Free Patrice Greenwood - Wisteria Tearoom 03 - An Aria of Omens by Patrice Greenwood

her downstairs, said goodbye to her and Mick, and surveyed the kitchen. Mick had tidied up, but I knew that Julio would not approve of the state in which I’d left the work area. I did my best to restore it to perfection, then surveyed the contents of the fridge.
    Four Aria cakes left. Half a dozen finger sandwiches. One deviled egg and two scones.
    Dinner.
    Actually, ridiculously late lunch. I’d been on my feet all day, and hadn’t realized until I opened the fridge that I was starving.
    I put the scones, sandwiches, and egg on a plate and carried them back to my office. Normally I didn’t raid the tearoom’s kitchen for meals, but I was too tired to think about cooking.
    I poured myself another cup of tea and nibbled a scone. Called Mr. Ingraham’s number and got voicemail. I couldn’t bring myself to call Willow, but I called Nat and told her about the madness at the tearoom. She wanted to know if I’d seen the story in the paper, and if I’d like to come over for dinner.
    “Can I take a rain check? I’m beat.”
    “Come tomorrow, then, sweetheart. Promise?”
    “Promise. What can I bring?”
    “Nothing, sweetie. Just a good appetite. Manny’s grilling.”
    “In that case, I’ll skip lunch.”
    “You could bring Tony if you like,” she added.
    “I’ll ask. He’s pretty swamped too, though.”
    We talked a little longer, then I said goodbye and started to call Gina. My private doorbell, which only friends knew how to find, rang. I put the phone down and hurried downstairs to the back door.
    Tony stood outside, back in his motorcycle duds, slouched against a pillar of the portal and frowning. I opened the door and he straightened.
    “Hi,” I said.
    “Hi.” His shoulders drooped, and his eyes were heavy.
    “You look exhausted. Would you like some tea?”
    He cocked his head. “Got any bourbon?”
    “Ah … no. Port? Or gin?”
    “Gin? You drink gin?”
    “Gin and tonic. Grown up limeade. Great for hot summer evenings.”
    He sighed. “Actually, I should stay sober. I’m working.”
    “I thought you might be. Come on in.”
    I led him upstairs to my office, poured him a cup of tea, and invited him to share my dinner. He picked up a sandwich, examined it from all angles, and took a bite.
    “That’s watercress and lemon butter. Like it?”
    “Green,” he mumbled through a mouthful.
    “Very.” I took one myself. “I was just on the phone with Nat. She asked me over for dinner tomorrow, and said to invite you.”
    “Doubt I’ll have time. Does she need a definite answer, or is it a ‘drop by’ kind of thing?”
    “Drop by is fine, I think. Six-ish. Manny’s grilling. You have Nat’s address?”
    “Somewhere.”
    “Let me give it to you again.”
    He punched it into his cell phone, then reached for another sandwich. “These are good.”
    “How’s the investigation going?”
    He swallowed a bite. “I need to ask you some questions.”
    I nodded. He’d probably been through the interview drill a couple of dozen times already. This was a formality; he knew exactly where I’d been all Friday evening.
    I took a sip of tea and waited. He got up and started pacing, staying toward the chimney wall where he wouldn’t have to crouch beneath the sloping roof. The frown had deepened.
    He stopped abruptly and turned to me. “I’d like to bounce a theory off you.”
    I swallowed my surprise. “All right.”
    “First I want to know what you think might have happened.”
    “Tony, I…”
    “You saw the same things I saw. If you noticed the same things, I want to know.”
    “OK.” I poured myself more tea and took a sip. “Last night I got home and started thinking. I know I don’t have complete information, but Mr. Solano had to have died during Act Three. I’m guessing near the end of the act, since he wasn’t found until the curtain call.”
    Tony stayed where he was, staring at me from beneath dark eyebrows. Not so much as a nod.
    “Well, the most likely suspects are the