A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn (26 page)

“I suppose you won't be joining the Guild now, after all this.”

“I don't know.” I gazed at the pictures of Cora and Lucy on my screen. “I think maybe someone needs to keep working against this kind of hatefulness. To walk away is to let it win.”

“Yes, but it's hard, when you see a friend behaving badly, to step in and say something.”

“Did you consider Maria a friend?”

“Well ... yes, but not a close friend.”

“Not close enough to stand up for.”

After a moment, Joan said, “Perhaps I've turned too much a blind eye.”

“Perhaps so. Thank you, Joan. I'll talk to you again soon.”

I hung up the phone and gazed at the screen, trying to picture Cora and Lucy as I had seen them in the city garden. Lucy had worn a flat-brimmed straw hat, as I recalled. Cora's hat had been cloth—and floppy.

As I visualized her I had a flash of memory. Cora looking up at me and Joan as we came to look at the Our Lady of Guadalupe rose. She'd been hosing down the rose, rather too enthusiastically, I'd thought at the time. Aphids, she had said, but what if it had been something else she was trying to wash away?

I picked up the phone again and called Tony. Drummed the desktop impatiently with my fingers while it rang.

“Hi, Ellen.”

“Hi. Any news?”

“Nothing conclusive yet, but Kyle found something on some of the thorns. It was sticky and kind of dry.”

My heart jumped. “Could be dry from a week in the sun.”

“Yeah. Anyway, he's looking at it under a microscope now.”

“You got him to work late!”

“Yeah, now I owe him a six pack.”

I chuckled. “Thanks. Maybe I should spot you the beer.”

“Nah. I'd rather have an evening of your company, if we're going to discuss debts of favor.”

“Well, you're getting that on Wednesday.”

“Chaperoned. In a lecture hall.”

“It's a start.”

“Hm. What are you going to wear?”

His voice had dropped and gone sexy. I felt a small shiver of response.

“I haven't thought about it yet.”

“I liked that dress you wore Saturday.”

“Did you?”

“Mm-hm. Like the way it rides on you.”

I bit my lip. “Maybe I'll wear that, then,” I managed to say in a fairly steady voice.

“Hang on a sec.”

I heard the sound of him putting a hand over the phone, and muffled voices. I sat with the phone pressed to my ear, thinking about dancing with Tony, wearing my violet dress.

A scraping sound over the phone was followed by Tony's voice. “Ellen, you were right. It's botulism.”

 

 

26

M
y stomach sank. “Botulism.”

“Yeah, suspended in honey, he thinks.”

“Honey?”

“Probably to keep it alive a little while. It's all dead now, but Kyle says honey's friendly with botulism.”

I nodded. “Yes. Babies can get it from honey.”

“The honey could have kept the stuff alive for a short time. If the killer painted it on the thorns right before Maria came along—”

“Dear God!”

The killer. It was murder. I closed my eyes, fighting sudden tears. Poor Maria. Killed out of hatred, because of a silly, petty fight blown all out of proportion.

Tony was still talking. I pulled myself together.

“I'm sorry, could you repeat that?”

“I said I need to find out more about this Rose Guild. Someone in that club might know who could have been messing with the rose.”

“There's the neighbor who saw it cut down,” I said. “Alma Chacón.”

“Right. I'll go talk to her.”

I looked at my computer screen. “The Rose Guild's website has photos of some of the members. Maybe she could identify the—the person who cut down the rose—by looking at them. If it's someone in the Guild.”

“Worth a try, though it wouldn't make sense for the Guild to kill Maria for the bequest. She was making big yearly donations. She was worth more to them alive.”

“There might have been another reason,” I said.

A pause. “Such as?”

“Well, you know not everyone in the Guild got along with Maria.”

“To the tune of trying to kill her?”

“Maybe,” I said, not wanting to acknowledge it.

“Do you have someone in particular in mind?” Tony said slowly.

“I'm not positive. You should show the photos to Mrs. Chacón.”

Another pause. “Okay. What's the site's address again?”

I gave it to him, feeling a tiny pang of guilt. I was letting him take a less-than-direct route to finding the killer, but I wanted just a little bit of time before he got to Cora. I didn't think a slight delay would imperil his investigation. It seemed pretty clear who had cut down the rose, and now, why.

“Any other suggestions?” Tony asked.

“Not now. Let me know what you learn from Mrs. Chacón.”

“Why do I get the feeling you know what she's going to say?”

“It's just a hunch.”

“Hm. Don't do anything stupid, okay?”

“Okay. Bye.”

He hung up, as usual without saying goodbye. It didn't offend me any more. It was just Tony.

I closed my eyes briefly. I hoped he wouldn't be angry with me. Maybe he would, but I had to take that chance. I had chided Joan for passively standing by while the fighting went on under her nose. I felt obliged to at least speak my mind.

I took out the phone book from my desk drawer and turned to the residential listings. Luck was with me; Cora Young was listed. I copied down her address, then changed my shorts for a skirt and brushed my hair. Grabbing my purse, I headed out once more.

It was now early evening, still warm but beginning to show signs of cooling down. The sun was just about to set, but I didn't pause to admire it. I drove straight to Cora's house on the south side of town, not very far from the Garcias', ironically, and close to the City Rose Garden.

The house was a comfortable old frame-stucco place, not as large as the Garcias' and probably a decade or so newer. The trees in the front yard were neat and prim, well-trimmed shade trees, not as grand and sprawling as the Garcias' cottonwoods.

The front porch light was on, reminding me that the patrol cop had suggested I leave my own light on. Naturally, I had neglected to do so, but I hoped Ramon would stick to his word and find some other way to entertain his pals tonight.

I parked and walked up to the door. A moment after I rang the bell I heard footsteps, then Cora opened the door and looked out.

“Hello, Mrs. Young. I'm Ellen Rosings, remember?”

“Yes,” she said slowly, looking wary.

“I'm sorry to drop by without warning, but I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about the Rose Guild. It'll only take a minute or two. May I come in?”

She gazed at me, frowning slightly, then opened the door. I followed her into her living room, noting the furnishings that had been fashionable thirty years before—a little tired-looking now—as well as a few pieces of equally outdated artwork, some pottery, a Navajo rug hanging on one wall.

Cora invited me to sit down and I perched on the sofa. She didn't offer any refreshment, but then I'd come without invitation. Square, in terms of civility or lack thereof.

“What did you want to know?” Cora asked.

“I'm curious why Maria Garcia was the only Hispanic in the Rose Guild. Do you have any idea?”

Cora blinked a couple of times. “I really couldn't say.”

“Joan assured me that Hispanics were welcome, but she seemed to think not everyone in the Guild felt that way.”

Cora said nothing. A mulish look settled on her face, and her eyes hardened.

“How do you feel about it?” I pressed. “Would you mind if there were more Hispanic members in the Guild?”

“I hadn't thought about it. Why do you ask?”

“I have a young friend who is interested in the Guild, but she isn't sure she'd be welcome, and neither am I. I certainly wouldn't want her to come into an unfriendly situation.”

“I take it she's a Mexican?”

I paused at the somewhat less-than-polite term, and the similar edge in her voice. We were getting to the heart of the matter.

“She's Hispanic, yes.”

“Then she might not be comfortable, being the only one.”

“Now that Maria's gone.”

Cora was silent. I pressed on.

“It's a pity Maria died so suddenly. I understand she did a lot for the Guild.”

“Made a lot of trouble, is what she did,” Cora said gruffly.

“Trouble?” I held my face in an expression of innocent inquiry.

“Her and her pushing ways. She'd have been fine if she hadn't insisted on meddling.”

“How did she meddle?”

“How didn't she?” Cora sounded exasperated. “Understand me, I don't mind Mexicans as long as they keep to their place.”

I was astonished. “Their
place
?”

“Like that little girl you have working for you. She was sweet, and polite.”

“She's Maria Garcia's granddaughter.”

Now Cora looked surprised. I hadn't meant to blurt that out, but I was getting angry.

“Well, that's what I mean,” Cora said, looking flustered. “She comes from a restaurant family, and she's working in a restaurant.”

“And I suppose you'd object to her seeking some more challenging form of employment.”

“Of course not. She should try to better herself. Maria Garcia did very well.”

“Except she didn't keep to her place.”

Cora looked at me like a parent patiently explaining things to an ignorant child. “You have to understand, most of these people have very little potential. I see them all the time at the health clinic—derelicts, drug addicts, teenage mothers ...”

Something clicked in my mind. Cora volunteered at a free health clinic, a place where sickness and infection were commonplace. Could she have had access to botulism there? Something Tony had said about drug addicts niggled in my brain. I tried to pin it down, but Cora was still talking.

“...most of them will never amount to anything.”

“I think it's unfair to judge an entire race by its worst examples,” I said. “Don't you see Anglo addicts and homeless at the clinic?”

She gave me a tolerant smile. “When you've seen more of the world, you'll understand.”

I'd had enough of her patronizing tone. I was about to take my leave when the doorbell rang. Cora gave me an odd look, then got up and went to answer it. A moment later I heard Tony's voice.

I stood and slung my purse over my shoulder, then followed Cora to the front door, where she was looking at Tony's badge. Beyond them, I saw a squad car parked at the curb behind my car.

Tony gave me a sharp glance. “I see you have company,” he said dryly.

“I was just leaving,” I replied. “Mrs. Young has been telling me about her volunteer work at a free health clinic.”

Tony's brows shot up and he looked back at Cora. “Treat any heroin addicts there?”

“Constantly,” Cora said with a glance at me, “as I was just explaining.”

Tony's eyes sharpened. “When's the last time you saw a case of botulism?”

 

 

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