A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn (19 page)

“Kids how old?”

“Late teens. High school age.”

I showed him the lilacs and the windows. He searched around the bushes with his flashlight and peered at a couple of dusty footprints, but found nothing more interesting.

“You shouldn't have chased them, ma'am.”

“Well, I didn't chase them. I just turned on the light and opened the curtains, and they ran.”

“You requested a patrol, right?”

“Yes, and I saw you out front, if that was you. I didn't realize you'd be coming around back. I thought you'd gone.”

Privately, I thought it would have made little difference if I hadn't turned on the light. The kids would have run the second the squad turned into the driveway.

“Well, call if you have any more trouble, ma'am. We'll continue to patrol all week.”

“Thank you.”

“You should leave your porch lights on.”

“All right.” If Captain Dusenberry would let me.

I watched him get into his car and back out, then cruise away down the alley. Returning to the house, I noticed soft music playing.

I locked the back door, leaving the
portal
lights on. Stepping into the dining parlor, I closed the curtains again and glanced at the chandelier as I headed back out to the hall.

One crystal swinging back and forth. A thank-you, perhaps?

I turned off the chandelier and gently closed the door, then shut off the stereo and went upstairs to get ready for bed. I remembered I'd left my computer on and stepped into my office to shut it down.

It was too late now to call Tony about the lecture, I concluded with a measure of relief. Manners could be a refuge.

I'd get in touch with him the next day, after I was fortified with a night's sleep. I went back to my suite and the first thing I saw as I stepped in was one of Tony's candlesticks.

They definitely weren't right that close to the hearth. I glanced around, looking for another spot to put them, but I was running out of options. I didn't want them in the bathroom, which left only...

The bedroom. I did not want Tony's giant candlesticks in my bedroom. I didn't want anything of his in there. Not yet.

I moved the candlesticks to flank the outer door of the suite. They looked all right there, standing guard. Standing watch over my privacy. I frowned, still troubled by their presence, their Tony-ness, in my private rooms.

I shook my head and turned away. It had been a long day and I was flustered by the continuing infestation of Goths. Things might look better in the morning. I went to bed, determined not to think about Tony, and so of course I thought of nothing else until I fell asleep.

Monday morning I rose and donned my navy dress for Maria Garcia's funeral. The mass was to be held at the Basilica at eleven, and I figured why bother changing clothes when the tearoom was closed anyway? I set my hat, gloves, and purse on the credenza in my office, sat at my desk, and started going through phone messages.

Four reservations which I added to Kris's online list, a call from Hooper Dairy, and a message from Willow asking if I wanted to meet her friend at the museum that day. I glanced at the clock, called her back and got voicemail, and left a message that I could probably meet her mid-afternoon.

Kris came in at five minutes to nine, wearing a lavender dress of fairly contemporary style. She paused in the doorway of my office, looking surprised as she took in my sober attire. “You almost look Goth.”

“And you almost look normal. What's the occasion?”

“No occasion.” She blushed slightly, then reached into her purse and took out a handful of cash, holding it out to me as she stepped up to my desk. “Here's your money.”

“Thanks, but it belongs in the cash bag. There's an IOU in there.”

“Don't you want to count it?”

I looked up at her. “I trust you.”

She went to her office. I heard the creak of the floorboard, then the sound of her opening her desk drawer. A minute later she came back and handed me the IOU, on which she'd written “PAID, Kris.”

“Thanks again for helping me out,” she said.

I felt badly for twitting her about her dress; she'd probably worn the light color to appease me after Saturday's unfortunate incident. “You're welcome. And I shouldn't have said ‘almost normal.' You always look presentable, and I like the unusual, within reason.”

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“I haven't been downstairs,” I said, getting up. “Want some tea?”

“Sure.”

I went out to the hallway, glowing with morning light from the windows east and west. Pausing to appreciate the play of rainbow light on the ceiling from the crystals I had hanging in the east window, I wondered what the upper floor had been like when Captain Dusenberry lived there. I would have assumed it was used only for storage, except that the windows were in the original design of the house. Glass being expensive in the day, windows must have been for the benefit of people.

Who had lived up here? Servants? Tenants? Captain Dusenberry was unmarried, so he had no children. Well, I assumed he had none.

I went slowly downstairs, enjoying the silky feel of the old wooden bannister against my palm and the hush of the thick oriental carpet beneath my feet. Sometimes I had to remind myself to enjoy my blessings.

In the butler's pantry, I put the kettle on for a pot of Darjeeling. While it rumbled toward a boil I went across to the dining parlor and listened to the quiet. The gauze curtains were drawn, giving me a ghostly view of the lilacs outside. Captain Dusenberry made no gestures. Perhaps he liked a peaceful morning as much as I.

I set the tea to steeping, then strolled through the front parlors, just assuring myself that all was well and ready for Tuesday's guests. I stepped into Lily, thinking of Maria and of her grieving family, whom I was soon to meet. Some petals had fallen from a vase of fading roses. I picked them up and carried the vase back to the pantry.

When the timer went off, I removed the infuser from the teapot, covered it with a cozy, then gathered cups and accoutrements onto a tray with the pot. On impulse I went to the kitchen to see if there were any leftover tea goodies in the fridge. All I found was a tub of lemon curd and a half-dozen wisteria-blossom petits fours. The almond icing was only a little dry, and the buttercream wisteria blossoms were plenty moist, so they were passable. I put the cakes on a plate, added it to the tea tray, and carried it all upstairs.

Kris glanced up as I set the tea down on her horizontal file cabinet. I poured for us both, and brought Kris a cup along with the plate of petits fours. I fetched my own cup and settled into her guest chair, watching her choose a cake.

“These things are deadly,” she remarked, picking one up. “Mmmm.”

“I love them, too. I usually try to resist, but these would have been thrown out...”

She swallowed and picked up her teacup. “Can't have that.”

I helped myself to a petit four. Salad for lunch, I thought.

“Is Julio coming in today?” Kris asked.

“I doubt it. The funeral.”

“Oh, right. That's why you're looking Goth.” She took a sip of tea and eyed the petits fours again. “I wanted to ask him about the menu for our dinner. He said he'd do it.”

“He should be in tomorrow,” I said, hoping that he would. Otherwise I'd have to come up with a sample menu for Joan myself.

“We've decided on a date, by the way,” Kris said. “We want to have it on the summer solstice. You said we could reserve the dining parlor for after hours, right?”

“Yes. No absinthe, or anything else eclectic, please.”

Kris's face stiffened slightly. “No, ma'am. Just some wine and mead. And we're all over twenty-one, in case you're wondering.”

“Good. You might talk to Julio about the wines, if he's going to cater for you.”

She nodded. “He's all gung-ho to do it. Says it'll be a fun change from the sweet and pretty stuff.”

I smiled. If Julio enjoyed catering a Gothic dinner, more power to him. Anything that kept him happy here—and was legal—was fine with me. In fact, I'd been toying with the idea of my own dinner party, now that the tearoom was fairly settled into a steady routine.

I refrained from thinking about whether to allow the wine if our license hadn't come through by the time of Kris's dinner party. Private party; technically it was Kris hosting it, not the tearoom. I just tended to be nervous about the letter of the law.

Was that Tony's influence?

I shied away from the question. “How many people will you be having?”

“About a dozen, I think. Maybe less.” She pressed her lips together. “There's some friction in the community at the moment.”

“Oh?”

She gave her head a little shake. “I shouldn't have mentioned it.”

“If there's anything I can do to help—”

“No, it's just...I have to make some choices.”

I kept silent, watching. The frown that had haunted her face lately was back.

“Have you ever realized you had to drop a friend, and that doing it would make you enemies?” she asked.

I sipped my tea. “I can't say that I have.”

“Well, it sucks. There's no good option. ”

“Are there any that outweigh the others?”

“If I stay friends with her, I could get arrested again.”

“That seems a distinct disadvantage.” I pushed the petit four plate closer to her elbow. “Is this your friend who was hosting the absinthe party?”

“Clarice? No, she's great. This is—the person who's been spreading the word to the younger kids about our parties.”

“You found out who it was.”

“Yeah. And if I drop her, it'll get all political.”

The choice seemed obvious to me, but I wasn't in Kris's shoes. Maybe she loved this friend. Maybe breaking with her would cost Kris her entire community.

“Can you talk to her?”

Kris shook her head. “I tried. She won't listen.”

“Will others listen?”

Kris looked up at me in surprise, as if this hadn't occurred to her. “Clarice would. She still might get convicted because of that—” She stopped, scowling, then picked up the last petit four and ate it.

I thought of several things to say, and discarded them all. Kris would have thought of them herself. It really wasn't my place to advise her.

“Well, it sounds like you'd still have at least one friend, then,” I said. “Two, if you care to count me.”

She looked up with a startled laugh. “Well, thanks.” She gazed at the empty plate, thinking.

I got up and refilled our teacups. I'd forgotten to put the cozy over the teapot, and the tea was no longer piping hot. I sipped it anyway.

“Any response to the ad for an assistant for Julio?” I asked, offering distraction.

Kris shook her head. “Not yet. I'd give it a couple of weeks.”

“OK.”

She stared into the distance briefly, then straightened in her chair and looked at me. “Want me to post it on the Facebook page?”

I carefully refrained from frowning. Where Facebook is concerned, I am indeed a Luddite. The thought of who knew how many people listening in on my random thoughts, and sharing theirs with me, made me cringe. Kris had insisted a Facebook page would be good for the tearoom, so I'd let her set one up, but I refused to do anything with it myself or to create a Facebook account.

“Sure,” I said. “Let me know if it gets any nibbles.” I checked my watch. “Time for me to go. I'll be back after noon. I can take the bank deposit then.”

I stood and carried my teacup and the empty plate to the tray. Ophelia drifted above the file cabinet, looking serene.

“Have a good time,” Kris said.

I looked back at her, wondering if she was being ironic, then decided to let it go. I stepped into my office, put on my hat, tucked my gloves and purse under my arm, and went downstairs.

I could have walked, but the day was already warm and I didn't want to arrive overheated, so I drove the short distance to St. Francis Basilica. I arrived at five minutes before eleven and found it fairly packed, despite its size.

Several people were standing outside the front doors, smoking. One, a broad-shouldered Hispanic woman with short, brassy-colored hair, wearing a black dress with shiny gold buttons, watched me with cold eyes. I gave her a polite smile as I passed her and went through the doors, in a hurry to get away from the cigarette smoke.

Inside the thick stone walls it was cooler, and a sense of calm descended on me despite the murmuring of many voices. The stained glass windows glowed with jeweled light, and candles burned on the altar and around the coffin far at the front of the cathedral.

The pews were largely full. I chose to stand at the back of the nave. The vast majority of those in attendance were Hispanic, but I spotted Joan Timothy, also standing, and worked my way over to her. She was one of the few other ladies wearing a hat, which I, being a devoted fan of Miss Manners, counted as a point in her favor.

“Good morning,” I said. “Quite a crowd.”

“Good morning. Yes, it is. I can't see whether the roses we sent arrived,” she said, standing on tiptoe and peering toward the altar.

My own modest floral offering would no doubt be lost in the massive array of memorials I that seemed to be heaped at the front of the church. I could see a large wreath of red roses and several smaller wreaths standing around the coffin, and many floral arrangements on the floor. Roses dominated, which didn't surprise me at all.

“Are any others here from the Rose Guild?” I asked Joan.

She gave me a wry look and shook her head. I was unsurprised, though disappointed, at the answer. I stepped a little closer to Joan and spoke quietly.

“Maria had trouble fitting in with the Guild, didn't she?”

“I'm sorry to say that she did,” Joan answered in a low voice. “Most people liked her—don't take me wrong. But there were a few, a small few, who were rather hateful toward her.”