“Estella, I would be honored if you would join me for tea some time. May I give you my card? You can let me know when would be a good time for you, if you decide you'd like to come.”
She looked surprised as she accepted my card. “That's really nice of you.”
“I'd like to get better acquainted with you, if that's all right with you. When you feel up to it—there's no hurry.”
“Thanks.” Estella coughed and sniffed, then said, “I gotta go.” She started to leave, then turned back and gestured awkwardly toward the vases. “Thank you for bringing those,” she added in a shaky voice.
I smiled again and nodded. She turned and walked briskly away.
I stayed a moment longer, gazing down at the little memorial, where the candle now shone out brightly in the deepening night. I wondered how often Rose Guild members came through the park. Would they see the vases and the candle, tomorrow, perhaps?
Turning away, I went to my car and drove home, thinking ahead to Tuesday. The tearoom would be open for business, the start of another work week. I’d have to make a follow-up call to the dairy about the cream, and I needed to put that quote together for Joan. Of course, the Rose Guild’s plans might be changing—I’d have to wait and see.
The strange car was gone from behind the kitchen, and the lights were out. I parked in my usual spot and cast a glance toward the lilacs as I got out of the car. The garden was blessedly free of Goths. Thinking a silent thank-you to Ramon, I let myself into the house and went upstairs.
A light was on in my office. I paused, wondering if Captain Dusenberry was expanding his repertoire, then stepped in.
The light was my stained glass desk lamp, and it had been moved to illuminate a small dessert plate that sat in the center of my desk. I went around to sit in the desk chair, and saw that the plate held a perfect round of what looked like chocolate cake, one inch across and half an inch high, topped with a single fresh raspberry. In front of it sat a small envelope with my name on it in Julio's handwriting.
Dreading that it might be a letter of resignation, I opened the note.
Ellen -
This is from Adam. I brought him over to use the kitchen, but also because we needed to talk, not at home.
He got laid off and he's thinking about moving to California. I don't want him to go. If you gave him the assistant job it would give him some time to think about whether he really wants to leave.
My grandmother didn't approve of Adam. I think she really hated him, actually. So I hadn't seen her much in the last year or so. It's hard when you disagree with someone you love.
Anyway, thanks for understanding.
Julio
I laid the note on the desk. I was glad to know what was bothering Julio, but it raised a tricky question. Giving Adam a job would be kind, but it might also cause friction between him and Julio. How close were they? Maria's disapproval seemed to imply they were more than just roommates.
It was none of my business, of course. What Julio did on his own time was his concern. I just knew that mixing work and social life was rarely a good idea. I would have to talk with him, I suspected. A conversation that would probably be uncomfortable.
I picked up the confection and took a bite, then closed my eyes. What had looked like a simple chocolate cake was a torte, almost brownie-like, chewy with a hint of something herbal that I couldn't pinpoint. I had taken the topping for icing but it was ganache, creamy and rich with dark, dark chocolate. It set it off the torte perfectly, and the raspberry added a bright tang to the flavors.
This was not just a sweet, it was a work of art, as complex as a fine wine. Exactly the sort of thing I wanted for the tearoom.
OK, so Adam was a strong candidate. I still wanted to talk to Julio about whether they could work together without stressing their friendship.
I finished the torte and longed for another. I tucked Julio's note back into its envelope, then got up and carried the dessert plate with me out of the office
The candlesticks standing outside my suite caught me off guard. I stood gazing at them, then decided I didn’t like them there. They didn’t belong out in the hallway. They belonged in the suite, with my brocades and tasseled cords and the rest of my Renaissance decor.
Sighing, I let myself in, put the plate in the kitchenette, then went back and got one of the candlesticks and brought it into the suite. I looked all around the living room and kitchenette, but I’d tried every possible space there. They'd look ridiculous in the tiny bathroom. Turning to my right, I carried the candlestick into my bedroom.
My bed, a queen-sized canopy tricked out in rich brocades, is backed into a corner at an angle beneath the sloping roof. The flanking nightstands leave triangular spaces between the bed and the walls. I put the candlestick into one and set the candle on top, then fetched the other candlestick from the hall. Stepping back toward the chimney, I took in the effect.
They were perfect. Just the extra touch needed to make the bed look really luxurious. They were far enough from the canopy not to be a fire hazard, and out of traffic areas so they couldn’t be knocked down or brushed against.
Maybe I’d known all along this was where they belonged. I just hadn’t been ready to admit it.
I lit the candles and stood back. My bed glowed like a shrine. I smiled, wondering if that made me the offering. Then I blushed, and hastened to blow out the candles.
28
The next two days were a blur of activity. Rosa did not come in to work, by which I inferred that her family had been notified of Cora's arrest. Julio came in, worked silently and with frightening efficiency, and left early. I filled in for both of them as best I could, grateful that it was the slowest part of the week.
Slow is a relative term, however; Santa Fe's tourist season was in full swing and the tearoom saw a steady flow of new visitors. I divided my time between the kitchen, the butler's pantry, and the gift shop, with occasional forays upstairs to deal with the few business matters Kris couldn't resolve on her own.
By Wednesday afternoon, I was thinking longingly of margaritas and Ten Thousand Waves. I had just put a tray of frozen scones in the oven for the four o'clock seating, when the phone in the pantry rang.
“Ellen?” Kris said when I picked up. “There's a call for you on line two. Can you take it?”
“Let me get to the gift shop,” I said, setting a timer for the scones.
Dee came in carrying an empty three-tiered food tray. She assured me she could handle the seated customers and wouldn't let the scones burn, and shooed me out of the pantry.
I walked forward to the gift shop, rang up a purchase for a young couple who were so plainly newly in love that I felt like showering them with rose petals, then picked up the waiting call.
“Ellen, it's Joan Timothy. I got your email with the quote for our annual event.”
“Oh, yes. I'll understand if your plans have changed—”
“No, no. We're definitely coming! The menu is just what we were hoping for.”
I thanked her and wrote down the date and her estimate of attendance. We would definitely have to put tables on the portal. We discussed a few more details, then fell into a brief silence.
I gazed out the window at the wisterias and cleared my throat. “You've—heard about Cora Young?”
“Oh, yes. We're having a special election to replace her,” Joan said, a steely edge creeping into her voice. “Lucy Kingston, too—she's resigned.”
“I'm so sorry.”
“Don't be. I'm not. We'll be better off without them.”
I couldn't help thinking that was true. I was searching for a tactful way to say so when my attention was distracted by the sight of the Bird Woman—wearing a red dress and long-fringed paisley shawl, with a turquoise scarf wrapped around her head—coming up the steps to the portal with Willow Lane. They were followed by a small troupe of elderly ladies in sun hats and shades.
“And I'd like to make a reservation for four next week,” Joan said
. “I'll be bringing our new officers to tea.”
“Oh, yes! Just a moment.” I glanced down at the reservation list, saw Mrs. Olavssen's name down for the dining parlor at four o'clock, and swallowed. I turned to the calendar and recorded Joan's request, by which time the ladies were out of my sight. I heard the tinkle of the bells on the front door.
“We'll send you an email to confirm,” I told Joan. “Thanks so much.”
After a hasty farewell, I stepped out into the hallway. The Bird Woman was halfway down it already, fringe dragging on the floor as she led her friends to the dining parlor. I hurried after them, catching up as they entered the parlor.
“So here's the Murder Room,” the Bird Woman announced, accompanied by a jingling sound, “and Willow's going to tell us all about the murder that happened here. Both murders,” she added, moving around to the far end of the table.
Willow took off her black straw hat and cast me an apologetic glance. I knew full well that this must be the Bird Woman's idea, not hers.
“May I take that for you?” I said.
“Thank you.”
I took Willow's hat out to the hall and hung it on the coat rack, then escaped into the butler's pantry. Dee looked up from arranging sandwiches on a tiered food tray.
“Want me to serve them?” she asked, nodding toward the parlor.
I sighed with relief. “If you don't mind. I'll check on the other guests.”
Dee dimpled. “I think she's kind of fun, but I know she gets on your nerves. This goes to Hyacinth,” she said, handing me a cozy-covered teapot.
I spent the next hour in and out of the front parlors, the gift shop, the kitchen—anywhere but the dining parlor. Occasionally I heard the Bird Woman's stentorian tones, or Willow's lighter voice, drifting down the hallway. As six o'clock approached, I decided to ask Dee and Iz to handle closing the tearoom so I could prepare for the lecture that evening. I was just coming out of the pantry to look for Dee when the Bird Woman stepped out of the parlor. She raised her hands, and I realized the slight jingling I'd been hearing came from the large number of bangle bracelets she was wearing.
“There you are! I was afraid you weren't coming back!”
“We're a bit short-handed—”
She leaned toward me and lowered her voice slightly. “Thought I'd drum up some extra business for you. Willow told me about your tour package. I think I can get you a group from the Seniors Club every other week at least.”
“How kind of you,” I said, swallowing my pride.
“Anyway, I promised the girls they could meet you. Don't worry, it won't take a minute.”
Resigning myself to fate, I followed her into the dining parlor, where her friends were happily chattering over the remains of their tea. They looked up at my entrance.
“This here's Ellen Rosings, the Mistress of the Tearoom,” the Bird Woman said with a flourish and a jingle.
“Proprietress,” I murmured, smiling. “I hope you all have enjoyed your tea.”
They nodded and made affirmative noises. I backed toward the door.
“Oh, and before you go,” the Bird Woman said, “we need a Ouija board. Do you have one?”
“I'm afraid not,” I said faintly.
“Well, make sure you get one before the next tour. We're gonna need it to talk to Captain Dusenberry.”
29
“It was interesting,” Gina said, holding out her wineglass to be refilled, “but this one wasn’t half as cool as the one about complex adaptive systems.”
Tony, who was nearest the bottle, picked it up and poured. I watched his face, looking for a sign of approval or disapproval of the evening’s entertainment, but he had on his neutral expression. I’d been wondering all night what was on his mind, and what had happened with Cora Young, but so far I hadn’t had a chance to ask.
We’d rehashed the lecture over dinner, as Gina and I usually do. Alan, who was blond and wore an expression of indomitable optimism, had loved it. I suspected he would love anything Gina told him to love—he certainly seemed besotted with her.
Tony’s comments had been more reserved, and I couldn’t tell if he’d enjoyed himself or was just being polite. He had, however, given his complete attention to the lecture, which I thought indicated a genuine interest. It had been a good talk, though I agreed with Gina that I’d heard better.
“I thought it was great,” Alan said for perhaps the third time. “That stuff about single-celled animals. That was really interesting!”
“Glad you liked it.” Gina grinned, took a sip of her wine, and leaned over to kiss Alan’s cheek. “Let’s plan on going to next month’s. All of us,” she said, raising her glass toward me and Tony.
“What’s the topic?” Tony asked.
Gina looked at me. I shrugged.
“I’ll have to look it up. It’s on their website.”
“Well, let us all know the date so we can save it,” Gina said.
I nodded, though I knew Tony couldn’t commit absolutely, even if he wanted to. He could be called away to a crime scene at any time.
I also wasn’t counting on Alan. He and Gina seemed pretty cozy now, but I knew that could also change in an instant. I hoped it wouldn’t. He was nice, and I liked him better than I liked a lot of Gina’s boyfriends. It would be more comfortable all around if he lasted a while.
We drifted to other topics as we polished off the last of the wine. The lighting at Pranzo was soft and warm. Tony's dark eyes reflected glints of candlelight. He'd worn a nice shirt and a silk tie, and looked rather splendid.
It was getting late, and no one wanted dessert. I was stifling yawns already; the last two days of frantic activity were catching up with me. Gina drove me and Tony back to my place and we all said goodbye, yes we must do it again, nice to meet you.
Tony walked me to the front door, through the garden rich with the scent of roses. I glanced at him sidelong as I took out my keys, still trying to figure out whether he’d enjoyed the evening, but I couldn't see his expression in the shade of the wisterias. I moved toward the door, into the glow of the porch lights flanking it.
“Nice dress,” Tony said.
“Thanks.”
“You really ought to go dancing in a dress like that.”
I glanced down, caught a fold of the violet fabric in my hand. “Is that an invitation?”
“Yeah. How about Saturday?”
My heart jumped. “Sounds fun. I’ll check my calendar and let you know.”
“Okay.”
He moved a step closer and I drew a sharp breath. “What happened with Cora Young?” I said, struck by a fit of chicken-heartedness.
Tony’s face sobered a little. “She’s going to be indicted. We got a warrant and searched her house. She had a jar of honey in her kitchen that matched the stuff on the rosebush she cut down. Minus the botulism, but the same honey.”
“And the botulism? Did you find the source?”
“The clinic where she volunteers had a case about two weeks ago. That’s where she got it. Someone there saw her slip a Petrie dish into her purse.”
“Oh, how awful! Even though I know how she hated Maria, I can’t believe she did it.”
“People do awful things.”
“Like cutting down perfectly good rosebushes.”
“Actually, she did that out of compassion. After we got her to confess, she told us she cut down the rose because she was worried someone else would infect themselves. I guess she’d tried to clean the stuff off—”
“Yes, I watched her do it, though I didn’t realize at the time that’s what was going on.”
“But she was worried she hadn’t gotten it all. And she hadn’t—there was enough left for us to identify.”
I shook my head, saddened. “So she cut the rose down out of concern for her fellow human beings.”
“Kind of ironic, since that’s what led to her being caught.”
I found the right key and unlocked the door. A yawn took me unawares and I
apologized.
“Working too hard?” Tony said.
“I'm a little short-handed. I've been helping downstairs.”
“Oh, yeah. When it rains it pours, eh?”
I shrugged, pushing open the door. “This is my career.”
“Tea is your career?”
“Not just tea. Tea in a beautiful, peaceful place.” I gestured toward the shadowed parlor. “Tea with dear friends, or with a good book, or with someone...”
My throat got tight, suddenly. I drew a sharp breath.
Tony nodded. “I get it. It's the atmosphere.”
“Yes, exactly.”
He stood watching me, and I couldn't decide whether to ask him in or not. If I did, would he expect me to take him upstairs? I wasn't ready for that, but I didn't want to completely discourage him.
“Well,” he said.
I swallowed. Tony moved to step closer.
The hall lights came on. Tony looked up sharply.
“It’s just Captain Dusenberry,” I said. “This is a new one, he hasn’t turned on the hall light before.”
He frowned. “You don't really believe this place is haunted, do you?”
“Honestly, at this point I'm not sure what to believe.”
Tony's eyes narrowed as he gazed down the hall. “Yeah. Want me to take a look around, just in case?”
“I don't think you'll find anything.”
He gave me a flat look—the cop stare.
“Sure, go ahead,” I said. Easier than arguing.
He stepped into the hall, moving slowly, listening. I followed, tiptoeing.
He edged his way up to the doorway of the main parlor, looking into it from the side. I couldn't help thinking of all the cop shows I'd seen on TV.
The stereo came on, cheerful strains of Mozart filling the tearoom.
“Crap,” Tony muttered. “Where are the controls?”
A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn Page 19
