Fiesta Moon (17 page)

“Before we return to the past,” Don Rafael said, “here is a business card of a contractor who has done work for our city before. Perhaps this will help you.” He handed Mark the card as he rose from the table. “
Perdoname
,
Tía
Violeta, but I have important business in the morning.”

Diego jumped on the departure wagon as well. “And I have buyers coming from Cancún to see my latest creations.”

Undaunted, Doña Violeta raised her hand. “Gaspar, Don Rafael and Diego must leave us without dessert. See that they have cake to take with them.”

Diego started to object. “That isn't necessary.”

“I insist. You do not eat well without a woman to cook for you.” She reached for her grandnephew's trim waist and tugged at his belt. “Look at you. A mountain breeze will blow you over.”

Diego hugged his aunt. “That is why I always come here when a mountain breeze is predicted.” He rubbed his flat stomach.
“Ahora,
the worst storm could not blow me away, thanks to you.”

“If the señora will be so kind to excuse me as well,” Dr. Krump announced, “I also must hurry to leave. But no dessert for me, please.” He patted his belly and laughed. “I am ample safe from the breeze, no?”

Doña Violeta put her napkin aside to rise and see her guests out, but Dr. Krump stayed her with a raised hand. “Please to not leave your guests. I know well my way to home, but—” He turned to Corinne, his expression grazed by second thoughts. “But I hurry, only unless . . . Corina is walking to our lodge?” Before she could reply, he tapped a finger to his temple. “Silly me. So you said that you have already moved.”

“But thank you for your thought, Dr. Krump,” Corinne told him. “Have a pleasant walk.” It was hard to smile, for her initial pity had turned to discomfort. How could the man think that she'd be interested in someone twice her age?

At that moment, the efficient Gaspar returned from the kitchen with the dessert—three plates of caramel-drizzled vanilla ice cream and Mexican pound cake and two wrapped packages for Don Rafael and his son.

“Thank you, Gaspar,” Don Rafael said, accepting his cake to go. “We will see ourselves and Dr. Krump out.” After giving his elderly aunt a peck on the cheek, he turned to Mark and Corinne with a stiff bow. “Señor
y
Señorita
, buenas noches
. May you sleep the sleep of the angels.”

Mark, who'd risen and waited politely while the parting amenities were exchanged, shook hands with the three men as they took their leave. “Thank you for the business card, Don Rafael. I'll call first thing tomorrow. Diego, good to see you again. Dr. Krump, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

As soon as the men left the room, Doña Violeta tapped the fine china plate with her fork. “And now we must eat quickly, before our ice cream melts.” Her eyes sparkled with the mischief of a child. “And, if I am not mistaken, there is more in the kitchen.”

CHAPTER 13

When their hostess insisted on walking Mark and Corinne to the patio gate an hour and a half later, Corinne was certain that a hurricane couldn't have blown them away. Wired from the strong coffee, she hung back, watching Violeta as she showed off her courtyard with pride. Mark was not only as attentive as the most ardent suitor, but he astonished both Corinne and their hostess when he knew the names of most of her flowers and shrubs.

“My mother was always sending me to the nursery for one kind of flower or another,” he explained. “And if I couldn't get away in time, I wound up having to help plant them.”

“She must be a fine lady to have you for a son, don't you think, Corina?”

“She is,” Corinne replied. She'd worked with Neta Madison on a children's hospital project, not to mention knowing her from Blaine and Caroline's wedding.

“And a man who knows his flowers will know how to grow love as well.” Letting her point settle, Doña Violeta pointed up at the moon bathing the patio. “It looks like a fiesta moon tonight.”

“Isn't a ‘fiesta moon' a full moon?” Corinne inquired, staring at the half crescent cut out of light in the star-spangled midnight sky. The older woman laughed, clutching her hands to her heart. “I call a fiesta moon any that stirs the heart.”

“It looks like it's just on the other side of the garden wall,” Mark observed, a boyish wonder on his face that was absolutely endearing.

“I know what we must do,” Violeta exclaimed, mischief invading her romantic mood. “If you will give me a foot up, I will look over the wall and see.”

They were kindred spirits, separated only by age.

“But then,” she said, suddenly coy, “you might be naughty and peek at my ankles.”

The old woman and young man burst into laughter, and Corinne joined them. It was hard not to become infected by their moonstruck madness. “Doña Violeta, I can't remember when I've had a better time. It was just what I needed after this morning in Flores.”

“I second that,” Mark said, snaking an arm around his hostess's frail shoulders. “I want to adopt you for my aunt.”

“Consider it done.” Violeta pinched his cheek with affection. “And do not be surprised if you receive a delivery soon.”

Mark shot her a curious look. “What kind of delivery?”

Suddenly the demure lady again, Doña Violeta tut-tutted. “A woman must have some secrets. But you will see. Until then . . .” She turned and linked arms with Corinne. “You two take care of each other. I don't like this business of vandals and such.”

She stopped with them at the gate and, unable to look over her shoulder due to arthritis, twisted first one way and then the other before lowering her voice. “Don Rafael told me that he thought the boy Enrique was
murdered
.”

The word raised the hair on Corinne's arms. “I knew something wasn't right. I mean,” she backtracked, “I suspected as much.”

“The animals found his body first, so it was hard to tell . . . but my nephew saw it and insisted that he saw a bullet hole in the torn clothes of the poor boy.” Violeta shrugged. “But it could have been a hunting accident.”

“Antonio talked on and on about a
caracol
that cursed his brother . . . parents too. Do you know what that's about?” Mark asked.

“A snail?” The older woman shook her head. “The Indios are very superstitious about animals.”

“And witches,” Mark said with a laconic twist of his mouth. “Speaking of
which
—” He grinned. “No pun intended. We have

to get home. I'm afraid we've kept Soledad and Father Menasco up well past their bedtime.”

“Oh no,” Corinne exclaimed in dismay. “I've been having such a good time listening to Doña Violeta that I forgot all about them.”

She really meant it. Their hostess was a very special person, a delicious leftover from a time when vegging out on carryout in front of the television in blue jeans and a T-shirt was never heard of and chivalry prevailed.

“Come back soon, my children.” Seizing a hand of each, the elderly woman squeezed them with surprising vitality. “Do not wait for an invitation.”

“You can
build
on it,” Mark told her.

She raised her finger at him, teasing, “You have been among the Indios too long.”

“Good night, Doña Violeta.” Corinne gave the woman a hug and backed away.

“I will see you in the morning after I deliver the sweets to the children,” Violeta told her. “From this day on, I will check on you myself, rather than rely on the market hearsay.”

“Stop by anytime,” Mark said, raising her wrinkled hand to his lips.
“Buenas noches,
Doña
de mi corazón.”

Being called
the lady of his heart
practically lifted Doña Violeta from the tiled patio floor. In a girlish fluster, she motioned to Gaspar to see to the gate.

As they turned away in the light of the coach lanterns mounted on either side of the courtyard entrance, Doña Violeta's euphoric voice rose above the click of the inside door latch.

“Oh, Gaspar, I had the most lovely evening I've had in ages. And that sky . . . did you ever see such a sky?”

Corinne couldn't disagree. The cloudless midnight sky gave the moon full reign. It bathed the town with its light, defining with pencil-point precision the shadows of the buildings along the cobbled street, reminding her of a string of cutouts. Music and laughter from the Cantina Roja at the bottom of the plaza drifted up to them.

“Why didn't you tell me why you were so uptight about drinking?” Mark said as they walked by the dressmaker's shop. A light in the back somewhere silhouetted a headless mannequin in the front window, bedecked in the latest creation.

Jerked from the serene spell of the evening, Corinne was sharper than she intended. “Would it have made a difference?”

“It might have,” he admitted. “At least I'd have understood a little better. I wouldn't have thought you such a prude.”

Prude. Miss Muffet.
Maybe she'd invited his assessment. Maybe she'd been too harsh on him . . . saying words she'd thought, but dared not say to her father.

“I hope I didn't sound ‘holier-than-thou' tonight.”

“No,” he assured her. “I think everyone knew you were speaking for yourself only.”

“It's just that so many people use drink as an excuse for their failures. They drink, they fail . . . go figure.”

“Like me, for instance?”

Corinne bit her lip. She'd just done it again. With a plank that big in her eye, it was a wonder she could see. “I
am
holier-than-thou,” she groaned.

Mark chuckled. “Hey, I don't need you to let me know that too much tequila plus too little sleep makes Mark a dull boy. My aching head beat you to the punch.”

“Still, sometimes I act like I was behind the door when tact was passed out.”

“No worries. It's not my place to act the judge.”

The way she did with him? Okay, he didn't say it, but did he think it? Guilt swept in to stir Corinne's remorse. She heaved a sigh and changed the subject before she dug a deeper hole.

“Some day, huh? I feel as though I'm on an emotional seesaw and can't get off.”

“I hear you,” Mark agreed. After a few more steps he spoke again. “And since we're putting ourselves under an examining glass, something Antonio said on the way back really rattled my world. I mean, it made me think.”

“And what was that?”

“I know this won't come as any surprise to you, but I'll admit I'm a screwup.”

It wasn't a surprise, but when Mark the man coupled his admission with that boyish grin, it was enough to turn her knees to rubber.

“And I blamed my older brother for it, pretty much,” he went on, unaware of his effect on her.

“How do you figure that?”

“Blaine is so . . . so confounded perfect.” Mark ran a hand through his thick hair. “I mean, who can live up to that?” He stepped up on the next rise of the sidewalk, cupping Corinne's elbow to assist her. “And if that's not bad enough, he's a control freak. All I get are the leftovers of a project to tidy up . . . boring, with a capital
B.
Which is why I don't really sweat over them. Instead, I do what I have to do and go play. That's the one thing I
am
good at.”

The connection between Mark's irresponsibility in the family business and the morning's events was lost on Corinne. “And Antonio brought this out how?”

“The more I played, the harder Blaine came down on me. Which made me more angry and determined to play more. There were times I thought he got his jollies just watching and waiting for me to mess up.” Mark grimaced, lost for a moment in his thoughts. When he spoke again, it was with tortured earnestness. “I even wished he wasn't there.”

Corinne put her hand on his arm. “Hey, that's normal sibling rivalry.”

Mark shook his head. “No, I really hated Blaine at times for meddling in my life . . . until today.” He drew a shaky breath. “That little boy opened my eyes in a way that I wouldn't take from my mom or anyone else.”

Corinne felt something inside her open, something that embraced the shaken spirit of her companion. “And we shall be led by children.”

“What?”

“A Bible quote . . . or close,” she added.

They stopped, and Corinne leaned against the post of the overhang in front of a glassmaker's shop. Mark faced her, hands shoved in his pockets, his jaw squared against an unseen but vicious foe.

“The kid said, in a nutshell, that if
he'd
been the big brother, he would never have let Enrique do anything that could bring harm to him. That if Enrique had listened to his elders, he would still be alive.”

“And you realized Blaine's hard line with you was out of love?” Corinne's heart swelled with his nod.

“And I felt so blasted guilty for hating him so much. I
really
hated him at times . . . wished he'd go away.” With a poorly disguised sniff, he stared up at the rippled galvanized aluminum overhead.

“I didn't want to kill him or anything,” he continued, “but I did not want a brother. And there's this little fella grieving his heart out over his brother. Ain't life sweet?” His inflection implied it was anything but.

“I guess my grandmother was right.” A wistful smile settled on Corinne's lips as she pictured her mother's mom—crown of silver-white hair and smooth, pink complexion—a devout soul if ever there was one. “She used to say that we all have our devils, but—”

A terrible crash sounded from the alley running behind the glassblower's, banishing the rest of the sage wisdom from her mind.

Mark pulled Corinne into the cover of his arms and dragged her into the shadows against the storefront. Her breath stopped by the heart lodged in her throat, she searched the empty street with visions of pistol flashes exploding in her mind. But there was nothing more threatening than two dogs that chased each other out of the alley and across to the moonlit side of the street.