Summer Snow (7 page)

Tejada had deliberately avoided saying how long he intended to spend at the post, so his family had not waited to eat with him. He arrived at his parents’ home as the family was finishing lunch. His parents and his brother were still lingering over coffee in the dining room. His sister-in-law and her children had adjourned to the alcove beyond the dining room, where his nephews were absorbed in comic books and his niece was finishing her homework. His brother, Juan Andrés, greeted him first. “Hello, Carlos. Have you eaten?”

“No, not yet.” Carlos Tejada’s eyes were roaming around the table, counting place mats. “Where’s Elena?”

“She went upstairs to put Toño down for his nap,” Juan Andrés volunteered.

Señora de Tejada clicked her tongue as her older son spoke. “Honestly, Carlos, you might have the consideration to tell your family when you’re coming home so you can eat decently. It’s very inconvenient, now that everything’s been cleared.”

Her younger son shrugged. “I don’t want to trouble you, Mama. I can get something from the kitchen.”

“Get something from the kitchen!” his mother echoed. “You’ll want to go to the side door next! For goodness’ sake, you’re a member of this family. You might try to act like it, instead of behaving like a”—she made a little moue of distaste— “like a servant.”

Tejada gritted his teeth. “I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, Mama. I’m used to eating in a hurry.”

Señora de Tejada sniffed. “It’s a shame that a married man isn’t used to proper meals. In my day, women had more pride.”

The lieutenant’s nostrils flared, but he bowed his head and said nothing. He was already turning to leave when his father said peaceably, “Don’t peck at the boy. His job has difficult hours. Sit down and relax, Carlos.”

“I really should get something to eat.”

“It’s no trouble to get something for you,” His father pulled a bell cord as he spoke. “And I’d like to hear what you’ve found out about your aunt.

“Bring a plate of soup and some bread for the señorito, Isaura,” he added as the door opened and a maid appeared.

The lieutenant felt his teeth grind together as he sat. Fifteen years in the Guardia, a hard-won rank, a painfully acquired habit of independence, and a reasonably happy family life—his parents had managed to deny him all of this in under five minutes. His lunch arrived as he reported on his morning activities to his father, trying to divulge as little information as possible, and feeling like a sulky child all the while.

“It’s a shame Aunt Rosalia felt threatened so frequently,” Andrés Tejada said, when he’d finished. “I suppose in among Rivas’s reports there’s no suggestion of any real threats?”

“None at all,” his son pointed out.

“Still, she was in perfect health. And her death was so sudden.”

“She was eighty-five.”

“Eighty-four,” Señor Tejada corrected primly. “Her birthday was in December.”

“Surely a woman that age—”

“Carlos,” his father interrupted, with a hint of asperity, “everyone who knew her thoroughly expected Aunt Rosalia to live another ten years.
You
might have received the impression she was frail, but since you do
not
live here, you did
not
have the same opportunities for observation.”

“I’m sorry.” The lieutenant accepted his father’s implied reproof. After all, Doña Rosalia
had
been irritating and joining the Guardia had provided him an escape from dealing with her. “I’m sure she was in good health. But even so, I’ve known peo- ple who looked indestructible but who were carrying around time bombs in their chests. One minute they’re climbing mountains and the next—boom, there isn’t even time for a priest to get to them. Why do you suspect she was murdered?”

Andrés Tejada was annoyed. “I thought the guardia were supposed to be zealous about crime! I didn’t expect to have to talk you into believing that one had been committed! I thought you became a guardia because you
enjoyed
doing this sort of thing.”

The lieutenant flushed and opened his mouth to say that he had chosen his career because he believed that what he did was vitally important to the security of the country he loved, not because he wanted to play detective and look for an imaginary murderer like a little boy playing at being the Masked Warrior. He swallowed the retort, telling himself that he did not want to fight with his parents on his first day at home, although the knowledge that fury would have made him inarticulate probably also had something to do with his decision to keep quiet. “I do what I have to do,” he said briefly. “And I was asking that question officially: Do you know of any reason why anyone would want to kill your aunt, Rosalia Tejada de Ordoñez?”

His father laughed. “Come off your high horse, Carlos. I don’t have any idea. That’s why I asked
you
to look into it.”

“In that case, what makes you think she was murdered?”

The lieutenant met his father’s eyes. For the first time in the conversation, Andrés Tejada looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know. Just a feeling, I suppose. She was an irritating woman— may she rest in peace. And I guess with all that talk of plots . . . no smoke without fire, don’t you think?”

“And on the basis of a ‘feeling’ you pressure Rivas into taking me away from a serious campaign in the mountains?” Tejada exclaimed. “We’ve only just secured the Valle d’Aran, and there’s some real danger of guerrilla activity in the Asturias.”

“I’m sorry, Carlos.” His father was once more indulgent. “But I wanted a family member in charge of the investigation. I wanted to be sure that if there
was
any evidence of murder someone would discover it.”

Carlos finished his soup and stood up. “Well, there will be an autopsy,” he said, picking up his plate. “We should get the results by Friday at the latest. Then we’ll see if you’re right.”

“Where are you going?” his father demanded.

“I’m finished.” The lieutenant heard himself sounding like a defiant adolescent. Trying to soften his tone he added, “It was very good.”

“I’m glad you liked it. But why are you walking off with the dishes?” Andrés Tejada was genuinely bewildered.

Carlos Tejada looked down at the delicate porcelain in his hand and saw a battered tin plate, lone and abandoned on a long trestle table, fifteen years earlier. The voice of his first sergeant echoed in his ears. “What the hell do you think this place is, Guardia? A restaurant? Clean that up!” He turned and set the bowl and plate down on the table. “I don’t know,” he said, staring at the tablecloth. “I guess I just wasn’t thinking.”

“You’re still tired from the journey,” his father said kindly. “Go and get some rest, and everything will be much clearer.”

“Yes, Father,” Tejada mumbled, and beat a retreat.

He negotiated the halls and stairs of the family mansion automatically and found himself in front of Toño’s bedroom. Elena was just emerging from it. She smiled at him and put one finger to her lips in caution. “I just got him to sleep,” she murmured, as the latch clicked softly behind her.

Tejada started. He had assumed that Toño was already asleep, and he had intended to search for Elena in their own bedroom. But his body had steered itself to the room he had occupied as a child, not to the guest room where he and Elena were staying. He gave Elena a quick hug, reassured by her presence and his own pleasure in it. “How was your morning?”

Elena shrugged. “All right. Yours?”

“I’m on a wild-goose chase.”

“You knew that was probably true before you started,” Elena reminded him.

She started toward their room, and Tejada fell into step beside her with relief. In the privacy of their bedroom, he said, “I knew it was probably a waste of time, but I didn’t think that the whole thing was set up by my father like—like some sort of game to keep me amused.”

“What do you mean?”

The lieutenant sat down, avoiding her eyes. “I talked to Sergeant Rivas this morning. He’s got good records, and he runs a decent post. There’s no evidence whatsoever of murder. He opened the case because my father told him to. And my
father
amuses himself by cross-examining me on what I found in the records, and then tells me that he has a ‘feeling’ that Rosalia was murdered, and that I’m supposed to enjoy this sort of thing because I’m a guardia! As if I were about ten years old and didn’t have a
real
job!”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean that,” Elena said soothingly.

“It wouldn’t bother me if he’d just say that he disapproved of my being in the Guardia and be done with it.” Tejada did not answer her directly. “It’s that he treats it as some kind of
joke
. Oh, let’s give Carlos a crime to investigate! If he just ordered me to come home, and threatened to disown me otherwise—”

“You wouldn’t obey him,” Elena pointed out with a smile. “And I thought he
did
say that he disapproved of your being in the Guardia.”

“Well, once,” Tejada admitted. “Fifteen years ago. But he’s never said a word about it since then.”

“Some people would call that forbearance.”

“If you could have
heard
him just now! Telling my mother when she started in about my being late that the job has long hours and that I should relax.”

Elena grimaced. “Did she mention how much weight you’ve lost?” she demanded bitterly. “She thinks that in the mountains we should eat well, especially with a guardia’s ration coupons. Of course, if a woman
wastes
her family’s coupons on frivolous items . . .”

The rancor in her voice recalled Tejada from his own self-pity. He squeezed her hand. “Oh, God, love, I’m sorry,” he said. “She didn’t go on at you like that all morning, did she?”

“No, not exactly. She likes Toño.”

“That’s good.”

“She sent for a seamstress because she says he needs proper clothes.”

Tejada winced. “Fourteen more days,” he said. “And maybe if I can convince my father I’m not interested in playing games, we can close the case and get away early.”

“It will be nice to see some of the sights,” Elena offered. “The Alhambra, perhaps?”

“I thought we could take Toño to the park along the Genil this afternoon.”

“That will be nice.” Elena glanced at the clock on the night table. It was just before four-thirty. “He should be up in an hour or so.”

The lieutenant sighed and pulled off his shoes. “I’m going to relax a little until then.”

Elena, still tired from the journey, elected to take a siesta as well. Tejada propped his pillow against the bedstead, lit a cigarette, and felt his nerves grow calmer as he listened to his wife’s peaceful breathing. When he finished smoking, he lay down and stared at the patterns of afternoon sunlight on the ceiling.

He was not aware of falling asleep until he heard his wife say gently, “Carlos,” and he woke up.

“Mmm?”

“I was thinking about your father.”

Tejada groaned slightly. “Why did you have to bring him up?”

“He was very decent to me, really.”

“I’m glad.”

“I was thinking.” Elena was hesitant. “I mean, about him being decent. I suppose if he’s decent to
me
, it’s because he wants to be decent to
you
.”

“Maybe.” The rings of sunlight on the ceiling were no longer soothing.

“I mean”—Elena paused, and then plunged on—“maybe he isn’t wasting your time. Maybe he actually has a reason for thinking your aunt was killed, but he doesn’t want to say so.”

“He’s gone to a lot of trouble to get me here to then not say so,” Tejada retorted. “Especially since he’s never been diffident.”

“What if he thinks it’s someone in the family?” Elena said in a small voice. “If he knows one of your family has a motive and doesn’t want to be disloyal?”

The lieutenant sighed. “You could be right,” he admitted. “But I can’t see how I could say to him: ‘Excuse me, Father, but did you call me here because you think one of our relatives secretly murdered an old lady and you want me to arrest the culprit, raise a stinking scandal, and start a family feud?’”

“You could think about which of your family members might have wanted to kill her, without asking him,” Elena pointed out.

“Everyone who knew her probably
thought
about killing her at some point.” Tejada’s voice was half amused and half annoyed. “But I can’t think of any real motives.”

“Honor, love, or money?” Elena summarized, sitting up.

“I think we can rule out the first two,” Tejada laughed. “But she was a very rich woman.”

“Who does her money go to, then?” Elena was leaning over to put on her shoes, so her voice was muffled.

“Good question.” Tejada sat up also. “Tomorrow I’ll find out what her will provides.”

Chapter 6

T
ejada considered stopping by Sergeant Rivas’s office the following morning but decided against it. He doubted that the Guardia would be of any help with respect to Doña Rosalia’s will. It was not their province of expertise. Besides, he had not confronted his father and he was unwilling to cast suspicion on his own family members without more definite proof. At breakfast he asked his brother if the toy store off the Plaza de la Trinidad was still there. The store had moved after the war, but it still existed. Tejada made sure that Toño was clean and combed and then set out with him and Elena, ostensibly for the toy store.