¹¹

I stifled a startled yelp. Coffee splashed across my hand.

Swazo stared at me for an eternal second, during which I could not help thinking about those powerful arms raised in anger, those big fists thumping down on a surprised, smaller brother. He smiled—not a friendly smile—and stepped to one side, out of view, releasing me from paralysis.

I put the mugs on the table and ran to the door to make sure it was locked. As I confirmed it, a thump fell against the heavy wood; it shook against my hands.

Heart pounding, I peeked through the small, barred window high in the door. Swazo was striding away down the driveway.

“Ellen?” Nat called from the living room. “Are you all right?”

“Are all the doors locked?” I called back. “I’m OK, but there’s a man outside.”

Nat’s footsteps hurried toward the kitchen. I grabbed a dish towel and dried my hands, trying not to shake.

“Did he ring the doorbell?” Nat said as she joined me, frowning in concern.

I shook my head. “I think he’s gone now. He w—hic—was standing outside the window, and when he saw me he left.”

“Oh, Ellen!”

“I think it was Daniel Swazo’s brother. He banged on the door and then went down the driveway.”

“I’m calling the police,” she said, reaching for the phone.

“Not 911. It’s not—hic—not an emergency.”

“He was trespassing!”

“But he’s gone now. Let me call ... I’d better call Detective Walters.”

I would much rather have called Tony, but it wasn’t his case. Walters would want to know about Swazo’s trespassing.

Nat offered me the phone, but I shook my head. “I don’t know his number. It’s on my cell.”

“I have it here.” She took a business card from her bulletin board and handed it to me.

My throat was dry. I took a swig of my coffee and tried to gather my thoughts.

I shouldn’t mention the knife or what was on it. I was tempted to nudge Walters toward thinking about it, but that could be disastrous. I had to talk to Tony and let him be the one to raise the subject.

OK. No knife. Just tell him Swazo was here.

I swallowed some more coffee, then dialed Walters’s number. It went to voicemail. I left a brief message telling him about Swazo, mentioning that I’d seen him that morning at the flea market and leaving Nat’s number. I only hiccuped twice.

As I hung up the phone, Nat gathered me into a hug. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I laughed. “I like ghosts better.”

“You’re trembling. Come and sit down.”

We sat at the table and drank coffee. Gradually the tension in my shoulders relaxed. Outside, late afternoon shadows crept across the hillside and lengthened beneath the piñons.

“He must have followed me here from the flea—hic—market,” I said. The thought made me unhappy; I’d been so adamant that Daniel had not followed us, and now his brother appeared to have done so. It weakened my position. I could imagine Detective Walters saying, “I told you so.”

I wondered if Swazo had left any footprints on the portal. If he had, and if the police had found any footprints the day Daniel died, maybe they could match them. It was a long shot, but I got up to check.

Nat followed me to the door. “Ellen?”

“I’m just going to look at something.”

If there were prints, I didn’t want Manny to walk across them when he got back. I unlocked the door and opened it.

“Oh!”

Stuck into the door’s center panel, right below the window, was a knife. Its handle was beautifully inlaid with stripes of turquoise and coral. One of Daniel’s.

Behind me, Nat let out a gasp.

“Don’t touch it,” I said. “Do you have a plastic bag?”

“I’ll get one.” Nat stepped away and I heard her pull open a drawer.

The knife looked familiar. It might have been on Mrs. Swazo’s table at the market that morning. Tommy must have helped himself.

I swallowed, the implied threat sinking in. He was telling me to back off.

“Is this big enough?” Nat asked, holding out a food storage bag.

I took it, wondering how to remove the knife without damaging any prints that might be on it. Maybe I could slide the bag over it, and pull on the blade...

The sound of a motorcycle drew my attention to the street. A bike came down the hill and turned into the driveway.

“Tony.” I exhaled relief. “Let’s wait. He’ll know what to do.”

Tony parked by my car and swung off the bike, removing his helmet, which ruffled his short, dark hair. I caught my breath, struck anew by his good looks.

His smile faded as he came up to the doorway and saw the knife. “What’s this?”

“A warning,” I said. “Tommy Swazo was just here.”

“Swazo?” He frowned. “That’s...”

“The brother of the man I found la—hic—last week. We were about to put it in this.” I offered him the storage bag.

He looked at it, then at me. “You’ve got the hiccups again?”

“Still.”

Tony’s expression sharpened with concern, then he sighed. “I’ll get an evidence bag. Don’t touch it.”

Nat gently took the plastic bag from my hands. “I’ll make some more coffee.”

I watched Tony retrieve a plastic bag with printing on it from one of the saddlebags on his bike. Gina’s recommendation that I get laid flashed through my mind, bringing a blush to my cheeks. He returned, took several photos of the knife with his phone, then carefully removed the knife from the door.

Tony shot a glance at me as he pulled a marker out of his jacket pocket and wrote on the bag. “Tell me what happened.”

I told him, describing Swazo’s appearance outside the window and the thump against the door as he departed. “I didn’t realize until now that it was a knife. Oh! I was going to check if he left footprints...”

“If he did, they’re probably gone by now. Does Walters know about this?”

“I called and got his voicemail. I left him a message.”

“Hm.”

“Come in and close the door,” Nat said. “Tony, would you like some coffee?”

“Yes, but I need to call this in. Just take a sec.”

I stepped in and Tony pulled the door closed, remaining outside. I watched through the window as he went back to his bike and locked the knife in the saddlebag, took out his phone and took a couple more photos of the door, then made a call. He paced in the driveway, restless as a caged jaguar. Finally he put the phone away and headed for the door. I opened it for him.

He paused to finger the mark the knife had left, frowning. “Sorry about that.”

“You didn’t do it. Come on in.”

Nat clucked and fussed about settling us at the table with coffee. Tony took a long pull at his mug and then closed his eyes. “Oh, that’s good.”

“Thank you,” Nat said. “Julio shared his source with me.”

I took another swig of mine; I hadn’t recognized it as Julio’s Colombian, but maybe it was a different blend.

“I requested a patrol for your house,” Tony told Nat. “They’ll come by a couple of times a day, and at night, for the next couple of weeks.”

“Thank you,” Nat said, then glanced at me. “Are you doing the same for Ellen’s house?”

“Swazo doesn’t know where I live,” I said.

“Want to bet?” Tony said.

I lifted my mug. I didn’t like it when he got cynical, and it certainly wasn’t any comfort.

“He may know your name, from the police report. He’s seen you at the flea market ... twice?”

I nodded.

“And he probably knows you’re the one who found his brother. Don’t go back to the flea market.”

“I won’t.” I thought fleetingly of Mrs. Swazo, feeling a rush of pity for her, but there was nothing I could do for her. Nothing except, perhaps, make sure Tommy got locked up. She might not consider that a favor.

“Tony, I need to talk to you about the knife. Not this one—the one from last week.”

“Too many knives around here.”

“Yes. Well, I was thinking about that report.” I glanced at Nat, then decided she might as well know everything. If I couldn’t trust Nat, I couldn’t trust anyone.

“That chemical analysis I ask—hic—asked you about a couple of days ago,” I said to her. “It was for what was on Daniel Swazo’s knife that was found in your driveway.”

Nat tilted her head. “The one Dee said was meth?”

“Yes. And she mentioned that the other things in the report sounded like food.” With a sidelong glance I saw Tony frowning, but he said nothing. I continued. “Well, I was thinking about it, and I realized it might be bread. You know that bread I brought from the flea market? Daniel Swazo’s mother baked it.”

“Daniel and Tommy Swazo’s mother,” Tony said.

“Yes. And the first time we went to the market, she wasn’t there. Tommy was selling her bread, and there was one—hic—shape he had under the table. He sold a loaf to a guy who came up, but he wouldn’t sell one to me. He said he was out, but I think that wasn’t true. There was a box under the table.”

Tony’s chin rose and his brows drew together. “He’s hiding meth in his mother’s bread?”

“I think so. I don’t have any proof, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. And Daniel was selling his knives right near Tommy’s table. If he suspected, he might have used his knife to check the bread. And if Tommy noticed...”

“He might have beat the crap out of his brother.”

“But why did Daniel follow us here?” Nat asked.

“I don’t think he did,” I said. “Tommy must have dropped him on the frontage road. Daniel was looking for help, and this was the nearest house. Only he didn’t make it to the door.”

Nat shook her head. “Poor boy.”

I swallowed, turning back to Tony. “There was a man at the market this morning, with tattoos on his neck. Tommy told him ‘Not today.’ Mrs. Swazo was there, selling off Daniel’s knives.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “I’d better call Walters.”

“I did try. I didn’t mention the report.”

“Good. Gonna have to figure out what to say to him. He won’t like that I gave it to you.”

“Maybe you don’t have to tell him that.”

“If he asks, I’ve got to tell him.”

“Maybe he won’t ask?” The thought that I might get Tony in trouble worried me.

He sat gazing at nothing, frowning slightly. I took advantage of his distraction to appreciate the clean lines of his face. Well, not entirely clean; it looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. His jaw was tight and there were shadows under his eyes. A small, vertical crease had formed between his dark eyebrows. Apparently, he’d had about as much rest as I had in the past week.

He noticed me watching him and met my gaze. The frown softened.

“Don’t worry. If I have to tell Walters that I shared the report with you, it might pi—it might make him mad, but it won’t do any harm. You’re a consultant, remember?”

I smiled, laughed a little, and hiccuped. Tony put his hand over mine, sending a tingle shooting up my arm.

“This is helpful, OK? You’re doing good stuff, not bad stuff. Don’t worry.”

His hand was warm. He curled his fingertips into my palm and squeezed.

“I think you nailed this one. Probably he didn’t mean to, but I bet Tommy is the one who killed his brother.”

I nodded. “There’s no proof, though.”

“Maybe we just haven’t found it yet. If Walters takes a closer look at Tommy, who knows what he’ll turn up? Leave it to him, now.”

“By all means.”

He gave my hand another squeeze, then let go and stood, looking at Nat. “Will you excuse me? I’d better give Walters a call.”

“Of course.”

We stayed at the table while Tony went outside to make his call. After a moment I realized Nat was watching me, and looked up at her.

“I think his manners are improving.” She smiled, the skin around her eyes crinkling with amusement. “More coffee?”

I shook my head. “I’m floating.”

“It’s time to start dinner anyway.”

I got up to help, and Nat assigned me the duty of making red chile sauce for enchiladas. Simple and soothing task, starting with a roux of oil and flour, then adding seasonings and the puréed chile that Nat preferred to using powdered. Its color was vibrant red, and it would be brilliant on the plate.

“I’m sorry about the damage to your door,” I said while she pulled veggies, tortillas, and cheese out of the refrigerator. “And for leading Swazo to your h—hic—house. I feel like I’ve placed you in danger.”

“I doubt he’ll come back. He made his point.”

“So to speak.”

Nat chuckled, which made me feel better. She sliced some onions and started them sautéeing, which filled the kitchen with a delicious aroma. Suddenly I was hungry.

Male voices sounded outside the door, then it opened and Manny came in, followed by Tony. Nat greeted her intended with a smooch on the cheek. Manny hugged her, then turned to me.

“Chica, you should spend the night here with your aunt. You shouldn’t be alone.”

“I gather Tony filled you in on our visitor.”

Manny’s bushy brows gathered into a frown. “He better not come back, that’s all. I’ll be in the garage,” he added, kissing Nat’s cheek before he left.

I looked at Tony, who had stayed near the door. “Did you reach Walters?”

“Yeah. He’s on his way over. He’ll want to hear it from you. The report didn’t come up, but I told him about the bread Swazo wouldn’t sell you.”

“OK.”

“Tony, would you like to stay for dinner?” Nat asked.

“It’s Sunday,” I said.

“Oh, crap,” Tony said, then looked up guiltily at Nat. “Sorry. Um, I need to make a call.”

I glanced at Nat’s kitchen clock as Tony went back outside. It was quarter to six; he might already be too late.

“What does Sunday matter?” Nat asked.

“He usually eats dinner with his family on Sundays. If he isn’t working.”

“Oh.” Nat began slicing zucchini. “Well, he seems to be working today.”

It was nice of Nat to invite him to join us. Other than our evening at the Opera, she hadn’t seen him socially at all. She’d made the invitation for my sake, which was kind of her. My cheeks grew warm at the thought that she was welcoming him into the family.

The sauce had thickened nicely. Turning the heat down to low, I set the spoon on the sunflower spoon rest. “What else can I help with?”

Nat put the zucchini into the pan with the onions, then reached for a yellow squash. “Start the oil heating for the tortillas, then you can set the table if you like.”

I pulled out one of Nat’s prized cast-iron skillets, poured some oil into it, and turned on the burner. Nat preferred gas stoves to electric, and so did I. Leaving the blue flames caressing the bottom of the skillet, I cleared the coffee mugs off the table and set them on the counter.

Tony came back in, looking a bit lost-puppyish. His hands were shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched forward.

“Did you reach your mother?” I asked. “Are you going?”

“Nah, I have to wait for Walters. She’s annoyed. I missed dinner last week, too.”

“Because of your case. I keep forgetting that th—hic—this one isn’t. I’m—”

“Don’t be sorry.”

His abruptness silenced me. I turned to the stove and tested the oil with a drop of water. It sizzled.

“This is hot,” I said to Nat.

“Good.” She handed me a package of blue corn tortillas. “You can start cooking these.”

I opened drawers until I found a pair of tongs, then started frying the tortillas, a few seconds each side, and stacking them on a plate. I heard Nat open the sideboard.

“Well,” she said, “since you’re stuck here, you’d better have dinner with us. Help me with this, will you?”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw her and Tony settling a tablecloth on the kitchen table. I turned back to my work, glad he was staying, annoyed that an awkward moment had intruded. Maybe it was me; maybe I was too sensitive. I sighed, giving up on trying to figure it out.

The kitchen was getting warm. Nat had turned on the oven, and now we both started assembling plates of enchiladas, layering the chile sauce, grated cheddar, and onions. A final sprinkling of cheese on top, and they went into the oven. Nat gave the calabacitas a stir and added a scattering of corn, then started chopping lettuce and tomatoes for garnish.

“May I help?” I asked.

“No, just relax. You’ve had a stressful day.”

Deprived of busy work, I joined Tony at the table. “Thanks for dealing with this. Good thing you came over.”

He nodded. “Guess we’re not doing a movie, though. Probably be too late by the time we’re done with Walters.”

“You haven’t mentioned your ca—hic—case,” I said. “Did you finish it?”

“All but the clean-up and a boatload of paperwork.”

“You found the killer?”

“Killers. Yeah, we spent yesterday rounding them up. That’s why I couldn’t make it to tea.” He gave me an anxious look. “I hope my grandmother didn’t try to steamroller you.”

“Not exactly. She asked a couple of ... uncomfortable questions. She liked the food, though.”

Tony grinned. “Especially the cakes, I bet.”

“I think the strawberry puffs were her favorite.”

“She does like sweet stuff. Thanks for entertaining them.”

“Well, we missed you, of course, but I was glad to meet them. Especially Ange—hic—la—she’s lovely.”

He nodded. “She’s a good kid.”

“Not so much a kid. She seemed very serious when she talked about a career in nursing.”

Tony frowned slightly. “I wish she’d go on and get a bachelor’s. She wants an associate’s degree because she can get a job faster.”

I bit my lip, choosing my words carefully. “College is expensive.”

“I told her I’d help. She doesn’t want to borrow, though, even from me.”

“Well, that’s cautious, but it may also be wise.”

Manny came in from the garage, wiping dust from his hands. “You still here?” he said, pretending to frown at Tony.

“I got invited to stay for dinner.”

“There goes the poker game.” Manny came to the table and gave Tony a good-natured buffet on the shoulder. “Coming to the wedding?”

“I haven’t had a chance to ask him yet,” I said hastily. “We’ve both been busy.”

Tony looked at me “Wedding?”

“Nat and Manny’s wedding. It’s next—hic—month.”

Nat opened the oven and a wave of heat came out, laced with the smell of red chile. I stood up to help her carry food to the table.

“We’ll talk,” I told Tony, and hurried to collect a basket of warm tortillas. My cheeks were warm, too.

“We need cervesa,” Manny said, heading to the fridge. He took out a bottle of beer and waved it at me. “You want one, chica?”

“Yes, please.”

“How about you, Tony? Or there’s sangria, too.”

“Beer’s great. Thanks.”

Nat poured a glass of sangria for herself and joined us at the table. Tony raised his bottle. “Here’s to the bride and groom.”

I clinked my bottle against his, and saw Manny and Nat’s eyes meet across the table as they drank their own private toast. Tony took a bite of enchiladas, then closed his eyes as he chewed, his expression blissful.

“Oh, man,” he said. “This is fantastic. I’ve been eating junk food all week.”

“Glad you like it,” said Nat, looking pleased.

“Do you cook when you have time?” Manny asked Tony.

“I can grill a burger or boil pasta, but that’s about it, other than frozen dinners.”

I shook my head slightly, biting back a comment about how unhealthy processed food was. Not everyone liked to cook. I was certainly guilty of taking short cuts myself, now and then.

Time to change the subject. I didn’t want to ask Tony about work, because, stress. Likewise the visit from Tommy Swazo. Didn’t want to talk about the wedding, either, because the topic was loaded.

“Gina is designing some ads for the tearoom for December,” I said, grasping at conversational straws. “I can’t believe how—hic—early that stuff has to be done.”

“Time flies,” Nat said. “It’s almost October.”

No one had a comment about my advertising plans. Oh, well.

Nat turned to Tony. “I met your sister yesterday. She’s charming.”

“Oh, thanks. Yeah, she’s a peach.”

A heavy rapping at the door made me jump. Tony got up, setting his napkin beside his plate.

“That’s Walters. ‘Scuse me.”

I followed him to the door, knowing Walters would want to talk to me, wanting to get it over with. Tony looked out the window, then opened the door.

Walters stood there, cowboy hat crammed low on his forehead, hands stuffed in the pockets of his sheepskin coat. “Sorry to interrupt your dinner,” he said, giving Tony a wry look.

“Come in, Detective,” said Nat, joining us at the door. “Would you like something to eat?”

“No, thanks. Wife’s got dinner waiting at home. I just need to get the facts—the new facts—from Miss Rosings here.”

“Why don’t you come into the living room?” I said.

“I’ll get the knife,” Tony said, stepping past Walters to go outside.

I led the detective through to the living room and invited him to sit. He took his tablet out and sank into Manny’s favorite chair. Manny hovered at the pass-through to the kitchen, watching. I found that comforting.

I was halfway through describing Tommy Swazo’s visit when Tony joined us. He sat beside me on the couch and put the plastic bag holding the knife on the coffee table in front of Walters, who paused to peer at it.

“Looks like the same work as the other one.”

“I’m fairly certain it is,” I said. “Daniel Swazo made in—hic—inlaid knives.”

“And you found this where?”

“Tommy Swazo stuck it in the door as he was leaving,” I said. “The door you came through.”

Walters looked at Tony, who nodded. “That’s where I found it. I bagged it.”

Walters frowned, then looked at me. “Better stay away from Mr. Swazo.”

“I have every intention of it.”

Tony’s gaze met mine. Was he going to mention the lab report? Maybe I should make an excuse to leave them together...

Walters turned to me, tilting his head. “But you went back to the flea market this morning.”

“Yes. And I noticed something ... it may mean nothing...”

I looked at Tony for guidance. He gave a small nod.

“At the market, Tommy Swazo sells horno bread that his mother bakes. She was there this morning, but not last week. And I noticed—hic—I noticed one shape of bread last week that wasn’t there this week. It had a knotwork decoration on top. Tommy had them under the table last week, and I saw him sell one to a young man, but when I asked the price he said it was a special order.”

“Special order?” Walters frowned. “For bread?”

“Yes. And this morning, another young man with tattoos up his neck came up to Tommy’s table, and I heard Tommy say, ‘Not today’.”

Walters stared at me, silent. My heart thumped.

“So I think there must have been something different ab—hic—about that bread,” I concluded. “The one with the knotwork.”

It sounded lame to me. Walters’s frown deepened. He was still looking at me, but I had the feeling he was seeing something else.

I glanced at Tony. He smiled for just an instant, then his face went back to cop neutral.

Walters looked down at his tablet and poked at the screen a few times, then grunted. “Gotta go. Thanks for the information, Miss Rosings. I’ll be in touch.”

I stood as he did, surprised. That was it? No questions, no warnings?

Tony followed him out, and remained outside for a few minutes. I returned to the kitchen table and my half-eaten enchiladas. I’d lost my appetite.

“Ellen, I meant it about your staying here tonight,” said Manny. “I don’t think you should go home.”

“The guest room’s ready,” offered Nat.

“Thanks, but I’d rather sleep in my own bed.” Or not sleep, as the case may be. “I don’t think Swazo’s going to bother me there,” I added.

“You didn’t think he’d follow you here,” said Manny.

I took a swig of my beer, then picked up my fork and pushed some calabacitas around my plate. Manny was probably right; there was safety in numbers, at least, though Swazo had come up here pretty boldly. Remembering him standing outside the window, I didn’t feel all that safe.

Plus, I was stubborn. As badly as I’d been sleeping at home, I’d probably sleep still worse away from my own bed. And I was damned if I’d be frightened out of my home by a bully, which I was coming to believe Tommy Swazo to be.

Tony came back in, sat down, and started eating again. His appetite had not been adversely affected by his colleague’s visit.

“Tony, tell Ellen she’d be safer spending the night here,” Manny said.

Tony looked at him thoughtfully while he chewed a mouthful and swallowed. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Thank you,” I said, giving Manny a repressive look.

“Walters is going to ask for a warrant for Swazo’s arrest,” Tony added.

I looked at him. “So he made the connection between the bread and the knife.”

Tony nodded. “I didn’t even have to nudge. Walters is pretty sharp.”

“Do you think he’ll get a wa—hic—warrant based on my suspicions?”

“There’s more than suspicion when Swazo stuck a knife in your door. Plus there’s the stuff on Daniel’s knife, and his death. It’s worth a shot. Depends on what the judge thinks.”

I sipped the last of my beer while I watched Tony eat. Nat and Manny had already cleared their plates, and were loading the dishwasher.

Tony wiped the last of the sauce from his plate with a flour tortilla. “You not hungry?”

“Not any more. You want it?”

I nudged my plate toward him and he put it on top of his, then proceeded to clean it. I couldn’t help smiling.

“When’s the last time you ate a salad?”

“No idea. Want to make me one?”

A frisson shimmied down my spine. Was he asking to come over to my place? I could certainly respond with an invitation...

“Here,” Nat said, bringing over the cutting board and scraping the last of the garnish onto the plate. “That’ll tide you over.”

Tony tilted his head to look up at her sideways. I had to laugh.

“I’d be happy to make you a salad,” I said, “but I bet you cou—hic—couldn’t do justice to it right now. How about tomorrow night?”

There. I’d done it.

“Sure.”

Wow. I’d have to clean up my suite. Or should I feed him in the dining parlor? No, too many uncomfortable memories for us associated with that room.

Tony finished the last bite of my enchiladas, dropped his fork, and held up his hands like a calf-roper who’d done his work. Nat collected the plates, grinning.

“That was awesome,” Tony said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Nat. She turned to me. “And you are welcome to spend the night. You know that.”

“I know. Thanks, but I think I’ll rest better at home.”

The clock on the microwave showed a few minutes to seven. Outside the window, night was drifting into puddles under the piñon trees.

“And I should probably go there,” I added, getting up. “I’m pretty wiped.”

“I’ll follow you,” Tony said. “And I did request a patrol for you, too.”

“Thanks.” I smiled at him, then turned to Nat. “Thank you for a great dinner.”

Hugs exchanged with Nat and Manny, I gathered my belongings and headed for the door. I paused to peer out the window. It was pretty dark outside. Manny came to turn on the outdoor light.

“You be careful,” he said.

“I w—hic—will.”

I was glad to have Tony following me home. Maybe I’d invite him in for a nightcap? Except he probably wouldn’t want to drink any more before driving. Or maybe I was thinking too hard.

I pulled into my driveway a little ahead of him and parked. As I opened the door I heard the motorcycle’s engine shut off, a gesture of courtesy to my neighbors. Tony had done that before, coasting up the driveway, though it really wasn’t necessary. I smiled.

The house was dark; I’d forgotten to leave a light on. I got out of the car, shouldered my purse, and stepped onto the portal.

A shadow moved between me and the door. I froze. The shadow lunged toward me, faster than I’d have thought possible, and in the dim light something glinted like a knife.