Dead Is Just a Rumor

by Marlene Perez

  All the guys laughed, except for Tyler.

  "You did that on purpose," she hissed.

  "It was an accident, I swear. I'm so sorry," I said.

  Tyler handed her a paper napkin and she smiled sweetly at him. "Thank you. I'm going to get cleaned up," she said.

  "Here," he said. "Take one of these." He handed her a black T-shirt with purple letters that read "What's so normal about Nightshade?" on the front and "Nightshade's Bicentennial, keeping secrets for 200 years" on the back.

  "These T-shirts look great, Sam," I said. "I love the calligraphy."

  "Penny did the lettering," she said.

  A visitor came up to the booth to ask a question and Tyler went to help her.

  "I can't believe you, Giordano," Penny said. She wiped the jelly off her face.

  "I said I was sorry," I said. Penny seemed unreasonably angry for such a trivial event.

  "Sorry isn't good enough," she said. "You better watch it." She made her exit, pushing me a little as she went by me.

  "What's her problem?" Sam asked after Penny stormed off.

  I shrugged. Her reaction seemed extreme for the situation. Our conversation turned to Samantha's laundry list of things she had to get done for the anniversary celebration.

  There was a decent amount of foot traffic for so early in the morning, but after about two hours into our shift, the crowd had grown.

  There was a sudden stir of excitement from the crowd. Samantha craned her neck. "It's her!" she said.

  "Who?" I asked.

  A man carrying a television camera on his shoulder stopped at the booth. "Which way to the Wilder's Restaurant booth?" he asked.

  Samantha pointed it out and the man hurried off. "Circe Silvertongue is definitely here," she crowed. "This is bound to bring in the tourists."

  I was dying to see what she looked liked. I mean, I'd watched her on television, of course, but I wanted to see her in the flesh.

  I gave Tyler a pleading look. "Do you mind?"

  He chuckled. "You two go ahead," he said. "The guys and I can handle it here for a few minutes."

  We joined the excited group surrounding Circe Silvertongue. I recognized her famously patrician features and long silver hair. She wore a designer dress that reached her ankles and a load of heavy silver jewelry, the last of which would not make her popular with some of the locals. Werewolves don't like silver. Only silver bullets could actually kill them, but any silver could do damage.

  A local television reporter held a microphone in front of Circe as the camera rolled.

  "Yes, I'm thrilled to be in Nightshade," Circe said. She smiled warmly. "I grew up here and returning after so many years is a treat."

  "How many years?" The reporter asked.

  Circe's smile slipped for a moment, but then she said, "Oh, don't you know it's bad luck to ask a woman her age?"

  "Bad luck?" The reporter persisted. "I've never heard that."

  "Oh, definitely bad luck." Circe smiled and then changed the subject. "And I have a scoop for you."

  "You do?" The reporter was practically drooling, she was so excited.

  "I'm pleased to announce that during my tenure as head chef at Wilder's, I will be working on a new cookbook." She was charming.

  I nudged Samantha. "I can't believe I won lessons with her!" I said in a low voice. "She seems so nice."

  "I know," Sam responded. "I bet her staff looks forward to coming to work every day. I wonder why Mrs. Wilder said she's temperamental."

  But the minute the television cameras disappeared, Circe's wide smile disappeared.

  "Who is the organizer of this farce?" she snapped.

  Samantha stepped forward. "I'm the committee chair," she said bravely. "Is there something I can help you with?"

  "My treatment was unacceptable," Circe said. "I wasn't given a bodyguard and I specifically requested Jackal water in the green room."

  "We don't have a green room," Samantha said timidly. "In fact, I'm not even sure what a green room is."

  Circe snorted. "Of course not." She threw up her hands. "Why did I ever decide to come back to this backwater?" She looked around with contempt on her face. This is who I would be learning from?

  Samantha looked like she was going to cry. I stepped forward, ready to give Circe a piece of my mind. Superstar chef or not, she had no business being rude to my best friend.

  Fortunately, just then Mr. Bone arrived on scene, followed closely by Officer Denton. "Circe, you look lovely," he soothed. He took her by the elbow, firmly, I noticed. "Now there are still a few local reporters here," he added. "And I'm sure you'd like to meet with them. Officer Denton will escort you to the area we've set aside for media. In the meantime, I'll procure the water you require."

  After Circe was led off by the officer, Mr. Bone patted Samantha on the shoulder. "Don't you worry about Circe Silvertongue," he said. "You're doing an excellent job and the city council is very impressed."

  Sam gave him a halfhearted smile. "Circe didn't seem to think so."

  "She's a bit high-strung, but I know how to handle her," he replied. "Don't you give her another thought." Mr. Bone bustled off, probably to keep Circe from badmouthing Nightshade.

  "He's right, you know," I said to Sam, after he left. "She was just mad because she didn't get the star treatment for once."

  But my words had the opposite effect from what I intended.

  "She should have the star treatment," Sam said gloomily. "I blew it."

  We headed back to the information booth, where there was a steady stream of traffic. "The tourists are coming in droves," Tyler said. "Nightshade business owners will be stoked."

  Samantha was quiet during the rest of our shift. I could tell that Circe's malicious comments bothered her, but I didn't know what else to say.

  When I got home later, Dad seemed like he was waiting for me.

  "Hey, how was the street fair?" he asked.

  "Great," I said. "You should have come."

  He looked down, clearly ashamed. "I get claustrophobic in crowds."

  I felt sorry for my dad. I wished that Mom didn't work so much and had more time to keep him company.

  "I saw on the news that Circe Silvertongue made an appearance."

  "She did," I said. "But she's nothing like we see on TV" Both Dad and I were fans of Circe's show Cooking with Circe. Since his return, we had started a new tradition of watching the show together and then cooking the recipes.

  "I recorded today's episode," he said. "Wanna watch it?"

  "Sure," I replied. "I need some recipe ideas. I told Sam I'd make some snacks for the volunteers."

  We settled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and Dad clicked on the television. Half an hour later, I found the remote and turned off the recording.

  "Wow," I said. "She may not be a very nice person, but she sure can cook."

  "So which recipe do you want to make?" Dad said.

  "Which one did you like?" I asked.

  "I think the white bean dip looked good," he replied. "We can toast pita chips to serve with it. Or the wonton cups with cream cheese."

  "Then let's make both!" I said. I spent the evening cooking with my dad. Seeing him in the kitchen, laughing and joking, made me feel like the years he was missing had never happened.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Monday morning, I grabbed my binder and then slammed my locker shut. I hoped I hadn't forgotten my homework at home, but nothing would surprise me. I wasn't looking forward to my cooking lessons with the famous Circe Silvertongue. At least, not after how she acted at the street fair.

  "Can you believe that scene at the fair?" I asked Sam. "Circe was so nasty."Thechef'sbehaviorhadbuggedmetherestof the weekend, but I'd tried to tell myself she'd been in a bad mood when we saw her.

  "She was intense," Sam agreed. "But she has to be nice to you. You're the contest winner."

  "Maybe," I said, but I wasn't hopeful.

  "She came into Tete de Mort on Sunday," Sam confided. "S
he bought a purse."

  "That's nice," I said.

  Samantha laughed. "I know you don't care that much about fashion, but even you have to be impressed. She bought a one-of-a-kind La Contessa, which cost over five thousand dollars."

  "For a purse? That's obscene."

  "Obscene or not, I get the commission," Samantha said. She did a little dance.

  "That's fantastic," I said. "What are you going to do with the money?"

  "College fund," she replied, and then changed the subject. "Want to help out tonight? Craft session at the Wilders'."

  "Sure," I said. "I need to find out about scheduling my cooking lessons, anyway."

  I stopped at home after school to pick up the snacks I had made, and Samantha came by and picked me up in her little red VW convertible. Rachel and Jordan were in the back seat. As I slid into the front seat, I noticed my dad was staring out the window at us, an anxious look on his face.

  I sighed.

  Sam noticed my dad, too. She gave him a merry little wave and he returned it. "How is he?" she asked me.

  "Better," I said. "But he's driving me crazy. I thought when he came home, everything would be perfect, but he..."

  "Hovers?"

  "Exactly," I said. "He's way overprotective."

  Jordan said, "It must be weird for him, you know."

  Sam looked at her in the rearview mirror. "What do you mean?"

  "Can you imagine?" Jordan replied. "Locked up all that time. He probably thought about his family every single day, picturing you the way you were the last time he saw you. And then he finally gets home and everything has changed."

  "You're right," I said. Jordan and I weren't close, but she and Sam were. Her compassion for my father made me realize what Sam saw in her.

  After that, the conversation turned to more general things. "How's the squad?" I said, a tiny bit wistfully. I'd been a cheerleader for about ten minutes last year, and a part of me missed it.

  Rachel smiled at me. "You'll get a chance to see for yourself," she said. "Sam convinced everyone to lend a hand with the anniversary celebration."

  "I'll bet she did," I kidded.

  Even Samantha laughed.

  After we reached the long driveway leading to the Wilder estate, I said, "Can you let me off here? I'll meet you in the workroom as soon as I'm done talking to Circe."

  I cut through the garden but was careful to stick to the main path. The Wilders were shifters and you never knew who or what you'd run in to on their property if you weren't careful. I suppressed a shudder as I passed the topiary maze. Bad memories.

  Wilder's Restaurant wasn't open yet, but the French doors, the ones with the view of the maze, were flung wide to let in the fresh air. Delicious smells wafted through the deserted restaurant.

  I stopped to speak to a young woman in a severe black uniform with a starched white shirt setting the tables.

  "Hi. Could you tell me where I might find Circe Silvertongue?"

  "It's your funeral," she said wryly.

  At my startled look, she continued. "Oh, forget I said that. Circe is just ... having a rough day," she clarified, obviously choosing her words carefully.

  Great. I was stuck with a high-maintenance chef. Still, free cooking lessons were free cooking lessons.

  I followed my nose to the enormous back kitchen. It was empty, which was rather unusual at this time of day. There ought to be assistant chefs, a sous-chef, prep workers, bustling around, preparing for the dinner rush.

  I heard raised voices and I followed the sound to a small office tucked away at the rear of the kitchen.

  "I insist you stop this now," Bianca hissed.

  "And I am telling you, I will not," Circe replied. "It seems as though we are at an impasse."

  "If Mrs. Wilder finds out—" But whatever else Bianca was going to say stopped when she caught sight of me.

  "Daisy," she said. "What are you doing here?" Not exactly the warm welcome I'd hoped for.

  "The letter," I explained. I was sure I wasn't imagining it; a strange look passed between Circe and Bianca.

  "What letter?" Circe said sharply.

  "The contest," I clarified. "Cooking lessons."

  "Oh, yes, that," Circe said. She didn't sound exactly enthused. In fact, she sounded relieved.

  "I was dying to tell you that you had won the cooking lessons last time you were here," Bianca said.

  I glanced at Circe's desk, curious to see if she had already started working on the cookbook she'd mentioned. I would have loved to see a new recipe, but all I saw was one of those heavy-looking expensive pens. This one was black with silver initials, engraved B and M, along the widest part.

  Circe caught me looking at it. "Nice, isn't it?" she said. "I handwrite the menus every day. This is my favorite pen."

  "You handwrite the menus?" I said, imagining all the work that that must entail.

  "Just the specialty list," she said. "I think it adds an elegant touch."

  I surveyed the rest of her office, awed in spite of myself. There were photos hanging of her with the mayor of New York, the governor of California, and even Bono. I also saw a heavily embossed envelope with a red wax seal. It looked just like the one Wolfgang had. Why would Wolfgang and Circe get the same letter?

  "Now, about your cooking lessons..." Circe's voice interrupted my train of thought.

  Before we could start, however, a cold nose pressed into the back of my leg. A strange snuffling noise came from that general direction.

  I looked down. There was a pig in the kitchen. A large potbellied pig, with a cold snout and wiry hair sprouting on its head. It looked almost like it had a head of hair.

  "Bad baby," Circe cooed. "You scared our guest."

  The pig snorted. Big brown eyes looked up at me pleadingly.

  Circe's tone turned to ice. "How many times have I told you that you will behave in my kitchen? If you don't behave, I'm going to have to punish you."

  The words sent a shiver through the pig and then it turned and trotted off.

  "She seems to be well trained," I finally said.

  "He," Circe corrected me. "His name is Balthazar. Truffle-hunting pigs are usually female, but I have one of the few males."

  Circe stared after her pig for a long moment before she finally remembered I was still standing there.

  "Now then," she said. "Lets get started."

  We went over my experience and she seemed impressed that I'd been doing some of the cooking at Slim's. "Excellent," she said. "When would you like to start?"

  We worked out a schedule, and then she said, "You're sure your employer won't mind?"

  Without thinking, I replied, "Oh, no, it's been slow there."

  I didn't imagine Circe's look of satisfaction.

  Bianca frowned at her. I did, too. If Circe thought she'd get one more bit of information about Slim's from me, she was dead wrong.

  "I've got to go," I said. "But I'll be here on Saturday."

  The lessons were going to be twice a week, and I was wondering how I was going to be able to fit it into my already busy schedule.

  "I don't know how you do it," I said to Sam, once I'd rejoined her and the rest of the volunteers in the storage room.

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "I mean, you manage to do it all," I said. "Cheerleading, student council, working at the boutique, heading this committee..."

  She leaned in. "I'll tell you my secret," she said, pausing dramatically.

  "I'm listening."

  "There are really two of me," she said.

  "Not even funny," I said. And it wasn't. Nightshade had had an influx of doppelgangers not that long ago, and it hadn't been a pleasant experience.

  Her grin faded. "Daisy, I'm so sorry!" she said. "I completely forgot."

  I smiled at her reassuringly. "Maybe that's a good thing," I replied.

  I waved to Lilah Porter, who was working on a mural. I went over to check it out.

  "This is amazing," I said
to her. It was a fantastic ocean scene of Nightshade, complete with sailors, mythical beasts, and singing mermaids.

  "Thanks," she said. "It's for the ballroom. What are you working on?"

  "I'm afraid I don't have your talent," I said. "Strictly coloring in the lines." I held up a half-finished papier-mâché bat.

  "How many of these things did you say we needed?" I asked Sam.

  "I didn't," she said."I was afraid it would freak you out. We still have to make papier-mâché pumpkins and cats."

  I sighed. It was going to be a long night.

  Eventually, people started to leave. I yawned and stretched. It was getting late and I had glue in my hair and black paint all over my hands. I wanted some food and a shower, in that order.

  Sam, Jordan, Rachel, and I were the only people left when a strange rustling noise was heard coming from the other end of the room.

  "Do you think it's a rat?" Rachel asked.

  "Let's take a look," Jordan said.

  "I'll pass on the bubonic plague," Samantha drawled. I stayed with her, just to keep her company, of course.

  When Rachel and Jordan went to investigate, Jordan accidentally knocked something over. It was the painting I had noticed the first day I went to the room. It had been propped in the corner, turned away from view. We gasped as it clattered to the ground, but it landed face-up. She turned it over and examined it. "It's okay," she said with relief.

  "Bianca told us to stay away from that stuff," Samantha warned, but they ignored her.

  "What is that?" Rachel said.

  "It's a painting of a young woman," Jordan said. "She's beautiful."

  Sam and I looked at each other and then trooped over to take a look. We couldn't help it.

  She was beautiful, but there was something spooky about her. Her long dark hair was parted in the middle and swept up into a bun and a locket hung around her neck. There was a faint frown on her face. On the back, in faded handwriting, there was one word. Lily.

  The rustling came again and we all jumped. "What was that?" Samantha said.

  "Maybe it's a mouse," I said, but I was getting a strange vibe. I felt someone was listening in on our conversation.