THE WITCH AND THE TEA PARTY (A Rachael Penzra Mystery) (6 page)

Aunt Myrtle got more excited as the big event got closer. Several times she raided my herb garden. Thankfully she always asked my permission
, and after watching her almost strip several of my thriving plants, I took over the job and clipped here and trimmed there. The thinning was probably good for the herbs, but I tend to be unadventurous about cutting things back. I like the wild look of an overgrown plant. Mostly, though, I hate to have gone to all the trouble of raising something and then chopping parts of it off, and nothing, including visual evidence, will ever really persuade me that the method isn’t painful.

The trio’s terrible tea (or terrible trio’s tea) supply must have been bountiful by the date of the party. “Come over and see what we’re doing,” Aunt Myrtle begged me, just after we’d closed the store. “And maybe you can carry that big urn across since you’re coming.”

David quickly chimed in. “I’ll carry it over. It’s rather heavy and clumsy.” He was making sure he was included in the visit.

She hustled us across the street. Inside the store all was in disarray. That was normal, but I could see where some effort had been made to clear a space,
between the actual store and the huge storage/hidden treasure area behind it, close to the little partitioned-off space where the fortune telling was done. The clearing had been done by the simple expedient of stuffing things in boxes and piling the boxes on top of the clutter already on the various sized tables, then removing the long folding tables and propping them against the wall.

“See? Here’s where we’re putting the chairs,” Moondance joined us and pointed to the open area. She has a knack of stating the obvious. “We’ll have little tables set around, too, for them to place their tea cups on.
We found some old TV trays.”

“You can put the urn over here, David,” Dora, the only one who seemed to actually be doing anything practical, indicated an empty table. “We washed up a bunch of cups and mugs we dug out of boxes and
found here and there.”

If you were looking for a tea cup or mug to buy, you’d have had to dig amongst old irons, jars,
pot covers, an alarm clock, etc. People gladly do it, always looking for that special find. I have to admit that I’m one of them. The back building is huge, with narrow trails weaving in and out amongst the tables and piles of filled boxes. Here and there are shelves, from floor to ceiling. Some things are out on display. Many more are in over-flowing boxes. The shop itself isn’t the big area. It’s the partition added on (before building permits and such nonsense came into being) the back. Lighting is at a premium, although there are numerous fluorescent, often flickering, lights hanging here and there from the ceiling.

“We’ll let them sit or wander, whatever they want to do,” Dora explained. “I’ll be ready to
ring things up if anybody sees something she wants.”

“Is it going to be all women?” I asked, although I knew that Dora tended to use the feminine whenever possible. I assume, mainly because she’s a preacher’s
daughter, that she still refers to God as He. On the other hand, I’d never place even a small bet on it.

“Oh no,” Moondance assured me, as she directed the hapless David where to find buckets to fill with the water that he was expected to lift and empty
into the urn for them. They hadn’t quite hopped on the equal rights band wagon. It was okay for voting or anything they wanted to do, but the male of the species was definitely expected to handle any heavy work. “The numbers will be even, I’m sure. After all, it is a dinner party they’re coming from.”

I wasn’t sure that the old etiquette rules still held about alternating the genders at a formal table, but often that’s the way it is, if for no other reason t
han that the world still more or less revolves around couples. I think I was being sexist in expecting that most of the partiers would be women. I’d like to think it’s because women are more interested in things like fortune telling because we’re more open to new and esoteric ideas.

“It certainly looks good,” I told them, meaning every word. Dora had lowered some ancient blinds over the front windows for privacy. The dusky light added to the general aura of fantasy. The flickering lights, the black paint they’d put on the outside of the fortune telling booth, the rich red velvet they’d hung for a door, all set in the strange oddments of the store itself, really gave the place a look of the possibilities of magic happening. Even the gurgling of the coffee urn mingled with the vaguely Native American New Age music they had playing seemed to promise an adventure outside the box. I found myself seeing movements from the corner of my eye. It was surely only the flickering lights, or even movement made by Dora’s pet rat, that was making it seem as though we weren’t alone.

And of course we weren’t. Ralph was there. But it wasn’t him who promoted the atmosphere of anticipation. It was, I knew, all in my mind. I shivered anyway. It didn’t help that David kept glancing around the room. He’s much more open to spirits than I am. I didn’t dare ask him what he was seeing or sensing. He’d tell me.

“When are they due?” I asked. “Do you all want to come over and grab a bite to eat at my place? I can whip up soup and sandwiches. Yo
u really should have something in your stomachs before the party starts. It won’t do to have your stomachs growling while the people are here.”

“I don’t think I can eat anything,” Moondance sounded nervous. “I mean, it might upset my vibes or something.”

First night nerves, I thought, and was probably right. “Moondance, you’re going to do wonderfully tonight. Just think of it as another afternoon of readings.”

“Only we’re making two thousand dollars off it,” Dora added, spoiling the effect.

“And we might get more jobs if this one works out well,” Aunt Myrtle said.

“It will be just fine,” I promised. “But you can’t do it right if you’re feeling weak.
You always eat lunch before readings, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she agreed, sounding careful, as though she expected a trap. She really was tense.

“That just makes sense,” David added his bit. The sweet old things turned immediately toward him, soaking in the wisdom of Man. Dora, of course, wasn’t interested in his views because he was a man, but she had great respect for him. I think it was his air of calmness that appealed to her. “Our bodies are machines and they need fuel. The harder we work them in any capacity, the quicker they burn energy.” He turned on his rare smile. “Besides, I’m hungry and I’m inviting myself to dinner.”

That did it. They
agreed to give me twenty minutes while they adjusted a few props and then they’d join us.

“I suppose I can find extra for you,” I said, sarcasm hopefully dripping from my voice. I’m not the best at conveying that sort of thing. “But you’ll have to dig out the silverware and dishes while I slave over a hot stove.”

I like to cook and normally would have enjoyed making soup and bread from scratch, but truth be told, I have nothing against the taste of most canned soups, especially if I toss in a few herbs, up the onion and garlic, and generally doctor it enough to make it seem a little special. For the tomato soup I dumped from cans, I added a can of pureed tomatoes, fried up some onions and garlic to add to it (and for the wonderful smell they put in the air), and sprinkled some fresh herbs I had sent David out into the garden to pick. The dogs and Alexander gathered in the entryway, ready to do their begging act. The only saving grace was that little Binky hadn’t picked up the other two animals rather disgusting habit of drooling. I could handle George doing it. After all he is a dog and probably has Newfoundland in him somewhere. So it comes naturally to him. Cats, though, supposedly have a little more pride or something. I hadn’t even realized they could drool, at least not without being rabid or somehow poisoned. Alexander, though, could hold his own with any dog. I make it a practice not to look at him while I’m eating.

The three bustled over to eat, chattering excitedly. We ate with them, but didn’t really bother trying to join the conversation. I don’t know if we could have gotten a word in edge-wise anyway. David and I contented ourselves with making sure we got our fair share of the food. Moondance, her nerves seemingly at bay, gobbled right along with the rest of us.

It was times like this when all the frustration and worry they caused was erased from my mind. They were such a happy group, so full of life and ready for adventure. Their wrinkled faces glowed with the delight of everyday living. They weren’t unaware of the limitations of their age. They simply chose not to make them the whole point of their existence. Attitude, they say, is everything. I only wish I had their secret to life.

“We’d be
tter get back,” Dora decided—after they’d cleaned their dessert dishes. “I don’t like leaving the store unlocked this long.”

“Didn’t you lock it?” I asked. It was one of those dumb questions we sometimes ask. Duh. Obviously she hadn’t. She’d just said so.

“Oh, we’re right across the street,” Moondance reassured me. “We could see anybody robbing the place.”

“Not from here in the kitchen,” David reminded them. He left the house quickly, going across the street ahead of
them.

“Unless they take Eloise,” Dora followed more leisurely. “There’s nothing of great value there. The upstairs is locked and I hid the money box.”

Aunt Myrtle got agitated. “Oh, what will we do if someone’s stolen Eloise? They use rats for those terribly cruel experiments.”

“People don’t steal rats,” Dora told her, but she did pick up the pace. I did, too, understanding perfectly what she meant about the only thing of real value being a pet.

Of course nothing was disturbed when we got there, although David did insist on checking out the upstairs living area, locked or not. He wandered a bit around the store itself, but we’d need a trained dog to find anybody hidden there.

Eloise was safe, although she did seem a little agitated when Dora didn’t take her out of the
big fish tank she called home during business hours. Time, and the fact that I wasn’t stuck with a rat as yet another pet, has made me view her affectionately. I have to admit she is a smart little bugger. Dora is teaching her all sorts of tricks like finding her way through mazes and mastering demanding thought processes to reach treats. The trio’s next project, when they had a break from the fortune telling, is going to be building a glassed-in, two or three storied arena to show off the rat’s talents to the customers.

David and I went back to my house. Embarrassingly, I had forgotten to lock my own doors. He dutifully did the circuit of the building, taking George and Binky along to help. Since neither dog had ever portrayed any watchdog tendencies, the idea was that their curiosity would make them seek out anybody hiding.

Nobody was found, which was kind of nice as it gave the two of us a few moments of privacy to cuddle a bit before he went home to care for his own animals.

I peeked out my window later to see two stretch limos sitting outside Dora’s. Everything was going so smoothly that I was surprised, an hour
or so later, to hear sirens and see the whirling splashes of blue lights from outside.

Naturally it didn’t happen until after my bath, so I had to quickly grab clothes and dress myself adequately to be seen in public. My hair would have to remain bushed out and wild. I didn’t have time for vanity. I hurried across the street, glad we live on a dead end. Already cars were turning off the main street to see what the excitement was all about.

My heart was beating as though I’d run a mile. Or in my case, several hundred feet. I’m not in the best of shape. I don’t do running, generally, but I managed a good sprint despite my pounding heart.

“Wait there, Miss,” a demanding voice backed up an outstretched arm. “You can’t go in there. This is a crime scene.
     “But my aunt’s in there!” I gasped. “I live right across the street. Is somebody hurt?”

“Can’t tell you,” the deputy said, trying to sound as though he handled these situations every day. He couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice, however, so I knew something terrible had happened.

Before I gave into my baser instincts and karate-chopped my way into the building (and then into jail, I’m sure) Joe stepped outside and spotted me. He hurried over to join us, no doubt rushing to stop me from what he feared would be some sort of spell casting on his colleague. “Rachael, all three of them are okay,” he quickly announced.

My knees, which apparently had been locked in place, suddenly felt oozy. Relief ran through my entire body, but my knees seemed to be the most affected. I finally managed to make my voice work. “What’s happened? Is somebody hurt?”

“There’s been an accident,” he said, but didn’t sound convinced. “Somebody had a seizure or something.”

“Is he… she… dead?” I gulped. Despite the emergency truck outside, nobody seemed to be in a hurry to rush someone to the hospital. One part of my mind was functioning rapidly, taking in details and reaching sensible conclusions. The other part felt paralyzed, not having moved beyond the news that Aunt Myrtle and her buddies were okay.

“Coroner’s not here yet,” he hedged.

Since they didn’t need a doctor to say the person was alive, I had to assume death. In our strange world, you need a doctor to establish the presence of death, even if the victim has had his head cut off. Well, it didn’t seem to be as bad as it sounded at first. Someone had suffered a heart attack or stroke, and while I did have a little twinge of worry that one of
Moondance’s more excessive predictions might have been the cause, there would surely have had to be an underlying problem ahead of time.