A Bodkin for the Bride

by Patrice Greenwood

  Angela smiled and shook Nat’s hand. Nat leaned toward her and lowered her voice.

  “You don’t happen to know any mariachis, do you?”

  Angela gave her a blank look. “Mariachis?”

  “My fiance wants a mariachi group—just a small one, a trio, maybe—at our wedding reception.”

  “Oh. No, I’m sorry, I don’t know any.”

  “Have you asked Ramon?” I said to Nat.

  “No, but that’s a good idea. He’s a musician. I should have thought of that.”

  Angela edged toward her grandmother, who stood before a display of bone china with a seventy-five-dollar teacup in one hand. Her grip looked firm, but I didn’t blame Angela for being concerned. None of us would be happy if that cup broke.

  “Willow stopped by,” Nat told me. “She’d like you to call, to touch base about next week.”

  “Next week?”

  “The spirit tours. October.”

  “Oh! Hic. Yes, of course. I’ll call her.”

  October would start next week. What had happened to September?

  A party of three—mother and two teenaged daughters—emerged from Dahlia, and Nat rang up a package of leaf tea for them. Loren Jackson and his sister came in as they were leaving. The Aragóns had moved on to the shelf of tea accessories, and were deep in discussion.

  “Nat, do you have a minute to run to the kitchen?” I asked softly. “Pack up a few sweets for me to send home with them. Ask Julio to put in some of those new meringues, if he has any more.” I nodded toward the Aragóns.

  “Sure thing! Back in a jiffy.”

  As she left, the Jacksons stepped up to me. I smiled.

  “I hope you enjoyed your tea.”

  “Oh, yes!” said Shelly, eyes bright with pleasure. “Everything was wonderful.”

  “Even the ... interlude,” added Loren. His smile was slight, but it had a dimple to one side, and his eyes were full of laughter.

  “Sorry about that,” I said, feeling my cheeks redden. “One of our guests got a little carried away.”

  “Not to worry,” he said. “Shelly was wondering if she could buy some of that Wisteria White.”

  “Yes, it’s right over here.” Grateful for the change of subject, I led them to the tea shelf.

  Dee came in and went to the register. Dolores went up to her and held out one of the leaf-shaped tea strainers. I doubted she was in the habit of brewing tea at home from anything other than tea bags, so it was either a gift for a friend, or a gesture of thanks for my hospitality. Dolores had a strong sense of honor, I concluded.

  I stepped out into the hall to give them all more room. I’d have to ask Kris if she’d finished that evaluation of Hyacinth and Poppy versus more room in the gift shop.

  “Here you are,” Nat said, coming up to me with a white pastry box sealed with our one of our wisteria stickers.

  “Thanks.” I waited until the Aragóns came out of the gift shop, then pressed the box into Dolores’s hands. “For you to enjoy at home. Thank you again for coming. It was lovely to meet you all.”

  “It was good to meet you,” Dolores said, nodding. She squared her shoulders and held her head high. She’d have made a great queen.

  I held the front door for them and stood on the portal watching them make their way down the path to the car parked at the curb. It was the car that talked—I recognized it. An older model sedan in a sinister shade of dark green.

  That had not been a happy evening for me and Tony. With a sigh, I went back in, still wishing he’d been able to join us.

  “Beep, beep!”

  I jumped, then hiccuped. The Bird Woman grinned at me, shaking out her shawl like a bird fluffing its feathers.

  “See you next week for the tour!” she said. “Come on, girls. Beep, beep!”

  I did not roll my eyes. I did close them, briefly. When I opened them, the Bird Woman was gone and Dee stood before me.

  “Sorry, Ellen,” she said.

  “Stop apologizing. There’s nothing you can do about her.”

  “She did buy four fifty-dollar gift cards.”

  I’d never be rid of her. She was my albatross. So to speak.

  I put on a smile and said, “That’s great. Thanks, Dee.”

  She smiled back and darted into the gift shop, passing Loren and his sister in the doorway. By Loren’s grin, I deduced that they’d witnessed my encounter with the Bird Woman.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “She’s a regular.”

  I tried not to grimace. “One of our best customers.”

  “I gather she was responsible for the Andrews Sisters?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll have to tell me about her. Maybe on Monday?”

  “Monday.” My brain was becoming a sieve, but I had a vague recollection that I’d made an appointment with him. “Yes,” I said, smiling.

  “See you then.”

  After watching the Jacksons out, I wanted nothing more than to go upstairs and collapse. There was one more party in the gift shop, but Dee was handling them. One couple left in the main parlor, in Lily. The day was winding down, none too soon for me.

  Nat came up the hall to me. “Poor dear. You look wrung out. Do you want some tea?”

  “I’ve had plenty of tea, thanks. What I need is some alone-time.”

  And a bubble bath.

  And brandy.

  Nat patted my arm. “Go on up, sweetie. I’ll handle closing.”

  “You’re a love. Thank you.”

  “You know, you don’t have to come over tomorrow.”

  October was looming. “Yes, I do. We need to fi—hic—nish your dress. We haven’t even started mine.”

  “There’s time. Sleep in, if you like. Come for lunch, and we’ll work afterward.”

  “I might not be able to sleep that long.”

  “You will if you take one of those pills.”

  “You mean a whole one? I’d sleep ‘til Tuesday.”

  I gave her a hug and a smooch on the cheek, then went upstairs, pausing at the pantry to thank Iz for taking such good care of me and the Aragóns. I passed along Dolores’s praise of her manners, which made her blush.

  Julio and Ramon were gone for the day. So was Kris. When I stepped onto the upper floor, it was blissfully quiet. Late afternoon light streamed in the western window, softened by the sheers, warming the space. A quiet hush filled the hallway.

  Just me and the ghosts.

  My shoulders drooped. I really ought to call Willow. I didn’t want to.

  Better to get it done, I told myself, and went into my office. I turned on all the stained glass lights, which lifted my spirits a little.

  A small stack of lavender message slips lay on my desk. I set them aside, resolving not to look at them until Tuesday. Or at least Monday. After lunch.

  I couldn’t resist looking at my phone to see if Tony had left a text. He had, midday. It was short.

  Break on case. Cant do tea. Sorry.

  He hadn’t had time for more, but at least he’d called his family. Angela, probably. I wondered if she’d had to drop everything and scramble into her pretty clothes.

  I looked at the card with Angela’s number. Her handwriting was neat, very feminine. I put it in my top drawer.

  I liked her, and was glad I’d met her. She wouldn’t have come if Tony hadn’t had to bail.

  I was tempted to answer him, to wish him luck and let him know we’d been fine (well, sort of) without him, but I figured that would just distract him from his work. I’d try in the morning, I decided.

  Now, for Willow. Time to get it over with. I called her number and she answered on the third ring.

  “Sorry I wasn’t available when you stopped by,” I said.

  “That’s all right. I wanted to give you the tour numbers for next week. When’s the cutoff for the final total?”

  “The day before, please.”

  I brought up the reservations screen and updated the numbers Willow gave me. More than
a week away, and the tours were already filling up. This would definitely be good for the tearoom.

  “Thank you for forwarding that report on the knife,” Willow said. “I’m afraid I couldn’t understand much of it.”

  “Neither could I. There’s meth, though, and something that might be food.”

  “The meth is puzzling. I don’t get a sense that Daniel was a drug user.”

  “He didn’t seem like the type, to me.”

  “Have you had any more dreams?”

  I sighed. “If I did, I don’t remember them. I haven’t been sleeping all that w—hic—well.”

  What sleep I’d had was thanks to Nat’s pills, but I still tired easily, as though the sleep hadn’t been completely restful.

  “I do think Daniel wants to communicate with you,” Willow said. “How would you feel about my coming over to see if we can reach him?”

  “You mean a séance?” I couldn’t help recoiling at the thought.

  “There’s a lot of baggage tied to that word. I just mean the two of us could sit quietly for a while, focus our thoughts, and see if Daniel reaches out to us.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Not tonight. It’s been a long day and I’m beat.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I’m spending the day with my aunt. Maybe in the—hic—evening.”

  “Shall we touch base mid-afternoon, then?”

  “All right. Let me give you my cell number.”

  When we said goodbye, I put my head in my hands. I really didn’t want to commune with Daniel, but I also didn’t want to offend Willow right as we were starting this new joint venture.

  Was I a wuss for not just saying no? Maybe.

  Two light taps startled me into looking up. Nat stood in the doorway, holding the bank bag.

  “We’re closed,” she said. “Mick’s finishing up the dishes, and Dee’s tidying the parlors. The others have gone home.”

  I got out my keys and locked the bank bag in Kris’s desk. “Thanks, Nat. See you tomorrow.”

  She kissed my cheek. “Rest up. If you decide not to come over, just give me a call.”

  “No, I’m coming. I need to get out.”

  “Well, go to your inner sanctum and have a drink or something. I’ll lock up.”

  She smiled, hugged me, and nudged me toward my suite. I listened to her footsteps going downstairs, then went into my rooms and firmly closed the door.

  I should eat. I’d had too much tea and not enough protein. I opened the fridge, looking for leftovers, but there was only yogurt, lettuce, apples and a few salad veggies. I thought of Gina’s lasagna, but it was downstairs in the freezer. Too much trouble, if it was even still there. For all I knew, the staff had had it for lunch.

  I wasn’t really hungry anyway. Only a little lightheaded.

  Maybe a bath? But that seemed like too much trouble as well. Really I just wanted to sit still.

  I poured a glass of port—all I had upstairs in the liquor department, besides bottles of wine. There was brandy downstairs in the kitchen, and other exotic liqueurs that Julio used for his magic, but this was easier.

  I sat in my favorite chair and took a sip. It wasn’t really what I wanted.

  I wasn’t sure what I wanted.

  Picking up my book, I tried to settle in to read, but my attention wandered and I found myself starting the same paragraph over and over again. Finally I put the book down and closed my eyes.

  I woke to wind rattling the leaves of the trees outside the window. It was dark, and my neck was stiff. I got out of the chair and stumbled to the bathroom, squinting at the clock on my microwave on my way through the kitchenette.

  Nine-thirty. Too late to start anything and a little early to crash, but heaven knew I needed the rest. I didn’t want to sleep late; I wanted to stop by the flea market in the morning before going to Nat’s. There would be an emotional hole there, shaped like Daniel Swazo. Maybe going back would help me remember some little detail of my non-conversation with him.

  Or maybe I just wanted to lay the ghost.

  I took a sliver of sleeping pill—a little less than a quarter—made a few swipes at my teeth with the toothbrush, and went to bed. As I lay waiting to fall asleep, I thought over my tea with the Aragóns.

  It had not been too awful, really, except for my suffering from a strong case of foot-in-mouth disease. Theresa had enjoyed the sweets, and Angela seemed sympathetic. I hadn’t learned much about Dolores, except that she still grieved for her husband and she shared Tony’s pride.

  They all did, in varying degrees. Maybe I’d never get past it.

  I wondered if it would have been different with Tony there. Would Dolores have followed his lead and tried to like me? Would he have been able to cajole Theresa? Or would it have been even worse?

  My thoughts drifted from these futile speculations to my upcoming obligations. Finishing Nat’s dress was top priority, followed by making mine. Then I’d need to meet with Julio and Nat about the menu for the wedding, get an update on how many guests there would be and decide about the shade—tent or umbrellas. Order champagne.

  From that, I progressed to pouring champagne. Bottle after bottle for an endless stream of thirsty guests. The Bird Woman came by with two pilsner glasses, demanding to have them filled, which took most of a bottle. She sallied off and climbed into a jeep without spilling a drop while I reached for another bottle to open.

  I couldn’t get the foil off, so I looked for my corkscrew to get it started. Instead I found a knife on the table in front of me. A knife with a handle of turquoise, malachite, and sugilite.

  I looked up and saw Daniel Swazo staring at me.

  He was dressed all in white, but not like Zozobra. Around his hips was knotted a sash of red, white, and black. It looked like a ceremonial garment.

  Behind him, the line of people waiting for champagne was getting restless.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I told him.

  He pointed to the knife. I didn’t want to touch it. It wasn’t mine; it wasn’t my responsibility.

  “Beep, beep!” said someone in line. Others took up the call, until the whole line was beeping at me, holding out empty champagne flutes.

  Daniel stood silent, staring intently at me, pointing at the knife.

  I had to get the champagne open, and this was the only way. I picked up the knife.

  A terrible sense of wrongness filled me. Not the knife itself, not Daniel, but something was wrong, very wrong, and it would hurt the family; it would hurt the tribe. I had to do something, tell someone, but it was hard to walk, hard to breathe, and the hill was steep. Night would come soon. I had to get help. I had to let someone know.

  Then I fell, endlessly, into darkness.

  10

  That time, I was sure I screamed.

  I woke, struggling with my sheets until I realized they weren’t attacking me. I was home, in bed, not falling.

  I collapsed and wept helplessly, great wracking sobs, punctuated by hiccups. Finally I dragged myself up and turned on the light.

  “Damn you, Daniel!” I gasped.

  That wasn’t fair, I knew. Daniel had died. Someone had beaten him and it killed him, whether or not that was the intent. He’d done nothing wrong that I knew of. He deserved my pity, and if I could give it, my help.

  A gust of wind slapped the window. I got up and went to my sitting room, turning on lights. My half-drunk port sat on the table by my chair. I downed it in two gulps.

  As I carried the empty glass into the kitchenette, I thought about refilling it. But I didn’t need more port. I needed rest. I needed peace.

  I put the glass in the sink and leaned my hands on the edge of the counter. A particularly painful hiccup set my tears flowing again. My gaze fell on the handle of the cutlery drawer beside me.

  There were knives in there—sharp ones. It would be so easy to take one out. A simple matter to open my flesh and let the blood flow. The bathtub was two steps away; it needn’t make a mess.


  “No,” I said aloud, my voice dulled by tears. “I’m stronger than that.”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d had such thoughts. After my father’s death, I’d lived in a black hole of depression for a while. I’d learned ways to fight the darkness.

  I left the knives where they were and went into the bathroom, stripping off my nightclothes and dropping them on the floor. I got in the shower and ran hot water on my head for a long time. When my fingers started to wrinkle, I rubbed some shampoo into my hair and scratched my scalp thoroughly.

  I toweled off and dressed in clean sweats, then decided I’d better eat. I still wasn’t hungry, but that wasn’t a good sign. Lettuce and yogurt wouldn’t cut it. I needed Gina’s lasagna.

  I left my suite and crossed the upper hall toward the light switches. The chandelier came on before I got there.

  I stopped, heart suddenly racing. There was no one else there; I strained my ears but heard only the wind. I turned in a slow circle, seeing nothing unusual, then started toward the stairs.

  The stairwell lights came on. I swallowed, then continued.

  The downstairs hall light was on by the time I reached the foot of the stairs. The pantry light came on as I turned toward it, and the kitchen lights came on as I entered the kitchen. Behind me, the stereo began playing soft music.

  I paused. “Thank you, Captain.”

  I went to the big, industrial freezer where I’d stashed the lasagna. It was still there, with a note in Julio’s handwriting taped to it: “Ellen’s – hands off.”

  My eyes fugged up with tears. Julio had guarded my lasagna. People loved me.

  The pan was huge, a square casserole that would feed half a dozen. Frozen hard. I turned on the smaller of the two ovens and put the whole pan in, not caring to try to carve out a single serving.

  While I waited, I decided to eat dessert first. I raided the fridge for two leftover petit fours and a chicken curry tea sandwich. I sat at the break table to eat them, listening to the occasional ticking from the oven as various bits of metal heated up.

  The curry made me thirsty, so I poured myself a glass of water. I felt better for the food, but it wasn’t enough. I was hungry now, and the lasagna would take a while. I could walk through the tearoom while I waited....