Summer Snow (13 page)

“That’s good then.” Nilo relaxed. “I’m sorry to be nosy, but as I say, Señorito Felipe’s a good man, and when I saw you coming to Don Pablo’s I thought maybe there’d been some kind of trouble.”

“And I thought you wanted the pleasure of my company,” Tejada said wryly.

“That, too, of course,” the old man agreed. “And I was curious to meet your wife. I get bored, you know.”

“It sounds like there’s plenty of drama at Number Five,” Tejada remarked with a laugh.

“It’s not like being a guardia though,” Nilo said wistfully.

The conversation became general again, and a few minutes later they were rejoined by Elena and Toño. The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. It was after eleven when the Tejadas said their good-byes, and Nilo warmly invited them to have dinner with him again whenever they had time.

Away from the bustle of the cafés in the plaza, the streets were dark and silent. Toño walked between his parents, too sleepy to talk much. When they reached home, Elena tucked him in and, returning to their room, and found her husband already in bed.

“That was a very enjoyable evening,” she said. “I liked him.”

“I thought you would.”

Elena frowned at his tone. “Didn’t you have a good time?”

Tejada watched Elena undoing her hair and smiled, remembering Nilo’s estimation of her. “No. I did. But . . . it’s hard being home.”

He woke early the next morning, restless. A lingering memory of Nilo made him decide to wear a uniform instead of his vacation clothes, and a shrewd suspicion of what his mother would say about his wearing it made him skip breakfast and head straight for the post. He told himself that since he had a limited amount of time he ought to spend most of it working. When he arrived, his industry was justified. The post was buzzing with activity as the shift changed, and a guardia hailed him as soon as he entered, and directed him to Sergeant Rivas’s office.

“Sir!” the sergeant saluted formally. “Good morning. Good to see you so early. What are your orders about the Ordoñez case? I’ve detailed two men to search the Casa Ordoñez and more are at your disposal if you need them. And naturally I’ll be happy to assist you personally as soon as you give the word.”

“I thought you said you’d already made up the duty roster for the week.” Tejada wondered briefly if Rivas was also trying to ignore demons by losing himself in his work. He seemed almost unnaturally eager to help this morning. “There’s no need to waste men on this. I was really just checking in.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to check in, sir.” Rivas saluted again. His face had the expression of a man who is suffering from a toothache. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and prepared himself for a metaphorical dentist’s drill. “We received the autopsy report late last night. It seems Doña Rosalia had ingested cyanide. The poison killed her.”

Chapter 9

T
ejada spared a moment to wonder why he had been so anxious to get to work early that morning.

He asked, with faint hope, “I suppose there’s no possibility of eating or drinking cyanide by accident?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Not seeing how careful she was.”

“Suicide?” Tejada knew as he spoke that this was nonsense.

“She was very devout, sir. And, anyway, why would she do a thing like that?”

“Your men are searching the house for a source?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tejada thought about what he should do next. No good options presented themselves. “Good work,” he said, paving the way for telling Rivas that he had absolute confidence in the investigative skills of the Guardia in Granada and that he would be happy to let Rivas continue to handle the case.

“Thank you, sir.” Rivas hesitated. “Sir?”

“Yes?”

“I wondered.” Rivas swallowed. “That is . . . your father seemed to feel that we hadn’t been as diligent as we might have been, and . . . well, to tell the truth, we probably wouldn’t have realized it was murder quite so quickly if he hadn’t suggested it and I was wondering—”

“Wondering what?” Tejada demanded sharply. Someone would have to interview Andrés Tejada and ask him why he had believed that his aunt had been murdered. He suspected that Rivas wanted to shift this responsibility to him.

“If you could see your way to breaking the news to him?” Sergeant Rivas finished hopefully. “I’m sure he’ll be very upset about the poor lady’s death, you see, and I thought maybe the news would come best from a family member . . . to comfort his grief. . . .”

Tejada was able to repress the comment that immediately came to mind, but not the small incredulous snort that went with it. Rivas looked agonized. “I’d take it as a great personal favor, sir.”

For a moment, Tejada was grateful Rivas had not mentioned the need to question his father. Then he sighed again. Someone would have to. “I’ll talk to him,” he said. “But I’m officially on leave. I’ll help if I can, but if you don’t want the case, perhaps it might fall within the Policía Armada’s jurisdiction.”

“Thank you, sir.” Rivas was relieved. “But Doña Rosalia always called the Guardia. And . . . well, I don’t like to let her down again.”

“Again?” Tejada raised his eyebrows.

“All those times she said someone was trying to kill her, sir. And now, it seems she was right.”

“Maybe,” the lieutenant said thoughtfully. “Or maybe not. Do you know anything about her will?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ve found out a little.” Tejada briefly summarized what he had learned from Nilo the night before. “But the thing that puzzles me is that no one’s mentioned her will having been read. I’d think Daniela and Felipe would be baying for blood by now if they’d been disinherited.”

“I suppose someone will have to interview them as well.” Rivas looked depressed. “I don’t suppose—”

“Why don’t you question her household,” Tejada interrupted, before the sergeant could frame another request. “I’ll deal with her family.” Rivas began to express his gratitude. Tejada cut him off impatiently. “Pull the files on all the Ordoñez household. Anything, as far back as we have. And I want written reports of your interviews with the servants on this desk by the end of the day. Find out everything they remember about the night she died. What she ate, what she drank, where it came from, who served it, everything. When was the last time each one saw her alive and did they know of anyone who saw her after that. And your own notes from when you were first called.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll meet you here at eight o’clock, with my information. We can collate our reports and see what we’ve got.”

“Very good, sir.”

Tejada turned on his heel. At the doorway he paused. “Oh and Rivas?”

“Sir?”

“Pull the files on all her potential heirs, too.”

The sergeant swallowed. “I don’t think we have any records with respect to her children, sir. They’ve never been in any kind of trouble.”

“Grandchildren then. The boys at least will have military records.” Tejada smiled without humor. “If nothing else, the Guardia keep tabs on their own. You can take a look at my dossier, Sergeant. See what you learn.” He was gone before Rivas could think of a tactful reply.

The
churrerías
were still serving late breakfasts in the Plaza de la Trinidad as Tejada made his way back to his parents’ home. His steps slowed in the plaza, and on impulse he stopped and bought a coffee. He leaned against the bar, listening to the hiss of the coffee machines and the careless conversations of university students who were probably cutting morning classes. After a moment’s thought, he dug out the notepad he always carried in his work clothes and began to write, awkwardly squeezing his elbow close to his body to avoid the newspaper of the man on his right.

To Do:

Interview: Fernando Ordoñez—His father’s heir. Estates tied up for him?

Daniela Ordoñez (de Almagro)—What was her quarrel with her mother? Was she expecting a legacy?

Felipe Ordoñez—Why was Rosalia angry at him?

Andrés Tejada—Why does he believe she was murdered?

To Ask:

1. What do they know about the will?

2. What do they know about poisons?

3. Who do they think might have killed Dna. Rosalia? Why?

He looked at the list with distaste and wondered where he would find Doña Rosalia’s children. His father would know, of course. But he disliked the idea of confronting his father until it was absolutely necessary. Ignoring the nagging voice that told him he should interview his father first, he turned south, and headed for the casino. Fernando and Felipe Ordoñez were both almost certain to drop in sometime during the day. With any luck he would catch at least one of them. If they were not there, the employees of the club would know where they could be found.

Granada’s casino stood just past the post office, a discreetly dignified nineteenth-century building. Glass doors gave admittance to a marble-floored lobby, under a lofty ceiling adorned by a massive chandelier that seemed out of place in the morning sunlight. He had visited the club a few times with his father as a child and had taken a juvenile delight in listening to the echoes of his tapping shoes on the marble. Tejada crossed the lobby, absently noting that his footsteps still echoed in the empty space, although the rhythm of the echoes had changed now that his stride had lengthened.

A uniformed concierge rose to greet him as he reached the cloakroom. “Good morning, Señor Guardia. Would you like to leave a message for one of the members?”

“That depends. Are either of the Ordoñez brothers here?”

“I believe not, sir, but I can check if you wait a moment,” the concierge answered.

Tejada had suspected that neither brother would be at the casino so early, but on the off chance that one of them
was
upstairs, it would be better to catch him off guard. The lieutenant took off his cloak and tricorn. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll go and check.” He held out his hat to the concierge, who looked stunned and a little apprehensive.

Tejada waited a moment, and when the concierge made no move, dropped his hat and cloak on the counter in front of the frozen man and headed for the stairs. The concierge came out of his daze and gave a strangled cough. “Er . . . I beg your pardon, officer. But with all due respect . . . the casino is open only to members and their guests.”

“I know,” said the lieutenant, and continued up the stairs. “My name is Tejada Alonso y León,” he added kindly. “Check the membership lists. You’ll see it’s there.”

The casino was nearly empty at this hour of the morning except for a few old men and a pair of youngsters Tejada suspected had not seen their homes the evening before. The young men were agog at the sight of Tejada’s uniform and one of the older ones at the bar turned to inspect him, blinking nearsightedly. The lieutenant ignored the boys, but he made his way to the bar. As he reached it, a bald man with an impressively pointed mustache got to his feet and held out his hand. “Good morning. It’s Carlos Tejada, isn’t it?

“Yes, sir. How do you do?” Tejada had no idea who the man was, but he assumed that they had met in his childhood.

“Well, thank you. And you?”

Tejada answered courteously and inquired as to the whereabouts of his cousins.

“The Ordoñez? Fernando may stop in for lunch,” Tejada’s companion answered readily. “You are likely to find him at the Suizo at this hour. But we haven’t seen much of Felipe lately. Hard to tell where he keeps himself. He used to be at the flamenco clubs a lot, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen him there.” He laughed. “You know Felipe. He always knew how to have a good time. But he’s getting rather old to stay out all night.”

“Thank you. I’ll leave a message for them then.” Tejada stood to go.

“I’ll let Fernando know you’d like to see him. How long will you be in Granada?”

“Until November third.”

“And you’re staying at your parents’?”

“That’s right.”

“When did you get in?”

“Tuesday.” Tejada allowed a little of his impatience to creep into his tone.

“That’s an awfully short visit.” The old man shook his head. “Especially since you’ve been away so long. We hear all about you, you know. Your father told me you were stationed in— Salamanca, was it?”

“Not for some years now.” Tejada wished he knew who the old man was. It would have made it easier to take his leave gracefully. At worst, it would have given him a prying question to ask in return so that he would not have to stand and be cross-examined. But the old man’s face remained utterly unfamiliar, and since he did not mention his own family, Tejada was left with no clue as to which of his father’s many acquaintances the man might be. He endured a leisurely review of his life and his family connections, giving away as little information as possible.

Rivas is probably usefully occupied
, the lieutenant thought glumly.
I told him to have the reports by this evening, and at this rate he’ll have
done everything and I won’t have a thing to tell him
. When the old man finally worked his way back to his connection with the Ordoñez family Tejada seized his opportunity. “You mentioned that Fernando might be at the Suizo?” he said quickly. “I think I’ll go and see if he’s there. It was nice to see you again.”