A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn

by Patrice Greenwood

  “Investigate?” She looked alarmed.

  “He just wants to ask you a few questions. I’ll stay with you, all right?”

  I saw her swallow. “OK.”

  I led her into the office, where Tony had made himself at home behind my desk. “Rosa, this is Detective Aragón.”

  She nodded, looking terrified. Tony smiled.

  “Hi, Rosa,” he said. “Have a seat.”

  She sat down, and I took the other guest chair. Tony flipped through the pages of his notebook for a moment, then looked up at Rosa.

  “Your grandmother lived at Casa de Sónset. How often did you visit her there?”

  Rosa blinked. “Once or twice a month, I guess.”

  “When was the last time you were there?”

  “Um.” She frowned in thought. “I think it was Mother’s Day.”

  Tony made a note. “Did your father go over there more often?”

  “Well, yes.”

  Rosa cast a nervous glance at me. I smiled to reassure her.

  “How often?”

  “He’s there a couple of times a week, usually. He brings her groceries, fixes things for her.”

  “And they got along OK?”

  “Yes.”

  “Even though she was technically his employer? Did they ever argue about how he handled the restaurant?”

  “Maybe they disagreed a little sometimes. I’ve never heard them argue.”

  Tony wrote something in the notebook, then peered at it for a long while. The silence stretched. Rosa fidgeted in her chair.

  “How about your mother? She get along OK with your grandmother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Everyone else in the family get along with her?”

  Rosa was silent. I saw a frown tighten her brow.

  “Mostly,” she said finally.

  “Mostly?”

  Tony stared at her, the flat cop stare that I so dislike. It annoyed me to see him using it on Rosa, but I held my tongue. He glanced at me, then spoke in a gentler tone.

  “Who would you say got along with her the least?”

  “M-my Aunt Estella. They haven’t spoken for years.”

  “Why?”

  Rosa looked down at her hands, and I noticed they were clenched in her lap. “Aunt Estella got a divorce. Nana never forgave her.”

  “Ah.” Tony wrote for a minute, then looked up. “Anyone else?”

  “I t-think she was OK with everyone else.”

  “You think? But you’re not sure?”

  I frowned at Tony. He was starting to bully. He didn’t look at me, but I knew he knew I disapproved.

  “Well, Uncle Matt has an Anglo girlfriend, and Nana didn’t like that.” Rosa turned her head to look at me. “Sorry.”

  I smiled, letting her know I understood. Mrs. Garcia had been conservative about her family, I gathered. Not that unusual.

  In New Mexico, Hispanics and Anglos share a lot of things—political power, economic power, cultural influence—but there are sometimes invisible lines that one crosses at one’s own risk. A powerful woman like Mrs. Garcia would be able to draw such lines for those under her influence.

  Tony bent to his notepad. “What’s the girlfriend’s name?”

  “Sherry, uh—Anderson, I think.”

  “What’s she like?”

  Rosa shrugged. “I’ve only met her a couple of times. Uncle Matt doesn’t bring her to a lot of family parties. She’s nice, I guess.”

  “How long have they been dating?”

  “Um, maybe five, six years?”

  Tony gazed at her thoughtfully. “Are they living together?”

  A faint blush came into Rosa’s cheeks. She nodded. “For about a year. Nana didn’t approve.”

  Tony made another note. I kept a concerned eye on Rosa. She was bearing up all right, but she didn’t look comfortable. I glanced at my watch, debating whether to put a stop to it by saying we had to get back to work.

  “What about you?” Tony asked. “How did you get along with your grandmother?”

  Rosa broke into a beaming smile. “She was the best! She was my champion.”

  “Your champion?”

  Rosa nodded. “When I wanted to come work here, and Papa didn’t want me to, she said to let me make my own choices.” Rosa looked at me. “She said if I could succeed in the Anglo world, all the better for me.”

  Tony caught my eye and looked smug. I chose to ignore it. He leaned back in my chair and looked down at his notes.

  “You know of anyone who might’ve been mad at your grandmother?”

  Rosa gazed at him, looking bewildered, then shook her head. “No. She’s strict, but everyone loves her. Even Aunt Estella.”

  “What about someone outside the family?”

  Rosa shrugged. “The other restaurant managers, maybe. I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything.”

  “OK. Thanks.”

  Tony sat frowning at his notes for a long moment. Rosa shifted in her chair.

  “Is that it? Can I go?”

  Tony glanced up at her. “Yeah, you can go.”

  Rosa stood up at once, looking relieved. I followed her to the door, but paused there and waited until she had gone downstairs, then looked back at Tony.

  “I hope you got what you needed.”

  Tony glanced at me. “Oh, yeah. Big help. Hadn’t heard about the Anglo girlfriend. Course I haven’t talked to Matt yet, but it’s interesting that Ricardo didn’t mention it.”

  “Families protect their secrets.”

  “And matriarchs rule with a rod of iron.” Tony stood up and came to the door, stuffing his notebook in a pocket. “Maybe Uncle Matt and his girlfriend will have an easier time of it now.”

  “You’re not suggesting—”

  “Nope. Not suggesting anything. Just cogitating. Hell, I don’t even know if we have a crime here. She could have picked it up accidentally. Botulism exists pretty commonly in plain old dirt, the M.E. told me.”

  “She was a gardener,” I said, thinking of our brief conversation about roses.

  “Yeah? So maybe she got a cut dirty. Could just be bad luck.”

  “In that case, why are you interviewing her family?”

  “Hey, it’s job security. I’m told to investigate, I investigate. Speaking of which, I need to talk to the grandson.” He consulted his notebook. “Julio Delgado.”

  “He's gone home for the day. He comes in early.”

  “OK, I'll catch him later.” He stepped past me into the upper hall. “Thanks for the use of your office.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “See you in a couple of hours.”

  His eyelids drooped a little as he said that, very sexy. My pulse increased a bit.

  “What should I wear?”

  He shrugged. “You always look great.”

  “I was thinking along the lines of motorcycle or not.”

  “Oh. Not.” He grinned. “See you.”

  He took the stairs at a run, though he didn’t make too much noise. I, being in Proprietress mode, made a more dignified descent, arriving at the ground floor just in time to see Tony holding the front door for three elderly women. I smiled and went to greet them as Tony headed out.

  “Good afternoon. Do you have a reservation?”

  The tallest, who looked smart in a pink linen suit and matching hat, said, “Timothy. Joan.”

  I stepped to the podium and checked the reservation list. “Ah, yes. You’re in Jonquil. Right this way.”

  The ladies made admiring noises as I led them through the parlor to their seating area. A breeze was disturbing the lace curtains in Jonquil and I lowered the window, leaving it open just a crack.

  “This is lovely,” said Ms. Timothy. She waved a hand, taking in the whole parlor. “Tell me, do you ever open up this room for larger functions?”

  “We can, yes. We also have a dining parlor that seats up to twelve.”

  She exchanged a glance with one of the other ladies, who shru
gged. One of them, whose dress was a floral print with a white, lace-edged collar, said, “That would work for a board meeting, but not for the whole group.”

  “Are you planning an event?” I asked.

  Ms. Timothy smiled. “We have an annual dinner, and we thought we’d do something a little different this year. Perhaps a tea.”

  “Everyone expects a dinner,” said the third woman, who wore a simple dress of green cotton and looked a trifle grumpy.

  “And I do think this place is a little small,” said the woman in the floral dress in a worried tone. She glanced at me. “No offense, but it’s fifty people or so, usually, at the dinner.”

  I nodded. “I understand, though we had close to seventy at our grand opening. That was more of a reception, with a full afternoon tea. We used this room and had overflow into the smaller parlor and the dining parlor. Now that the weather’s warmer we could also overflow out onto the portal.”

  “Hmm. That might work.” Ms. Timothy looked out the window at the wisteria-shaded portal. “The setting is certainly perfect. You have beautiful roses. Do you do your own gardening?”

  “Yes, I do. Thank you.”

  “You should consider joining the Rose Guild,” said the worried woman, smiling at me as if to make up for her doubts about having an event here.

  “You’re the second person this week to suggest that to me,” I said.

  “Really?” said Ms. Timothy. “Who was the first?”

  Too late, I realized the awkwardness of bringing up Mrs. Garcia. I held onto my smile, reflecting that I didn’t have to mention the circumstances of her advising me to join the Rose Guild. I caught sight of Iz by the flower urn, waiting to bring in a tray with a cozy-covered teapot.

  “It was Maria Garcia,” I said pleasantly, and was about to step out of Iz’s way, but I stopped when I saw their reactions.

  Ms. Timothy looked aghast. Ms. Grumpy looked smug, and Ms. Worried looked viciously angry.

  11

  “Oh, poor dear Maria!” said Ms. Timothy. “We just heard about her unfortunate demise. That’s one of the things we’re going to talk about today, what to do for her memorial.”

  She glanced at the other ladies. Ms. Worried had controlled her features, but still looked annoyed.

  “I don’t see the need to do anything at all,” she said.

  “Lucy!”

  “You know all she did was cause trouble!”

  Ms. Grumpy joined the fray. “That’s not entirely true.”

  Lucy looked at her in surprise. The moment had become awkward, and I couldn’t think what to say, being preoccupied with wondering if these ladies knew how close they were standing to where Maria Garcia had died.

  Iz came to the rescue. “Here’s your tea, ladies,” she said, stepping in as if the outburst hadn’t happened.

  Recalled to their situation, the ladies settled themselves in the comfortable wing chairs grouped around the low table. Iz poured tea for them while I shamefully beat a retreat to the pantry. I was curious about their apparent familiarity with Mrs. Garcia, but the conversation had disintegrated so disastrously that the only thing to do was pretend it hadn’t happened and start afresh.

  Rosa was setting up two food trays, one for the party in Jonquil and one for our last reservation of the day, a party of four who hadn’t arrived yet. A pot of tea for them was already steeping. I helped arrange the savories and sweets on the trays.

  “You look a little tired, Rosa. Would you like to go home? Iz and I can handle things until closing.”

  She gave me a grateful look. “If you don’t mind. I’ve sort of got a headache.”

  Poor thing. The interview with Tony had rattled her. I squeezed her shoulder.

  “Go on home, then. Get some rest.”

  She untied the strings of her apron. “Thanks, Ellen. See you on Tuesday. Oh ... or Monday. That’s when the memorial service is.”

  “Well, then I’ll see you there,” I said gently.

  She nodded and made a game attempt to smile, though I could see tears gleaming in her eyes. She hung up her apron and ducked into the kitchen to fetch her purse from the staff cupboard. A moment later she called a quiet goodbye as she left by the back door.

  Iz came into the pantry. “Lily’s here. I just seated them.”

  “Good, there’s their tea. I sent Rosa home, so it’s just you and me.”

  Iz glanced at the trays. “I should check on Iris.”

  “Go ahead, I’ll get the scones.”

  She took the infuser out of Lily’s teapot and covered it with a cozy, then carried it away. I went into the kitchen to fetch the day’s last pan of scones from the oven.

  They smelled fantastic, and I had the urge to gobble one of the extras, but I didn’t want to spoil my dinner with Tony. I arranged scones on the center plates of the tiered food trays, set dishes of fresh lemon curd and clotted cream alongside them, then reached for the bowl of rose petals to decorate the trays.

  Roses. Rose Guild. I wondered if the organization the ladies in Jonquil belonged to was the Guild. They knew Maria Garcia, and she'd been a member. Their reaction to her name made me curious about Maria's participation in the Guild. They must at least have some regard for her if they were planning a memorial.

  I picked out the best petals and scattered them over the ladies’ tray, then carried it up to the front parlor. “Here you are, ladies,” I said as I set the tray in the center of their table.

  “Thank you,” said Ms. Timothy. “Oh, rose petals! How pretty!”

  “You mentioned the Rose Guild,” I said. “Are you members?”

  “Yes, we’re the officers of the Guild. I’m the President, Lucy Kingston here is Secretary Treasurer—” she gestured to Ms. Worried, then to Ms. Grumpy, “—and Cora Young is our Vice President.”

  “Pro tempore,” muttered Ms. Young.

  I nodded and smiled at each of them in turn. “I’m delighted to meet you. I’m Ellen Rosings. I would love to learn more about your group.”

  Ms. Timothy gestured toward the fourth chair. “Won’t you join us?”

  “Thank you. I need to see to a couple of things. Perhaps in a few minutes.”

  I handed them each a menu card, leaving them to fend for themselves at figuring out which items were what, and went to check on the other parties. Iris wanted another pot of tea, so I started it brewing.

  The day was winding down. Iz was manning the register as departing parties browsed in the gift shop. I stopped into the kitchen, where Mick was conquering the day’s heap of dirty dishes. I took Iris their tea, then went to sit with the ladies from the Rose Guild, who had worked their way through their savories and were now starting on the scones.

  “Well, we should definitely send some roses to the service at the very least,” Mrs. Timothy was saying as I walked in. “Oh, hello, Miss Rosings!”

  “Please call me Ellen,” I said, stepping to the vacant chair.

  “Thank you, and please call me Joan.” She smiled at me, then glanced at the other ladies. “I was just saying we should send roses to Maria’s memorial service. Do you happen to know when it is?”

  “Monday, I believe. I don’t know the details.”

  “Well, it’ll be in the paper.” She picked up her teacup and sighed. “Such a sad thing. She had just come back from an injury.”

  I nodded. The other two ladies said nothing. Lucy Kingston looked airily out of the window as she sipped her tea, and Cora Young was occupied in spreading lemon curd on a scone.

  “How well did you know her, Ellen?” asked Joan.

  “Not well at all. We only recently met, but her granddaughter works here.”

  “Oh. So you must have heard all about it.”

  “How did she die?” asked Ms. Kingston, leaning toward me with a hint of suppressed eagerness that reminded me forcibly of the Bird Woman.

  “I don’t want to spoil your tea by talking about it,” I said gently.

  “My dear, it would take more than Maria Garcia
to spoil my appetite!”

  I glanced at Joan, who gave a small, sympathetic shrug. “Go ahead and tell us, if you don’t mind.”

  “Well, I understand the cause of death was wound botulism.”

  “Oh, dear! She must have picked it up gardening,” said Joan. “I never could convince her to wear gloves. She said she liked to feel the earth with her hands.”

  “Stubborn,” said Ms. Kingston, reaching for a scone.

  Ms. Young nodded in agreement. An awkward silence fell, which Joan broke by clearing her throat.

  “Well, we must send flowers for the service, and I think we should place a memorial bench in the City Rose Garden as well.”

  “If we placed a bench for every member who died, there wouldn’t be room to walk in the garden,” said Ms. Kingston.

  “But Maria has been a member for over twenty years,” Joan said, “and she was Vice President for the past five. And I believe she left a bequest to the Guild. She told me she intended to. A permanent memorial is the least we owe her.”

  I couldn’t help wondering what the amount of the bequest might have been. Enough that someone would kill for it?

  Silently reprimanding myself, I returned my attention to the Rose Guild ladies as they shifted their discussion to their annual dinner. Joan was enthusiastic about making it a tea reception at the Wisteria Tearoom, and having sampled Julio’s wonderful food, the other ladies seemed more willing to discuss it now.

  “I can have my chef draw up a menu, if you like,” I offered. “No need to decide right away.”

  “Yes, please do,” said Joan. “And why don’t we reserve a date, just in case? We’ve been looking at the 28th.”

  We discussed a few more details, and I fetched three copies of Kris’s excellent brochure for the ladies to take away. Joan gave me a Rose Guild card in exchange and thanked me warmly. I escorted them all out, and gratefully locked the front door behind them.

  Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was almost half past six. I had an hour to finish up downstairs and change for my date.

  Date. The word made my insides quail. I hadn’t really gone out on a date since before my parents had died.

  I distracted myself with helping Iz and Mick shut the tearoom down for the weekend. Sundays and Mondays we were closed, and I was looking forward more than usual to the time off.