A Blush With Death Page 3

  I leaned back, a thin layer of perspiration beading along my skin. Even my crop top and miniskirt couldn’t keep me cool. “What’s up?”

  “I booked three more appointments for you today. At four, four thirty, and five.” She winced. “Sorry, but you didn’t tell me if you had any plans, so I went ahead and scheduled them.”

  “Ugh. I was planning on heading out to Driftwood Loop before I went home, but I guess that’s out.” I desperately longed for a swim out at Spindrift Bay. The riptides seldom crashed to shore there, and the area was considered fairly safe for swimming. It was also one of the few tourist-free spots; nobody wanted to pick their way over the good half mile of pebbled beach that stood between the road and the thin spit of sand.

  I pushed back my chair. “All right, but no more today, and don’t book anything more than I have tomorrow. I’m beginning to feel the pressure,” I said, grinning. Even though we needed the business, a lot of it was falling on my shoulders, and I needed a break.

  She blinked, then smiled back, popping her gum.

  “And don’t let Aunt Florence hear you doing that—you know the sound drives her crazy.”

  “Gotchya,” Tawny said. “God, I’m hot.”

  “I’ll see about getting a couple more fans in here tomorrow,” I said. With our usual weather, there was no need for air conditioning. “Listen, I’m going to run next door to the bakery for a few. I’ll be back before my next appointment.”

  Tawny peeled herself off the chair. “Okay, boss. Say hi to Ms. Konstantinos for me.”

  “You got it.”

  I stepped out onto the sidewalk, plunging into the mad rush of foot traffic spilling through the streets. Tourist season was in full swing, with people flocking to the island to get away from the smog and noise of Seattle. Port Samanish Island—and Gull Harbor—might just be a ferry ride away across Puget Sound from Seattle, but we offered an uncluttered alternative to the urbanites who made their home in the sprawling metropolis that hugged Elliott Bay.

  Barb had been telling the truth. The Baklava or Bust Bakery was jammed. I pushed through a crowd of tourists who looked to be on a day tour and found myself squashed against the counter, where I was instantly assailed by the exquisite smells of yeasty bread and piping-hot doughnuts and cookies. The glittering display cases offered enough delights to tempt anybody’s taste buds. Even though I wasn’t all that hungry, I immediately fixated on the bear claws.

  Dorian Konstantinos, Barbara’s husband, was manning the counter. He gave me a harried wave and yelled out, “Barbara, Persia’s here.” Within seconds, Barb came racing out from the back. She zipped around the counter, deftly weaving between the customers, most of whom towered head and shoulders over her. As I leaned in to catch what she was saying, she put her hand on my arm.

  “Dorian says no problem; he doesn’t mind if I go to the convention. Ari will take over for me while I’m gone, and we have Ronette and Colin, of course.”

  “Great! I’m so glad you’re coming with me.”

  She glanced at the back room. “I’ve got to go—I’ve got a batch of rolls about ready to come out of the oven. You want anything while you’re here?”

  I decided to surprise Auntie by bringing home dessert. “Give me one of your peach pies,” I said, holding out a ten.

  Barb pocketed the money, slid the pie into a box, then scurried away again before I had a chance to thank her. I headed back to Venus Envy to finish what was shaping up to be a long afternoon.

  BY THE TIME I locked the door to the shop, it was too late to go swimming, so I headed home. As I pulled into the driveway, I saw Baby sitting there, and cringed. Our neighbors, along with Kyle Laughlin, the police chief, hated that car. Auntie was forever promising to get the muffler fixed, but for some reason, she never got around to it. The way she meticulously took care of everything else clued me in that my aunt might be subconsciously flaunting her rebel nature via one gas-guzzling, exhaust-belching convertible.

  Moss Rose Cottage was a thirty-acre wonderland. The house, an exquisite three-story white elephant—excluding attic and basement—had been built over a century ago by Captain George Bentley, a retired naval officer. He’d spent the latter years of his life here, surrounded by family, and the house passed down through his children and their children until my aunt bought it.

  I was ten years old when we settled here. Captain Bentley, or the Cap’n, as we called him, had remained with the house. Doorknobs rattled at night, soft footsteps fell in the attic, and shadows moved where there shouldn’t be shadows. I knew it was the Cap’n, watching over the house. And over us.

  The mansion brooded over the acreage like an eagle in its aerie. Even though Auntie had all the latest gadgets and cable, with walls crafted from stone and mullioned windows, Moss Rose Cottage seemed to exist outside of time.

  The door was open, the screen tightly shut, keeping the Menagerie safely inside. Not a dog or cat in sight, but as I slipped into the foyer, barking broke out from the living room as Beauty and Beast raced up to greet me. Beauty, a gorgeous black cocker spaniel, was as delicate as her name. Beast, on the other hand, looked like a breeding experiment gone awry. He had a heart as big as his head, even though he fancied himself a guard dog. I looked around for Pete, but the golden retriever was nowhere in sight.

  “Yes, I’m home, you two mutts,” I said, giving them each a quick hug after hanging my purse on a hook. I wandered into the living room, where the curtains were open, exposing the floor-to-ceiling windows that provided a panoramic view: a vast wash of ocean breakers crashing against the shoreline. A hop, skip, and a jump across Briarwood Drive, a short incline, and a narrow stretch of rocky sand was all that separated the lower edge of our property from the ocean. In the evenings, Auntie and I sat and watched the rolling surf that curved along the edge of the island.

  “Persia? Is that you?” Aunt Florence peeked around the corner. “Good, you’re home early.” She held a bowl that smelled suspiciously like crab salad. My eyes lit up.

  “Is that dinner?” I asked, staring at the food. Always hungry, I was grateful that my workouts staved off worry about my weight. “I brought dessert—peach pie.”

  She took one look at my expression and snorted. “Set the table. Let’s eat outside. It’s a beautiful night. We’re having crab salad on croissants, with vichyssoise. And that pie will go mighty fine with the vanilla ice cream I bought.”

  I followed her into the kitchen, where I retrieved the china and linens and headed out to the deck. The warm salt air streamed by, and I inhaled deeply, feeling the tang of the ocean settle deep into my lungs.

  Auntie spooned the crab salad onto the sliced croissants and added a garnish of parsley, brilliant green, and a sprig of mint to the plates. I carried the tray out to the patio table, careful to close the screen door behind me to keep the bugs out and the Menagerie in. She followed with the tureen, and we settled in at the table. While she ladled the soup, I filled our goblets with white Zinfandel.

  “So, how was your afternoon?” I said, reveling in the quiet that descended on us as dusk grew near as I tasted the vichyssoise. The chilled soup was rich and creamy. I let it roll around on my tongue for a moment, reveling in the smooth taste of potatoes, cream, and leeks. She’d added a bit of dill, which gave it a nice zest.

  Auntie sipped of her wine. “Not bad, not bad at all. I spent the afternoon over at Winthrop’s.” Winthrop Winchester was her lawyer, a crafty old codger. He was good, so good that he was worth a small fortune in fees.

  “What were you doing over there? Figuring out a way to sue Bebe’s Boutique, I hope?”

  “Don’t I wish.” She smiled gently. “I asked Winthrop to draw up the papers that will make you an official partner in the business. That way, if anything happens to me, there won’t be any hassle over what happens to Venus Envy. The forms will be ready to sign at some point next week.” She flashed me a quick smile as my jaw dropped.

  Partner? I already
knew that I’d inherit the shop if—heaven forbid—Aunt Florence died, but for her to make me a partner meant she really trusted me.

  “I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting that.” I fumbled with my sandwich, dropping a bite of crab on the deck. I reached down and snagged it up, tossing it over the railing. Some creature would feast on it.

  “You’re going to inherit everything, anyway. You might as well be a full-fledged partner. We’ll just keep doing things the same way as usual, but as you become more familiar with the business over the next year or two, I’ll let you make more of the decisions.”

  The phone rang.

  She motioned for me to stay seated. “You eat your dinner. I’ll get it.”

  I stared out at the ocean as I ate. The sun was glinting off the horizon; storm season had abated and wouldn’t start back up for another month or two. We’d had the most gorgeous summer in the past ten years of Gull Harbor’s history, according to my aunt.

  “Oh my goodness!” Auntie’s voice startled me out of my thoughts. “Is it really you? I can hardly believe it.”

  I perked up, straining to listen without being obvious. After a pause, she said, “How about lunch tomorrow at the Lighthouse café?” Another pause, then, “Yes, that’s right. I’ll meet you there at noon. And Kane, it’s good to hear from you.” After replacing the receiver, she returned to the deck.

  My curiosity aroused, I said, “Who was that?”

  “Kane Jimenez. I knew him when I lived in Hawai’i.” She hesitated, in a way that made me think there was a lot more to the story than an old friend.

  “Go on, please. You don’t talk very much about that period in your life,” I said. Auntie seldom discussed the years she’d lived in the island paradise.

  She stared at her soup, then ground a little more black pepper into it. “It was a bittersweet time in my life. Do you remember the spring when Lydia was killed, how I told you I’ve only ever known two people who were murdered?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I do.”

  Auntie rubbed her temples, then leaned back and stared out at the water. “When I first visited Hawai’i, it was on a whim. I stepped off the plane and never wanted to leave, so I cashed in my return ticket and settled down. I even opened a shop, a lot like Venus Envy but much smaller. I love the islands, they’re in my blood.”

  I knew this and had often wondered why she never returned, even for a vacation. I snagged up the last bite of my crab croissant and finished my wine.

  “While I was living there, I met someone. He was a wonderful man, part native Hawaiian, part Portuguese, part Hispanic, by blood. His name was Keola Manuel Jimenez and he was tall and strong, with long hair that he kept in a braid. His eyes were so dark that you could crawl in and never find the bottom. I fell in love, and he asked me to marry him.”

  I stared at her; Aunt Florence had never mentioned him before. I knew she had never married, but until now, I assumed that the thought had never crossed her mind. “You were engaged?”

  She nodded. “This was back in 1970, a few years before you were born. I loved him more than I’d ever loved anybody in my life.” Her blue eyes sparkled, mirroring the glint of the setting sun on the rippling currents.

  “What happened?”

  She forced a smile to her lips. “Keola was murdered. He was killed one day when he accidentally stumbled onto a pakalolo farm.” At my confused look, she said, “A pot farm. The owner was a Vietnam vet who’d been discharged because he went crazy and tried to shoot up his unit. Keola was a biologist; he stumbled onto the operation while doing some fieldwork. Something triggered a flash-back, and the guy lost it. Before Keola knew what was happening, the man shot him. Keola was dead before he hit the ground. He never had a chance.”

  I stared at my plate, digesting the information. My aunt had been engaged, and her fiancé murdered. “Did they catch the guy?”

  “Yes, they caught him. And put him away for good. But Keola was dead,” she said with a shrug. “I couldn’t stay there. I left, vowing to return someday. I never have. Not yet.” She pushed herself away from the table. “The man who just called is Kane…Keola’s brother. We’ve kept in touch over the years, and he recently moved to Seattle.”

  “Is this the first time you’ll have seen him since you left Hawai’i?” I could tell that she was nervous; she kept fidgeting with her napkin.

  She blinked. “Child, this will be the first time we’ve spoken face-to-face since the funeral. We’ve written letters, but somehow, neither one of us ever got around to making that first phone call.” She turned, facing me square on. “I don’t need to tell you how this makes me feel. Kane was the spitting image of Keola. They were twins, and I simply don’t know how I’m going to react.”

  And with that, she hurried out of the house, down to the gardens. I cleared the table and stacked the dishes in the dishwasher. Dessert could wait until later. Auntie needed some time alone, and I wasn’t about to bother her.

  I SLEPT DEEP that night, long and hard and heavy. When I woke to the alarm, the corners of my eyes were crusted, and I felt like I had a hangover. Delilah, Auntie’s daft seventeen-year-old white Persian, was curled on the foot of my bed. At first she’d considered me a rival; now I was simply her property, as was everything else in the house. A leo, Delilah rule the roost.

  As I slid into my workout clothes, I reflected on what I’d learned the night before. What would it be like to lose the love of your life to a bullet?

  I’d thought I loved Elliot—after all, we lived together for years—but I was coming to realize that what I’d felt for the man had been fondness, not true love. I had my doubts that I even knew what love was. At least of a romantic nature. And maybe I never would. I was happy being single. Dating was a game to me, one that I enjoyed until emotions began to run too high, and then I backed away, worried that I might get trapped into something I couldn’t handle. Or maybe I just hadn’t met anybody who made me want to open up.

  I opened the curtains, and light streamed through my bedroom as I slid the window up. A rush of fresh air billowed into the room. Breathing deeply, I raised my arms, stretching as high as I could, letting the air energize me before heading into my workout room.

  Every day I went through Ki No Taiso, or Three-Minute Exercise, a grounding aikido routine that built and energized my chi. As I closed my eyes and settled my body, I could feel my energy strengthen. My aura flared as I flowed into the dance of movement. Inhaling deeply, I let instinct take over, tuning out everything except what was happening in my body.

  As always, the moment my body started moving, I was lost in the exercise. After I finished the three-minute exercise, I transitioned directly into a Pilates workout, concentrating on my stability balls for core-strengthening, and then a lively jaunt on the treadmill finished my workout for the day. After cooling down with some light stretches, I padded back to my bedroom, where I stripped naked and let the breeze wash over my body, luxuriating in its caress. Time for a shower.

  Under the pulsating water, I thought about my speech. The title sounded like something out of Godiva, or one of those other numerous soft-porn-masquerading-as-fashion mags. I read several in order to keep up on the latest trends in beauty products, but could never quite shake the feeling I was treading onto sleazy ground.

  It wasn’t that they discussed sex in frank terms. I liked sex. Sex was good, and I was of the firm belief that I didn’t get my fair share. But the way they approached the entire subject of beauty made it sound like the sole purpose was to entrap a man. I wanted to see more self-empowerment articles in the pages, encouraging women to look long and hard at their lives, and to go after their dreams.

  After slipping into a gold broomstick skirt and a diaphanous tank top, I hung chandelier earrings from one set of my ear holes and slid delicate little gold hoops into the other set. My bluebell faerie tattoo glowed bright as it wound its way up my left arm. I slid my feet into sky-blue runabouts that complemented
the flower’s color, then dashed downstairs where I found Aunt Florence making breakfast. She poured me an OJ banana smoothie. I slurped it down as I stood over the sink, then accepted one of the egg-and-ham pitas she’d whipped up.

  “You’re in a hurry, Imp. Big plans this morning?”

  It was my morning off. “I thought I’d hit the library and get a start on that speech you roped me into giving.”

  She snorted. “You’ll do fine, and you know it.”

  “But Auntie, it just sounds so…so…”

  “So idiotic?”

  I glanced up at her and was greeted with a rueful smile. “I wasn’t going to put it that way but, yes, now that you mention it. Idiotic…lame…fluffy.”

  She finished off her breakfast and patted her lips with her napkin. “Persia, I don’t have to tell you that in this business, sex sells. That’s a fact of life that we have to live with. We can use it to our advantage and still try to retain what dignity we can. Do you know why I agreed to sign you up for that speech?”

  I shook my head. Other than make my life miserable—which I knew Auntie wasn’t looking for—I couldn’t figure it out. “Not really. To teach me how to cater to a mind-set of which I don’t approve?”

  With a sigh, she pushed herself out of her chair and deposited her dish in the sink. “No, though if you really want to run the business, sometimes you have to accept things you’d rather not. I signed you up for that speech because I knew you could actually do justice to the subject. I thought you might be able to elevate fragrance and aromatherapy out of the Beauty Bonanza gutter. You can avoid fluffing it up and yet make the talk interesting and informative.”