The New Mexico Scoundrel

by R Scott Wallis

  ​“Wouldn’t that be something?” Skyler said with a sly smile.

  ​“Stop it. They’re both so sweet. Or they both seem sweet. But I guess there must be something wrong with them; no two can be that perfect.”

  ​“So, what happens at this fiesta? What is the booth even for?”

  ​“We’re doing what you’ve taught me so well, lady, we’re starting to build local support and excitement for the hotel. Public relations, I think you call it. And we’re doing it all by ourselves. Since it’s so close to Christmas, I have no assistants with me and neither do the boys—they sent their whole hotel development team back to New York and they’re managing the project, and the fiesta booth, alone. But we’ll survive, just like in the old days. I’ll have my cava on hand for people to taste and I’m doing these cute bite-sized lobster rolls. And the boys will have renderings of the hotel rooms and the lobby and all of that. They usually repurposed older buildings for their hotels, but this is the first time they’re building something from scratch from the ground up.”

  ​“Cool. I’ll help anyway that I can,” Skyler said. “I’m good with this kind of thing.”

  ​“It’s why I made you come out here.”

  ​“Great.” Skyler didn’t know there was an ulterior motive, but she’d do anything for her best friend.

  ​“And we’ll have some super yummy meals and some downtime, too, I promise.” Brenda finished her wine and got to her feet. “And tonight, we have been invited to a holiday party, so we should get going.”

  ​“I haven’t been to a party in ages,” Skyler said as she got to her feet. “What about the dogs?”

  ​“We’re at the Four Seasons, darling,” Brenda said. “They’re sending over a doggie nanny!”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The caterers were busy in the kitchen as Georgia breezed through the house lighting candles and rearranging knickknacks and vases of flowers. She agonized over the tiniest of details; it was just in her nature to always strive for perfection. The house was back to normal after the break-in, thanks to an interior design student that her agent had found at the local community college. While it took some convincing that the twenty-something was up for the task—Georgia would have preferred utilizing a local, experienced design firm—she ultimately gave the young woman carte blanche to replace all the things that had been broken and Georgia was very pleased with what the girl came up with. The student—her name was Emma—even managed to procure a new urn for Georgia’s mother’s ashes and the matriarch was back in her place in the middle of the fireplace hearth. Georgia planned to take the new urn to New York eventually, where, the singer decided, it probably should have stayed in the first place.

  Emma was standing on her tip toes, putting finishing touches on the Christmas tree in the main room of the house when Georgia entered from the back hall. The girl was dressed in impossibly worn jeans and a faded navy-blue sweatshirt, her mousy brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. Georgia thought the outfit didn’t befit a student of design, but the girl had been working like a fiend all day for her and Georgia was thrilled with everything.

  “Did you bring something to change into for the party?”

  Emma didn’t turn around right away. She adjusted a silver snowflake ornament and swallowed hard before facing the opera singer. “I can’t attend, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, darling, you must,” Georgia said. “The tree is amazing. Everything is.” She gestured around the space. “You did all of this. Please stay for the party.”

  The girl stuffed some empty ornament boxes into a large plastic garbage bag and folded up the stepstool she’d been using. “I have my last exam on Monday, Miss Reece. I haven’t even begun to study. I must get home. But thank you for the kind invitation.”

  Georgia gave up. The girl wouldn’t fit in with the guests she’d invited anyway; but she felt compelled to invite her nevertheless, as a ‘thank you.’ The lady of the house smiled. “Well, do have a glass of champagne with me before you go. We can toast your good work. The bartenders look like they’re about set up.”

  “I couldn’t,” Emma said flatly. “I never, ever touch the stuff.” She gathered up her belongings and headed toward the kitchen. “I hope the party is a success.”

  Sullivan and Carter were the first guests to arrive and they were greeted at the front door by a waiter who had been tasked to be the butler for the evening; he was to greet the guests and take their coats and gifts. When Georgia spotted the brothers, she rushed over and hugged them warmly.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said. “Can you believe I’m doing this so soon? I just got the place put back together.”

  “Everything is absolutely beautiful,” Carter said as he scanned the Great Room. “I love the tree. Is it real?”

  “It is,” Georgia said, leading them to the 12-foot-high Norwegian Spruce. “My Christmas decorations are in storage back in the city, so all of this was purchased yesterday by an amazing local design student. It’s all from Pier One and Dillard’s. Can you believe it?”

  “I’d give the kid a large bonus, Georgia,” Sullivan said. “She did a bang-up job. And I want her name. We might have to hire her to do the lobby of the hotel next December.”

  Georgia lowered her voice to a loud whisper, “She’s obviously very capable, but seems a bit…troubled. A little off, maybe.” She straightened up and smiled. “But I’m being horrible. I’m very thankful for all that Emma has done for me. Emma Wade, is her name, Sullivan.”

  She led them to the bar where a waiter stood ready with the signature cocktail of the evening. “Cider honey syrup, whiskey, and prosecco,” the young female bartender said as she handed each brother a Collins glass topped with a sprig of fresh rosemary.

  “How many are you expecting this evening?” Carter asked after tasting the drink. “This is delicious, by the way.”

  Georgia accepted a glass, too. “Thirty or so. Mostly music folks, since I don’t know many other people here. And the Governor of New Mexico is coming, naturally,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “She’s a friend of the president of the opera house and she lives just down the hill. So, I expect we’ll have a lot of security people milling about, which makes me feel better about things. An advance team and a couple State Police officers came by this afternoon to case the joint. It was quite surreal.”

  “We’ll look forward to meeting her,” Sullivan said. “Having the Governor in our corner can’t hurt the hotel. But I can’t believe you’d be intimidated by the lowly Governor of New Mexico. You’ve performed for kings, queens, and presidents.”

  Georgia smiled but ignored the comment. “And Brenda Braxton is coming along with a friend of hers from back east.”

  “Perfect,” the brothers said in unison.

  “Are you coming to the fiesta tomorrow? It’ll be in a big heated tent up at the opera house parking lot,” Sullivan said. “So, I suspect you know how to get there.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Georgia said. “If you two will excuse me for a moment, the Governor just arrived. I should go say hello.” She glided toward the foyer leaving the twins to admire the tree.

  The party was in full swing when Brenda and Skyler arrived. They’d changed before leaving the hotel, but Skyler was a little miffed that she hadn’t packed something more upscale-festive than the semi-fancy dress she’d picked out. “I’m not dressed appropriately for this party,” she said under her breath as they handed their coats to the man at the door. “Everyone has such sparkly things on.”

  “You’re fine,” Brenda said. “They’ll be looking at me, anyway, not you. I’m the celebrity. You’re just in P.R.”

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “I’m kidding. You look fine, honey.” Brenda placed a wrapped box of chocolates—ridiculously expensive, Skyler thought—on the front hall table among a dozen other small gifts. “Let’s find the bar, damn it.”

  With drinks in hand, the pair wound their way through the
crowd and found Carter and Sullivan standing next to the roaring fireplace. Brenda made the introductions.

  “I do believe we met when you first opened your New York location,” Skyler said. “I was at the hotel’s launch party, as Brenda’s guest, of course. She’s been filling me in on your success. Congratulations on growing so fast. And the 60 Minutes piece—impressive.”

  “Thank you, Skyler,” Carter said. “We’re really excited about the new property here in Santa Fe. It’s the most ambitious project we’ve ever tackled. Literally from the ground up. We’ve never done that before.”

  “We could certainly use your expertise, Skyler,” Sullivan added. “Have you worked on hospitality projects?”

  “Not per se, but my company is branching out. We’re doing a lot more celebrity work of late, and I’ll be taking on Brenda’s restaurants when her current public relations contract ends, so it makes sense that we’d work together, doesn’t it?”

  “We’ll talk details next week,” Carter said. “We have an in-house marketing team but partnering with outside forces can only add creativity to the mix.” He turned to Brenda. “Which reminds me, have you come up with a name yet?”

  Brenda shifted her weight nervously. She turned to Skyler to explain, “As you know, all my current restaurants are named Brenda’s Kitchen, but the boys want a fresh new concept for New Mexico. I need to come up with something el originalé.”

  “I don’t think that’s actual Spanish, but never mind. Do you have any ideas?” Skyler asked.

  “All the good names are taken,” the chef sighed.

  “That’s silly,” Sullivan said. “There must be something left. What happened to the idea of calling it S.F.N.M?”

  “Blah,” the chef said. “I’m leaning toward, Gingersnatch.”

  “What?!” the twins said together. They looked as if they weren’t sure she was kidding or not.

  Carter gave a hesitant laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m not,” Brenda said, “But it does sound fun, doesn’t it?”

  “It sounds dirty,” Skyler said. “And I would have no idea how to market that. Gingersnatch sounds like a redheaded drag queen. Surely someone has come up with that before you.”

  Brenda cocked her head. “Alright. I’ll come up with something more palatable. Something more upscale. Something that better fits my position and your fine establishment.”

  “You have about 14-hours,” Sullivan said. “The fiesta starts at 11 o’clock tomorrow morning. We want to unveil the name as part of the presentation at our booth.”

  “The pressure of a name,” Brenda said dramatically. “I just detest having to make quick decisions that are so important. Really—are you all sure that Gingersnatch won’t do?”

  “You’ve had several months to…” Carter stopped talking. After a beat he said, “Something is wrong.”

  There was a popping sound toward the front of the house. It was so loud that most of the guests stopped their conversations and turned to look.

  Then it happened.

  An impossibly loud explosion in the foyer sent guests running for cover. Two uniformed policemen tackled the Governor to the floor near the Christmas tree, nearly toppling it over.

  People screamed. Glasses shattered on the tile floor.

  An oil painting above the gift table was on fire, filling the Great Room with a thick cloud of acrid black smoke.

  Waiters rushed to open the patio doors and guest scrambled out of the house and into the bitter cold night.

  Skyler and Brenda raced from the house and found themselves clutching each other’s hand next to a frozen birdbath. They watched through a window as a policeman used a handheld fire extinguisher to put out the flaming artwork and what was left of the pile of gifts. The Governor—who Skyler and Brenda hadn’t had a chance to meet—was whisked through the backyard and taken around the side of the house, presumably to a waiting vehicle.

  “What the hell?” Brenda nearly screamed.

  “This is insane,” Skyler said. “Did a bomb go off? Who would try to blow up an opera singer’s Christmas party?”

  Carter Lowery appeared and handed his sport coat to Skyler. His brother took off his own jacket and put it around Brenda’s shoulders. “Georgia has had some trouble lately,” Sullivan said. “The house was ransacked on Tuesday. But she added a security system. And there are cops everywhere. This is just crazy. How could something like this happen in Santa Fe?”

  “With the Governor here, to boot,” Brenda said. “There must have been a very tight guest list.”

  “How tight could it have been,” Skyler asked. “We didn’t get frisked at the door and they didn’t even know that I was coming, did they? Did you tell them?”

  Brenda thought about that for a moment as they all watched the chaos from a comfortable distance. “I indicated that I had a plus one. I don’t remember giving them your name, no.”

  “Apparently security around the New Mexican Governor isn’t what it is for the President of the United States,” Skyler said. “But I’ll tell you this, they’re not going to let anyone leave this property anytime soon. That’s for sure. This is one big fat crime scene.”

  “Great,” Carter said. “And we have a big day tomorrow.”

  “That’s what you’re worried about?” Sullivan asked his brother with disgust. “A friggin’ bomb just went off in our friend’s house, dude.”

  “Okay, calm down, dude,” Carter said mockingly. He looked around at the excited crowd then said softly, “It’s still going to screw stuff up for us.”

  “You’re screwed up,” Sullivan said sharply.

  Brenda threw up a hand. “Okay guys, stop. Look, they’re letting people back inside. Let’s go see if we can be of some help.”

  The opera singer was a mess. She sat on the couch in her front drawing room answering a barrage of questions to the best of her ability. Massimo Modena, Georgia’s career-long talent agent and business manager sat next to her, firmly gripping one of her delicate hands to try to keep her from shaking. She was too upset to push him away. While he’d been in her life for decades—they’d even dated for a very brief time—she had recently told him about her self-inflicted performance slow-down and he became enraged, demanding that she keep working at her usual fevered pace. And although she asked him to stay away for a while, he showed up in Santa Fe unexpectedly and weaseled his way into the party.

  A New Mexico State Police captain was initiating the investigation but told the assembled that the F.B.I. had been contacted. Agents were on their way from the Albuquerque field office, some sixty miles south of the resort city.

  “Do you have any known enemies?” the captain asked.

  “No, sir. I’ve been wracking my brain. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to torment me like this.”

  “You don’t think this was an attempt on the Governor’s life?” Massimo asked in his thick Italian accent. “Maybe someone who is not fond of a tiny woman being in charge?”

  Georgia hit Massimo on the leg. “Massimo, honestly.”

  “What?! She’s very small.”

  “We’re not ruling that out completely, sir, but given how Miss Reece’s house was broken in to earlier this week, we’re going on the assumption that this is somehow connected to that. I have a man reviewing the video feed. It was very smart of you to have those cameras installed, ma’am.”

  “Just a few days ago, they were installed,” Georgia said weakly, easily falling back into her native New York accent. “Was it one of the gifts? Can you pinpoint which gift exploded? That should help identify who left it on the front table, no?”

  “Unfortunately, all the gifts were destroyed beyond recognition,” the policeman said. “We’ll have the forensics team do their best. It also doesn’t help that the camera in the foyer is trained on the front door. It doesn’t get a good view of the sideboard, since it’s set back into a nook.”

  “We must grill every single guest,” Massimo said flatly.

/>   “We will do that, sir. And we’ll be asking everyone exactly what they brought to the house, although we don’t expect that someone will offer up that they brought an explosive device wrapped up with a pretty bow—it’s never that easy. As far as I know, everyone you invited, as well as all of the staff, are still here, except for the Governor and her immediate security detail. The Governor’s Chief of Staff is right over there by the buffet.”

  “I can’t believe people are still eating,” Georgia said with a look of confusion.

  “People eat. That’s what they do.” Massimo said. “Why waste a good spread because of a little bomb? No one died.”

  In the Great Room, guests continued to sip drinks and eat the food, but all of the talk had changed from polite cocktail party conversation to speculations about the bomb and when, if ever, folks would be allowed to leave the house. But, they ate and drank heartily, nevertheless.

  Brenda and Skyler sat squeezed together on an oversized loveseat near the Christmas tree. The Lowery brothers delivered stiff drinks to the women and took seats opposite.

  “It’s curious that the waiters and bartenders are still at work like nothing happened,” Carter said.

  “I’m amazed that more people aren’t freaking out and demanding to leave,” Brenda said. “I have the mind to suggest to the authorities that they should move us out of here. What if there’s another bomb, for Christ’s sake? A bigger one. It’s certainly a possibility.”

  “I think that’s unlikely,” Sullivan said. “I’m no expert in this kind of thing, but it seems like the device was small enough that it wasn’t meant to hurt anyone. Perhaps it was just a warning. Just a scare tactic.”

  “What on Earth do you know about scare tactics or anything else?” Carter spit. “He doesn’t know anything more than what he sees on Criminal Minds reruns on television.”

  Sullivan mouthed, ‘fuck you’ to his brother.

  “It was certainly scary.” Skyler rubbed her cold drink glass across her forehead for a quick moment. “That little bomb did the trick. It was scary.”