The tiny spoon swirled through the reddish liquid. I lifted the teaspoon and watched copper clumps slide down the length like molasses. A pot of water bubbled on the stove. I let the spoon fall and moved my hand over the second teacup of dried leaves to the handle of the pot, gently pouring boiled water into the cups. Scents of honey and flowers rose in the air.

"Do you take sugar?" I asked.

"One please," Rita said.

She sat on the plush couch, sketching the roses in the vase next to her on a small pad of paper. Charcoal dust drops to the fabric and stains her hands as she draws. I pull an extra napkin from my cupboard and deliver her tea to the low table in front of her.

"I apologize again for any ill I may have had towards your husband," I said. "I have had poor experiences with men."

"Really," Rita said as she smoothed out a line. "There are other types. You know Philip Abram is so sweet. He hands out gifts to orphans during the holidays."

"Sweet. For a while, but in the end they are boisterous and bullish," I say, retrieving my own teacup.

As I move to sit I stir the cup in distraction from her scent. Rita places her notebook and charcoal on the table and takes a napkin to wipe her blackened fingers.

"Surely not all." Rita takes a sip as I come to sit beside.

"Darjeeling black," she comments on the tea.

"Yes, and no. Trust me, men don't like that I have a house. The sweet ones flatter me to death and the prideful ones tell me they can give me better. The honest ones watch from afar because they know I'm too good for them."

"Or maybe it's the dark atmosphere. Your paintings are not always sensible."

I took a drink of soothing tea.

"Well, neither are the men."

Rita laughed.

"I suppose you are lucky. My husband calls my work charity pieces."

"They didn't always love my art. Used to say it was the devil, but one day they started to see what my paintings were. Expressions of my love for this nasty world. And one day they will find you a nymph from the trees."

"You have the oddest way of putting it."

"But I'm right."

"Maybe. Evalyn. You are too nice when you know."

I guess I was. 

“Did you take my suggestion?”

“Yes.”

"Hardly worth the effort."

"For what?"

"Killing him. You could have asked for less."

“They told you. Evelyn, he is horribly unfaithful. I wish another man would notice me, but because of him I'm considered just as bad. A man like that doesn’t change."

“Death seems a waste for a man motivated by love instead of violence. (And the price I charge.) I don’t think he would mind if you cheated just the same.” 

“It’s humiliating. I wouldn’t have married him, but my parents arranged it.” 

“Your choice. As for myself, I was instructed to provide an invitation to an event that will solve your problem. I propose to have your husband over for lunch to set the mood. That is…if you have no second thoughts.”