A Bodkin for the Bride

by Patrice Greenwood

  “Yes. Daniel believes you can help him.”

  “Help him what? Isn’t he finished with this world?”

  Concern darkened her eyes. “He should be, yes, But there’s something he hasn’t let go of. I’m afraid I don’t understand it myself. He’s quite focused on you.”

  Great. I poured myself more tea, and added a lump of sugar this time.

  Do me a favor, Daniel. If you have something to say, tell it to Willow. She’s listening.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back from Detective Aragón,” I said.

  Willow nodded. “Meanwhile, you might talk to Daniel before you go to sleep.”

  Are you kidding me?

  I managed not to say that aloud. Instead, I said, “Wouldn’t that make me more likely to dream about him?”

  “Actually, no. If he’s using dreams to communicate with you, then by telling him you haven’t forgotten when you go to bed, you might get him to leave you alone.”

  I took a scone and pulled it in half, then put curd and cream on one side. “Worth a try, I guess.”

  “You don’t like it, I know,” she said softly, “but it’s really an honor to be contacted by a spirit. It isn’t easy for them.”

  I had no answer for that, so I took a bite of my scone. It seemed easy enough for Captain Dusenberry, given how often he’d made his presence known. Maybe I’d taken that for granted.

  “What did you think of Mr. Quentin?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “I liked him. He seemed very respectful. I think he’ll do a good job.”

  “I hope these tours will be worth the effort.”

  “I think they will be. I’m already getting reservations. I took the liberty of posting the dates on my website.”

  “Have you? I’ll get you a copy of the ad I’ll be running.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you want candles? Just a couple, on the dining table?”

  “That would be nice.”

  We chatted a bit more, until the tea and the scones were gone. I offered to brew more tea, but Willow shook her head.

  “I’d better be going. This was lovely, thank you. What do I owe?”

  I shook my head. “It’s on the house. This was a consultation.”

  She gave me an amused smile, and I realized that could be taken more than one way.

  “About the tours,” I specified.

  “Of course. I’ll be in touch.”

  I saw her out, then returned to Violet to find Dee already clearing the dishes. She looked up. “Ellen?”

  I paused. Dee straightened, tea tray in hand, and pressed her lips together. Her expression was intent, made the more so by her black-framed glasses. “I just wanted to apologize. We shouldn’t have tried to scare you.”

  “Oh.” I waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, it was wrong. We were out of line. It was my idea, not Mick’s. He’s worried you’re mad.”

  “I’m not—hic—mad. I’m just a bit tired is all.” I smiled to reassure her, then went upstairs, collecting my coat from the hall.

  I emerged at the top of the stairs into a peaceful silence. Kris had gone home for the day, judging from the quiet and from the three message slips on my desk: one from Nat, one from a supplier, and one from Detective Walters. The latter made my stomach surge, even though the only message was a request that I call him back.

  I glanced at the clock, decided I was off work and wouldn’t see that message until the morning, and laid the empty bank bag on Kris’s desk. There was no message from Tony. I’d give him another day, and if I still didn’t hear from him I’d find a way to ask him about it on Saturday, when he brought his family to tea. My stomach gave a little nervous flutter at the thought.

  Remembering my promise to myself, I fetched my current book from my suite and retreated to the chaise longue by the nicely-baking chimney. I stayed there until 6:00, when I heard footsteps on the stairs.

  “Ellen?” Dee’s voice came through my open door. “We’re going.”

  I got up and went out to acknowledge her. She was standing at the top of the stairs, a long coat over her lavender dress, a scarf around her neck and a jaunty beret on her head.

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll walk down with you.”

  “I banked the fires and locked everything up,” she told me.

  I nodded, and continued down the stairs beside her. She’d mentioned her brother was worrying, and I wanted to set him at ease.

  Mick was waiting by the back door, a navy-colored hoodie covering his pale hair. He hastily pulled out his earbuds when he saw me.

  “Good night,” I told him, smiling. “See you both tomorrow.”

  An answering smile flicked across his face, though his eyes still watched me warily.

  “Night,” Dee said, fishing her keys out of her purse.

  I watched them away, then did my own final check. The kitchen was spotless; china not only clean but all put away. The parlors were tidy, ready for the morning. The fires in all the fireplaces—front and back of each chimney—were down to coals and were safely banked.

  The lights were on in the dining parlor. I turned them off and headed back upstairs. Before I was halfway up, the stereo came on.

  I paused, debating whether this was a major message or just a hello. The latter, I decided. It was a random track from the music that played during the day. I went back down and shut off the stereo.

  “Thank you,” I said aloud, “but I think I’d rather have quiet.”

  I waited, listening, but the music did not come back on. Apparently Captain Dusenberry understood.

  8

  After measuring exactly three eighths of a sleeping pill, and (feeling like an idiot) telling Daniel I hadn’t forgotten about the knife, I managed to get a fairly good night’s sleep. I still hiccuped. I still dreamed: disturbing dreams, but the kind one doesn’t remember, much less wake from with a scream.

  Midway through the morning I got a text from Tony:

  Check your email

  He had forwarded a copied-and-pasted section of the lab report on the knife. I puzzled over a list of chemical terms. Apparently meth wasn’t the only thing they’d found on the blade, but I might as well have tried to read Greek as to understand the results.

  Well, Latin.

  I tried searching on some of the terms. Methamphetamine hydrochloride...that would be the meth. Ferulic acid had something to do with plants. At pronyl-lysine, my eyes started to cross.

  Tony had carefully removed the description of the knife itself, except for the word “blade.” What was left was just a list of the components found on it. If I asked for help with the terms, I didn’t think that would be a violation of his confidence.

  I printed out the list and carried it downstairs. Rosa and Iz were in the pantry, their dark heads bent together as they talked. They both straightened when I came in, making me think of maids snapping to attention in some British drama. I coughed to hide a laugh.

  “Either of you study chemistry?” I asked.

  They both shook their heads. Iz was taking college courses, but from her expression I gathered she had some other major.

  I went through to the kitchen, where Mick was just firing up the dishwashing station to work on the day’s first round of china. He politely removed his earbuds when I went up to him, but denied any knowledge of chemistry.

  I turned to Julio and Ramon, who were working on savory pies. Julio shook his head without looking up from rolling the dough.

  “Just kitchen chemistry,” he said. “I can tell you about leavening agents.”

  “Pronyl-lysine?”

  “No way.”

  Ramon answered my look with a shrug. “He’s the smart one,” he said, nodding toward Julio. “I’m just a guitarist.”

  “You’re not ‘just’ a guitarist,” I said. “Music is one of the highest arts.”

  He gave me an appreciative grin. “Yeah, but it ain’t chemistry.” />
  Discouraged, I went back through the pantry and headed down the main hall to the gift shop. Dee was there, ringing up a sale for a customer. Nat stood at the podium, looking sharp in a rust-colored dress and a turquoise necklace.

  “Did you ta—hic—take chemistry in school?” I asked her quietly.

  “Not if I could help it.”

  “Hm.”

  I studied the list again. It still looked pretty meaningless to me.

  Dee’s customer concluded her purchase and walked past me on her way out, smiling. Dee sidled up to the podium and glanced at my list.

  “Oh—is that a chemical analysis?”

  “Yes,” I said, my heart giving a small hop of hope. “Can you understand it?”

  She took the page from my hand, frowning. “We had a little of this in my forensics class. Oh, that’s m—” She stopped herself, glanced toward the hall, and lowered her voice. “That’s meth!”

  “Do you know what any of the others are?” I asked.

  “Ferulic acid is plant-based.” She tilted her head, frowning at the words. “Hmm. Glutenin, starch—this sounds like food.”

  “Food?”

  Four ladies walked into the gift shop, laughing together. Dee handed me back the list and went to attend to them. I stuffed the page in my pocket, then headed upstairs.

  Food on the knife. Maybe Daniel had been using it to eat?

  And then to have some meth for dessert?

  My mind rejected that. I didn’t think Daniel was a drug user. My encounter with him had been brief, but he hadn’t given me that impression at all. Also, Iz had said he wasn’t into drugs.

  I looked in on Kris, who was on the phone. As I stepped back she picked up her empty teacup and gave me a hopeful smile. I took it from her, but the teapot on the credenza was empty.

  Downstairs again, to the pantry. I made a pot of Assam because it was fast-brewing, and hurried back up to give Kris her cuppa.

  She was off the phone. “Thanks,” she said, closing her eyes as she inhaled the steam gently rising from her cup. “Keemun?”

  “Assam.”

  “I knew it was one or the other.” She took a swallow. “I just got a quote on a 3-D printer.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  She handed me a slip of paper. I read the numbers and winced. “We can’t do it.”

  “Not this year.”

  “Well, I did tell Julio not to get his hopes up. I’ll ho—hic—hold onto this.” I started for my office, then remembered the analysis. “I don’t suppose you know chemistry?”

  Kris slowly shook her head, watching me with wide, dark eyes. I stifled a sigh and went back to my desk, collecting a cup of tea for myself along the way.

  There, on top of the stack of lavender slips, was the message from Detective Walters. I grimaced and took a swallow of tea. Decided it needed sugar and milk, if I was going to call the detective back. I picked up my cup and headed for the tea tray.

  I knew I was procrastinating. I stood by the credenza, stirring my modified tea and thinking. What could Walters want now?

  I went back and looked through the rest of the messages. Made a call to my doctor’s office requesting an appointment. The earliest they could see me was Wednesday.

  Remembering that it was Willow who had asked for more details about the knife, I forwarded the chemical analysis to her. Unless she had credentials I didn’t know about—or some kind of ghostly consultant—it wouldn’t mean much to her, either, but at least she’d know I’d kept my promise.

  Finally out of delaying tactics, I dialed Walters’s number. I silently cheered when I got his voicemail. Leaving a brief, polite message, I turned to the rest of my chores.

  The day went by swiftly, as Fridays tended to do at the tearoom. Better weather brought out more customers, and the weekends were always our busiest days. I spent the evening reading and went to bed early, hoping to be fresh for my tea with Tony and his family. With the aid of a partial pill I again slept well, although I did dream about giant pillars of striped turquoise, malachite, and sugilite.

  Saturday morning I woke to the smell of almond cake baking downstairs. A sense of peace and well-being filled me. I lay in bed drowsing, telling myself I’d get up in a couple of minutes, enjoying a last bit of laziness before facing the day. Maybe the piece of pill I’d taken was a little too large. Maybe I’d sleep another five minutes.

  I hiccuped, bursting the hope that I’d finally kicked the spasms. Sighing, I threw the covers aside and got up. A glance out the window showed me a sunny morning, but with puffs of cloud already gathering. By afternoon, it might rain.

  I breakfasted on berries and yogurt, and took a quick shower. Choosing a dress to wear, since I was having tea with Tony and his family, took longer than usual. Not too fancy—I didn’t want to appear to be flaunting my prosperity—but not too causal either. This was a formal first meeting, in a formal setting, and I wanted to pay due respect to Tony’s elders. I ended up choosing a pale green silk dress with a high neck, trimmed with narrow lace at the hem and cuffs. I piled my hair on top of my head, letting a couple of strategic wisps hang curling, and took extra care with my makeup.

  Before leaving my suite, I checked my phone. No messages, no texts. I texted Tony.

  Thank you for the report. Looking forward to this afternoon.

  Crossing the hall to my office, I waved good morning to Kris, who was on the phone. My desk was clear of message slips for the moment. I left my cell phone there and headed downstairs. The tearoom wouldn’t open for a couple of hours, but the day would be busy; about three quarters of our available seating was booked, and there were always walk-ins on Saturdays.

  Rosa had just arrived and was studying the reservations chart, loading a tray with china and silver and linens. I put a kettle on to boil, then looked in on the kitchen, where Julio was showing Ramon how to pipe buttercream icing wisteria blossoms—beautifully shaded from palest lavender to violet—onto dainty, iced petit fours. Ramon, frowning with concentration, spared me only a brief glance.

  “Morning, boss,” Julio said absently. I didn’t correct him; he was good about calling me Ellen rather than “boss” in public situations.

  “Good morning. Anything you n—hic—need for today?”

  “We’re good. Thanks.”

  “I, ah ... have some special guests today.”

  Julio shot me a sidelong glance. “The Aragóns? I might have something extra for them. I’m experimenting with a new sweet, a chocolate pot de crème in a meringue cup. You eat the custard, then eat the cup.”

  “Sounds like Willy Wonka. I thought pots de crème were baked in a water bath.”

  “Well, yeah. That part’s going to be different.”

  “Will they break?”

  “The meringue cups? I hope not. That’s why it’s an experiment.”

  “All right. I’ll just warn them. Thanks.”

  Returning to the pantry just as the kettle boiled, I started a pot of tea brewing, then walked down the hall to the main parlor where Rosa was setting up the alcoves for the first guests of the day. I glanced at the fresh flowers in every vase, and pulled one slightly faded bloom from a spray of alstroemeria in Lily. Rosa looked up at me from arranging a place setting and grinned.

  “Big day today,” she said.

  I smiled back, but didn’t comment. I didn’t want to betray how nervous I felt.

  Returning to the pantry, I retrieved my tea and headed upstairs. As I emerged into the hall, the back door opened and Dee and Mick came in.

  “Morning,” I said to them, smiling. “You’re early.”

  “Iz and I switched,” Dee said, pulling off her beret and gloves. “She had something to do this morning. Hope that’s OK.”

  Instantly I knew what the something was: Daniel Swazo’s funeral. I’d seen the notice and thought about going, but I didn’t actually know Daniel, and however sympathetic I might feel toward him, those who knew him might
not like to be around the person who found his body. A wave of sadness went through me.

  “That’s fine,” I said, and turned to the stairs.

  Kris was still on the phone. I poured tea for us both, then retreated to my desk.

  Poor Daniel. His bruised and swollen face, unrecognizable, brushed through my memory.

  I had a small candle holder on my desk, shaped like a water lily, just big enough for a tea light. I put a fresh candle in, lit it, and silently wished him peaceful rest.

  Willow’s words about Daniel came back to me. There was something he wanted to accomplish, something about his knife, and he wouldn’t rest until it was done. Had I done all I could in that direction? I hadn’t heard back from Willow about the report, but then I really hadn’t expected to. She might not be able to make any more of it than I could.

  Thinking about Daniel made me restless. Maybe I should go back to the flea market and see if anything there pointed me toward a knot I could unravel. I couldn’t go today; it would have to wait until tomorrow, Sunday, when the tearoom would be closed. Nat and I were planning to work on the dresses again, but I could go to the market before I went to her place.

  Sunday. One week after Daniel’s death. They said that if a killer wasn’t found in the first few days, the chances of finding him/her diminished.

  Had Daniel been murdered, though? Or was his death the result of a random fight that had nothing to do with his knife or the meth? Maybe it was just a tragic accidental death, caused by a blow that wasn’t meant to be fatal.

  But if that was so, why was I dreaming about Daniel and his knife?

  “Meditating?”

  I looked up from the candle at Kris, who stood in the doorway, her purple-and-black striped floor-length sundress a last farewell to summer. She’d be cold, later, if it rained.

  “Just musing,” I said. “Do you need me?”

  “Gina Fiorelli just sent me an email asking if we wanted to see designs for holiday ads.”

  I whispered an unladylike word. Gina’s company’s rates were higher than I could really afford, but the last time I’d hired somebody cheaper I hadn’t been happy with the results. I knew Gina would cut me a break, but I didn’t like taking advantage of our friendship that way.