Patrice Greenwood - Wisteria Tearoom 03 - An Aria of Omens (14 page)

Shaking my head, I drew a deep breath and stood up. I had letters to read.

I left the room, turning out the light. Stepped into my shoes and went upstairs to my office.

My phone was on the desk, right where I’d left it. I checked for messages and found three—two texts and a voicemail—all from Tony. I checked the texts first.

SORRY I BAILED 2NITE – HOPE U HAD FUN

and

CALL ME PLS

The voicemail was equally brief: “Ellen, give me a call. Need to talk to you.”

I glanced at the clock. Not quite nine. Tony would probably be up.

I felt strangely reluctant to call, though.

Setting the phone aside, I unlocked my desk drawer and took out Captain Dusenberry’s letters. I read through them all, starting with the one that came after the first one I’d read, and going back to pick my way through the Spanish ones after I’d finished the English ones.

They were all pretty similar. Lots of talk about music, sometimes a mention of a baille or concert they had both attended. The musical group was formed and met a couple of times, much to Maria’s delight, “not only for the music, but for the company of my dear friends.”

The story between the lines was bittersweet. I was certain that Maria Hidalgo was in love with Samuel Dusenberry, and I gathered that he was equally fond of her.

The Hidalgos disapproved.

The last two letters had an edge of desperation. Maria repeatedly entreated the captain not to confront Reynaldo—whoever that was—and warned that his temper was “like fire.” What the topic of confrontation might be I had to guess, but the captain’s friendship with Maria was probably a good bet.

I reread the last paragraph of the final letter:

Patience is not easy, but it is the only weapon we have. Just as time will dull the sharpest blade, so too will our patience dull the harshness of my family. We will have our day. I pray for it each morning, that today will be the day that God softens their hearts.

I laid the letter down, saddened by the sense of doom it conveyed, even after more than a century. Like Romeo and Juliet, they seemed to be losing their options, hemmed in by opposition.

Or maybe I was reading too much into it. I sort of knew the ending, after all.

But I didn’t know what had happened to Maria Hidalgo. I wondered if I could find out. I really did need to talk to Bennett Cole at the Museum of New Mexico.

My phone rang, making me jump. I picked it up, glancing at the caller ID. Tony again.

I took a deep breath. “Hello?”

“Good, you’re there. I was starting to worry.”

“Sorry, I forgot my phone when I went to Nat’s.”

“Listen, I talked to Vi today.”

“Yes?”

“She seemed pretty upset.”

“That’s natural, don’t you think?”

“I just think there might be something she didn’t tell me. I was wondering if you could talk to her.”

“As a matter of fact, I saw her today, too.”

“Yeah? What did she say?”

A complete answer to that would take a while, assuming I could remember everything we’d talked about. I gave him the highlights of our conversation, and added my suspicion that Matthew Carter might have killed Victor Solano so that he could take over the role of Scarpia.

“Murder, for a part in an opera? That’s sick!”

“Murder is generally a sick act. And it’s not just a part. This is the kind of role that can make a career. Vi was telling me the competition is very fierce.”

Tony’s silence told me he was giving it serious consideration. I was gratified.

“OK, I’ll look at that. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

“What are you doing now?”

My heart gave a little thump. Why did he ask? Did he want to come over?

My fingers went to the ancient rosebud tied in its fragile ribbon. “Reading some very old letters that belonged to Captain Dusenberry. I found them under the floor in the dining parlor.”

“Wow. I’m surprised they didn’t crumble to dust.”

“Well, they’ve been undisturbed, I think.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Yes. I think they may help me figure out who killed Captain Dusenberry, and why.”

Silence again.

“You want to solve a hundred-and-fifty year-old murder? Good luck with that.”

I bit back a defensive reply, and took a steadying breath before answering. “From what I’ve gathered, there wasn’t much attempt made to solve it at the time.”

“Yeah, probably not. The Wild West and all.”

This was a side of Tony I didn’t much like. I abandoned the thought of inviting him over for coffee. I couldn’t deal with cynicism. Not now.

“Listen, I’ve got to turn in,” I said. “This whole week is going to be busy.”

“Too busy to get that steak?”

“Ah … maybe. We’ll be open ‘til at least seven every night.”

“Except tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I’ll still be working, though.”

“Well, how about I call you in the afternoon and see how things are going?”

I let out a long breath. “All right.”

“OK. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

“Thanks.”

Dead line.

I put the phone down and rubbed my forehead. Mixed feelings about seeing Tony. I did have a lot to do the next day: deposit Saturday’s receipts, look over the reservations and write up our grocery orders, give Julio whatever help he needed when he came in, reorganize the work schedule with the additions of Nat and Rosa’s brother Ramon.

Identify the Mozart that was running through my head.

I wondered if I’d have time to drop by the State Archives after I made the bank deposit. I decided to try, at least to ask a few questions. Maybe I’d learn something about Maria Hidalgo.

~

Despite good intentions, I slept late. It was almost eight by the time I got up, brewed some tea, and got dressed. I still wasn’t very hungry after Manny’s grill-fest. I washed a handful of fresh blueberries, put them in a bowl with a spoonful of yogurt, and called it breakfast.

With the rest of my first pot of tea in a tall, thermal mug, I went downstairs for my Monday morning prowl. Armed with scissors, a small watering can, and a big bowl, I strolled through all the sitting areas and freshened each flower arrangement, culling faded blooms and trimming stems. I’d do new arrangements on Thursday, so that they’d be fresh for the weekend, and nurse the current ones along until then.

Except that maybe I should do a new centerpiece for the dining parlor. Vi had said that Sandra Usher, the soprano who sang Tosca, was coming.

Well, if I turned out to have time I’d do it. Meanwhile I carried the flower trimmings out to the compost bin, washed the bowl and my scissors, and went up to my office to attack the grocery orders. I made up one list of things I was sure we’d need in addition to our usual orders, and a second list of things to ask Julio about. By then it was almost nine, and I collected the bank bag and headed out to run errands.

The Archives were in a fairly new and rather imposing building on the south side of town. I waited a few minutes while the receptionist, an older Hispanic woman, helped the two people in front of me. When my turn came, I asked if there was a quick way to find out whether there were any records pertaining to Captain Dusenberry.

“Let me take a look at the catalog,” she said.

A few keystrokes, and she nodded. “Yes, he was an officer at Fort Marcy Post.”

“What sort of records are there?”

“Mostly correspondence. Military, and for the land office he ran. Some newspaper articles about his death.”

“Any letters? Diaries?”

“I don’t see any. They could be indexed under another subject.”

“OK. How about Maria Hidalgo.”

“Do you have her middle name? There are probably a lot of Maria Hidalgos.”

“I don’t. Can you check?”

She typed, long brown fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Well, you’ve got 230 results. Jose Maria Hidalgo, Maria Peron y Hidalgo, Maria Sanchez Hidalgo—“

“OK, never mind on that. I’ll see if I can find her middle name.”

“Or what time frame?”

“Oh … 1865.”

“Maria Imelda Fuentes y Hidalgo?”

“Maybe.”

“She lived in Santa Fe between 1841 and 1889.”

“That’s probably her.”

The receptionist typed a little more, then reached for a piece of paper that came out of a printer behind her. “Here’s a list of resources in our collection. Some of them might just mention her in passing.”

I looked at the page full of text. “This is a start. Thank you.”

She smiled. “Glad to help. Do you want me to show you how to request a folder?”

“I don’t have time today, but I’ll come back.” I folded the page and stuck it in my purse. “Thank you very much.”

I hurried out, aware that I’d spent more time than I had intended on this. I snaked through neighborhoods in order to bypass the heaviest traffic, but it was well past noon by the time I got back to the tearoom.

I heard music from the house as I got out of my car: salsa music. Julio was in the kitchen. I poked my head in to greet him, and got a wave back. He was mixing something, feet dancing to the boom box. He had on a black muscle shirt and black baggy pants with red, green, and yellow chiles on them, with a matching cap.

“Be right back,” I said over the blaring music, and escaped upstairs. I put the deposit receipt on Kris’s desk and left my purse in my suite, then made myself a quick sandwich so that I wouldn’t be tempted to nibble tea food.

Refreshed, I collected my notes on the grocery orders and went downstairs again. I stopped in the butler’s pantry to put the kettle on. Julio had thoughtfully turned down the volume on his boom box.

“Hey, boss,” he said, nodding as I came in.

“Hi. Will you be at a stopping point soon?”

“Pretty soon, yeah. About five minutes.”

“Good. I have some questions about what to order, and I’ll need to start making calls pretty soon.”

“Right. Just let me get this in the oven.”

I went back to the pantry to pick out a teapot and decide what tea to brew. I liked lighter teas in the afternoon, and went with an orange-blossom green. I brewed it and poured myself a cup, then went back to the kitchen.

Julio was just shutting the door of the oven. “I took the violets out. They looked like they were dry.” He gestured to the lunch table, where my tray of violets sat under a loose sheet of plastic wrap.

“Probably, yes,” I said.

“Where did you get them?”

“From the garden.”

“Bueno. They should last a couple of days. They’re better than the ones from La Fleur.”

“Thanks. I only wish I had more of them.”

We sat at the table together and went over the grocery orders. I made corrections to my estimates based on Julio’s judgment of what we’d need.

“Get extra butter and cream, and a bag of oranges. I’m going to make some orange scones, and orange curd to go with them.”

“OK. Why now?”

He shrugged. “Just to mix things up a little.”

“Keep some lemon curd on hand, too, though.”

“Absolutely.”

I dismissed the thought that this week might not be the best time to experiment with the menu. Julio was an artist, and I had learned not to question his instincts. If nothing else, changing things up would be a stress-reliever for him.

“Can you work extra hours this week?” I asked.

“Already planning on it.”

“Thank you. Rosa’s brother is coming in, but I don’t know how much kitchen experience he has.”

“Ramon? He’s done his time bussing tables at El Vaquero. He’ll be able to handle simple stuff at least.”

I’d forgotten that Ramon and Rosa were Julio’s cousins. It made me doubly glad that I’d taken Ramon on as a temporary hire. He’d probably fare better than a stranger would in Julio’s kitchen.

“He’s sure a great musician,” I said. “I’m thinking about hiring him to play, later in the year.”

Julio nodded absently, perusing my list. “Extra raw milk, too. I’m going to have to double the clotted cream.”

I made a note, and picked up my teacup. It was empty.

“Go ahead, get some more,” Julio said. “I’ll look over this list one more time.”

I went to the pantry and brought the teapot back with me. Julio frowned at the list while I filled my cup.

“We’ve never been booked solid before.”

“I know,” I said.

“Why this week? Any idea?”

“Apparently Victor Solano told some people he liked the tearoom.”

“Solano? The opera singer? The one who was killed?”

“Yes.”

His frown deepened as he stared past my list to something I couldn’t see.

“You disliked him, didn’t you?” I said.

Julio glanced at me, then back at the list. He made a change with his pencil.

“Does it matter?”

“Not really. I just wondered why. Vi was so fond of him…”

“Yeah, well, maybe he didn’t come on to her.”

It took an effort not to gape. “You mean he came on to you? When?”

“At Vi’s event. It wasn’t a huge thing, but….” 

“Are you sure he wasn’t just being friendly?”

“I’m sure.” He glanced at me again, eyes dark beneath his frowning brows. “I get it a lot. It gets old.”

Now I was seriously confused. Was Julio gay? Or did he just mean gay guys were drawn to him? He didn’t seem like the type you’d expect to attract that kind of attention. Julio was not effeminate in any way. He was completely masculine, as far as I was concerned. Yes, he wore colorful chef’s pants and matching hats, but he never swished.

It’s true that I had wondered, from time to time, whether he and his roommate might be romantically involved, but other than the fact that they shared an apartment, I had nothing on which to base that notion. They were close, but they’d never acted like more than friends when I’d seen them together.

None of it was my business.

I picked up the list. “Well, if this is done, I’ll go up and call in the orders.”

Julio nodded, pushed back his chair, and got up. I watched him check the oven and then get out a clean mixing bowl.

I swallowed the rest of my tea, filled the cup again, and carried it upstairs. The sun was coming around to the west, now, and the upper floor was starting to bake. I cracked the windows at either end of the hall and closed the drapes over the west window, then spent half an hour on the phone placing orders.