A Drink of Death (Japanese Tea Garden Mysteries Book 2) Page 3

  “But she did go out that time she had a doctor’s appointment. She also went to a funeral for someone once at 10:00 in the morning,” I assured myself.

  I remembered that her car was still parked in the driveway out back and decided to go take a look at it. The veranda had a sliding glass door that was usually left unlocked for no other reason than Mamma Jackie was continually going in and out. It was unlocked now. I walked outside into the backyard and wove my way around to the additional gravel parking space behind the driveway.

  It was wonderfully sunny outside. The birds happily chirped and sang. I had several feeders around the yard that attracted red-naped sapsuckers and green parakeets, woodpeckers and blue jays. They sounded so much more pleasant than Moonshine.

  My footsteps along the gravel crunched beneath my boots. As I slowly stepped up to Mamma Jackie’s big old car, kicking a few stones along the way, I carefully peeked in through the windshield. I had a horrible vision of her slumped over the wheel, having dropped dead of a heart attack or something while in the driver’s seat. But there was nothing. The car was empty. I lifted the handle but it was locked, too.

  “Figures. Heaven forbid I need to use it in case of an emergency.” Mamma Jackie always held tight to her keys.

  I didn’t know what I was worried about. Wherever she was, she had a cell phone, even if it was never on. She was capable of calling a taxi, if she needed one. She knew her way around town and was mentally sharp as a tack.

  I turned and headed back to the house. There wasn’t anything else for me to do, so I decided to get to work on cleaning out the basement. That was a project I had been saving for daylight hours. I slipped my phone into my back pocket and went inside.

  The basement spanned the entire bottom of the house. It had a cement floor. That was good. It had thick blocks of glass for the windows. That was good, too. Light could come in. There were three dangling light bulbs that lit the place up better than the one bulb in the attic.

  But my grandmother must have liked storing things down here better than up there, because this place was crowded. Neatly stacked against the walls were plastic tubs filled with Christmas decorations, old linens, and dozens of board games. Three bookcases over four feet wide and six feet high were on the other side. They were loaded from top to bottom with plastic bags containing old books, postcards, candles, and hundreds of black and white photos.

  There were two large trunks in the middle of the room and what looked like an army footlocker. When I tried to scoot them with my foot, in order to squeeze past, they wouldn’t budge.

  “Who knows what’s in these?” I muttered.

  The far wall had plastic garbage bags filled and tightly tied off, stacked on top of each other. I tapped one with my boot and decided it had clothes in it. Pulling one from the stack, I untwisted the tie around the top and peered inside. It was clothing. But it wasn’t at all what I had expected.

  This one contained a faded, yet elaborately detailed, authentic Japanese kimono. It was soft and shiny, even though the bottom hem was frayed from use. I wondered if my grandmother actually wore this around the house. To me, it looked too pretty to wear just in and out of the shower or to cook breakfast in. Deeper down in the bag, I found more kimonos, obi belts, hakamas, the wide legged pants Japanese men traditionally wore, and a couple bolts of silk fabric that had never been used.

  I grabbed a second bag and opened it up. This one contained vintage clothing from the 1950’s: beaded sweaters in perfect condition, pretty blouses with mother-of-pearl buttons, wide ties and bowling shirts.

  “This is amazing,” I announced to the empty basement around me.

  There was no way I could keep all this stuff. What would I do with it? But I was enjoying looking through everything, seeing the past in my hands, and envisioning my grandmother with her tiny frame in these retro outfits. All of this made me stop what I was doing and take one of the plastic baggies from the bookshelf, find a clear spot on the floor by the army footlocker and dump out all the pictures.

  I looked at them like I was going to have a quiz on all of it later. I knew my grandmother’s face, even if I didn’t have that many actual memories of her. She had married my grandfather when she was seventeen years old and he was twenty-five. They had met on their wedding day. My mother once told me it was a happy house growing up. I wondered how that could be. I’d known Drake for two years before we got engaged and look at the mess that turned out to be.

  I looked at the pictures of my grandfather. I never had a chance to meet him or have even a vague memory of him. He died before I was born. But in every picture, he looked grumpy. The corners of his lips slanted down. His hands were huge and, standing next to my grandmother, he looked gigantic. She only reached about four foot ten. Even if he was only five feet, six inches tall, he’d have looked like a big brute standing next to her.

  There was only one picture I came across so far that showed Grandpa smiling. He wasn’t so much smiling as he was swelling with pride. He was holding a baby. That was my Uncle Gordon. I smiled too. The baby was completely bald. His head seemed perfectly round like the moon, and he was as chubby as a twenty-five pound turkey.

  When I was born, I had black hair, like some of my family members, but it swooped up in wild tufts. My mom told me I cried from the minute I was born until the year before I started kindergarten. Then I cried because I didn’t want to go. I was a skinny baby. Not unhealthy, but not cuddly like Uncle Gordon was.

  Looking through the old photos brought tears to my eyes.

  There would be a lot of things I needed to get rid of, but these I would keep. All of them. Maybe someday I’d get that scrapbooking bug so many women suffer from. Wouldn’t these old photos look beautiful arranged by date in a book with pretty Japanese style paper in bright reds, greens and gold?

  My legs were starting to cramp. When I looked up, I noticed the light outside the thick wavy glass had started to dim. I pulled out my phone to see it was almost 5:00. I’d been at this all day.

  “I’d better start getting ready or I’ll miss my date,” I said, standing up slowly as my knees popped. I stretched my arms over my head and yawned, before I remembered I hadn’t heard Mamma Jackie come home yet.

  “Where is that woman?” I wondered aloud. I tried dialing her phone but it went straight to voicemail, like it always did. She kept that phone with her only in case of emergencies. The fact that she didn’t have it turned on right now was probably a good sign.

  As I climbed the basement stairs and emerged in the hallway between the kitchen and the front room, I wondered if I could get away with just wearing what I had on to my date. The idea of primping and preening made my muscles ache.

  Then I did what all ladies do to determine if I really needed to freshen up. I took a whiff under my arm. After temporarily losing my sight, I decided that, yes, a hot shower and lots of soap were necessary.

  But I would stick with my plan to close my eyes and pick an ensemble from my closet. I was ready to go on my first date in years and I had the feeling that I would try my best to sabotage it right off the bat, starting with my outfit. If I truly looked a mess, then Michael would think twice about pursuing me and we could both just go about our lives.

  That was easier said than done, since I had a little voice whispering in my ear, I hope he likes me. I hope he likes me.

  5

  Angelo’s Restaurant was a romantic Italian place that had tiny lights strung across the ceiling. Murals of the gondolas of Venice and the cobblestone streets of Rome were painted on the walls. Each table was covered with a white tablecloth. A faceted votive candle holder sat in the middle of every table, making a shimmering diamond print of light across the cloth.

  I was angry when I parked my car on the street. The idea of turning around and heading home crossed my mind more than once. It was all because of my outfit. Earlier, I had known I had something to do today but, as I stepped over the piles of dirty laundry around the house, I couldn’t place w
hat it was. Not until I got out of the shower and realized half my wardrobe was dirty, smelly or both.

  Wearing an unflattering, yet comfortable, outfit was my plan. But I refused to go out in dirty clothes. That was out of the question. So, the only options I had were this black pencil skirt and a red blouse. On one of his afternoon adventures outside his cage, Moonshine had pooped on the only pair of flat shoes I owned. I didn’t know what kind of radioactive stuff he’d been eating but it completely discolored the leather. So, I had to wear my black pumps. They pinched my toes. Adding this outfit together with a beaded necklace and matching earrings, I looked great.

  I was so mad.

  The only thing that really pushed me out of my car was that my stomach was grumbling. I was starving. After I had started cleaning the basement, I had forgotten all about food and had skipped lunch.

  I still hadn’t heard from Mamma Jackie and part of me was getting jittery over it. I was sure there was a reasonable explanation. After all, she was as mean as a snake. I couldn’t imagine anyone daring to hurt her. Still, her unexplained absence gnawed at the back of my mind.

  “Right. She’s just being difficult, like always,” I told myself. “She’s probably at the casino, with one hand on the slot lever and the other on a free peach julep.”

  Even so, on my way out of the house, I had taped a note to the front door, where she’d be sure to see it on her return, explaining my whereabouts.

  When I pulled open the front door to Angelo’s Restaurant and walked in, the smell of spaghetti, meatballs, and Italian sausage set my mouth watering and drove all other concerns from my mind. Even if my date didn’t go well, I knew the food would be great.

  “Good evening,” said a hostess, interrupting my thoughts. She was a busty, raven-haired woman with layer upon layer of gold around her neck and both wrists. “Welcome to Angelo’s. How many are in your party?”

  “I’m meeting someone here,” I said, looking around the room.

  “Maddie!” I saw a hand waving from one of the intimate alcoves that lined the walls.

  “Oh, there he is,” I said to the hostess and hurried past.

  “Hi,” I said nervously, approaching the table.

  “Hello.” Michael smiled and looked me up and down. “You look really nice.”

  “You think so?” I chirped. “I was afraid I might look overdressed.”

  “Not at all. I went ahead and ordered a risotto appetizer. I hope you don’t mind. Watch your step.” He pointed down to the tiny step.

  On the wall of each alcove was a painted mural of lush grape vines and garden sculptures, as if we were supposed to be looking out over a beautiful, rustic vineyard. It was quite appealing and very romantic.

  Michael held my chair out for me.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Would you like a glass of wine? Their table wine is really delicious.”

  “Not right away,” I replied.

  “Okay,” he said, as he smoothed his tie and resumed his seat across from me. He looked good, his suit pressed and his tie a lovely wide style with an art deco design on it. It was enough of a difference from his everyday clothes that I noticed it.

  The waitress came by and brought us two large glasses of water, read us the specials and promised to be back after we’d had a chance to look over our menus.

  “You seem quiet. Are you all right?” Michael asked.

  I took a deep breath.

  “I haven’t been on a date in a long time. I wasn’t sure this was such a good idea,” I admitted while I picked at the tablecloth. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how you’re supposed to behave.”

  It took just those few seconds for me to feel better. It was like those words were waiting to come out. Now that I had said them, the sour sickly feeling in my gut disappeared.

  “You’re nervous? To be out with me?”

  I looked up to see Michael staring at me with his eyebrows raised.

  “Well, I think I would have been nervous to be out with anyone. Don’t let it go to your head. I’m not picking out china patterns or anything.”

  Michael laughed a loud contagious laugh and said, “Would you believe it if I told you that I tried on six different ties before I settled on this one?”

  “You went through all that for this date?”

  “I did.”

  I laughed, and that was all it took. The ice had been cracked. I relaxed and couldn’t wait to taste my spaghetti with its white clam sauce. Michael told me that the veal masala was his favorite.

  We discussed our favorite books and movies. Then we moved to talking about the large family Michael had come from. He was a surprisingly funny date, so much so that I lost track of the time. I also forgot all about my missing ex-mother-in-law.

  That was, until Drake suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

  6

  “What are you doing here?” I nearly choked on my sip of water when I looked up to find him standing in front of our table.

  Drake looked like he’d just come from his office back in Winchester, an hour’s drive away. His fancy pin-striped suit and hundred dollar tie had creases so sharp they looked like they could cut paper. His shoes were so shiny they seemed to gleam, even in the low lighting of the restaurant.

  Drake barely glanced at my date. “I’m sorry to bother you on a private occasion, Maddie,” he said in a tone that didn’t sound particularly apologetic.

  Michael looked confused, and I flushed at the surprising interruption.

  “How did you know I was here?” I asked.

  “I read your note when I stopped by the house. You pinned it to the front door, I assume for my mother to find.”

  He said it as casually as if he happened to pop over for a visit every day. As if it hadn’t been weeks since the last time we’d seen each other.

  “What did you stop by the house for?” I hissed. I glanced at Michael, who was studying Drake like he was a scientific oddity.

  Drake answered, “To see if my mom ever showed up. The whole place was dark. I don’t think she’s been home yet.”

  Finally, he looked at Michael. “But I see I’m interrupting something. You obviously had important plans tonight and couldn’t wait for her.”

  “Wait for her?” I asked, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks again. “She’s two days older than Methuselah, Drake. She’s quite capable of taking care of herself.”

  He didn’t look convinced.

  “You said you hadn’t seen her all day. This isn’t like her, is it?” he asked.

  “She’s your mother, Drake.” I answered, my annoyance growing. Couldn’t he see that it wasn’t okay to follow me out on a date? “If you want me to tell you what I think, I’ll tell you. Your mother doesn’t like being told what to do. She’s staying with me until I sell the house, and this is just her way of saying that as long as she lives under my roof, she’ll do as she darn well pleases. That’s what I think.”

  Normally, I wasn’t so bold with Drake. Being married to a lawyer had proved to be a difficult life. Winning an argument with him around was impossible. Even when I was right, he made sure I didn’t think I was.

  But he didn’t seem to be in an arguing mood tonight. There was genuine concern in his voice when he said, “I’m worried about her, Maddie. She’s old. I’m afraid she might be in trouble.”

  His words stirred my own unease. What if he was right and something had happened to Mamma Jackie?

  Just then, the waitress interrupted Drake’s speech by arriving with a huge tray holding our plates of food.

  I shook my head and looked at Michael. “I’m so sorry, Michael. I’m afraid I’m going to have to take a rain-check on the rest of the night.”

  “It’s all right. You’re obviously needed at home.”

  Michael took my hand across the table and gave it an understanding squeeze. He really did look handsome.

  I hated this. For all the fussing I did before getting here, now I was disappointed that it was impossible to s
tay. I wanted to. I wanted to finish this date with Michael. Sure, I was worried about Mamma Jackie but this was my life. Who knew if I’d be asked out by Michael again? I was determined to read Mamma Jackie the riot act when I got home. I suspected I’d find her on the veranda with her latest romance novel in one hand and her peach julep in the other.

  She would probably snap like an alligator, “I don’t need you worrying about me.” I could hear her voice as clear as the other patrons talking around us.

  “Can we get this to go?” I gestured toward the food and looked at the waitress apologetically. I was still hungry and wanted my spaghetti. It smelled so good.

  The waitress sighed and nodded, before turning around and taking the meals back to the kitchen to box them up.

  “Here, Michael. Let’s split the bill for this. I’m so sorry,” I said, as I pulled my wallet from my purse.

  “I’ve got it,” Michael assured me. “No worries. You can take care of it next time.”

  I looked at him with gratitude. He had said next time. I would get another chance.

  “It’s a promise,” I told him.

  Still, my shoulders slumped. This was ridiculous. I was going to really give it to Mamma Jackie for ruining my date. Part of me was starting to think this whole thing might have been intentional. Maybe she didn’t want me going on this date. I clenched my hands in frustration.

  When the waitress finally returned with our boxed up food, I stood and nearly fell over the short step that Michael had warned me about when I first arrived.

  With lightning speed, Drake had his arms out to catch me before I regained my composure.

  “I’m fine,” I said stiffly. I shook him off and picked up my take-out box.

  When I looked up at him, I saw him looking at me as if he had never seen me before. That was out of character for him. For too many years, Drake had barely looked at me except to tell me I needed to pick up his dry cleaning or that my budget for the groceries would have to be less so he could pay his dues at the tennis club.