It was time to start dinner. I put on some soft music, took a bottle of red wine out of the cellar and opened it, and got out my apron. Rice first. I didn’t have the energy for risotto, I decided, so I set some basmati to steaming, put together the salad, and was ready to start the main dish.
It called for brandy. I ran downstairs to steal some of Julio’s, and on the way back stepped into my office for a quick check of my email and phone (nothing from Tony). Back in my suite, I took out my recipe card, opened the window to evacuate the smell of raw shallots, and set to work.
My mood was lifting; cooking always did me good. Since the tearoom had opened, my meals at home had been less elaborate than before. It felt good to stretch the culinary muscles.
Leaving the shallots gently sauteéing in butter, I went out into the hallway. The sheers over the west window were golden and I could feel the warmth of the setting sun pouring through them. I stood before the window for a couple of minutes, basking. It felt so good I wanted to curl up in one of the chairs for a nap, but there wasn’t time.
I had just added the brandy and turned down the burner to simmer the chicken when I heard a knock downstairs. I pulled off my apron and hurried down, pausing at the foot of the stairs to look at both doors, because I wasn’t sure which to go to. The back door had a doorbell, but it wasn’t obvious and I didn’t remember whether Tony knew where to find it.
As it happened, he was at the front, blocking the last rays of sunshine from the lights on one side of the door. I found out why he was standing so close when I opened the door and a reporter tried to shove a microphone at me.
“No comment,” I said. “Come in, Detective.”
Tony stepped in and pushed the door closed behind him. I locked it, then led him down the hall. Behind us, the reporter watched through the lights.
“Sorry about that,” I said. “I’d have thought they would leave after the six o’clock broadcast. Did they give you grief?”
“I don’t let them,” Tony said.
“Let’s step into the kitchen for a moment.”
He shot me a sidelong look. “Don’t want them to see us going upstairs?”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, you’re right. It would just pour gas on the fire.”
They’d probably make hay with Tony’s visit anyway. I was glad I didn’t have a television.
I went into the side hall, but stopped outside the butler’s pantry. Out of view of both doors, and the small window in the pantry was curtained.
“I don’t really need anything from the kitchen,” I said, turning to him.
“Oh.”
“I just wanted to ... before we get busy with dinner ... I wanted to thank you.”
The the ghost of a smile fleeted across his face. He looked so sad.
“Are you OK?” I asked.
Tony shrugged. “It’s hard. I didn’t expect....”
I waited, not wanting to push him. He leaned against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets.
“They’re all kind of avoiding me. Like they’re afraid of being associated with me.”
“Oh.” I bit back an apology; we didn’t need to keep having that exchange.
“Except Walters,” he added. “He called me.”
“Is he still working on his case?”
“Yeah. But he’s having trouble. Swazo lived on the reservation.”
“FBI jurisdiction.”
“Right. When it was just Daniel’s death, not on the res, he could work it, but now that it’s a drug operation ... he’s supposed to turn the case over to the Feds, but they won’t do anything with it. They’re tapped. He wants to finish it.”
“What a mess.”
“Yeah.”
Outside, a siren went wailing by. We both looked up, listening until it faded.
“You hungry?” I asked.
“Not really.”
“How about a glass of wine, then?”
He raised weary eyes to mine. “That sounds good.”
We went upstairs without turning on the lights. Dusk was falling outside, but there was enough light to see our way. A clean soap smell reached me as he walked beside me. I opened the door to my suite, and Tony paused on the threshold, smiling crookedly.
“Last time I was in here you weren’t too happy about it.”
Oh, yes. The night he’d tossed my suite.
Maybe there weren’t any rooms in the house that didn’t have bad memories for us.
“Red or white?” I asked.
“Red.”
“Have a seat.”
He settled himself in my chair as I closed the door. I checked on the chicken, then poured the wine.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” I said as I handed him a glass.
“Smells great.”
I sat in the other chair. “Have you talked to your mom?”
He grimaced. “Not yet. I left her a message.”
I watched him take a big swallow of wine. Surely his mother would support him, wouldn’t she?
He gazed at the wineglass in his hands. “She’ll say it’s a sin, and nag me to go confess.”
Oh.
“Would that make you feel better?” I asked.
He thought about it, drank more wine. “No.”
“It’s not like you had a choice,” I said softly.
“No, but I wish he hadn’t died.”
Did I agree? Yes, for Tony’s sake, I could wish that. Even though Tommy Swazo’s death had solved a problem for me, I couldn’t be glad that it had happened. Tony looked so hurt.
I put my hand over his. He was still for a moment, then lifted his fingers to thread them through mine. A tingle spread through my palm and up my wrist.
My kitchen timer went off. Tony slid his hand away. I swallowed frustration and stood.
“Let’s eat.”
I brought the food to the table and closed the window against the evening chill. Tony helped himself to salad. I watched while he tasted it.
“Good,” he said, nodding. “What’s in this?”
Pears, goat cheese, toasted pecans. I usually use poppy seeds, but I didn’t know if you might have to pass a drug test.”
He swallowed and reached for his wine. “Not unless I get arrested.”
I gave myself a mental kick, but couldn’t help asking, “That’s not very likely, is it?”
“I don’t know. Been a lot of bad press about officer-involved shootings.”
“Do you want to talk about it, or should I shut up?”
He gave me a surprised look, then a brief smile. “It’s OK. But there isn’t anything new to say, really.”
“Would my testimony help?”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
He finished his wine and cut into his chicken. I brought the bottle to the table and filled his glass.
“Walters put in a good word for me,” Tony added.
“That was nice of him.”
“He’s a good guy.”
“I believe you. I’m just seeing him from a different perspective.”
Tony looked up at me. “Do cops make you feel threatened?”
“Some do. In some situations.”
He sighed. “We’re supposed to be the heroes. Serve and protect.”
“A lot of folks have forgotten that, I think.”
“Yeah. Folks on both sides.” He took a bite of chicken, then closed his eyes and gave a soft groan. “Man. Does everyone in your family cook like this?”
“My brother hates to cook.”
He opened his eyes. “You’ve got a brother?”
“He lives in New York.”
“City?”
I nodded, sipping my wine.
“Oh, well, he’s in the right place then,” Tony said. “They’ve got a billion restaurants, right?”
“I’ve never been, but I believe there are a lot.”
“You haven’t been to New York?”
I stirred my salad, picking out a pecan. “No. Joe kee
ps bugging me to visit.”
“Well, you should.”
“I will. Someday.”
I hadn’t seen much of Joe since our father died. He’d come out for the memorial, but he’d only been able to stay overnight.
“What does he do?”
“Joe? He’s an investment broker.”
“On Wall Street?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. He claims his company isn’t into the high-risk stuff.” Privately, I suspected most Wall Street companies were complicit in the bad financial practices that had cost our country so much.
Tony speared another bite of chicken. “Man, this is good.”
“Thanks.” I smiled, glad to see him eating. After a week of junk food and stress, his body could probably use a more balanced meal.
I ate some chicken, wondering what Tony’s customary diet was like. It didn’t sound like he cooked much. Did he eat more than one meal a week at his mother’s, or did filial stress make it uncomfortable?
“Hey,” he said softly.
I looked up. He was smiling.
“You got rid of the hiccups.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“Ellen?”
I met his gaze. He put down his knife and fork.
“It’s going to get better,” he said.
“I hope you’re right.”
“You’ve had a rough year.”
“I could say the same to you.”
He shook his head. “This right now sucks, but I’ll get through it. I haven’t had to fight the way you have.”
“Oh. Well...” My throat tightened unexpectedly. I reached for my wine.
“And I haven’t been any help,” he added.
“Don’t be ridiculous! I’d be a lot worse off if it hadn’t been for you.”
He took rather a large swallow of wine. “You’d probably be better off if I left you alone.”
“What? Where did that come from?”
“I don’t want to drag you down.”
I stared at him, astonished. This was not the Tony I knew. The one who’d had a chip on his shoulder the size of Manhattan when we met.
“How on earth do you imagine you’d ever drag me down?”
He sighed, gestured to my suite. “You’ve got all this.”
“And a nice, big mortgage, too,” I said. “Tony, I work for a living, the same as you. Only you’ve been at it longer; you’ve got a strong reputation, a career.”
“Yeah. Let’s hope I can hang onto that.”
“You will. I know you will.”
He blinked, then pushed away his wineglass. “I told myself I wouldn’t whine.”
“You’re not.”
He rubbed a hand over his face. “I probably should have waited. Come another night. I’m still kind of freaked out.”
“I’m glad you didn’t wait. We’ve missed too many chances.”
He met my gaze. “Yeah. We have.” He reached across the table and took my hand. “Think we’ll ever get to that movie?”
I laughed. “I refuse to make a prediction on that one.”
He rubbed the ball of his thumb across my knuckle. “It’s partly my fault. I get into a case and want to plow through until it’s done.”
“I can understand that. It must be hard work.”
“Well, yeah, but that’s not the reason. I love my job. I love what I do. Figuring out problems. Bringing bad guys to justice.”
Intensity filled his face, the fire of a hunter on the scent. I’d seen that in him before, but not until now this evening. It gave me a little thrill of hope.
“Angela told me your dad was a policeman,” I said.
“Yeah. Beat cop for ten years, then a sergeant. Damn good at it, too.”
“And you followed in his footsteps.”
“Every time I pick up my badge, put on my gun, I think of him.”
Tony’s gaze dropped to the table and he swallowed. I recalled the grief I had given him over his gun in the past; I’d asked him not to bring it into the tearoom. I didn’t like guns.
It didn’t seem to matter so much now.
“Tony, are you wearing your gun?”
“Had to turn it in,” he said roughly. “Desk duty. But I’ll get it back.”
I squeezed his hand. “Yeah, you will.”
This had shaken him. I wasn’t surprised, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t want to discuss it. What little he’d said was more than I’d expected. Tony was a private person. That he’d allowed me to see even a glimpse of how he felt was, I thought, a great compliment.
“You want some more chicken?”
He looked up from abstraction and shook his head as he let go of my hand. “No, this is great. Gotta save room for dessert, right?” He shot me a smile as he speared a forkful of salad.
“I didn’t make a special dessert,” I said, “but we can raid the fridge downstairs. There are usually a few sweets left over.”
“Abuela really loved those sweets.”
“I’m glad.”
“She’s already talking about coming back.”
“She’s welcome any time. Will you excuse me for a minute?”
“Sure.”
His eyes followed me as I got up and went into my bedroom. I lit two candles there and then returned to the table to finish my meal. I poured more wine for myself and offered more to Tony. He shook his head.
“Better not. Don’t want to do anything stupid.”
“Why not? I won’t tell.”
He laughed, his gaze lingering on my face. “Don’t tempt me.”
“Shouldn’t I?” I ate the last bite of my chicken.
His silence made me look up. He was still watching me.
“I suck at relationships.”
“I’ve heard that said about cops. Doesn’t mean it’s always true.”
“True for me. Ask any of my ex-girlfriends.”
“Hm.” I took a swallow of wine. “I don’t think I can provide any references. My last attempt was in college, and I have no idea where he is by now.”
“How long ago?”
“Five years. But who’s counting?” I chased down the last bit of pear on my salad plate. “I’ve been too busy, lately, and before that I was ... grieving.”
“You make me grateful I still have my mom.”
“I’ve got Nat. Next best thing.”
I drained my wineglass, then stood and held out my hand. “I have something to show you.”
Tony took my hand and followed me into the bedroom, where I stopped at the foot of the bed. I heard him catch his breath.
“I wondered where you put them,” he said. “Thought maybe you got rid of them.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
Two carved candlesticks, four feet high, flanked my bed, candlelight glowing softly against the walls and the sloping roof, enriching the brocade hangings. They’d been a gift of apology from Tony.
“I tried them all over the house, but this is where they fit best. I’ve been too shy to tell you.”
He turned to me. “Until now?”
I smiled, disengaging my hand from his, but only so I could slide my arms around his waist.
“Until now.”
His arms tightened fiercely around me. Hugging him back, I tried to send him courage, strength, whatever he needed to get through this stressful time. He raised his head, leaning away to stare at me, hurt lingering at the back of his eyes. I laid a hand against his cheek.
“It will get better,” I whispered.
The last time Tony had kissed me, it had garnered applause from my staff. If they’d been present for this one, it would have brought down the house.
Nat’s Santa Fe Chicken Salad
Ingredients:
1 c cooked chicken, diced
½ c celery, diced
½ c red or yellow bell pepper, diced
½ c jicama, diced
½ c tart apple, diced
1 shallot, minced
¼ c toasted piñon nuts (pine nuts
)
¼ c toasted walnuts, chopped
1 T fresh cilantro leaves, chopped
¼ t – ½ t red chile powder
⅛ t celery salt
1 T fresh lime juice
⅓ c mayonnaise
Combine all ingredients in large bowl. Serve on a bed of lettuce, garnish with cilantro leaves, lime wedge, and/or toasted piñon nuts. Serves 3-4.
(Wow, complicated instructions.)
The cilantro and chile powder are optional.
For the apple, I recommend Pink Lady or Cripps Pink, but Granny Smith will do. The pinks are slightly sweeter, but still tart.
Copyright © 2015 by Patrice Greenwood. All rights reserved.
Chicken in Brandy Cream Sauce
Ingredients:
1 T butter
1 T olive oil
2 shallots, diced
1 t fresh thyme (or 1/2 t dried)
2 sprigs fresh rosemary (or 2 t dried)
1/4 c brandy
2-3 T flour
salt to taste
1/2 c cream
2 boneless chicken breasts
Variations:
add 1 c chopped mushrooms
substitute champagne for brandy
Saute shallots in butter and oil. Add rosemary (chopped or crumbled if you wish), thyme, and half the brandy. Add chicken (and mushrooms) and cook gently over low-medium heat (about 20 minutes). Sift in flour, add salt and stir in cream. Stir until sauce thickens (1-4 minutes). Add remaining brandy (or to taste). Serve with rice.
Copyright © 2015 by Patrice Greenwood. All rights reserved.
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