“You kill that rogue and we’ll come. Evan’s talking about finally adding on to the house after six months of dithering. I am not going to live in a house open to the elements, with carpenters and bricklayers traipsing through.” Unsaid was the fact that the house would remain unwarded during the construction. “Later, Big Cat,” she said. “And stop messing with the cops. Angie said you were playing with them.” The connection ended.
Too wired to go back to sleep, I dropped over at Katie’s Ladies, knowing it was too early for the girls to be up, but worried about Troll. The woman who had served dinner last night answered the door and peered up at me over her bifocals.
She waved me in and I followed as she tottered back to the dining room, her long black skirts swishing. “This way,” she said over her shoulder. “I am having a lovely little Assam black. Would you join me?”
“Assam black” meant tea. “I’d love a cup,” I said, meaning it. I needed caffeine.
“Sugar? Milk?”
“Sugar,” I said, remembering the tea cabinet at the freebie house. Had this woman been part of Katie’s love of tea? Maybe served it to her when Katie lived in the house?
I asked, “What do I call you?”
The small smile widened as she sat near a teapot wrapped in a cozy. “I am Amorette. The girls call me Miz A.” She waved to a place, indicating I should sit.
“Thank you, Miz A.”
I took the chair she indicated and accepted the delicate china cup, saucer, and a silver teaspoon. And a cloth napkin. I had a feeling Miz A did everything with old-world formality, but wondered how she dealt with the silver-kills-vamps problem. Gold tableware maybe? “Thanks,” I said, sipping. It was smooth, dark, rich, and wonderful. I told her so as she settled in next to me, a tiny pixie of a woman with skeletal fingers.
“I’m so happy you like it.” She twinkled at me over her cup rim. “This single-estate Assam is my current favorite. Most young people prefer coffee.” She grimaced. “Tea is underappreciated in today’s world.”
“I’m a tea drinker. I have a nice Assam at home, and a single-estate Kenyan, a Millma. I’ll bring some leaves over if you like.”
“That sounds lovely. Please do,” she said. She passed me a serving tray with delicate cucumber sandwiches and crackers with cream cheese, smoked salmon, and something pickled and strong on top. Maybe capers. I ate two and accepted a second cup of tea before I asked about Troll, remembering to use his proper name.
Miz A sighed. “Tom is alive, weak, and healing, asleep upstairs, the dear man. It was a near thing, I fear. And poor little Katherine would have been devastated to lose him. They have been together for over seventy years, you know.”
I nearly spluttered the tea at the “poor little Katherine” and the “seventy years” comments, but was saved when one of the girls wandered in, wearing a moss green silk robe and fuzzy pink slippers. It was Tia, the girl with the coffee-and-milk skin, hazel green eyes, and kinky blond hair of her mixed-race parentage. “Morning, Miz A. Got any coffee?” she asked, her eyes half closed.
Miz A looked at me, her eyes saying, See? Coffee, not tea. Such a shame. “Coffee is in the kitchen.”
Moments later, Tia joined us at the table and downed half a mug of scalding coffee in seconds. “Ahhhh. God, I’m beat. I need a vacation.” She opened her eyes wide as if stretching her lids, yawned, and said, “Maybe Rio. Maybe Carlos will take me.”
The way she said it made me realize that Tia was an innocent, even if she was one of Katie’s ladies, an innocent because she wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier. She looked at me and seemed to wake up for the first time today. “You’re the hired vampire killer. Don’t kill Carlos, okay?”
“Ummm,” I said, not knowing how to reply.
“Carlos is not a rogue,” Miz A said. “He is safe from retribution. Did you have a nice time last night, dear?”
Tia reached for a cucumber sandwich. “Carlos is a dream. Mr. Leo and Miss Katie say I can be a blood-servant soon, if they get the right offer.”
“Offer?” I said, hearing the edge in my tone.
Miz A patted my hand. “I will explain. Tia,” she said to the girl, “take your coffee and snack upstairs, yes? Miss Jane and I must speak privately.”
“Oh.” Tia nodded sagely, her ringlets bobbing. “Business. I gotcha.” She gathered up a handful of sandwiches and made her way out of the room. The girl glided like a dancer, her big fuzzy slippers sliding on the wood floor. At the door she turned and said, “Thank you for not killing Carlos.” Before I could formulate a reply, she was gone.