21

My stomach sank. I couldn’t believe that Lucy Kingston, who was sweet if a little feather-headed, could have done Maria harm.

“Does she have an alibi?”

Tony laughed. “Alibi? I don’t even know if a crime was committed, let alone when. Nah, she doesn’t need an alibi. She’s too open about hating Maria. If she’d tried to kill her, she’d have been more discreet.”

“Oh. You don’t think she might be putting on an act?”

“If she’s acting, then she deserves an Academy Award. Besides, where would she get hold of botulism, and how would she get close enough to Maria to infect her with it? The wound was a puncture on the wrist, so if someone inflicted it deliberately they’d have to get close. Or be pretty good with a blowgun.”

I suddenly remembered seeing a bandage on Maria’s wrist at the tearoom. Tony was right, it would have been difficult to stick her there with a hypodermic or some such without coming in close contact. Even on my brief acquaintance with Lucy, I couldn’t picture her getting within kissing range of Maria.

Tony finished his coffee and crumpled the paper cup. There was no trash can nearby, so after glancing around he just kept it in his hand.

“I’m pretty close to wrapping this one up,” he said. “It’ll go on the books as wound botulism, unknown source, unless I uncover something surprising in the next day or so.”

“Disappointing.”

He shrugged. “All in a day’s work. We don’t solve every case. Sometimes there isn’t a case.”

“Have you talked to all the family?”

“Yeah, pretty much. They weren’t all chummy with Maria, but I don’t think any of them hated her enough to want her dead.”

I mused on that. Estella certainly didn’t seem broken up about Maria’s death. In fact I suspected she’d been reluctant to take her place with the family on this day of public mourning, though she’d done so in the end. Could she have hated her mother enough to kill her? I didn’t see it, but then I had only observed her from a distance, mostly.

Matt and Sherry had reason to celebrate Maria’s demise, though they were doing so with quiet decorum. Would they have found it worthwhile to kill for the freedom to marry? I couldn’t guess.

Perhaps I was concocting all these suspicions out of thin air. Perhaps Maria had truly died of an unfortunate injury, a sad mischance.

Tony pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. “Gotta go. Glad I got to see you. Watch out for those Goths, OK?”

I smiled in response, though my heart wasn’t in it. Tony strode away, and I realized belatedly that I’d failed to invite him to the lecture. I considered going after him but decided to wait and call him later, when I hoped to be in a brighter mood.

He tossed his coffee cup into a trash can by the back door, then pushed the door open, letting in a blast of sunshine. Hot on his heels, catching the door even before it fell shut, was Estella Garcia. Going out for a smoke, no doubt.

The crowd was diminishing as people began to leave. The receiving line had finally dispersed. Rosa came up to me, looking composed if a little strained, and pressed a slip of paper into my hand.

“That’s our address. You know where Escalante Street is?”

“Yes, I can find it. Thank you, Rosa.”

She nodded, looking sad. “We’re going to the burial now.”

“Rosario?”

Another nod. Santa Fe’s oldest cemetery was a prestigious resting ground. Maria would have had to pay quite a bit to be buried there, or perhaps her family owned one of the coveted plots.

Rosa glanced toward her parents, who were talking with a handful of well-wishers, edging their way toward the exit. “I’d better go. See you at the house?”

I nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. An answering smile flicked across her face, then she turned and left.

The crowd around the buffet had thinned, but there wasn’t much left of the food and I really had no appetite. I decided to stop at home and just have a quick bite of something before joining the Garcia gathering.

I walked out to my car, sighing with relief at having fulfilled my duty and escaped. Funerals reminded one of one’s own losses, and mine were still recent enough to ache.

I drove back to the tearoom and went in. Strains of doleful rock music drifted down from upstairs; something from Kris's collection. I went up and looked into her office.

“Have you had lunch?”

Kris nodded.

I was about to leave, then I changed my mind and stepped in. “You know, there’s something you might be able to help me with. Those kids I told you about have been in my garden the last three nights, partying and looking in the windows.”

Kris’s eyes widened. “Every night? Geez! You mentioned they’d been around once.”

“Well, more than once now. I don’t suppose you've heard anything about it in your community?”

She shook her head. “My friends aren’t into partying in other people’s gardens.” She frowned, and added, “That kind of thing gives us all a bad rep.”

“Well, maybe you could put it out on the grapevine that I’d like them to cease and desist.”

“Sure. They’re looking in the windows?”

“Of the dining parlor. I gather they’ve heard about Captain Dusenberry.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s possible. There’s a certain crowd that’s into graveyards and that kind of stuff.”

“But not your crowd?”

“Just because we’re interested in the macabre doesn’t mean we’re into trespassing,” she said with a touch of disdain. “We’re classier than that.”

I couldn’t help smiling. It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that Kris had clandestinely visited a graveyard or two, in her wild and far-distant youth.

I stepped toward the doorway. “I’m going to grab a bite, then I’m going out again. I can take the deposit if it’s ready.”

She nodded. “It is. Want it now?”

“No, I’ll get it on my way out.”

I went across the hall to my suite. I didn't feel like making salad, so I grabbed a raspberry yogurt out of my fridge. Sitting in my living room to eat it, I found myself staring at the candlesticks flanking the door. I didn’t like them there, either. Someone could catch their clothing on fire, coming through the doorway, if they weren’t expecting candles right there.

I frowned. Was it that I didn’t like the candlesticks at all? Maybe I should give them to Kris. The Goths would probably flip for them.

No, Tony would be hurt if I gave them away. And really, I did like them. They ought to fit in with my Renaissance decor. I just hadn’t found the right place yet.

I finished my yogurt, then moved the candlesticks into the hall, to stand outside my door. An announcement that one was about to enter a different style. A pair of sentinels guarding my gate.

Kris came out into the hall carrying the bank bag. “Oh, those are cool! Where did you get them?”

“They were a gift,” I said.

“Can we have them in the dining parlor for our dinner?”

“Sure. Kris, do you think I’m a Luddite?”

She laughed. “Not even close. A Luddite wouldn’t be addicted to shopping online.”

I reached for the bank bag. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m going to visit with Julio and Rosa’s family for a little while.”

Kris nodded and handed me the bag. “Give them my condolences.”

“I will. Thanks.”

The afternoon was heating up, and I was somewhat regretting my dark clothing by the time I’d sat in line at the bank drive-up and made my way across town to the Garcias’ home. The driveway and the curb out front were full of cars. I parked a little way down the street and walked back to the house, which was shaded by grand old cottonwoods in a large front yard. The front door stood open and I stepped in, finding myself in a smaller but still substantial subset of the crowd at the funeral.

The house, an older home that was probably actual adobe, had the look of rambling comfort that marked a modest home improved by repeated additions. The living room was small and crowded with chattering people, who spilled out through the open back door onto a portal.

I didn’t see any of Rosa’s family in the living room, though I recognized several faces from earlier in the day. A lot of the chatter was in Spanish, which made me feel out of place even though I'd taken it in school.

I walked through and out onto the portal, admiring the back yard, which was possibly even larger than the front. A glowing lawn was shaded by old cottonwood trees and surrounded with burgeoning rosebushes. I spotted a bush covered in pink blossoms and went over for a closer look. I was pretty sure it was an Our Lady of Guadalupe. I bent down to inhale its fragrance—sweet and old-fashioned.

“Hello again,” said a woman’s voice beside me.

I turned to face Estella Garcia, cigarette in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. I smiled and took a tiny step away from the smoke.

“Hello.” Feeling self-conscious, I added, “Rick invited me.”

She nodded and took a drag on her cigarette. “Want a drink?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

She led me to a folding table at one end of the portal, where a crystal punch bowl, open bottles of wine, and a steel washtub filled with ice and beer sat next to a stack of plastic cups. Something for everyone.

“There’s sodas in the ice chests,” Estella said, indicating two coolers underneath the table.

“This looks good,” I said, reaching for a cup and the ladle in the punch bowl.

Estella drained her beer and took a fresh one from the tub. “Man, I’m glad this is almost over.”

I couldn’t quite conjure a response, so I just smiled and stepped out into the yard again. Estella came with me, and we strolled over to the roses together.

“Such a beautiful garden,” I said. “Maria must have planted these.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Estella. “And guess who got to take care of them when she was too busy with the restaurant?”

“You don’t like gardening?”

She shrugged. “When I was a kid I resented it, you know? Didn’t like roses because I had to prune the damn things all the time.”

“They do need a lot of attention.”

“She paid more attention to these bushes than she ever paid to us.”

Estella took a long drag of her cigarette, almost down to the filter, then dropped it and ground it into the lawn with her heel. A tiny wisp of smoke rose up from it. I stared at it, wondering how to answer her bitterness.

“You got kids?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I’m not married,” I said automatically, though these days it wasn’t necessarily a requirement.

“Well, take my advice, and don’t ever get married,” Estella said.

I met her gaze. “I heard you were divorced.”

“Yeah. Dumbest thing I ever did, marrying that asshole.” She looked away, gazing distantly in the direction of the roses, and took a long pull at her beer. “Cost me a lot to get rid of him, but I had to. Bastard would have killed me some day.”

“He abused you?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve still got the scars.”

More than one kind, I thought. No wonder Estella seemed angry at the world.

“Were you married young?” I asked.

“Seventeen. Huge mistake. Mama tried to tell me, but you know, when you’re seventeen and horny you don’t listen.”

She took another drink, then rubbed her hand along her hip as if looking for a pocket that wasn’t there. “I hated that Mama was right. And then when I finally went to her and told her I knew she was right and I was getting out, she said she’d disown me if I got divorced.”

“She couldn’t have been serious.”

Estella laughed, a bitter laugh that tossed her head back like the recoil from a gun. “Oh, she was serious all right. She was always big on following the rules. Said I’d made my bed and I had to lie in it. Fuck that, I said. If I had to choose between her money and staying the fuck alive, it was a no-brainer. I think that was the first time I ever cussed in front of her.”

Estella looked vaguely around the yard, then drank some more beer. She’d almost emptied the bottle. I tried to think of something comforting to say, and failed.

“I didn’t care about the money,” she said in a softer voice. “It was her acting like I was some irretrievable sinner that pissed me off. Just for getting a fucking divorce. Well, I’m glad I did it. I’m glad I stood up to her, somebody had to. She cared more about fucking church doctrine than she did about her own kids.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Pardon me, but you don’t know shit about this family.”

Estella finished her beer in one swig and threw the bottle at a rosebush a few feet away. It knocked a shower of petals loose, then slid to the ground.

I took a careful breath. “You’re right, of course. It must be hard for you to go through all this—” I waved my hand toward the house and the other people “—feeling as you do about her.”

She laughed again, not quite as harshly this time. “Funny thing is, I still liked the bitch. Didn’t see much of her, though. Never got the chance to....”

She took a sharp breath, then coughed. “I need a cigarette. You smoke?”

I shook my head. “Sorry.”

“Where the fuck did I leave my purse?” she muttered, looking toward the house. She glanced at me sidelong. “‘Scuse me.”

I nodded and watched her stalk away. I felt a strange mix of admiration and pity for her. She had shown courage, standing up to Maria. She’d lost her mother’s support, which I could only imagine was devastating, and now she’d never have a chance to reconcile.

She was angry, and violent enough to throw a beer bottle at an innocent rosebush. I believed she had the nerve to be a killer, and certainly she had motivation. But I couldn’t picture Estella planning a subtle poisoning, and having the patience to wait through its development. She wasn’t one to hide her feelings. If she’d wanted to kill Maria I would have expected her to be direct about it, and to crow afterward.

There was also the issue of where the botulism came from. I realized I didn’t know where Estella worked. A hospital? Or a research lab? Those were about the only places I could think of where she might possibly have access to a source of botulism.

I finished my punch and stepped over to the rosebush to retrieve Estella’s beer bottle, then returned to the portal. I threw the bottle away and filled my cup, this time with white wine.

“I saw you talking with Estella,” said a man’s voice beside me. I looked up into Rick Garcia’s concerned eyes. “I hope she didn’t offend you.”

I smiled slightly. “No, though I think she might have been trying.”

He shook his head. “She’s having a tough time.”

I moved away from the drinks table to make room for a couple of teenage girls who crouched to get at the ice chests. I stepped out onto the lawn with Rick.

“Forgive me for asking,” I said, “but was Estella actually disinherited?”

“She told you about that? Yes, Mama cut her out of the will. Matt tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t budge. We both kept trying to get her to change it back. Now it’s too late.”

“It must be awkward for all of you.”

“Only because Stella’s being as stubborn as Mama ever was.” He smiled wryly. “We want to give her a share of our inheritance, to make up for it, you know. We’re all agreed, but Stella says she won’t take it.”

“She won’t?”

“No. She’s too damn proud and stubborn. Says she doesn’t want any of Mama’s money.”

“Couldn’t she use it?”

“She works in a department store, and I guess she makes enough. She’d be more comfortable if she took it, she could buy a house instead of living in an apartment, but....” Rick shrugged. “Just like Mama. Once she takes a stand there’s no moving her.”

“Well, I think it’s fine of you all to offer her a share of your inheritance. She must appreciate the gesture, even if she doesn’t say so.”

He sighed. “Stella’s a little loco, but we love her. Sorry you got treated to one of her tantrums.”

I waved a hand in dismissal. “People are emotional when they’re grieving, and she’s grieving whether she admits it or not.”

Rick nodded, and I got the sense he was uncomfortable talking about his family’s personal affairs. I clicked into Miss Manners mode and sought an innocuous subject.

“Your home is beautiful, by the way, and so is this garden. I love the roses.”

“Thanks. Mama’s roses. Rosa and Ramon take care of them now. Well, mostly Rosa, these days.”

“Ramon’s in college, right?”

“Yeah. Studying computer science. He’s going to be another genius, like Matt.”

“Your whole family is brilliant, from what I’ve seen.”

He glanced at me. “Thanks, but Matt’s really the smart one. He’s the one with the sheepskin. Mama loved talking about her son the lawyer.”

I looked at his face, wondering if I’d heard a trace of bitterness in his voice. Younger son makes good while the eldest is running the family business. A cause of friction, perhaps.

“I understand Matt’s engaged,” I said.

“Yeah, finally. Step up from living in sin. I never could figure out why Mama preferred that to his marrying Sherry.”

“Sounds like she was pretty conservative.”

“Very conservative, yeah. She always wore a hat to church. Never ate meat on Fridays. She thought Vatican II was a cop-out.”

I stifled a laugh. “Oh, dear.”

“Sorry. I shouldn’t bore you with this stuff.”

“No, no, I’m interested. The more I learn about Maria the more I wish I’d had the chance to know her.”

He gazed at me, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “She would have liked you, I think.”

“Thank you. I know I liked her.”

“Thanks.” His brow creased in a sudden frown and I thought for a moment he was going to lose his composure, but he coughed and seemed to collect himself. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for everything you did, you know, that day. The day Mama died.”

“I only did what anyone would do.”

“Well, it must have been disruptive for your business.”

“Not as much as it might have been.”

“This is going to sound weird, but...” He gave an odd, sheepish smile. “I’m glad she died in a beautiful place. She probably died happy, sitting there being waited on like a queen. That was just the kind of thing she loved.”

I smiled back. “If we made her last hour a happy one, then I’m glad too.”

He nodded, then glanced toward the portal. “Well, I’d better circulate. Can I get you anything? Some more wine?”

I looked at my glass, still half full. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

“There’s some food in the kitchen. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you for coming.”

We shook hands and he went away to join a group on the portal. The offer of food had reminded me that my lunch had been on the light side. Better have something more since I was drinking, I decided. I went into the house and worked my way through the crowded living room toward the kitchen.

A long, narrow room heavily decorated with Mexican tile, the kitchen was equally crowded. I recognized Sherry in one corner, talking with an Hispanic woman about the same age. Working my way to the counter where the food was laid out, I inadvertently bumped into a young man in a dark suit.

He turned even as I excused myself, and the look of surprise on his face rang a memory like a bell in my mind. He was one of the kids who’d been out in my lilacs last night.

He was Ramon.