Free a witchcraft mystery 08 - a toxic trousseau by juliet blackwell Page B

few more.
    “Might as well make it a baker’s dozen,” said Sailor.
    Renee placed the assorted cupcakes on a snow-white doily in a pink bakery box, carefully folded in the sides, and tied the box with twine. A tag on the twine was inscribed, A cupcake a day keeps the doldrums away!
    I paid for the dozen, though she insisted Sailor’s maple-bourbon-bacon cupcake was on the house.
    “So, is there anything else you can tell us about Autumn?” I asked.
    “Well, let’s see . . . We were friendly, but not friends , if you know what I mean. She was a fine neighbor, but we weren’t close. I mean, when you own a cupcake shop you get to know everyone on the block—and I hear some neighborhood gossip, let me tell you!”
    “Did you hear any gossip about Autumn?”
    “Well, now, like I said, she used to come in occasionally for a cupcake, but although I poked my head into her shop from time to time just to be friendly, she didn’t have a single thing I could fit into. I don’t think I was her target audience!”
    “She seemed to have some lovely things in her shop.”
    “Oh, that she did ,” Renee said. “And she just got a new lot in, too, just before she passed. She was very excited about it. A great big old trunk that hadn’t been opened in decades, apparently, just chock-full of clothes that had never been worn. She said it was an actual trousseau from the Victorian era. Can you imagine?”
    “A trousseau?” I asked.
    “Don’t you know what a trousseau is? Ah, modern young people just don’t know the old traditions.”
    Of course I knew what a trousseau was. I was surprised because it was rare to find a trousseau from the past intact, precisely because the contents were usually put to use as soon as the owner was married. But Renee was on a roll, so I didn’t interrupt.
    “In the olden days,” Renee explained, “a girl would work on her trousseau from an early age, embroidering linens and lingerie and whatnot and folding them away in a hope chest or armoire, waiting for that most special day when she would be married .” Renee clasped her hands under her chin and let out a loud sigh. She was clearly a die-hard romantic. She was like the anti-Maya.
    “I see,” I said. “So Autumn had acquired an intact Victorian trousseau? Did she mention where she got it from?”
    “Goodness, if she did, I don’t remember. But it contained some lovely things. Not just clothes but all kinds of items, even adorable hand-embroidered tea towels, can you imagine?” Renee continued. “I suppose that was common for a trousseau, all the linens, too. Autumn showed me the items upstairs; she said she was taking her time to price them properly before putting them out on the floor for sale. She tried on one of the ball gowns, which looked beautiful on her. I wouldn’t have minded trying on one myself, but, like I say, those vintage clothes aren’t made for a substantial woman like me. I could have used those tea towels, though.”
    “You should check out Lily’s store,” Sailor said. “Aunt Cora’s Closet, over in the Haight-Ashbury, offers plenty of selections for womanly women.”
    I gawked at Sailor. Who was this person charming bakers, ordering cupcakes, and promoting Aunt Cora’s Closet? Where was the cantankerous, brooding psychic I had met in a dive bar who didn’t have a kind word for anyone?
    “Oooh, ‘womanly women,’ eh? I like that,” Renee Baker said with another wink. “You’d better watch your man, Lily, or I might cover him in frosting and eat him right up.”
    “Um, yes, well, thank you for the warning,” I said. I had no idea how I was supposed to respond to Renee’s last statement, and I could feel the telltale burning that meant my cheeks were ablaze. “And for your help, Renee. And the cupcakes.”
    “Enjoy! Have a sweet day! Keep the doldrums away!”
    Out on the sidewalk, I turned to Sailor. “What’s gotten into you?”
    “To what, specifically, do you refer?”
    “Why are you