a witchcraft mystery 08 - a toxic trousseau (15 page)

“Sorry,” the young woman said. “Cupcakes are a favorite topic around here, as you can see. I’m Eleanor, and this is Cody. And that little ragamuffin there”—she pointed to an admittedly odd-looking hound that appeared to be a cross between a German shepherd and a spaniel, but with the stubby legs of a dachshund—“is Mr. Bojangles. He’s a rescue.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Lily; this is Maya. And I guess you all know Loretta.”

Loretta was leaning her considerable weight on Maya, who braced herself and petted her patiently.

The others went around the circle introducing themselves: George and Jessica and Ling and Graydon and Rolando, and their respective dogs: D.C. and Samantha and Jack and MacAllister and Sunshine.

“So, seriously,” asked Cody, “is Scarlet okay?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure,” I said. I heard a bee buzzing nearby; it came and landed on my shoulder. “I saw her briefly yesterday, but the strangest thing happened: She left the dogs she was walking. Just dropped the leashes and took off.”

Everyone in the group looked surprised.

“That doesn’t sound like Scarlet,” someone said, and the others all nodded.

“In what way?” Maya asked.

“She was pretty dependable. Came here with a bunch of dogs every day, right about now.”

Without thinking about it, I put my hand up to my shoulder; the bee crawled onto it, and I released it into the wind. Graydon caught my eye and gave me a thumbs-up.

“She must really have been sick if she took off and left the dogs like that. I hope she’s okay. I noticed the vintage place was closed, too,” said Cody. “The store owner wasn’t feeling well, either. Maybe there’s something going around.”

“Is that why you’re taking care of Loretta?” asked Ling, a fiftyish woman with a ginger-colored Pekingese.

“Sort of . . . ,” I began. The group started speculating about whether or not it was smart to get a flu shot. This being San Francisco, the discussion quickly morphed, with emotions running high, into a debate about requiring immunizations for school-aged children, and the perils of the pharmaceutical industry.

Maya and I exchanged looks.

“Soooo,” I ventured as soon as the discussion died down a little, “does anyone know how to get in touch with Scarlet?”

Several shrugs and a flurry of shaking heads.

“Sorry,” said the man who had introduced himself as Rolando. “We see each other here, but to tell you the truth I didn’t even know anyone’s name until today. I know the animals, mostly.”

“Me, too,” said Graydon with a laugh, and the others nodded in agreement.

“I know Scarlet from here, and I also saw her at the vintage store sometimes,” said Eleanor. “Maybe she worked there part-time? I don’t go in there very often, but Cody and I live down the block, the apartment building on the other side of the bank. So we walk by all the time.”

“Usually on the way to the cupcake store, to be honest,” said Cody with a smile.

“You mentioned that Autumn—the owner of the vintage store—seemed to be under the weather, too?”

Cody shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like I know her that well or anything. I’m telling you, not to sound like a broken record, but in this neighborhood we all know each other from this dog park or that cupcake shop. Makes you think about what might bring urban neighbors together, right? A shared love of pets and frosting—that’s the heart of the place.”

Eleanor looked at Cody with affection shining in her light eyes. “That’s beautiful. Who knew a computer programmer would have the soul of an artist?”

He grinned and shrugged. “I’m, like, totally a poet, and didn’t even know it.”

“And Autumn seemed ill?” I tried to bring the conversation back but realized that at this point everyone was starting to gaze at me warily. I tried to cast a bit of a reassuring spell to encourage them to feel comfortable speaking to me. I got the sense that here at the dog park the conversation tended to be a bit more organic and meandering.

“I guess,” Cody said with a shrug, clearly wishing he hadn’t said anything. “She just looked a little green around the gills, if you know what I mean. Or maybe, I
dunno, last time I saw her she seemed angry with Renee, too, and left the shop without buying anything. I mean, who
does
that?”

“Right?” said Eleanor. “I can’t imagine leaving that shop without a cupcake!”

“Do you remember what they were arguing about?” I asked.

He shook his head and threw the ball for Mr. Bojangles.

“Sorry if we’re asking a lot of questions,” said Maya, clearly noticing that the crowd was wearying of the inquisition. “It’s just that . . . I don’t know if you heard, but Autumn Jennings passed away yesterday.”

“What?”
Eleanor asked. Everyone looked stunned. “What happened?”

“I think you’re right; she was sick,” Maya said. “Lily and I went to talk with her and found her in pretty bad shape. We called the paramedics, and that’s how we ended up taking care of Loretta. So we’re here today to try to find out a little more about her. We thought maybe Scarlet could tell us something, or maybe take Loretta.”

“I doubt she’d be able to offer Loretta a home,” said Eleanor with a shake of her head. “I think she was having a hard time as it was, finding an affordable place to live in the city. A place for a dog as big as Loretta . . . ?”

“That’s like the Holy Grail in this city,” said Jessica, a young woman with long dreadlocks. “I had to do some fancy footwork to find a place that allowed my little beagle.”

Everyone nodded in commiseration.

“I’d still love to talk to her,” I said, handing my card out to everyone in the group. “If you happen to see her or hear from her, would you let me know?”

“I can’t believe what you’re saying, though, about Autumn,” said Eleanor. “She’s
dead
? What happened? What did she have? Do you think Cody’s right, that Scarlet got the same thing?”

“Is it, like, ebola or bird flu or something?” asked the young woman with dreadlocks.

A few folks edged back, probably without meaning to. I realized I might start a neighborhood panic if I wasn’t careful.

“I don’t think so. I mean, I’m no expert and I don’t really know what the doctors found, but it might have been something environmental. Perhaps . . . a poison of some sort. I think now they’re focusing on trying to figure out whether it was accidental or on purpose.”

“On purpose?” asked Eleanor. “You mean she might have killed herself?”

“I don’t really—”

“She didn’t seem all that happy, to tell you the truth. Her husband died a couple of years ago. No family, lived above her store . . .”

“She didn’t have any relatives?”

“I was in the store once around Thanksgiving, and Scarlet was grousing about having to go visit her family in Missouri, and I remember Autumn telling her she was lucky to have a family to complain about,” Eleanor said.

“That’s really sad,” said Rolando. “To think she might not have anyone to mourn her.”

A moment of silence followed. As people do in times of stress, we turned to watch the antics of the dogs: Two
were playing tug-of-war with what looked like an old sock; a young pup was bouncing around Loretta, trying to entice her to play; one dignified old pooch with a graying muzzle lay in a patch of shade, sniffing the air. I thought about how animals typify the teachings of Zen: enjoying the here and now, not asking for anything more. Living every moment.

“Well,” said Ling. She called her dog and attached his leash to a teal rhinestone collar. “On that note, I’m going to go home and call my mother. Nice to meet you, Lily. If I see Scarlet I’ll let her know you’re looking for her.”

“Thanks,” I said, though if Scarlet knew I was looking for her, she’d be sure to run in the opposite direction. “If nothing else, maybe let her know about Autumn? If Scarlet’s not feeling well, either, it’s possible she needs medical attention.”

“That’s a sobering thought,” murmured Cody.

“Aw, man, I hope she’s okay,” said Eleanor, looking troubled.

Most of the others followed Ling’s lead, calling their dogs and heading home. Loretta had ventured all of three feet away from us and was currently enthralled with whatever scents she could pick up from the trunk of a nearby oak tree. Mr. Bojangles brought his ball back to Cody and Eleanor several times, hopping around excitedly, and Cody obediently picked it up and threw it clear across the park. Mr. Bojangles chased it, long tongue hanging out, ecstatic.

“Cody, you don’t suppose . . . ,” Eleanor began.

“No,”
said Cody with a firm shake of his head.

“What?” I urged. “Did something occur to you? About Scarlet, or Autumn?”

“It’s just . . .”

“Oh, come on, Eleanor,” Cody scoffed. “That’s just a stupid rumor.”

“I’d still like to hear it,” I said.

“I have this, like, friend? And she was in Autumn’s store once and overheard her on the phone saying she thought she was . . .
cursed
.”

Chapter 11

“Lily knows a thing or two about curses,” Maya said, her tone matter-of-fact. “She once helped a man who had a love curse on him.”

“Really?” Eleanor asked, fixing her pale blue gaze on me. She was probably in her midtwenties, maybe pushing thirty, but with that fine hair and freckles it was easy to see what she must have looked like as a kindergartner. “You, like, know about things like that?”

“I don’t know,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I think in that case the man was his own worst enemy, believing he would never find love and therefore sabotaging himself. He’s involved with a very nice woman now.”

“But you do believe there’s such a thing as curses?” asked Eleanor. “Cody says I’m ridiculous, but I have to wonder . . .”

Cody rolled his eyes.

“What curse are we talking about?” I asked. I had brushed up on hereditary curses to try to help a man
named Bartholomew Woolsey, who believed himself to be suffering under a curse laid upon a Puritan ancestor. But the truth was that such curses were extraordinarily rare. And in Bart’s case, I still wasn’t sure whether the curse had succeeded through magic, or whether Bart and his family had so believed in the curse that they’d manifested the results. That was the problem with curses, and with magic in general—it was very complicated.

“Well, not long ago, Autumn got hold of a trousseau for her shop. And according to what my friend said, she began to think it was cursed.”

“A cursed trousseau?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Why would a trousseau have a curse attached to it?” asked Maya.

Cody made a dismissive noise and wandered off to play with Mr. Bojangles.

“He doesn’t believe.”

“But you do?”

Eleanor shrugged. “I’m not sure. But now that you tell me about poor Autumn, it makes a person wonder, right?”

“Do you know anything about the supposed curse?”

“The way I heard it,
it had to do with this feud between a shoeshine boy and a rich guy, and then one of their fiancées died from a cursed trousseau. Or something like that. I looked it up online after my friend told me about it, but I forget the details.”

“So you think the curse is still on the trousseau, and that’s what killed Autumn?”

“It’s possible, right? I mean, otherwise she, what, just got sick and keeled over? Right after buying it? That’s sort of unusual, isn’t it?”

“Unusual, yes,” said Maya. “But I’m not sure I would
jump straight to a case of a cursed trousseau. More likely a case of bad seafood or lead poisoning or something. People die of all sorts of things, every day. Even seemingly healthy people keel right over from a heart attack, embolism, stroke . . .”

“I declare, Maya, you are a regular ray of sunshine.”

She smiled. “I try. I’m just saying, people die and it’s a tragedy, but it’s hardly ever the fault of frilly corsets.”

“My point exactly,” said Cody, using a wet wipe to clean his hands as he rejoined our trio.

“It’s pretty funny,” Eleanor said. “You’ll never meet anyone more cynical about the occult than Cody, but he works for the Rodchester House of Spirits, of all places!”

“The one in San Jose?” I asked. That was certainly a coincidence, and coincidences rarely boded well in my life.

“Yeah, have you been?” asked Eleanor.

“No, but I’ve been meaning to go,” I said. Now, more than ever. “In fact, a friend of mine is having an overnight birthday party there in a couple of days.”

“Really? Cool,” said Cody. “It’s a new thing we’ve been offering; we’ve already had several bookings. I’d love to hear how it goes.”

“But I take it you don’t really believe the house is haunted?”

He seemed to hesitate. “Well, obviously the sales team likes to exploit that idea; people seem excited by it. But, I dunno, I think it’s an amazing place just as it is, a true architectural wonder; why do they have to come up with spooky stories about it? But I was raised not far from there by a pair of computer engineers who thought of it as a historic monument. Probably the
acorn didn’t fall far from the tree; I’m into computer science, too. So maybe I’m not the target audience.”

“I noticed a brochure for the Rodchester House in Autumn’s shop, as it happens.”

“Yeah, I pass ’em out from time to time, leave some at the local shops. I gave one to Scarlet a few weeks ago; she wanted to try to get a job there, or at least volunteer. She was always looking out for interesting things like that.”

“Do you think Scarlet believed the Rodchester House was haunted?” I wasn’t sure why this would be pertinent, but it seemed important to know whether I was dealing with a believer or a skeptic.

“I have no idea. I mentioned I worked for them, and she got excited, asked me about maybe getting a job. I gave her the brochure, but like I told her, I’m not actually involved with the house per se. I’m just a computer guy: I maintain their Web site; that’s about it.”

“
And
he does some of the graphic design work—he put together those brochures, and a beautiful catalog of all the collections!” Eleanor said, holding his hand and beaming up at Cody.

It dawned on me that without his beard, he would look as young as she. Amazing how certain style choices can age a person; like looking back at high school graduation pictures from the 1950s and thinking everyone looked about forty years old.