by Leena Clover
“Lately?” I reminded Pappa.
“He was talking of changing it. I think he wanted to provide for the boy.”
“Did he actually say that?”
“He asked me what was better – giving money to an organization and not knowing how it would be used, or giving it to someone you knew who actually needed it.”
It did sound like Charlie was having second thoughts.
“Did he end up changing this will of his?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Meera.”
There was a shout and I turned to see my family walk across, wide smiles lighting their faces.
“We’ll talk later,” I whispered and signaled Pappa to be quiet.
“What a sight, eh?” Dad exclaimed. “You missed it, Meera. It was beautiful. Ask your mother.”
Sally smiled.
I had no intention of asking her anything. I ignored Dad and turned toward the boys.
“Why are you wet?”
“We took a different trail,” Jeet explained. “It climbed down right up to the falls. The water’s too cold to go in though.”
I couldn’t hide my disappointment. Tony was quick to pick up on it.
“Do you want to go down there, Meera?”
“Nah! I’m fine. There’s plenty more to see today.”
“You can drive now, Tony,” Dad said, tossing the keys to him.
“Shotgun!” Jeet cried and jumped into the front seat before I could say anything.
Dad and Sally climbed into the back, and I squeezed in next to Motee Ba.
“Where to?” Tony asked.
“Get onto 503,” Dad directed Tony.
He handed over the map to Jeet.
“It’s just 10 miles to the next stop. Let’s see if you can get us there.”
“El Pocito,” Sally mumbled, crossing herself.
My mouth fell open. What business did Sally have, making the sign of the cross?
Motee Ba took my hand in hers and shook her head. It was code for sucking it up. I took my mind off what was happening in the back seat and started analyzing what Pappa had told me.
Chapter 9
El Santuario De Chimayo was a small adobe church unlike any I had seen before. The earth inside this church is famous for its healing powers. We stared at letters and testimonials displayed in a prayer room, talking about the miracles they had experienced by coming there. Another room had a small well with this earth. Sally packed some of it in a Ziploc bag.
“Having your mother back with us is nothing short of a miracle,” Motee Ba said with tears in her eyes.
We visited some weaving shops and admired the rugs and blankets on offer. I got a bag of the local chilies from a mercantile. We were ready to drive on to our next stop.
The road climbed into the mountains as we left the verdant valley behind. We drove through villages resplendent with Spanish architecture and culture. Mountains lined the horizon, their peaks covered with snow.
“I’m hungry,” Jeet said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Everyone wanted to eat something. Sally passed a bag to Motee Ba.
“What are we doing for lunch?” Pappa asked.
“It’s barely noon,” Dad snorted. “I have big plans for lunch, Pappa. It’s a surprise.”
Motee Ba passed out tamales along with plastic spoons. Sally handed out some fruit. Tony pulled over to the side and we gave some serious attention to the food. We reached the town of Taos and saw the sights. Dad was getting excited. He took the wheel and we headed into a forest.
“Are we going camping?” Jeet asked.
Pappa opened his mouth to protest. At his age, he doesn’t like to rough it.
“No, we’re just having lunch.”
Dad drove a few miles and entered a campground. He drove around until he found the perfect spot. All the shopping from that morning began to make sense. I jumped down and helped Pappa and Motee Ba out of the car. Everyone stretched and yawned. The drive from the last stop had been little more than an hour, but I was glad to be out in the fresh air.
The weather was pleasant, somewhere in the 60s. There was plenty of verdant forest around us. A stream gurgled past the campsite and there was a fire pit and a grill. There was a primitive toilet somewhere in the distance. I would rather do my business in the woods.
“This is the Rio Fernando,” Dad said, reading from the brochure.
“Put that away now,” Pappa ordered. “It’s past my lunch time.”
We cleaned up a big stone bench and Sally and Motee Ba settled down. They began to unload a ton of bags. Dad and the boys wanted to walk around and explore. They looked at me beseechingly.
“You know how to get the grill going, Meera.”
“No problem, Dad!” I waved them off.
I turned around and stared at the bounty on the picnic table. There was a heap of tomatoes, avocados and limes. Sally was peeling garlic. Motee Ba was still pulling out goodies. There was a bottle of seasoning and a jar of green chili sauce. I shook my head and started cleaning the grill.
“Let’s grill some chicken and corn,” Motee Ba suggested, pointing to the stuff. “Any other ideas?”
“We can make a salad with the tomatoes and avocados,” I nodded. “And a chili honey marinade for the corn.”
Sally smiled and began chopping tomatoes. I sprinkled salt and chili on the chicken and borrowed the knife to chop some garlic.
“You said you were supposed to meet Charlie for lunch that day.”
I looked up at Pappa. He was pacing the area, tapping his cane, muttering something about having to go hungry.
“Yes, on Wednesday.”
“Did he want to talk about something?”
“We met for lunch once a month. The first Wednesday was reserved for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Charlie was very particular about his schedule. He had days set aside for doing chores. Wednesday was his day to socialize – meet friends for lunch.”
“So you always met on the first Wednesday of the month?”
“Ever since I’ve known him,” Pappa nodded. “Unless something important came up or one of us was ill.”
Had someone wanted to prevent Charlie from meeting Pappa? My mind was working fast as I cleaned the fire pit and put the coals in. I got the fire going and waited for the grill to heat up. Sally started placing the chicken on the grill. I placed the corn on the other end. I fixed a plate for Pappa as soon as the first piece of chicken was done.
“This is good,” he said, smacking his lips, licking his fingers.
The green chili sauce and honey made the corn pop. We had some salty goat’s cheese from the farmer’s market and I crumbled it on the corn. Cubes of Queso Fresco went into the tomato and avocados.
“What did he do on Tuesday?” I asked Pappa.
“Tuesday was for Sylvie and her meatloaf. He never missed it.”
“What else did he do? He must have done something other than having lunch.”
Pappa didn’t know about that.
“Sylvie or Jon might know,” Motee Ba said. “Maybe Charlie mentioned something while having lunch.”
“He wasn’t one for small talk,” Pappa warned.
I mentally filed it away as one of the questions I had for Sylvie.
Dad and the boys came back hungry and there was a sudden rush for the food. I flipped chicken while eating from my own plate, polishing off every little bite. Sally produced some sopapillas and we doused them with the natural honey from the market. The hungriest tummy was finally full and we grew quiet, taking in the surroundings. Although the place was just off the highway, there was a tranquil atmosphere all around. We were at a high elevation and the sky seemed a bit lower. I felt I could almost touch the fluffy white clouds.
Tony pulled me to my feet to show me a small wooden bridge that spanned the rivulet. Jeet and Dad began clearing up. We drove straight back to Santa Fe after that, although we stopped to take plenty of pictures at scenic spots al
ong the way.
The sun was setting by the time we got back to our hotel. We agreed to meet for dinner at 8. I freshened up and talked Tony into going for a walk near the Plaza. I still hadn’t got a single turquoise ornament and I meant to remedy that.
“Did you manage to talk to Pappa at all?” Tony asked as we set out.
“Charlie didn’t want to talk about Leo’s background. But he wanted to change his will and leave something to Leo.”
Tony’s eyes widened.
“Pappa doesn’t think Charlie was rich though. He got by.”
“Rich or poor is relative, Meera.”
“That’s just what Pappa said. And he said Charlie was a cold fish.”
“So someone might have had a grudge against him.”
“For what, Tony?”
He shrugged.
We wandered around and met the family. Dinner was another round of tasty local food. I couldn’t get enough of the chile rellenos, a large poblano pepper stuffed full of cheese, smothered in an earthy red sauce, served with the ever present beans and rice.
I called Becky from the room. She wanted to know what we had done all day. I finally steered her to the matter at hand.
“So? Did you talk to Charlie’s housekeeper?”
“Her name is Audrey Jones,” Becky supplied. “She came into the diner today for coffee. Sylvie gave her pie on the house.”
I was getting impatient.
“She was shy at first – doesn’t go out much. But she was on a roll once she started talking.”
“Did you ask her the questions like I told you?”
“I couldn’t get a word in,” Becky said. “But she did talk about Charlie.”
I was eager to learn what this housekeeper had to talk about. Becky didn’t need much prompting.
“She’s worked for Charlie for almost 20 years, since his wife passed. Charlie never gave her a compliment. Not even once in all these years. But he paid her on time, and gave her a raise every year.”
“So she didn’t have anything to complain about then.”
“She seemed a bit miffed, I don’t know why. He never sat around talking with her it seems. Just said what was necessary and that was it. She has a bad knee. I guess he didn’t pay attention when she talked about her aches and pains.”
“What did she do for him, exactly?”
“Cleaned the house, did laundry and cooked.”
“So she went there every day?”
“Twice a day every day with not a single day off. She got half a day off on Christmas and Thanksgiving but she had to cook his meal first.”
“Sounds like a tyrant alright.”
“Could’ve been worse,” Becky said philosophically. “Sylvie said Audrey’s not that great a worker. She barely does her job and she’s a bad cook.”
“Did Charlie say that?”
“I don’t think so. Sylvie just knows.”
Sylvie is firmly tuned into the Swan Creek grapevine. If you want to get the skinny on someone, she’s your guy.
“Why did Charlie Gibson keep her on then?”
“I don’t know that, Meera,” Becky yawned, sounding bored.
“You don’t think they …”
I paused, but Becky got the idea.
“Ewww, no, I don’t think so. And she’s married.”
“When has that ever stopped anyone from straying?”
“You’re going off track, Meera.”
“What else did she say? Anything about what Charlie was doing that day?”
“Charlie always came to the diner on Tuesdays. So she didn’t make lunch that day. And dinner was light, just a sandwich.”
“What about Leo? Did he also come to the diner every Tuesday?”
“I don’t remember seeing him.”
“So what did Leo do when Charlie went out for lunch?” I remembered he went out for lunch on Wednesdays too.
“Ate leftovers?” Becky asked. “You’ll have to ask him about it.”
Did Leo care what he ate for lunch? I doubt he had the money to buy himself a burger.
“Did she make their dinner that last Tuesday? When did she leave? Ask her anything you can about what Charlie did that day.”
“She’s coming here tomorrow. I’ll try to talk to her.”
Tony and I discussed what Becky had said.
“I remember Mom wanted some help with the house. She talked to this woman, I think.”
I made Tony call Aunt Reema right then. We needed to catch up with her anyway.
“You don’t know what you’re missing!” I exclaimed. “The food here is just amazing. And the view changes every hour.”
Tony finally got around to asking her about Audrey Jones.
“Oh yeah! She comes around once a week. Helps me with some dusting. Not that good at her job, though. She charges by the hour and watches TV most of the time.”
“Why do you keep her on then?” Tony asked his mother.
“I just haven’t got around to finding someone else.”
We chatted with Aunt Reema some more and hung up.
“So Audrey Jones likes to talk, and she’s lazy. And she’s a bad cook.”
“None of that is a crime,” Tony observed.
“No, it isn’t,” I agreed.
“Want to call Stan?” Tony asked.
“I’m too tired. He’ll call if anything changes.”
I wrote something down on the notepad.
“Did you make any progress today?” Tony asked.
“I’m still finding pieces of the puzzle. There’s a lot to do before I start piecing it together.”
Chapter 10
We woke up without much fuss the next morning. It was a travel day and I was looking forward to napping in the car. Dad had other plans.
“You climb about 4000 feet in just 15 minutes,” he was telling Motee Ba enthusiastically.
“I’m not getting into any death trap,” Pappa declared. “I’m getting tired of this walking around.”
“I will stay back with you,” Motee Ba assured him.
“Isn’t this our day on the road?” I asked Dad.
“It is, Meera. But we’re passing through Albuquerque. Your mother says …”
He turned to Sally and patted her on the shoulder.
“Tell them!”
Sally looked at us and smiled.
“The Sandia Mountains are beautiful. You’ll love the cable car.”
“I thought you can see these Sandia Mountains from anywhere in the city,” Jeet said, reading some brochure.
“We are going to the top,” Dad cried, “almost 2 miles high.”
We were having breakfast at a small café in Santa Fe. Dad had taken the initiative and ordered breakfast burritos for everyone. They came loaded with eggs, potatoes, cheese and beans, smothered in a green chili sauce with more cheese on top.
Everyone got in and Sally took the wheel. Dad urged me to ride shotgun with her. I found out why soon enough as a bunch of snores filled the car. Sally was her usual quiet self and I wasn’t feeling too kindly toward her. I had no idea why. We made good time and entered Albuquerque within an hour. It was the morning rush hour and an eight lane road yawned ahead of us. Cars whizzed past, passing each other with barely enough room.
I sucked in a breath. I felt like a country bumpkin.
Sally maneuvered the car skillfully without batting an eyelid.
“Your mother’s used to the traffic here,” Dad said, as if answering a question. “She comes here a lot.”
“Why do you come here?” I asked Sally suspiciously.
She gave a brief smile without taking her eyes off the road.
“Your mother lived in this area before moving to California,” Dad informed me. “She knows people in the area.”
“We’re not going to meet any people, are we?” I said in disgust.
“Not this time,” Dad said.
Sally gave me one more smile. This one probably meant ‘Don’t worry.’ She hardly ever says
anything but there is a pattern to her smiles. I was developing an uncanny ability of translating her smiles into words.
“Where are we?” Pappa asked hoarsely.
He had just woken up from a deep sleep.
“Are those the Sandia mountains, Mom?” Jeet asked, pointing to a mountain range lining the horizon.
Sally smiled at him in the rearview mirror and nodded. We pulled up in a parking lot and got in line to get the tickets.
“Maybe I should wait with Pappa,” I said.
“No need,” Dad said firmly. “Ba’s keeping him company. You missed the waterfalls yesterday.”
In the end, I was glad I got into the cable car. It whisked us up and we slowly progressed to the top of the mountain. The view expanded as we rose higher and soon we were staring down at the treetops. I zipped up my jacket as we got off the car at the top. There was a café and some people were heading off toward the ski slopes. Plenty of snow lined the mountain side. We laughed with sheer pleasure and took pictures.
Dad made me take a picture of him and Sally standing below the elevation sign. I had to comply.
We took the car down and walked toward Pappa and Motee Ba. Pappa was impatient, tapping his cane and grumbling.
“There’s a fabulous walking trail that goes through the center of town…” Dad began.
“Enough!” Pappa roared. “We are getting back on the road now.”
Sally put a hand on Dad’s arm.
“Okay, okay. How about we pack some lunch? That way, we can just eat on the way without stopping anywhere.”
“Now you’re talking sense,” Pappa said, struggling to his feet.
Dad and Tony went into a burger place to order lunch. Luckily there was a crafts store next to the burger place. I went in and got some supplies. I had an idea about how I was going to use them.
I stashed the bags under a seat before Dad could see them.
“Charlie Gibson never came to our house, did he?” I asked Motee Ba.
Most of Pappa’s friends come over for tea or a meal quite often. Then there is the annual Diwali party we throw. Almost everyone we know is invited.
“We sent him an invite every time we had a party. He never showed up.”
Charlie Gibson was eccentric alright. I was beginning to wonder how many people he had unknowingly hurt by his behavior.
