5
The party was all it should be.
Carlton Davis, master manipulator, had managed to dovetail the “special celebration” with a planned cocktail reception for patrons while the public opening-night tailgating festivities ramped up in the parking lot. Tourists and locals alike set up folding tables by their cars, broke out the fine linens, silver, and crystal and ate and drank, enjoying one of the best sunset views Santa Fe had to offer.
It was surpassed only by the opera house loading dock, with its sheer edge dropping over the valley. Christine’s father had supplemented the catering with excellent champagne and a string quartet, bribed down from Taos. Quite the expense to assemble all the players in one spot, but he seemed to be enjoying himself.
Christine’s father handed her a flute of champagne. “Ah, and the Sanclaro clan arrives. All of them except the wife, who declined, complaining of a migraine. This is going to be fun.”
She glanced over her shoulder to see Domingo Sanclaro, flanked by Roman, Angie trailing meekly behind, clapping shoulders and working the crowd.
“I’m surprised you call it ‘fun.’ I can’t wait for it all to be over.”
Her father chuckled. “You have to understand, when you’ve been in big business for a long time, it’s like a duel. You find better and better swordsmen—and women—” He interrupted himself to toast her. “—to pit yourself against. To test yourself. What has Sanclaro Corp. done? It’s the financial equivalent of going to the schoolyard and hacking up little kids with a machete.”
“Nice image, Dad.” Christine grimaced and he grinned, happy to have gotten her goat.
“Apt one, too. I despise fraud. Especially the kind that takes advantage of people who already have next to nothing. Taking Sanclaro apart before his peers will be sweet indeed.”
“It doesn’t bother you that they’re family?”
His face turned hard. “They are not my family, or yours. We share a genetic connection, nothing more profound than that. I was spawned by a coldhearted bitch who spread her legs, popped me out, and dumped me like an unwanted puppy at the pound. That’s not family. Never forget it.”
He didn’t have what she had, however—that racial memory connection to the tribal priestess who’d started it all. Christine wished she could share that with him; tell him that there was something meaningful and valuable in it all. But she kept the secret close.
Davis went on, not noticing her quietness. “If that Detective Sanchez can also nail him and his vile son for murder that will be a bonus. But it’s the financial ruin that will hurt him where he lives.”
“About the murder, I don’t think—”
“Carlton!” Domingo Sanclaro stepped up next to her, shaking her father’s hand and ignoring her completely, little tool that she was. “I haven’t seen you in ages. I thought we’d never get you out to our part of the world.”
Sanclaro wore a perfectly tailored tuxedo and scanned her father’s not-Armani suit with a barely veiled sneer, completely falling for his gambit. Never underestimate the power of seeming to be an idiot. “You remember Roman. Once he and Christy marry, I’m making him VP.”
“He’s young for it.” Carlton frowned at Roman, giving him the same dismissive glance Domingo had given Christine. She wanted to kiss her father.
“He’s a bright and capable young man. He’ll make a fine husband for your daughter,” Domingo replied smoothly. “I assume sweet little Christy here is still your only heir?”
Her father frowned at her, as if just noticing her presence. “Yes, well, though she’s only interested in some aspects of the business,” he managed to make her sound flighty, “you know how girls are. They try on new occupations like dresses, isn’t that right, dear?”
“Oh, Daddy,” she took her cue, “that’s just mean. I prefer to say I’m eclectic in my pursuits.”
He ruffled her hair affectionately, something he used to do a long, long time ago. Before they started fighting all the time. “That’s my girl.”
“A girl needs a strong guiding hand,” Domingo inserted, glancing at Roman. “I’m as delighted as you are that these two kids have finally seen the light. Given Christy’s affection for the opera house, I imagine you’ll want to deed that to her—perhaps as an engagement gift.”
She could see her father’s point. Sanclaro wasn’t even working for this one. Carlton Davis tossed back the rest of his champagne, knitting his brows, looking a bit befuddled. “That reminds me. I have an announcement to make.”
Domingo and Roman exchanged satisfied glances, while her father made his way to the string quartet, tapping on his empty flute with the wire rims of his glasses. Roman moved to slide an arm around her waist.
“What happened to the dress I sent for you?” he murmured in her ear.
“Daddy bought me this one,” she answered, keeping an eye on her father. Not far away, Hally and Angie were deep in conversation. Good. Hally would handle the realities of that situation.
Inside the opera house, the shadows grew deeper as the sun dropped, its rays stretching long and red, splashing the copper surfaces with crimson light. A flutter of movement caught her eye, the sweep of a cape, dark on black. Warmth stirred deep inside her.
Soon this would be over and she and the Master would be together.
“Don’t get used to it,” Roman was saying. “I won’t have my wife dressing like a slut.”
The music stopped and Carlton Davis cleared his throat loudly into the mike, making everyone cringe and look his way. He grinned, loving every moment.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Let’s all make a toast, please.” Waiters passed through, pouring the excellent champagne liberally, and Roman smiled down at her, nearly giddy with his triumph. Carlton Davis held up his now-full flute. “To another fabulous Santa Fe sunset!”
The crowd laughed, then everyone turned to toast the sky. Roman’s arm tightened on her waist and Domingo refused the toast. Bad luck, that.
“Now that we’ve acknowledged nature’s contribution to this exciting evening,” Davis continued, “I also want to thank the many, many people who made this opera season happen. From the board,” he held up his glass to the cluster of elegantly dressed board members, who nodded solemnly, “to the talent,” the soprano, already in costume, fluttered her fan, “to the lowest apprentice.” With that last, he tipped his glass toward Christine with a long wink.
“She happens to be my daughter,” he pretended to confess, gaining another laugh. “Today is a very special day for her—seeing the fruits of her labors in her very first job. I wish I could go back and enjoy that again. I’m proud of you, Christine.”
People clapped politely, and she found herself unexpectedly weepy at the words.
“He’s taking forever,” Roman complained.
“Hush,” she replied without thinking, and his displeasure manifested in a sharp pinch at her waist. Learned that one from his mother.
“I think we should all have a moment of silence, too, for the tragic events of this season. For the loss of a young woman on the verge of a new life, a new career, senselessly cut short. And for Carla Donovan, longtime loyal employee of this opera, who couldn’t be here tonight due to her injuries.” Charlie, in an older-style tuxedo that he probably pulled out every year, acknowledged the words, a deep frown knitting his brows.
“I’ve come to a decision. Not because of the unfortunate mishaps of this season, but because the world turns and times change. I want you all to hear it first here.”
Domingo Sanclaro rocked from heel to toe, beside himself with excited energy.
“As many of you may or may not know, I came to own this opera house via a trust from my mother, Angelia Sanclaro.”
Gasps of surprise ran through the crowd. Domingo frowned and Roman slid an uneasy glance at her. She tried to look confused.
“Yes—though it’s never been common knowledge,” Davis said, acknowledging the shocked response of the gathering. “In fact, it’s been something of a deep, dark family secret. But it’s time for us to come out of the closet. Christine, honey, you need to know that Roman is your first cousin. While strictly legal in this state, I find such a marriage distasteful and cannot condone it.”
People in the crowd glanced in her direction and away, shaking their heads. She bit her lip for them to see her public consternation.
“As penance for keeping this secret, I have investigated the trust and discovered a way to break the terms. As of today, I’ve sold the opera house.”
“What is he talking about?” Roman demanded in her ear.
She put a hand to her temple, acting out traumatized grief and shock.
“I can give you all the details later, but as of,” he glanced at his watch, “three-thirty this afternoon, Davis Corporation no longer owns the Santa Fe Opera. An exciting, new company, Star Entertainment Enterprises, will be taking over. I think you’ll be in very good hands.”
Roman swore, letting her go hard enough that she stumbled.
“What’s the meaning of this, Davis?” Domingo Sanclaro shouted far too loudly. The whites of his eyes seemed to bulge with unbalanced rage. “That trust is ironclad. The land belongs to the Sanclaros. Always has and always will. Besides, you can’t make this kind of move without the board and the shareholders.”
Carlton Davis put on his glasses. “Are you referring to your shares, Sanclaro? The ones I bought out from under you?”
Like a lash, Domingo’s gaze cut to his son, who shrank back, shaking his head in denial.
“You haven’t been watching your financial house, my old friend. And the board convened an emergency meeting today. Upon seeing evidence of the federal investigations underway into Sanclaro Corp., the good people unanimously decided to divorce themselves from your influence.”
Several of the board members nodded in agreement, sending black looks in Sanclaro’s direction.
“In fact,” her father looked pleased with himself, “I believe there are some folks from the FBI and the Bureau of Indian Affairs here right now, eager to discuss some of the information I sent their way.”
Domingo looked as if he wanted to run, torn between keeping his public face and escaping the agents moving in his direction.
A bell chimed and Davis nodded. “And now it’s time for the real show to begin—everyone to their seats!”
He held out a hand toward Christine and she went to him, leaving Roman and Domingo conferring furiously in whispers. “That was brilliant,” she told her father, who folded her hand over his arm, patting it. “Though I’m sorry to see the opera house pass to someone else.”
“You love it, don’t you?” Her father gave her a keen look. “I could hear it in your voice from the day you arrived.”
She looked up at the soaring roofline, still shining with glints of light against the deepening sky. Like the visible temple on the hill, gateway to the Underworld. “I do, yes.”
“Good. Don’t tell anyone yet, but Star Enterprises is yours. I set it up for you. The trust really is ironclad. I just transferred it to you early.”
She gaped at him, at a total loss for words.
“Maybe now that you don’t live with your allergic old man, you can get a real cat and throw away that scrappy piece of fur you’ve dragged around since you were four. Don’t think I don’t know you brought it here with you.”
“I’m never getting rid of Star. You gave her to me.”
“Only because your mother insisted. She always knew better than I did how to make you happy.”
Christine leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’ve done a damn fine job of it today.”
“Well,” he cleared his throat with a loud cough, “let’s go watch this show then.”