I smiled. “You’re perfect.”
My watch said six minutes to one, so I ushered Nat and Claudia down to the Dahlia alcove, left my bouquet with them, and stepped outside, sidling over to where Manny and Louie were waiting behind a wisteria vine at the corner of the house. A light breeze stirred the mostly-golden leaves of the cottonwoods and pulled a few into the air to drift down atop the tent. Gina stood there, talking with Katie and Bob Hutchins and a man who looked vaguely familiar—probably Gina’s current beau.
At a table inside the tent entrance, Iz stood supervising the guest book and a growing stack of presents. I stifled a small sigh, wishing more people knew the tradition of sending gifts to the couple at home rather than bringing them to the wedding, where the bride and groom would have no chance to deal with them. It was old-fashioned, I knew, but sometimes old fashions make sense.
As the mariachis began a slow march, Manny turned to Louie. “That’s our cue, man.” They bumped fists, then started for the tent.
I went in to fetch Nat and Claudia. We paused behind the wisteria until the mariachis struck up “Mexico Lindo y Querido,” which Nat had chosen in preference to the customary march from Lohengrin. One last kiss for luck, and we walked out between the roses and into the tent. Claudia slipped into a seat while I continued down the aisle ahead of Nat.
Behind Manny, Louie, and the minister, rose bushes bloomed joyously against a taller row of lilacs. We stepped into place, the music ended, and the minister opened his book.
The service was generic, short and sweet. No elaborate phrases were needed; their delight in each other shone in their faces. It all went perfectly, and festive music accompanied us as we filed out to form the receiving line.
Loren Jackson and his sister Shelly were among the first. I liked him a lot, but not quite as much as he liked me. He was a counselor, and had helped most of my staff after Vi’s death. He had honored the wedding with a nicely-tailored dark suit and a pastel green tie that matched his eyes. He lit up with a smile as we shook hands.
“You look wonderful, Ellen!”
“Thank you. So do both of you.”
Shelly beamed beneath her pale blue picture hat. “That was a beautiful ceremony,” she said. “Did you help write it?”
“No, no. They did it themselves.”
My gaze traveled to the next guest, who was Tony. He looked a bit broody.
“Tony, have you met Loren Jackson?” I said.
“We’ve met,” Loren said, turning toward him and smiling. “Good to see you again, Detective.”
Tony hesitated, then shook the offered hand.
“And this is Loren’s sister, Shelly,” I added. “This is Tony Aragón.”
“Hi,” she said, a little wide-eyed. “You’re a detective?”
“Yeah.” Tony turned to me. “Can I talk to you?”
“After I’m free here, of course,” I said. The line started moving again, and Loren gave Nat a hug.
“Is something wrong?” I said softly to Tony.
He shot another glance at Loren, then stepped closer, still holding my hand. “Why did you invite him?” he muttered.
“My aunt invited him to her wedding.”
He didn’t answer, and Gina, who was behind him in line, gave him a flashing smile. “No hogging the maid of honor, Tony.”
Tony stepped back, and Gina promptly enfolded me in a Chanel-scented hug. Tony had no choice but to move on, taking the hand that Louie held out to him.
“Got to keep him in line, hon,” Gina whispered in my ear. Aloud, she said, “You remember Rick?”
I shook hands with her date, a slightly lumberjackish-looking fellow with a dark hair and a nice smile. “Of course.” Turning to Gina, I added, “You look splendid, as usual.”
She took a slight bow, her calf-length dress of multicolored flowers swirling gently. “Thanks. I expect dancing.”
“You shall have it,” I promised. “I hope you’re ready, Rick.”
He grinned. “I’ve been training all week.”
At last the guests had all been greeted, and the bridal couple followed them into the house to attack the buffet. I hung back to see that Rosa and Mick were moving chairs off the dance floor. Only a few shreds of cloud remained overhead. I shot a grateful glance at the sky, and headed for the house.
The tables on the portal were reserved for the wedding party and their families. Tony was at his seat beside mine, poking at his phone.
“What did you think of the wedding?” I asked, joining him.
He shrugged. “Nobody messed up their lines.”
“Not your cuppa, eh?”
He looked out at the street. “I’ve been to too many weddings that ended badly.”
I remembered a recent case he’d worked on: a gang fight that had broken out at a wedding and left two dead. I bit my lip.
Finding things to talk about with a cop was hard.
We seemed to do all right when we weren’t talking. I thought of his hands on my back and felt myself blush.
“Are you hungry?” I asked.
“Not really,” Tony said, frowning.
Behind me, a light voice said, a bit gushingly, “May we join you?”
Shelly Jackson was gazing at Tony with a plate of tamales in one hand and a champagne flute in the other. I seemed to have become invisible; she stared right past me.
“I’m sorry, these tables are for the wedding party,” I said, standing. “But there are some others in the garden. May I help you find a shady one?”
“Oh. Uh, well...”
“We can manage, thanks,” said Loren, shooting me a wry glance as he gently took his sister’s elbow and guided her away.
I couldn’t help it. I smiled. It was relief, and gratitude for his tact. Unfortunately, Tony saw it.
“Think I need a beer. They with Julio?” Without waiting for an answer, he stood and went into the house.
I sank into my chair, closed my eyes, and sighed. Part of me wanted to go after him. Part of me resented his assumptions; I shouldn’t have to explain anything. I had told him that Loren was a friend. That should be enough.
“Tired, Ellen?” said Nat’s voice. “Poor dear, we’ve been running you ragged.”
I jumped up to help Nat settle herself at the table. “I’m fine.”
“You should get some food,” she said.
“I will.” I hugged her shoulders and gave her a smooch on the cheek. “Can I get you anything? Champagne?”
“Oh, yes, please!” said Nat.
I took orders, then went in to fetch champagne for Nat and me, beer for Louie and Manny. The food line had gone down, so I delivered the drinks and went back to get myself a tamal, which was the proper name for what most Americans call a tamale. Julio had reprimanded me on that point during the menu planning.
Tamal is singular. Tamales is plural. Tamale is stupid.
Beside the tamal I put a token spoonful of rice, a dollop of guacamole and a handful of chips. What I really wanted was a huge chunk of the wedding cake. Bad sign.
Back at the table, Nat and Manny were snatching bites of food between conversations with well-wishers. When the mariachis started a waltz, Manny jumped up and reached for Nat’s hand.
“This is our dance!”
They hurried to the dance floor, beaming like kids. Halfway through the music, Louie touched my arm. “Let’s dance, OK?”
“Sure,” I said, knowing that Manny had probably asked him to join in. It would signal the guests that they could dance, too.
Louie built custom adobe fireplaces, and it showed in his muscular frame. I was grateful to discover that he knew where to put his feet and how to guide me. Gina and her beau joined us, and by the time the song ended, the dance floor was filled.
“Thank you,” I said to Louie. “You’re a good dancer!”
He bowed, and escorted me off. I saw Tony watching from beside the lilacs, drinking a beer. The band was now playing a lively polka. I went over and looked at Tony expec
tantly.
“You looked good out there,” he said. “You take ballroom dancing?”
“No, but my father taught me to waltz.”
He nodded and took a swig of beer. Not catching a clue, today.
“Are you going to ask me to dance?” I said.
He tilted his head, glancing at the mariachis. “To this?”
“We don’t have to actually polka,” I said, gesturing to the floor, where about half the dancers were doing the old high-school step-right, step-left kind of dancing.
“Good, ’cause I wouldn’t know a polka from a hiphop.”
“Do you dislike dancing?”
He took a long time to answer, gazing at the dancers, his jaw working. Finally he looked at me. “It’s OK.”
I was ready to give up and return to my uneaten tamal, but Tony tipped up his bottle, drained it, and left it under a bush, then offered me his hand and actually smiled. We stepped onto the floor just as the polka concluded. The band struck up a slow dance, and Tony’s smile turned to a grin as he slid his arm around my waist.
“This is more like it,” he said, pulling me close.
Yes, it was. A whiff of beer combined with Tony’s familiar smell to make me wish there weren’t so many people watching. I sighed as the tension drained out of me, and put my free arm around his neck as we rocked back and forth.
“Were the mariachis your idea?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Manny’s. He loves them. Nat does, too.”
“Because...” He shook his head, and laughed softly as he gazed at the dancers.
“It’s their wedding.”
He looked at me, flashed a grin, then spun me under his arm. Caught off guard, I laughed.
“You can dance!”
“A little.”
“I bet you broke hearts in high school.”
“Nah. I was too moody. Usually I ended up with the broken heart.”
I was silent, not thinking it prudent to pursue that line of conversation. We swayed gently and I closed my eyes.
This was good—this moment. If we could only have more moments like this.
The song ended far too soon. Somewhere in there I rested my head on Tony’s shoulder; I had no idea when. As we stepped apart, he brushed his lips against my cheek.
“Can we go somewhere?” he whispered in my ear as we left the floor arm in arm.
“I have to stay until the party’s over,” I said.
“What if we just went upstairs for half an hour?”
I shot him a Look.
“OK, OK. Just a thought.”
I steered us toward our table, where Manny and Nat had retired after three dances. “I think I need some more champagne.”
“I’ll get it,” Tony offered. He saw me to my seat, picked up my empty flute, and disappeared into the house.
“You two looked cozy out there,” Manny said to me, grinning. “Gonna give me a new nephew?”
Nat gave him an admonishing tap on the arm. I leaned forward to answer Manny.
“You’re going to have to settle for just a niece for now.”
He laughed, and raised his beer in salute. Tony returned with my champagne and a fresh plate with one tamal, red sauce, rice, and guacamole—exactly what I’d had before. He swapped this out for my cold plate and went off again to get food for himself.
He might not be Mr. Congenial, but he was certainly observant. That was a cop skill. His using it to be nice to me gave me hope.
5
Cake, and more champagne followed the meal. I was starting to feel a little tipsy by the time a sleek, black limousine turned the corner and glided up to the front gate, where it double-parked and turned on its hazard lights. Manny stood and, with a flourishing bow, held out his hand to Nat.
“Your chariot awaits, fair lady.”
Nat put down her fork. “Manny! I thought you were going to drive us!”
He grinned. “I wanted to have too much alcohol for that. Better toss your bouquet, sugar. It’s time to go!”
I hopped up, swallowing my last bite of cake, and hurried to gather the single females. A sweep of the garden netted Kris, Shelly, Gina, two of Manny’s nieces, and a couple of others. I nudged Rosa and Iz into the flock for good measure.
Nat stood before the front door, framed by wisteria vines and watched by her adoring husband. She looked over the waiting maidens, and I saw her take note of my position before she turned her back to us. I almost stepped back, but there was no need. The bouquet sailed skyward and descended directly into Gina’s arms.
Applause and cheers followed. Gina showed off her prize, grinning. I looked at her date, who wore a deer-in-the-headlights expression.
Nat and Manny headed down the path toward the limo. I caught up with them at the gate.
Nat turned to me, clasping my hand. “You’ll take care of—”
“Everything.” I hugged her. “Have a fabulous time!”
Manny claimed a kiss from me, then hustled Nat into the limo. It glided away to the cheers and waving of the guests.
Whew.
Tony was still at the table. I started toward him, but was intercepted by Loren and Shelly, both carrying plates of cake.
“Have you seen the Art Exhibition?” Shelly asked.
“We were wondering if it’s worth a visit,” Loren added.
“I haven’t been,” I said. “I’m interested in going, though. There’s an artist whose work I’d like to see.”
Shelly’s face lit with eagerness. “Come with us! We’re going tomorrow.”
“Um, that sounds like fun,” I said, “but—”
“We can all have lunch,” she said.
All? I glanced toward Tony, who glowered from the table.
“I’ll have to check. Can I let you know tomorrow?”
“Don’t worry about saying no,” Loren said quietly, with a glance at his sister. “If it’s too much, after today, we’ll understand.”
“Thanks.”
I disengaged politely and rejoined Tony. His mood had dropped back to sullen.
“He just can’t keep away from you,” he said.
“More like she can’t keep away from you. She wants us to go to the Art Exhibition with them tomorrow.”
“An art show?” He looked like he’d rather visit a funeral.
“Yes. I was thinking of going anyway, and we’re closed tomorrow, so...”
“I can’t. Promised to help my grandmother. Her dishwasher’s leaking.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.”
“What about Monday?” he offered. “I could go on my lunch hour.”
“I think tomorrow’s the last day.”
His frown deepened. “You’re going to go anyway.”
“I’m interested in the show.”
He drew breath as if to speak, then gave his head a small shake instead. He stared at my bouquet, still lying on the table. I saw a swallow move his throat.
“Tony, there really is no reason for you to feel threatened—”
“I don’t feel threatened.”
Right.
“Think I’ll get some more cake.”
I wasn’t really hungry. I just wanted to be alone for a minute. I felt like Tony and I were going in circles.
With the departure of the happy couple, the guests began to trickle away. A few came in for a last crack at the buffet. I stepped across the hall and into Violet, where Julio’s candle still flickered on the mantel. Here, in private, I allowed myself a sigh.
Looking up at Vi’s smiling face, I wondered if things were any better where she was. Did this kind of misunderstanding happen in the afterlife?
Not that it mattered. I was here, not there, and if a difference of opinion between me and Tony was making me unhappy, the only real solution was to face it.
Deep breath. Onward.
Back outside, I found our table deserted. Looking for Tony, I kept getting waylaid by farewells: Gina and Rick, Claudia Pearson, Thomas Ingraham, the Hutchinses, Kris. Loui
e was talking with the minister, who looked about to depart. Mick had started collecting plates from empty tables, while Rosa carefully gathered champagne flutes onto a tray. I really ought to help; there was so much to do.
Maybe Tony had left.
I picked up the guest book and a few of the smaller gifts and took them inside, heading for the dining parlor. I met Tony coming out of it, looking extremely annoyed.
“There you are,” we both said.
“I have to go,” he added, frowning. “Got a call. I’m sorry.”
“Let me put these down.” I stepped past him to set my burdens on the dining table.
“I should be able to deal with it fast,” he said. “Then I’ll come back and pick you up for dinner. OK?”
“Sure. Take your time, I have plenty to do.”
I made an all-encompassing gesture. Tony caught one of my hands and kissed it. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
Heart suddenly racing, I swallowed. “I’ll be here.”
Iz came in with an armload of gifts. Tony dropped my hand and backed away. “I’ll call you.”
I nodded as I watched him go, then realized my cell phone was upstairs in my suite. I’d get it in a minute, but first there were the gifts to be secured.
My staff, no doubt eager to finish and be free for Saturday night, were a whirlwind of efficiency. Julio had already put away leftover food from the buffet and was now disassembling what remained of the cake. He pointed to a box about ten inches square.
“That’s the top layer. It goes in the freezer, right?”
“Right.” I found a marker and labeled it, peeked into the box and saw that Julio had already wrapped the cake in plastic and foil. I would give it to Nat and Manny when they got home from Hawaii, to keep in their own freezer until their first anniversary. I stashed it in the industrial freezer, then helped Julio box up the rest of the cake. I saved a generous piece for each of my staff, labeled the boxes with their names, and pushed one into Julio’s hands.
“You’re done. I’ll finish. Have a good weekend.”
He grinned. “I’ll be in early on Monday to make the sugar skulls for next Sunday. They have to dry overnight after they’re molded,” he added, “so if you don’t mind having them in the kitchen....”
“No, that’s fine. They won’t be in my way.”
A Masquerade of Muertos (Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries Book 5) Page 4
