A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn (28 page)

Sighing, I let myself in, put the plate in the kitchenette, then went back and got one of the candlesticks and brought it into the suite. I looked all around the living room and kitchenette, but I'd tried every possible space there. They'd look ridiculous in the tiny bathroom. Turning to my right, I carried the candlestick into my bedroom.

My bed, a queen-sized canopy tricked out in rich brocades, is backed into a corner at an angle beneath the sloping roof. The flanking nightstands leave triangular spaces between the bed and the walls. I put the candlestick into one and set the candle on top, then fetched the other candlestick from the hall. Stepping back toward the chimney, I took in the effect.

They were perfect. Just the extra touch needed to make the bed look really luxurious. They were far enough from the canopy not to be a fire hazard, and out of traffic areas so they couldn't be knocked down or brushed against.

Maybe I'd known all along this was where they belonged. I just hadn't been ready to admit it.

I lit the candles and stood back. My bed glowed like a shrine. I smiled, wondering if that made me the offering. Then I blushed, and hastened to blow out the candles.

 

 

28

T
he next two days were a blur of activity. Rosa did not come in to work, by which I inferred that her family had been notified of Cora's arrest. Julio came in, worked silently and with frightening efficiency, and left early. I filled in for both of them as best I could, grateful that it was the slowest part of the week.

Slow is a relative term, however; Santa Fe's tourist season was in full swing and the tearoom saw a steady flow of new visitors. I divided my time between the kitchen, the butler's pantry, and the gift shop, with occasional forays upstairs to deal with the few business matters Kris couldn't resolve on her own.

By Wednesday afternoon, I was thinking longingly of margaritas and Ten Thousand Waves. I had just put a tray of frozen scones in the oven for the four o'clock seating, when the phone in the pantry rang.

“Ellen?” Kris said when I picked up. “There's a call for you on line two. Can you take it?”

“Let me get to the gift shop,” I said, setting a timer for the scones.

Dee came in carrying an empty three-tiered food tray. She assured me she could handle the seated customers and wouldn't let the scones burn, and shooed me out of the pantry.

I walked forward to the gift shop, rang up a purchase for a young couple who were so plainly newly in love that I felt like showering them with rose petals, then picked up the waiting call.

“Ellen, it's Joan Timothy. I got your email with the quote for our annual event.”

“Oh, yes. I'll understand if your plans have changed—”

“No, no. We're definitely coming! The menu is just what we were hoping for.”

I thanked her and wrote down the date and her estimate of attendance. We would definitely have to put tables on the
portal.
We discussed a few more details, then fell into a brief silence.

I gazed out the window at the wisterias and cleared my throat. “You've—heard about Cora Young?”

“Oh, yes. We're having a special election to replace her,” Joan said, a steely edge creeping into her voice. “Lucy Kingston, too—she's resigned.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be. I'm not. We'll be better off without them.”

I couldn't help thinking that was true. I was searching for a tactful way to say so when my attention was distracted by the sight of the Bird Woman—wearing a red dress and long-fringed paisley shawl, with a turquoise scarf wrapped around her head—coming up the steps to the
portal
with Willow Lane. They were followed by a small troupe of elderly ladies in sun hats and shades.

“And I'd like to make a reservation for four next week,” Joan said. “I'll be bringing our new officers to tea.”

“Oh, yes! Just a moment.” I glanced down at the reservation list, saw Mrs. Olavssen's name down for the dining parlor at four o'clock, and swallowed. I turned to the calendar and recorded Joan's request, by which time the ladies were out of my sight. I heard the tinkle of the bells on the front door.

“We'll send you an email to confirm,” I told Joan. “Thanks so much.”

After a hasty farewell, I stepped out into the hallway. The Bird Woman was halfway down it already, fringe dragging on the floor as she led her friends to the dining parlor. I hurried after them, catching up as they entered the parlor.

“So here's the Murder Room,” the Bird Woman announced, accompanied by a jingling sound, “and Willow's going to tell us all about the murder that happened here.
Both
murders,” she added, moving around to the far end of the table.

Willow took off her black straw hat and cast me an apologetic glance. I knew full well that this must be the Bird Woman's idea, not hers.

“May I take that for you?” I said.

“Thank you.”

I took Willow's hat out to the hall and hung it on the coat rack, then escaped into the butler's pantry. Dee looked up from arranging sandwiches on a tiered food tray.

“Want me to serve them?” she asked, nodding toward the parlor.

I sighed with relief. “If you don't mind. I'll check on the other guests.”

Dee dimpled. “I think she's kind of fun, but I know she gets on your nerves. This goes to Hyacinth,” she said, handing me a cozy-covered teapot.

I spent the next hour in and out of the front parlors, the gift shop, the kitchen—anywhere but the dining parlor. Occasionally I heard the Bird Woman's stentorian tones, or Willow's lighter voice, drifting down the hallway. As six o'clock approached, I decided to ask Dee and Iz to handle closing the tearoom so I could prepare for the lecture that evening. I was just coming out of the pantry to look for Dee when the Bird Woman stepped out of the parlor. She raised her hands, and I realized the slight jingling I'd been hearing came from the large number of bangle bracelets she was wearing.

“There you are! I was afraid you weren't coming back!”

“We're a bit short-handed—”

She leaned toward me and lowered her voice slightly. “Thought I'd drum up some extra business for you. Willow told me about your tour package. I think I can get you a group from the Seniors Club every other week at least.”

“How kind of you,” I said, swallowing my pride.

“Anyway, I promised the girls they could meet you. Don't worry, it won't take a minute.”

Resigning myself to fate, I followed her into the dining parlor, where her friends were happily chattering over the remains of their tea. They looked up at my entrance.

“This here's Ellen Rosings, the Mistress of the Tearoom,” the Bird Woman said with a flourish and a jingle.

“Proprietress,” I murmured, smiling. “I hope you all have enjoyed your tea.”

They nodded and made affirmative noises. I backed toward the door.

“Oh, and before you go,” the Bird Woman said, “we need a Ouija board. Do you have one?”

“I'm afraid not,” I said faintly.

“Well, make sure you get one before the next tour. We're gonna need it to talk to Captain Dusenberry.”

 

 

29

“I
t was interesting,” Gina said, holding out her wineglass to be refilled, “but this one wasn't half as cool as the one about complex adaptive systems.”

Tony, who was nearest the bottle, picked it up and poured. I watched his face, looking for a sign of approval or disapproval of the evening's entertainment, but he had on his neutral expression. I'd been wondering all night what was on his mind, and what had happened with Cora Young, but so far I hadn't had a chance to ask.

We'd rehashed the lecture over dinner, as Gina and I usually do. Alan, who was blond and wore an expression of indomitable optimism, had loved it. I suspected he would love anything Gina told him to love—he certainly seemed besotted with her.

Tony's comments had been more reserved, and I couldn't tell if he'd enjoyed himself or was just being polite. He had, however, given his complete attention to the lecture, which I thought indicated a genuine interest. It had been a good talk, though I agreed with Gina that I'd heard better.

“I thought it was great,” Alan said for perhaps the third time. “That stuff about single-celled animals. That was really interesting!”

“Glad you liked it.” Gina grinned, took a sip of her wine, and leaned over to kiss Alan's cheek. “Let's plan on going to next month's. All of us,” she said, raising her glass toward me and Tony.

“What's the topic?” Tony asked.

Gina looked at me. I shrugged.

“I'll have to look it up. It's on their website.”

“Well, let us all know the date so we can save it,” Gina said.

I nodded, though I knew Tony couldn't commit absolutely, even if he wanted to. He could be called away to a crime scene at any time.

I also wasn't counting on Alan. He and Gina seemed pretty cozy now, but I knew that could also change in an instant. I hoped it wouldn't. He was nice, and I liked him better than I liked a lot of Gina's boyfriends. It would be more comfortable all around if he lasted a while.

We drifted to other topics as we polished off the last of the wine. The lighting at Pranzo was soft and warm. Tony's dark eyes reflected glints of candlelight. He'd worn a nice shirt and a silk tie, and looked rather splendid.

It was getting late, and no one wanted dessert. I was stifling yawns already; the last two days of frantic activity were catching up with me. Gina drove me and Tony back to my place and we all said goodbye, yes we must do it again, nice to meet you.

Tony walked me to the front door, through the garden rich with the scent of roses. I glanced at him sidelong as I took out my keys, still trying to figure out whether he'd enjoyed the evening, but I couldn't see his expression in the shade of the wisterias. I moved toward the door, into the glow of the porch lights flanking it.

“Nice dress,” Tony said.

“Thanks.”

“You really ought to go dancing in a dress like that.”