Tags:
Mystery,
Mystery Fiction,
Cooking,
Ancient,
French,
portland,
pacific,
Food,
herbal,
northwest,
garden,
french cooking,
alchemy,
alchemist
turmeric and a hint of cayenne.
Though not classically beautiful, here in her element she was radiant. She wore no makeup, but her round cheeks had a natural glow. Curly hair more gray than brown swept halfway down her back, falling on the simple white blouse she wore over faded jeans. She stood behind the counter, a steaming cup of jasmine green tea in her hands.
“Blue Sky,” she said, setting down her cup of tea and offering me her hand. “And yes, that’s really my name.”
“I wasn’t going to ask. It suits you.”
“Thanks for not pressing charges against Brixton. His mom lets him run wild, but he’s a good kid. Anything you’d like, it’s on the house.”
“That’s not necessary. He didn’t do any harm. I was going to have him help weed my yard, but then …”
“Charles,” Blue finished for me. “Such a shame.”
“You knew him?”
“Not well. But this neighborhood is like a small town in many ways. Charles came into the shop, especially while he was off work recovering from a construction accident. He was a man of few words. I always got the feeling he was more comfortable whittling on wood than talking to people. You know—” she paused and frowned. “I don’t even know where he’s from. Portland is a place that gives fresh starts for a lot of people. It’s what the city did for me. I didn’t try to get to know him better. I wish now that I had …”
I never knew what to say surrounding death. You’d think it would get easier, but it never does. Maybe that’s a good thing. I remained silent, letting Blue have the time she needed. No platitude would help.
“I’m sorry that was your introduction to your new home,” Blue continued, then snapped her fingers. “You look like a fan of cinnamon. I bet you’ll like my homemade spicy chai.”
“I don’t do dairy,” I said. “I follow a vegan diet.”
“Even better. There’s no milk in my chai. People often complain about that—until they taste it.”
With a wink, she turned away from me to brew my chai. It gave me more time to look around the teashop. I placed my hand on the rough bark of the tree. It was old. The building must have been built around it. There was so much to love here, but now I knew there was also something to fear.
“See if you like this,” Blue said, startling me from my thoughts.
The intermingling scents of cinnamon, ginger, cloves, fennel, and cardamom wafted up from the clay mug. Unlike many teashops and coffeehouses across the country, the liquid in this mug wasn’t close to boiling. It was hot enough to be steaming, but cool enough to drink. Just as tea was meant to be served.
“Real Ceylon cinnamon,” I said.
“I can tell you’re going to keep me on my toes.”
I felt an immediate sense of warmth spread through my body. “This is exactly what I needed after yesterday.”
Blue smiled, the wrinkles around her friendly eyes crinkling. “You shouldn’t let Brixton off the hook.”
I breathed in the aromatic scent of the tea, hoping it would help me decide what to do about a lot of things. “I don’t know.”
“Cleaning up your yard after he broke your window is exactly what he needs.” She saw the hesitation on my face. “You don’t need to protect him from anything. It’s unfortunate Charles’s life caught up with him outside your house, but life is about moving forward. And that boy needs structure. He’s been in trouble before.”
“What kind of trouble?”
Blue waved off the question. “Nothing serious. Just kid stuff. But I worry.”
“You sound like you know him well.”
“His mom, Heather, had him when she was sixteen. I moved here when Heather was twenty and Brixton was four. What a precocious boy he was—still is.”
“I noticed.”
Blue smiled wryly. “For the last ten years, she’s often left him at the teashop, letting me babysit. Until he was old enough to be on his own after school, he’d often sit at that table by the window and do his