by G G Collins
“For you Dave,” she whispered.
Before her emotions became too strong she left the altar and ducked into the small prayer room where the discarded crutches, canes and braces speak for those who report they have been cured of their maladies.
In the pocito, or little well, a child was pouring dirt from the hole in the floor into a plastic bag. The blessed soil from this tiny room was believed to have sacred healing powers. The legend also claimed the earth removed from the opening in the floor magically refilled overnight. Taylor had no way of knowing the validity of these claims, but preferred to believe them. The Santuario gave her a feeling of serenity she couldn’t find anywhere else.
Outside the church Taylor saw the parish priest blessing the baby of a young couple. She stood at a distance for a moment watching. When the couple walked away she approached the priest.
“Good day,” he said.
He was a small man with grey hair that glinted silver in the bright sunlight. Everything about him radiated kindliness. On impulse Taylor stopped.
“I noticed you blessing their child.” She hesitated. Taylor was not Catholic and had no idea if there were rules concerning this.
“I also bless grown children,” he said kindly. “Would you like to receive one?”
Taylor flushed, feeling embarrassed that she must look so needy. “Yes, please, if it’s all right.”
“It is always all right. What kind of blessing do you wish?”
Without hesitation she answered, “I’ve been a bit afraid lately.”
He nodded, spoke words of safety and peace, and briefly touched her forehead. It was most quieting experience for Taylor who immediately felt lighter in spirit. She thanked the priest and joyfully walked back to Victor, who leaned against his car under the cradling arms of a large tree.
“Ready to eat?” He deliberately put a light inflection to the question. Victor knew she was widowed from his inquiries regarding the background of all the people connected with the murder victim. Was this a special place for her? People made spiritual sojourns to Chimayó for many reasons. He didn’t blame them.
“Famished.” Taylor said. “I wonder if their sopaipillas are still the best?”
“Won’t get an argument from me,” Sanchez said.
The other reason to visit Chimayó was the food. The restaurant at Rancho de Chimayó was an inspiration. The Jaramillo family ran the restaurant and the bed and breakfast across the road. The food and hospitality were the reasons people came in droves. In high season, visitors came by the busload.
There were only a few parking spots available. They walked under a bright sky in no particular hurry.
The front of the 1880s adobe hacienda was brightened with red chile ristras. The strings of peppers hung beneath the scarlet metal roof. Taylor and Victor chose the shaded stone path, worn smooth by thousands of visitors. Hollow logs lay along the sidewalk doing double duty as planters. Purple and pink petunia blossoms cascaded down the sides and onto the path. The Virgin Mary stood in silent stone near the front door.
The white screen door squeaked in protest as Victor opened it for her. In contrast to the bright day, the foyer seemed unexpectedly dark. The hostess greeted them. They followed her through cozy dining rooms to the back of the former home, where the sunlight played off colorful umbrellas and table cloths. Golden aspen leaves quivered in the light breeze. Shrubs, flowers and ground covers grew from every available spot spilling over the retaining walls. The beautifully landscaped eating area provided a living backdrop for a pleasurable dining experience.
They were seated on the third level of the fully terraced backyard where the bustling wait staff, clinking silver, and animated conversations could all be savored. Victor ordered her a Chimayó cocktail, a tangy mixture of tequila and apple cider—and the restaurant’s specialty. Huge sopaipillas with bowls of honey made a great sweet tooth appetizer.
Taylor knew she wanted the chicken fajitas with pico de gallo and the best guacamole she had ever tasted. Victor quickly chose carne adovada, a warm mixture of pork and Chimayó red chile sauce. Both plates arrived steaming and in glorious color a few minutes later. For a while they ate hungrily, and in silence, to relish each zesty bite.
“So about La Fonda,” Victor broke the silence remembering his mission. “What happened?”
“I was trying to cross the bar to talk with Dominique.”
“She was there? No one told me that.” Sanchez obviously felt he’d not been fully informed.
“That may be because I didn’t mention it.” Taylor said. “I meant to but for some reason, I didn’t.”
“Why would she have been at a tourist spot? Was she alone?”
“I was there,” Taylor said. “I live here. And no, she wasn’t alone.”
“Why were you there?”
“Jim and I went to listen to the jazz trio. Who never showed up, I might add.”
“You and Jim?” Victor gave her a pointed look. She ignored it.
“Who was Dominique with?” He changed the subject.
“I didn’t know her. At least it looked like a woman across the dark room.”
“On another related subject, her manuscript disappeared from my desk the other day.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sanchez leaned across the table in earnest. “You didn’t think it important?” His tone was that of a parent chastising a child.
“Actually,” she said, and allowed some steal to enter her voice, “I did think it important. Especially after it couldn’t be found. And I wonder if someone else finds it relevant in some way?”
“What’s the book about?”
Taylor told the story once more. When she got to the locked bedroom, with the man lying dead on his bed, Victor threw up his hand in reaction.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this.”
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said scornfully, “but it seemed a bit far-fetched. I admit the plot is compelling, considering everything, but it’s hard to fathom a real connection.”
“Has the manuscript been unearthed?”
“No. I was going to ask Dominique for another copy.”
“Do that, and make one for me. Please.” He softened the last word.
After a delicious meal, their server set bowls of dessert on their table. The golden flan rested in a pool of luscious caramel. When Taylor tasted the smooth custard, she remembered a birthday celebration a few years earlier. Dave asked the waiter to add a candle to her flan. She dropped her spoon to the ground. As she bent to retrieve it, Victor stopped her.
“I’ll ask for another,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Just a memory.” Taylor touched her face and felt the flush.
“About your husband?” Victor asked kindly.
“How’d you know?” Taylor asked in surprise.
“We had to do background checks on all of you. I’m sorry about the intrusion. Sometimes I have to do things I don’t like. The years bring an acquaintance with loss that most of us would rather not experience.
“You too?” Taylor’s heart went out to this man who understood her anguish.
“My wife and daughter were killed by a hit-and-run driver six years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” She felt as if she’d been physically punched. “What a terrible loss.”
“What happened to your husband?”
“Dave died of lung cancer,” she said sadly. “And no, he did not smoke!” She had grown bitter about the question people always seemed to ask.
She looked into his dark eyes and saw that he hadn’t been going to ask.
“I’m sorry. It’s just. . .”
“No need to apologize. People say a lot of stupid things when they try to be helpful. We want reasons for why things happen, perhaps in order to avoid the same tragedies in our own lives. Sometimes there aren’t any tidy explanations.”
“You know?” Taylor asked.
“Yes.” He covered her hand with his.
; Chapter 12
Virginia had been editing a manuscript all morning under the portal at the back of her house. She had long ago placed a table on the brick floor for this purpose. The courtyard had desert landscaping to keep down maintenance. Several glazed brown pots held red geraniums, her only accent color.
She stretched her aching back, and her gaze lifted to the Sangre de Cristo, or Blood of Christ mountains. She thought nothing was more beautiful than seeing the mountains turn deep red at sunset. All work stopped while she took a few minutes to relax and let nature do its thing.
The enclosed courtyard made her decision to buy this house a quick one. It was a sanctuary from the hectic pace her days usually demanded. A small grove of aspen, now dressed in autumn gold, formed a protective secluded space. A larger tree provided shade for much of the remaining yard. It made it hard to grow sun-loving annuals, but she didn’t have time for planting flowers anyway.
Senior editor had proved to be a time consuming job. Of course she could cut back, but her work was the only important thing in her life, so she allowed it to expand into her private time. A long while ago there had been something else, a man, but the relationship did not work out. Virginia didn’t know how to grieve so she worked until exhaustion came. It had become a habit.
Virginia had only known love once before, first love, the kind some people never recover from. Because of this she had carefully placed herself away from others, especially men. If she became close to anyone again, it might kill her. That was until Preston took over the publishing company. He was a dynamic person who knew his own mind and could immediately size up a situation and take command. The fact he was brutally handsome had caught Virginia unaware.
When she learned his marriage was on shaky ground she’d waited patiently, and not without encouragement from Preston. He had always been drawn to dependent women. They were easier to control. How he ended up with Jessica was beyond reasoning. She seemed his type in the beginning, but developed an independent streak as the years went by. When he tried to walk over her to get what he wanted, she wouldn’t cower. This frustrated him.
Virginia stood ready at his beck and call, catering to his need to delegate nearly everything. She thrived on details where he gorged himself on the game of business. It was the dealing that made his blood race. He didn’t enjoy staying after a conquest, not when there was another emerging. It was up to others to hold them together in his wake. He counted on Virginia to do just that.
After a day of negotiations and drinking Preston had asked Virginia to dinner. She was flustered as a school girl. She had great expectations.
Preston in his usual debauchery managed to insult and degrade her attentions. At the restaurant he preceded to imbibe to a point of no return, leaving her sitting in her Sunday best whimpering in disappointment. While he danced with some young thing, Virginia crept out and caught a cab home.
The following Monday morning he behaved as if nothing had happened. Virginia was never sure if he remembered being with her. She hated him for the way he treated her, but still loved him because she didn’t know what else to do.
She picked up the envelope lying next to the laptop. The reading of the will was tomorrow. She was to be there. Would this be another slap on her face?
Chapter 13
A small group assembled in the office of Preston Endicott’s personal attorney, Jason Lee. Endicott had always kept his personal matters with a different law firm than his businesses, which had been handled by attorneys specializing in corporate law.
The office fulfilled the expectations of most people regarding attorneys: dark paneling, plush carpeting and heavy furniture with leather upholstery. Nothing was remotely Santa Fe style except the adobe structure that housed the law firm.
Donald arrived early, as was his habit, and he had been forced to wait impatiently for fifteen minutes in reception. He didn’t know what to expect from today’s reading. If for some reason he had inherited a monetary sum, would it be enough to help him out of the crippling debt that his mother’s health had caused? He fingered the letter folded neatly in his jacket pocket. He didn’t believe in luck; but if he had a rabbit’s foot, he could have rubbed the fur off.
Virginia arrived next, nodded to Donald, then sat stiffly in the unyielding leather chair. Her knees were squeezed tightly together, hands folded in her lap. She wanted to be somewhere else—anywhere—but curiosity had overcome her. Whether she was here or not, the world would soon know what Preston said about her.
In a bright teal suit, Jessica entered the law office right on time. She sat and carelessly crossed her legs. The assurance she felt surprised her. She didn’t know what to expect, but since Preston had not taken the time to write her out of the business, she thought perhaps her chances of inheriting another sizable financial empire was possible. When she left this office, she might just be the richest and soon most powerful woman in Santa Fe. If only she knew who to thank for the opportunity.
A few family photos were organized at the left of his desk near Lee’s phone. He could gaze at the happy family while lawyering on the phone. A large globe took up too much space in the office, forcing people to walk around it. However, it was dazzling in its craftsmanship. Each country was represented by a carved wooden piece, painted and highly lacquered.
Detective Sanchez arrived as the receptionist was escorting everyone into Lee’s inner office. He sat at the back near the globe to observe. Ordinarily he didn’t attend will readings but this one was different. It was a police matter and a murderer was still at large. He most definitely wanted to know the outcome of this meeting.
Jason Lee arrived ten minutes late as was his custom. It added to the illusion of attorneys being very important people especially as he walked quickly appearing to be in a hurry. He didn’t particularly like the practice of law, it had been thrust upon him by his father, but he relished the misconception of his significance and authority.
He was dressed properly in a black suit. He always wore black when he read a will. He brightened it somewhat with a red regimental stripe tie against a white shirt. He rustled about his middle drawer even though he knew what he was looking for, cleared his throat and looked up at the people sitting uncomfortably; waiting.
Lee evaluated the face of each. The grieving ex-wife and the accountant wore expectant expressions. The drab woman seemed apprehensive. Perfect, just the effect he had hoped for. Detective Sanchez nonchalantly twirled the globe. It irritated the heck out of Lee when people did that. Except for the detective—he’d crossed paths with him before—he had the group right where he wanted them. He picked up the document he pulled from his desk and cleared his throat once more for effect.
He read through the usual boring legalese, looking up occasionally to see the detective stifle a yawn. Preston’s ex-wife seemed ready to explode because of the slow pace he had set. Lee knew from Preston she was a hothead. With all that red hair flying about he wished he could witness her in action.
Lee stopped and excused himself while he took a sip from the cup on his desk. It was leftover stone cold coffee from that morning, but he knew they were all waiting for the bequests and as this was the most entertaining part he wanted to enjoy each moment.
“The bulk of the estate goes to Jessica Endicott,” Lee read and then looked over his reading glasses to see the effect. Jessica appeared controlled but he thought was fighting overwhelming jubilance.
The mousy woman and the accountant—he hated accountants, never could dress right—appeared astonished and maybe wounded. They obviously hadn’t anticipated this outcome. However, he’d finally gotten the attention of Detective Sanchez who was carefully watching the three individuals.
“We’ll go over the estate in a private appointment,” he said to Jessica. That was one appointment he might not keep waiting.
“To Donald Lovitt and his mother Dona Lovitt, who was a dear friend of my father, I leave the sum of $5,000 at my father’s request.”
Lovitt tried to
remain perfectly still. How dare he insult him like this, to include him in his will and then leave almost nothing? He’d been with the publishing company from the get-go. Why $5,000 wouldn’t even cover his mother’s medical expenses. His feelings for Preston were culminating into hate. This was a joke. Preston, Sr. cared about his mother. He would have wanted her to have a comfortable retirement. Unfortunately, the elder Endicott had trusted his son to do the right thing.
“To Virginia Compton, my business right arm and good friend, I leave $500,000. She will always remain the love of my life.”
Jessica gasped in anger. Virginia’s hand flew to her mouth in bewilderment. Sanchez started to attention and watched the look exchanged between the two women. He couldn’t see Jessica’s face in its entirety, but the set of her shoulders screamed woman scorned. Virginia was speechless.
Nobody noticed Donald as he squeezed the letter in his pocket. Slowly, trying not to be heard, he wrinkled it into a wad of twisted wrath.
“That witch gets half a million dollars?” shrieked Jessica at the attorney. In a New York minute she loomed over his desk and glared at Lee. “This is an outrage!”
Her chest heaved in anger and her cleavage didn’t go unnoticed by Lee.
Lee knew he should take control of the situation but he couldn’t take his eyes off Jessica. Before he could contemplate her anatomy up close, she turned on Virginia.
With both hands she grabbed Virginia’s shoulders and began to shake the terrified woman.
“What did he mean by love of my life? I told you what would happen if I found out you were having an affair with my husband,” Jessica continued
“But then $500,000 will certainly lessen the blow of being fired; which you are! You’ve got one week to wrap things up and get out!”
Sanchez pulled Jessica off Virginia just as her hands reached her neck. Virginia brushed at her clothing as though removing frenzied debris Jessica’s hands had deposited. She was plainly upset but holding onto her dignity with whatever shred of courage she retained.