A Bodkin for the Bride

by Patrice Greenwood

  Returning to my office, I poured myself a fresh cup and offered some to Kris, then settled at my desk. Julio’s grocery list was short: lemons and pumpkins (“FRESH”). I wondered what he was planning. Every restaurant and fast food chain did pumpkin this time of year, and I wasn’t inclined to follow the trend. Pumpkin scones? Pumpkin curd? No.

  A short stack of mail sat next to my messages: two business letters and a cream-colored envelope from Nat. Her wedding invitation.

  I opened it, smiling at the somewhat less than formal text inviting me and a guest to attend the wedding of Natasha Wheeler and Manuel Sanchez. My stomach clenched at the thought of inviting Tony. That’s who Nat expected me to bring.

  Would he consider an invitation to escort me a wedding to be rather pointed? I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. Or rather, the right idea with the wrong emphasis.

  Maybe I should just ignore the question, and go stag.

  Saturday would help me decide, when Tony brought his mother and grandmother to tea. If he brought them to tea. I wondered if his case would keep him away. I pulled up the reservations software and checked; his reservation hadn’t been canceled.

  I turned my attention to the lavender message sheets. A call from Gina, no message. A response from Bennett Cole at the museum, asking me to call back about the Colt Navy revolvers. A reminder from Willow about the reenactor.

  I checked my phone, but there were no new messages or texts. Should I text Tony again? I hated to bother him if he was really tied up in his case, but I did need to pin down the reenactor before too much longer.

  My desk phone played the intercom tone; the display showed “GIFT SHOP.” I picked up.

  “Yes?”

  “Um, Ellen?” said Dee’s voice, “Detective—”

  “I’m taking the bank deposit,” said Kris, pausing in the doorway. “Need me to pick anything up?”

  I shook my head, waved goodbye as she headed downstairs, then returned my attention to the phone. “Dee, is he here or did he leave—hic—a message?”

  “He’s here,” she said. Her voice sounded hesitant, as if she was feeling contrite.

  Well, and so she should. Trying to give me a heart-attack, or rather getting her brother to do the evil deed.

  “Put him in an open alcove. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “OK. Should I give him some tea?”

  I pictured Detective Walters sipping tea. He didn’t seem comfortable.

  “Yes, and some scones.”

  Always entertaining to see what a macho man did with scones.

  I hung up, then paused to give myself a silent scold. I was still in a bit of a mood. I swallowed some tea, reminding myself to be kind to Dee (who hadn’t meant to annoy me) and to the detective (who could cause me grief if he wanted to).

  Should I ask him about the knife?

  Daniel Swazo’s image returned to me, eyes burning and the knife displayed in his upraised palm, held there by fingertips and thumb. How to phrase a question without arousing Walters’s suspicion against myself?

  Might not be possible.

  I finished the tea in my cup, then went downstairs, taking my phone with me in the hope of being interrupted. I did turn it to silent mode, since I expected no less from my guests.

  Dee was at the register, ringing up a sale. I gave her a questioning look and she said “Violet.”

  Great.

  I might as well get used to it. Vi’s painting was a part of the tearoom now, a part of my life, and while the reminder was still a bit painful, it was also sweet. And I loved the new décor in the Violet alcove. I slipped through Poppy and Dahlia and stepped into Violet, letting the door drape fall behind me.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting—Oh!”

  “That’s about what I was going to say to you,” said Tony Aragón as he rose from the wing chair by the window with a weary smile.

  6

  Tony!” I smiled while my heart did a fluttery dance.

  He wore his usual black leather jacket over black shirt and jeans. His hair was slightly mussed; I spotted his motorcycle helmet tucked beside his chair. I had to resist a sudden urge to fling myself into his arms. The alcove was not as private as it seemed.

  “Please sit down,” I said, leading by example. A pot of tea and two cups sat on the table, along with a small plate of scones. I lifted the cozy from the pot and poured the tea. The warm smell of keemun arose. “I’m glad to see you. I thought it was Detective—hic—Walters again.”

  “Again?”

  “He was here yesterday.”

  “I thought you were closed on Mondays.”

  “We are. He came to tell me the autopsy results.”

  Tony spooned sugar into his cup and stirred it, looking thoughtful. He also looked tired; there were shadows beneath his eyes.

  “How’s your case going?”

  He grimaced as he picked up his cup and drank. “Not great. Got a zillion witnesses, most of them related to each other, all telling different stories.”

  “I thought it was a gang fight.”

  “It was. Happened at a wedding.”

  “Oh, lord!”

  “Yeah, it’s a cluster ... it’s a big mess.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. I pushed the scones toward him, taking one myself.

  “Well, thank you for stopping by.”

  “Can’t stay long,” he said, slathering lemon curd on half a scone. “I just wanted to apologize for not being able to do the movie Thursday.”

  “We’ll find another time. I’m more concerned about Saturday. Do you—hic—think you’ll still be able to come?”

  He looked at me blankly. “Saturday.”

  “Tea with your mother and grandmother.”

  He winced. “Oh—sh—um. I don’t know.”

  “Would it be less stressful if we rescheduled?”

  “Not really. Abuela will give me hell. She’s looking forward to it big time—getting Mom to fix up one of her dresses.”

  I was also looking forward to it, but I didn’t want to add to his stress by saying so. “Well, you can cancel if you need to. Just call by Saturday morning.”

  “OK, but I don’t plan on canceling. I’ll find the time.”

  I smiled. “I’m glad you found time to come by today.”

  “I wanted to see you.”

  He took a bite of scone and gazed at me, dark eyes steady and candid. A tingle moved up my neck.

  “Well, I wanted to see—hic—see you, too. I need a reference from you for a reenactor who’d be willing to talk to Willow’s tour guests.”

  “Oh, right.” He took out his phone. “Sorry, I meant to get back to you on that.”

  He gave me a couple of names and numbers to try. I added them to my phone, then took a bite of scone.

  “You changed this room,” Tony said, nodding toward the portrait of Vi.

  “Yes, in her honor. It’s Violet now.”

  “Nice.”

  “Julio painted that.”

  Tony looked impressed, and gave the painting a longer glance. “Multi-talented.”

  “Yes.”

  He finished the tea in his cup and set it on the table. I reached for the pot, but he shook his head.

  “Gotta go. I’ll call you when I get time.”

  “May I ask you one question?” I said.

  “Sure.”

  I sipped my tea, gathering courage. “Would it be possible for you to find out about a piece of evidence?”

  He met my gaze. “You mean on a case I’m not working. Yeah, but why don’t you just ask Walters?”

  “I thought he might misunderstand my curiosity.”

  Tony’s eyes narrowed, then he nodded. “Yeah, OK. He doesn’t know you. What evidence do you want to know about?”

  “A knife. It was found in Nat’s driveway. A folding knife, with a stone-inlaid handle.”

  “OK. What do you want to know about it?”

  “I’m not sure. Just if there’s anything unusual about it,
I guess.”

  “I’ll check.”

  “Thank you. Hic.”

  We both stood, and Tony picked up his helmet. “You should drink a glass of water or something.”

  “Good idea.”

  I walked out front with him and watched as he got on his bike and rode away. There was a touch of evening chill in the air, and a breeze blew a small swirl of fallen leaves along the street. The roses in my garden looked tired in the late sunlight. I needed to go out and prune them.

  Nat joined me as Tony swung around the corner and out of sight. “Do you mind if I go home, Ellen? It’s pretty quiet, and I’d like to start dinner for Manny.”

  “Of course not. Thanks for coming in. Should I come ov—hic—over after dinner to work on the dress?”

  “Absolutely not. You rest up and get over those hiccups. Stay in and read a book.”

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  She gave me a hug, then held me at arms length. “You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?”

  I shrugged. “I got some.”

  “Take a sleeping pill tonight.” She opened the door and went in, heading down the hall toward the back. I followed.

  “I don’t have any.”

  “I’ll get you some.”

  “No—Nat, you don’t have to—”

  “It’s no trouble. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  She paused at the back door and smooched my cheek. “We have plenty of time to finish the dress. Come over on Sunday, and don’t worry about it before then.”

  “All right.”

  I watched her go, then headed for the kitchen. Dee came out of the pantry as I entered the side hallway.

  “Thanks for setting up the tea and scones for Violet,” I told her, smiling. “You can clear when you get a minute.”

  “I just did.”

  “Excellent.”

  In the kitchen I found Julio wiping down the counters. “How big a pumpkin do you want?” I asked.

  “Why don’t I just pick it up myself?”

  “In that case, feel free to go home all of—” I checked my watch. “—fifteen minutes early.”

  “Thanks, boss.”

  “You’re—hic—welcome.”

  He gave me a wry look, then took off his apron and hat, grabbed his coat, and left. I drifted back to the main hallway. The day was ending; only one party remained in the main parlor. Feeling restless and a little sad, I opened the door of the dining parlor and stepped in.

  Soft, indirect light through the sheers set the room gently aglow in twilight, with deep shadows in the corners away from the window presaging the night. By Halloween, the sun would be down at this hour, and candlelight would give this room a cozy glow.

  Perhaps I should set out candles for Willow’s October tea tours. Just a couple, for atmosphere. We could light them right before the guests arrived, and maybe the reenactor could talk about Captain Dusenberry by candlelight, and then we’d turn on the chandelier.

  As if in answer to my thoughts, the chandelier came on. I blinked at the sudden brilliance, and glanced toward the light switch by the door. No one there.

  “Thank you, Captain,” I said softly. “I’m glad you approve.”

  I hoped he approved. Maybe I was making up reasons for his turning the lights on. Maybe it was all my imagination and could be explained by old wiring.

  But it had been a while since I’d believed that. The captain’s activities had gone on long enough, and occurred at enough significant moments, that I was convinced he was really here. He’d turned on the stereo, playing specific pieces of music. He’d played the piano in the parlor, which could not be attributed to wiring.

  My invisible roommate.

  I looked at the chandelier, half expecting to see a single crystal swaying, but it was still.

  My phone rang. I went into the hall to answer it, which in a way made no sense, as I was leaving a private room. But it was the captain’s room, and I didn’t want to disturb him with my phone call.

  “Don’t start dinner,” Gina said after my greeting. “I’m coming over.”

  “I don’t—hic—have a TV, remember.”

  “I’m not bringing the movie. I am bringing a pizza. Do you have wine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perfecto. See you in a few.”

  I checked the time: 6:01. Even as I glanced toward the front door, I heard the sound of the bells jingle, and saw Dee locking up. She turned off the lights in the gift shop and parlor, and came toward me, untying her apron.

  “Thanks, Dee. See you tomorrow.”

  “Sorry about the hiccup thing.”

  “It’s all right.”

  I tried to suppress a hiccup, but she noticed; she gave me a rueful glance before stepping into the pantry to hang up her apron. I moved to lock the back door and saw Nat coming toward it, so I opened it instead.

  “Here you are,” she said, handing me a small blue and white box. “Half of one is plenty.”

  “Thanks, Nat. Give my love to Manny.”

  “I will.”

  I locked the back door, waving at Dee and Mick who were leaving through the kitchen’s separate door. I watched to make sure they locked it, then headed upstairs.

  Pizza night merited a change of clothes. I took off my dress and pulled on my sweats, then took a bottle of Malbec out of my small wine cellar and opened it to let it breathe. Gina and I had been exploring Malbecs recently; there were quite a few good ones coming out of Argentina. It took a small exercise of willpower to refrain from pouring myself a glass immediately.

  Instead, I followed Tony’s advice and drank a glass of water. No noticeable impact on the hiccups, but I’m sure it was good for me.

  My phone, which I’d left on a side table, began humming and vibrating itself toward the edge. I grabbed it and saw Gina’s number, so I answered irreverently: “Wisteria Sushi, what’s your favorite fish?”

  “Anchovies. Come down and let me in, I’m going to have my hands full.”

  I hurried downstairs and unlocked the back door. Gina’s moon-shaped face glowed with a grin as she balanced a pizza box and two large carryout bags. She must have come straight after work, because she had on a bright red linen skirt and jacket over a cream silk blouse, one of the outfits she called her ad exec uniforms.

  “Let’s eat this while it’s hot. Dining parlor?”

  “The wine’s upstairs,” I said, relieving her of the pizza. The smell of hot garlic taunted me.

  “Fair enough.”

  We climbed up and Gina headed for the sitting area by the front window. I turned on the chandelier, then fetched the wine, glasses, and a couple of plates from my suite.

  “Put this in your freezer,” Gina said, handing me a package of ice cream from one of the bags.

  “Mint chocolate ch-hic?”

  “I couldn’t find peppermint. Dinner first, though.”

  I put away the ice cream and returned to see Gina arranging containers of salad and garlic bread on the coffee table.

  “Who else is coming?” I asked, sitting down and helping myself to a slice of pizza.

  She tilted her head to smirk at me. “Hah, hah.”

  I took a bite: green chile, mushroom, and Canadian bacon. “Mm. My favorite.”

  “Only the best for my BFF. Pass the wine.”

  “What’s in there?” I asked, pointing to a large plastic storage container as I handed her the bottle.

  “Lasagna from the other night. That goes in the freezer too.”

  “It’s full of ice cream.”

  “Gelato, actually. Your freezer isn’t that tiny.”

  “Want to bet? Hic.”

  “You can put it downstairs, then.”

  “I’m sure Julio will enjoy it.”

  Gina poured generous glasses for both of us, then raised hers in a toast. “To hell with the hiccups.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  We ate and drank in silence for a few minutes, then Gina put another slice of pizz
a on her plate and leaned toward me.

  “So tell me.”

  “About what?”

  “Finding your latest body.”

  “He’s not my body. And I thought I already told you.”

  “Sketchily. I want all the details.”

  I took a swallow of wine, then started at the beginning. Gina listened intently, nodding now and then. She frowned when I described Detective Walters’s visit to the tearoom during my meltdown, and again when I told her about my dream visit from Daniel Swazo.

  “Girlfriend, you need to see a therapist.”

  “I went and talked to that counselor from the Hospice Center today. Loren Ja—hic—Jackson.”

  “Did that help?”

  “Yes.” I nodded, then took another piece of pizza. “He’s very nice. He really listens.”

  “Really cute, too, if I remember right.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  I frowned, doubting I had said any such thing to Gina. “Well, anyway, he helped me realize that the knife in my dream was the same one the cops f—hic—found in Nat’s driveway. I asked Tony to check if there was anything unusual about it.”

  “How come Tony isn’t investigating this?”

  “He’s on another case, a nasty one.”

  “Oh.”

  Gina finished a slice of pizza, looked speculatively at the rest of the pie and at the garlic bread, then helped herself to a virtuous serving of salad. I followed suit, actually glad to have the greens.

  “Thank you for bringing this,” I said.

  “Well, I’ve been worried about you.”

  “I’m all—hic—right.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I refilled our wine glasses. “How’s your week going?”

  “Busy. Everybody’s getting their holiday ads in.”

  “This early?”

  “Be glad you’re not already seeing them. It won’t be long.”

  “Ugh. Sorry, no offense.”

  “None taken. Truth be told, I think they should ban Christmas ads until after Thanksgiving. Don’t tell my boss I said that.”

  “Or at least until after Halloween.”

  “Hm.” Gina took a piece of garlic bread and used it to push the last of her salad onto her fork. “So one question, and then I’ll take off my ad hat. Have you got your Christmas ads planned?”