Intermezzo: Spirit Matters

by Patrice Greenwood

  A moment’s silence, then Dee raised her hand. “I will.”

  Tom nodded to her, and Dee picked up her folded paper, setting the kyanite crystal to one side. “I asked, ‘Have you forgiven Monica?’”

  Someone gasped.

  “And the answer was ‘Yes,’” Dale said, consulting his notes.

  Dee smiled slightly, and offered her page to Tom. He shook his head.

  “Hand it to someone else, please, so they can verify. I don’t touch the questions.”

  “I’ll take it,” Kris said. Dee placed the paper in her hand. Kris read it, then nodded. “My question was, ‘Did you jump?’”

  “Oh!” Gwyneth squeaked, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief I hadn’t seen her produce.

  “He meant me when he said ‘Ophelia,’” Kris added.

  Dale consulted his notes. “The answer was ‘No,’” he said. Kris glanced at Gwyneth, then gave her slip to Dee to confirm.

  “Well,” Owen said after a moment. “I wasn’t so serious. I asked what it was like being dead.” He looked at me with an impish grin.

  Dale kept a straight face. “The answer was ‘Awesome.’”

  I couldn’t help laughing softly, and heard someone else do the same. I could just imagine Gabriel saying that. The tension at the table seemed to relax a little as Owen handed his question to Dale, who read it and nodded. “Oh, well,” Gwyneth said, dabbing her cheeks. “I asked how he wanted to be remembered.”

  Dale shifted and looked down at the notepad. “He answered, ‘Let go.’”

  “He would.” Gwyneth said, and blew her nose. “He called you ‘Neth?’” Dale asked.

  Gwyneth nodded, sniffling. “He used to call me that to make me mad. Only in private.” She shot an apologetic glance at Kris, who gave a wry smile.

  Gwyneth handed her page to me. I read it, confirming the question with a nod.

  Cherie was the only one with a question still before her. I turned my head slightly, watching her. Everyone waited.

  “You can keep your question private,” Tom said.

  Cherie took a deep breath. “No, I’ll share. I asked if he forgave me.”

  “For what?” Gwyneth asked, with impulsive sympathy.

  Cherie shrugged, sighing. “Everything.”

  “He answered, ‘Yes,’” Dale said. Cherie handed him her question, and he read it, nodding.

  I felt Tom’s gaze on me.

  “I didn’t ask a question,” I said.

  Tom nodded. “You got a message, though. But not from Gabriel, I think.”

  “No, I think not.” I cleared my throat. “Earlier, I was thinking about Captain Dusenberry—you know about him?”

  Tom nodded.

  “Yes. Well, I was wondering what he would think of all this.” I gestured to the wheel. “I wondered whether he would consider this a valid method of communication.”

  “Valid?” Dale said quickly. “That’s the word you had in mind?”

  “Yes. So apparently he chose to answer that question.”

  “And he moved the chandelier crystal so you would know it was him,” Cherie said.

  “Probably,” I said.

  “So cool,” Dee whispered.

  I shot her a look. It would have been cooler if the message had been complete. “Valid, attic, ne-” wasn’t much to go on. If “ne” was the start of “near,” then it could have been the beginning of a reference to some point upstairs. Maybe the captain wanted me to look for something up there. More letters, perhaps? But without the rest of the message, I’d have to search the whole upper floor. That could take a while.

  I picked up my water glass. It was empty.

  “Would anyone like some tea?”

  Dee joined me in the butler’s pantry, taking down one of the larger teapots while I boiled water and chose a tea to brew. Not wanting something too heavy that late in the evening, I decided on oolong.

  “That’s so cool that you got a message from the captain!” Dee said, stacking cups and saucers on a tray.

  “Please, do not mention any of this to Mrs. Olavssen.”

  “No way,” Dee said, eyes wide. “She’d want to get Tom to do it again!”

  “Exactly.”

  “You’re going to tell Willow, though—right?”

  The kettle boiled, and I picked it up. “Yes. She knew we were doing this.”

  “What about Detective Aragón?”

  I paused with the kettle in hand. The question had produced a little stab of pain. “I don’t know,” I said, and poured the water into the teapot. The flowery aroma of oolong rose into the air.

  “Go ahead and take those out,” I said. “I’ll bring this when it’s ready.”

  I leaned against the counter, drinking in the fragrance of the steeping tea while I thought about Dee’s question. It had been several days since Tony had responded to any of my messages. Sure, he might be busy, but I was beginning to get the feeling that he wasn’t going to respond. Ever.

  Was it time to face the possibility that my interference (as he called it) in his investigation of Gabriel’s death had destroyed our personal relationship?

  I shied away from the thought, telling myself it was too soon. Tony was busy, or he was angry but would eventually forgive me. I rebuilt all my little defensive beliefs, because I wasn’t ready to give them up.

  And that told me something right there. I couldn’t bear to think of losing Tony.

  Detective Arrogant, as I had once called him, had worked his way into my heart despite his many deficiencies of common courtesy. I had learned that it wasn’t arrogance (usually), but uncertainty, behind his occasional rudeness. And beneath the arrogant appearance and the some-time lack of confidence, he had a gentle heart.

  His job was unpleasant, to say the least. He had once described it to me as cleaning up other people’s messes. He could have chosen something else, but he was proud of his work, and he knew he was doing good.

  I wanted to support that. I had never meant to cross him. I knew that he cared about justice, and I had pursued justice in my own way, hoping that I was helping him.

  But he hadn’t seen it that way.

  The timer went off, and I lifted the infuser from the teapot, then set the lid on the pot and carried it to the dining parlor. The word wheel was still, its candles extinguished, and the chandelier was on. The mood in the room was more relaxed, as people quietly chatted.

  Dee had given everyone a teacup. I went around the table, pouring. When I reached Tom, he shook his head.

  “No thanks,” he said with a smile.

  “Would you like a tisane? Something without caffeine?”

  “Just some more water would be great.”

  “I’ll get it,” Dee said, and darted out.

  I poured tea for everyone else, then sat with my cup, sipping and savoring the oolong, enjoying the warmth of the cup in my hands. Kris and Gwyneth were talking about Gabriel in low, earnest tones, and Dale and Owen were discussing the upcoming ski season.

  To my right, Cherie sat staring into her cup. I turned to her.

  “Was this helpful?”

  She swallowed. “Yes. I just wanted to ... I was so out of it, that night, and then I never saw him again.” She wiped away a tear and picked up her cup, then met my gaze. “Dale’s bugging me to go to AA.”

  “Dale?” I glanced at him across the table, but he hadn’t heard.

  “Yeah, his dad’s a recovered alcoholic. He’s all hypersensitive about it.”

  “Are you considering going?” I asked gently.

  Cherie hunched a shoulder. “I might. Just to shut him up.” She sipped her tea and put the cup down. It rattled a little in the saucer.

  I hoped she would decide to go, but I didn’t dare say so. She seemed both fragile and brittle, and I didn’t want to create resistance. I didn’t know her well enough to offer advice.

  My gaze shifted to Dale, and I realized the scales had tipped. Not only was he intelligent, well-mannered, and dressed with qu
iet elegance, he had a kind heart and was willing to go out of his way for a friend. What I’d seen of him, tonight and previously, combined with what Cherie had just told me, made me want to have him on my staff.

  Dee came back with a pitcher of water and filled everyone’s glasses. I drank half of mine at once, surprised at how thirsty I felt. Tom also drank deeply, then stood and fetched his box, and started dismantling the word wheel.

  The others took this as the signal to depart. They got up, exchanging hugs, saying goodbye. There was a softness in the room now, where there had been tension before. That, alone, was worth the effort.

  Dale brought Cherie her coat, and I gathered that he had given her a ride. As they went out together I wondered, not for the first time, if there was anything between them. I didn’t think so. I didn’t sense any sexual tension there. They seemed to be just friends.

  Owen sought me out to say good night. “Thanks for hosting this. It was great!”

  “Thanks again for the photos. Remember to bill me,” I said, walking with him to the back door.

  Gwyneth came up behind us, swathed in a floor-length, white fur coat. It was fake fur, I realized, but still amazing.

  “Thank you, Ellen!” she said, wrapping me in a silky-warm hug.

  “Good to see you,” I told her, meaning it. I liked her.

  I was getting to like all of Kris’s friends, really. Even Cherie.

  “May I escort you to your chariot, milady?” Owen said, offering her an arm. Gwyneth giggled and took it.

  As I closed the door after them, Kris came out of the parlor, looking tired. All her nervous tension was gone.

  “My coat’s upstairs,” she said, turning away.

  I went with her to the foot of the stairs. “Did you get what you wanted?”

  She paused with a foot on the bottom step, tilting her head. “I think so,” she said. “Yes.”

  She gave me a wan smile, then headed up. With her footsteps fading overhead, I went back to the dining parlor, where I found Tom carefully packing away the pieces of his word wheel, the kyanite crystals piled beside him. Dee was collecting teacups and water glasses onto a tray.

  “Shall I stay and wash these?” she asked.

  “No, leave them in the kitchen. Mick can do them in the morning.”

  When she’d gone out with the tray, I turned to Tom. “Congratulations. You’ve convinced me.”

  He smiled slightly, shaking his head. “No. You’ve made a decision, based on the evidence you’ve observed. It’s what we do.”

  “Pretty compelling evidence.”

  He scooped up the crystals, put them into the box, then folded the top shut. “Thanks for providing the space. I was glad to be here, after all I’ve heard about this house. You’ve got some wonderful friends.”

  “Well, they’re Kris’s friends.”

  He shook his head, smiling. “I mean the captain and your other friends.”

  “There’s more than one?” I said, alarmed.

  His smile widened. “We all have many friends and family watching over us on the other side. You’re no exception. Your friends are quite interesting, though. I was glad to have the chance to work with them.”

  Interesting? I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what he meant.

  “May I ask you a question?” I said.

  “Sure.”

  “If you can communicate with spirits, why do you need that?” I pointed to the box.

  “The wheel? Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for you.”

  “Me?”

  “All of you. We all base our decisions and beliefs on evidence. The wheel provides that. Seeing it spell out messages that only you understand gives you confirmation. Right?”

  I nodded slowly. “Right.”

  Ophelia. The word “valid.” Gwyneth’s nickname of “Neth,” which she’d said was private between her and Gabriel. Evidence upon evidence. Too much to be coincidence.

  “Do you ever have doubts?” I asked.

  “Me? Every day.” He picked up his box. “It’s part of being human. We have to have things proved to us over and over again, and even then we doubt.”

  I went with him to the hall and watched him put on his coat. Kris came downstairs, and Dee came out of the side hall. We all said goodbye at the back door, and I locked it after them, then stood in the hall listening to them get into cars and drive away.

  Doubt. Yes, there it was, still niggling. Still wondering if Tom could somehow have found out about all these secret things, or made lucky guesses, and through some trickery I couldn’t imagine sent it all through his word wheel.

  Or was it, as I hoped in my secret heart, truly real?

  Tom had called the captain my friend. I wanted that to be true, almost as much as I wanted to hear from Tony again.

  As if in answer to my thoughts, the piano began to play.

  I stood motionless, listening, hardly daring to breathe. As before, it was just a melody, single notes picked out one by one. Was the captain borrowing my ether to do this? If so, I couldn’t feel it.

  The notes were familiar, a little halting, but I was able to catch and recognize the melody. It was “Contessa, Perdono” from The Marriage of Figaro again. This time he played the phrase that followed the one he had played months ago. I softly sang along.

  —io sono, e dico di sì.

  I am gentler, and say yes.

  A Note from the Author

  Thank you for reading Intermezzo: Spirit Matters. I hope you enjoyed it.

  Watch for:

  Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries #6

  As Red As Any Blood

  fall 2017

  Meanwhile, please consider:

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  2. Helping other readers find this book. Write a review on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, and other sites frequented by readers like you. And tell your friends!

  3. Liking my page on Facebook, facebook.com/teamysteries

  4. Visiting my website, patricegreenwood.com, where I occasionally blog about tea or whatever else catches my fancy.

  —Patrice Greenwood

  About Book View Café

  Book View Café Publishing Cooperative (BVC) is an author-owned cooperative of over fifty professional writers, publishing in a variety of genres such as fantasy, romance, mystery, and science fiction.

  BVC authors include New York Times and USA Today bestsellers; Nebula, Hugo, and Philip K. Dick Award winners; World Fantasy Award, Campbell Award, and Rita Award nominees; and winners and nominees of many other publishing awards.

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  About the Author

  photo by Chris Krohn

  Patrice Greenwood was born and raised in New Mexico, and remembers when the Santa Fe Plaza was home to more dusty dogs than trendy art galleries. She has been writing fiction longer than she cares to admit, perpetrating over twenty published novels in various genres. She uses a different name for each genre, thus enabling her to pretend she is a Secret Agent.

  She loves afternoon tea, old buildings, gourmet tailgating at the opera, ghost stories, costumes, and solving puzzles. Her popular Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries are colored by many of these interests. She is presently collapsed on her chaise longue, sipping Wisteria White tea and planning the next book in the series.

  Books by Patrice Greenwood

  Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries

  A Fatal Twist of Lemon

  A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn

  An Aria of Omens

  A Bodkin for the Bride

  A Masquerade of Muertos

 

 

  ding books on Archive.