A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn (23 page)

I tried not to make a face. “I'd rather you didn't. I'm sure Captain Dusenberry wouldn't like it. He likes his privacy, I think.”

“Oh.” He looked crestfallen, and for a moment, much younger.

“I know a woman who does ghost tours,” I said. “She might be willing to talk to you and your friends about all the various ghosts in town.”

Ramon gave a one-shouldered shrug. “That might be cool.”

“Why don't we plan on Sunday evening? I'll talk to Willow and see if she'll come over.”

“OK. I'll talk to my friends.”

“And in the meantime, no trespassing?”

“Yeah, OK.” He nodded, and I thought I detected a hint of relief in his face. “You think he'll show up? The ghost, I mean.”

“Well, if you mean will you be able to see him, probably not. The most he does is turn on the lights and the stereo, and sometimes jiggle the crystals on the chandelier.”

“That's it? Man, that's a boring ghost.”

“I'm afraid so,” I said, smothering an inclination to laugh. “Maybe you should look for a more interesting one.”

“Yeah. Well, we might as well do this,” he said hastily, as if worried that I would renege. “Then the girls will shut up about it.”

I nodded. “After dark would be preferable, I assume. Shall we say nine o'clock on Sunday?”

“OK.” He gazed at me, and his dark eyes reminded me a little of Tony's. “Thanks. This is nice of you.”

“I'm a nice person.”

“Rosa said you were.” He gave me a rueful grin. “Sorry we've been bothering you. I didn't know you lived in the building.”

“Rosa didn't mention it?”

“No. We kind of figured it out after last night.”

Took long enough, I thought, though I kept it to myself. I sipped my wine, which was almost gone by now.

“Even if I didn't live there, I wouldn't want you partying on my property after hours.”

His face closed down a bit, and I knew any further admonishments would fall on deaf ears. I took a business card out of my purse.

“Call me to confirm Sunday night, in a day or two after I've had a chance to contact Willow.”

“OK.”

“There you are!” called a voice from the house.

We both turned to see Lydia coming toward us across the grass. I glanced at Ramon, who had gone pale.

“Please don't say anything,” he whispered.

I had no time to answer before Lydia joined us. “Your uncle is looking for you,” she said, then noticed my card in Ramon's hand. “What's that?”

“We were just chatting,” I said, which was absolutely true. “I enjoyed Ramon's music so much, I thought I might ask if he'd come and play at the tearoom some time.”

Ramon shot me a grateful look, then nodded as he handed his mother my card. “I think I could do that.”

Lydia glanced at the card, then at me. If she was wondering whether I might be interested in her son, she apparently dismissed the idea at once. She gave the card back to Ramon.

“Well, I'm sorry to interrupt, but Uncle Matt needs to leave and he wants to talk to you first.”

Ramon nodded and glanced at me as he pocketed my card. “Excuse me,” he said, and turned toward the house.

Lydia stayed behind, giving me a long, appraising look. “It's nice of you to ask him to play.”

“He's very talented,” I said.

“It would be good for him to get into a more adult environment. The kids he runs with....” She shook her head. “I hoped college would take his mind off them, but the minute he came home he was right back with them.”

“Have you talked with them? Maybe they're not so bad.”

She gave a huff of sarcastic laughter. “They're Goths.”

“My office manager's a Goth. She's very—intelligent.” I had been about to say responsible, which was true except for the recent lapse regarding the absinthe party.

“Really? You trust one of them to work for you?”

I met her gaze, surprised at the tone of disdain in her voice. One of them. Echoes of prejudice.

“I trust Kris, yes,” I said firmly. “She's a good and honest person. Her lifestyle's a bit different than mine, but as long as she does her job well and does credit to the tearoom, I have no complaint.”

Lydia looked thoughtful. “I could try and talk to them, I guess, but they're never around. Ramon goes out with them, he never asks them to the house.”

“Maybe because he knows you disapprove.”

She nodded. “He knows that all right. I'd better talk to him.”

I smiled, then finished my wine and checked my watch. It was getting close to five.

“Would you like some more to drink?” Lydia asked.

“No, thank you. I should probably be going soon, but I did want a word with Rosa. Is she in the house?”

Lydia nodded. “She was in the kitchen a minute ago.”

We went back into the house and parted in the living room. I returned to the kitchen, but didn't see Rosa. Sherry was still there, though the woman she'd been talking with was gone. She glanced up at me and smiled, the smile of one greeting a comrade. It made me realize that she and I were the only Anglos present.

“Hi,” she said. “Ellen, right?”

“Right.” I set my empty cup on the counter.

“I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier, I just love your tearoom.”

“Oh! Thanks. You've been to tea, then?”

Sherry nodded. “I took my mother on Mother's Day. She adored it.”

“You're from Santa Fe?”

“We moved here when I was ten. Mom and Dad bought a little shop over by Sanbusco and sold antique furniture. They did pretty well.”

“Is that where your gallery is?”

“No, I'm on Canyon Road.”

I raised my brows. “Big time.”

She gave a nod of acknowledgment. “I got lucky. Hired on at the White Iris after college, and when Vanessa retired I bought her out.”

“Very nice.”

We were momentarily alone in the kitchen. I took a step closer to Sherry and lowered my voice.

“Pardon me for asking a nosy question, but I've been wondering—was Maria unkind to you?”

Her cheeks pinked up, but she hastily shook her head. “Not unkind. She was always polite—painfully polite. I know she disapproved of me, and I think she wished I'd just go away, but she never said so to my face.”

“It must have been awkward.”

“More for Matt than for me. They argued so much over me, and I know he loved her.” She shook her head. “What can you do? We fell in love. There was no question of breaking up.”

“Is the rest of the family supportive?”

She nodded. “Mostly. Rick's a bit like his mom, but he's more open-minded. He knows Matt won't change his mind.”

“That seems to be a family trait.”

“Yes.” She laughed softly. “I said no the first couple of times Matt proposed. I knew it would be a problem with Maria, but he wouldn't take no for an answer.”

“Do you find the cultural difference a problem? Between you and Matt, I mean.”

I was asking more for myself than out of speculation about Maria's death. I waited rather tensely for her answer.

She frowned slightly in thought, then shook her head. “Matt is just Matt. I love him for himself. The rest is small stuff, nothing we can't work out.”

My stomach did a slow flip. The implication that the same might apply to me and Tony was frightening, though there was one important difference: Sherry and Matt were both devout Catholics. That had to work in their favor with Matt's family.

I tried to distract myself, get back to my ostensible inquiry. Polite nosiness about the family's loss was far safer than these speculations.

“You must have mixed feelings about Maria's death,” I said.

Sherry gave a small sigh. “I'm sad about it. Matt's feelings are more mixed than mine. He loved her very much, but he's also relieved, and feels guilty for that.”

I nodded. All very understandable. From Sherry's demeanor I could not imagine that either she or Matt had had anything to do with Maria's death. I would have sworn she hadn't, and she was smart enough to have been suspicious if Matt had acted the least bit oddly. If I was wrong, then she deserved an Academy Award.

A quick footstep drew our attention. Matt came into the kitchen.

“There you are,” he said. “It's time to go.” He glanced at me and smiled briefly. “Sorry to interrupt, but we're meeting people for dinner.”

“Big client,” Sherry added. “Shmooze and booze time.”

I nodded understanding. “It was nice chatting with you,” I said to Sherry. “I'll have to come by and visit your gallery. I haven't been over to Canyon Road in a while.”

“Please do.”

I turned to Matt, offering a hand. “I'm glad to have met you, though I'm sorry it's under such sad circumstances.”

Caught off guard, he showed a flash of dismay. His grip was rather firm, and I saw him swallow. In that moment he reminded me strongly of Rick.

“Thank you,” he said in a rough voice, then released my hand and shepherded Sherry out of the kitchen.

I stayed behind, thinking about the last few minutes. If there was anyone I was unsure of, it was Matt. He seemed genuinely distressed, but could that not be caused by guilt?

Unlike Estella, he wasn't estranged from Maria. He'd continued to see her and argue with her. It was conceivable that he could have gotten close enough to inject her with botulism, but where would a lawyer get hold of the stuff? And while he might be able to inject her, I doubted he'd be able to do it without her noticing.

I was beginning to agree with Tony. It looked like this was not a murder. Perhaps I'd been wasting my time, perhaps even annoying the Garcias. Time to throw in the towel, I decided.

Julio came in, took a glass from a cupboard, and filled it with water from the dispenser in the door of the refrigerator. A son comfortable in his own home, though I knew he no longer lived there. I wondered how close he had been to Maria.

“How are you doing?” I asked him.

He hunched a shoulder and chugged the water. Tense, I thought, but I couldn't figure out a way to help.

“You look very elegant,” I said.

He exhaled in an ironic huff. “Sacrificial costume for the matriarch.”

“Do you not like wearing a suit?”

“It's not who I am.”

Who he was: bright, creative, unconventional. The latter would probably have annoyed Maria, from what I had learned. I wanted to encourage him to talk about his grandmother, but I sensed this wasn't the right place.

“Just a heads-up,” I said instead. “I'll be asking you to draft a menu tomorrow. Annual dinner for a club. I need to give them a quote.”

“OK. Big dinner?”

“Big group, probably a lighter menu. It's mostly women.”

“Maybe a buffet.”

“Sure. See what you can come up with.”

“OK. Is there a theme?”

I bit my lip. “Roses.”

Julio grimaced, and turned to refill his glass.

“Kris wants to talk to you about her dinner, too. She asked me to give you her condolences.”

He nodded, then stared into the glass.

“You sure you're OK coming in tomorrow? Tuesdays are slow—“

“I'm OK. Thanks.”

OK, but angry, I thought. Why?

“All right,” I said. “See you later.”

I left him in the kitchen and went into the living room, looking for Rosa. She wasn't among those sitting and chatting. I glanced toward the back door and saw her coming in from the
portal
.

“Mama said you were looking for me,” she said, coming up to me.

“Yes. Care to walk me to my car?”

“Sure.”

We went out the front and down the sidewalk to the street. The afternoon heat rose up from the pavement, a contrast to the cool comfort of the Garcias' garden.

“I just wanted to let you know you can take tomorrow off if you wish,” I said. “Tuesdays are usually slow.”

“Thanks. Maybe I will. Okay if I call later and let you know?”

“Absolutely.” I passed Kris's good wishes along to her, then glanced at the house and gestured toward the front yard. “Your father told me you take care of the roses.”

Rosa nodded. “Nana's flowers. She always checked how they were doing when she came to visit. If they weren't in good shape she'd start working on them, and Papa would worry she was overdoing it.”

“You have a lot of rosebushes. It must be time-consuming.”

Rosa nodded and smiled sadly. “Papa wants to plant a rosebush at the cemetery, but they won't allow it.”

“Well, there are other places he could plant one,” I said, thinking of the Our Lady of Guadalupe rose.

“I don't think he should plant a rose for her memorial,” Rosa said. “It was a rose that poked Nana, and that's why she died.”

 

 

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