Patrice Greenwood - Wisteria Tearoom 03 - An Aria of Omens

by Patrice Greenwood

  And another unusual circumstance was the sudden withdrawal of the singer who should have performed the shepherd-boy, leading to Vi’s singing the role. I hadn’t even met the woman—Lydia, Vi had called her. I wondered if Tony had talked to her. I was curious why she had canceled.

  I was out of eggs. I disposed of the eggshells and presented the bowl of peeled eggs to Julio.

  “Deviled, or egg salad?”

  “Deviled.”

  Julio pushed a recipe card across the table to me. I took it and the eggs back to my station and collected everything I’d need: seasonings, mayonnaise, watercress for garnish, tray for the finished eggs. Julio’s recipe was different from mine, but he was the jefe. I did it his way.

  I was just piping filling into the last row of egg halves when Nat came in. “There you are. That nice young man said to tell you he’s got time to talk to a couple more, if anyone wants to go up.”

  “Did Dee get to see him?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Does he need more tea?”

  “I just set a fresh pot brewing for him.”

  “Thanks.”

  I stepped over to Ramon, who was wiping down his end of the work table. “Want to talk to the counselor? I think this is the last call.”

  He shrugged, then glanced at Julio, who was being deaf. I gave Ramon my best pleading-puppy look.

  “OK, I’ll go say hi. Need a break anyway.”

  “You can take the tea up with you,” Nat said, leading Ramon into the pantry.

  I glanced at Julio. Still deaf. Writing something.

  Resisting the urge to bug him, I garnished my eggs with watercress leaves, then covered them and put them in the fridge. Cleaned up my work area, then decided to check on the guests. Abandoning my apron, I went to the butler’s pantry, armed myself with a fresh pot of tea, and sallied forth.

  The parlors were filled with small groups enjoying their tea and conversation. Everyone seemed content, until I looked into Hyacinth and found a solitary gentleman there who looked rather forlorn. He was a few years older than I, very clean-cut with short dark hair and chiseled features. His face looked familiar.

  I took a step into the room. “Good afternoon.”

  He had been staring vacantly at the empty fireplace, but looked up at me with questioning eyes. I was sure I had seen him before.

  “I’m Ellen Rosings, the owner. May I warm up your cup?”

  He proffered his empty cup. As I filled it, I noticed a slice of Aria Cake, untouched, on his plate.

  I don’t know why, but that clicked a memory into place for me. “You’re Mr. Ebinger, aren’t you?”

  He nodded, his gaze drifting back to the fireplace.

  “I was at the Opera last Friday. You sang magnificently.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m so sorry about Mr. Solano.”

  A frown pinched his brow. “Thank you,” he said again, barely above a whisper, then looked up at me with a gaze that was suddenly sharp and sent my mind back to Tosca: his character’s torment, anger and grief.

  “Victor asked me to make this reservation. We were going to come together. I almost canceled, but I decided … because he wanted me to come here….”

  This was not a man who had killed. This was a man in pain.

  “I understand he recommended us to a number of people,” I said gently. “It was very kind of him.”

  “Yes. He was kind.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  I meant more than tea and sandwiches. I was tempted to invite him to talk to the counselor upstairs, but that would probably be too forward.

  “No, thank you,” he said. “I’m all right.”

  “Well, let us know if you need anything.”

  He surprised me with a stunning smile, then subsided into reverie once more. I left him to his solitude, wishing I could do more and knowing I couldn’t. Maybe I would slip him one of Mr. Jackson’s cards before he left.

  I returned to the kitchen, where I found Julio making a list. He looked up at me, then tore the page off the pad and handed it to me.

  “Gonna need some groceries for tomorrow.”

  “OK. You need more help here, or should I go get this now?”

  “We’re caught up, pretty much. Think I’ll go home, if you don’t mind. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

  I glanced at the clock. Past three-thirty.

  “Sure. Thanks, Julio.”

  I looked over the list and surreptitiously watched him get ready to leave. He always patrolled the whole kitchen before he clocked out. He traded a nod with Mick as he passed the dishwashing station. That little gesture made me feel better about Julio’s state of mind.

  Macho kid. Didn’t want to talk to the counselor, though he probably needed it more than any of us.

  Well, at least Loren’s time hadn’t been wasted. He’d probably done Iz and Dee some good.

  I headed upstairs to get my purse. The drapes were partway drawn over the front window, and even so it was warm. The swamp cooler was humming away, though with the humidity outside it wasn’t very efficient.

  Ramon stood by the window, hands in pockets, Facing Loren. He gave me a sharp look, which I answered with a smile as I nabbed one of Loren’s cards from the table, then went into my suite.

  Armed with purse and phone, I stepped across to ask Kris if she needed anything and tell her where I was going, then headed downstairs again. Julio was gone. Dee and Iz were setting up tea trays in the pantry, raiding the sandwiches and eggs I’d labored over. I spoke with them briefly and was glad to find them both in even spirits. They assured me everything was under control and I was safe to go shopping.

  I’d have preferred a nap, actually, but oh well.

  I looked in on Mr. Ebinger and found him signing a credit card slip for his bill. Wishing I’d thought to make his tea complimentary, I handed him Loren’s card.

  “Mr. Jackson has been very helpful to us. You might wish to give him a call.”

  He glanced at it, then at me. “Thanks.”

  “Thank you for coming.”

  He sighed. “I’m glad I did.”

  Closure. I smiled, understanding, and quietly left.

  Julio’s list was fairly short, mostly staples. Despite bumping our grocery orders on Monday, we hadn’t quite had enough to get us through Saturday. I drove to the nearby shopping center on the north side of town and hit the grocery store there, picking up some sodas for the potluck while I was there, and was back at the tearoom in less than an hour.

  Ramon had left. Except for Mick washing dishes, the kitchen was quiet. I put away the groceries and took the receipt up to Kris. To my surprise, Loren was in her office, sitting in her visitor’s chair. He looked around at me and smiled.

  “Groceries,” I said to Kris, handing her the receipt. She nodded, her face neutral.

  I turned to Loren. “Thank you for coming. I think you’ve helped quite a bit.”

  “I hope so. I’m sorry I didn’t get to speak with your chef.”

  “He wasn’t ready. He and Vi were close friends.”

  He nodded. “I’ve left a few of my cards on the table out where I was sitting, and a couple of handouts. Anyone is welcome to call me any time.”

  “Thank you.”

  He stood, stepping out from under the sloping roof until he could stand straight. “I guess I’ll be going, unless you’d like to talk a bit.”

  God, his eyes were blue.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Maybe later. I’m still processing.”

  He nodded and headed for the hall. I walked out with him and he turned to me with an inquiring look. “You’ve done this before,” he said.

  “Not this exactly. My parents are both gone.”

  “And there have been some deaths in the building.”

  That surprised a laugh out of me. “Well, yes. It’s an old building.”

  He smiled. “I’ve learned a few interesting things about it today.”
/>   “I’m sure you have.”

  “You’re doing wonderfully, all things considered.”

  This was getting close to stuff I didn’t want to discuss, so I just nodded. Loren looked around the hall once more.

  “You’ve created a peaceful atmosphere. Downstairs, too.”

  “That’s the idea. This is a place for people to get away for a while.”

  “Much needed in the modern world.” He smiled. “I’m glad to have met you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Please call me any time. About anything.”

  He held out a card. I took it, not quite sure to interpret that last. He smiled again, and headed down the stairs.

  I allowed myself a sigh, since I was alone. I was so ready for this day to be over.

  I put my purse in my suite, checked my desk (nothing on fire), and poked my head in Kris’s office. “Everything good?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hope I didn’t interrupt an important conversation.”

  “With that Loren guy? No.”

  “He’s pretty good, I think.”

  “I thought he was kind of pushy.”

  “Maybe a little.”

  Ever the cool and collected Goth, my Kris. It occurred to me that I didn’t know whether she and Vi had been close. I suspected not; their personalities were rather different, and Kris was a couple of years older.

  I went down to the gift shop to talk with Nat. She and Dee were discussing where to display some new tea accessories that had arrived that day. The shop was already crammed with infusers, tea cozies, teapots, and tea-themed knick-knacks.

  Eventually I might have to give up Poppy, or even Poppy and Hyacinth, in order to expand the gift shop. I’d have to ask Kris to estimate how much income we’d gain from retail sales as opposed to how much we’d lose without those two seating areas.

  I would never give up Marigold, soon to become Violet, or its neighbor, Dahlia. Both areas shared a fireplace, and were large enough for parties of four.

  “Nat, when you have a minute, I’d like to bend your ear.”

  “Of course, sweetie. Dee, I think you’re right. Go ahead and move the note cards to the shelf and put the infusers on the table with the teapots.”

  Brushing her hands, Nat came up to me with a smile. I invited her to walk in the garden with me and we went out the front, past a couple of parties enjoying tea on the portal.

  The roses were happily baking in the sunshine. A warm breeze wafted different scents to us as we walked between the bushes and around the south side of the house.

  “Remember your massage tonight,” Nat said.

  “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. I’m counting the minutes.” I pulled the petals off a faded rose and held them to my face for the scent. “You going to Mr. Ingraham’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Give him my best.”

  “I will. You all right, Ellen? You didn’t get a chance to talk with the counselor.”

  “I have his number. That’s not why I asked you to come out here.” I paused outside Marigold’s window. “I’m planning on making a change, and I’ll need your help. Remember how you never liked the color of the chairs in Marigold?”

  She nodded. “They’re too brown.”

  “Well, I’ve decided to redecorate that whole area and change its name.”

  “Really?”

  “To Violet.”

  She glanced toward the window. “Oh, Ellen. That’s a lovely idea.”

  I smiled, blinking, caught off guard by the sudden tightening of my throat. Nat gathered me into a hug.

  “You poor dear. You miss her terribly, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “I’ve missed her since she went to the Opera, but I always thought she’d be back.”

  “Oh, honey.”

  I stepped back and rubbed at my eyes, annoyed with myself. “Anyway, I want the chairs and the loveseat to be violet, but I can’t decide if I should have them reupholstered or just get new ones.”

  “Reupholstering takes forever, and costs almost as much as new furniture. I’d say just get new ones. We could put the old ones in the front hall for people who are waiting to be seated.”

  “That’s a good idea. Will you help me pick out the fabric for new drapes? And new decorations.”

  “I’d be honored.”

  “I don’t know when we’ll have time…”

  “We’ll make time. This is important.”

  She’d confirmed what I’d been thinking but trying to logic myself out of. She was right, though. This was important and it couldn’t wait. Or not long, anyway. It would have to wait until after Wednesday.

  “Thanks, Nat,” I said. “You’re the best aunt in the world.”

  “And you’re the best niece. Now, it’s—” She checked her watch. “—just after five. You’re done for today.” She took my arm and started back toward the front door. “Go up and change, grab your swimsuit, and go on up to Ten Thousand Waves.”

  “It’s too early!”

  “Soak in the hot tub until it’s time for your massage. I’ll close up the tearoom.”

  “But you’ll be late for the dinner party.”

  “No, I won’t. It’s cocktails until seven-thirty. Don’t fret. Have a relaxing evening, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Well … yes, ma’am!”

  We stepped through the front door and she smooched my cheek. “Go on, scoot.”

  I followed my orders. Kris passed me on the stairs and we said goodnight, see you tomorrow. I changed into jeans and a caftan top, grabbed a sweater in case it got cold later, and snuck out the back door of the tearoom.

  Ten Thousand Waves is one of my favorite places on earth. I’ve been going there since I was a teen. It started out as a Japanese spa with a handful of hot tubs. It has grown to include rooms for overnight guests, a fabulous gift shop, and a full-service spa with amazing treatments and fascinating Japanese plumbing.

  One of the best things about 10k Waves is its location, only a few minutes from the Plaza on the road to the ski basin, but set apart in a beautiful piñon forest with gorgeous Japanese-style landscaping. The walk up the path from the parking lot is a journey from modern mundanity to peaceful sanctuary. The door to the spa is next to an indoor waterfall, the sound of which follows the visitor up the short staircase to the lobby/gift shop.

  Though I’d brought along a suit as Nat suggested, I opted to hang out in the women’s tub rather than the communal tub. I was tired, and I didn’t want to have to watch how I sat or keep an eye on who was looking at me. I wore the suit anyway, more as a sign that I wanted privacy than from any concern about nudity. As it happened, there were only two other women there, one of whom appeared to be asleep on a lounge chair. The other was in the pool. I gave her a cursory glance as I joined her, noting dark hair up in a bun, skin a shade too tan, and tension lines around her mouth.

  As I entered the tub, I breathed a sigh of relief. River stones provided a variety of smooth shapes underfoot, and the hot water made my muscles very happy. The tub was long and oval-shaped. I moved to the far end, leaned back, and looked up through pine boughs to the sky.

  The sun hadn’t set, but it was obscured by the trees and by hills to the west. A warm twilight filled the space under the canopy, with just an occasional breeze to stir the branches. I let go of all my worries—or rather I pushed them away—and concentrated on appreciating my surroundings.

  The smell of the pine trees. Bird song. The endless motion of the water, ripples reflecting fragments of sky on the pool’s surface, stirred by the tiniest movement from myself or the other woman.

  Water.

  That little message had been a dead end. Poor Willow.

  I looked up at the sky again, noting clouds above the pines. I wasn’t here to worry about Willow.

  A splash made me glance up; the other woman was heading for the cold plunge in the corner. I didn’t need that kind of stimulation, but after a while I did get up and go inside to the sauna.
I took a paper cup of water in with me and drank it while I sweated, then took a quick shower rinse and returned to the tub.

  I stared at the shards of light dancing on the water. Shards, not knives. Not as sharp.

  Where was the knife, if not in the water?

  In some landfill or arroyo miles away. Or not. By now, the police might have given up on finding it.

  Find the weapon, find the killer. But maybe that was only true on TV.

  As a detective, I was pretty sure I sucked.

  11

  When my fingertips started to look like prunes, I got out and went back to the dressing room, showered, donned my complimentary kimono and went to report for my massage. I was a few minutes early, so I sat in the waiting room and sipped more water, and watched the beautiful people go by.

  There were always beautiful people at 10k Waves. I sometimes wondered if the communal tub was a pickup rendezvous, but it hadn’t ever felt like that to me. Just a place where beautiful people liked to lie around being beautiful, admiring themselves and each other.

  “Ellen?”

  I looked up and saw the hostess standing at the reservations podium. I went to report to her and was introduced to my massage therapist, a tall, lean, and glowing woman named Naomi. She led me to a private room and proceeded to turn my tense muscles into melted goo.

  I nearly fell asleep on the massage table. Stray thoughts ping-ponged around in my head, but I was too busy appreciating the massage to give them much attention.

  I was just wondering if it would ever end, when it did. So of course, I immediately wished for more. I thanked Naomi profusely, left her a whopping tip, and oozed back to the dressing room for a long, hot shower.

  Back in the lobby, I surrendered my kimono and splurged on a bottle of house-brand yuzu lotion. I kept yawning on the drive home, and when I got there I went straight to bed, expecting to fall into deep, untroubled sleep.

  Instead, I dreamed.

  I was at the Opera, performing the role of Tosca. Victor Solano was Scarpia, but he kept paying more attention to Cavaradossi than to me, which pissed me off. The scene where Scarpia tormented Cavaradossi went on forever, with Scarpia gloating and caressing him in almost an obscene manner while I watched from upstage, with the wind blowing my long black hair around me through the open back of the stage. I got madder and madder, and started trying to plan how to swap my stage knife for a real one in Act Three, but the real knife was in the water and I couldn’t fish it out during the performance.