A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn (27 page)

C
ora looked stunned, then her face closed down. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Black tar heroin,” Tony said. “Comes up from Mexico. It's sometimes contaminated with botulism. The addicts shoot themselves up with it, next thing you know they've got a toxic wound. You must see a case once in a while.”

“I don't recall.”

“Maybe the clinic's records will say.”

She looked sharply up at him. If I hadn't already been convinced of her guilt, the anger in her glance at that moment would have sold me.

“But that's not why I'm here,” Tony said to Cora. “I came to ask why you cut down a rosebush in the City Rose Garden this morning.”

Cora looked startled again, caught off guard by the change of tactics. Tony's expression was completely professional, but I caught the slight twitch at one corner of his mouth. He was enjoying this.

Cora opened her mouth, but before she could speak Tony added, “You were seen by the woman who lives across the street. She identified your photograph.”

Cora's mouth snapped shut and a frown settled on her brow. “Excuse me,” she said tightly. “I need to make a phone call.”

“You can make it from the station,” Tony said. “We've got more to talk about.”

“Are you arresting me?” she demanded.

“If you insist.”

She stared coldly at him for a long moment. Her face, set with anger and, I thought, a hint of contempt, was as unattractive as a woman's could be.

“I'll get my purse,” she said at last. “You'll have to excuse me, Miss Rosings.”

“Not at all,” I said. “I see that I've come at a bad time.”

I glanced at Tony, hoping he picked up on my implicit apology. He gave no sign, but he didn't look angry, either.

Cora went to a low bookcase and slowly picked up a purse from it. Something about the motion bothered me. As she was turning back, I saw that she had also picked up something else.

“Cora, no!”

“Don't move!” Tony's voice was sharp enough that I, too, froze.

Cora held a large pair of gardening shears. She stared at Tony with pure hatred in her pale eyes, then her gaze flicked down to the gun in his hands.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt. I held my breath.

“Don't,” Tony said in a quieter tone. “You don't want a resisting arrest charge.”

Cora blinked once, then swallowed. “I was just going to put these away. Don't want anyone getting hurt by mistake.”

She pointed the blades at the floor and moved slowly past me toward the front door. Tony stepped back out of her reach, keeping the gun trained on her. She opened a closet, put the shears inside, and closed the door.

“All right,” Tony said. “Come on out.”

Cora shot a glare at me, then obeyed. I followed her out and pulled the front door closed behind me.

Tony and Cora walked down the driveway to the squad car. Tony still held his gun, though he no longer had it aimed at her.

A uniformed officer was waiting in the driver's seat of the squad. Tony helped Cora into the back seat of the car, looked toward me as he straightened, then climbed into the shotgun seat. The squad pulled away.

I went to my car, got in and turned on the engine, then sat with my hands on the steering wheel and the air conditioner blowing cool on my face as I sorted through mixed emotions. Adrenaline still sang through me. Cora's rage had frightened me, but so had the sight of Tony aiming his gun at her heart.

It seemed that Tony had ample evidence to associate Cora with Maria's death. Whether she'd be convicted was a matter for the courts. I told myself I was glad, but mostly I felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow. Sorrow for Maria, for her family, and for a society that could still harbor such hatred, even among its supposedly enlightened and privileged members.

On impulse I decided to drive past the rose garden again. It was getting late and there were fewer people in the park, now that the sun had set. I found a parking place near where Maria's Our Lady of Guadalupe rose had been, and got out to look at the stumps once more.

Someone had placed a vase of cut roses there in front of the cut cane stumps—garden roses, not florist roses. A tall glass votive candle stood beside them, its young flame flickering slightly in the breeze, a small, promising glow against the falling dusk. On the glass was a decal of the Virgin of Guadalupe, surrounded by roses. The wax was pink, and the fragrance of roses hung in the air.

A memorial to a fallen rosebush, or perhaps more to the rose's champion. I glanced toward Alma Chacón's house. She wasn't in the garden at this hour, but I could see her rosebushes blooming behind the picket fence.

Maybe Alma would like to join the Rose Guild, I thought. Smiling softly, I drove home to cut a few roses of my own.

I slowed as I pulled into the driveway. An unfamiliar car was parked behind the kitchen. I coasted into my parking space, staring at the back of the house. The kitchen windows blazed with light.

Captain Dusenberry hadn't shown any interest in the kitchen so far. I got out of the car and walked to the back door, keeping my eye on the kitchen windows.

Movement made me stop short, suddenly breathless, then I recognized Julio's mop of curly dark hair. He had changed out of the suit into a black muscle shirt and cargo pants. He stood by the prep table, talking to another young man who looked vaguely familiar: blond hair, slender, a little taller than Julio. I could just hear their voices, but couldn't tell what they were saying. From the intensity on Julio's face, it was a deep conversation.

I went to the back door and let myself in, careful to make some noise. I closed the door and heard no voices; the place was silent. Having come into the hallway, I had to walk down it a bit and turn into the smaller hall that passed the butler's pantry in order to get to the kitchen. The smell of baking chocolate reached me.

I paused in the pantry to take out an empty vase and half fill it with water. Leaving it on the counter, I continued to the kitchen.

Julio was leaning back against the prep table, arms crossed, waiting for me. His guest stood behind the table and gave me an apprehensive look as I came in. The table was covered with bowls, measuring cups and spoons, and so on.

“I saw the lights on,” I said.

“Sorry,” Julio said, sounding almost surly. “Didn't mean to bother you.”

“No bother. I just came to fetch some … flowers.” I looked at his friend. “Have we met? You look familiar.”

He swallowed.

“This is Adam. He was at the grand opening.”

“Oh—your roommate? Yes, I remember now—you're a chef too, right?”

Adam looked uncomfortable. Julio stood.

“He might apply for the assistant position here. That OK with you?”

Again, a hint of anger or perhaps just defiance in his voice. I looked from Julio to Adam.

“I'm afraid it's just part time for now. The budget won't handle more.”

A shrug. “I don't mind.” He glanced at Julio. “I should go.”

Julio's chin rose. “No—”

“Please don't let me disturb you,” I said, clicking into Miss Manners mode. “I'm about to go out again.”

I met Julio's gaze, saw his slight nod and a look of relief in his eyes, and turned back to the pantry. I grabbed the vase and a small pair of garden snips I kept there for flower arranging, and went back outside.

Dusk was gathering in the garden, but I could see well enough to gather some roses. The white and yellow blooms glowed in the evening light. I filled the vase with a mix of colors, then headed back to my car. I decided to cut a few lilacs to go with the roses. I could hear voices again—too muffled for me to make out what they were saying. I got in the car, bringing the garden snips with me and carefully buckling the passenger seat belt around the vase.

It was nearly dark by the time I returned to the park. Street lights were on now, their limited spectrum of light washing out the colors of the roses. I parked and got out, carrying my offering toward the slain rosebush, but slowed as I saw someone else already standing there.

The woman turned her head toward me and the streetlight glinted on brassy hair. I walked up to join Estella Garcia by the dead rosebush. A second vase of roses now stood beside the first—a huge vase, filled to overflowing with roses, no doubt cut from the Garcia family's garden. I placed my own smaller offering beside it.

“Rosa told us about this,” Estella said in a harsh voice. “Some asshole cut down Mama's rosebush. Poor little Rosa can't stop crying.”

“If it's any comfort, the hateful person who did this has been caught.”

“Yeah?” She glanced at me, a hunter's sharpness in her eyes. “Who is it? I'd like to give them a piece of my mind.”

“I expect you'll find out soon.”

I didn't want to be the one to inform the Garcias that Maria had been murdered. Fresh grief all over again for them, and it would come soon enough. A visit from a police chaplain, who would no doubt be able to comfort them better than I.

“Those are lovely,” I said, leaning down to brush my hand along the large vase of roses.

“Some from every one of Mama's bushes,” Estella said, her voice now surprisingly soft. “We all went out and cut them.”

I straightened up. “Do you still like roses, in spite of everything?”

She looked at me, her face dour at first, then she shrugged and gave a twisted smile. “How can you not like roses?”

I smiled back. A plan was forming in my mind. I would join the Rose Guild, and encourage some others to join as well: Estella, Rosa, and Alma Chacón. They'd represent three generations, for Alma was about Maria's age. It would be a start.

“Estella, I would be honored if you would join me for tea some time. May I give you my card? You can let me know when would be a good time for you, if you decide you'd like to come.”

She looked surprised as she accepted my card. “That's really nice of you.”

“I'd like to get better acquainted with you, if that's all right with you. When you feel up to it—there's no hurry.”

“Thanks.” Estella coughed and sniffed, then said, “I gotta go.” She started to leave, then turned back and gestured awkwardly toward the vases. “Thank you for bringing those,” she added in a shaky voice.

I smiled again and nodded. She turned and walked briskly away.

I stayed a moment longer, gazing down at the little memorial, where the candle now shone out brightly in the deepening night. I wondered how often Rose Guild members came through the park. Would they see the vases and the candle, tomorrow, perhaps?

Turning away, I went to my car and drove home, thinking ahead to Tuesday. The tearoom would be open for business, the start of another work week. I'd have to make a follow-up call to the dairy about the cream, and I needed to put that quote together for Joan. Of course, the Rose Guild's plans might be changing—I'd have to wait and see.

The strange car was gone from behind the kitchen, and the lights were out. I parked in my usual spot and cast a glance toward the lilacs as I got out of the car. The garden was blessedly free of Goths. Thinking a silent thank-you to Ramon, I let myself into the house and went upstairs.

A light was on in my office. I paused, wondering if Captain Dusenberry was expanding his repertoire, then stepped in.

The light was my stained glass desk lamp, and it had been moved to illuminate a small dessert plate that sat in the center of my desk. I went around to sit in the desk chair, and saw that the plate held a perfect round of what looked like chocolate cake, one inch across and half an inch high, topped with a single fresh raspberry. In front of it sat a small envelope with my name on it in Julio's handwriting.

Dreading that it might be a letter of resignation, I opened the note.

Ellen -

This is from Adam. I brought him over to use the kitchen, but also because we needed to talk, not at home.

He got laid off and he's thinking about moving to California. I don't want him to go. If you gave him the assistant job it would give him some time to think about whether he really wants to leave.

My grandmother didn't approve of Adam. I think she really hated him, actually. So I hadn't seen her much in the last year or so. It's hard when you disagree with someone you love.

Anyway, thanks for understanding.

Julio

I laid the note on the desk. I was glad to know what was bothering Julio, but it raised a tricky question. Giving Adam a job would be kind, but it might also cause friction between him and Julio. How close were they? Maria's disapproval seemed to imply they were more than just roommates.

It was none of my business, of course. What Julio did on his own time was his concern. I just knew that mixing work and social life was rarely a good idea. I would have to talk with him, I suspected. A conversation that would probably be uncomfortable.

I picked up the confection and took a bite, then closed my eyes. What had looked like a simple chocolate cake was a torte, almost brownie-like, chewy with a hint of something herbal that I couldn't pinpoint. I had taken the topping for icing but it was ganache, creamy and rich with dark, dark chocolate. It set it off the torte perfectly, and the raspberry added a bright tang to the flavors.

This was not just a sweet, it was a work of art, as complex as a fine wine. Exactly the sort of thing I wanted for the tearoom.

OK, so Adam was a strong candidate. I still wanted to talk to Julio about whether they could work together without stressing their friendship.

I finished the torte and longed for another. I tucked Julio's note back into its envelope, then got up and carried the dessert plate with me out of the office

The candlesticks standing outside my suite caught me off guard. I stood gazing at them, then decided I didn't like them there. They didn't belong out in the hallway. They belonged in the suite, with my brocades and tasseled cords and the rest of my Renaissance decor.