bouncing closed again behind the entrant.
Oh. My favorite customer.
“Good morning,” I said, staring at the door, waiting for it to swing open again. Nothing happened. “Are you alone today?”
“Yes,” said Nina, “as a matter of fact, I am.”
My eyebrows lifted. “Has your fiancé come around to the tradition of not seeing the bride in her dress before the big day?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. He’ll never change. No, he’s got a few things to sort out. Business. You know, men’s work.”
Men’s work?
“I have a business,” I said.
Nina tilted her head and gave me a curious look. “Do you?”
I didn’t answer: I just let my eyes run around the shop.
Finally, realization dawned in her eyes.
“Oh! Of course you do. Right here! No offense, but it’s not exactly New York scale, if you know what I mean.”
It seemed a lot of people didn’t want to offend me despite being grossly offensive these days.
“Well, let’s get back to it, shall we?” I said to her. Again, I didn’t feel like offering her tea and having a chat before we began. If she was going to use New York manners around here, then I was going to serve her with New York speed.
She peered around the store. “Have the new dresses come in?”
“Not yet,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I only ordered them yesterday afternoon, remember.”
“Oh. Things are still a little backward around here, aren’t they? You know, in New York, they would’ve arrived that very evening.”
“Is that so?” I said in a tone that implied more interest than I felt.
“Since we have no choice, let’s work on the rest of it. You know, the veil, the shoes, the gloves. I’ll put on that cheap dress again, because I did like its style.”
Well, the customer is always right is what they say.
Though in this case, she was clearly wrong.
Eighteen hundred dollars for a dress? And that’s cheap? She really was from a different planet.
“Okay. And I’ll have my suppliers try to find the same style of dress, but with a more… designer price tag. Now, since you liked the design of that dress, I picked out a few pieces which work very well together with that style. If you want to slip back into that dress, we’ll start trying everything on.”
Nina took the dress off of the clothes rail again and held it up. I could see from the way she was staring at it that she really did like the dress.
A bride gets a certain look in her eyes when she finds the one. And I’m not talking about the husband.
She had that look. You would think she would be grateful that the price was lower than she had anticipated. There’s just no pleasing some people.
“Oh, these gloves are wonderful,” said Nina, running the fingers of one hand over the wrist of the other. The gloves were the most expensive ones I had, at over a hundred dollars, and I’d been sure to tell her that before I’d even unboxed them.
“And what you think of the veil?” I asked her.
“I like the way it hangs, though don’t you think it hides too much of my face?”
That’s the point, I wanted to say, but didn’t.
“I think it gives you an air of mystery. You know, the glamorous socialite, here from the big city, for the greatest wedding in a generation. No, I don’t think it hides too much of your face.” See? I can do a proper sales pitch when I have to.
She gently lifted the veil up and let it drop again. “Mysterious, huh? I like that…”
In less than an hour we had a veil, gloves, and shoes all seemingly to her taste. It felt like a midsummer miracle. She had of course insisted on the most expensive of each of them, but she did seem pleased with it all. Much more so than when Rick had been with her.
“You’re really rather good at all this, aren’t you?” said Nina. Her couched complement expressed a kind of insulting surprise.
I grinned and bore it. “Thank you.”
“I was wondering, do you do wedding decorations? And maybe party favors too?”
“Oh? When we first spoke on the phone, I thought you said you were bringing all that from New York?”
Nina pulled her lips into a kind of tight smile. “Well, the thing is, Rick sort of fired the original wedding planner.”
“Oh?”
“He said he thought she was trying to rip us off. Overcharging us.”
“That’s a shame. Especially when you have a budget as big as yours, it’s a shame when people try and take advantage.”
“I know,” said Nina. “It is such a shame. And I didn’t think she was even that expensive. In fact, Rick is being a little bit tight about the budget for the wedding. You know, he even said he thought I should go with this dress. You know,
the cheap Chinese one.”
I squeezed my fingers into the palm of my hand.
“It’s neither cheap, nor Chinese, though if it had been, I can assure you it would’ve been carefully selected as one of the finest dresses from Asia. I really pride myself in the quality of the products I offer here, Nina.”
She ignored my chastisement and nodded.
I wondered what was up with those two. If they were as rich as they claimed, why was Rick being stingy with his wedding budget? Was it just because he was a typical man who didn’t really want all the fuss of the big wedding? Or was he hiding something about his supposed wealth?
“So, do you want to do it?” asked Nina. “The decorations and favors and so on?”
No, I did not want to do it. The less time I spent around these big city big mouths the better.
“Yes, I’d love to,” I said.
Unfortunately, I run a business, not a hobby. Sometimes I have to do things that don’t delight me quite as much as I would like.
Nina stepped toward me and leaned in. We were the only people in the shop so it struck me as rather odd behavior. “I say, do you offer other services?”
I bit my bottom lip while I tried to work out what she was getting at. “Other… services?”
“Could you… I mean, do you… Well, I would like you to cast a love spell.”
“A love spell?”
“On Rick.”
Oh my. A marriage that needs a love spell before the wedding even takes place seems like a rather rocky foundation. And besides, that was one thing that Blue Moon Bridal did not offer.
“I’m sorry, Nina. I don’t do love spells. Why would you ask such a thing?”
Nina shifted uncomfortably on the spot. “Well, I heard that all the women in this town are witches, and I figured that since you deal with weddings, you’re probably a kind of love witch, right?”
“Not all the women in this town are witches. There are a few normal people here too,” I said with a chuckle, “and you are right. I am a witch. But I don’t do spells like that. We—or at least I—believe that witches shouldn’t cast spells to manipulate other people. It’s just wrong.”
A Wedding to Die For- Wedding Bells and Magic Spells Page 5
