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-full. 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 tra
ffic 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.
The sun was setting as I drove to Gina’s upscale condo in the southeast part of town. Her complex was built on a hillside and had great views and elegant, minimal landscaping. Modern lines but still brown stucco. A nice place, and on an advertising executive’s salary, Gina could afford it.
She opened the door and immediately pulled me into a big, Italian hug. “Hi, girlfriend!”
Gina is good for my soul. I have a tendency to fall into melancholy now and then, and she snaps me right out of it every time.
She smooched me before letting me go. “Come on in while I finish the salad. This is going to be fun!”
I followed her to the kitchen, which smelled wonderful—garlic and herbs and savory tomato sauce. My mouth started watering. I picked up an olive from a dish sitting on the counter.
Gina was in casual mode, wearing a bright fuchsia tank top and white capri pants, both of which showed off her curvaceous figure. Her thick, curly, shoulder-length hair was tousled.
“Why aren’t you out on a date on this fine Friday evening?” I asked.
“Why aren’t you?” she retorted, chopping celery.
“I sort of almost was, but it got interrupted.”
She raised a dark eyebrow. “Do tell!”
I explained about Tony inviting me for a drink and then getting called away. She listened, nodding sympathetically.
“He’s that cute detective, right? You poor thing. You need a glass of wine.” She took down a large, globe-shaped red wineglass and half filled it from a bottle that was already open on the kitchen counter.
“On top of a margarita? I don’t know—”
“You’re going to be here for a couple of hours, right? You’ll be fine.”
“I think I should eat something first.”
“Good, because dinner’s almost ready. Here.” She handed me the glass. “Take those olives and the bread out to the table. I’ll be right behind you.”
I left my purse in the phone nook and carried the food out to her dining room. Gina brought out the salad and a bowl of fresh-grated Romano cheese and went back to the kitchen. I wandered after her to fetch my wine, then returned to the dining room and stood sipping while I gazed out of the picture window at a peach-colored western sky. The sun was down, and a couple of small scraps of cloud caught its last bright gold gleams of light.
“I keep forgetting what a fantastic view you have,” I said, turning as I heard Gina’s steps.
“Yeah, me too.” She set a huge bowl of pasta drenched in sauce in the middle of the table. “You see it every day, you start to take it for granted. Here’s to remembering our blessings.”
She raised her wineglass, and I joined the toast. “Remembering our blessings.”
“Let’s eat.”
We sat down and didn’t talk for a few minutes until we’d taken the edge off our hunger. I ate a piece of Gina’s killer garlic bread and helped myself to a second, rationalizing that I needed it to counter the alcohol I’d consumed. I dished up a huge helping of salad to atone for the bread.
“So, I told you why I’m not on a date,” I said, sprinkling cheese over my pasta. “Your turn.”
“Oh, Alan had to work tonight.”
I glanced up. “Alan? What happened to Ted?”
“Ted’s history. Didn’t I tell you about Alan? He’s the catering manager at the Hilton. I met him when he came into the office a couple of weeks ago. Don’t look at me like that! The Hilton isn’t my account, so it’s fine.”
Gina went through boyfriends—if they could even be graced with the term—like a kid through a plate of chocolate-chip cookies. One right after another.
I sipped my wine. “So, Alan had to work.”
“Some big event at the hotel, and he’s short on staff.”
“I know the feeling.”
She gave me a curious look, so I told her about Mrs. Garcia and all of the chaos that had` followed. Her eyes widened as I talked.
“God, not again!” she said. “Did the press show up?”
“Not a peep from them, thank heaven, though Tony said she was pretty important in her own circles.”
Gina frowned thoughtfully. “Garcia, you said?”
“Maria Garcia.”
She nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard of her. She does a lot of charity work through the church. We’re not in the same congregation, but I see her name in the newsletters. What a shame!”
“Yes.”
I twirled some pasta on my fork, feeling a little down after recounting the day’s woes. I’d probably be asked to attend a memorial service, I realized. And for Rosa and Julio’s sake, I should go, if I could get enough staff in to cover the tearoom.
Staff—I’d have to sit down with the schedule tomorrow. With Rosa gone I’d probably have to redo the whole thing.
“Yoo-hoo. Earth to Ellen.”
I glanced up at Gina. “Sorry. Thinking about work.”
“Ah-ah, that’s not allowed! Girls' night in, no work-think. Tonight is about fun and distraction.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Gina grinned as she stabbed at her salad. “Speaking of which, I got a flyer from the Santa Fe Institute. They’re starting a new lecture series. First one’s next Wednesday, want to go?”
“If I can. What’s the topic?”
“Something about microbiology, I think.”
“Hmm.”
Microbiology didn’t sound thrilling, but from past experience I knew that the Santa Fe Institute’s lectures were always fascinating. They brought in great speakers from all over the country, and the house was always packed. Even Gina, who was not what I’d call deeply intellectual, enjoyed the talks, though I suspected it was partly as a chance to scope the crowd for potential future ex-boyfriends.
“So, the usual?” she said. “Lecture and dinner after?”
“If I’m free. I’ll have to look at my schedule.”
“OK, Miss Cautious. Hey, why don’t you ask your detective friend, and I’ll ask Alan?”
I took a sip of wine. “I’m not sure Tony’d be interested.”
“Never know until you ask.”
“True.”
And I’d been mistaken about Tony before. I really shouldn’t make assum
ptions about his interests.
My heart gave a flutter as I remembered his surprise kiss. He was interested in me, that much was clear. Would we get along despite our rather different backgrounds? Was it worth the effort to find out?
Miss Cautious. I deserved it, I admitted. It would be a dreadful shame, though, to let Miss Cautious become Miss Chicken. I might miss out on something really good.
I finished my pasta and eyed the serving bowl. Gina must have noticed. She’d make a great mom someday—she had a mother’s sixth sense.
“Tiramisu,” she said. “In the fridge.”
“Right.”
I put down my fork and picked up my wine, sitting back and looking out at the now-blue horizon and the first couple of stars. Lights sprinkled the hills in the foreground.
We sat chatting and watching the night fall for a while, then cleared the table. In the living room, Gina fired up her movie-streaming gizmo. On the wall between two sets of shelves was a gigantic flat-screen TV.
“Wow, when did you get that?”
She pointed a remote control at the screen and pressed a button, causing the screen to glow blue. “Couple weeks ago. What do you want to see?”
“I don't know. Something lighthearted.”
“How about the latest Sandler comedy?”
“Let’s give it a whirl.”
I joined her on her black leather couch and she pushed buttons until the movie came on. About ten minutes into the film I looked at her.
“Can we make some popcorn?”
“There’s tiramisu.”
“Not to eat, to throw at the screen.”
Gina chortled. “You, too?”
“It’s a Big Lie story. I hate those.”
“Hey, you approved it!”
“Yeah, and now I’m sorry.”
Gina picked up the remote and paused the movie. “OK, so we lose it. Something else you want to see?”
“Yeah. Charade. Ever seen it?”
“Nope.”
“Can you get it?”
“Let's find out.”
More button-pushing. I got up to use the bathroom. Before I could get back to the couch, my cell phone rang from the kitchen.
A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn Page 5
