The Pot Thief Who Studied Einstein (22 page)

“Hubie! That’s terrible. It’s one thing for you to take your copies. Cantú owed you money and someone already had the originals, but taking anything else would be just plain old stealing.”

“From whom?”

“From...from... hmm. I guess they technically belong to Izuanita as Cantú’s only surviving child.”

“Nope. The law prevents you from profiting by any criminal act. When she killed her brother, she lost the right to inherit.”

“Maybe there are cousins or something.”

“Not in the U.S., and I doubt that anyone from Mexico is going to show up and claim the estate. After all, he was a drug dealer fleeing a rival gang many years ago.”

“So who gets the pots?”

“I have no idea. Maybe they go to the State of New Mexico lost and found. I’ll ask Layton about it.”

“Knowing him, he’ll probably find a way to get some of them to the University and a few to Mariella’s collection.”

“No doubt. And maybe he’ll know about some obscure law that allows the person who helps the police apprehend a dangerous felon to lay claim to the property that felon was trying to hie off with.”

“Yeah, a law as obscure as the word ‘hie’. Speaking of felons, what do you think will happen to Izuanita?”

“I have no idea. Maybe she’ll plead insanity and get off.”

She looked into my eyes trying to read me. “Is that what you want?”

I thought about it for a while. “I could say I want justice served, but maybe it already has been. The drug dealer sees his son’s life ruined by drugs. The son kills the father, then the sister kills the son. Even if she gets off, her life is a mess.”

“And what about you, Hubie?”

“What about me?”

“Yeah. Remember when I had that romance with Frederick Blass and he turned out to be a murderer?”

“All too well. He tried to frame me for it.”

“You do seem to be a popular target for frames. Reggie West tried to frame you for the death of that federal agent, Gobelly.”

“Guvelly,” I corrected. “Do I need a different brand of deodorant or something?”

She laughed that off. “I worried for a while about how I could misjudge someone so completely.”

“I don’t think I’ll worry about that for long. I know why I misjudged Izuanita – lust.”

“Good to see you’re taking it well.”

“It helps to have another girlfriend on the horizon.”

“Dolly?”

“Yeah, I have a date with her tonight.”

“Maybe something more than smooching in the parking lot.”

“Definitely.”

“You sound pretty confident.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “When I invited Dolly to dinner at my house, she wanted to bring dessert, but I told her I was making
pastel de tres leches
. Then she volunteered to bring wine, but when I hesitated, she said, ‘Oh, I guess you don’t like wine’, and finally I told her she really didn’t have to bring anything.”

“And?”

“Well, I felt a little funny about saying she didn’t have to bring anything – like I wasn’t being gracious. So when she invited me over for tonight, I didn’t want to volunteer to bring anything because she hadn’t.”

“You’re just being your usual overanalyzing self.”

“Probably. Anyway, I didn’t have to ask because she said there were two things she’d like me to bring. The first was a bottle of Gruet.”

I stopped and took a sip of my margarita.

Susannah knows when I’m stringing out information, but she plays along.

“And the second thing was?”

“My toothbrush.”

“Wow. But won’t that be awkward? I mean, what about her father?”

“He’ll have to get his own toothbrush,” I said, and we both signaled for Angie as we laughed.

Mike Orenduff grew up in a house so close to the Rio Grande that he could Frisbee a tortilla into Mexico. Despite such bizarre antics – or perhaps consistent with them – he became a college administrator, serving as president of The University of Maine at Farmington, The American University in Bulgaria, New Mexico State University, and Bermuda College. He was also the Chancellor of the University of Maine System and a visiting faculty member at West Point. His first murder mystery,
The Pot Thief Who Studied Pythagoras
, won the Dark Oak Mystery Contest in 2007 and the Kindle version won the 2010 EPIC Award as the eBook of the Year in the Mystery/Suspense Category. The second book in the series,
The Pot Thief Who Studied Ptolemy
,
won Best Fiction Novel from the Public Safety Writers Association in 2010. He is married to the noted art historian Lai Orenduff who believes
The Pot Thief Who Studied Einstein
is the best book so far in the series. 

A preview of the next Pot Thief mystery follows....

The Pot Thief Who Studied Escoffier

Ed.—Hubie has agreed to create unique chargers for the table settings in a soon-to-open restaurant in Santa Fe. The fee was too enticing to pass up, although the restaurateur was not negotiable on the potting site...the plates must be made at the restaurant in Santa Fe. Hubie has misgivings about giving up the comforts of his tailor-made shop and home. Nonetheless, Hubie arranges for his absence, packs his equipment into his Bronco and heads to Santa Fe... 

On the road to Santa Fe, I thought about Frank Aquirre teaching us about the 1607 founding of Jamestown.

Two ironies came to mind. 1607 was also the year Santa Fe was founded, but that didn’t make the history books at Albuquerque High School. I guess they were all published back East. Jamestown was described as the first European settlement in the new world. From which I deduced in the steel trap mind I had in those days that either Spain was not considered part of Europe or Santa Fe was not considered part of the new world.

The second irony was that I had started dating Aguirre’s daughter that summer.

The hotel now known as
La Fonda
was also founded in 1607. The rambling stuccoed building on the southeast side of the Plaza is not the original structure, but it looks like it could be with its ornately-carved wood vigas and hand-made floors tiles.
La Fonda
(Spanish for ‘Inn’) has been the meeting place for conquistadores, Indians, priests, cowboys, artists, peddlers and politicians for over four centuries.

As I stood by the registration desk scanning the couches and chairs in the lobby, all those groups and more were represented. The menagerie of eccentrics, posers, tourists, hawkers, Indians, Hispanics, turquoise-bedecked blondes, pony-tailed men, bikers, and local Sufis was so oddly diverse that it might have been a caucus at the Democratic National Convention.

The guy I was looking for fit right in. But then who wouldn’t in a crowd like that? He wore a white tunic with a stiff collar and harlequin pants with a drawstring. As I neared him, I could read the embroidery on the tunic – ‘
Schnitzel
’ in bold red letters with “Chef Kuchen’ in black script just below.

Kuchen stood up as I approached and towered over my five foot six inches. He had broad shoulders, a square jaw, and a crushing handshake.

“Gunter Kuchen,” he announced, and I thought I heard the click of heels.

“Hubert Schuze,” I muttered as I winced from his grip.

“Ah,
Schuze
. It is German, yes?”

“It is German, no,” I answered.

“Yes, of course. You are too short.” He waved a long arm around the room. “Everyone in New Mexico is short. Because of the diet, yes?”

“Perhaps,” I said, not wanting to argue the point.

“We will have coffee,” he said as he strode off towards the French Café that opens onto the lobby.

The coffee and pastries in the French Café are delicious, and it was late enough in the morning that there was actually a table available. I selected a
palmier
and
Herr
Kuchen took a
brioche
.

“The pastries here are good,” I opined.

“The ones at
Schnitzel
will be better. I have a
pâtissier
, Machlin Masoot, who knows well the
Viennoiseries
.”

I had no idea what that meant. I wasn’t even sure what language it was in. Perhaps the Austrian equivalent of Spanglish.

“Why did you seek this meeting,” he asked?

“I want to discuss a proposal made to me by Mr. Molinero.”

He stuck out his already prominent jaw and said, “In that case, I do not think I can be of assistance to you. Molinero knows nothing of food.”

“But he’s starting a restaurant.”

“No!” he contradicted me sharply. “He starts only the business. I start the restaurant.”

“Hmm. Well, the question I have is not a food question, but I’ll ask you anyway.”

“As you please.”

“Molinero wants me to design and create chargers. But my specialty is Native American. I have no idea what design would be appropriate for an Austrian restaurant.”

He leaned back in his chair and the sun glinted off his smooth blond hair. “I cannot imagine why Molinero would select you for this task. Santa Fe drowns in local culture. I came to introduce
Österreichische Küche
.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Austrian cuisine,” he translated.

“Then you are just the man to suggest a proper design,” I said.

“Of course,” he agreed. “You must use
Lederhosen
.”

6

Susannah drained the last sip from her first margarita. “He actually suggested
lederhosen
?”

“So did Tristan.”

“Yeah, but Tristan was kidding. So what did you say to Kuchen? Surely you’re not seriously considering
lederhosen
.”

I’d arrived back in Albuquerque just in time for the cocktail hour. I was nursing my margarita because the only thing I’d eaten all day was the
palmier
, and the tequila seemed to be coursing directly into my bloodstream.

Susannah idly twirled her empty glass. “Although,” she said slowly, “cartoonish
lederhosen
might work for a casual Austrian restaurant.”

“They want me to make
chargers
, remember?”

“Oh, right. I guess
Schnitzel
won’t have a drive-thru window or golden Alps arches.”

“No.
Herr
Kuchen has come to introduce
Österreichische Küche
.”

“Who’s he, the chef?”

“No. Kuchen is the chef.”

“Yeah, but maybe this Ostrich guy is the
Chef de cuisine
.”

“That’s different from just a chef?”

“There’s a hierarchy, Hubie. The top guy is the
Chef de cuisine.
Then there’s a
sous
chef
, a
chef de partie
and all sorts of other positions.”

“Well, Kuchen is definitely the top guy. I’m sure he wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“So who’s the Ostrich guy?”

“It isn’t a guy. I probably said it wrong. It means Austrian cuisine.”

“Which consists of what?”

“The only dish I can think of is the name of the restaurant.”

“
Schnitzel
. It’s a fried pork chop, right?”

“I think it’s veal.”

“Yuk. Veal should be illegal.”

“This from a rancher girl?”

“Yeah, city folks don’t know how cute little calves are. It’s mean to kill them before they have a chance to grow up.”

I decided to change the subject and find out more about her new love interest.

She signaled Angie for a second round and a new bowl of chips because I had hogged all the first ones in the hope they would soak up some of the alcohol.

“In a word,” she said, “he’s tall, dark, and handsome.”

“That’s more than a word,” I snapped.

“Here’s another word. He’s articulate and charming.”

Yeah, and named ‘Ice’ I thought to myself. “Maybe his charm is just a front. Freddie was charming at first, too.”

“I know, and he turned out to be a murderer. I tell you, Hubie, after the string of losers I’ve dated the last couple of years, I figure I’m due for a good guy.”

“The last guy, Chris, was a good guy,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, he was. Handsome too. Unfortunately, he made a pass at you rather than me, so I think we can chalk that up as another misadventure in the saga of Susannah’s love life. What about you, Hubie? How are things with Dolly Aguirre?”

“Good, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Well, we don’t see each other all that much. She can’t stay the night at my place because she has to be home to take care of her father, and I don’t like spending the night at her house because her father’s in the next bedroom.”

“I know you’re a man, Hubert, but there are places to spend time together other than the bedroom.”

“Sure, but where’s the fun in that?”

She took a playful swing at me from across the table.

I loaded a chip with salsa and ate it. “We do other things – lunch, take Geronimo for walks. I even gave her a lesson in pot making.”

“How did she do?”

“She didn’t like getting clay between her fingers.”

Susannah was silent for a moment, her head canted as if engaged in an internal debate. “Does it bother you that she was married?”

“Not so much as not wanting clay between her fingers.”

She laughed.

“In fact,” I said, “it doesn’t bother me at all. She’s forty-two years old. I’d be more worried if she
hadn’t
been married. Like maybe something was wrong with her.”

“You’re even older than forty-two, Hubie, and you’ve never been married.”

“Yeah, but I’m a man.”

“Oink.”

“Well, it may not be politically correct, but men are still usually the ones who propose. If a woman has never received a marriage proposal, there’s probably a reason. But if a man has never made a proposal, it’s because he has chosen not to.”

She leaned towards me slightly. “Here’s a news flash, Hubert.
Women
decide if and when a man will propose to them. Men are just too stupid to realize they’re being led. You guys like to be in control, so we let you think you are.”

“I have no illusions about being in control. I have no idea where my relationship with Dolly is going.”

“But you like being with her.”

“Yeah. She’s fun to be with. She likes my cooking. She even liked the
chile verde
popcorn I took to her house on Thursday.”

“I assume she invited you to see a film.”

“Yeah,
Minority Report
. I hated it.”

“That’s because you only like old movies.”

“The problem with
Minority Report
wasn’t its age, it was its premise.”

“You didn’t like the idea of figuring out that people were going to commit a crime and stopping them in advance?”

“Maybe the idea would have worked better if it didn’t depend on three psychics in a big hot tub rolling out a PowerBall thingy with the type of crime and perpetrator written on it. I couldn’t believe Dolly liked it.”

“Maybe she thinks Tom Cruise is hot. You should be flattered, Hubie. He’s short, handsome, and clean-shaven. Just like you.”

“Hmm. She did like
Valkyrie
.”

She laughed. “Critics called that one the Tom Cruise eye-patch movie. But there was another symbol that bothered me more than the patch.”

“The swastika?”

“The edelweiss.”

“The little white flower in that corny song from
The Sound of Music
?”

“Art historians are big on iconography, Hubie.”

“O.K., I’ll bite. What does the edelweiss stand for?”

She pulled a pencil out of her purse and wrote on a napkin. Then she rotated it so I could read it, and it looked like this:
edelweiß
.

“O.K.,” I admitted, “It looks a little less harmless with the weird German thing at the end, but why did it bother you?”

“Because it was on the uniform collars of the Bavarian Mountain Fighters in the Nazi army. The guy Cruise played – von Stauffenberg – was one of them.”

“So?”

“Don’t you think it’s creepy that people who wear a little white flower as a symbol could kill millions of innocent people?”

“But von Stauffenberg was one of the good guys, right? He tried to assassinate Hitler.”

“Only after he helped lead the invasion of Poland and did a lot of other really bad things.”

“I didn’t know that. Anyway, there are probably lots of military symbols that seem strange when you… Edelweiss! Of course. Maybe that’s what I should put on the chargers.”