“Sorry, I forgot to turn it off!”
I hurried to the phone nook and dug the cell out of my purse. The number on the caller ID looked familiar, though it said “Unavailable.” I flipped it open.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Ellen, it’s Tony. Got some news and I wanted to tell you before you heard it from someone else. The M.E. figured out what killed Mrs. Garcia. It wasn’t Whoever’s Syndrome.”
“Oh? What, then?”
“It was botulism.”
9
“Botulism?!”
“Hang on, don’t freak out,” Tony said. “Are you listening?”
I was breathing fast, and my gut had clenched with panic at the thought that I’d killed one of my customers. I had to concentrate to keep from dropping the phone. I closed my eyes.
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“OK, I want you to think about it for a minute. Botulism takes hours to build up to fatal levels in the bloodstream. Days, even.”
I took a couple more breaths. My brain seemed to have shut off.
“So she can’t have picked it up at the tearoom, right?” Tony said. “She died shortly after she arrived.”
“Oh.” A cold flood of relief washed through me. “Yes, I see.”
“They’re testing the food anyway, just to eliminate it as a possible source.”
“OK.”
“You all right?”
I took a shaky breath. “Uh—yeah. Thanks. Thanks for calling me.”
“I figured you’d panic if you heard it in passing.”
I gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah.”
“It’s not your fault, OK? You didn’t cause this.”
“Right. Thanks.”
A pause followed, during which I was able to collect my wits. I was deeply grateful to Tony for going out of his way to call me.
“Sorry I had to run out on you earlier,” he said.
“It’s OK.”
“Any chance you’re not busy tomorrow evening? I’d like to make it up to you.”
“Oh ... no. I mean, yes. I—I don’t have any plans.”
“How about dinner?”
My stomach clenched again, but for a different reason. “Sounds great,” I said.
“You close at six, right? I can pick you up at, say, seven-thirty?”
“Fine.”
“See you then.”
“Hey, Tony—”
“Yeah?”
“Um, thanks a lot for calling me. I’m grateful.”
“No problem. See you tomorrow night.”
He hung up. I stood there for a moment, still sorting through all the different feelings of the last couple of minutes.
“Bye,” I said softly, though he was long gone.
I turned off the phone and returned to the living room. Gina gave me a curious look.
“Botulism?”
I glanced at her sharply. She shrugged.
“You yelled it. I wasn’t eavesdropping.”
I took a long breath. “Yeah, botulism. That’s what killed Mrs. Garcia, but it didn’t come from the tearoom. She had to have gotten it earlier.”
Gina frowned. “She didn’t put honey in her tea, did she? I know you’re not supposed to give honey to babies ‘cause they might get botulism. Maybe old ladies are susceptible, too.”
I endured a painful moment of trying to recall how Mrs. Garcia had taken her tea before remembering Tony’s reassurance. “It can’t have been anything at the tearoom. It takes a long time to build up in the bloodstream, and she was there for less than an hour, poor thing.”
Gina nodded. “Poor thing indeed. Poor you, too.”
“It could have been much worse.”
“Yeah, the Bird Woman could have been there.”
I tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile of laughter. “Actually, she was.”
“No! Was she horrible?”
“Only moderately. At least the press didn’t show up.”
I went back to the sofa. The TV now displayed a frozen frame from the opening credits of Charade. Gina topped off our wineglasses, and I sat back and let myself get immersed in the movie. Compared to Audrey Hepburn’s adventures, my life was positively dull.
By the time the film ended I was yawning my head off, despite its exciting conclusion. Long, emotional day and I was exhausted. Gina sent me home with hugs, kisses, and a large chunk of tiramisu which I shamefully intended to eat for breakfast.
I drove home slowly, though by now the alcohol was pretty much out of my system. Warm summer evening and Santa Fe was hopping, more with local kids than with tourists at this point. They liked to cruise, and when the cops cracked down on them for cruising one street they simply moved to another.
I turned onto Marcy Street and passed a candy-apple green low-rider with its speakers booming so loud they throbbed in my gut. The car was stuffed full of Hispanic teenagers and one lone blonde girl. I smiled to myself as the boom faded behind me, remembering my own not-so-distant days of hanging out.
As I turned into the alley that ran behind the tearoom I glimpsed movement among the lilac bushes at the side of the house. I slowed, and considered driving past, but decided that would serve no purpose. It might have been a dog, but if it was a person, driving past would just give him a chance to get away.
I checked to make sure my doors were locked, then shut off my headlights and eased into my usual parking place. I sat for a minute, watching the lilac bushes, keeping an eye on my mirrors, alert to any movement. It was dark, and after a moment I realized the dining parlor lights were off.
Break-in? Or just Captain Dusenberry playing games with me?
I fought down an urge to call Tony. He wasn’t my private security service, and I didn’t want him to think I was a wimp. I didn’t know anything was going on, I just had a feeling.
I took a flashlight out of the glove compartment, aimed it at the lilac bushes, and turned it on. Two dark shapes crouching there jumped and ran, heading toward the street out front.
I got out of the car and hurried after them, trying to get a better look. Heard giggling and caught a glimpse as they turned up the street and disappeared beyond the neighboring building. Kids, dressed in black, a boy and a girl—and the girl’s striped stockings looked Goth.
I put the flashlight back in the glove box and collected my purse and my tiramisu. Fumbled at the back door with my keys, then the dining parlor chandelier came on, flooding the portal with soft light.
“Oh! Um, thanks,” I said, unlocking the door and stepping in.
I was talking to a ghost.
I locked the door behind me and stood for a minute, just listening to the house. It was quiet, calm. On impulse I opened the door to the dining parlor.
The room was in order, the table covered with a fresh lace cloth and a teapot filled with roses in the center, ready to be set in the morning. I glanced up at the chandelier. One crystal was swinging gently back and forth.
I remembered the chandelier blinking earlier. Right before Rosa had come crying down the hall.
I pulled the door closed.
It was weird, sharing the house with a ghost. Hard to talk about. If I mentioned Captain Dusenberry, even just trying to be funny, people gave me odd looks. There were a few who didn’t, but as I thought most of them were nuts, they weren’t much comfort.
I went upstairs and crashed. In the morning I rose early, took a long, hot shower, dressed and carried my tiramisu downstairs.
Salsa music greeted me from the kitchen. Julio was already hard at work. He had three trays of round, meringue wafers on the work table and was piping lemon mousse onto one set of them.
“Morning,” I said. “Can you take a break?”
Julio glanced up at me, wary. “What for?”
“Tiramisu. I’ll trade you some for a cup of coffee.”
“Where’s it from?”
“My friend Gina made it.”
“OK. Let me finish this tray.”
I went to the break table in the far corner
of the kitchen while he finished making meringue-mousse sandwiches. The table sits by the kitchen’s original fireplace, which I seldom use. Usually it’s quite warm enough in there, even in winter.
The fireplace is picturesque, though, and I like it. Larger than the fireplaces in the parlors, because it was originally used for cooking. I’d found a couple of antique cooking tools to hang from the old hooks underneath the mantel, and an old cupboard where the staff could stash their belongings.
I got out plates and forks and divided the tiramisu. Julio joined me with two cups of steaming coffee and a carton of cream. I put a splash in my coffee and sipped.
“Mmm. Thank you. You make the best coffee.”
Julio nodded, a simple acknowledgment of the truth. He’s got an ego, like any chef, but he doesn’t need constant praise. He has confidence in his work. Knowing that, I felt I should do him the same courtesy Tony had done me; tell him about the botulism before he heard it by chance and misunderstood.
“How are you doing?” I said.
“OK. I visited my mom last night.”
I winced inside. He must have told her about Maria's death.
“Julio, there's something you should know. They've figured out what killed your grandmother. It was botulism, but she couldn’t have been exposed to it here.”
Julio sat up straight, bristling. “Damn right she couldn’t!”
“Easy. I’m just telling you so you won’t be caught off guard.”
“Sorry.” He picked up his cup. “So where did she get it?”
“I don’t know. It might be hard to figure out, unless someone else comes down with it.”
For the first time I wondered if any of the rest of Rosa’s family was in danger. I resolved to call and check on her later in the morning.
Julio ate a bite of tiramisu, then nodded. “Good. You’re friend’s a good cook.”
I smiled. “She is.”
“She looking for work? I could use an assistant.”
“Uh—no, she’s got a career in advertising. Are you getting overloaded?”
He shrugged. “I’m not complaining.”
“When did you get here this morning?”
“Four.”
And he usually stayed well past noon. I stifled a sigh. With business increasing, I’d have to hire an assistant for him. I didn’t want to risk him burning out and quitting.
“Would a part-timer help?” I asked.
“Anything.” He finished his coffee and stood up, leaving his unfinished dessert-breakfast. “I better get back to work. Thanks for the tiramisu.”
“You’re welcome.”
I finished my own coffee, then covered Julio’s leftover tiramisu and put it on the staff shelf in the refrigerator. It was still early, so I grabbed an apron and helped Julio out for an hour or so, happily avoiding the less pleasant task of struggling with the schedule that awaited me up in my office.
Kris came in at nine, recalling me to my sense of administrative duty. I relinquished my apron and made a pot of tea to take upstairs. I was just carrying it out of the pantry when I met Rosa in the hallway, wearing her wisteria server’s dress and apron.
“Rosa! I gave you the day off, dear.”
“I know, but I’d rather work, if it’s OK.” She gave a forlorn smile. “Keep my mind off things.”
My heart went out to her. If I hadn’t had my hands full of tea, I’d have hugged her.
“Of course it is. Actually, I’m very glad you came in. Julio’s a bit swamped. Do you think you could help him out until we open?”
“Sure.”
Her smile brightened a little, and she turned toward the kitchen. She looked perfectly well, so my fear that she might have been exposed to the botulism was soothed, though I thought I’d better talk to her about it anyway.
“Hang on a second, Rosa.” I stepped back into the pantry, gestured to her to follow me, and set the tea tray down. “The police have figured out what caused your grandmother's death, and it’s a little unusual.”
“It wasn’t a stroke?”
“No, dear. I’m afraid it was botulism.”
Rosa looked alarmed. “Botulism? Food poisoning?”
“She didn't get it here.”
I worried that she was going to cry, but she pulled herself together when I explained that the tearoom could not possibly be the source of the botulism. That implied, of course, that Maria might have been poisoned by something she ate at home, but I left that for Rosa to figure out on her own. At least now she'd been alerted.
I wanted to send her home, but I knew very well how important it can be to be around people, doing normal things, when one is grieving. Oddly, it can be just as important to be away from people, doing and thinking about nothing. Grief changes, day to day. Rosa had said she wanted normalcy, though, so I respected that. I sent her off to help Julio, took my tea tray upstairs, and poured tea for myself and Kris.
We spent the next half hour trying to figure out how to squeeze a part-time cook into the budget. Unless sales jumped a lot in the next couple of months it would mean operating at a loss. I saw my future income receding into the distance.
“Well, we’ve got to do it,” I said. “I won’t risk losing Julio. Go ahead and place an ad.”
“I’ll put a notice on the website first. Doesn’t cost anything. I’ll write a draft and run it by you.”
“All right.” I stood up and picked up my teacup. “By the way, I saw a couple of kids poking around in the side garden last night—looked like they might be Goths.”
Kris shot me a hard look. “I’m not the keeper of all Goths in Santa Fe.”
“I know you’re not. I just thought you might have heard something, if there's a rumor going around about Captain Dusenberry or something like that. Aren’t there games that some of you play?”
“Not my circle!”
“Sorry! No offense intended.”
She hunched a shoulder. “Some of the younger kids like to fool around. Maybe they heard about the ghost, and came looking for him.”
“So the community knows about Captain Dusenberry?”
“Yeah. I’ve been asked about him a few times. You never said he was a secret.”
“No, that’s true.”
I sometimes wished he was a secret, but that definitely wasn’t the case. With the tearoom a regular stop on Willow Lane’s ghost tour, it was pretty much the opposite.
“All right, Kris, thanks. Would you like more tea?”
“Not yet.”
I retreated to my office, dealt with a few tasks there, then went downstairs to get ready for opening. Iz, another of my servers—a shy, quiet girl from Tesuque pueblo—had arrived and was putting out place settings according to the reservation chart Kris had printed the night before. I helped her finish and made a quick check of both parlors to make sure the flowers were all fresh before opening the door to the first waiting customers.
Saturday was our busiest day, booked solid from opening to closing. With Rosa back, things weren’t quite as hectic as the previous day, but I was still plenty busy. Before I knew it, the afternoon was half gone.
I was ringing up a customer’s purchase in the gift shop when Tony walked in. He met my surprised glance and nodded, then busied himself looking at the china, leaning forward to peer at it with his hands clasped behind his back as if he was afraid to actually touch it.
I finished with the customer and saw her out, then glanced at my watch. “You’re a little early.”
Tony strolled over to the register. “Official visit, I’m afraid. Can we talk?”
He nodded toward the upper floor. I felt a pang of dread. Had the botulism been in our food after all? My rose petal jam?
I led Tony up to my office and offered him tea or coffee. He declined both, and sat across from me in one of the guest chairs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
“Heard from the M.E. this morning. Final diagnosis is wound botulism.”
“Wound botulism? I’ve
never heard of that!”
“It’s rare. Very odd for a nice old Hispanic lady to pick it up. M.E. says they see it mostly in druggies—people who use black tar heroin from Mexico—the spores can get in the stuff apparently. Anyway, that’s kicked it over to a suspicious death, so guess who’s investigating.”
My heart sank. “Oh. I see.”
Tony took out his pocket notebook and flipped it open. “So if you don’t mind, I’ll borrow your office. I need to talk to Rosa Garcia.”
10
My first instinct was to defend poor Rosa. “You can’t suspect her! If you had seen how upset she was—”
“She’s not being accused of anything.”
“Yet,” I said, with rather more edge to my voice than I’d intended.
Tony gave me a look of suppressed impatience. “Look, I don’t tell you how to make tea.”
“All right.” I stood up. “Yes, of course you may use the office. I’ll bring Rosa up.”
“Thanks.”
Remembering Tony’s interview technique, I paused in the doorway. “Would you mind if I stayed with her?”
“Frankly, yes.”
“I won’t say anything, I promise. I just want to lend her moral support. She’s young, and she just lost her grandmother.”
“Which is why I’m here.”
I gave him my best Miss Manners repressive glare. He looked up at the sloping ceiling and heaved a sigh.
“OK. But you say one word and,” he gestured toward the door with a thumb.
I smiled. “Promise,” I said, and hurried downstairs to collect Rosa.
She was in the pantry dressing trays for the next batch of customers. Julio was gone, and Kris only works half-days on Saturdays, so she had left as well. I ran Iz down in the gift shop and warned her she’d be on her own for a little while.
“No problem, Boss!” she said, then covered her mouth. “I mean, Ellen.”
I gave her a tolerant smile. “We’ll be back down as soon as we can.”
Returning to the pantry, I found Rosa with her hands full of a pan of hot scones. I helped her add them to the tea trays, then took her upstairs, pausing on the landing to inform her that Tony was here and wanted to talk to her.
“He’s been asked to investigate your grandmother’s death,” I said in a low voice.
A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn Page 6
