A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn (12 page)

“Ah.”

College could cost a bundle, probably more than a hairdresser could afford. I was willing to bet that Tony was putting his sister through school, and supporting his grandmother.

“How about you?” he asked after a minute.

“I have a brother. He lives in New York.”

“That's it?”

“Well, you've met my Aunt Natasha. My parents are dead.”

I don't know why I said that so abruptly. Tony probably already knew it, but I couldn't remember if we'd talked about my folks.

“Sounds kind of lonely,” he said.

I shrugged. “Sometimes. I have friends, though. And the tearoom keeps me busy.”

“Going okay so far, is it?”

“So far, yes. I could stand not to have any more customers dying in the place.”

Tony guffawed, and I chuckled too. It was ridiculous, after all. I'd been open for two months, and had two ladies fetch up dead in that time.

Our salads arrived. I said “yes” to fresh ground pepper, and we both sat stock still while the waiter wielded a yard-long pepper mill, only relaxing when he went away.

Tony picked up his fork and poked at his salad. “So, would you, um.” He cleared his throat. “Would you like to go to a movie some time?”

He wasn't looking at me. Nerves?

“That sounds nice. I don't get to the movies very often these days. I don't even know what's showing.”

“I picked up a paper. It's in the car.”

“Good thinking,” I said, taking note that his movie invitation was premeditated.

“There's one called
Pretty in Mink
.”

“Sounds like a girl movie. Aren't you more an action-adventure kind of guy?”

He shrugged and picked up his wine glass. “I get enough of that at work.”

“I thought police work was ninety-nine percent boredom—”

“Yeah, but the one percent sheer terror more than makes up for it.”

I watched him stab at his salad. “So that saying is true?”

He glanced up at me. “Pretty much.”

“Sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up over dinner.”

He mentioned a couple of other movies that were current. I hadn't heard of either of them; the tearoom had been the center of my life for the past year.

We managed to get halfway through our steaks before talking about police work again. Tony glanced up at me as he was cutting a bite of meat.

“I talked to Uncle Matt after I left your place.”

“Matt Garcia?”

“Yeah. Seems okay. Upset about his mom dying, but also relieved, and feeling guilty for being relieved. All normal stuff.”

“Did you meet the girlfriend?”

“Yeah, I talked to them both at their condo. He's a lawyer. She runs a gallery.”

I raised my eyebrows. Money. Big money, probably. Law school was not cheap. Having a rich and powerful matriarch could be a huge advantage for an Hispanic guy trying to get ahead in the world. I wondered for an instant what Tony's life would be like if he'd had one.

“Maria pay for the gallery?” I asked.

“Oh, not even! Maria wouldn't have anything to do with Sherry Anderson. It sounds like she actually hated her.”

“That could be very awkward if Uncle Matt owed Mom money.”

“He didn't. He insisted on paying her back for putting him through school, even though she didn't want the money. He didn't want to owe her anything, and he makes a good living as a lawyer.”

“So he wouldn't have a desperate need for whatever he might inherit,” I said.

“Nope. But now he and Sherry can get married.”

 

 

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I
sat up, surprised. “Are they? Getting married?”

Tony picked up his wineglass. “Yeah. Mama Maria was totally against it, which is the only reason they didn't do it before. Now they can.”

I watched him drink, wondering if he'd meant it as a toast. Wondering if he was comparing Matt and Sherry's situation to ours, as I was. What would Tony's family say if he decided to marry a white girl?

“Does the rest of the family support them?” I asked.

He hunched a shoulder. “Some more than others. It doesn't matter. Maria was the authority figure, and now she's gone. Nobody else in the family has power over Matt like she did. And she did, even without the money.”

I frowned. “You don't think—”

“I'm just collecting information. I'll do the thinking later.”

“I don't believe you. You're always thinking.”

He glanced up at me sharply, then broke into a slow grin. “You're right. But I can't talk about my speculations.”

Wouldn't talk about them, more like. I ate a mushroom and washed it down with the last of my wine. Tony picked up the bottle and offered to refill my glass.

“Half,” I said. “Well, if you can't talk about your speculations, I'll talk about mine. Did you know that Maria Garcia was a member of the Rose Guild?”

Tony topped off his own wine. “I think that's in my notes somewhere.”

“I met three of their members today. It sounds to me like Maria made some waves.”

Tony looked intrigued. “Politics?”

“That might be too strong a word. Certainly some interesting group dynamics.”

“Hm. I'll have to check into it.”

“Or I could.”

Tony frowned. “No amateur detective stuff, please.”

“No, just gossip-mongering. I'm curious. You can't tell me not to follow it up.”

“No, I can't, but don't muddy the waters, okay?”

“What waters? It's the Rose Guild. It was a hobby. Even if there were nasty politics going on, I doubt any of them would kill over it.”

He nodded. “You're probably right, but I'd still like you to steer clear of them.”

“Well, I can't. I'm negotiating to host an event for them.”

I drank some more wine. It was making me a little reckless, maybe. I was enjoying teasing Tony.

“By the way,” I added, “the Guild's president mentioned that Maria Garcia promised them a bequest.”

Tony's frown deepened. “Big one?”

“I haven't the foggiest. You mean you haven't got hold of a copy of her will?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“I'd be curious to know who else got bequests.”

“I can tell you that without looking. The church got the biggest chunk, her pet charity the next biggest, and the rest got divvied between family and friends and a few other bequests like this rose club. That's just the cash—the restaurants go to the family.”

“According to Matt?”

Tony nodded. “He drew up the will.”

“Think he might have slipped something in?”

“No. He's an honorable guy.”

I gazed at Tony over my wine. “I like honorable guys,” I said softly.

He gazed back at me, speculation in those Spanish eyes and the slight frown melting into a smile. I smiled back. The wine and the excellent dinner had made me mellow. Mellow and dangerously receptive.

The waiter came to clear our plates and left a dessert menu. Tony glanced at it, then offered it to me.

“Want dessert?”

I shook my head. “I'm around sweets all day. Go ahead if you want something.”

“How about just coffee?”

“Sure.”

He ordered for us and I sat back, sipping the last of my wine. A waiter had raised the shades on the windows across the room after the sun was down. It was dark outside now. I wondered how late it was, then decided I didn't want to know. I was enjoying the evening and didn't want it to end.

I felt Tony's his gaze on me and turned my head to meet it. Soft, dark eyes.

“When'd you graduate high school?” he asked.

“Oh-five. Why?”

“Who'd you go to prom with?”

“I didn't go to prom.”

“Why not?”

I finished my wine and set down the empty glass. “No one asked me.”

“Get out of here!”

“It's true. I was one of those introverted, nerdy types.”

“Yeah, but...” He shook his head in amazement. “You didn't even get one invitation?”

“Nope. Who'd you go with?”

“Sylvia Montoya.”

“She was a cheerleader, wasn't she?”

“Yeah. How'd you know? I thought you went to Santa Fe High.”

I fiddled with my empty wineglass, turning it around by the stem. The conversation was making me slightly uncomfortable.

“Marching band,” I said. “Went to a lot of football games.”

Tony laughed. “You're kidding me!”

“Nope.”

“I don't believe it!”

“I'll show you my yearbook if you insist. Why's it so hard to believe?”

“I just can't picture you in a band uniform.”

I laughed. Coffee arrived, and I stirred some cream into mine. When I looked up Tony was watching me with those soft eyes again.

“Why did you ask about prom?” I said.

“I was trying to figure out if I'd ever met you in high school.”

“Oh. I don't think so.”

“Yeah. I think I would have remembered.”

I took a sip of coffee, feeling shy all of a sudden. Maybe it was thinking about high school days, a time of painful vulnerability.

“Did you play football in high school?” I asked.

“Nah. Basketball. And baseball my sophomore year, but I wasn't that great at it.”

“Bet you looked great in the uniform, though.”

He looked at me, then broke into suppressed laughter. “Better than you in a band uniform!”

“Pig.”

I threw a sugar packet at him. He laughed harder.

I tried to frown at him, not very successfully. “That's the last time I'll try to pay you a compliment.”

“Oh, I hope not.” He subsided, still grinning.

I looked away, pretending to be more offended than I was. Tony saw right through it, but he humored me. I guess when you're a cop you learn to pick up on people's moods.

We finished our coffee, declined refills, and left after Tony paid the bill. Outside, the night air was delicious—just cool enough to be energizing on top of a big meal. I took a deep breath, savoring the smell of piñon on the summer air, gazing up at the stars.

“Want to go someplace else, or should I take you home?” Tony said.

“Mm.” I rubbed my belly. “Too full for dancing.”

“We could go somewhere for a drink. I still owe you a margarita.”

“No, you owe you a margarita. Mine was just fine, thanks. Oh, damn!” My cell phone was ringing in my purse. “Sorry, I forgot to turn it off.”

Tony grinned. “Mine's turned off.”

“Well, sorry.”

I fished out the phone and looked at the caller ID. It read “SFPD.” I frowned.

“That can't be right.” I flipped the phone open. “Hello?”

“Hi, Ellen? It's Kris.”

“Kris?” I glanced at Tony. “What's up?”

“Um, I'm really sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you could maybe help me out.” Her voice sounded nervous. “I don't have anyone else to call. My folks live in Milwaukee, and we're not exactly on friendly terms anyway—”

I felt slightly impatient at the inopportune timing of the call, but Kris had done so much for me that I didn't hesitate. “I'd be happy to help you if I can,” I said. “What's the matter? Where are you?”

“I'm down at the city police station. I need you to come bail me out.”

 

 

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