“There’s sodas in the ice chests,” Estella said, indicating two coolers underneath the table.
“This looks good,” I said, reaching for a cup and the ladle in the punch bowl.
Estella drained her beer and took a fresh one from the tub. “Man, I’m glad this is almost over.”
I couldn’t quite conjure a response, so I just smiled and stepped out into the yard again. Estella came with me, and we strolled over to the roses together.
“Such a beautiful garden,” I said. “Maria must have planted these.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Estella. “And guess who got to take care of them when she was too busy with the restaurant?”
“You don’t like gardening?”
She shrugged. “When I was a kid I resented it, you know? Didn’t like roses because I had to prune the damn things all the time.”
“They do need a lot of attention.”
“She paid more attention to these bushes than she ever paid to us.”
Estella took a long drag of her cigarette, almost down to the filter, then dropped it and ground it into the lawn with her heel. A tiny wisp of smoke rose up from it. I stared at it, wondering how to answer her bitterness.
“You got kids?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I’m not married,” I said automatically, though these days it wasn’t necessarily a requirement.
“Well, take my advice, and don’t ever get married,” Estella said.
I met her gaze. “I heard you were divorced.”
“Yeah. Dumbest thing I ever did, marrying that asshole.” She looked away, gazing distantly in the direction of the roses, and took a long pull at her beer. “Cost me a lot to get rid of him, but I had to. Bastard would have killed me some day.”
“He abused you?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve still got the scars.”
More than one kind, I thought. No wonder Estella seemed angry at the world.
“Were you married young?” I asked.
“Seventeen. Huge mistake. Mama tried to tell me, but you know, when you’re seventeen and horny you don’t listen.”
She took another drink, then rubbed her hand along her hip as if looking for a pocket that wasn’t there. “I hated that Mama was right. And then when I finally went to her and told her I knew she was right and I was getting out, she said she’d disown me if I got divorced.”
“She couldn’t have been serious.”
Estella laughed, a bitter laugh that tossed her head back like the recoil from a gun. “Oh, she was serious all right. She was always big on following the rules. Said I’d made my bed and I had to lie in it. Fuck that, I said. If I had to choose between her money and staying the fuck alive, it was a no-brainer. I think that was the first time I ever cussed in front of her.”
Estella looked vaguely around the yard, then drank some more beer. She’d almost emptied the bottle. I tried to think of something comforting to say, and failed.
“I didn’t care about the money,” she said in a softer voice. “It was her acting like I was some irretrievable sinner that pissed me off. Just for getting a fucking divorce. Well, I’m glad I did it. I’m glad I stood up to her, somebody had to. She cared more about fucking church doctrine than she did about her own kids.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Pardon me, but you don’t know shit about this family.”
Estella finished her beer in one swig and threw the bottle at a rosebush a few feet away. It knocked a shower of petals loose, then slid to the ground.
I took a careful breath. “You’re right, of course. It must be hard for you to go through all this—” I waved my hand toward the house and the other people “—feeling as you do about her.”
She laughed again, not quite as harshly this time. “Funny thing is, I still liked the bitch. Didn’t see much of her, though. Never got the chance to....”
She took a sharp breath, then coughed. “I need a cigarette. You smoke?”
I shook my head. “Sorry.”
“Where the fuck did I leave my purse?” she muttered, looking toward the house. She glanced at me sidelong. “‘Scuse me.”
I nodded and watched her stalk away. I felt a strange mix of admiration and pity for her. She had shown courage, standing up to Maria. She’d lost her mother’s support, which I could only imagine was devastating, and now she’d never have a chance to reconcile.
She was angry, and violent enough to throw a beer bottle at an innocent rosebush. I believed she had the nerve to be a killer, and certainly she had motivation. But I couldn’t picture Estella planning a subtle poisoning, and having the patience to wait through its development. She wasn’t one to hide her feelings. If she’d wanted to kill Maria I would have expected her to be direct about it, and to crow afterward.
There was also the issue of where the botulism came from. I realized I didn’t know where Estella worked. A hospital? Or a research lab? Those were about the only places I could think of where she might possibly have access to a source of botulism.
I finished my punch and stepped over to the rosebush to retrieve Estella’s beer bottle, then returned to the portal. I threw the bottle away and filled my cup, this time with white wine.
“I saw you talking with Estella,” said a man’s voice beside me. I looked up into Rick Garcia’s concerned eyes. “I hope she didn’t offend you.”
I smiled slightly. “No, though I think she might have been trying.”
He shook his head. “She’s having a tough time.”
I moved away from the drinks table to make room for a couple of teenage girls who crouched to get at the ice chests. I stepped out onto the lawn with Rick.
“Forgive me for asking,” I said, “but was Estella actually disinherited?”
“She told you about that? Yes, Mama cut her out of the will. Matt tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t budge. We both kept trying to get her to change it back. Now it’s too late.”
“It must be awkward for all of you.”
“Only because Stella’s being as stubborn as Mama ever was.” He smiled wryly. “We want to give her a share of our inheritance, to make up for it, you know. We’re all agreed, but Stella says she won’t take it.”
“She won’t?”
“No. She’s too damn proud and stubborn. Says she doesn’t want any of Mama’s money.”
“Couldn’t she use it?”
“She works in a department store, and I guess she makes enough. She’d be more comfortable if she took it, she could buy a house instead of living in an apartment, but....” Rick shrugged. “Just like Mama. Once she takes a stand there’s no moving her.”
“Well, I think it’s fine of you all to offer her a share of your inheritance. She must appreciate the gesture, even if she doesn’t say so.”
He sighed. “Stella’s a little loco, but we love her. Sorry you got treated to one of her tantrums.”
I waved a hand in dismissal. “People are emotional when they’re grieving, and she’s grieving whether she admits it or not.”
Rick nodded, and I got the sense he was uncomfortable talking about his family’s personal affairs. I clicked into Miss Manners mode and sought an innocuous subject.
“Your home is beautiful, by the way, and so is this garden. I love the roses.”
“Thanks. Mama’s roses. Rosa and Ramon take care of them now. Well, mostly Rosa, these days.”
“Ramon’s in college, right?”
“Yeah. Studying computer science. He’s going to be another genius, like Matt.”
“Your whole family is brilliant, from what I’ve seen.”
He glanced at me. “Thanks, but Matt’s really the smart one. He’s the one with the sheepskin. Mama loved talking about her son the lawyer.”
I looked at his face, wondering if I’d heard a trace of bitterness in his voice. Younger son makes good while the eldest is running the family business. A cause of friction, perhaps.
“I understand Matt’s engaged,” I sai
d.
“Yeah, finally. Step up from living in sin. I never could figure out why Mama preferred that to his marrying Sherry.”
“Sounds like she was pretty conservative.”
“Very conservative, yeah. She always wore a hat to church. Never ate meat on Fridays. She thought Vatican II was a cop-out.”
I stifled a laugh. “Oh, dear.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t bore you with this stuff.”
“No, no, I’m interested. The more I learn about Maria the more I wish I’d had the chance to know her.”
He gazed at me, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “She would have liked you, I think.”
“Thank you. I know I liked her.”
“Thanks.” His brow creased in a sudden frown and I thought for a moment he was going to lose his composure, but he coughed and seemed to collect himself. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for everything you did, you know, that day. The day Mama died.”
“I only did what anyone would do.”
“Well, it must have been disruptive for your business.”
“Not as much as it might have been.”
“This is going to sound weird, but...” He gave an odd, sheepish smile. “I’m glad she died in a beautiful place. She probably died happy, sitting there being waited on like a queen. That was just the kind of thing she loved.”
I smiled back. “If we made her last hour a happy one, then I’m glad too.”
He nodded, then glanced toward the portal. “Well, I’d better circulate. Can I get you anything? Some more wine?”
I looked at my glass, still half full. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“There’s some food in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank you for coming.”
We shook hands and he went away to join a group on the portal. The offer of food had reminded me that my lunch had been on the light side. Better have something more since I was drinking, I decided. I went into the house and worked my way through the crowded living room toward the kitchen.
A long, narrow room heavily decorated with Mexican tile, the kitchen was equally crowded. I recognized Sherry in one corner, talking with an Hispanic woman about the same age. Working my way to the counter where the food was laid out, I inadvertently bumped into a young man in a dark suit.
He turned even as I excused myself, and the look of surprise on his face rang a memory like a bell in my mind. He was one of the kids who’d been out in my lilacs last night.
He was Ramon.
22
“Now I remember you,” I said, smiling cheerfully.
Ramon’s eyes went wider and flicked to either side. Checking for his parents, no doubt.
I picked up a paper napkin and took an empanada from a tray on the counter. “Could we talk? Somewhere a little less crowded, perhaps?”
He swallowed, then jerked his head for me to follow him. We left the kitchen and he led me out of the house by the front door. The front yard was almost as pretty as the back, with shady trees and a well-kept lawn. A breeze rustled the leaves of the tall cottonwoods, making a sound like a running stream. I ate the empanada as I strolled toward a cluster of rosebushes at the side of the yard. Ramon followed.
“What do you want?” he said in a surly, defiant voice when we were well away from the front door.
“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. You’ve been in my garden for three nights running, you must be looking for something.”
“We’re just having fun. We’re not hurting anything.”
“I beg to differ. I don’t like finding roaches under my lilacs.”
He frowned. “You going to tell my parents?”
“I suppose I should. You haven’t answered my question. What are you looking for on my property?”
He glanced away and gave an impatient sigh. “Rosa said there was a ghost.”
“Ah. I thought that might be it. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but he doesn’t much care for intruders.”
“Who, the ghost?” Ramon laughed. “What’s he going to do, run us off?”
“No, but he’s not likely to gratify you with any tricks, either.”
He stared. “You’re serious!”
“Of course.” I took a sip of wine. “I gather you were not. Was the ghost just an excuse to party and dabble in trespassing, then? You’d better find another place for that.”
“The girls really want to see a ghost. They’re into it, you know? So I figured why not.”
“Did it occur to you to ask?”
He stared at me, stubborn, defiant. I sighed.
“No, of course it didn’t. Where’s the fun in actually getting permission to visit a haunted house?”
“Rosa said a lady was killed there a couple of months ago, too.”
“Yes. It’s an old house. Quite a few people have died in it.”
He glanced sharply at me, and I wondered if part of his fascination for the house had to do with Maria. He was plainly a bright kid, too bright to be trespassing just for the hell of it.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” I asked.
He looked away, frowning. “I don’t know.”
“If you could see your grandmother again, what would you say to her?”
He didn’t answer at once, just stared at nothing, looking lost. At last he shrugged.
“That I miss her, I guess. That I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“She didn’t like the Goth stuff. I knew that, and kind of threw it in her face. She thought it was blasphemous, you know?”
“What do you think?”
“It’s just a game.” He was frowning.
“Look,” I said gently, “I can’t have you and your friends partying in my yard. Bad for me, bad for you. If I let you all come and look at the dining parlor, then will you leave me alone?”
Ramon looked surprised. “You’d do that?”
“Yes, I would.”
His face lit with enthusiasm. “Could we have a seance? The girls would get off on that!”
I tried not to make a face. “I’d rather you didn’t. I’m sure Captain Dusenberry wouldn’t like it. He likes his privacy, I think.”
“Oh.” He looked crestfallen, and for a moment, much younger.
“I know a woman who does ghost tours,” I said. “She might be willing to talk to you and your friends about all the various ghosts in town.”
Ramon gave a one-shouldered shrug. “That might be cool.”
“Why don’t we plan on Sunday evening? I’ll talk to Willow and see if she’ll come over.”
“OK. I’ll talk to my friends.”
“And in the meantime, no trespassing?”
“Yeah, OK.” He nodded, and I thought I detected a hint of relief in his face. “You think he’ll show up? The ghost, I mean.”
“Well, if you mean will you be able to see him, probably not. The most he does is turn on the lights and the stereo, and sometimes jiggle the crystals on the chandelier.”
“That’s it? Man, that’s a boring ghost.”
“I’m afraid so,” I said, smothering an inclination to laugh. “Maybe you should look for a more interesting one.”
“Yeah. Well, we might as well do this,” he said hastily, as if worried that I would renege. “Then the girls will shut up about it.”
I nodded. “After dark would be preferable, I assume. Shall we say nine o’clock on Sunday?”
“OK.” He gazed at me, and his dark eyes reminded me a little of Tony’s. “Thanks. This is nice of you.”
“I’m a nice person.”
“Rosa said you were.” He gave me a rueful grin. “Sorry we’ve been bothering you. I didn’t know you lived in the building.”
“Rosa didn’t mention it?”
“No. We kind of figured it out after last night.”
Took long enough, I thought, though I kept it to myself. I sipped my wine, which was almost gone by now.
“Even if I didn’t live
there, I wouldn’t want you partying on my property after hours.”
His face closed down a bit, and I knew any further admonishments would fall on deaf ears. I took a business card out of my purse.
“Call me to confirm Sunday night, in a day or two after I’ve had a chance to contact Willow.”
“OK.”
“There you are!” called a voice from the house.
We both turned to see Lydia coming toward us across the grass. I glanced at Ramon, who had gone pale.
“Please don’t say anything,” he whispered.
I had no time to answer before Lydia joined us. “Your uncle is looking for you,” she said, then noticed my card in Ramon’s hand. “What’s that?”
“We were just chatting,” I said, which was absolutely true. “I enjoyed Ramon’s music so much, I thought I might ask if he’d come and play at the tearoom some time.”
Ramon shot me a grateful look, then nodded as he handed his mother my card. “I think I could do that.”
Lydia glanced at the card, then at me. If she was wondering whether I might be interested in her son, she apparently dismissed the idea at once. She gave the card back to Ramon.
“Well, I’m sorry to interrupt, but Uncle Matt needs to leave and he wants to talk to you first.”
Ramon nodded and glanced at me as he pocketed my card. “Excuse me,” he said, and turned toward the house.
Lydia stayed behind, giving me a long, appraising look. “It’s nice of you to ask him to play.”
“He’s very talented,” I said.
“It would be good for him to get into a more adult environment. The kids he runs with....” She shook her head. “I hoped college would take his mind off them, but the minute he came home he was right back with them.”
“Have you talked with them? Maybe they’re not so bad.”
She gave a huff of sarcastic laughter. “They’re Goths.”
“My office manager’s a Goth. She’s very—intelligent.” I had been about to say responsible, which was true except for the recent lapse regarding the absinthe party.
“Really? You trust one of them to work for you?”
I met her gaze, surprised at the tone of disdain in her voice. One of them. Echoes of prejudice.
A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn Page 15
