At ten to seven I waved goodbye to Iz and Mick from the back door and hurried upstairs to get ready. Stripping off my Victorian dress, I hunted through my wardrobe for something less lacy.
Most of my dresses were for the tearoom, but I had a few others: a sober navy day dress, which I’d be needing on Monday; a couple of cocktail dresses; a couple of sun dresses; and a clingy, full-skirted dress of deep violet that was fun for dancing. It wasn’t the sexiest dress I owned—that was probably the black strapless cocktail dress—but it was sexy enough. I didn’t want Tony to think I was desperate, after all.
I showered and dressed, and decided to wear my hair down, just caught back in a purple velvet hairband that matched my dress. I cast an anxious glance in my bedroom mirror, tugged at the dress to straighten it, and wondered if I should wear the cocktail dress after all.
“No, that way lies madness.”
I stepped firmly away from the mirror and picked up my purse. I was ready with five minutes to spare, so I went downstairs and out onto the front portal to watch for Tony.
Evening sunlight was slanting in from the west. I pulled a wicker chair into the shade of one of the wisteria vines and sat enjoying the chance to relax. A slight breeze stirred the leaves and brought the scent of roses up onto the portal.
I had plans for serving out here, eventually, but I would need to build up to it. More tables and chairs, more linens and china, and more staff would be necessary, and right now I just couldn’t swing it. Maybe next year.
I mused about the Rose Guild’s event. I could rent extra furniture for that. Five or six small tables would probably fit on the portal. The Guild's reception would be the largest event I had ever hosted, not counting my opening reception, if they did decide to have it here.
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a motorcycle. I glanced up, then remembered Tony had said we wouldn’t be riding. I hoped he hadn’t changed his mind, because the violet dress was not at all suited for a bike.
The motorcycle was a hot red number ridden by a cholo kid with a headband. No helmet of course. Shades and a muscle shirt. He roared on up the street and I watched him out of sight, wondering if Tony had been like that when he was younger.
The “chunk” of a car door drew my attention to the front gate, and I saw Tony standing by a dark green sedan parked at the curb. I jumped up, then made myself take a long breath and let it out before strolling down the path to the gate.
Tony watched me, grinning. His eyes were hidden by his usual cop shades, but nothing else was usual. He wore a long-sleeved burgundy shirt that looked like silk, with just a slight flare above the cuffs, and an actual necktie of dark silver brocade. Gray slacks, a matching coat lying on the back seat of the sedan, and polished black shoes. He looked classy.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said, opening the gate for me, and my heart jittered in my chest.
“I bet you say that to all the tearoom owners,” I said to hide my nervousness.
Tony opened the sedan’s passenger door. “All the gorgeous ones.”
I slid into the seat and collected my skirt. Tony closed the door, then went around and jumped into the driver’s seat.
“Nice car.”
“It’s my mother’s.”
“Oh. Nice of her to lend it to you.”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”
He looked across at me and grimaced slightly. “It talks.”
I chuckled. “You can turn that off, I think.”
“My mom likes it.” He put the key in the ignition and started the engine.
“Please fasten your seat belt,” said the car.
“Oh!” I said. “Sorry.”
I hastily buckled my belt. Tony grimaced again, and pulled into traffic.
He drove around to the south side of downtown, then turned onto the Old Santa Fe Trail. Southeast, heading out of town, away from most of the restaurants, but there were a few out that way. I didn’t try to guess where he was taking me. It was nice just to enjoy the ride and the evening.
Outside of town Tony pulled into the lot of the Steaksmith, a restaurant that had once been in town but had moved to the outskirts of Santa Fe decades ago. He parked and helped me out of the car as the sun was starting to set. I looked around at the piñon-studded hillsides and smiled.
“I haven’t been here in ages.”
“It’s still good,” Tony said, shrugging into his jacket.
“Glad to hear it.” I smiled and slid my hand into the elbow he offered, and strolled with him up to the door.
The maître d’ whisked us to a table in the front dining room. Tony accepted the wine list without hesitation and chose a bottle of very nice cabernet. We both ordered steaks, and I asked for a side of sauteed mushrooms, a dish I remembered fondly. The waiter brought wine and water and tactfully disappeared.
“So,” Tony said, picking up his glass. “Here’s to the real weekend.”
I smiled and met the toast, then tasted the wine. “Good choice.”
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t know you knew wines.”
“I’ve picked up a little here and there. I’m no expert.”
“No one’s a complete expert.”
He smiled. Without the shades the tough cop look was gone. I was curious whether he’d interviewed any more of the Garcia family, but it was so nice to see him looking relaxed that I didn’t want to remind him of work.
“So, your mom drives a talking car. What else does she do?”
“She’s a hairdresser. Works at a salon at one of the malls.”
“Oh. I wondered if maybe she was retired.”
“Not yet.”
What I was really wondering was why Tony didn’t own his own car. I’d suspected it might be because he was supporting a family member, but apparently it wasn’t his mother.
I remembered him mentioning that his grandmother lived in an inexpensive (he’d called it crummy) apartment, and that his sister took care of her. Maybe he was subsidizing the grandmother.
I sipped my wine. “You have a sister, right? Any other siblings?”
“Two sisters. One’s married, the other’s in college. Older brother in the army.”
“Ah.”
College could cost a bundle, probably more than a hairdresser could afford. I was willing to bet that Tony was putting his sister through school, and supporting his grandmother.
“How about you?” he asked after a minute.
“I have a brother. He lives in New York.”
“That’s it?”
“Well, you’ve met my Aunt Natasha. My parents are dead.”
I don’t know why I said that so abruptly. Tony probably already knew it, but I couldn’t remember if we’d talked about my folks.
“Sounds kind of lonely,” he said.
I shrugged. “Sometimes. I have friends, though. And the tearoom keeps me busy.”
“Going okay so far, is it?”
“So far, yes. I could stand not to have any more customers dying in the place.”
Tony guffawed, and I chuckled too. It was ridiculous, after all. I’d been open for two months, and had two ladies fetch up dead in that time.
Our salads arrived. I said “yes” to fresh ground pepper, and we both sat stock still while the waiter wielded a yard-long pepper mill, only relaxing when he went away.
Tony picked up his fork and poked at his salad. “So, would you, um.” He cleared his throat. “Would you like to go to a movie some time?”
He wasn't looking at me. Nerves?
“That sounds nice. I don't get to the movies very often these days. I don't even know what's showing.”
“I picked up a paper. It's in the car.”
“Good thinking,” I said, taking note that his movie invitation was premeditated.
“There's one called Pretty in Mink.”
“Sounds like a girl movie. Aren't you more an action-adventure kind of guy?”
He shrugg
ed and picked up his wine glass. “I get enough of that at work.”
“I thought police work was ninety-nine percent boredom—”
“Yeah, but the one percent sheer terror more than makes up for it.”
I watched him stab at his salad. “So that saying is true?”
He glanced up at me. “Pretty much.”
“Sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up over dinner.”
He mentioned a couple of other movies that were current. I hadn't heard of either of them; the tearoom had been the center of my life for the past year.
We managed to get halfway through our steaks before talking about police work again. Tony glanced up at me as he was cutting a bite of meat.
“I talked to Uncle Matt after I left your place.”
“Matt Garcia?”
“Yeah. Seems okay. Upset about his mom dying, but also relieved, and feeling guilty for being relieved. All normal stuff.”
“Did you meet the girlfriend?”
“Yeah, I talked to them both at their condo. He’s a lawyer. She runs a gallery.”
I raised my eyebrows. Money. Big money, probably. Law school was not cheap. Having a rich and powerful matriarch could be a huge advantage for an Hispanic guy trying to get ahead in the world. I wondered for an instant what Tony’s life would be like if he’d had one.
“Maria pay for the gallery?” I asked.
“Oh, not even! Maria wouldn’t have anything to do with Sherry Anderson. It sounds like she actually hated her.”
“That could be very awkward if Uncle Matt owed Mom money.”
“He didn’t. He insisted on paying her back for putting him through school, even though she didn’t want the money. He didn’t want to owe her anything, and he makes a good living as a lawyer.”
“So he wouldn’t have a desperate need for whatever he might inherit,” I said.
“Nope. But now he and Sherry can get married.”
12
I sat up, surprised. “Are they? Getting married?”
Tony picked up his wineglass. “Yeah. Mama Maria was totally against it, which is the only reason they didn’t do it before. Now they can.”
I watched him drink, wondering if he’d meant it as a toast. Wondering if he was comparing Matt and Sherry’s situation to ours, as I was. What would Tony’s family say if he decided to marry a white girl?
“Does the rest of the family support them?” I asked.
He hunched a shoulder. “Some more than others. It doesn’t matter. Maria was the authority figure, and now she’s gone. Nobody else in the family has power over Matt like she did. And she did, even without the money.”
I frowned. “You don’t think—”
“I’m just collecting information. I’ll do the thinking later.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re always thinking.”
He glanced up at me sharply, then broke into a slow grin. “You’re right. But I can’t talk about my speculations.”
Wouldn’t talk about them, more like. I ate a mushroom and washed it down with the last of my wine. Tony picked up the bottle and offered to refill my glass.
“Half,” I said. “Well, if you can’t talk about your speculations, I’ll talk about mine. Did you know that Maria Garcia was a member of the Rose Guild?”
Tony topped off his own wine. “I think that’s in my notes somewhere.”
“I met three of their members today. It sounds to me like Maria made some waves.”
Tony looked intrigued. “Politics?”
“That might be too strong a word. Certainly some interesting group dynamics.”
“Hm. I’ll have to check into it.”
“Or I could.”
Tony frowned. “No amateur detective stuff, please.”
“No, just gossip-mongering. I’m curious. You can’t tell me not to follow it up.”
“No, I can’t, but don’t muddy the waters, okay?”
“What waters? It’s the Rose Guild. It was a hobby. Even if there were nasty politics going on, I doubt any of them would kill over it.”
He nodded. “You’re probably right, but I’d still like you to steer clear of them.”
“Well, I can’t. I’m negotiating to host an event for them.”
I drank some more wine. It was making me a little reckless, maybe. I was enjoying teasing Tony.
“By the way,” I added, “the Guild’s president mentioned that Maria Garcia promised them a bequest.”
Tony’s frown deepened. “Big one?”
“I haven’t the foggiest. You mean you haven’t got hold of a copy of her will?”
“Not yet, but I will.”
“I’d be curious to know who else got bequests.”
“I can tell you that without looking. The church got the biggest chunk, her pet charity the next biggest, and the rest got divvied between family and friends and a few other bequests like this rose club. That’s just the cash—the restaurants go to the family.”
“According to Matt?”
Tony nodded. “He drew up the will.”
“Think he might have slipped something in?”
“No. He’s an honorable guy.”
I gazed at Tony over my wine. “I like honorable guys,” I said softly.
He gazed back at me, speculation in those Spanish eyes and the slight frown melting into a smile. I smiled back. The wine and the excellent dinner had made me mellow. Mellow and dangerously receptive.
The waiter came to clear our plates and left a dessert menu. Tony glanced at it, then offered it to me.
“Want dessert?”
I shook my head. “I’m around sweets all day. Go ahead if you want something.”
“How about just coffee?”
“Sure.”
He ordered for us and I sat back, sipping the last of my wine. A waiter had raised the shades on the windows across the room after the sun was down. It was dark outside now. I wondered how late it was, then decided I didn’t want to know. I was enjoying the evening and didn’t want it to end.
I felt Tony's his gaze on me and turned my head to meet it. Soft, dark eyes.
“When’d you graduate high school?” he asked.
“Oh-five. Why?”
“Who’d you go to prom with?”
“I didn’t go to prom.”
“Why not?”
I finished my wine and set down the empty glass. “No one asked me.”
“Get out of here!”
“It’s true. I was one of those introverted, nerdy types.”
“Yeah, but...” He shook his head in amazement. “You didn’t even get one invitation?”
“Nope. Who’d you go with?”
“Sylvia Montoya.”
“She was a cheerleader, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah. How’d you know? I thought you went to Santa Fe High.”
I fiddled with my empty wineglass, turning it around by the stem. The conversation was making me slightly uncomfortable.
“Marching band,” I said. “Went to a lot of football games.”
Tony laughed. “You’re kidding me!”
“Nope.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“I’ll show you my yearbook if you insist. Why’s it so hard to believe?”
“I just can’t picture you in a band uniform.”
I laughed. Coffee arrived, and I stirred some cream into mine. When I looked up Tony was watching me with those soft eyes again.
“Why did you ask about prom?” I said.
“I was trying to figure out if I’d ever met you in high school.”
“Oh. I don’t think so.”
“Yeah. I think I would have remembered.”
I took a sip of coffee, feeling shy all of a sudden. Maybe it was thinking about high school days, a time of painful vulnerability.
“Did you play football in high school?” I asked.
“Nah. Basketball. And baseball my sophomore year, but I wasn’t that great at it.”
“Bet you
looked great in the uniform, though.”
He looked at me, then broke into suppressed laughter. “Better than you in a band uniform!”
“Pig.”
I threw a sugar packet at him. He laughed harder.
I tried to frown at him, not very successfully. “That’s the last time I’ll try to pay you a compliment.”
“Oh, I hope not.” He subsided, still grinning.
I looked away, pretending to be more offended than I was. Tony saw right through it, but he humored me. I guess when you’re a cop you learn to pick up on people’s moods.
We finished our coffee, declined refills, and left after Tony paid the bill. Outside, the night air was delicious—just cool enough to be energizing on top of a big meal. I took a deep breath, savoring the smell of piñon on the summer air, gazing up at the stars.
“Want to go someplace else, or should I take you home?” Tony said.
“Mm.” I rubbed my belly. “Too full for dancing.”
“We could go somewhere for a drink. I still owe you a margarita.”
“No, you owe you a margarita. Mine was just fine, thanks. Oh, damn!” My cell phone was ringing in my purse. “Sorry, I forgot to turn it off.”
Tony grinned. “Mine’s turned off.”
“Well, sorry.”
I fished out the phone and looked at the caller ID. It read “SFPD.” I frowned.
“That can’t be right.” I flipped the phone open. “Hello?”
“Hi, Ellen? It’s Kris.”
“Kris?” I glanced at Tony. “What’s up?”
“Um, I’m really sorry to bother you but I was wondering if you could maybe help me out.” Her voice sounded nervous. “I don’t have anyone else to call. My folks live in Milwaukee, and we’re not exactly on friendly terms anyway—”
I felt slightly impatient at the inopportune timing of the call, but Kris had done so much for me that I didn’t hesitate. “I’d be happy to help you if I can,” I said. “What’s the matter? Where are you?”
“I’m down at the city police station. I need you to come bail me out.”
13
“Bail you out?! Kris, what happened?” I glanced at Tony but he had walked away a couple of steps and stood looking out at the city lights.
A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn Page 8
