“I won’t say a word.” She pretended to zip her lips and then sent a worried glance to the door leading to the alleyway. “We should have a séance, though. That might help.”
I blinked and let go of her hand. “A what?”
“To pick up the energies of what happened. It might give us a clue who is behind it. Bad events leave behind a residue, like scum in the bathtub.”
I shook my head in disbelief as I stood to go back to the kitchen. “I shouldn’t have even brought this up. I never learn.”
She stopped me, her dark eyes serious. I saw something else on her face as well. Fear. “You need to be careful. Don’t ignore the warning, Fiona. I sense something dark and dangerous in the cards tonight.”
“Got it.” I didn’t put a lot of stock in Madame Lucinda’s readings, but this week she’d frightened me more than I cared to admit.
Kate gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got to go. Mrs. Porter is waiting for me, and storms make her nervous.”
Mrs. Porter, Kate’s elderly roommate, was mentally alert but physically frail. Her daughters lived in the suburbs and hired Kate to stay with her, mostly for their own peace of mind. Although they wanted her to move in with them, she refused to leave her beautiful, stately home.
It worked out well for Kate. She lived rent-free in a giant house that was more like a mansion in what had once been the ritzy section of the South Side, and Mrs. Porter was able to feel independent for what remained of her life.
We served dessert and coffee for the tarot readings. I put out a tray of cookies and sliced up Mrs. Yoder’s lovely pies. My mom handled the rest, so I went upstairs to read a book and relax. The storm raged outside, but a sizable crowd had assembled for the reading. I turned on the light next to my bed and pulled a book off the shelf.
After about two minutes, I slammed the book shut. I couldn’t stop thinking about the stupid tarot cards, and Madame Lucinda’s words about Moses haunted me. I wanted to tell Matthew about it but had no way to contact him. My phone rang, and I grabbed it from my nightstand, hoping for a split second it was Matthew. It wasn’t. It was Scott, and the noises in the background told me he was in a bar. Again.
“Sweet Fiona. Lovely, lovely girl. I’m sorry I made you mad. Are we still taking a break?”
“Yes, we are, Scott.” I rolled my eyes. A drunk dial. Great. “Where are you?”
“At Zookie’s with Harrison. We’re celebrating. We got some good news at work today.” Someone yelled, and Scott laughed. “I’ve got to go. Harrison is making an ass of himself.”
“How unusual,” I muttered, but Scott didn’t hear me.
“I’ll be in meetings all day tomorrow, but I think we need to talk.”
“We’ve pretty much covered it, Scott . . .”
He interrupted me, slurring his words slightly. “I know my parents can be a little intimidating, but you’re always so beautiful. I love that about you.”
“Gee, thanks. What does that have to do with anything?”
“I wanted you to know. Consider what I said, okay? I think I figured out the problem, and you’ve got it all wrong. You’re uncomfortable because my parents have money, but they aren’t snobs. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
He hung up the phone, and I stared at it. Embarrassed?
Lightning struck again, and the room got dark. Thankfully, because of the candles filling the shop tonight, the people downstairs would be fine. I grabbed a candle from my nightstand and lit it. As soon as I did, the lights flickered back on, but I worried they could go out again. I carried the candle into the bathroom and ran a bath in our clawfoot tub.
I poured some fragrant bubble bath and slipped into the water. The candle smelled like vanilla. The bubble bath was lavender. Aromatherapy heaven, but I still couldn’t relax.
“Embarrassed?”
I let out a huff, getting even angrier the more I thought about it. Scott came from money and was proud it. But why should I be embarrassed? Mom was an independent businesswoman. She’d made a life for both of us from her little shop. I had no reason to feel ashamed.
I soaked in the tub until my fingers and toes pickled, but I still felt tense. I decided to slip downstairs and have a glass of wine, which would put me straight to sleep. I pulled on my pink robe and fluffy slippers, tucked my hair into a messy bun, and snuck down the back staircase into the kitchen, my cheeks still rosy from the bath.
One of the windows in the kitchen was open a crack, and the night air made me shiver. The storm had passed, but an occasional streak of lightning flashed in the distance.
I pulled my robe tightly around my body. The tarot reading continued, so no one would come into the kitchen anytime soon. I planned to pour myself a glass of red and scurry right back up to my bedroom.
Mom left a small light on over the stove. I walked over to the wine rack in the back corner of the kitchen and chose a nice pinot noir, humming “Red, Red Wine” as I checked the label.
A voice made me jump. “Drinking alone is the first sign of a problem.”
Matthew sat at the kitchen island, eating a whoopie pie. I clutched the robe closer to my chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Do you realize you ask me that a lot?”
“Answer my question, please.”
He grinned. “You’re so cute when you’re angry. Like a crazed . . . kitten or something.”
I tapped my foot on the linoleum floor, and he held up his hands in defeat. “Madame Lucinda asked me to come for a reading.”
I uncorked the wine and grabbed two glasses. “Did she tell you about a handsome stranger? Her usual line?”
“No,” said Matthew. He lifted his glass. “Cheers.”
I lifted mine and took a sip, sighing. “This is nice.”
Matthew looked at the label. “And expensive.”
“Mom has excellent taste in wine. And she gets a discount. She’s friends with the owner of the wine shop down the street.”
Matthew raised his glass again. “A good friend to have, indeed.”
I took another sip. “You were going to tell me what Madame Lucinda predicted for you.”
“No, I wasn’t.” Matthew’s eyes twinkled as he took another sip of wine.
I scowled at him. “No fun at all.”
He grinned. “Your mom told me there were some whoopie pies left and said I should grab one. So I did.” He handed me one.
“Mrs. Yoder is some kind of Amish whoopie pie genius,” I said, taking a bite.
He nodded. “Yes, she is. But these don’t compare to your cookies, Fiona.”
I shrugged. “Cookies are easy. Anyone can do it.”
He put his hand on mine. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re an amazing baker. A genius.”
When Moses said I had magic at my fingertips, it was one thing. He was an old and dear friend. When Matthew complimented me so sincerely, it was something else entirely. My cheeks flushed with pride as I pulled my hand away.
“Thanks, Matthew. But these whoopie pies pair very nicely with a good pinot noir.”
We sat at the island, chatting, drinking, and sharing the rest of the whoopie pies. I told him about the scrub brush and the black streaks on the floor, and he agreed with my conclusions.
“Did she know anything else?”
I shook my head. “No, and it surprises me. She has her finger on the pulse of this place. People tell her things. Secrets. If there were any rumors circulating, she would have been the first to know. I’m worried we might never find out the truth.”
Matthew covered my hand again with his, and this time I didn’t pull away. “But we’ll keep asking anyway,” he said.
“We will,” I said softly, not sure if there was any point. I understood why the police had such a resigned attitude toward cases like this. It would be a miracle if we uncovered anything.
It didn’t take long for me to feel a little buzzed. I’d only had a few glasses, but tonight it seemed to go straight to my head. I reached
for the bottle, nearly slipping off the stool, when Mom walked in.
“Fiona. I thought you went to bed.”
“I did. Or at least I tried to. But I couldn’t. I was restless. And irritated. Very irritated.”
“Are you drunk?” she asked with a little laugh.
Matthew looked at me in surprise. “You only had two glasses.”
“Big glasses. Full glasses. And wine affects me more than any other alcohol. I don’t know why. What can I say? I’m a cheap date.” I frowned. “Was our lunch at Wicked Wienies a date? I told Kate it wasn’t, but now I’m not sure.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “She hasn’t been herself lately. She’s upset about Moses.” She lowered her voice like I wouldn’t hear her from two feet away.
“Um, I can hear you,” I said in a stage whisper. “I’m not upset. Not anymore at least. Nurse Brenda said he’s doing better, and I’m feeling very not upset at all at the moment. About anything.”
I reached for the bottle, this time without falling off the stool, but Matthew took it from my hands and corked it. I frowned. “You’re mean, Matthew.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “Matthew, I have to take care of our customers. Would you mind escorting Fiona up to her room? I’m afraid she’ll fall down the stairs in this condition.”
Matthew stood up. “Should I make her drink some coffee first?”
“She needs to sleep. She hasn’t been getting enough the last few days.” She patted his arm. “Thank you, dear.”
He helped me off the stool and offered his arm. “Shall I escort you?”
“Oh, escorting. So formal,” I said with a little giggle as Matthew hooked his arm in mine.
“Lead on, m’lady.” His words made me laugh so hard I barely made it up the narrow staircase to my room.
“I love this staircase. It’s so twisty and winding and fun,” I said as Matthew half pushed me up.
“Yes. Lots of fun. Although they put these in originally for servants so they could run up and down without using the formal rooms in the front.”
I came to a dead stop and stared at him. “You’re smart.”
He laughed. “And you’re drunk.”
We finally made it to the door of my bedroom. I swayed slightly, and Matthew put his hands on my arms to steady me.
“Two glasses of wine. Hard to believe.”
“I know. The good news is I never get hungover.”
He raised a dark eyebrow at my comment. “You don’t drink enough to get hungover.”
I touched his eyebrow with my finger. “How do you do that? I can’t.” I tried to lift one eyebrow and failed miserably. “It makes you look even more like a sexy French pirate.”
“A sexy French pirate?” Matthew bit his lip.
Suddenly, I couldn’t tear my gaze away. His lips were beautiful. “I thought so since the first time I saw you.” I reached up to touch his face. “A very sexy, very naughty French pirate.”
Matthew took my hand and put it back down by my side. “Fiona . . .” he said, but I interrupted him by falling forward. I’m not sure if I did it on purpose or by accident, but it had the desired effect. He wrapped his arms around me, and I nuzzled his neck.
I sighed. “You even smell like a French pirate, like spices and soap and whoopie pies.”
“I don’t think French pirates bathed. They wouldn’t have smelled nice. You, on the other hand, smell heavenly. Like lavender.” He put his nose in my hair and inhaled. I snuggled closer, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“Heavenly,” I said, murmuring the words against his skin.
Matthew pushed me away, gently but firmly. “You’ve had too much to drink.”
I held up one finger and tried unsuccessfully to focus on it. “I only had one glass. Or maybe two.”
“One too many.”
I stuck out my lip in a pout. “Mean, mean Matthew.”
“Yes, I’m mean.” He led me to my bed, pulled down the covers, and helped me crawl inside. “And you’re drunk. If you were sober, I’d climb into bed with you.”
My eyes were half-closed, but I forced them open. “Would you? Truly?”
Matthew brushed a lock of hair off my face and gave me a lingering kiss on my forehead. “Yes, Fiona, I would,” he said softly.
“What a nice thing to say.” I squeezed his hand.
“You only think so because you’re three sheets to the wind at the moment. Any other time, you would yell at me.”
“Not true, and I’m not that drunk,” I said with a yawn.
Matthew chuckled and blew out the candle next to my bed. “Goodnight, Fiona. Sweet dreams.”
“Mean, mean Matthew,” I mumbled and closed my eyes.
Chapter Eleven
Nothing starts the day off better than
a leisurely breakfast with a special friend.
~Aunt Francesca~
The next morning, I woke up and made cream puffs, always a huge hit with the tea ladies, but my mind was not in its usual peaceful baking state. It churned, in fact. I’d embarrassed myself by getting tipsy at the tarot card reading and didn’t want to see Matthew tonight at acoustic night. I was unhappy with how things had gone with Scott, and part of me wished we could have a redo. Moses still hadn’t woken up, and I couldn’t get Simon the chocolate-loving Belgian out of my head. My father now had a name and a face and a dimple in his cheek. A lot to handle. Adding to that was the approaching deadline for the council meeting, looming like a dark, ominous cloud on the horizon. The fate of our café was in the hands of a bunch of strangers, and I was helpless to stop it, change it, or prevent it. It made me want to scream in frustration, but screaming wouldn’t help anything either.
I blew out a sigh, hoping to find something to distract me. It was still cool outside; the normal hot summer weather was supposed to resume tomorrow. Kneading a few loaves of bread would make me feel much better.
Mom had already made coffee and worked outside in the garden. Kate came in, a vision in tight black capris and a sheer-red silk blouse with a black lace bra underneath. Kate was always sexy and voluptuous, but she was not a morning person. She went straight for the coffee and sipped it while I started on the bread.
Mom, on the other hand, was a morning person. She blew into the kitchen, her arms full of fresh flowers. She put some in vases and arranged others in bouquets to sell.
“I never had the chance to ask you. How did thing go with Scott’s parents the other night?” she asked as she worked on the flowers. Kate, beginning to wake up, moved closer to help her.
I shrugged. “Okay.”
They exchanged a look. “What happened?” asked Kate.
Mom put a hand on my arm. “Were they mean to you?”
I shook my head. “They were nice and very, very . . . normal.”
Until I’d met the Lipmanns, Mom’s ability to cook, garden, and select the perfect wine for every meal didn’t seem like anything special. I’d been so used to it I’d never noticed or appreciated it before. Suddenly I saw her in a different light.
“What do you mean exactly?” Kate lifted her cat’s-eye sunglasses on to her forehead and stared at me. The Betty Boop tattoo on her chest, near the curve of her ample bosom, seemed to stare at me too.
I sighed, and the words came out in a rush. “Oh gosh. They were so boring. And I realized something that night. I’m a total snob.”
I told them about the awful wine and the weird food. I joked about Mr. Lipmann’s football obsession and Mrs. Lipmann’s obsession with Scott. My mom started to giggle, and it was contagious. Before long, we were all laughing.
Kate wiped away a tear. “As I have always told you, normal is overrated.”
“You were right, Kate.”
Kate was still giggling, but she’d given me something to think about as I kneaded my dough. Maybe normal wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
“Tell me more about them,” said Mom as she arranged flowers, another thing she did amazingly well.
“Mrs. Lipm
ann had only artificial flowers, most of them in colors never found in nature,” I said as I pounded the dough. “And Mr. Lipmann has a prostate problem. I got to hear all about it over dessert.”
Mom seemed very interested in her arrangement all of a sudden, probably to avoid looking at Kate. Kate stared at her nails, most likely to avoid making eye contact with Mom. It didn’t work. What started as a soft rumble of laughter between the three of us transformed quickly into huge, almost painful gasps. Soon, we laughed so hard Kate snorted, which made it even worse.
At that moment, Matthew walked in. I had flour on my cheeks, and tears poured down my face. I couldn’t stand up straight. I was bent over at this point, and my sides ached.
“Have you been drinking again?” he asked.
There was no hope for us after that. I ended up on the floor, curled in a ball, with my back against the island. Mom and Kate joined me. Matthew laughed, too, even though he no idea what was going on, and sat next to us on the floor. He had flour on his dark jeans and shirt, but he still looked incredibly hot. It took a while, but the laughing fit finally ended with a few final residual giggles. Kate had the hiccups.
“I needed that,” said Mom with a sigh. “Laughter truly is the best medicine.”
She helped Kate get up, and together they put the bouquets in buckets outside and in vases for the shop. I smiled at Matthew, and he wiped a bit of flour off my face. I’d thought things would be awkward between us, but they were fine.
He got to his feet and helped me up. “What are you making now, goddess?”
I blinked in surprise, and he pointed to my apron. It said “Domestic Goddess” in pink, glittery letters.
“I never check to see what these say. We had twenty-five in the sample box. I just grab the first clean one and use it.”
“Well, I’m glad the kitchen bitch isn’t here today. She scared me.”
I laughed. “She was pretty scary.” I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you here?”
The Enchanted Garden Cafe Page 10
