A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn

by Patrice Greenwood

  “Um, it’s sort of a long story,” Kris said. “Don’t worry, I didn’t do anything horrible. I’ll pay you right back, I’ve got the money.”

  “How much do you need?”

  “Two hundred fifty dollars. They'll want cash.”

  My heart was beating fast. I pressed a hand to one throbbing temple. “OK. All right. I’ll be right there.”

  “Thanks, Ellen. I’m really sorry about this.”

  “We’ll talk about it when I get there.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  I slid my phone back into my purse. The panic was ebbing, but I still felt anxious to get to Kris as fast as I could. Poor thing, locked up in jail with all the Saturday night drunks and hookers! I had to get her out of there.

  “Tony, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to take me home.”

  He turned around, looking apprehensive. “Problem?”

  “Yes. My manager’s in jail.” His expression registered in my brain and I had a sudden awful thought. “You wouldn’t happen to know why?”

  He winced. “I might have a guess.”

  My chest filled with anger. “Tony Aragón! This is your doing!”

  “No, it isn’t, I swear! Honest, all I did was pass a tip on to the Party Patrol.”

  “Party Patrol? What tip?!”

  He hunched up his shoulders. “Um. A tip that there might be an absinthe party in town this weekend.”

  “Absinthe?!”

  “It’s popular with the Goths.”

  “So what? Didn't they legalize it a few years back?”

  “Yeah. But those Goths, they like experimenting. Sometimes with drugs.”

  “I don't believe it! Kris would not mess around with illegal substances.”

  “Sometimes it's not technically illegal. Designer stuff, just different enough chemically to be considered a different thing. They can be dangerous, though.”

  I must have looked unimpressed. He ran a hand through his hair.

  “Look, we’ve had some problems with the Goth kids in town lately. They like to throw these absinthe parties—big parties, sometimes with minors involved.”

  A gust of wind blew my hair across my face. I pushed it back.

  “And what made you think there was an absinthe party this weekend?” I demanded.

  Tony sighed. “I recognized the shipping label on that box your manager had. It’s a company in Europe that sells absinthe. I didn’t name names, I swear to God!”

  “But the Goth community in Santa Fe can’t be that big. Tony, you knew you could get Kris arrested!”

  “Well....”

  I stared at him, breathing hard. “Take me home. Now.”

  “Or, um, I could drive you to the station.”

  I said nothing, just stood glaring. He couldn’t have considered what it might be like to have me and Kris in his car under these circumstances.

  “You’re right,” he said after a moment. “I’ll take you home.”

  He unlocked the car and got in. I pressed my fingers to my eyes before getting in myself. I was so angry I was ready to cry, but I was not going to do it in front of Tony.

  I opened the car door.

  “The door is ajar,” said the car.

  I got in and slammed it shut.

  “Please fasten your seat belt,” said the car.

  “Shut up,” Tony muttered.

  I fastened my belt and locked my door. I couldn’t bring myself to look at Tony or to speak to him, so I stared straight ahead with my arms crossed.

  He drove sedately back to the tearoom. I fumed the whole way. We didn’t speak until he had pulled up at the front gate.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” Tony said. “I wasn’t trying to get your manager in trouble.”

  “You could have turned a blind eye.”

  “Not and remained honorable,” he said softly.

  I looked at him, still angry but I knew he was right. He’d been doing his duty as an officer of the law.

  I couldn’t deal with my mixed feelings right then. I collected my purse and unbuckled my seat belt.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening,” I said coldly.

  “Please fasten your seat belt,” said the car.

  “Are you irreconcilably angry with me?” Tony asked.

  “At the moment, yes, I am. Ask me again tomorrow.” I got out of the car and stood staring at Tony.

  “The door is ajar,” said the car.

  “Shut up!” we both shouted.

  Tony looked at me with apologetic eyes. I pushed the door closed with careful restraint, then turned and went through the gate without looking back.

  I hurried up the path to the tearoom and let myself in the front door. Didn’t turn on a light, just ran up the stairs in the dimness. Didn’t listen for the sound of Tony driving away.

  At the top of the stairs I paused and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm down. My better judgment had begun to look at the situation, and I realized that Tony had actually exercised restraint. Kris had been pretty smart-mouthed with him about her package. Cops didn't take kindly to that.

  Some of my anger began to shift to Kris. What the hell had she been thinking? She'd practically dared him to get a warrant! Of course he'd been suspicious!

  Soft music began to play through the house speakers downstairs, sending soothing strains of harp floating up to me. Captain Dusenberry—or old wiring—had turned on the stereo.

  I closed my eyes briefly, then went into Kris’s office and flicked the light switch. The stained glass chandelier cast a pool of warm light onto her desk and a darker, jeweled glow onto her print of Millais’s “Ophelia” on the opposite wall.

  Repressing an urge to join Ophelia in her watery solace, I went to Kris’s desk, wincing as the floor creaked beneath my step. I unlocked the desk drawer and took out the bank bag with the day’s receipts from the tearoom. I extracted two hundred fifty dollars, replaced it with a note saying “IOU $250, ER,” and locked the bag in the drawer again.

  Stuffing the money in my purse, I hurried back downstairs and out the back door. Dining parlor light glowed softly on the portal. I jumped into my car and drove to the police station, clenching my teeth and strictly observing the speed limits.

  It took over an hour to arrange for a bond. Finally Kris was released to my custody. She came out wearing a black dress of multiple layers of shredded gauze, Queen-of-Sheba makeup that was somewhat smeared, and a look of chagrin.

  “Thanks, Ellen. I really appreciate this.”

  “Yes, well, we’ll discuss it elsewhere. Thank you, officer,” I said to the desk sergeant.

  He handed Kris a lumpy manila envelope with her name scrawled on it in magic marker. Kris peered into it, then meekly followed me out of the station.

  I unlocked the car and got in, but before starting the engine I turned to look at Kris. “Do you want me to take you to your car, or do you want to come have a cup of tea and talk about this?”

  “It’s up to you,” she said humbly.

  “I think the sooner we sort it out the better we’ll both sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  I drove back to the tearoom and parked by the back door. The lights were still on and the music still playing.

  While Kris made a beeline for the restroom, I went into the butler’s pantry and started a pot of Assam tea—warm and toasty, comforting like a mother’s hug. I raided the staff shelf in the fridge for leftover cucumber sandwiches, tiny fudge-frosted brownies, and a couple of scones. I warmed the scones in the microwave, carried the food into the dining parlor along with china and accoutrements for two, then fetched the tea from the pantry.

  Kris joined me in the dining parlor, having spent the time tidying her appearance. Her hair was combed, and she’d scaled back the makeup to something more like her workday look. The Morticia dress and knee-high lace-up boots couldn’t be helped, and I deigned to overlook them. I poured tea for us both.

  “You’re really angry, aren’t you?” Kris as
ked as I handed her a cup.

  I pushed the sugar bowl toward her and poured milk into my own cup. “What makes you think that?”

  “You’re acting like Miss Manners Supreme,” she said, picking up the sugar tongs.

  I stirred my tea. “Well, yes. I’m angry. What on earth were you thinking?”

  “I’m sorry. It was supposed to be a private party.”

  “But it turned out to be more?”

  Her face took on a look of frustrated annoyance. “Somebody passed the word around, and a lot of people who weren't originally invited showed up, including some younger kids. Underage.”

  I held back my bristling temper, strictly controlling my voice. “And yet you stayed? It didn't occur to you to leave a party where minors were consuming alcohol and God knows what else?”

  “I ... no. I didn’t think of that. Ellen, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry!”

  She sounded genuinely contrite. My indignation melted. I took a sip of my tea and set the cup down again.

  “Apology accepted.”

  I moved the food plate between us. We both reached for the brownies. Chocolate seemed necessary at the moment.

  After consuming a cocoa-based sugar-bomb and washing it down with tea, I was fortified to continue. I warmed up both our cups and picked up a cucumber sandwich.

  “Were there illegal substances at that party?”

  “I don't know. Like I said, a lot of strangers showed up. The people I hang with aren’t into mushrooms or any of that crap.”

  “Just wormwood. It’s poisonous, isn’t it?”

  Her lips flattened into a line. “Wormwood is. Absinthe isn’t.”

  “I thought it could cause hallucinations.”

  “That attitude is so nineteenth-century!”

  “It isn’t attitude,” I said quietly. “It’s concern.”

  “Well, it’s based on misinformation! Absinthe isn’t dangerous if it’s made properly. It’s just a liqueur.”

  I examined my sandwich, choosing where to take the first bite. “What exactly were you charged with?”

  “Interfering with police.”

  I looked up at her in surprise.

  “They were going after Clarice, who was hosting the party. It wasn't her fault that those kids showed up, so I told them to leave her alone!”

  “It's really not a good idea to talk back to police officers.”

  “Now you sound like my mother!”

  The ultimate insult. I winced, then lowered the sandwich.

  “I'm just worried, Kris. I don’t want to see you in serious trouble.”

  She glowered. “Or what? Gonna fire me?”

  “I hope not. You’re an absolute gem, and I’d hate to have to do without you. That’s why I’m concerned. That and the fact that I like you.”

  She glanced away, reached for a scone and chopped it open, then gooped lemon curd onto half of it. I took a bite of my sandwich and watched her eat, hoping she’d simmer down enough to listen to me.

  She was only three or four years younger than I. It wasn’t as though I couldn’t understand her situation.

  I felt a wave of loneliness, much as I had frequently felt in high school. I'd always been somewhat out of step, even with my own class. Never mind popularity; I'd had trouble fitting in with the band and orchestra geeks. That awkwardness hit me again now as I watched Kris, who was so grounded in her chosen community.

  Not a path I would have chosen myself, but I could see why she had gone Goth. There was a certain temptation to toying with darkness.

  “I dyed my hair black, once,” I said. “In mid-school.”

  That made her look up. She stared for a few seconds, then shook her head. “Sorry, I can't picture you in black.”

  “You're right. It's not a good color for me. My mother didn't think so either.”

  “Did she chew you out?”

  “No, she took it in stride. Even offered to spring for a trip to the salon to undo it, but of course, that would have meant admitting it was a mistake, so I said no.”

  “She sounds like a great mom.”

  “She was. I miss her.”

  Kris looked down at her teacup. For a second I thought she would say something, then her face hardened.

  I wondered why she’d chosen to come to Santa Fe, away from her family. Youthful rebellion? Something a little more permanent than that, I thought. There must have been some deep conflict with her parents, and I wished she would talk about it, but she had never opened up to me about her past. All I knew was that she had moved here, far away from her home, and changed her name.

  “Kris, has something else been bothering you? Forgive me, but you seem kind of tense lately.”

  She pressed her lips together, then sighed. “This isn't the first time kids have shown up at one of our parties.”

  “Oh.”

  “And yes, I'm well aware that it's breaking the law. I don't know who's passing the word. I wish they'd stop.”

  “Sounds like it's time to have a talk with your friends.”

  “Or find new ones.” Her voice was sullen and she frowned as she stuffed the rest of her scone into her mouth and chomped.

  “Well, you are having that dinner party here,” I said. “There shouldn't be any uninvited guests at that. Maybe it would be an opportunity to discuss the problem.”

  She nodded, looking thoughtful. “Yeah. You're right, I have to say something.”

  “Not fun, but easier than finding a whole new set of friends.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “Thanks, Ellen.”

  “Sure. May I ask a favor in return?”

  She gave me a wary look. “OK.”

  “No absinthe at the dinner party. Our beer and wine license won't cover it. Assuming we get the license by then...”

  “It's legal if we brown-bag it.”

  “Please, Kris.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “OK.”

  “Thank you.”

  She picked up her teacup, took a swallow, and cradled the cup in her hands. “They took my fingerprints and everything. I have an arrest record now.”

  “Well, maybe you won't have a conviction.”

  “Hope not.” She took another sip of tea, then put down the cup and finished her scone. “I’ll pay you back the bond money.”

  “Thank you. Monday morning would be good, if you can manage it.”

  “I can get it tonight, if you want.”

  “No need. Monday’s soon enough.”

  “Sorry I had to impose on you.”

  “It’s all right. Of course, I’m legally obligated to nag you to go to your court hearing.”

  She smiled weakly at the joke, then gazed at the table between us, blinking. “I guess I’m ready to go get my car. I can call a cab—”

  “No, don’t be silly. I’ll drive you.”

  She collected her purse and the manila envelope from the sideboard. The latter gave a metallic chink as she picked it up. Jewelry, I supposed.

  We went back out to the car, and Kris directed me to an older neighborhood on the west side of town. I had pictured the Goth party in one of the Victorians, but those were all downtown and hideously expensive, not the sort of place most Goth kids could afford. I could barely afford it myself, and that was with sinking all my inheritance into it.

  The house we stopped at was a cheap cinder-block Pueblo style that was stuccoed, as near as I could tell in the dark, a sickly mint green. I pulled up behind Kris’s car—a black Scion—at the curb out in front. There were no lights on in the house, nor any illumination on the porch.

  “Did the others all get bailed out?” I asked.

  “Yeah. They called their families.”

  I felt a pang of worry but refrained from telling her to be careful or saying anything else mom-like. Despite the evening’s events, Kris wasn’t stupid.

  “I’ll see you on Monday, then,” I said.

  “Yeah.” Kris opened her door and slid out of the car, then bent down to look at me. “T
hanks again, Ellen.”

  “You’re welcome. Take care.”

  She nodded, smiled crookedly, and walked to her own car. I waited just in case she had trouble with it, but it started smoothly and glided away down the street, tires intact and lights all lighting as they should.

  I looked at the dashboard clock. Eleven-thirty. Felt more like three a.m.

  I drove back to the tearoom, wondering whether to take a hot bath or just collapse. I slowed as I drove up the alley to the back of the house. Something was bothering me, but I didn’t figure it out until I turned off the car and the headlights.

  Once again, the tearoom was dark. I rolled down my window and listened a little to see if Captain Dusenberry had also turned off the stereo.

  No music, but I heard rustling and the sound of smothered laughter.

  14

  I sat wondering if I should call the police. If, as I suspected, the Goth kids were back under my lilacs, I could legitimately complain about trespass.

  I didn’t want to be a boring establishment spoilsport—I’d already been that tonight and it wasn’t fun—but the thought that they might be imbibing absinthe and who knew what else beneath my lilacs decided me. I took out the flashlight again and quietly got out of my car.

  Silence. I stepped up onto the portal as if to open the back door, but instead turned to my right and aimed the flash at the bushes.

  Three startled faces turned toward me, pale in the harsh light. The next instant they scrambled away, toward the street again. I followed and saw the last one jump the fence and run off uphill. Returning, I shone my light under the bushes and noticed a fleck of white.

  I stepped closer and peered at the ground where the kids had been sitting. The white was the tiny stub-end of a roach. A hint of pot smoke lingered in the air.

  I looked all around the area but didn’t see anything else. Leaving the roach where it was, I called the police department’s non-emergency number to report the trespass and request a patrol for the following night.

  “Do you want us to send someone now?” asked the dispatcher who answered my call.

  “Only if they want to pick up this roach. I doubt the kids will be back tonight.”

  “We’ll assign a patrol for tomorrow. What’s the address?”

  I gave it, thanked the dispatcher, and hung up. Put away the flashlight and as I set foot on the portal again, the dining parlor lights came on.