A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn (7 page)

“And here I thought you couldn't get enough lace.”

“Lace has its place.” I handed him the glass. “I'll just be a minute.”

I went into my bedroom and loosed the drapes. From my dresser I took out a pair of jeans and a casual top, and from my wardrobe a pair of sandals.

I changed, trying not to think about Tony being just a few feet away beyond the drapes, trying not to imagine him watching me undress. I failed at that, I confess.

I hung up my dress and tossed stockings and slip in the wicker basket I use for a laundry hamper. A glance in the mirror told me my hair needed attention, so I went back out, smiling at Tony as I passed him on the way to the bathroom. He was looking through one of my food magazines, but glanced up to smile back at me.

I took down my hair from its Gibson-girl do and brushed it out, then pulled it back into a ponytail. A touch-up to my makeup, and I was ready to face the motorcycle.

“OK,” I said, returning to the living room. I picked up my purse and slung it over one shoulder.

Tony stood up and gave me another appraising glance, then grinned. “Nice. Didn't quite escape the lace, though.” He flicked a finger across my shoulder, brushing the narrow band of lace that trimmed the neckline of my top.

I tilted my head, looking up at him. “Sorry about that.”

“Don't be.”

We went downstairs and I locked up the tearoom behind us. Hot sunshine hit us as we stepped off the
portal
, and the heady scent of roses filled the garden. I strolled with Tony down the path to the street, content to be just Ellen instead of Ms. Rosings, the Tearoom Proprietress.

We reached Tony's bike and he handed me his helmet. I shifted my purse strap to lie across me before putting it on.

“Aren't there helmet laws in this city, Mr. Detective, sir?”

“Yeah. I'll have to buy you one of your own, I guess.”

“I don't know that it's worth that investment.” I looked at the bike, having second thoughts.

“Don't worry. There isn't a cop in town who'll stop me for helmet violation when I've got a hot babe on the back of my bike.”

I felt myself blushing, so I pulled on the helmet. Tony swung his leg over the bike and invited me to sit behind him. I swallowed, telling the butterflies in my stomach to go away, and climbed on.

The ride to Del Charro was tame compared to my first motorcycle adventure with Tony. I was pretty sure he'd been testing me on that occasion. Today he seemed more interested in reaching his destination. Even so, I held tight to him, both arms around his waist as he negotiated Santa Fe traffic.

He parked the bike and we walked into the bar, which was pleasant with dark wood everywhere and already crowded. Luck got us a table by one of the open windows overlooking Alameda Street, windows that went almost to the ground and perpetually stood open, making me wonder how often patrons simply stepped through.

Across the street was the little park where the Santa Fe River runs through its arroyo whenever there's rain, and a bridge where Don Gaspar Avenue crosses the river. People were strolling along the sidewalk, enjoying the summer evening. A couple of kids stood on the bridge, peering over the edge in a vain attempt to spot water in the riverbed below.

Tony ordered margaritas, giving the waiter precise instructions on what should go into them. I was amused to discover that he was an aficionado, even if it was of tequila. We nibbled on chips and salsa while we waited for the drinks.

“Any news?” I asked.

“News?”

“About Maria Garcia.”

“Oh. Yeah, a little. The M.E. ruled out stroke. Thinks it might have been, uh—Somebody's Syndrome.”

“What about the food?”

“It was delicious.”

“Ha, ha.”

He grinned at me. “It's in cold storage at the lab. No need to test it unless something suspicious turns up. We'll just hold it a couple of days until there's a solid diagnosis, then you'll get your china back.”

“Thanks.”

Talking about Mrs. Garcia, even tangentially, had brought back the sadness of the day. I caught myself wondering how Rosa and Julio were doing, and gazed out the window at the people in the park. Life going on, as it always did, though somewhere a family was grieving.

The margaritas arrived in two metal shakers, with tequila-marinated lime halves in each glass. Tony made a ceremony out of squeezing the lime into the glass, then pouring margarita over it. I did the same, and he raised his glass, offering a toast.

“Here's to the weekend.”

“Amen,” I said, lifting my own glass. I licked the salty rim and sipped. Cold, sweet and tart, with a powerful underlying punch of alcohol.

“Mmm, this is good. What kind of tequila is it?”

“El Tesoro añejo. Get the silver if you're drinking it straight.”

“Oh, I won't be, don't worry.” I took another sip and sighed with pleasure. “My weekend doesn't start for another day, actually.”

Tony shrugged. “I don't really have weekends.”

“Really? You just work all the time, like the cops on TV?”

“Pretty much. I've got so much vacation and sick leave piled up it's not funny.”

“How come you don't take some time off now and then?”

He shrugged again. “Don't know what I'd do with it.”

I watched him take a long pull at his margarita. I'd wondered, of course, whether he had a girlfriend or more likely a dozen. This last comment seemed to imply he didn't.

“Maybe you could ride your bike up to Taos, or Angel Fire, up through the mountains. It's so pretty up there, and cooler this time of year.”

“Be kind of lonely,” he said, watching me over the rim of his glass.

“Not if you went with a friend.”

I realized belatedly that he might reasonably assume I was implying he should invite me. Since I quailed even at riding with him across town, the thought of spending several hours on a motorcycle was horrifying. I backpedaled.

“I mean, you must know other people who have bikes, who'd like to do that.”

It sounded lame even to me. Tony gave me a wry look and took another pull at his drink.

“Have you ever been up to Salman Ranch?” I said, grasping at straws.

“No.”

“It's up by Mora. It's a big raspberry farm—that's where I get my berries. There's an old mill up there that's kind of interesting. It's a nice drive, and if you go in August or September you can pick your own raspberries.”

I was babbling. To stop myself, I picked up my glass and took a swallow of margarita. I could feel the alcohol starting to hit me.

“I'll have to think about it,” Tony said.

I was silent, trying to think of some other topic. Truth was, I was nervous, as nervous as Tony had been when he'd invited me for a drink. We hadn't done much socializing. We were still unacquainted, mostly.

And I liked him. I could understand that he didn't do much besides work. I was the same; I had thrown myself into the tearoom and not left much time or energy for anything else. Maybe once we'd been open a few months I'd be able to take more time for myself, but the truth was, I was glad to keep busy. It took my mind off of losing my parents. That had been almost three years ago now, but it still hurt.

“What's the matter?” Tony said.

“What?”

“You looked sad, all of a sudden.”

“Oh. Nothing.” I shook my head and smiled. “Long day.”

I sipped my drink, aware of him watching me. I put the glass down, alarmed to see that I'd already consumed half of the margarita.

“How about—damn!” Tony pulled a phone out of his pocket and frowned at it. “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

I nodded understanding as he stood up and went outside. At least he refrained from taking a cell phone call in the bar, a courtesy I wished more people would exercise. I took parsimonious sips of my drink and watched Tony pacing on the sidewalk at the corner while he talked on the phone. After a minute he came back in and stood by his chair.

“I'm really sorry, but I've got to go.”

I smiled. “Duty calls. I understand.”

He pulled out his wallet and dropped some money on the table. “I know it's rude—”

“Not to worry.” I waved a hand in dismissal, then picked up my glass and saluted him with it. “Thanks for the drink. Think I'll finish it and walk home.”

“You'll be all right?”

“It's just a few blocks.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Shh. It's fine.”

He stood gazing at me, looking frustrated and slightly anxious. “Let's try again, OK?”

I nodded. “OK.”

He bent down, swiftly kissed my cheek, and strode out, leaving me breathless with surprise.

 

 

8

I
sat very still for a long moment, then drained the last of my margarita. Outside a motorcycle fired up and roared away. I put the glass down carefully, fighting the feeling that everyone in the bar was staring at me. They weren't. It had just been a kiss on the cheek. No big deal.

Except my heart was pounding. I closed my eyes, trying to regain my composure. I felt very strangely as if I had been seduced and stood up simultaneously.

Get used to it,
I told myself.
If you're going to get involved with a cop, this will happen a lot.

I picked up Tony's margarita shaker. Still half-f. Tempting, but I decided against it. I'd had plenty of alcohol, thank you. I didn't often drink more than a glass of wine, and as I stood up my head swam a little, confirming that I'd made the right choice.

The waiter was hovering a few feet away. I smiled at him to let him know all was well, then collected my purse and walked out.

The sun was close to setting. Shadows fell long across the narrow old streets of downtown Santa Fe, a city that had grown organically for the first two or three hundred years. Not many old buildings were left, but the new ones held to the strict code of John Gaw Meem's Pueblo Revival style, pale brown stucco and soft lines predominating.

I walked on the shady side of Don Gaspar uphill toward the heart of Santa Fe. Lots of tourists were out, still shopping or hurrying to dinner. I let the flow of foot traffic carry me as far as the plaza, then decided I wasn't ready to call it a night.

Taking out my cell phone, I sat on the flagstone-topped bench that surrounded the Civil War memorial in the center of the plaza and called my best friend Gina. If she wasn't out on a date, maybe she'd join me for a movie or a bite to eat. Eating would be a good idea, I reflected as I listened to the phone ring.

A light breeze stirred the leaves on the big trees in the plaza, throwing dancing dappled shadows on the ground. I was about to give up on Gina when she answered.

“Ellen! How are you? I've been thinking about you.”

The bubbling cheer in her voice made me smile automatically. “I'm OK. I was wondering if you're busy tonight.”

“Just doing laundry. Disgusting on a Friday night, isn't it? Want to rescue me?”

I laughed. “Yeah. How about dinner at my place?”

“Nope. My turn. I made a big pot of spaghetti sauce last night. Grab a DVD and come on over.”

“Mine are all in storage.”

“Then we'll stream one.”

I looked at my watch. “I'll be there in about half an hour.”

“Great! Ciao.”

“Bye,” I said, though she'd already disconnected.

I put away my phone and stood up to walk the two more short blocks to the tearoom. My head had cleared with the walking, and I felt safe to drive. Not bothering to go inside, I went around back to where my car was parked.

The sunlight had gone golden by now, and the east side of the tearoom was shadowed. Lights shone through the dining parlor's curtained windows, glowing on the hood of my car. Captain Dusenberry liked keeping the lights on in there a lot of the time, apparently. I'd resigned myself to the added cost on my electric bill.