THE WITCH AND THE TEA PARTY (A Rachael Penzra Mystery) (17 page)

It was Peking duck that he ordered, drawing my attention to the subtleties of the sauce, explaining that a rare orange was used. Whatever. It was delicious, as was the wild rice
with some unusual flavoring—unusual to me. I was tempted to raid the kitchen, begging for the recipe from the chef, but experience has taught me to control my urges. I had no doubt that I would be breaching the walls of proper etiquette if I gave in to my desire, so I satisfied myself with ignoring the concept of leaving a small amount on my plate to show that I was finished and didn’t expect my host to come up with second helpings. I did everything short of mopping up the few drops left with my tongue. I hoped my host and the chef would take my faux pas in the spirit it was intended.

We chatted in the most civilized manner over the meal, discussing local politics for the most part. I noted that he was very careful not to actually claim any ties to any local politician or position.

“I have far more interest in local politics than national,” I admitted. “And I’m afraid I’m terribly ignorant about them, too. But I do try to listen and learn before I take a stand. At least in local affairs you can ask around and actually talk to people who really know the candidates.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing,” he chuckled. “They say that no man is a prophet in his own
country. Can you imagine voting for someone you called ‘Stinky’ or some such name throughout your school years? It would be difficult to take seriously the kid who vomited all over the school bus on the class trip. Sometimes, I’m afraid, distance adds enchantment.”

I had to laugh. “Yes, and that’s without taking into consideration your family and all the weird relatives that come attached.
”

After a little persuading (a second offer) I agreed to try the Chocolate Dervish Delight for dessert. It was delicious and I hoped
the name was just a cute play on words. I didn’t want it to start swirling around my innards later. One taste, though, and I was willing to take my chances.

“My wife mentioned you when she was setting up the dinner party,” he told me. “She said that you have a reputation for solving mysteries around here.”

“Oh no,” I insisted. “That isn’t so. I’ve been involved in a few happenings lately, but all without my least inclination. And I can’t say I’ve ever solved anything.”

“I’m sure you’re too modest,” he said, gazing at me with deep
-set dark eyes.

Instead of feeling flattered, I felt like a mouse being mesmerized by a snake. That mental image was enough to snap me out of it. I like mice. “Sheriff
Alberts is an excellent officer,” I assured him. “He’ll find out what happened to your wife.”

“I certainly hope so,” he sounded a little tart. “In the meantime, I’m being seen as a wife murderer.”

“Oh, I’m sure no one thinks that,” I murmured foolishly.

“Of course they do. I’d be thinking along those lines myself if it were someone else. What I’m worried about is proving my innocence. How do you prove a negative? Unless they actually come up with a good suspect, I’m choice number one. And if the
y don’t convict him—or her, since poisons tends to be a woman’s weapon—I’ll have that stigma hanging over me for the rest of my life. Rachael, I need help.”

I couldn’t
prevent myself from thinking that what he really wanted of me was to be a symbol that he was so innocent that he was looking for outside help in proving it. Meanwhile, I suffered a flash of psychic thought. He didn’t have the least belief in my abilities. Well, that was all right. Most people didn’t. “I wish I could help you, but I don’t even know those people,” I said, refraining once again from licking my plate.

“If that’s all that’s stopping you,” he jumped on my words. “I can see that you have an interview with every one of them. They’ll be glad to help out. I found out about the will just this morning. I inherit it all, and Helen left me in complete control about following her wishes. She left a list of people she wants to have something, and how much for each. Believe me, they’ll be glad to talk to you.
I intend to see that they get their bequests, but not if they won’t make an effort to clear up their benefactor’s murder.”

I didn’t know how
glad
they’d be, but I could see where they’d be quick to do whatever he asked of them. And of course they would be like him for the most part, not really believing I had any abilities at all. The sad thing was that they’d be right. The chances against me actually having a psychic flash at the right moment were astronomical. Still, there was that small chance, and I’ve always felt that knowing people should make them more accessible to my gift. I’ve never had much evidence of that, but I cling tenaciously to the belief.

“I guess I could talk to them,” I admitted, not very graciously. Still, I didn’t want him thinking I was a pushover. No
sense in letting him know that I was anxious to do what he wanted. If he had his name to clear, I had my aunt’s. Nobody who even smelled that tea of theirs would ever believe it wasn’t capable of killing.

“Fine,” he smiled charmingly. Why not? He’d gotten his way for the price of a meal. I wondered if he would be able to write it off on his taxes. “You tell me who you want to see first and when, and I’ll see they get there.”

“It might take more than one visit,” I warned him, warming to the idea. I had a few schemes of my own running through my mind. The main one concerned David and his always hidden psychic abilities. He might not admit to them, but the regime he’d grown up under had taken him and his twin brother, Rags, into their care for testing just such abilities. I thought it was time for him to share his psychic talents with me. “I’m a working woman, and I really can’t afford to hire someone else in the shop. This is our busy time and we need trained people. I can manage evenings, though. There shouldn’t be a problem there, at least nothing I can’t change. I’d like to help if there’s any way I can.”

“Wonderful,” he exclaimed. I received one of those flashes that I wasn’t sure was psychic. Maybe it was good old-fashion
ed common sense that told me again that he had absolutely no belief in me being any help at all. That, of course, put him right back up there at the top of my list of suspects. Why make such a show of using me if he really wanted help? A PI would make a lot more sense.

“You can decide who you want me to talk to first,” I told him. It might give me a clue of some sort, if only as to how his mind worked. “And now, much as I’ve enjoyed the meal, I really do have to get back.”

“I’ll give you a ring tomorrow to tell you who to expect,” he said, raising a casual finger to bring the waiter scurrying over with the bill. “Will seven o’clock suit you?”

It would. We talked about the Vikings and the Twins chances this year. We discussed our taste in reading. Chatter, chatter, chatter we went, all the way home.

At the house I was bombarded with questions as soon as I walked in the door. Word had gotten around. I was amused to see David amongst my waiting interrogators. Even Mac had taken the trouble to show up—probably for the beer. I hadn’t noticed their cars in front. They must have parked further away.

“What did he want?” Patsy demanded.
“Did the tape work?”

“Was the food good?” my aunt asked. She had apparently decided to let me do the worrying about her good name. “I’ve heard they have a world-famous chef.” Food, it has to be understood, rates highly in my family.

“It was delicious,” I answered her first. “As far as the tape goes, I have no idea. I haven’t touched it since I turned it on.” Truth be told, I’d kind of forgotten about it. I hadn’t even thought to turn it off.

“If it was really a good restaurant, maybe
we
can try it again sometime,” David offered.

I loved it that he was jealous.
Nothing wrong with that. My late and unlamented husband didn’t care enough about me to be jealous. “It was excellent, but I don’t know that I’d like the idea of spending that much money on a meal. It’s more fun when we pack a good lunch and take a hike with the dogs.” That might not be entirely true, but I really do love picnics. I’d take him up on the fancy meal except that I was afraid he was grumpy enough about my eating there with the widower to complain about everything he could, thus proving to me that it wasn’t the perfect place I thought it was. Ha. Like anything he said would ever make me forget that dessert.

Patsy and I managed to detach the recorder and wires without doing any damage.
We all gathered in the kitchen to listen. It seemed that they all had disparaging remarks to make about my host. Again the disembodied voice brought out details in tone and emphasis that a person sitting face to face with someone would be apt to miss. I was really getting interested in the minutiae we miss in everyday conversation. No wonder blind people so often became attuned to the world around them aurally, far more so than sighted people.

“Smarmy chap, isn’t he?” Mac said, leaning back to swallow the last of the beer in his bottle. “Just the sort you’d figure had married a rich woman. Guess you can’t call him a gigolo since he married her.”

“This is perfect!” Patsy said when the tape finally finished. I was tired, having lived through the evening twice, so to speak. “We’ll keep the tape idea working with everybody you talk to. Then we can go over details at our leisure and you won’t forget anything. We need a list of questions for you to ask, too.”

“Yes, I can certainly use that,” I said fervently. “I tend to freeze mentally when I should be asking clever questions.”

David seemed to have recovered from his sulks, no doubt pleased with the comments of his fellow critics. “You’d better get some rest, Rachael,” he told me. “You’re in for a long stretch if you’re going to add talking to those people every night.”

“I’m exhausted,” I admitted. “It’s difficult to try and act natural when you’re feeling on edge. I’m glad he didn’t try and ask me a lot of questions.”

“Maybe he knew the answers already,” Dora added her bit. “If he did the murder, he’d pretty much know everything we’re interested in.”

“Didn’t you get any psychic vibes from him?” Aunt Myrtle has been deeply disappointed to learn that I couldn’t read minds at will. She watches too many movies and reads too many scary books.

“Nothing,” I sighed to show her that it was disappointing to me too. I’d hate to have her lose her optimistic outlook about anything new or esoteric.

Fortunately, all the rich food didn’t bother my system at all. I slept deeply and calmly as far as I could tell. Maybe it was the good feeling that David’s jealousy had induced.
Shame on me. I should be above that at my age. I obviously am not.

             
The next day was again busy. People were still interested in what went on across the road, and while Dora’s shop was open, it seemed the grapevine had informed even the tourists that I, or at least my aunt, was involved. Some asked questions, but most seemed content to be near the scene. Ralph, I was glad to note, was particularly busy, adding a nice touch to the store’s claim to be haunted. It was the way I had originally thought the season should go—until he had sneaked over across the road to the more exciting venue.

“Can you talk to Ralph later?” I asked David. “I need to know what he saw that night.”

He nodded agreement, keeping an eye (or so I assumed) on Ralph to make sure he hadn’t slipped up beside us to overhear what I said.

David stayed in the store after we closed, apparently having convinced Ralph to have a talk with him. I called upon my better self and didn’t try to overhear the conversation. Not that
I could hear Ralph, of course, but I did think it would be fascinating to watch my beloved talking to air, nodding or frowning as the case demanded. I’ve watched it before, and it is kind of funny. They seemed to get along, though, and that was what counted.

Ralph, David said when he joined me for an early dinner, had been in a snit at the time of the killing. It seemed that the victim had given him a dirty look when he tried to frighten her by touching her hair and causing a chill. So he retreated to the back room to sulk for a while. It was the sound of screams and the excitement
that brought him out of seclusion. When he saw the body, he ran for it. He wasn’t afraid, he insisted, but he didn’t want to think about all that blood.

Ghost or not, I figured he had the right to be upset.
There hadn’t been any blood, of course, but the suggestion was there. I still didn’t see how he could be afraid for his own life, so to speak. Not handling the sight of blood well isn’t that unusual. One of my aunts is famous for her ability to faint at the sight of it, and since she has six sisters to back her up, it’s clear it’s a real problem. Her siblings would have long since caught her out if she were pretending.

“So he’s no use,” I grumbled. It was a good thing he’d done such a
nice job in the store the past few days or I would have been thoroughly put out with what used to be our resident ghost. “First he deserts your house when he thinks there’s danger, and then he deserts me when the fortune telling starts across the street.”

“Do you really blame him?
” David asked, teasingly. “If you were a ghost, and had the option, where would you rather be? My place is really dull now that Rags is off to visit in South America. And those two idiots who were hunting him were certainly scary. And then he finds he can move around and has a good setup here—action without fear. Only your aunt no doubt was so enthusiastic about the idea to start the fortune telling plan that he thought it would be fun to scoot over and see for himself. You have to admit that it’s fascinating. He did say that someone else, a spirit, showed up after a while.”