by Ann Myers
“Angel?” I called out. “Sorry to bother you—you have some more guests.” When no answer came, I crossed the cozy living room and cautiously opened a door I assumed led to the bedrooms. A short hallway, with a floor of old-fashioned packed clay, led to three doors. I went down the hall, peeking inside each. Two revealed beds tidily made and empty. The third door opened to a back porch and darkness.
“They’re gone,” I said to Deputy Davis, who’d come up behind me. We looked out into cold emptiness disappearing into pitch black. There was no sound except Manny banging around in the living room and, in the distance, a soft hooting. “Tecolote,” I whispered.
“Weird . . .” Deputy Davis said, stretching out the word. “Maybe the old lady really is a witch.”
“She can’t really be a witch,” I said to Cass the next afternoon at her jewelry studio. It was Saturday, and this evening the show would go on for Las Posadas. I prayed for no incidents. No bewitching or threatening letters and especially no murders. “I mean, not some magic witch who shape-shifts into an owl.” I rolled a smooth silver ring around my palm. Instead of her usual torches, Cass held a large sewing needle and was stitching “imp” horns on a red hoodie for Sky. I’d stopped by to chat while Mom and Celia toured art galleries.
“She could be a witch that doesn’t transform,” Cass said. “I know some authentic witches. One owns a nice little jewelry studio out in Abiquiú. She’s more of a good witch, though. No cursing that I’ve heard of. She’ll do healing spells and find lost objects and stuff like that.”
I thought of Dalia, earnestly trying to cure Judith with amulets, sacred dolls, and funky teas. “I have absolutely nothing against good witches,” I said, for the record. “Where do you think Josephina and Angel went? Did you hear a car drive away?”
Cass jabbed her needle through a curved fabric horn. The horn was yellow, a good contrast to the red hoodie. She said she hadn’t heard anything. “Although Celia and I were talking, and Manny was noisy with all that blustering. Maybe Angel and his granny went out the back and over to a neighbor’s house we couldn’t see.” Cass looked up from her sewing and grinned. “Or they both turned into owls and flew away.”
I recalled the hooting and shivered. Manny had vowed to look for the elusive Josephina and her grandson. As he put it, he didn’t appreciate people messing with him. He’d also followed me and Celia home. He claimed he only did it to pick up a plate of Mom’s thumbprint cookies. However, I wondered. He’d been curious enough about my lead to drive out to the Lane with No Name. And he planned to back up Celia’s bodyguard at her performance tonight. Would he do that if he truly thought that Wyatt Cortez killed out of jealousy? Manny must have doubts. Not that he’d tell me.
“Witches are part of the folklore around here,” Cass said. “Years ago, I dated a guy researching New Mexican folk traditions. We went all around, out to the remote villages and up in the mountains. He’d get people talking about water spirits and evil eyes and crows flying across their paths. Coyotes, foxes, magical clowns, you name it. If you know too much about that kind of stuff, you can see signs and omens everywhere.”
A dead devil was more than a sign. “Do you think Josephina could have killed Francisco? He was a good-sized man.” I cringed, thinking of the force needed to pitchfork a person. “No . . .” I said, answering my own question.
“You’d have to be pretty forceful,” Cass agreed, stabbing the imp horns with her needle. “Angel’s probably stronger than he looks.”
I felt protective toward the aspiring cook. “I’m swayed by his fabulous baking,” I admitted. “And his kindness to his grandmother.”
“Blinded by empanadas,” Cass said with a smile. “That’s probably in some folktale. Those were fabulous. I’d kill for his recipe.” She put a hand to her mouth. “Not really.”
I left Cass to get on with her backlog of Christmas jewelry orders and mentally listed all the things I should be doing. Buying and wrapping presents. Getting that Christmas tree. Decorating the house. Cleaning the house. I sighed. Tonight’s performance had me edgy and anxious. Once it was safely over, I’d get back to Christmas tasks and fun. I automatically headed down Palace Avenue. Walking would help me think and burn off nervous energy. Plus, the weather and scenery were lovely. Sunny skies pushed the temperature to the high thirties, which in the high, dry air felt like brisk autumn forties. Shop windows glittered with jewelry, antiques, and ornaments ranging from snowmen to skeletons.
I was waiting at a four-way intersection when my phone rang. My spirits soared. Jake! He’d said he had a client meeting today, and I hadn’t expected to see him. Maybe he was free.
“Hey!” I said, stealing Celia’s usual greeting. “I’m walking around downtown, looking for a date. Want to grab a coffee?”
“Love to,” he said. “But I have bubbly on the way.” His tone was jovial but with an edge. “I’m at the Inn of the Pajarito with Wyatt Cortez. We have some news we thought you’d want to hear.”
“Good news!” Wyatt’s voice boomed in the background.
“News you should know,” Jake said pointedly.
Wyatt Cortez met me in the courtyard of his hotel. Thankfully, he’d swapped out his Santa costume for a green suit coat with a red handkerchief tucked into the pocket. Better yet, he looked like his normal self. Jovial. Businesslike. And happily excited. “Two alibis!” he exclaimed.
He stepped aside to allow an oversized elf to open the door for us.
“Feliz Navidad,” the elf offered in a monotone.
“And a merriest Christmas to you too, young elf!” Wyatt said, slapping the gloomy man on the back. Once inside, he enveloped me in a hug. “Yep, two alibis, and it’s all thanks to you and Mr. Strong, giving those police the kick in the pants to keep digging.”
“Two?” I said. I realized I should sound happier for him. “That’s great!” I added. What wasn’t great was my fear confirmed. An unknown devil killer, with an unknown motive, was still on the loose.
“Come on,” Wyatt said, grabbing my arm. “Lorena’s here and we’ve popped open some bubbly.”
I walked with him past the tinseled tree and into his glitzy bar. Jake and Lorena stood to greet me. “Looks like your feeling was right,” Jake said quietly.
“I knew it all along,” Lorena said, raising her glass. “Rita, I’m happy to tell you that you’re fired.” She leaned in to give me a hug and whispered in my ear, “Unless you’ll keep going on the sly. I desperately want justice for dear Francisco.”
Under the gaze of Wyatt, I couldn’t answer. I wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.
“We’ll talk later,” Lorena said, patting my hand. “I’ll be bringing you and Flori some pie. Any flavor you want. Blackberry thyme? Pumpkin with a cookie crust? Chocolate chile?”
I forced my mind from the whirlwind of delicious pie possibilities. “Who are these witnesses?” I asked. “Was one Josephina Ortiz? Was she . . . ah . . . lucid enough?”
Wyatt poured me some champagne, and I took a tiny sip, wary because bubbly makes me light-headed.
Since Wyatt was busy imbibing, Jake answered. “The police haven’t located Josephina or her grandson yet. They’re not happy that those two ran off. Looks suspicious, which is also good for Wyatt’s case. They found a housekeeper who saw Francisco go out to the roof. She wanted to watch the play, but she had to work. She was coming out of the supply closet when Josephina came up the stairs and, I quote, ‘put the curse on her.’ So she hid.”
I wasn’t seeing an alibi yet, for Wyatt or Josephina. I took a sip of bubbly, which went straight to my nose and nearly made me sneeze.
I was rubbing my nose as Jake continued. “The housekeeper was still in the supply room, when she heard an awful scream. She then heard loud, running footsteps and the door to the stairs slam. She waited a few more minutes, frightened. Then the elevator came up and chimed. She dared peek out and saw Wyatt, dressed as Santa.”
Wyatt paused in his bubbly celebration. “I went up to
check that the roof was unlocked for the devil. My poor housekeeper didn’t come forward right away because she feared evil spirits were involved. Then she was afraid I’d fuss at her for not cleaning a suite on time.” Wyatt smiled at Lorena. “Of course, I assured her she was much appreciated. I wanted to give her a raise, but Mr. Strong here says I should wait until the dust settles.”
Lorena, who hadn’t touched her bubbly, gave a halfhearted smile.
The hotel owner shook his head. “It’s like I always said, I tried to resuscitate Francisco but it was too late. Rita, you must have arrived when I was around the side of Pie in the Sky, looking for the water spigot over there. Crazy of me, to think water might revive him. We shut the water off in winter. There was all that blood . . .”
Lorena shuddered and looked near tears. Her husband took her hand, squeezed it, and told her he was sorry. “For everything,” he said.
I understood acting foolish when in shock. I’d mimed murder when the killer could have been sneaking up behind me.
“Josephina’s a frail older woman,” I said. “Francisco could have easily fought her off. The housekeeper didn’t see anyone else go up or down from the roof? What about the running footsteps and slamming door? Josephina is quick, but I wouldn’t call her a runner.”
Jake provided a more plausible scenario. “Could be that the killer was already up there, waiting for Francisco or Barton or any devil.”
I tried another sip of my drink. The bubbles made me cough. “So there’s another witness?” I asked when I recovered.
Jake grinned. “Actually more than one, but I’m counting them as a group. Your British customers who let the donkey out. They’re staying at the Pajarito. They say they spoke with Santa right before the devil was due to go on.”
“Ho, ho, ho,” Wyatt said. I’m sure he intended it to sound merry. Instead, it sent shivers up my arms. I caught Jake’s eye and raised my eyebrow.
“In itself, not a great alibi,” Jake admitted. “But the ladies also say that they were nearly knocked over by a man in black, running out the door from the stairway. Unfortunately, they didn’t get any kind of look at him. They can’t even say for sure that it was a man.”
“Tell her the good part,” Wyatt urged,
Lorena groaned softly.
“They said they smelled sulfur when the person in black knocked into them,” Jake said.
Wyatt raised his glass. “I owe you all so much,” he said. “Rita, Jake, you took time out of your holidays to help me. Lorena, I owe you everything. We’ll get through this. Together.” He clinked his glass to each of ours. “Christmas is truly looking up now.”
Not for me. I had a killer to catch.
Chapter 15
“Váyanse de aquí!” Celia yelled. Her operatic bellow cut through the glass door to the taproom’s balcony and the background rumble of packed tables of Saturday night beer drinkers.
I spun my barstool from the boring view of beer tap and flat-screen football highlights, to one much more interesting. Outside, my daughter jumped up and down, legs frog-style, arms raised, one holding a plastic pitchfork spray-painted red. Sky, the gangly imp, danced behind her, squatting low and then springing up to either side. He held smoke flares and flashlights shaped like flames. They were having great fun, and so was the crowd below. Each time Celia yelled, boos and hisses erupted.
I would have been having fun too, if I weren’t watching for a killer and squeezed on a barstool between my ex and Gary the bodyguard. Gary was dutifully following Manny’s orders to blend in. In my opinion, he was going overboard with the act. So far, Gary had downed two beers and just as many bowls of free pretzels. Manny’s idea was to look inconspicuous. Then, if anyone suspicious approached the door, we’d nab them. Or I would. Between Gary’s fixation on snacks and Manny’s eye roving to an attractive waitress, nabbing might be up to me. I flexed my ankles and shoulders and envisioned the perfect tackle.
I’d have backup. Deputy Davis and Jake sat at a table by the entrance. Every time I glanced their way, I found his eyes watching the door and hers fixed on him.
Gary bumped me with his elbow. “You gonna drink that?” he asked. Not taking my eyes off Celia, I reached back and pushed my untouched pint of porter his way.
“Thanks,” he said and added, generously, “I’ll put my empty glasses in front of you. You know, for your cover.”
Lovely. My cover as the mother guzzling beer during her daughter’s Christmas pageant. At least I hadn’t had to justify my absence from the ground-level audience to Mom.
She’d approved. “Of course you should chaperone her, Rita,” she’d said. “A young girl playing a devil at a beer hall . . . it’s simply not proper. And after a man died? This Christmas play gets stranger and stranger.”
Outside, Celia leaned over the balcony brandishing her staff. A bray burbled up among the boos.
Manny also had his back to the bar, watching Celia but mostly scanning the room. The stools were tight together and our shoulders occasionally bumped. Manny and I had done a lot of sitting at bars over the years, his idea of a good time. I felt a twinge of nostalgia. The twinge evaporated just as quickly when his gaze again landed on the short-skirted waitress.
“I don’t think that’s our guy,” I said sarcastically.
Manny snorted and turned his attention back to the balcony. “You don’t think anyone’s our guy. First you stuck up for a bloody Santa. Now you’re saying this manslaughter guy, Angel, can’t be the killer because he has a nice name and you like his empanadas.”
“I did not say that,” I said. “His name has nothing to do with it. All I said was, you didn’t see him with his grandmother. He was gentle with her. Considerate. Worried. Why would he risk going to jail and leaving her alone?”
Manny grabbed a handful of pretzels. “’Cause old granny thinks she’s a witch and she asked him to?” Through a mouthful of pretzels, he opined about witches and their ways. “Ridiculous. Weird women out to make trouble and bother the police,” he said. “Of course, there’s always the random nutcase suspect. That’s what your criminal-defender boyfriend would have us believe. I admit, that would be a tidy explanation. Covers the threatening letters and the killing all in one. You come across a nutcase, other than your friends, you let me know.”
I was saved from more of Manny’s proclamations by the cute waitress smiling at him. I swiveled away from my ex and focused on the performance. Sky waved sparklers behind Celia’s horns. Her commanding yell morphed into an anguished cry. They both raised their hands and dramatically withered to the patio floor, hidden behind the adobe balcony. The crowd cheered, thinking the devil was vanquished. A soloist began a plaintive song. The peace wouldn’t last for long. In a minute or two, Celia and her imp would reappear, scaring off the inn seekers and hopefully their donkey too.
I nibbled a pretzel. Outside, Celia and Sky were cuing each other for their next act. They counted down three, two, one on their fingers, and then Celia popped up and yelled “Váyanse de aquí!”
I had to stop myself from cheering. Manny, however, had pushed his stool out and was leaning on the bar, mumbling into his hand. I snapped to attention and noticed that Deputy Davis had too. What did they see?
“Two o’clock,” Manny said into the radio I now noticed in his palm. “No, Davis, my two o’clock. By the carved bear, moving north!”
I felt for Deputy Davis. Manny’s directions were always self-centered. I spotted the figure by the bear. A scruffy young guy with quarter-sized holes in his sagging earlobes was moving along the edge of the room. He wore an army surplus–type jacket, several sizes too large, and a baseball cap turned off center.
My heartbeat sped up, and I yearned to jump in front of the balcony door. Manny continued to face the bar. “Stop staring at him,” he said under his breath, jabbing my elbow for good measure.
“I’m not staring,” I said. If anything, we had a believable cover as a grumpy formerly married couple. I moved my elbow away from Manny�
�s and noticed a familiar face on the other side of the room.
“Trey Crundall, my three o’clock,” I said, trying not to move my lips. I added. “Don’t look.”
“Why tell me if I’m not supposed to look,” Manny grumbled. He leaned forward on his elbows and looked out from under his arms.
Trey wore a bulky ski jacket. He clutched a beer in one hand and could simply be looking for a friend or a place to sit. Or, he could be meeting the scruffy guy. I grabbed one of Gary’s empty beer glasses and pretended to drink from it as Trey shook his head slightly and turned around, taking a free table near Jake and Deputy Davis. The scruffy kid stood awkwardly for a minute or two, shuffling from foot to foot. Then he cast one more look in Trey’s direction and stomped out of the room. Manny reached over and slapped a hand in front of Gary, breaking the bodyguard’s perusal of the beer menu.
“Do not let anyone touch the door to the balcony,” Manny ordered. He stomped off after the scruffy kid, with Deputy Davis jogging behind him.
A few minutes later, Celia and Sky burst into the room with cheeks pink from the chill and devilish enthusiasm.
“Hey!” Gary said, looking conflicted. “No one’s supposed to bother that door.”
I assured him it was okay. It was. The performance had gone off without a hitch. “You were awesome, honey,” I said, hugging Celia. “You too, Sky. You make an amazing imp.”
Sky grinned bashfully.
“Where’s Dad?” Celia asked.
“He was here the whole time except the very end when he had to go.” Go do what? I looked around for Trey, but he too had gone. “Police stuff,” I said, and offered the teens celebratory root beers. Both said they were parched. Sky teased Celia that her voice sounded like a frog’s croak. Jake sauntered over to compliment the actors and give me a surreptitious squeeze.
When Manny returned a few minutes later, he scowled first at Jake and then at the teens’ frothy mugs.