A Fatal Twist of Lemon by Patrice Greenwood Page B

rinse the colander. I stayed and stirred the simmering chicken livers.
    â€œBy the way, the candied violets yesterday were a delightful touch.”
    He came back, took the wooden spoon from my hand and glanced up with a small, wry smile. “I wanted to make your party really special.”
    â€œIt was really special. And we’re going to keep doing really special events. Don’t you worry.”
    A muffled knocking sounded from the rear hall door. I gave Julio a reassuring smile as I opened the kitchen’s outside door and looked out onto the porch.
    It was the delivery girl from the florist, with cut flowers I had ordered for the grand opening. She and I carried bucket after bucket of white gladiolas, purple roses, blue iris and multicolored freesias and alstroemerias into the big, industrial refrigerator in the kitchen. I’d be up late that night, arranging them all in vases and teapots for the celebration.
    Aunt Nat showed up as the florist’s girl was leaving, wearing a handsome paisley dress in rich tones of burgundy, gold, and green. She caught me in a huge hug.
    â€œPoor darling,” she said into my shoulder. “What a horrible mess for you to have to deal with.”
    â€œYes, well. I’m managing.”
    She leaned back, holding me by the shoulders. “Tell me what to do.”
    â€œCome and help me move the dining table, if you don’t mind.”
    â€œOf course not.”
    We went across the hall to the dining parlor, which I hadn’t entered since the previous night. The chandelier was on, warm light filling the room. I must have forgotten to turn it off.
    â€œIt doesn’t look too bad,” Nat said, glancing around.
    â€œI cleaned up the tea things last night and wiped up all the fingerprint dust, but I couldn’t shift the table by myself. They moved it to make room to work.”
    Nat went to the foot of the table, where she’d sat the day before. We pulled the chairs aside and moved the table back to the center of the room, then tidied everything up. I put a fresh tablecloth down and I retrieved the centerpiece from the south sideboard, placing it beneath the chandelier. Purple-edged white lisianthus, yellow rosebuds, and blue mist—a combination I’d chosen after long deliberation.
    The dining parlor was back to normal, except that I couldn’t help thinking about Sylvia whenever I was in there. I glanced up and saw my aunt gazing wistfully at the flowers.
    â€œI haven’t told you how sorry I am,” I said. “You were pretty good friends, weren’t you?”
    â€œOh, lunch-now-and-then friends,” Nat said. “We weren’t terribly close, but I’ll miss her. I’ve known her for years.”
    She shook her head, frowning. I went over and gave her a hug.
    â€œI keep trying to think why anyone would kill her,” Nat said. “She wasn’t the easiest person, but she had a good heart.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œShe could come on pretty strong, of course, when she cared deeply about something.”
    I looked at Nat, trying to decide how upset she really was. She seemed bewildered, mostly.
    â€œDid Sylvia and Donna get along well, do you know?” I asked. “I got the impression they didn’t, but maybe they were just having an off day.”
    Nat sighed, and adjusted one of the hurricane lamps on the south sideboard. “Sylvia’s always been a little disappointed in Donna. They’re both headstrong, you know, and when they disagree … but they never had a serious clash that I knew of.”
    I nodded. “Well, let’s go fold linens,” I said, wanting to take Nat’s mind, not to mention my own, off the murder.
    We crossed the hall to the butler’s pantry and got busy with the laundry. I had washed all the linens used the previous day, and now they had to be folded and put away. Nat took charge of the tearoom linens while I collected the