A Corpse in a Teacup

by Cassie Page

  He said the last with a decided sneer to indicate that he exempted himself from the scourge of human foibles.

  “If the guilty party will step forward and admit his or her guilt,” at this Natasha hardened her stare, twisting the knife, “we, that is Natasha, will consider the matter closed. We will say no more. You have until noon, until we open our doors, to come forward. After that, the perpetrator, when found, will be prosecuted under the full extent of the law. And make no mistake. We will find you.”

  Natasha interrupted him and pointed to the ceiling. “I have friends in the police. You will not insult me or my husband this way.”

  Peter, the sommelier, fiddled with the pale blue ribbon holding his tasting cup. He’d known Natasha back when she was a dishwasher at a restaurant where they had started their careers. Her body count, dropped plates, that is, was so high she was fired. Years later a divorce settlement from her first husband allowed her to open the Café. In a stroke of sheer luck she crossed paths with Marco when he was looking for his first job. He’d had a dream to open his own restaurant. She convinced him to raise some capital. He did and they became partners. His Lemongrass Chicken and Pear and Chocolate Tart put the Café on the map. The restaurant’s subsequent overnight success lured Peter to guide the Café’s famous wine list. Without Peter and Marco there would be no Mulberry Cat Café. Natasha’s threats were lost on Peter.

  “Seriously, Tasha,” he argued, “who is going to come forward? They identify themselves and boom,” he smashed his fist into his palm for emphasis, “they’re out of a job. Or worse.”

  Natasha surprised everyone by tearing up. “You all have my word.” Her voice vibrated with increasingly heavy sobs, embarrassing everyone. “As long as my restaurant stays open, that person will have a job. Just give me back my cat. You don’t know what it means to me.”

  She made a big, slobbery gasp and her employees looked away, down at their feet, at each other, a few coughing into their hands to cover smirks. Who doesn’t enjoy seeing the mighty brought low?

  No one had ever seen Natasha break down or show any empathy to anyone who wasn’t a customer. The sun coming through the front windows shifted just then, sending shadows across the room, darkening the circles under her eyes, made slightly grotesque now from mascara leaking down her cheek. She swiped at her eyes, making the streaks worse. But she succeeded in swallowing her tears and composing herself.

  Marco stepped in. “I have not discussed this with Natasha. But I am going to offer a reward of $1,000 to anyone who gives me or Natasha information leading to the return of The Mulberry Cat.”

  He made it sound like he was after someone on the FBI’s ten most wanted list. The group stirred, staring at one another in their surprise, speechless. Natasha gasped. Clearly, this offer was new to her. Marco looked at her and nodded his sincerity before he turned back to the employees.

  “There will be no questions asked. Just leave the statue in its spot here where it belongs,” he pointed to the cash register, ”and we will all get back to normal. You can leave it anonymously. No one will know.”

  The sommelier rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, “Then how will you know who to give the money to?”

  Everyone nodded as they realized it was a poorly thought out offer. There was no way to return the cat without implicating oneself in its theft or destruction.

  Peter stood up, effectively bringing the meeting to a close. “Tasha, just chalk it up to the cost of doing business, declare it as a loss on your income taxes and have Victor make another one. We’re wasting time here. We have work to do before noon to get the Café ready for its first customer. You know how busy we are on weekends. Let’s get back to work.”

  He headed for the bar, showing his disgust. Marco’s look threw daggers at him.

  “Peter!” Natasha had composed herself and was back in her Iron Maiden pose. “You have no idea of the value of that cat. Or what it means to me personally. How dare you dismiss it like that? It’s worth thousands.”

  Peter had reached his tolerance for cat discussions. “Tasha, a Mason jar is worth more than that piece of junk. The only reason it has any value is because of the restaurant. If Victor weren’t married to you he wouldn’t be able to sell his glass sculptures at street fairs. Have him make another one. No one will know the difference. You spend more on broken glasses and dinner plates than what that thing is worth.”

  “Peter! It is worth millions to my heart. And you know that. It inspires me, that cat. My customers love it. It is why they come here.”

  Peter, as short tempered as Natasha, had had enough.

  “Tasha, so Victor gave it to you because you gave him a good roll in the hay. I get it. You told me about it. So do it again. You’re married now. You can get another, call the police. Whatever. I don’t care. But let me get back to work. My wine list is why people come here. Not that stupid cat.”

  Natasha almost said, “You’re fired!” but she stopped herself in time. She knew he was right. Except for the roll in the hay. Their sessions weren’t that exciting now that she and Victor were married.

  Tuesday tried to slink down in her chair. She felt sorry for Natasha. Not for losing her cat. Peter merely said what everyone knew. It was an ugly piece of work. But Natasha had always been fair with her. Stern, even harsh when she was rushed, but she always gave her an accounting at the end of the week, showing her the receipts of customers who had added a reading to a lunch or tea service check. Natasha never tried to cheat her. But she also tried to make herself small because she knew she was an easy target for the restaurateur’s wrath.

  Chapter Twenty-Four: New BFFs

  “You’re stepping on Heaven’s Lust.”

  Tuesday jumped back, leery of harming anything else this day. “Watch it,” Tessa added. “Now your heel is on the Devil’s Midnight Cocktail!”

  Tuesday looked down at Holley’s carpet, a mosaic of brilliant colors, soft pastels and iridescent cakes of eye shadow worthy of a prize peacock. She felt like a player in a game of Twister going through contortions to get across the living room without crushing any of the cosmetics. She walked into the arms of her mother, outstretched in an outdated designer outfit Marci and Darci would love to get their hands on.

  Her mother may have her flaws, Tuesday knew, but she never starved her for affection. “Heard from Roger?” she asked Holley over Tessa’s shoulder. She returned the squeeze and Tessa released her. She stepped carefully back through the combined cosmetic bounty and embraced Holley.

  “Nothing,” Holley said, tears starting to form in the corner of her eyes. “I don’t understand it. Harry gave me an idea, though. We called a session of our spiritual circle and visualized positive manifestations for him. Your mother joined us. It made me feel better, but I’m still worried. What do you think could have happened to him?”

  “I don’t know, Holley. But that’s all you can do.”

  Tuesday had finished her shift at the Café without anybody coming forth with information about the sculpture. Now Roger was missing, two people dead, possibly a third. What was going on?

  She left Holley and Tessa together, banking on the two discovering they were in some sense sisters under the skin. Friends who cleanse together or something like that? At any rate, apparently they’d had no additional crises.

  Mission accomplished!

  “Miss Tuesday, why didn’t you tell me your mother was so, so,” Holley’s eyes fluttered as she searched for the right word. She lowered her lids in a beatific half smile when she found it. “Evolved.”

  Tuesday knew that in many ways Holley and Tessa were two peas in a pod. On the way from the bus station that morning Tessa had convinced Tuesday that she had quit smoking and been on the wagon for the longest stretch in a long while. On that basis, Tuesday agreed to introduce them, never expecting them to become new BFFs.

  She might have overstepped some boundaries in putting her mother and a client together, but these were dangerous times. A murderer was on the
loose and he might be after Holley. But if anyone could frighten an evildoer away, it was Tessa. She’d talk them to death with new age philosophy even Tuesday recognized as twaddle.

  But evolved? Her mother? This was more than she had anticipated. She suspected that even gullible Holley would see through her mother’s blather after a while. “Never underestimate . . .” she murmured to herself.

  Tessa confirmed the festive day. “We have been having a time.” She turned to Holley, motioned her to come over. “Come on, let’s hug it out. This is an auspicious day, us meeting and bonding. Her nice neighbor coming over with these beautiful flowers.”

  She pointed to an arrangement that looked like weeds to Tuesday, in a rather ordinary glass bowl. “Neighbor? And who would that be,” she asked, knowing full well Holley was going to name the old guy next door.

  “You remember, Mr. Gregory.”

  Tuesday gritted her teeth. “I do remember.”

  Her mother was gushing. “SUCH a nice man. And now my girl is here to share with us. Holley, don’t you have another glass so we can pour some elixir for Tuesday?”

  Tuesday gave her mother a stern look.

  “Now take back that evil eye, girl child. What we have here,” she held her wine glass up to the light to show off the dregs, “is essence of musk ox, wheat germ, wheat grass, prune, garlic, turmeric, chia seeds, guarana extract, moringa and brewers yeast. Oh, and beet juice. That’s what gives it this lovely carmine color.”

  Normally, that was just the kind of thing Tuesday loved. In fact, she had all of those ingredients in her cupboard, having just received a shipment of moringa that she was dying to try for its acclaimed energy popping powers. But her mother had just crossed a line, stepping into her territory. Health remedies. Clean living. Tessa was into vodka and herbal remedies of a different kind ,while Tuesday was not just the goddess of health food, but a devotee of every cockamamie claim by every health guru that showed up on late night infomercials. That’s what growing up with a whiskey toting mother who believed chili sauce was a vegetable would do to a girl.

  On principle, Tuesday passed on the drink. She would not give her mother the satisfaction of coming over to her side, surrendering her nutritional territory. This invitation to intimacy had a sour smell. She’d been taken in by her mother before. Many times before, though now her mother was solving a problem she had with Holley. Tuesday didn’t have the time to babysit her client, but babysitting is what that girl needed. Holley could be in real danger as Tuesday was convinced someone was targeting the cast and crew of Vitale’s new movie project.

  And her mother needed babysitting of a different sort, to be kept away from the liquor cabinet. Holley had promised not to offer her mother a drink. From the trail of cosmetics leading from Holley’s bathroom, down the hall and into the living room, the two were bonding over blusher and bronzer. How long could this love affair last? She hoped until the killer was caught and Tuesday could figure out a new life path for Tessa, preferably one on the opposite coast.

  But for now, Holley and Tessa seemed a match made in heaven. Holley began prancing around the living room, posing under the floor lamp by her club chair. “What do you think, Miss Tuesday, I’m wearing cool colors on my eyes with Magician’s Magenta on my lips. And Fruite Loups on my cheeks. For freshness.”

  “The key is volumizing the color,” informed Tessa. “This look digs deep down into Holley’s chakras and makes them come alive. I’ve focused on the Third Eye. It will help her spirituality and ability to communicate.”

  Holley fluttered colorful eyelids that mimicked a South American parrot. “So important in my profession. Let me show you the fragrance she recommends. It increases focus. It’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it.”

  While Holley pranced off down the hallway, Tuesday made no attempt to hide her annoyance from her mother.

  “Tessa, spirituality is in the crown chakra, the top of the head. Communication is in the throat chakra. The third chakra. If you’re going to do this, don’t fill her head with garbage. She’s very impressionable.”

  She was surprised at how protective she felt about Holley. Or, was she trying to protect herself from her mother? How many times had she been pulled into her mother’s schemes to start a new life, only to end up disappointed, and living once again with her grandmother? Tuesday loved her grandmother, who convinced her she had powers of divination. But she needed a mother, too. And, at best, Tessa had been there for her only on a part time basis. She didn’t want Holley disappointed, but she was in a bind. How could she babysit both of them while she worked at the Café?

  Holley returned with a fragrance that, Tuesday had to admit, did smell fragrant and fresh. Holley said she would share it, then said she had an announcement.

  “Miss Tuesday? Miss Tessa,” she bowed her head at her new cosmetics guru, “told me that you don’t have enough room in your apartment. I’ve invited her to stay with me until she gets settled. Then we can cross-pollinate.”

  Tuesday did a double take. “Cross-pollinate?”

  “Yes, dear. I explained to Holley that I can do a Cosmetic Rejuvenation for her and she will teach me yoga. I need to work on my core.”

  Tessa dramatically doubled over and placed her palms on knees. “See? That’s as far as I can go.”

  Tuesday said, “I thought it was Cosmetic Reinvention?”

  Tessa brushed her away. Tuesday said, “Yeah, well, everybody needs to work on their core, I guess.”

  “Yes, Holley dear said she can get me to crown.”

  Tessa swooped up and assumed something between a ballet position and a stripper’s grind. “Didn’t you, dear?”

  “Oh, yes, I did Miss Tessa. If you dedicate yourself, you can get your head to touch the floor. And then all the blood will flow to your face and,” she snapped her fingers, “your wrinkles will disappear just like that.”

  Tuesday looked at her mother’s sun and cigarette ravaged face, the dark circles and blotchy complexion from too many years of too many cocktails. “Holley, if you can do that for my mother, all your tea readings will be free for the rest of your life.”

  Holley jumped up and down like a little girl with a new doll. “Oh, Miss Tuesday, do you mean it? Because my end of this is going to be easy peasy.”

  Tuesday was about to suggest that Holley have her eyesight checked, then decided to leave the BFFs to their new toys.

  “Well, if you are okay with my mother staying with you, I’ll leave you two for an hour or so. I have to meet a friend. We’ll have take out when I come back and watch a movie. Holley, have you told my mother about what’s been going on this week? On Goren’s movie?”

  “Oh, I have. That’s why she chose the Magician’s Magenta lipstick. It will change my energy field and danger won’t be able to get past my aura.”

  Tuesday rolled her eyes and said, “That’s great. Just make sure you lock all the doors and windows and don’t let ANYONE in the house unless you absolutely know who they are.”

  “Oh, we won’t, Miss Tuesday.”

  Tessa gathered Tuesday and Holley in her arms.

  “Another huggy-hug before you go, Tuesday.”

  She wagged her finger at her daughter. “I’m going to do something about that blush you wear. It defeats your karmic flow.”

  “Mommy, just concentrate on Roger’s karmic flow. Get him flowing back here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five: An Ax And A Girl

  “Are you in the mood for Crushed Grapes?”

  Tuesday heard country music and a blast of air in the background. “You’re in a wind tunnel.”

  “Sixty-four silver dollars to the little lady in the back row, folks. Now what about Crushed Grapes?”

  “I like mine filtered and in a glass.” She had a rush of her own contemplating a quick drink with Mr. G. before babysitting Holley and Tessa over dinner.

  “They have a special tonight. I think I can get you a glass of actual wine.”

  “In that case, I’ll be there by si
x,” she said, “if the traffic on the 405 cooperates.”

  “Be still my beating heart.”

  She was ten minutes late, then he rushed in five minutes behind her. She was sitting at the bar studying the wine list. He pulled it out of her hand and called to the bartender, “Veuve Clicot if it’s chilled.”

  He leaned in for a quick kiss and, after happily complying, she said, “How did you know it’s my favorite?”

  “You just look like a VC kind of gal,” he said. He leaned back to get an eyeful. “You know, classy.”

  She sucked in her cheeks and struck a model pose. They both laughed, but in truth she was a little uncomfortable. To make it to Crushed Grapes on time, she’d had to forego racing home to change. She hoped her duct tape skirt wasn’t too casual.

  He said, “Wow,” approvingly when he pulled her off her stool and made her twirl to get the full effect.

  Men will say anything to get to first base, she knew that, but the champagne was welcome, regardless of the motivation. As for his attire, third meeting, third soft leather jacket. Well, fourth meeting, if you counted setting eyes on him for the first time in the police department when he’d worn a set of motorcycle leathers. He must have some really good investments. He wouldn’t be a trust fund baby, would he? She dismissed that idea. Not if he’d had a career in LAPD.

  “So how are you?” he said, after ordering his own drink. “Tell me all about your day.”

  Her pulse was racing a bit from the nerve wracking crawl through late day traffic, the anxiety of leaving Tessa and Holley to their own devices and worry about Roger’s whereabouts. “Well, I feel as though I’m torn in two. I have a few mysteries on my hands.”

  Whoops. Bad start. She’d promised herself not to let their evening bog down in murder speak again. And here she was, right off the bat talking about her troubles.