A Corpse in a Teacup (18 page)

“I know, but I was wondering about the thousand dollars.”

“What thousand dollars?”

“You know, the reward you promised for information
leading to the recovery of the cat.”

Marco gave her a hard look. “You call that piece of
gravel a cat? It could be a button from somebody’s coat for all I know. Now get out of my kitchen.”

“You mean you’re not
going to tell Natasha about it?”

“And get her more upset than she needs to be? She has a house overflowing with customers. I’m certainly not going to disturb her concentr
ation unless it is about something substantial. And neither will you. I don’t want to hear another word about this.”

He turned his attention to one of the line cooks
who had turned around to listen to Marco chewing out Tuesday. “What are you looking at? Do you expect that fish to cook itself?”

Angry
and embarrassed, Tuesday hurried out of the kitchen and brushed past Axel who was trying to convince a minor actress that he couldn’t seat her party for another three hours.

The full force of it hit her in the chest and her head jerked to the side. That’s when she knew it was too late, when she saw the preparations. The tarp, the utensils, the rest of it.

“Why me?” she asked in a gurgling, disintegrating voice.

“No special reason, dear.” This was the dreary part. Waiting for the end. Might as well chat.

“Short straws? Names on a dart board?
Alphabetical order? Who knows? Not to worry, though. It won’t be long now.”

And then, it
didn’t matter why. Nothing mattered anymore.

Tuesday shivered in t
he cool evening air, still chilled from her confrontation with Marco in the freezer. She looked down the line of cars still backed up waiting for valet parking. It seemed not to have moved. At the end a tow truck was pulling out and driving away with a Honda Civic hanging from its winch. Her Honda Civic.

Screaming out, “No! That’s my car!” she ran after the tow truck. She caught up with it
when it stopped a few yards away for a red light at the corner. She banged on the driver’s door. “Stop. That’s my car.”

The driver
lowered his window, grabbed a card off his dashboard and threw it at her. “Pick it up here. But first you have to pay this ticket.” Tuesday accepted it from him. She looked around but did not see a traffic cop.

“You don’t have to tow it away. I’m here now.”

“Sorry lady, once it’s tagged, you have to reclaim it at the Impound lot.” The light changed and he took off, her little car bumping behind.

Tuesday stormed back
to the parking attendant. “Why did you have my car towed away? I was in there for ten minutes. Do you have police waiting in the bushes to catch people?”

The parking guy
was giving a parking voucher to a customer, his chartreuse safety jacket blinding in the neon lighting of the Café’s sign. “Lady, you were holding up my customers. Are the keys in the car, sir? Thank you very much. Next?”

“But
these cars haven’t moved an inch since I ran inside. What was I holding up? I had a very important errand. I had to speak to the owner. Don’t you know who I am?”

The kid spoke without looking at Tuesday, his skin glowing green in the harsh light. “Let me guess. The owner of the Civic that was
blocking traffic?”

Then he turned to her and
said, “Did I win the jackpot, pinkie,” and gave her a rude wink before he pocketed a tip from man getting into a Hummer.

Dinnertime. All her friends were settling around tables at their favorite Thai, Mexican or pizza restaurants.

“
Rosamund, of course I understand. I wouldn’t want to pass up Betelnut’s Prawn and Pineapple Salad with a hunky new man just to drive to the impound lot either. No, of course it’s okay, sweetness. Catch you next time.”

Tuesday hit the End C
all button vehemently. Rosamund was the last friend on her mental list who owed her a favor. Tuesday had bailed her out of jail at two in the morning once. It was a false arrest. Not her fault if she was a double for a famous actress routinely picked up for drunk driving and drug busts. But still. Tuesday had spent two hours in the Hollywood PD with her before the cops realized someone had ID’d the wrong blond. Now she had only two chits left she could call in, neither one an appealing prospect. She could ask Holley to rescue her, which would mean bringing her mother along and forcing her to relive some of her less evolved moments when Tuesday had bailed her out of jail. No mistaken identity on those DUI’s.

Or, there was Mr. G
. But that was a definite no-no because she had an uneasy suspicion that he might know more about the broken cat than he let on. She wasn’t ready to deal with that problem. But more important, it was way too early in their relationship to ask him to help her out of a jam. That was in the same category as asking for a ride to the airport or help with moving or painting. You could only make those requests after the fifth date minimum. And she wasn’t even sure they’d had a first date. Yes, he’d kissed her long and tender when she put on the high button shoes because, he said, she looked too adorable for words. But that could mean anything. Or nothing.

No, her only option was to call a cab. She started toting up what this evening was going to cost her. The ticket for illegal parking was probably north of $200, the towing fee up around the Arctic circle at $300 or more and then the
impound lot fee and cabs shuttling her to hell and gone all over LA. She was looking at . . . she stopped see where the tow truck had taken her car. She had to move over to the light to read the small print on the card the driver had given her.

“Compton?” she screamed. “Are you
fareeking kidding me? He’s taking it to Compton?”

She was
yelling at the valet attendant who had his back turned to her while he looked on his board for keys to another customer’s Mercedes.

“That might as well be in another state? Do you know how much it’s going to cost me to get a cab to fareeking
Compton?”

As strangers do, the restaurant diners looked away from her as they waited for the parking guy to give them their tickets. He walked over to her and said, “Ma’am, this is private property. You’ll have to move away.”

Tuesday wanted to smack him with her tote bag, but decided not to add aggravated assault to the charges against her this evening, and walked away.

Zeus Thunderbolt wouldn’t pick up so he left a message.

“This is Clipper. I delivered the goods, now where’s my payday
? You have twelve hours before I go to the big guy.”

He hung up and threw his phone on the upholstered seat of the partially restored RV.

“Olivia, doll baby. I thought you’d never call. And you haven’t! Where are you, girlfriend
? We need to talk. I need to talk. Call me. I have a client at ten. That gives you half an hour to come up with an excuse for why you’ve been avoiding me. Love you.”

Tuesday threw her phone across her bed in disgust.
It was bad enough that she was worried about Roger and Holley, irritated at her mother for showing up in LA unannounced, confused about Mr. G., and down right red-faced livid at Marco for dismissing her find of the piece of glass from the Mulberry Cat. That reward money would pay for getting her car back. Oh, yeah. Was her impounded car on her list of Sunday aggravations?

She knew that cat chip
wasn’t a button or piece of gravel. And she was sure Marco knew that. What was up with him? Was he trying to settle some partner feud with Natasha by withholding news of Tuesday’s find? Well, she wasn’t going to get in the middle of those two hot heads. It was out of her hands now, literally. Let Marco explain it, or hide it. She wasn’t going to worry about a stupid piece of ugly glass any more. She had enough on her hands. Such as finding someone this morning who would help her get her car back. But first, her new client.

The woman had called while Tuesday was in the shower, asking for an appointment that morning. Tuesday was of two minds about last minute readings. On one hand, bring them on. She was all about building her
practice. Yet she didn’t want to seem too eager. People might lose confidence in her if no one was lined up for her services. They played phone tag and Tuesday finally left a message she had a last minute cancellation and could see her in an hour. The woman said she had been referred by another client, but there was static on her end and the name was garbled.

Okay, time
to put all the aggravation of the last few days behind her in order to give her full attention to Rainey. At least, that’s what Tuesday thought her name way. Rainey? Janey? She was going with Rainey.

To create a desirable mood, she chose her outfit carefully.
An antique kimono she had picked up for a song at the twins’ shop the first time she visited them, a multicolored scarf that someone had tossed at her during last year’s Pride parade, and a pair of Mary Janes because they were the furthest footwear she could find from the boots she had worn yesterday. She didn’t want any vibes from the scene with Marco to contaminate the reading. Actually, the reading was good. Nothing got her day off to a good start like a reading, especially with a new client. The universe was telling her she was in the right place.

When dressed, she set up her tea service, then sat and mediated
on the new person about to enter her life until her doorbell rang.

Like a damp fog, Rainey’s vibe preceded her into the dining alcove where Tuesday held her readings. Negativity, anxiety and worry seeped out of every pore. “Please sit down, Rainey. Make yourself comfortable while I start the water boiling. Is there a blend you prefer? Black tea, spice, herbal?”

The woman
didn’t correct her name, so Tuesday assumed she had gotten that right. Rainey snarled, “I hate tea. Can’t you just brew it and then throw it out and read the leaves?”

Tuesday knew
Rainey was going to be a piece of work when she walked in, a vision in synthetics. There wasn’t a shred of natural fiber to be found in the hospital smock and baggy cargo pants she wore underneath a garment that resembled an old lady’s flowered, cotton bathrobe. Rubber crocs over nylon knee hi’s striped with runs completed the ensemble. Tuesday didn’t have a dress code for her clients, but she had a particular aversion to fabrics that did not originate in nature. She claimed it was difficult to get the necessary vibe during a reading if her insights had to fight their way through polyester. Olivia suggested once that maybe she was just a tad judgmental about people who shopped in discount stores.

Based on Rainey’s apparel, Tuesday
asked the obvious. “Do you work in a hospital?”

“Oh, no. Didn’t Holley tell you? I work on the set.
”

Well that would explain her mood.
Now that Tuesday knew she worked on a project where people were getting killed off left and right, she’d be suspect if she’d tap danced her way in to the apartment all sweetness and light. Yet Tuesday sensed that her darkness was deeper, longer standing.

Rainy continued. “
I’m Goren’s second in command now. Since Zora died.”

How
many ways could Tuesday be blindsided by a few short sentences? That Holley had referred a client and not mentioned it? That Rainey was part of Goren’s team, but had not appeared at Ariel’s memorial or the gathering called by Detective Jameson? Or the news that Zora was the third victim?

She
liked to keep a professional, neutral demeanor with her clients, but couldn’t help herself. She blurted out, “Holy fareeking crazy day! How did that get by me? Are you kidding?”

Rainey all but snarled. “You do
n’t have to read tea leaves to find out. It’s been all over the news for the last hour. Where’ve you been? Goren found out last night. He’s a royal mess, so his wife called me. I’ve been his bookkeeper for years. She asked me to step in.”

Tuesday’s
thoughts were spinning like a top. As part of her pre-reading ritual, she had turned off her phone, computer and TV to block out negative energy, so she had missed that news. Now she worried about Holley. Had she heard about the new development or tried to call her? She needed to see if she was okay, but couldn’t contact her until after Rainey’s appointment.

Also, i
f Zora was dead that meant that she hadn’t killed anybody. So much for Tuesday’s ability to nail suspects. But now another ugly thought raised its head. Where was Roger? He’d had a vicious encounter with Zora. Had he gotten back at her? Maybe he wasn’t the sweet-natured, grieving widower after all. For the first time in Tuesday’s tea-leaf reading career, she resented a client. Not so much the client, but the necessity of giving her the time she wanted to spend on something else, such as finding out what the bleep was going on.

Was the killer eyeing Holley? She had to find out. She had to figure out a way find this killer.
She had to find out where Roger was hiding. Was it possible to get away from conflict and turmoil? From the way things were starting out, not on this day. But just then her professionalism kicked in, and she turned her attention back to Rainey.

“So I can assume that you wanted a reading to give you some guidance about your new job?”

Rainey nodded dully. Tuesday couldn’t tell if this was a side effect of the news about Zora or her normal demeanor.

“Was Zora a friend? My condolences on losing someone close to you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Her voice rose and for a moment Tuesday took it to mean she had perked up. Though her drab hair grazing her shoulder hadn’t moved an inch and there were no other signs she was coming to life.

She said,
“Zora was a bitch on wheels. I can think of half a dozen people who’ll be dancing on her grave.”

Tuesday was taken aback
. While she found it hard to like Zora, she was shocked and sad that another person had died. Why wasn’t Rainey? Then she explained.

“Now I’ll finally catch
a break. My salary will double as Goren’s assistant. I made sure of that when I told Brava I’d take the job. I want Zora’s paycheck and perks. Otherwise, let someone else babysit that bastard.”

Tuesday tried to wipe the shock from her face and retain a nonjudgmental attitude. Once Rainey got started,
though, she couldn’t stop dishing on her boss.

“He
acts like he’s one of those arty types. Arty my ass. You ever seen the crap movies he makes? But he wants everyone to bow down like he’s another Steven Spielberg. Zora ate it up, or she acted like she did. I’ve known her for years. She was halfway decent before she started working for him, but I think the job got to her. Always at his beck and call. She did everything but cut his toenails for him. Maybe he paid her well, and let the public believe he couldn’t make a move without her, but he treated her like garbage. Made her do all his dirty work. Fire people, cut their salaries, make the crew work on holidays without double time. I did the books. I saw. All in the name of his art, but he didn’t give two beans about people. I’m surprised he hasn’t been offed. All his demands, it turned her into a monster.”

Then she checked her watch
. “I have to get to work. Can we get on with this?”

Since Rainey had no preference, Tuesday chose a mild, soothing tea for her. She removed the thermometer from the kettle, checked the temperature and poured the correct 183 degree F. water over the special oolong blend she ordered from a tea maker in England. She set the china cup in front of her client and picked a silver teaspoon from the jar on the tray and set it on the saucer.

Her big kimono sleeves were getting in the way and it was too long. She almost tripped on the way to the table.
She liked the look, serene and elegant, but how did those Geisha’s do it, she wondered, without looking like a howler monkey. “I know tea isn’t your, well, cup of tea, but it really is important that you drink it and get your own energy into the leaves.”

She pointed to a tray of condiments and petite breakfast pastries
, her sleeve coming loose again and falling onto the goodies, dousing the silk with powdered sugar and royal icing. Not the look of competence she was trying to convey to Rainey.

“Help yourself to sugar, milk, honey, lemon, whatever. It’s not what you put into the tea that matters, but how the leaves scatter when you’re finished.”

Now Rainey looked at her with drooping bloodhound eyes. The anger and bravado of a few minutes ago dissolved like sugar in hot water. “What I really want to know is if I‘m going to be next. You know, murdered.”

Tuesday had come up against this before. People thinking she was a psychic and could see into the future. Sometimes she could, but that wasn’t what she did as a tasseomancer
. She made her voice soothing.

“Let me explain. I’m not a psychic. I can only tell you what the leaves are trying to tell you. Think of them as a message from your higher self, what you need to know right now. That’s why it is so important for you to drink the tea, to get as much of your essence into the cup as possible. So if you make it as flavorful as you can, really sweet if you like or lemony, it will be easier
for you to get it down.”

“Do you have real cream? Or whipped cream like those fancy drinks at Starbucks?”

She sounded so bleak, her voice all but dragging along the floor. The reality of three deaths close to her was clearly sinking in.

“Cream?”
Who put cream in tea? Milk only. Cream was for coffee. “Yes, I have cream. It tends to make the leaves clump together unnaturally. Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer milk? It’s, well, traditional.”

“I’m sure
. I want some cream.”

Tuesday
put the container of whipping cream on the table and watched Rainey measure out one drop, so infinitesimal that it barely colored the tea. Rainey tasted it. “Okay, it needs to cool, but now I can drink it.”

Tuesday smiled at her, thinking
whatever floats your boat, sweetie.
The customer is always right.

Rainey
picked a spoon from the jar and stirred her tea. The silver tinkled merrily as she set it in the saucer. Tuesday looked at the cup, saucer and two spoons now, the one she’d placed on the saucer and the one Rainey had picked out of the jar just now. She smiled to cover her amazement.

“Are you married, Rainey?”

“No. That isn’t my karma. I just can’t meet the right guy. You know how men are. I’ve given up.”

“You’ve given up? Don’t you want children?”

“Too much trouble. Plus, I have issues.”

“Well,” Tuesday tried to make her voice light and carefree, “if being issue-free was a requirement for parenthood, the human race would die out, wouldn’t it
?”

Rainey gave her a puzzled look, so Tuesday moved on with the session. She explained how she would wrap her silk scarf around the cup after Rainey had drained it and that she would study the patterns in the leaves and look for meaning in the symbols she found.
It’s possible something would point to her safety, but she couldn’t guarantee it.

“Okay?” Tuesday’s voice was bright
, but she was unsure about how to handle the bomb she saw in the arrangement of the spoons. Two of them, put there inadvertently, meaning twins were in her future. Babies for a mother who did not feel interested enough or competent to parent a newborn. But the leaves didn’t lie. If she were not already pregnant, she soon would be, and would have two infants to mother.

Tuesday slowed herself down as she studied the spray of leaves and stems. B
ut birth could mean something else. She had to analyze this more deeply. Could this mean new life, or new opportunities?

“Well, Rainey, I’d say this is a very positive cup.”

Rainey maintained her hangdog look, apparently not the least bit uplifted by this news.