A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn (11 page)

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.

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.”