⁸

After measuring exactly three eighths of a sleeping pill, and (feeling like an idiot) telling Daniel I hadn’t forgotten about the knife, I managed to get a fairly good night’s sleep. I still hiccuped. I still dreamed: disturbing dreams, but the kind one doesn’t remember, much less wake from with a scream.

Midway through the morning I got a text from Tony:

Check your email

He had forwarded a copied-and-pasted section of the lab report on the knife. I puzzled over a list of chemical terms. Apparently meth wasn’t the only thing they’d found on the blade, but I might as well have tried to read Greek as to understand the results.

Well, Latin.

I tried searching on some of the terms. Methamphetamine hydrochloride...that would be the meth. Ferulic acid had something to do with plants. At pronyl-lysine, my eyes started to cross.

Tony had carefully removed the description of the knife itself, except for the word “blade.” What was left was just a list of the components found on it. If I asked for help with the terms, I didn’t think that would be a violation of his confidence.

I printed out the list and carried it downstairs. Rosa and Iz were in the pantry, their dark heads bent together as they talked. They both straightened when I came in, making me think of maids snapping to attention in some British drama. I coughed to hide a laugh.

“Either of you study chemistry?” I asked.

They both shook their heads. Iz was taking college courses, but from her expression I gathered she had some other major.

I went through to the kitchen, where Mick was just firing up the dishwashing station to work on the day’s first round of china. He politely removed his earbuds when I went up to him, but denied any knowledge of chemistry.

I turned to Julio and Ramon, who were working on savory pies. Julio shook his head without looking up from rolling the dough.

“Just kitchen chemistry,” he said. “I can tell you about leavening agents.”

“Pronyl-lysine?”

“No way.”

Ramon answered my look with a shrug. “He’s the smart one,” he said, nodding toward Julio. “I’m just a guitarist.”

“You’re not ‘just’ a guitarist,” I said. “Music is one of the highest arts.”

He gave me an appreciative grin. “Yeah, but it ain’t chemistry.”

Discouraged, I went back through the pantry and headed down the main hall to the gift shop. Dee was there, ringing up a sale for a customer. Nat stood at the podium, looking sharp in a rust-colored dress and a turquoise necklace.

“Did you ta—hic—take chemistry in school?” I asked her quietly.

“Not if I could help it.”

“Hm.”

I studied the list again. It still looked pretty meaningless to me.

Dee’s customer concluded her purchase and walked past me on her way out, smiling. Dee sidled up to the podium and glanced at my list.

“Oh—is that a chemical analysis?”

“Yes,” I said, my heart giving a small hop of hope. “Can you understand it?”

She took the page from my hand, frowning. “We had a little of this in my forensics class. Oh, that’s m—” She stopped herself, glanced toward the hall, and lowered her voice. “That’s meth!”

“Do you know what any of the others are?” I asked.

“Ferulic acid is plant-based.” She tilted her head, frowning at the words. “Hmm. Glutenin, starch—this sounds like food.”

“Food?”

Four ladies walked into the gift shop, laughing together. Dee handed me back the list and went to attend to them. I stuffed the page in my pocket, then headed upstairs.

Food on the knife. Maybe Daniel had been using it to eat?

And then to have some meth for dessert?

My mind rejected that. I didn’t think Daniel was a drug user. My encounter with him had been brief, but he hadn’t given me that impression at all. Also, Iz had said he wasn’t into drugs.

I looked in on Kris, who was on the phone. As I stepped back she picked up her empty teacup and gave me a hopeful smile. I took it from her, but the teapot on the credenza was empty.

Downstairs again, to the pantry. I made a pot of Assam because it was fast-brewing, and hurried back up to give Kris her cuppa.

She was off the phone. “Thanks,” she said, closing her eyes as she inhaled the steam gently rising from her cup. “Keemun?”

“Assam.”

“I knew it was one or the other.” She took a swallow. “I just got a quote on a 3-D printer.”

“Oh?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

She handed me a slip of paper. I read the numbers and winced. “We can’t do it.”

“Not this year.”

“Well, I did tell Julio not to get his hopes up. I’ll ho—hic—hold onto this.” I started for my office, then remembered the analysis. “I don’t suppose you know chemistry?”

Kris slowly shook her head, watching me with wide, dark eyes. I stifled a sigh and went back to my desk, collecting a cup of tea for myself along the way.

There, on top of the stack of lavender slips, was the message from Detective Walters. I grimaced and took a swallow of tea. Decided it needed sugar and milk, if I was going to call the detective back. I picked up my cup and headed for the tea tray.

I knew I was procrastinating. I stood by the credenza, stirring my modified tea and thinking. What could Walters want now?

I went back and looked through the rest of the messages. Made a call to my doctor’s office requesting an appointment. The earliest they could see me was Wednesday.

Remembering that it was Willow who had asked for more details about the knife, I forwarded the chemical analysis to her. Unless she had credentials I didn’t know about—or some kind of ghostly consultant—it wouldn’t mean much to her, either, but at least she’d know I’d kept my promise.

Finally out of delaying tactics, I dialed Walters’s number. I silently cheered when I got his voicemail. Leaving a brief, polite message, I turned to the rest of my chores.

The day went by swiftly, as Fridays tended to do at the tearoom. Better weather brought out more customers, and the weekends were always our busiest days. I spent the evening reading and went to bed early, hoping to be fresh for my tea with Tony and his family. With the aid of a partial pill I again slept well, although I did dream about giant pillars of striped turquoise, malachite, and sugilite.

Saturday morning I woke to the smell of almond cake baking downstairs. A sense of peace and well-being filled me. I lay in bed drowsing, telling myself I’d get up in a couple of minutes, enjoying a last bit of laziness before facing the day. Maybe the piece of pill I’d taken was a little too large. Maybe I’d sleep another five minutes.

I hiccuped, bursting the hope that I’d finally kicked the spasms. Sighing, I threw the covers aside and got up. A glance out the window showed me a sunny morning, but with puffs of cloud already gathering. By afternoon, it might rain.

I breakfasted on berries and yogurt, and took a quick shower. Choosing a dress to wear, since I was having tea with Tony and his family, took longer than usual. Not too fancy—I didn’t want to appear to be flaunting my prosperity—but not too causal either. This was a formal first meeting, in a formal setting, and I wanted to pay due respect to Tony’s elders. I ended up choosing a pale green silk dress with a high neck, trimmed with narrow lace at the hem and cuffs. I piled my hair on top of my head, letting a couple of strategic wisps hang curling, and took extra care with my makeup.

Before leaving my suite, I checked my phone. No messages, no texts. I texted Tony.

Thank you for the report. Looking forward to this afternoon.

Crossing the hall to my office, I waved good morning to Kris, who was on the phone. My desk was clear of message slips for the moment. I left my cell phone there and headed downstairs. The tearoom wouldn’t open for a couple of hours, but the day would be busy; about three quarters of our available seating was booked, and there were always walk-ins on Saturdays.

Rosa had just arrived and was studying the reservations chart, loading a tray with china and silver and linens. I put a kettle on to boil, then looked in on the kitchen, where Julio was showing Ramon how to pipe buttercream icing wisteria blossoms—beautifully shaded from palest lavender to violet—onto dainty, iced petit fours. Ramon, frowning with concentration, spared me only a brief glance.

“Morning, boss,” Julio said absently. I didn’t correct him; he was good about calling me Ellen rather than “boss” in public situations.

“Good morning. Anything you n—hic—need for today?”

“We’re good. Thanks.”

“I, ah ... have some special guests today.”

Julio shot me a sidelong glance. “The Aragóns? I might have something extra for them. I’m experimenting with a new sweet, a chocolate pot de crème in a meringue cup. You eat the custard, then eat the cup.”

“Sounds like Willy Wonka. I thought pots de crème were baked in a water bath.”

“Well, yeah. That part’s going to be different.”

“Will they break?”

“The meringue cups? I hope not. That’s why it’s an experiment.”

“All right. I’ll just warn them. Thanks.”

Returning to the pantry just as the kettle boiled, I started a pot of tea brewing, then walked down the hall to the main parlor where Rosa was setting up the alcoves for the first guests of the day. I glanced at the fresh flowers in every vase, and pulled one slightly faded bloom from a spray of alstroemeria in Lily. Rosa looked up at me from arranging a place setting and grinned.

“Big day today,” she said.

I smiled back, but didn’t comment. I didn’t want to betray how nervous I felt.

Returning to the pantry, I retrieved my tea and headed upstairs. As I emerged into the hall, the back door opened and Dee and Mick came in.

“Morning,” I said to them, smiling. “You’re early.”

“Iz and I switched,” Dee said, pulling off her beret and gloves. “She had something to do this morning. Hope that’s OK.”

Instantly I knew what the something was: Daniel Swazo’s funeral. I’d seen the notice and thought about going, but I didn’t actually know Daniel, and however sympathetic I might feel toward him, those who knew him might not like to be around the person who found his body. A wave of sadness went through me.

“That’s fine,” I said, and turned to the stairs.

Kris was still on the phone. I poured tea for us both, then retreated to my desk.

Poor Daniel. His bruised and swollen face, unrecognizable, brushed through my memory.

I had a small candle holder on my desk, shaped like a water lily, just big enough for a tea light. I put a fresh candle in, lit it, and silently wished him peaceful rest.

Willow’s words about Daniel came back to me. There was something he wanted to accomplish, something about his knife, and he wouldn’t rest until it was done. Had I done all I could in that direction? I hadn’t heard back from Willow about the report, but then I really hadn’t expected to. She might not be able to make any more of it than I could.

Thinking about Daniel made me restless. Maybe I should go back to the flea market and see if anything there pointed me toward a knot I could unravel. I couldn’t go today; it would have to wait until tomorrow, Sunday, when the tearoom would be closed. Nat and I were planning to work on the dresses again, but I could go to the market before I went to her place.

Sunday. One week after Daniel’s death. They said that if a killer wasn’t found in the first few days, the chances of finding him/her diminished.

Had Daniel been murdered, though? Or was his death the result of a random fight that had nothing to do with his knife or the meth? Maybe it was just a tragic accidental death, caused by a blow that wasn’t meant to be fatal.

But if that was so, why was I dreaming about Daniel and his knife?

“Meditating?”

I looked up from the candle at Kris, who stood in the doorway, her purple-and-black striped floor-length sundress a last farewell to summer. She’d be cold, later, if it rained.

“Just musing,” I said. “Do you need me?”

“Gina Fiorelli just sent me an email asking if we wanted to see designs for holiday ads.”

I whispered an unladylike word. Gina’s company’s rates were higher than I could really afford, but the last time I’d hired somebody cheaper I hadn’t been happy with the results. I knew Gina would cut me a break, but I didn’t like taking advantage of our friendship that way.

“Yes, we do,” I said, giving in. “Figure out what we can afford and give her a budget. Send her the details about the Halloween spirit tour and tea combos, too. Did I forward that to you?”

“No.”

“I’ll do it now.”

“What about December? Are we going to have a holiday special?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it. We can start with something generic, like ‘Celebrate the holidays,’ blah, blah, blah.”

“OK.”

“And Kris—”

She paused in the doorway, stunning, as always. Her eyes looked almost violet. A trick of her clothing.

“Thank you.”

A corner of her mouth curved upward. “I know you don’t like dealing with ads.”

“That, my dear, is an understatement.”

She grinned and retreated to her office. I hunted through my correspondence with Willow and collected the details for the tea tour combo—there had to be a more graceful name—and emailed it all to Kris. That done, I looked through my email and messages and dealt with a couple of other tasks. Nothing from Tony.

Looking back at the candle flame, I finished the last of my tea, then got up. I made certain the candle was away from anything flammable, left my teacup on the credenza, and went back downstairs.

Rosa and Dee were putting the finishing touches on the alcoves. China and silver gleamed on the low tables, and white linens blossomed at each place setting. Rosa had found a book about folding napkins a couple of weeks before, and the servers had been playing with different styles from it. Today the napkins were rosettes, nestled in the teacups.

I poked my head into the kitchen. Not a petit four in sight. Ramon had moved on to making cucumber sandwiches, and Julio was putting trays of scones into the oven. I glanced at the clock: almost ten. We’d be open in half an hour.

Nat had arrived, wearing a blue and green flowered dress. She looked up from helping Dee tidy the displays in the gift shop, and greeted me with a smile. “You look lovely, dear! When is your party?”

“It’s Tony’s party, not mine. Two o’clock.”

“It’ll be splendid.”

“I hope so.”

I had seated us in the Jonquil alcove, thinking Tony would prefer to have a view of the street. There was a party booked there for 11:30, which should leave plenty of time to reset the alcove for the Aragóns.

The thought came to me that I didn’t know whether Tony’s grandmother was an Aragón or a maternal grandmother. The fact that she was coming with Tony’s mother implied the latter. Mrs. Aragón was a hairdresser, I knew. Tony had never mentioned his father. That was the sum total of what I knew about his parentage, other than the fact that his grandparents (maternal? I wasn’t sure) had lost their ancestral home because of their inability to pay Santa Fe’s steep property taxes.

Anxiety threatened; I fought it by distracting myself, making another round of the parlors and visiting the kitchen once more. Julio handed me a small plate bearing six perfect fresh raspberries.

“Go have a cup of tea,” he said. “Everything’s fine. Looks like the meringues are going to work.”

“Oh, good. Thank you. Hic.”

He nodded, then tilted his head. “You gonna see a doctor about that, boss?”

“I have an appointment next week.”

I got out of his way, snagged a cup of tea from the servers’ pot because the tea upstairs would be cold, and went up to my office to give the raspberries due attention. They were my favorite fruit, and I ate them one at a time, savoring their sweetness and the sensual texture of the seeds.

When they were gone, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was not much given to prayer, but I made a silent wish that all would go well with Tony’s family. I sat still, with the ghost of raspberries on my tongue, picturing a happy meeting, until I hiccuped.

Opening my eyes, I reached for my cell phone. No answer from Tony. The time showed 10:35. We were open.

I went back downstairs and made an effort to keep myself busy. There was plenty to do: helping out in the gift shop and the butler’s pantry, supporting the servers, greeting guests. At 1:45 I darted up to my suite to touch up my hair and makeup. As I was coming down the stairs, I met the Bird Woman.

She was headed for the dining parlor, burdened with her gigantic purse and a large orange-and-pink gift bag, leading a handful of her friends. It was not a Red Hat day; instead perched atop her head was a confection of white gauze, silver ribbon, and pale yellow feathers that was rather too ethereal for her yellow-and-white polka dot dress. A feathery shawl draped over her elbows, and her hands were encased in crocheted gloves. Combined with her bright, bird-like eyes, the ensemble reminded me forcibly of a cockatiel.

“What a magnificent hat,” was all I could think to say.

She beamed. “I just got it. I found this great website, Victorian Fantasies. You should check it out.”

“I will.” I stepped toward the dining parlor, encouraging her to follow so that her party wouldn’t block the hallway. “Are you ladies celebrating something special today?”

“It’s Sally’s birthday,” said the Bird Woman, turning to grin at one of her friends, a shy-looking woman wearing a lime-green cloche hat over her short gray curls.

I smiled. “Happy Birthday, then, and many happy returns.”

“See? I told you she’s got a fancy way with words,” said the Bird Woman. She turned to me. “Hey, you find any more deaders?”

"No,” I said firmly, then hiccuped.

We were at the door to the parlor. I invited them to go in with a gesture, then escaped through the pantry to the kitchen, biting back my annoyance. I counted to ten before speaking.

“Julio? The party in the dining parlor is celebrating a birthday.”

“Yeah, they ordered a cake. It’s ready.”

“Send them something special, if there’s anything they ha—hic—haven’t ordered.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you.”

I blinked, trying to recover my composure. The Bird Woman had an uncanny ability to rattle me, and not just by mentioning corpses.

I looked at the kitchen clock. Ten minutes to two. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I headed back out to the hallway. Dee was just leaving the pantry carrying a tray of teapots; she glanced at me as she crossed to the dining parlor. I gave her a nod, then continued toward the front of the tearoom, reminding myself to smile.

Iz was leading a nicely-dressed blonde couple into the parlor as I headed for the gift shop. The gentleman, dapper in a linen suit, paused.

“Ellen?”

I turned and found myself face to face with Loren Jackson. I’d never seen him dressed up. His well-tailored suit showed off trim shoulders I’d only partly been aware of, and his soft green necktie was perfectly knotted. A familiar, woodsy fragrance teased the edge of my awareness. A smile lit his face, and my stomach surprised me by tightening.

“M-may I introduce my sister?” he asked. “Shelly, this is the owner of the tearoom, Ellen Rosings.”

I turned to her with an automatic smile. She was as fair as her brother, pale blond hair clustering around her face in soft curls. Her periwinkle dress made her blue eyes seem unusually large.

“How do you do?” I said, offering to shake hands. “Welcome to the Wisteria Tearoom.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, a little shyly. “When I heard Loren had been here I made him bring me. I’ve been curious.”

“And I wanted to come as a patron,” Loren added, a bit hastily. “I’ve admired the building since I first saw it, and I—I wanted to spend some time here.”

Shelly turned an inquiring look on him. “I thought she was a friend of yours.”

“Actually, she’s a client,” he said.

“Well, you certainly chose a beautiful day to vi—hic—visit.” I glanced at Iz with a slight nod. “I hope you have a lovely tea.”

Iz stepped into the main parlor, guiding them toward the Rose alcove. Loren paused, gazing at me with an expression of concern.

Yes, I still have the hiccups.

I managed a smile, then turned to the gift shop, suppressing dismay. Why had Loren chosen to bring his sister here today, of all days? They’d be within earshot of me and the Aragóns.

Not that I thought they would eavesdrop. What did it matter?

I needed to sort my thoughts. Hyacinth was unoccupied; I slipped into the alcove and sat in a plush chair, trying to understand my reaction to the Jacksons. I hadn’t expected to see Loren, but surprise alone couldn’t account for the way their appearance had thrown me off balance.

Was it concern that Loren would speak of things I’d told him in confidence? No. I trusted him.

I thought of the Aragóns, and the reason clicked into focus. I was worried that Tony would be jealous.

Absurd. I had seen Loren only on a professional basis. I’d gone to him for counseling. There was no reason at all for Tony to be jealous.

Except, perhaps, the warmth in Loren’s eyes.

Oh, I needed to figure that out...and figure out how I felt about it...and I didn’t have time.

I checked my watch. Almost two.

Later. I’d deal with it later. Loren and his sister would be settled by now. I’d just focus all my attention on Tony and his elders, and all would be well.

I rose, smoothed my dress, and stepped out into the gift shop just as the bells on the front door tinkled. A pretty Hispanic woman stepped into the hallway and held the door open for two more ladies, both older than she. One was middle-aged, her glossy hair looking fresh from the beautician’s hands. She assisted the third, whose equally-styled silver hair set off a pair of deep-set, rather fierce eyes. This lady leaned on an aluminum walker and took tiny shuffling steps, pausing to lift her feet over the threshold with great care. They all wore nice dresses and modest jewelry.

Nat was helping a customer, and the servers were all elsewhere. I stepped forward.

“Good afternoon,” I said, smiling. “How may I help you?”

The youngest woman looked at me, hesitating briefly before speaking. “We have a reservation. Aragón.”

“Oh!” I looked from her to the other two ladies. “We weren’t expecting three. That is—hic—”

“My brother was supposed to be here, but he had to work.”

Disappointment and realization washed through me together. At least Tony had made arrangements for his family to keep their reservation.

“Oh, I see. I’m Ellen Rosings,” I explained, offering a hand.

The youngest woman shook it in a feather-light grasp. She was a few years younger than I, and seemed a bit tense. “I’m Angela, Tony’s sister.”

“I’m delighted to meet you.” I smiled, turning to the others. “And you must be Tony’s mother and grandmother.”

Angela hastened to introduce me to her mother, Dolores, and her grandmother, Theresa. A faint aura of cigarette smoke clung to them; I remembered that Tony had said his grandmother smoked. I welcomed them and led them to the Jonquil alcove. As Dolores was settling her mother in an emerald green wing chair, I spoke softly to Angela.

“I was going to join you, but—”

“Oh, please don’t go away. Tony said he wanted you to get acquainted with them.” She gestured to her family with a worried glance.

“All right.”

I stepped to the window to adjust the lace sheers. The sun wasn’t coming in at the moment, but it might before we finished our tea.

Angela and her mother had seated themselves on the settee, leaving me the other chair. Angela’s pink sun-dress and ivory wrap looked spring-like against the settee’s pale yellow velvet. Dolores’s dress was a sober navy that I could easily picture her wearing to church. Theresa’s was a muted print of red and orange flowers, less flamboyant than the Bird Woman’s usual attire, but perhaps a more subtle expression of the same devil-may-care attitude. She fixed me with a stony gaze.

“So you are the girl Antonio has been seeing.”

Angela made a small, dismayed sound. Dolores leaned forward.

“Mama,” she said, and added a string of Spanish too rapid for me to follow.

Iz came into the alcove with a teapot on a tray. “Good afternoon,” she said softly. “Welcome to the Wisteria Tearoom.”

We were silent as Iz poured the tea. I noticed that Angela sat stiffly erect, perched on the edge of her seat. Poised to flee, perhaps?

Iz put the teapot on its tray, covered it with a cozy printed with yellow and white jonquils, and murmured a promise that she’d be back soon with our food. As she left, I selected a lump of sugar from the bowl and slipped it into my cup.

“I’m so sorry Detective Aragón couldn’t join us,” I said, stirring my tea. “I suppose he couldn’t get away—hic—from work?”

“Yes,” Angela said hastily, watching her mother hold the sugar bowl for her grandmother, who gripped the tongs with wiry fingers and dropped three lumps of sugar into her cup. “He said to apologize.”

“No need. I understand perfectly.”

“It was very nice of you to invite us,” Dolores said, returning the sugar bowl to the table.

“Well, I owed your son a thank-you,” I said. “He’s helped me a great deal.”

“You took him to the Opera,” said Theresa, in a tone that bordered on accusatory.

I turned to her with what I hoped was a calm smile. “Yes, he was kind enough to escort me to a friend’s party. I’m afraid he—hic—ended up working that night, too.”

Iz returned with a three-tiered tea tray, which she set in the center of the table. Theresa’s eyes lit with interest at the sight of the food, making me glad that I had ordered a full afternoon tea service for the party. I watched her and the others covertly as Iz briefly explained the menu. When she departed, the Aagóns sat frozen, staring at the tea tray as if unsure what to do with it.

I took out the plate of savories and offered it to Theresa. She helped herself to one of each item, placing them on her plate with fingers that wavered only slightly.

Moving the savories to within Dolores’s reach, I looked at Angela. “Are you the sister who’s in college?”

“Yes. I’m studying to be a nurse.”

“I admire you. That’s hard work.”

She nodded seriously. “There’s a nursing shortage, so I should be able to get a job.”

Something in her tone made me think that getting a good job was a matter of urgency for her. I was suddenly conscious of the opulence of our surroundings. The furnishings and draperies, the fine china, the tearoom itself—all were expensive. I was still paying off the cost of equipping the tearoom, and of course the mortgage would go on for decades. Sitting with the Aragóns, I was reminded of how fortunate I was to be able to carry the debt.

Tony had sneered, when we first met. Not because I was Anglo—well, maybe partly because of that—but mostly because I owned this house. Because I had money.

I’d never thought of myself as rich. The advantages I’d had growing up—music lessons, travel, then college—were all things I had taken for granted. Until I’d met Tony.

As I held the plate of savories for Angela to help herself, I glanced at her grandmother and saw the same defiant pride in her face that I had first seen in Tony’s. She might not have as much cash, but she considered herself as good as me or better. And she didn’t think I was good enough for her grandson, I suspected.

The remaining savories were mine. I put them on my plate, returned the empty serving plate to the tea tray, and took a bite of my cucumber sandwich, wondering how I would get through the next hour.

Loren Jackson’s laughter carried to me from the Rose alcove. He and his sister must be sharing some joke. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about an encounter between him and Tony.

“Where are you studying?” I asked Angela, for lack of a better conversational gambit.

I listened to her talk about her classes, my thoughts partly on Tony. Maybe he’d had a breakthrough in his case. I hoped so.

I became aware that Dolores was addressing me, just in time to register that she was asking me where I’d gone to school. She smiled politely; she was trying to help me.

“UNM,” I said. “I considered some other schools, but decided I di—hic—didn’t want to go far from home.”

“And you have a degree?”

“I have a bachelor’s in music and a master’s in literature. Not very practical, I’m afraid.”

Dolores seemed to have nothing to say to that. She sipped her tea.

Reminded of my duties as hostess, I lifted the tea cozy from the pot and made sure everyone’s cup was full. Theresa gave me a regal nod of acknowledgment as I poured for her. She was making inroads on her savories.

Surely she could not be going hungry at home; they weren’t that poor. More likely, she hadn’t encountered some of these foods before, and had a healthy appetite for variety.

“The empanadas are very good,” she said, brandishing half a Cornish pasty.

I didn’t correct her; the difference was unimportant. Far more important was her enjoyment of the meal.

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it. Would you like a scone? These are British style, not as heavy as American.”

As I offered her the breads plate, I gave myself a mental swat. She might never have had any scones, British or American. Tony hadn’t been familiar with them before I served them to him. I took a scone myself and tore it open, spreading lemon curd and clotted cream on each half. Dolores and Angela watched, then helped themselves.

“You must like the English very much,” Dolores said, and gestured to our surroundings. “To do all this.”

“Yes, I’ve always been an Anglophile. My mother was, too, and I grew up watching all the BBC shows on Channel Five.”

“And that’s what made you want to have a tea room?” Angela asked.

“Well, partly. I’ve always loved tea.” I decided not to mention my trip to England with my parents. “It was my aunt who suggested that I open a tearoom. I was very depressed after my father died, and she knew that having something to work toward would help me sna—hic—snap out of it. I do apologize...these stupid hiccups...” I rubbed my forehead, suddenly weary.

“Have you had them all day?” Angela asked.

“All week.”

“You’ve had the hiccups all week?” Dolores looked at me as if I was nuts.

I waved a hand, trying to dismiss the subject. “It’s just been a tough week.”

“Drink some water with a pencil in your mouth,” said Theresa.

I blinked at her. “What?”

Theresa nodded firmly, then picked up her spoon and demonstrated. “Like a pirate biting his knife—so. Then get a glass of water and drink it.”

I’d heard plenty of odd suggestions in the past few days, but this was odder than most.

“Well ... it’s worth a try,” I said gamely. “Thank you.”

“If that doesn’t work, you might want to see a doctor,” Angela suggested gently.

“I have an appointment,” I said.

An awkward silence followed. The Aragóns were embarrassed to be having tea with a defective human who couldn’t even rid herself of the hiccups.

I took a deep breath and turned to Dolores. “Your hair is lovely, Mrs. Aragón. I think Tony mentioned you have a salon?”

“I don’t own one. I work in one.”

“Ah.”

Defective and tactless. Would I never learn?

“What are those?” demanded Theresa, a bony finger pointing at the strawberry puffs on the sweets plate. I removed the plate from the tea tray and offered it to her.

“Meringues with strawberry cream. Try one.”

I handed the sweets to Dolores once Theresa had claimed her share. She and Angela took one of each. My plate didn’t have room for sweets; I’d fallen behind. To be honest, I wasn’t very hungry.

I made myself take a bite of scone. It tasted like sawdust. I knew that it was me, not the scone, that was the problem. I was sliding into a blue funk.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t guarantee that things would go perfectly. Tony’s absence had really thrown me, more than it should have. I’d been counting on him to help me get acquainted with his family. Without him, I was awkward and embarrassed.

Which was ridiculous. Since when did I depend on the presence of Tony Aragón for my own poise? I raised my head and sat straighter in my chair.

“Tony’s older than you, right?” I said to Angela.

“A few years older, yes.”

I tried to remember whether Tony and I had talked about college. My impression was that he hadn’t gone—perhaps because there had been no money. Did he go straight into the police academy?

“I was wondering why he chose to go into police work,” I said. “I don’t believe he’s mentioned the reason to me.”

Angela looked at her mother, who was suddenly interested in her sweets. “Our father was a policeman,” she said.

“Oh?”

“He was killed on duty.”

My throat tightened. “I’m so sorry. Was it recent?”

Angela shook her head. “Tony was seventeen. I was twelve.” Again, she looked at her mother. Following her gaze, I saw that Dolores was plainly still grieving.

It had to have been ten years, or nearly so. My heart clenched with sympathetic pain. My father had been gone for two years. My mother six. It still hurt.

“So he inspired Tony to follow in his career?” I said. “He must have been a ve—hic—very good father.”

Dolores raised her head, looking at me with eyes every bit as fierce as Theresa’s. “He was a good man.”

I felt I was digging myself deeper into a conversational pit. Soon I’d be able to pull the sides in after myself.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said softly.

Dolores’s eyes flashed with passion, then she looked down at her plate once more. She picked up her teacup, which was empty.

I reached for the pot and poured the last of the tea into Dolores’s cup. I was tempted to go fetch more myself, just for the sake of a moment alone, but it would be rude to abandon my guests, and I would have to pass the Jacksons. Not wise.

Instead, I tipped the lid of the teapot and waited for Iz to come by and notice.

“You going to eat your strawberry?” Theresa said to me.

I shook my head, suppressed a hiccup, and offered her the sweets plate again. She took the strawberry puff, and her hand hovered over the petit four as she glanced at me. I nodded, and she cleared the plate.

Well, at least one of us was having a good time.

I tried to think of a safe topic to introduce, but all my usual polite inquiries had so far led to disaster. Probably I’d be better off keeping my mouth shut. There were times when even Miss Manners couldn’t help me.

“Everything is good,” Theresa said, and licked a bit of cream from her fingers.

“Thank you.” I assumed it was high praise. Grandmothers have no obligation to give polite compliments.

“Do you cook everything yourself?” Angela asked, and I recognized an attempt to help.

Grateful, I smiled, shaking my head. “No, we have a chef. Julio Delgado. He’s much more talented in the kitchen than I am.”

Dolores looked up. “Anna Delgado’s father?”

“Her brother.”

Her eyebrows twitched upward, then she gave a nod and picked up her chocolate truffle. I remembered that Julio had said Tony once dated his sister. Since it was at Anna’s wedding that I’d discovered Julio, I had assumed that she hadn’t clicked with Tony, but she’d apparently at least met his family. Probably she’d been more comfortable with them than I was, so far.

I began composing a question about Tony’s other sister, who was married and whom I hadn’t met, when a sudden blare of music filled the room. The usual quiet, classical music had been preempted by the Andrews Sisters cheerfully warbling “Six Jerks in a Jeep.”

The Aragóns all looked at me. “Tony said you have a ghost that likes music,” Theresa said.

True, but I didn’t think Captain Dusenberry was into swing.