The Cinco de Mayo Murder

by Lee Harris

  PRAISE FOR LEE HARRIS

  AND HER MYSTERIES

  “Inventive plotting and sharp, telling characterization make the Lee Harris novels pure pleasure to read.”

  —ROBERT BARNARD

  “Harris's holiday series … [is] a strong example of the suburban cozy.”

  —Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine

  “Her storytelling skill remains top quality.”

  —TONY HILLERMAN

  “A not-to-miss series.”

  —Mystery Scene

  “Impeccable plotting, a poignant storyline, and a crime from the past are hallmarks of a Lee Harris story—and some of the reasons she won an RT Career Achievement Award.”

  —Romantic Times

  By Lee Harris

  The Manhattan Mysteries

  MURDER IN GREENWICH VILLAGE

  MURDER IN ALPHABET CITY

  MURDER IN HELL'S KITCHEN

  The Christine Bennett Mysteries

  THE GOOD FRIDAY MURDER

  THE YOM KIPPUR MURDER

  THE CHRISTENING DAY MURDER

  THE ST. PATRICK'S DAY MURDER

  THE CHRISTMAS NIGHT MURDER

  THE THANKSGIVING DAY MURDER

  THE PASSOVER MURDER

  THE VALENTINE'S DAY MURDER

  THE NEW YEAR'S EVE MURDER

  THE LABOR DAY MURDER

  THE FATHER'S DAY MURDER

  THE MOTHER'S DAY MURDER

  THE APRIL FOOLS' DAY MURDER

  THE HAPPY BIRTHDAY MURDER

  THE BAR MITZVAH MURDER

  THE SILVER ANNIVERSARY MURDER

  THE CINCO DE MAYO MURDER

  Books published by The Ballantine Publishing Group are available at quantity discounts on bulk purchases for premium, educational, fund-raising, and special sales use. For details, please call 1-800-733-3000.

  This book is dedicated to

  Joe Blades

  for at least twenty reasons.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I thank James L. V. Wegman for his help in this and all my mysteries. Without him, I could not have achieved such a high level of accuracy and realism; and Carol Hovasse for her help in showing me parts of Tucson that I didn't know existed.

  I also wish to thank all the wonderful women who have made my love for Arizona even greater than the feelings evoked by the natural beauty of the state: Carol Hovasse, Jane Candia Coleman, Carol Walsh, Laurie Colen, Joan McGarry, Barb Bartley, Carolyn Emery, Bobbe Idaspe, Barb Witwer, Regina Wegman, Pam Helmandollar, Bennie McGarry, Marilyn Merryweather, and Carol Zehren.

  And a special thank you to Blake Koolick, my #1 fan.

  What is the price of a thousand horses against a son where there is one son only?

  —“Riders to the Sea,”

  JOHN MILLINGTON SYNGE

  He whom the gods favor dies in youth.

  —“Bacchides,”

  PLAUTUS

  In the years since I was released from my vows at St. Stephen's Convent, I have learned to expect almost anything when the phone rings. I have received the usual good news and bad news that is part of everyone's life, and in addition I have heard extraordinary and frightening messages. Last year someone called to say that a murder would take place, after which I heard a gunshot.

  So if I answer the phone reluctantly or with hesitation, it's not hard to understand why. But on a rainy day in April, I was thinking of other things as I walked toward the ring, picked up the phone, and said, “Hello.”

  “Chris, it's Joseph. I hope everyone is well.”

  Sister Joseph is the General Superior of the convent where I spent fifteen years of my life, many of them as a Franciscan nun. Above and beyond that, she is my closest friend, and hearing her voice always makes me happy.

  “Joseph, what a pleasure to hear from you. We're fine, looking forward to some dry weather before we all sink into the mud.”

  “We have the same problem here. If you take a step off the walkway, it's at your peril. But I have something warmer and drier to talk about.”

  “I'm listening.”

  “There's a conference next month in Phoenix, Arizona, that I've been asked to attend. Besides the fact that I've never been out there, the topic of discussion is important to St. Stephen's. We're going to discuss the problem of too few novices and too many aging nuns in American convents.”

  “Not a topic I enjoy thinking about.”

  “True, but one I'm forced to think about more and more. I'll be flying out to Phoenix the first Saturday of May. The conference will begin on Monday and last until mid-week. Then I'd like to take a day or two to visit Tucson. There's a beautiful old mission there that I've always wanted to visit.”

  “It sounds like a wonderful trip, Joseph,” I said, thinking that she deserved it.

  “I'm really looking forward to it, especially the Tucson part. I've received permission to rent a car for part of my stay, so getting to Tucson won't be a problem. What I'm calling about is whether you might be interested in accompanying me.”

  There was a silence and I realized I was supposed to respond, but I was so startled I didn't know what to say. “Travel with you?” I finally managed to get out.

  “I would enjoy having a traveling companion, and there's no one I'd rather share the trip with than you.”

  “Joseph… that's a wonderful invitation. I would love to do it. But I can't give you an answer right now. I'm sure you understand.”

  “Of course I understand. There's Eddie to think of, and Jack's needs, too. I just wanted to tell you about it and see if you think it might work out. The diocese will pay for the hotel rooms, which should make it more reasonable.

  Also the car. I'm so glad you're enthusiastic. Think it over and give me a call when you've discussed it with your family.”

  “We'll talk about it tonight. Thank you so much.”

  “And I won't drag you to dull meetings. You'll be on your own. I assume that's something that will please you.”

  “You bet.”

  “I look forward to hearing from you, then.”

  I hung up and sat down. All I could think was, Wow! Arizona, the Southwest, Phoenix, Tucson, an old mission. What a fantastic piece of luck, and how fortunate I would be to do it with a person who was as anxious as I to see everything, to leave nothing undone. I began to look at my calendar, to try to figure out how I could have Eddie taken care of without impinging on Jack's work schedule. He was now a lieutenant at NYPD and often had to work weekends. That was a lot better than the nights he'd worked when he was first appointed, but it did limit our family time.

  I went upstairs to the closet where we kept our collection of maps. In an atlas of the country I found the page for Arizona. Besides Phoenix and Tucson, the Grand Canyon was there, a place that I had often dreamed of visiting, but Joseph's schedule sounded too tight.

  After Eddie came home from school, I waited another half hour and called Mel, my neighbor across the street. She has been teaching in what we in Oakwood call the little school—K through four—for a couple of years, and often gets home after the children.

  “Chris, hi, how are you? I've been so busy with our class project, I've neglected my friends.”

  “I'm fine. We're all fine. Is this a bad time to talk?”

  “Not at all. Why don't you drag Eddie over? Noah's here, Sari's somewhere else. I'll have to look at my calendar to find out where.”

  I laughed. “Sounds like you need a personal secretary.”

  “I do. It's just I can't pay anyone. Oh, here it is, Brownies. Someone's taking her home so I'm off the hook. Come over.”

  “On my way.”

  Mel was the first person I'd met after moving into Aunt Meg's house when I was released from my vows. Something clic
ked between us and we became friends. At the time she had two young children, while I was still single and feeling my way around a secular world that in some ways I hardly knew. Happily for both of us, when Jack and I married, our husbands took to each other and became friends as well. Mel helped me navigate my way into life in Oakwood, not an easy job for someone who had been cloistered her entire adult life.

  Eddie was happy, as always, to visit Mel and any children who might be around. Besides the attraction of friends, he knew there were always delicious cookies in the Gross house; he never had to be asked twice. He ran down the street ahead of me and waited impatiently at the door as I took my time on the walk, admiring the shrubs and spring flowers.

  “Come in, come in,” Mel called, seeing Eddie on her doorstep. “Chris, I tried that jasmine rice at Prince's and it's great. Goes with that chicken stir-fry I told you about.”

  “I tried the stir-fry. You were right. It was easy and quick and Jack loved it. Maybe I'll give the jasmine rice a try, too.”

  “So what's new? Doing any work for Arnold?”

  Arnold Gold is my lawyer friend from New York. He farms out word processing jobs to me when I'm available and his staff—which isn't very large—is overworked. “I'm just finishing something, and I have to go over it carefully,” I replied. “There's a lot of language that's more legal than I'm used to, and the sentences don't always make sense to me.” I turned to Eddie. “Eddie, what are you doing?”

  “Just looking at the magazine.”

  “You can read it if you want,” Mel said. “Noah's upstairs if you'd like to visit with him. He has some new software.”

  “Games?”

  “I'm pretty sure he has games.” Mel turned to me. “Isn't that what computers are all about? We keep trying to get the kids to learn interesting things and all they want to do is play games.”

  “They're learning,” I assured her. “What a world.”

  “Eddie, take some cookies upstairs. Here, I'll get you a couple of napkins.”

  She received one of Eddie's best smiles for her trouble. As he mounted the stairs, carefully holding cookies and napkins, I heard the teakettle begin to whistle. We would sip tea as we talked.

  As we sat a few minutes later, I told Mel about the phone call from Joseph.

  “That's wonderful, Chris. You'll just love the Southwest. We did. Hal thought we might consider buying a second home out there someday, if we can ever afford to send these kids to college and still have anything left. Where will you go?”

  I told her what I knew of Joseph's wishes and itinerary. “We won't get to the Grand Canyon but I can visit places around Phoenix while she's in her meetings. Then we'll drive down to Tucson—it doesn't lookvery far on the map—and see an old mission she's wanted to visit for years.”

  “Probably San Xavier. It's quite beautiful. You see it off to the right as you drive south on I-19. It's perfectly white and domed. The sanctuary is beautiful, and there's a museum in the building. You can go to mass there on Sunday morning, too.”

  “I don't know if we'll be there that long. Listen to me, I haven't even talked to Jack about it yet.”

  “He won't mind,” Mel said as though Jack were her brother. “He's a good sport.”

  That was true. “What's the food like?” I asked. I'm not what Jack calls an adventurous eater, although I have improved with age.

  “Yummy. There's lots of Mexican. If you like guacamole and refried beans and enchiladas—”

  “I don't even know what you're talking about. Well, I hope it works out.”

  “Of course it'll work out,” my optimistic friend declared. “I'll talk to Hal tonight and make a list of the places we loved so you'll have an edge when you get there. When did you say you were going?”

  “May.”

  “It'll be hot in May, but who cares? Everything's airconditioned and whatever hotel you stay in will have a pool.”

  “It sounds wonderful,” I said.

  “It is. You'll see.”

  We talked for about an hour, Mel discussing some classes she thought she'd like to take. She's a very enterprising and dedicated teacher and has wanted for some time to get a master's degree. When I finally dragged Eddie downstairs, Mel put some cookies in a plastic bag, allegedly for Jack, but I knew I would have to rescue them or none would be left when Jack got home.

  Eddie had some homework to do, reading and answering questions, so he sat at the kitchen table as I put dinner together. Soon Jack came home, on time for a change. He was an “administrative lieutenant in charge of planning/ coordination of special projects” in the Midtown South Precinct, MTS—which could mean a demonstration to stop the war, a major rock concert, or anything in between. Although the precinct covers only .77 square mile, it includes Grand Central Station, the jewelry district, the Empire State Building, and numerous other famous locations where trouble can erupt. MTS is called the busiest station house in the world, and I have become a master at keeping food warm while waiting for Jack's return.

  “So how's my family?” he said as he hugged first me and then Eddie.

  “I'm doing my homework,” Eddie said. “We went to Mel's house and she gave me cookies.”

  “She gave us cookies, young man,” I corrected. “I'll bet she said they were for me,” Jack said.

  I smiled. “She did, actually. And we've even managed to save you a few.”

  “I saved them for you,” Eddie declared. “Because I know you like them.”

  “Good man. So what's new?” He went to the refrigerator and poured himself some juice, then opened the cookie drawer and took a handful of pretzels.

  “There is something new,” I said, setting melon on the table and turning the fire off under our dinner.

  “Don't tell me.” Jack gave me a look.

  “Nothing like that,” I said, knowing he suspected I'd gotten hooked into solving a murder once again. They seem to fall in my lap, no matter where I am.

  “Whew.”

  I poured Eddie's milk and sat at my place. Then I told him about Joseph's invitation.

  “Do it,” he said without giving it any critical thought. “I bet Mom would love to come out and take over while you're gone.”

  “I was kind of thinking that.”

  “I'll give her a call tonight. Think you'd like Grandma out here for a few days, Eddie?”

  “Where's Mommy going?”

  I explained. He knows all the nuns at St. Stephen's; we've visited there often since he was born.

  “That's OK. Grandma cooks good food, too.”

  I wasn't sure whether he was referring to me, to Jack, or to Mel, and I didn't ask. “And I bet she'd have fun helping you with your homework.”

  “I don't need help. But she could read to me at night.”

  It sounded as though my trip was practically a sure thing. After Eddie was in bed, Jack called his parents. His mother was jubilant. It didn't matter what the dates were: she would arrange to be free. I took the phone and we talked for a while. You would have thought I was doing her a special favor instead of the reverse.

  After the call, we talked about the trip over coffee and rescued cookies. Jack slipped a couple over to me almost surreptitiously, as though Eddie might be sneaking a peek.

  Then we returned to our respective reading with occasional comments to each other. The phone rang and Jack got up and answered. I listened, hoping nothing was happening at the station house that required his driving backin to Manhattan. Happily, it was just a follow-up report, and he rejoined me in the family room, telling me who had called. I had become familiar with many of the precinct names over the last year and felt as though I knew some of them personally, although I had met very few of the cops in his command.

  After he resumed his reading, something fluttered to the surface of my mind. Arizona. Mountains. Someone I once knew.

  “You look as if you're far away,” Jack said as I peered into the distance.

  “I am. Twenty years or so back. Someone I
once knew went to Arizona. It was a boy I went to high school with before I went to St. Stephen's to live.”

  “What's the significance?”

  “I don't know yet. I can't even remember his name.”

  “Is this ominous? Should I check my weapon?”

  I gave him a grin. “Not yet. I think I'll go upstairs and find my high school yearbooks. Maybe it'll light a fire in my memory.”

  As it happened, it didn't. I turned pages, looked at pictures, read names that I hadn't thought of for a couple of decades. I was closer to forty now than thirty and although many of the names and photos were familiar, only one really meant anything to me—that of my friend Madeleine. We had spoken about six months before but hadn't managed to get together. I had been best friends with her before I left high school for St. Stephen's. Not long before I was married, Maddie had invited me to the baptism of her first child. It took place in a wonderful old church in central New York State in Studsburg, a town that didn't exist anymore. Thirty years earlier, the small village had been emptied and the Army Corps of Engineers had made a lake out of the area, which had the natural shape of a basin. The purpose was to avoid floods in the farm region around Studsburg. At the time that Maddie called, a persistent drought had dried up the lake and revealed the foundations of houses as well as the perfectly preserved Catholic church, where the christening took place after a thorough cleaning.

  I reached for the phone on my office desk and dialed Maddie's number. She was elated to hear my voice, and we spent several minutes catching up on family news. Finally I told her about my impending trip to Arizona.

  “Maddie,” I said, “something happened in Arizona a long time ago. It had to do with a boy in our high school class, but I can't remember the name. Am I ringing any bells?”

  “Absolutely. It was Heinz Gruner.”

  “Yes! Of course. I remember now. Hold on a second.” I leafed through the open yearbook and found a picture of him, a somber, round-faced boy who looked as though he had not yet learned to smile. “Here he is. What a sad kid he was.”