Death at the Cafe (4 page)

Mary pursed her lips as she thought. “No, not at all. From our conversations – though they were few – she seemed a very typical older lady. Warm, gentle, caring. Humorous, even.”

Annabelle pitched her shoulders back and stood fully upright, like she always did before making a final decision.

“Then we should make haste, because the woman on the other end of that line is obviously afraid of something. Let’s find out what it is.”

And with that, Annabelle began her stern march once more toward the tube station, Sister Mary fluttering in tow like a ponytailed butterfly.

The two women made their way to the tube station and rolled through the turnstiles along with the mass of other fellow travelers. They reached the platform just as a train barrelled out from the dark tunnel and hopped on it.

Annabelle slumped into her seat as if it were a comfy couch at the end of the day, while Sister Mary sat down delicately and slowly, as if setting herself for tea.

“When I’m in Africa, I do so miss riding the tube,” Mary said, displaying her unbridled positivity in spite of the macabre events of the morning.

“If it were up to me, I’d happily give the whole transport system away,” Annabelle replied, gently kicking away an empty bottle that had rolled against her foot.

Mary giggled at Annabelle’s rare grumbling. “However would you travel around London?”

Annabelle shrugged and smiled. “I’m beginning to think the best thing to do is stay at home anyway!”

Mary laughed gently, before her smile turned into the pursed lips of concern.

“I am terribly sorry for all of this fuss, Annabelle. It’s a terrible shame that instead of catching up as we intended, we’re going who-knows-where for what seems like an incredibly worrying purpose.”

“Oh, tosh,” assured Annabelle. “It’s fine. I’m sure this is all perfectly reasonable and will be clarified as soon as we have a chat and a cup of tea with this Teresa. Perhaps you’ll even get to finalize your funding.”

“That would be very good,” Mary nodded.

“Come on, we have to change trains here.”

“Where are we going?”

“Baker Street.”

“Home of Sherlock Holmes,” Mary added, joviality returning to her voice.

“Perhaps he can help us with this confounding turn of events!”

They exited the train, navigated the tunnels and escalators that led them onto the Metropolitan Line, and waited patiently on the platform.

“Do you remember the time that we went to a Halloween party,” Mary began, after a moment of thought, “you as Sherlock Holmes and me as Jack the Ripper?”

“But of course!” Annabelle said, happily looking into the distance as she brought the memory to her mind. “I had rather hoped you would go as Dr. Watson, instead.”

“That would have been terribly boring,” Mary said. “You took the costume entirely too seriously.”

“I did not!”

“You did!” responded Mary. “You spent the entire evening – both the trick-or-treating and the party afterward at your cousin’s – staring suspiciously at people over your plastic bubble-pipe, trying to ‘deduce’ who had committed the crime of taking a bite of your Halloween cupcake.”

Annabelle laughed. “Well, perhaps I was a little overzealous.”

“I’ve not seen your cousin Josh since he drove us to that concert.”

“’The Jacksons’! Oh yes, I remember that well. You danced so wildly you nearly poked somebody’s eye out!”

“How times change,” Mary said, wistfully, as they stared into space.

As they waited, a man sitting on a bench tossed a free newspaper onto the seat beside him. Mary glanced over twice before mustering up the courage to walk over.

“Excuse me, are you finished with this paper?”

The man nodded curtly and turned his gaze back toward the darkness of the tunnel. Mary picked up the paper and walked back to Annabelle.

“I had forgotten how rude Londoners can be,” Mary said in an almost silent whisper.

Annabelle shrugged sympathetically as the train rolled up to the platform. They entered a carriage and sat once again. Mary opened the paper and perused it solemnly, turning pages only after she had cast her eyes upon each headline at least once. Annabelle glanced curiously at her friend’s intense focus.

“Are you always so interested in the news, Mary?” she asked.

Mary shook her head. “No. I’m just wondering if there’s something here that could be connected to the woman who handed me the note.”

Annabelle shifted her head, bemused.

“Such as?”

“Well, look here. A serial killer has been roaming the streets of Lewisham.”

“That’s nowhere near the café. And look here,” Annabelle said, pointing to the top of the article, “it says he’s been caught.”

Mary turned the page, almost disappointed at her poor sleuthing skills.

“What about this! Russian spy poisoned in Notting Hill! She could have easily been poisoned!”

Annabelle leaned over the paper, scanned a few paragraphs, and then relaxed her brow.

“It says the actual poisoning happened last year – if it happened at all.”

Mary turned the page again, deflated once more. Annabelle checked her watch while Mary continued to study the newspaper for clues.

“Shall I read you your horoscope, Annabelle?”

“Mary! You’re a Catholic nun! You shouldn’t be indulging in such poppycock!”

“Oh, it’s just a bit of fun to pass the time.”

“It’s nonsense and dangerous at that if you take it too seriously.”

“Don’t be such a spoilsport!”

“I’m not!” Annabelle gasped, with mock offence. “Look at us. We have the same sign, and we’re entirely different.”

Mary smiled mischievously. “And we’re also incredibly alike, wouldn’t you say?”

Annabelle rolled her eyes in defeat. “Okay. Go on then.”

Mary folded up the paper eagerly, as if better to read it, opened her mouth to recite the words, then lowered her brow in an expression of both shock and befuddlement.

Annabelle leaned forwards, waiting for her to speak. “Well?”

Mary adjusted herself, before speaking in a slow, serious tone. “’Today will be a day of dramatic events. Stay alert, because somebody you know will be full of surprises.’”

The two women looked at each other for a few seconds, sharing their feelings of confusion. Annabelle broke the silence with a snort of derision. “Nonsense. That’s so general, it could apply to almost anyone, or anything, on any day. Here’s our stop. Let’s go.”

Though they were both already moving quickly through the busy London streets, the shock of the newspaper’s words seemed to spur just a little more speed out of the two women. They exited the Baker Street station like a pair of scampering dogs, and after stopping briefly to ask for directions to Glentworth Street, maintained a quick pace all the way to the entrance of the large property whose address they had been given over the phone.

Annabelle pressed the bell eagerly, looking at Mary. When the door buzzed without a word from the intercom, she grabbed the handle and pushed quickly. Somehow, Mary managed to keep up with Annabelle’s long strides up the stairs leading to the doorway of the apartment. By this time, they were out of breath from both the climb and the excitement but intent on their purpose of finally meeting the mysterious Teresa.

Mary raised her hand, fist ready to knock, but the door opened slowly before she could even begin, revealing a short lady who was no doubt the Teresa they had come to see. She was well-dressed in khaki slacks and an intricately-knitted cardigan in duck egg blue. The wrinkles on her face seemed well earned, and the deep brown of her eyes hinted at having seen many adventures. Her white hair was still thick enough to frame her face elegantly, and when she spoke, her voice had the strong, aged woodiness of a classical instrument.

“Hello. I’ve been waiting for you. Do come in,” she said slowly.

“Thank you,” Mary said, stepping into the house. Annabelle followed, politely nodding her appreciation at the invitation.

The apartment was lavish, and though it was open and large, everywhere the two visitors looked seemed to be filled with ornately-carved sculptures, powerfully evocative artwork, and ornaments of unimaginable shininess. Mixed among the relics and artifacts were crucifixes, elaborate carvings of the Virgin Mary, and diamond-encrusted plates that depicted scenes involving the saints.

They stepped carefully forward, as if in fear of spoiling what seemed like one of the most incredibly intimate and packed museum exhibitions they had ever seen. Teresa walked past them slowly, with a slight limp in her gait and led them toward a living room packed with just as many objects of delicate craftsmanship as the entrance.

“Please, take a seat. I’ve laid out some tea.”

Though her instincts still told her that something was incredibly strange about both this elderly woman and the situation itself, Annabelle caught sight of the table and found a note of familiarity in which to ground herself. Laid there was elegantly sculpted china with detailed patterns painted tastefully upon each piece. Annabelle’s eyes immediately focused upon a plate which held small, bite-sized pieces of cake that her connoisseur’s eye could tell would be delicious. Whatever was causing the peculiar suspicions stirring in Annabelle’s chest could wait.

“Oh, this looks delightful,” Annabelle smiled.

Teresa held Annabelle’s eyes as if judging her, a pleasant, if slightly reticent smile upon her face.

Once Annabelle and Mary had seated themselves, Teresa leaned over the table and began pouring tea. Though both the visitors would have liked to offer help, they were well aware of the customs such elderly ladies liked to uphold and chose to sit back.

“Please do try the cake,” Teresa said, with a curiously tentative tone.

Annabelle glanced at Mary, and they each took one of the pieces from the plate. Mary nibbled the edge slightly, while Annabelle popped the entire thing into her mouth.

“Mmm!” Annabelle hummed, as she swallowed the creamy, soft texture. “Absolutely magnificent! Oh my!”

Teresa finished pouring the tea and set the teapot down.

“It’s my niece’s favorite. I call it ‘Teresa’s Surprise Cake’. She does so much for me, it’s nice to repay the favor by baking one for her occasionally.”

Annabelle was still sifting her tongue around her mouth, as if trying to capture every remnant of the extraordinary flavor. “Gosh! That might be one of the most scrumptious things I’ve ever eaten!”

Teresa raised an eyebrow as if she fully expected this reaction. Suddenly, her eyes widened slightly, and her smile was less tentative. When she spoke again, it was with an almost expectant sureness.

“I’m so glad you like it. I have some more in the kitchen. You’re welcome to take some with you.”

Annabelle’s eyes lit up, all thoughts of danger and death had disappeared from her mind the moment she had tasted the stunningly tasty treat.

“That would be wonderful! Thank you ever so much!”

Teresa merely nodded her appreciation and left briefly through a doorway Annabelle assumed led to the kitchen. She was still smiling so much at the thought of enjoying the cake once again (something she believed she had thoroughly deserved after the morning’s events) that she barely noticed Mary’s persistent nudging of her elbow.

“Annabelle!” Mary whispered, as aggressively as she could muster – which wasn’t very aggressive at all. “You should tell her what happened! I can’t! This is all too much for me.”

“Yes, yes!” Annabelle said in similarly hushed tones, her friend’s anxiety refocusing her thoughts upon the task at hand. “Don’t worry.”

Teresa returned clutching two zipped clear plastic bags with the cakes wrapped in foil visible inside them.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “wrapping them up like this is all I could manage at short notice.”

“Oh, of course,” Annabelle said, gleefully taking the two bags and handing one to Mary. “They smell wonderful!”

“I call them ‘Teresa’s Surprise Cakes’, because they have a very rare, very secret, ingredient.”

Annabelle’s eyes lit up as if in the presence of a fireworks display. “That sounds utterly thrilling! Doesn’t it Mary?”

Mary nodded eagerly, but her face was still consumed by anxiety. Annabelle saw it, and her expression changed to one more appropriate for the subject she was about to bring up.

Annabelle and Mary watched carefully, as Teresa slowly moved to sit in her obviously favored chair by the open window.

“I like to sit here,” she said, as if reading their thoughts, “and keep watch. I very rarely leave the house. My niece runs most of my errands.”

“Oh,” Mary said, “well, it’s a wonderful house. I could find myself quite happily occupied among so many delightful things.”

“Thank you,” Teresa acknowledged. “My ex-husband was one of the greatest antiques dealers in the world. He dealt in only the most beautiful and rarest objects.”

Though Annabelle was loathe to interrupt such an obviously pleasing reminiscence for Teresa – particularly with such dreadful news – her sense of duty rose within her.

“Teresa,” she began, announcing her intent with her serious tone, “we believe you may be in danger. As I imagine you’re aware, you were supposed to meet Sister Mary today to discuss funding, I believe. Instead, a person handed her a note that said you were in danger, along with your telephone number. A person who then died.”