A Fatal Twist of Lemon

by Patrice Greenwood

As I stepped into the hall to watch her run upstairs, I met several older ladies meandering there. They all wore nice print dresses, florals or geometrics. One petite, silver-haired lady wearing a beige cashmere cardigan like a cape over the shoulders of her green polka-dot dress came up to me, beaming.

  “Ms. Rosings, you have a lovely establishment!” she said.

  “Thank you! I’m so glad you like it.”

  “There’s just one thing,” the lady continued as her friends clustered around her. “We want to see the murder room.”

  9

  I was nonplussed, but managed to gather my wits. “I’m so sorry,” I said, “but that room is being kept closed for now.”

  “Oh,” said the small, elderly lady. She and her friends exchanged disappointed glances.

  “Out of respect for the deceased,” I added, glancing up the hall toward the front of the house. Several other guests, including a few of the goth-looking ones who were probably Kris’s friends, were idling about between the tea parlors.

  “I see,” said the lady, looking resigned.

  One of her companions, a thin, frail-looking woman with her gray hair up in an untidy bun and bright, bird-like eyes, stepped forward. “When do you think it will be open again, so we can see it?” she asked in a booming contralto.

  I swallowed. “Well, normally it’s available for parties of eight or more—”

  “Good! We can get eight together, don’t you think, Sarah?”

  Sarah tugged at her sweater to straighten it. “I guess so.”

  “How about next Friday? What do you think, girls?” The other elderly ladies nodded, and the bird lady turned to me, smiling brightly. “We’d like to reserve the murder room for afternoon tea next Friday,” she said.

  I winced inwardly, wishing she would lower her voice, but smiled and nodded. “All right. Let me make sure the dining parlor is available, and we’ll put you down for four o’clock next Friday.”

  They followed me to the hostess station, passing the goths standing in the hallway. One of them—an extremely tall girl in a floor-length burgundy velvet dress with long, pointed sleeves à la Morticia Adams—gazed at me as she took a languorous sip from her teacup. I hurried past and marked down the bird lady’s phone number on the reservation sheet at the hostess station.

  “Our business manager will call to confirm your reservation,” I told her, writing out a card with the date and time and “Dining Parlor” in large letters. I handed it to her, then went back to the north parlor.

  A reservation for eight. I should be jumping for joy, but between the elderly ladies’ yakking about the “murder room” and Willow wanting to make the tearoom a stop on her ghost tour, not to mention Kris’s picturesque friends, I was worried we’d get a dark reputation we wouldn’t be able to shake. I supposed I could close the dining parlor, but something in me rebelled at the thought. I wanted it to be seen for the charming room that it was, not shut away in shame.

  The scones and breads were mostly gone by now, and Iz and Dee were passing among the guests with fresh pots of tea. I caught Dee’s eye and asked her to start brewing the Wisteria White tea—my special signature blend—that would be served with the sweets. As she hurried to the pantry I gathered all the remaining food onto one platter, then carried the empty serving plates out on my way to the kitchen.

  A small cluster of goths was still in the hall. As I passed, the one in burgundy velvet caught my eye.

  “I just wanted to tell you I thought that was really tacky,” she said.

  I stopped. “Beg pardon?”

  “Those old ladies, asking to see the Room,” she said, lowering her voice on the last word in a reverent tone. “I mean, how gauche can you be?”

  I managed a weak smile. “Oh. Yes. Thank you.”

  She smiled back, and I escaped to the kitchen where I handed the platters over to Mick. Julio was in the middle of the room, humming, surrounded by cream puffs, almond macarons, tea cookies, chocolate truffles, and cascades of petits fours decorated with buttercream wisteria blossoms.

  On the center island stood the largest of our three-tiered tea trays, on which Julio was arranging dainty puffs of meringue topped with fans of fresh, sliced strawberries standing up in stiff dabs of whipped cream. He looked up at me and grinned.

  “Is this the special dessert?” I asked.

  “Yep. Try one.”

  I did, biting it in half. The crunch of the meringue and creamy sweet-tart strawberry filling was augmented by a breath of alcohol. I closed my eyes, trying to identify the flavor.

  “Brandy?” I guessed.

  “Close. A little Grand Marnier, stirred into strawberry jam. Just a thin layer underneath the whipped cream.”

  “It’s heavenly, Julio!”

  “Thanks.” He grinned, then went back to loading the tray with the strawberry treats. “I’m just about ready.”

  “I’ll send the girls back,” I said.

  I met Iz in the hall, carrying the last platter, which had only a couple of scones left. “Your aunt’s looking for you,” she said.

  “Thanks. Julio’s ready to serve the sweets.”

  “Okay,” she called over her shoulder.

  As I reached the parlor I saw Nat hovering by the door, watching for me. She caught my arm and spoke in a low, worried voice.

  “Oh, good! I don’t know if it’s a problem, but I thought you should know about it.”

  “Know about what?” I asked as she dragged me across the room toward Jonquil. For answer she just nodded her head toward Claudia Pearson, who stood talking with Gina’s rancher-type real estate friend, Ted.

  “My client wasn’t happy about having to settle for a lower offer,” Ted was saying, a hard edge to his voice.

  Claudia frowned slightly. “Well, it was unfortunate, but it couldn’t be helped. We weren’t able to close without Mrs. Carruthers’s participation.”

  “Mrs. Carruthers!” said a loud voice behind me. “That’s the lady who was murdered!”

  I turned to see the bird lady looking at us, eyes bright with curiosity. Her friends were ranged behind her, and beyond them every other guest in the room stood staring. Some looked shocked, some amused, and a couple surprised.

  The awkward silence stretched out. I glanced toward the door and was grateful to see Dee and Iz waiting to bring in the sweets.

  I stepped to the center of the room. “And now it’s time for our third course of afternoon tea, the sweets. Chef Julio will present his pièce de résistance, and our staff will pour our specialty house tea, Wisteria White. I hope you enjoy it.”

  All eyes turned toward the doorway, and a round of “oohs” and “ahs” went up as the sweets were carried in and arranged on the sideboard. I stepped back and let Julio take center stage, then turned around.

  “Mrs. Pearson,” I said in a low voice, catching Claudia’s arm. “Just the person I needed to talk to! Will you excuse us?”

  I smiled sweetly at Ted and half-dragged Claudia out of the room, past a few stragglers coming in for the third course. I didn’t stop until we were through the gift shop and into Hyacinth, where I let Claudia go. She gave me a skeptical look.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I just thought maybe you needed a little breathing room.”

  She laughed. “Actually, yes. Thank you.”

  “I take it he’s the agent for the historic property owner.”

  “Yes. Not too pleased about the deal falling through.”

  “No. Well, that’s understandable.”

  “It’s just as well you pulled me out of there,” she said. “I ought to be leaving anyway. I’m meeting my husband for dinner.”

  “Oh—you’ll miss the sweets!”

  She smiled. “I’ve tried some of them, and I can always come another day.”

  “Let me at least get you some of the strawberry puffs. I’ll put them in a box for you to share with your husband.”

  “That’s kind of you. Thanks.”

  I fetched a carry-out box from
behind the hostess station and darted across the hall to the main parlor. The sweets were disappearing fast, but I managed to nab a couple of the strawberry puffs for Claudia. She met me in the hall, having donned her gloves again.

  “Thanks for another lovely afternoon,” she said.

  I opened the door for her. “Thank you for coming.”

  “See you tomorrow at the service?”

  She was referring to Sylvia’s funeral. Appreciative of her tact, I nodded and smiled. “Yes.”

  I saw her out, then returned to the parlor. The girls were going around with teapots, and I anxiously watched the guests sample the final tea.

  Wisteria White was my big finale, a delicate blend of white Darjeeling and white rose petals that I had created myself. I had spent the last week tinkering with the recipe, serving tastes of it to Julio and the girls and Gina and anyone else who got within reach, until I felt pretty confident that it would please my guests, but now I was nervous.

  No one looked disgusted or set aside their cups. They sipped the tea and nibbled sweets and chatted happily. I took a cup for myself, and inhaled the fragrant steam, catching the whisper of white rose petals and the underlying hint of currant, all within the light, flowery fragrance of the white Darjeeling. Ghost flavors, barely there. Meant to catch the imagination as much as the palate.

  I saw Julio talking with a tall, sleek-looking blond man about his own age, both holding strawberry puffs which they turned this way and that. They seemed deep in serious discussion, and I realized the blond guy must be Julio’s roommate. Silently wishing Julio victory in the dessert competition, I moved on, chatting with the guests.

  Gina caught my eye from across the room and beckoned to me. She was standing with Ted the real estate guy. I made my way over to her.

  “Ellen, I’d like you to meet Ted Newbury. Ted, this is my dearest friend, Ellen Rosings.”

  I offered my hand, hoping he wasn’t still annoyed. Apparently Claudia’s departure had lightened his mood, because he gave me a charming smile and shook hands.

  “Nice to meet you. Gina’s been telling me all week how wonderful your tearoom is, and I see that she’s right.”

  “Thank you. I hope you enjoyed the tea.”

  “I’m a bourbon man myself, but the food’s all been great.”

  I smiled. “It’s nice of you to give us a try.”

  “Oh, I’m glad to know about your place. Some of my clients will just go crazy for this sort of thing. Do you have some business cards I could give out?”

  “I do indeed. I’ll get you some.”

  I started toward the door and was blinded by a sudden flash of light. When I could see again I found a young woman blocking the doorway, wearing jeans and a red sweater and holding a camera with a gigantic lens. Annoyed, I advanced on her.

  “May I help you?”

  “I’m from the Journal,” she said, taking a step backward into the hall. “Dave Krips sent me to get some photos to go with a follow-up story he’s writing.”

  “I see. Well, that’s fine, but I’d rather you didn’t disturb my guests.”

  “Yeah, okay. Can I get a shot of the room where the murder happened?”

  I was tempted to say yes just to get rid of her, but I knew that if I did, the bird lady would magically appear and start talking about the murder room at the top of her lungs. I shook my head.

  “Sorry, that room is not open to the public. There’s really nothing to see in there, anyway.”

  “How about a picture of you, then?”

  “Yes, all right.”

  I stepped into the gift shop, hoping to get her away from the guests. The bird lady and her friends were milling around in the shop, looking over the merchandise. Dee was at the hostess station, ringing up a purchase for one of them. I stood at the other end of the counter next to a vase of gladiolas and iris.

  “Is this all right?” I asked the photographer.

  “Yeah. Can you be holding a teapot?”

  I fetched a chintz teapot from one of the display tables and held it in front of me. “How’s this?”

  “Great. Hold that.”

  She took a dozen photos at least. Finally she went outside to take some pictures of the house, and I returned the teapot to its display and fetched a handful of business cards for Ted. I found him and Gina by the fireplace, talking with Kris.

  “Great,” Ted said, accepting the cards. “Thanks.”

  “Thank you,” I told him. “Let me know if you need more.”

  “Will do.” He tucked the cards in his coat pocket and turned to Gina. “Gotta roll along. See you tomorrow night.”

  “Okay,” Gina said, presenting her cheek to be kissed. Ted obliged, then turned to me.

  “Nice meeting you, Ellen. Good luck with this.” He made a vague gesture at his surroundings, gave me a quick smile, then left, just hastily enough that I had the impression he was relieved to be going.

  I looked at Gina. “New beau?”

  “Oh, we’ve just gone out a couple of times. I’m still evaluating.”

  “He seems nice, for an all-American dude.” Kris said.

  I glanced at her, amused and wondering if she intended to damn with faint praise.

  Gina gazed after Ted. “Yeah, I think so. He’s got some depth. Tomorrow’s the big test. We’re going to dinner and a concert.”

  “Rock and roll?” I asked.

  “Chamber music, at the Lensic.”

  “He doesn’t look like the chamber music type,” Kris observed.

  “I know, that’s why I picked it.”

  I laughed. Gina grinned, then slid her hand into my elbow. “Tonight, though, I’m all yours,” she said. “Shall we paint the town?”

  “I think painting my nails is about all I’ll be up for.”

  “Oh, good, we can have a girl party!”

  Kris smiled and moved away. The guests were starting to disperse, and I left Gina sitting by the fireplace nibbling a strawberry puff while I stood in the hall saying goodbye.

  “Congratulations, Ms. Rosings,” said a voice that made the muscles between my shoulders tense.

  I summoned a smile as I turned. “Thank you, Willow. How nice of you to come to the opening! I hope you enjoyed it.”

  “Oh, yes. Some very interesting people here. I predict great success for you.”

  “Well, I hope your prediction comes true.”

  She gave a knowing smile. “It will.”

  The last to depart were the goths. Half a dozen of them stopped to compliment me on the tearoom, including the young man with the skull-headed cane and the Amazon in burgundy velvet.

  “We’ll be back,” she said in a voice so sober it almost sounded like a threat. The impression was reinforced by her smiling down at me; she must have been over six feet tall.

  I thanked her and saw them all out, then put up the “Closed” sign in the window by the front door. Dee looked at me from the hostess station and grinned.

  “Good day,” she said.

  “Yes, thank heavens! Did we book many reservations?”

  She showed me a list half a page long. “I’ll give it to Kris. Did she go upstairs?

  “Not yet,” Kris said, coming out of the south parlor and taking the page from Dee. “Thanks! I’ll get these into the computer.”

  “You could do it tomorrow,” I said. “You’ve already stayed late.”

  “That’s okay. I was having fun, that doesn’t count as work.” She went out into the hall. I followed.

  “Thanks for asking your friends to come,” I said, walking with her to the foot of the stairs.

  “I knew they would like it. We might want to schedule a private party some time. Would you mind?”

  “Of course not.”

  She gave me a cautious look. “They’ll want the dining parlor.”

  “At least they were polite enough not to demand to see it today.”

  She smiled and hurried up the stairs. Returning to the main parlor, I found Vi and Iz collect
ing plates and teacups. The sideboard was already cleared.

  “Has Julio left?” I asked Vi as we passed in the doorway.

  “Uh-huh. He went home with his roommate. Mick’s waiting to help move the furniture.”

  “We’d better vacuum first.”

  “I’ve got it,” said Dee, coming in with the vacuum cleaner.

  Gina got up from her chair and caught my arm. “Come on, let’s get out of the way.”

  I let her pull me into the hall, but balked at the stairs. “Let me get something to eat. Julio made me a plate. Do you want anything?”

  “Yes, five hundred more of those strawberry things.”

  I grinned as we started toward the kitchen. “Aren’t they great?”

  “Inexpressibly fabulous.”

  I glanced at the dining parlor door and saw light underneath. Stopped and frowned.

  “What?” Gina said.

  “Tell you later. Just let me turn out this light.”

  I opened the door and nearly jumped out of my skin when I realized the room wasn’t empty. Katie Hutchins was in there, on her hands and knees on the floor.

  10

  “Katie! What are you doing?”

  Katie looked up at me, eyes wide and face flushed, and backed away from the table. I went to help her up, taking her arm. She was just a little plump—not a bad thing for an innkeeper—and older than me by a decade or so. She was a long-time Santa Fe resident, with golden hair starting to go to silver, set off by a cream-colored silk blouse and turquoise slacks.

  “I l-lost an earring the other day,” she said, still peering under the dining table as she leaned back on her heels. “I was just looking for it.”

  “The police searched this room pretty thoroughly. If your earring was in here, they probably took it away.”

  “Oh. Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She sounded forlorn, but allowed me to help her to her feet, brushing at the knees of her slacks.

  “Shall I find Bob for you?”

  “He went home to check on our guests.”

  “Let me walk you over there, then.”

  “No, no.” She seemed to gather herself, straightening her blouse and glancing at me with an embarrassed smile. “Thank you, but I think I can make it across the street by myself.”