Part 15: Tea Time, two ways

AKA - We're spilling tea and dishing (un)just desserts one may deserve

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Previously in the Vines Inquiry— Frank survived his hike up-island, only to end up back at the Big House and in the arms of his beloved Aunt Toni. While they caught up, Frank learned Aunt Toni was back living on Carlisle and had taken her old job as Chief of Police. While there was no news of any woman lost in the woods, Frank took a chance to ask his aunt about any…inquiries.

“What did you just say?” Aunt Toni grasped the kitchen towel in her hand-as-talon.

“Just listen to me, please,” said Frank. He’d leapt; off the root-tangled ground, off the cliffs behind the Big House.

Toni dropped the towel and lightly slapped their palms together, a personal Morse Code. “Always.”

She had jumped, too.  

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Frank told her everything about the previous night as they drank their tea. Then a second cup. The strange voices. The party sounds and no one there. Rosalind’s cries and their talk of ‘the storm’ and Dick. How he’d heard that strange song again today in the woods. 

“And she actually said ‘hail?’”

“I swear,” said Frank. “Queen of a Midnight Hall. Like, major worship stuff.” 

“And then she chopped her own hands off?” 

“Ripped. From the sound of it.” 

Toni sighed and looked out into the conservatory again, downing the last of her tea gone cold. 

“Well I hate to break this to you, Francy, but your mother still has both her hands.” Frank’s face collapsed. “Don’t look so relieved.” 

“I feel like you’re not hearing me.”

“Because I’m listening to the words coming out of your mouth,” said Toni. “Your mother is into velvet. Doesn’t mean she worships demons.” 

“Hails….”

“Have you ever heard her hail anything? I’ve never known Rosalind to worship anyone, let alone a queen. I think she started boycotting monarchies the second Lemon won Homecoming over her. A story I’d only encourage you to bring up if you’re looking for a fight.”

Frank stared into his mug, watching as his reflection was morphed by its curved bottom. More layers. Of glaze, soap residue, memory. All scrubbed. 

What memories are we missing today?

“I just…I know what I heard. My dad was encouraging her!”

“Maybe he was. Maybe you heard something you don’t understand. All I can tell you is that I saw your mother this morning, so did you, and I got another message from her when you were almost dying from hypothermia a half-hour ago, Mr. Vines. She didn’t bring up any hand decapitation.”

“There’s gotta be a word for that.” 

“Think you’ll find it wandering through the woods during a blizzard?” Toni stared Frank down, the way only cool aunts can, throwing back any shame or bravado that might cloud the fact of the matter. 

“I was looking for a lost woman,” said Frank.

“A lost woman no one else saw. How long were you out there, Lew-Cis and Clark? Jesus. I apologize. That was heinous.” 

Frank rewound it through his head, for the umpteenth occasion wishing his mother had let him be a Boy Scout so he could have used the setting sun to calculate the time. At least, he thought that was a skill he could have cultivated in the Boy Scouts. But now he would never know!

“The Scouts are for odd children, Francis,” Rosalind would say, ignoring the fact that Frank was a very odd child.

And now as an adult, he wasn’t even certain that was a hard and fast requirement to join. In fact, he was pretty sure you just had to show up every week and learn knots and sell Christmas trees because cookies are gendered. 

How long was I out there? I guess not as long as I thought 

Then, 

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