The opera singer wasn’t taking any chances and never again wanted to be caught off guard. She considered a handgun, but ultimately decided against it; she certainly believed in the right to bear arms, but she also knew that experienced criminals could easily turn the tables and use the weapon against her. Georgia settled on placing her father’s Little League baseball bat next to her bed. And as a backup plan, there was a spray tube of mace tucked into the bedside table. She was considering adopting a dog or two, for added peace of mind, but she didn’t want to rush into such an important, life-changing decision. She had enough trouble keeping herself watered and fed.
Georgia felt as if all eyes were on her as she waited for her dinner companions.
Do they recognize me? Did they read about the break-in in the local paper yesterday? Could the person who ransacked my house be in this very restaurant right now!?
Deciding that she was probably overreacting, she tried to calm herself. She took a deep breath and gulped down some wine. Then she saw them approaching the table, the two most perfect specimens of twindom.
Carter and Sullivan Lowery were in the their late-thirties, each tall, dark, and wickedly handsome. They were a spitting image of each other, although Carter—who was seven minutes older than his brother—was the conservative, buttoned-up one and Sullivan (many close to him simply called him ‘Sully’) was more laidback and casual. It set them apart when nothing else did. She’d known the Lowery twins for about a decade—they first met at the East Hampton wedding of a mutual acquaintance, becoming fast friends—and she absolutely beamed when they arrived at the table.
“Georgia,” Carter said, embracing the diva, “you are the prettiest woman in this restaurant.” His brother hugged Georgia, too, echoing Carter’s sentiment.
“You’re both very good liars. Sit.” She waved over a waiter who took drink orders. “Tell me what you’re doing in Santa Fe? I couldn’t believe my eyes when you texted that you were in town.”
Sullivan grabbed one of Georgia’s hands and gave it a squeeze. “We’re here to support you, my dear. We heard about the break-in and flew out immediately.”
“Hogwash,” she said pulling her hand away. “I’m the one that told you about the break-in just this afternoon. So, what gives?”
“We’re in the final stages of construction on the newest Franklin-Lowery hotel. It’s a block off the historic Plaza right downtown,” Carter said. “Santa Fe has got some amazing hotels, of course, but they’ve never seen anything like this.”
“I am sure you told me about this and it obviously slipped my ever-aging mind. But this is very exciting news. I can’t wait to see it. You know that I adore the one you created in New York; it’s so welcoming and warm and funky. That was the first one, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Carter and Sullivan said in unison. She was used to them doing that; everyone who knew them was used to it. Carter continued on his own, “And this will be the sixth, can you believe it? After New York, we did Boston, then Charleston, Miami, and then Palo Alto just last year.”
“Palo Alto? That seems random,” she said.
“Tech money, honey,” Sullivan said. “That place has been oversold since we opened the doors in January. We did 208 rooms there; we could have easily done hundreds more.”
Georgia smiled. “Well, you guys certainly have the Midas touch. I’m so proud of you both. And I’m sure the Santa Fe location will be just as successful as the rest. What’s the theme?”
Carter spoke up, “It’s decidedly Southwestern, which is required here, with a lot of curved adobe walls, reclaimed wood beams, kiva fireplaces in every room, lighted niches galore with some really amazing local Native art, but at the same time, it’s got that modern flair that we’re known for, if you can picture that crazy combination. It’s kind of a cross between the Southwest and Greenwich Village. Wooden roadrunner statutes sitting next to 1950’s record players in every room. There will be a vinyl record lending library off the lobby. We’re doing radiant-heated concrete floors, guests can control everything from their smartphones, and all of the rooms have a private patio or balcony so people can get outside. I insisted on that.” Carter was quite passionate and proud of their creation.
“There’s still some folks comparing Franklin to other trendy boutique chains,” Sullivan said, “but it’s so not that. I think we have a hell of a lot more warmth and charm and uniqueness. We also think bathrooms shouldn’t be in the middle of the damned bedroom; people like their privacy when they’re taking a shit.”
“Excuse that man’s foul language,” Carter said. “But he’s right. We’re warm. And private.”
“Sounds lovely,” Georgia said with a sweet smile. “I can’t wait for opening day. I will be there with bells on, since I live here now and I’m not planning to travel quite as much as I used to.”
“Hold on. No more operas Down Under? No more summers in Vienna?” Carter asked. “We enjoyed traveling to Austria to see you in…oh my goodness, what was that show?”
“That show was Tosca,” she sighed. “At the Wiener Staatsoper, the best opera house in the entire world. But, guys, I’m just so tired of all of that. I know that I’m not old, and I’m certainly not retiring, but I just don’t have it in me anymore to do three major productions a year. My voice can’t take it. My feet can’t take it. And I don’t want to live out of a suitcase 90% of the time. I just want to stay closer to home.”
“And home is Santa Fe, New Mexico now?” Sullivan asked. “What about New York? You’re a New Yorker, for God’s sake.”
“I still have 1020 5th Avenue and I’ll never, ever sell it, no matter how many Peter Thiele suck-ups make offers. I grew up there. And despite what happened to me here on Tuesday, I absolutely love Santa Fe, too. I can’t wait to show you the view from my new backyard. It’s to die for.”
“Well, as someone who lives out of a suitcase 90% of the year, I feel ya,” Carter said. “It would be nice to dislike my neighbors for an actual reason.”
“Bite your tongue,” Sullivan said, as he dug into the appetizers that Georgia had ordered before they sat down. “We have three more hotels in the pipeline after Santa Fe.”
“Kill me now,” his brother said.
“You’ll live. This business is making us very comfortable and you love it.” Sullivan turned back to the singer. “We could stop and retire young, but why? I’m having so much fun. I love building things. Creating experiences.”
Georgia added some tuna tartare to her plate. “As long as you’re having fun, that’s all that matters. You should keep going, if you have the energy and drive. Absolutely.” After she swallowed some of the appetizer, she put a hand on top of Sullivan’s hand. “How’s that little brother of yours?”
The twins sighed in unison.
“Do we need to talk about him?” Carter asked. “He’s a mess.”
Sullivan shook his head. “He’s not a mess. He’s pulling his shit together. He’s been up, he’s been down, and he has his demons, but he’s in school right now and he’s doing fairly well, by all accounts, and he leaves us alone most of the time. And the best part: he’s not bunking with me anymore. He’s got his own apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. He seems to like it over there.”
Georgia smiled politely. “Well, Darby is certainly a character. I only met him once or twice, but he left…um…an impression. I’m glad your younger brother is doing well.”
The twins nodded in agreement but were eager to change the subject.
“So, when are you performing again? Is anything on the calendar at all?” Carter asked.
“For the first time since college,” Georgia said, “I have absolutely nothing planned until next summer, when I’ll be playing Mimì in La bohème here at the Santa Fe Opera. We start rehearsals for that in late-May, so I have six months off. Six glorious months off, boys.”
Carter held his glass of wine up for a toast. “To
Georgia and her six glorious months off.”
Georgia and took a sip of her wine and smiled at the gorgeous, single brothers. She was perpetually curious about why neither were ever attached to a lady and never quite believed them when they swore they were married to their work. But whatever their real story was—maybe she’d never know—she was happy to have their familiar, beautiful faces with her in Santa Fe. The combination of the brothers’ presence, along with the great wine, finally allowed her to relax and enjoy the evening.
Outside in the cold night, two figures stood in the shadows between cars in the parking lot. They had a perfect view through a side window of the opera singer as she dined with the twins.
CHAPTER THREE
Skyler had flown in small planes before but never packed in so tightly. On the first leg from Reagan National, she was in a comfortably wide first-class cabin, but then on the second flight, it seemed as if she was sharing that same amount of space with 47 others. Luckily, it was a short hop from Denver. After they touched down, she peered out of the Embraer commuter jet’s window as it taxied to the gate at the Santa Fe Municipal Airport. It was the only gate the tiny airport had. She watched as a long metal ramp was pushed up to the aircraft’s front left door, complete with a built-in awning covering the sloped walkway. She felt a rush of cold air fill the cabin when the flight attendant opened the door and moments later, Skyler was outside, walking into the postage stamp-sized terminal building. It was dated, but, she thought, not without charm, and she quickly claimed her luggage. A sharply dressed young man was waiting for her, holding a piece of paper that read, “S. Moore.”
“Do you know the way to San Jose?” she asked the kid.
“You can’t get there from here.” He smiled. “It’s cool, ma’am. I’m from the Four Seasons.”
She followed him to a silver Mercedes S.U.V. with the hotels’ logo painted on the door.
“This is the first time anyone’s asked for a password before. Have you been picked up by nefarious dudes in the past?”
“Kind of, sort of, not really,” she said as she slid into the seat. “I did get in the wrong sedan in Rome once, but no one was trying to kidnap me. I just didn’t understand what the fellow was saying. But I did have a celebrity client who was picked up at L.A.X. by someone who was absolutely not from the intended black car service. It’s a long story, and she ended up being fine, but it was terrifying for her when she realized she was being taken in the opposite direction from where she was supposed to be going.”
“How’d she get away?”
“When they stopped at a red light, she bailed and ran like the dickens. She got to a small motel and called the police, but the driver, the car, and her luggage were never seen again.”
“That is scary,” the driver said. “Who was it?”
“Mmm, I shouldn’t say,” Skyler said. “Client privilege and all. It never made the news. Although, we considered leaking it for the publicity…and to help others who might not be so lucky.”
“You’re in P.R?”
“Yes, for better or worse.”
“I’m actually studying journalism and public relations now,” the kid said, surprising Skyler, since she thought he looked no older than 16 years old. “I have one semester left. I interned at an F.M. radio station down in Albuquerque this past summer, and I really want to get into terrestrial radio after graduation, but I know it’s dying a quick death. But P.R. seems cool, too.”
Skyler marveled at the mountains in every direction as they pulled out of the airport and headed north on the highway. “I was a disc jockey at my school’s radio station for three of the four years I was in college. I loved every second of it. But I think that, if I lived here, I’d want to do something outside. It’s just so gorgeous.”
“That’s the Sangre de Cristo Range to the right,” he said, pointing. “It’s the very southern end of the Rocky Mountains. Santa Fe is beautiful. I’ve lived here my entire life. But, it can be kind of sleepy.”
“Oh, I know all about sleepy,” Skyler said. “I grew up in a tiny town in Maine called Wabanaki. It was named after an Indian tribe that lived there hundreds of years ago.”
“I’m part of the Tesuque Pueblo just north of here. It dates back to the 1200’s.”
“Pueblo?”
“It’s another name for a reservation. But it sounds nicer.”
“Very cool,” she said. “This country sure does have a rich history.”
They drove in silence for the last few miles. They passed the bohemian-looking Tesuque Village Market—which Skyler hoped to return to; she loved unexpected, out of the way businesses—then they turned right on State Road 592 and headed up into the foothills. They soon arrived at the Four Seasons Rancho Encantado, an extremely private compound overlooking the Rio Grande Valley. Dozens of individual guest casitas made up the property, all featuring patios or terraces with endless, unobstructed views of the rolling desert landscape and mountains beyond. As Skyler made her way into the reception building, the sun was just beginning to set, cascading a rich orange-red light into the space. She was greeted warmly at the front desk and then whisked off to her casita in a large golf cart. The bellboy gave her a quick tour: the room had a king-sized bed, a fireplace, a well-stocked bar, a couple of comfortable-looking easy chairs, black and white desert photographs on the walls, and a massive concrete floored bathroom with a large walk-in shower and a deep soaking tub. After the hotel employee left her alone, she stepped out onto the patio and marveled at the last sliver of sun that was about to disappear behind the mountain top in the distance.
“Welcome to Santa Fe,” Brenda’s voice said from behind the stuccoed wall to her right. Skyler leaned out and stuck her head around the wall. Brenda was there with a glass of champagne in hand. She was wearing a long fur coat. “Get over here. My door is open.”
Skyler pulled on her jacket and found her way through Brenda’s suite—stopping for a few seconds to greet Mulder and Scully—then stepped out onto the patio. “Fur? Really?!”
Brenda did a twirl. “Like it? It’s new.”
“I do not.”
“It’s fake.”
“I love it!” Skyler went in for a big hug. “Where’s my glass?”
Brenda popped back into the room and fetched Skyler a glass of bubbly. Back outside, they talked while they watched the magnificent light display in the sky as it transformed from evening into night.
“The desert is amazing. But it’s so deafeningly quiet here. How does anyone sleep?” Skyler asked.
“Isn’t it something? But I’ll take this over ambulances and screaming drunks any day.”
“It’s colder than I would have thought.”
“Just wait until tomorrow. The desert sun warms you to the core.”
Skyler tightened up her coat; she was shivering a bit. “How was Vegas?”
“A big hit all around, I’d say,” Brenda said proudly. “The suits loved the dinner, seemed pleased with the new menus, and everyone left fat and happy. And Carissa told me to tell you, ‘hello.’” She took a sip of her wine. “So, I’m curious, how are you getting on without Leonard?”
Skyler sighed. She didn’t like being defined by her relationships with men, but it was Brenda, and she could get away with such questions. “I’m fine. I was so busy the last few days, I hardly noticed he wasn’t there until it was time to go to bed. I hadn’t slept alone in months. He’s busy, too. Wabanaki has pretty much turned into a ghost town for the winter, he tells me, but I guess there’s a lot going on police-wise. Leonard says there’s quite a bit of new development happening this winter. Someone actually bought the Lobster Shanty lot and they’re building a new Japanese restaurant on the site.”
Brenda nearly choked. “A Japanese restaurant in Wabanaki? Now I’ve heard everything.”
“I wrote down the name. Hold on,” Skyler said, pulling up the Notes app on her phone. “Omotenashi
. The woman who is developing it is someone named Jai Yu.”
“Okay, yes, I know her in passing. A fine chef and restaurateur. She started in Tokyo, then branched out to Las Vegas, New York, and London, as I recall. But Wabanaki? I am just flabbergasted. How would that even be on her radar?”
“Are you kidding me? Our little town is coming up in the world, thanks to last summer.”
“Amazing what a few corpses do for your reputation.”
Skyler bristled. “Can we go inside? I’m freezing my tits off.”
“What a lovely image.” Brenda led the way back inside and Skyler closed the heavy sliding glass door. They settled into the easy chairs. “So, we have a lot on the schedule.”
“You mean you do,” Skyler said topping off her glass. “I’m here to decompress and relax for a change. Although, I will have to work a little bit next week. Just a little bit.”
Brenda wrinkled up her face. “I have work to do, too, but it’s going to be fun stuff. The Winter Wine and Beer Fiesta is tomorrow, and I’ll be manning a booth there with the boys.”
“The boys?”
“Carter and Sullivan Lowery. They’re the developers of the Franklin-Lowery hotels. You met them in New York, I’m sure.”
“Oh, yes. The twins that look like they just stepped off a fashion show runway. So very dreamy.”
“Yep. And smart and creative. Did you see the 60 Minutes piece on them last month? No? These two took their dad’s construction firm, landed some Silicon Valley investors, and now they’re rich as all get out. I’m always a little suspicious of self-made people. Or people who aren’t me, at least. But if you have to get in bed with someone…”
The New Mexico Scoundrel Page 3