Patrice Greenwood - Wisteria Tearoom 03 - An Aria of Omens (18 page)

I checked with Kris, then went down to the gift shop to lend Nat a hand. Many of the customers were shopping, and we were kept busy until Willow’s tour group arrived. They stood clustered at the south end of the
portal
, overlooking the rose garden. I helped Iz serve them iced tea, and went back inside just in time to see Ms. Usher’s party leaving. She came up to me and offered a hand.

“Thank you so much. We all had a marvelous time. Poor Victor was right: your tearoom is an absolute delight.”

“Thank you. That was so kind of him.”

She gave me a sad smile and turned to the lean-faced brunet, who had come up beside her. “Matthew has his work cut out to fill Victor’s shoes, but he’s rising to the challenge.”

A little tingle went down my arms as I met his gaze. Could this elegant man have committed murder? Hard to believe, in his presence.

“Then you’re Mr. Carter,” I said. “I wish you success in your new role.”

He gave a gracious nod. “Thank you.”

Another man came up beside him—shorter, blond, broader in the shoulders—and I recognized him as “Angelotti,” Geoffrey Harrison. The warm look they exchanged left me in no doubt of their relationship. They also, both of them, seemed entirely calm.

They were professional actors, I reminded myself. If anyone could look calm when they felt otherwise, they could. It occurred to me that none of them seemed especially distraught about their colleague’s death. But then, someone who felt distraught would no doubt have declined an invitation to a tea party.

All of Ms. Usher’s guests were friendly together, I observed as they spread out in the gift shop, pointing out pretty things to one another. I realized as I watched them that David Ebinger wasn’t in the party. That seemed to confirm that he and Ms. Usher were not, in fact, an item. If they had been, she would surely have wanted him to join her on this outing.

I saw the party out, and on my way back to the pantry I was waylaid by Ramon. “You didn’t get lunch. It’s waiting for you upstairs.”

“Thank you! I’ll go up as soon as—”

“Julio said to send you up now, or the soup will get cold.”

The firmness in his face tempted me to laugh. I settled for a smile. “Yes, sir!”

I went upstairs and followed the savory aroma of cream and onions to my sitting area by the front window. Sunlight spilled in through the gauze curtains, dappled by shadows of the highest branches of the wisterias, shifting gently in the breeze.

A tray awaited me with half a turkey sandwich, a bowl of potato-leek soup adorned with watercress leaves, and an egg-cup of baked custard. Ramon came up after me with a tall glass of ice water.

I couldn’t help a sigh of relief as I settled into an armchair. “This is lovely. Thank you so much. Tell Julio he’s a genius.”

“He said you’re not allowed to go back to work for at least half an hour.”

“He’s becoming a tyrant! Tell him thanks.”

Ramon smiled as he set the water on the tray, then left me to myself. I resisted the urge to fetch my phone, or even my to-do list, from my office. Julio was right. I needed a break if I was going to get through this week without running myself into the ground.

The soup was delicious. When Julio had found time to make it, I couldn’t imagine. I ate the meal slowly, savoring every bite and each complementary flavor.

If Julio continued the way he’d begun, I would have to resign myself to losing him in a year or two. Right now he was still having fun, but our menu was too limited for a young man of his talent. He needed a full-fledged restaurant, where he could exercise the entire scope of his abilities. So I would have to find a permanent assistant chef for him—Ramon had said he’d be going back to UNM in another month—who could be trained to take his place.

My thoughts turned to Ms. Usher and her party. Apparently they had been drawn, not only by Victor Solano’s recommendation, but like so many of my other guests by the story of Captain Dusenberry. Even Mr. Solano’s recent demise had not damped their interest in my Victorian ghost.

I foresaw that I would eventually yield to the hints and nudges of Kris and of Willow Lane, and start using Captain Dusenberry to advertise the tearoom. With a shudder, I rejected the thought. The Wisteria Tearoom was first and foremost a haven from the stresses of modern life, a place where one could enjoy an hour or two of good food and good company. That a colorful ghost story was attached to it was incidental.

Two colorful ghost stories, sort-of. There was Mrs. Carruthers, who had also died in the dining parlor. I regularly fielded questions about her, too, and though I never hesitated to assert that there had been no sign of her presence, I couldn’t deny that she added to visitors’ interest in the room.

A dreadful thought assailed me. Could the piano music be her doing?

“Sylvia, no!” I murmured.

Even as I thought it, I rejected the idea. Sylvia was not musical as far as I knew, and had not been a fan of opera. Whereas Captain Dusenberry had been; witness his pleasure in the concerts at La Fonda, and the musical group he had formed with Maria Hidalgo.

The niggling at the back of my brain took a sudden leap in volume. The phrase that Ms. Usher had identified for me was from
Figaro
. Had the Captain and Maria Hidalgo seen a performance of it?

I frowned, recalling Maria’s letters. There had not been a full opera performance; indeed, a town the size of Santa Fe in the 1860s, basically a frontier town, would not have justified the expense of a full opera production. But they had nonetheless heard selections of opera music performed in concert by traveling musicians, such as Miss Lago, who had sung that aria that Maria had quoted…

I gave a little gasp, and set down the custard cup.

That aria was from
Figaro
.

I jumped up, cast a guilty look toward the stairs, and slipped into my office. The clock on my computer showed that my half-hour wasn’t quite up, but this wasn’t work—exactly—and I couldn’t wait.

I looked toward Kris’s office through the entryway it shared with mine. I couldn’t see her at her desk from that angle.

I took out the letters and found the one with the reference to the aria Miss Lago had sung. The letter didn’t give the character’s name, but a quick web search on the lyric provided it. The aria in question was sung by the Countess Almaviva.

Contessa, perdono.

I searched on those two words, found the song, a translation, and a video clip of the scene. I put on my headphones to listen. The character asking the countess’s pardon was her husband, the count. That was the Three Blind Mice part.

In the next two lines, the ones Sandra Usher had sung for me, the countess forgave her husband for his infidelity. The climax of the opera, and a beautiful piece of music.

Why had Captain Dusenberry fixed on that passage of music? Was he asking Maria Hidalgo’s pardon? Except that he hadn’t been unfaithful to her. As near as I could tell, he’d been just the opposite. If he’d lived, I felt sure he’d have married her.

If he’d lived.

Dear heaven. Had he been murdered because of his love for Maria, and hers for him?

I wished I had some of his letters, instead of only hers. I had to get to the archives and spend a few hours hunting down whatever they had about him. Maybe he’d left a diary or something that had been forgotten over the years.

I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. Hastily, I locked the letters back in the drawer and returned to my abandoned lunch. I was just picking up my half-eaten custard when Nat joined me.

“Well!” She sank into the other armchair with a sigh. “How do you do this every day?”

“It’s not usually this busy.” I offered her a bite of the custard, but she waved it away.

“I had some earlier. That boy Julio’s a genius!”

“I know. Has it settled down in the gift shop?”

“No, but Dee came in and sent me off to take a break. I’ve been wanting to talk to you ever since Sandra Usher was here. That was her, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. They were all from the Opera.”

“She didn’t look terribly upset about her co-star’s death. Did she say anything?”

“Not about that. She and her guests wanted to know about Captain Dusenberry.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.”

I scraped the last of my custard from my cup and held it on my tongue, enjoying the creamy sweetness for as long as I could make it last.

“You’ll need me all week?” Nat asked.

“If you don’t mind. I’m going to look into hiring another server or two, so with luck you won’t have to do this for long.”

“I don’t mind, Ellen. I’m delighted to see you having such success.”

I gave her a weary smile. “Thanks.”

The success was complicated, and it was eating what spare time I had, but I was grateful. I had to be grateful. My bank account insisted on it.

We chatted a little about her wedding plans, then went back downstairs. It was nearly five, so I sent Nat home, insisting that I didn’t want to invoke Manny’s wrath.

Julio and Ramon were both gone, and Rosa was just leaving. Dee and Mick, my end-of-day team, were putting away clean china. The last of the customers were enjoying their tea. Everything was caught up, so I went back to my office, where I found a small pile of message slips, a note from Kris, and another from Julio with a few more items to be ordered. I made a couple of calls, then looked at my to-do list. A conjunction caught my eye:

- Take SFO backstage tour

- Water

An image came into my mind: the pool of water between the orchestra pit and the audience. A tingle ran down my arms.

Why was it important, though? It was just a giant trough of water. A pretty architectural detail.

A place where a knife might be hidden.

I sucked a deep breath. Maybe it was a dumb idea, but I felt compelled to check it out. I wrote a note to Kris, letting her know I’d be out of the office in the morning, then I pulled up SFO’s website to look up the time of the backstage tour that ran every weekday during the season.

I didn’t want to tell Tony my idea. If it came to nothing, it would be a waste of his time. I’d slip down to look at the pool during the tour, and if I spotted anything in the water I’d call him immediately.

I wished I could go at once, but the same reason that made it impossible would also keep anyone else away from the water: the opera would be gearing up for the evening’s performance. People would be in the house constantly; no opportunity to slip in and fish anything out of the pool. I worried that it could happen overnight, but if so it might have happened already. I didn’t think I’d feel this compulsion to look if there was nothing to be found.

And anyway, I had other reasons for wanting to take the tour. If I was to help Tony, it would be good to refresh my memory of the backstage area. Something else might jog my memory or spark an idea. I had to go.

So I had to work late, because the tour would eat my whole morning. I took a deep breath and tackled the rest of my messages.

~

I rose early, threw on a sun dress, and hurried down to the kitchen to talk to Julio. He was making scones and had Ramon peeling cucumbers. Music played on his boombox: flamenco, not salsa. I glanced at Ramon, wondering if it was his music, or at least his choice.

“You’re up early,” Julio said, dumping out his batter onto a floured section of his work table.

“I have to go out for a couple of hours this morning,” I said. “Is there anything you need me to bring you, or anything I can help with before eight-thirty?”

“Don’t think so.”

“I’ll check with you before I go, in case you think of something. Oh, and we’re probably going to hire a couple more servers, at least temporarily. So if either of you knows someone who might be interested, ask them to call.”

Julio nodded, intent on his work. Ramon glanced up with a smile.

I made a quick tour of the parlors and gift shop. Everything there was ready for opening. Iz and Rosa would set up the outdoor tables when they arrived.

Back to the office, where I took out the previous day’s receipts and did the bank deposit, hoping to relieve Kris of that burden at least. I would drop off the deposit on my way to the opera. I wrote her a second note explaining this, and warning her that applicants for temporary server positions might be calling.

At 8:20 I fetched my sun hat from my suite, fixed myself a travel mug of tea, and headed downstairs with the bank bag tucked under my arm. I poked my nose in the kitchen, was shooed away by Julio, and went out to my car.

The morning was brisk, with bright clouds over the mountains promising a chance of afternoon rain. Cheered by this, I dropped the deposit in the night drop at the bank and then headed north out of town.

The opera’s parking lot was nearly empty. I found a space in the shade of a tree at the end of a row, and since I was a little early I sat finishing my tea and trying to calm down.

Being there again brought back all the awful memories of the night Victor Solano had died. I let them flow past, hoping my emotions would settle. Vi’s face, shocked and horrified as she told us what had happened, stuck in my memory. And Tony, clicking into professional mode, heading backstage, looking more cop than opera-goer despite his suit.

Dragging my thoughts away from Friday night, I got out of the car and headed for the box office, where I was to pick up my ticket for the tour. As I walked toward the theater with its complicated support structure, I realized that the last time I’d done the tour was before the second theater had been demolished. Maybe I’d learn something new.

A dozen or so people were already gathered outside the box office, waiting for the arrival of the tour guide. I paid for my ticket and joined them, imagining how best to slip away from the group and inspect the pool.

I’d need a flashlight. I took out my keychain and checked the small flash I had on it, which was working. It wasn’t very powerful, but I hoped it would be enough. A knife blade should catch it.

Unless the knife was folded. I pressed my lips together, wondering if I should dash back to my car for the flashlight I kept in the glove box, but that one was larger and might be too conspicuous. Also, I thought as the tour guide came up and introduced himself, I didn’t have time.