A Fatal Twist of Lemon (16 page)

“To celebrate our opening we're serving a full, three-course afternoon tea,” I said, glancing toward the hall where I saw Julio and Dee waiting with platters of food. “The first course of savories will be presented by our chef, Julio Delgado.”

Julio came in, proudly bearing a large platter on which toast points, lettuce, cornichons, minced onions, capers, and chopped hard-boiled egg were all artfully arranged around a large tower of molded pâté. He set it on the sideboard with a ceremonial flourish.

Dee's platter of deviled eggs joined it, and Vi followed with plates of tiny cucumber and watercress sandwiches. They all went back to the kitchen and returned with a brie en croûte, a platter of cherry tomatoes stuffed with chive cream cheese mousse, and my parents' giant crystal punch bowl brimming with chilled shrimp and wedges of lemon.

I caught Julio's elbow and brought him forward to take a bow, then let him escape back to the kitchen while the guests fell on the savories with enthusiasm. The girls returned with fresh pots of tea and began making the rounds, filling cups and smiling at the guests, lovely in their lavender dresses and white aprons.

The guests began to disperse through the tearoom, spilling across the hall into the south parlor to find seats while they enjoyed their tea and savories. I walked through the rooms and stopped to chat with each group. I spotted a familiar-looking head of platinum hair, and ducked behind a screen.

It was Willow. I was so not ready to talk to her.

I went out into the hall and saw Claudia Pearson coming in the front doors. She wore a hat and gloves again, this time over a forest green suit. I smiled and went forward to greet her.

“I'm sorry to be late,” she said. “Still catching up at the Trust.”

“I'm so glad you could come! We're on the first course, so you're really not late. Please help yourself,” I said, gesturing toward the main parlor. “Nat and Manny are in Hyacinth if you'd care to join them.”

“Thanks, I think I will. My, what a beautiful spread,” she added, gazing at the sideboard. “I thought Mr. Ingraham gave you a nice notice in the
New Mexican
, by the way.”

“Did he? I haven't seen it.”

Keeping an eye out for Willow, I fetched Claudia a cup of tea while she helped herself to the savories, then walked her over to Hyacinth and saw her comfortably settled with my aunt and Manny. It was chickenhearted of me, but I wasn't ready to return to the main parlor. Instead I went back to the pantry, where Vi glanced up at me from making more tea.

“Where are those newspapers Gina brought? I thought I left them in here.”

“Dee stuck them up on the shelf,” Vi said.

I pulled them down and searched through the
New Mexican
for Mr. Ingraham's food column. I was a bit disappointed to find that the review was for another restaurant, but beneath it under the heading “Eye on the Town” was a single line: “Opening this week is the Wisteria Tearoom, a promising new establishment offering traditional English tea with Victorian ambiance.”

Not bad. I folded up the paper and tucked it back up on the shelf, hoping that the nod meant Mr. Ingraham would come back and try the full afternoon tea, and perhaps give us a review.

“There you are,” said Julio, looking into the pantry. “Come here a minute.”

“What is it?”

I followed him into the kitchen, worrying that the clotted cream hadn't, or something equally disastrous. Instead he took a plate off a shelf and showed it to me. It held a selection of the savories, including a tiny pâté mold in the shape of a star.

“This is yours. I knew you wouldn't have time to eat anything out there.”

“Oh, Julio, thank you!” I picked up a deviled egg garnished with capers and hot paprika—there were two of those on the plate, and half a dozen of the shrimp—and bit into it. “Mmm. Divine.”

He grinned, then a timer went off. “Scones,” he said, and rushed to the oven, leaving the plate in my hands.

I ate a shrimp, then put the rest back on the shelf and braced myself to face my guests. I glanced around the main parlor and spotted Willow chatting with Bob Hutchins, Katie's husband. The savories had been pretty thoroughly devoured by now, and Dee was clearing the empty platters while Vi collected dirty plates.

Gina was setting a stack of fresh plates at one end of the sideboard. I hurried over to her.

“You don't have to do that! You're a guest!”

“Just thought I'd help out a bit. You've got a full house, congrats!”

“Thanks. I think Kris stacked the deck a little. Who's your friend, by the way?”

Gina glanced toward Rose, where the rancher-looking gent was sitting with Jody Thompson. “That's Ted. He's in real estate. Thought I'd show him the tearoom. He deals with a lot of out-of-town folks, and they're always asking him to recommend places to eat. He might send a few customers your way.”

“Well, thanks!” I glanced at Ted, who looked at ease in a red velvet wing chair with a cup of tea balanced on his denim-clad knee. “I would never have guessed he was a real estate agent.”

“He was out showing horse properties to a couple from Connecticut this morning,” Gina said.

“Ah.”

As soon as the savories were cleared away, Julio and the girls brought in platters of scones and large bowls of clotted cream, blackberry jam, and lemon curd. There were cheddar scones with scallion butter, orange-lavender scones, currant scones, and heaps of cream scones fresh from the oven. Another platter held an array of sliced tea breads and a bowl of creamed butter to spread on them.

I called the guests back to the north parlor to hear Julio describe the scones and breads. They listened appreciatively and attacked the food with less urgency but no less gusto.

Things were a little more relaxed now, and after seeing the second course under way I went to the gift shop to check on Iz. I found her just about to hand the hostess duty over to Vi.

“All present and accounted for,” she said, indicating the guest list. “Plus seven walk-ins. We may need some more tea samplers, we're almost sold out. Are there more packaged up?”

“They're in the storage room upstairs,” I said. “I'll get them.”

“I'll go. You're busy.” Iz caught up the large, ribboned wicker basket that held the samplers, took the last three out and left them on the display table, and darted out.

As I stepped into the hall to watch her run upstairs, I met several older ladies meandering there. They all wore nice print dresses, florals or geometrics. One petite, silver-haired lady wearing a beige cashmere cardigan like a cape over the shoulders of her green polka-dot dress came up to me, beaming.

“Ms. Rosings, you have a lovely establishment!” she said.

“Thank you! I'm so glad you like it.”

“There's just one thing,” the lady continued as her friends clustered around her. “We want to see the murder room.”

 

 

 

 

 9 

I
was nonplussed, but managed to gather my wits. “I'm so sorry,” I said, “but that room is being kept closed for now.”

“Oh,” said the small, elderly lady. She and her friends exchanged disappointed glances.

“Out of respect for the deceased,” I added, glancing up the hall toward the front of the house. Several other guests, including a few of the goth-looking ones who were probably Kris's friends, were idling about between the tea parlors.

“I see,” said the lady, looking resigned.

One of her companions, a thin, frail-looking woman with her gray hair up in an untidy bun and bright, bird-like eyes, stepped forward. “When do you think it will be open again, so we can see it?” she asked in a booming contralto.

I swallowed. “Well, normally it's available for parties of eight or more—”

“Good! We can get eight together, don't you think, Sarah?”

Sarah tugged at her sweater to straighten it. “I guess so.”

“How about next Friday? What do you think, girls?” The other elderly ladies nodded, and the bird lady turned to me, smiling brightly. “We'd like to reserve the murder room for afternoon tea next Friday,” she said.

I winced inwardly, wishing she would lower her voice, but smiled and nodded. “All right. Let me make sure the
dining parlor
is available, and we'll put you down for four o'clock next Friday.”

They followed me to the hostess station, passing the goths standing in the hallway. One of them—an extremely tall girl in a floor-length burgundy velvet dress with long, pointed sleeves
à
la Morticia Adams—gazed at me as she took a languorous sip from her teacup. I hurried past and marked down the bird lady's phone number on the reservation sheet at the hostess station.

“Our business manager will call to confirm your reservation,” I told her, writing out a card with the date and time and “Dining Parlor” in large letters. I handed it to her, then went back to the north parlor.

A reservation for eight. I should be jumping for joy, but between the elderly ladies' yakking about the “murder room” and Willow wanting to make the tearoom a stop on her ghost tour, not to mention Kris's picturesque friends, I was worried we'd get a dark reputation we wouldn't be able to shake. I supposed I could close the dining parlor, but something in me rebelled at the thought. I wanted it to be seen for the charming room that it was, not shut away in shame.

The scones and breads were mostly gone by now, and Iz and Dee were passing among the guests with fresh pots of tea. I caught Dee's eye and asked her to start brewing the Wisteria White tea—my special signature blend—that would be served with the sweets. As she hurried to the pantry I gathered all the remaining food onto one platter, then carried the empty serving plates out on my way to the kitchen.

A small cluster of goths was still in the hall. As I passed, the one in burgundy velvet caught my eye.

“I just wanted to tell you I thought that was really tacky,” she said.

I stopped. “Beg pardon?”

“Those old ladies, asking to see the Room,” she said, lowering her voice on the last word in a reverent tone. “I mean, how gauche can you be?”

I managed a weak smile. “Oh. Yes. Thank you.”

She smiled back, and I escaped to the kitchen where I handed the platters over to Mick. Julio was in the middle of the room, humming, surrounded by cream puffs, almond macarons, tea cookies, chocolate truffles, and cascades of petits fours decorated with buttercream wisteria blossoms.

On the center island stood the largest of our three-tiered tea trays, on which Julio was arranging dainty puffs of meringue topped with fans of fresh, sliced strawberries standing up in stiff dabs of whipped cream. He looked up at me and grinned.

“Is this the special dessert?” I asked.

“Yep. Try one.”

I did, biting it in half. The crunch of the meringue and creamy sweet-tart strawberry filling was augmented by a breath of alcohol. I closed my eyes, trying to identify the flavor.

“Brandy?” I guessed.

“Close. A little Grand Marnier, stirred into strawberry jam. Just a thin layer underneath the whipped cream.”

“It's heavenly, Julio!”

“Thanks.” He grinned, then went back to loading the tray with the strawberry treats. “I'm just about ready.”

“I'll send the girls back,” I said.

I met Iz in the hall, carrying the last platter, which had only a couple of scones left. “Your aunt's looking for you,” she said.

“Thanks. Julio's ready to serve the sweets.”

“Okay,” she called over her shoulder.

As I reached the parlor I saw Nat hovering by the door, watching for me. She caught my arm and spoke in a low, worried voice.

“Oh, good! I don't know if it's a problem, but I thought you should know about it.”

“Know about what?” I asked as she dragged me across the room toward Jonquil. For answer she just nodded her head toward Claudia Pearson, who stood talking with Gina's rancher-type real estate friend, Ted.