A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn

by Patrice Greenwood

  I considered ignoring it, but couldn’t. It might just be someone looking for tea, but it could also be a friend or a neighbor—Katie Hutchins, who ran the B&B across the street, often dropped by to say hello. I left my hat hanging from the bannister post and went to the door, but stopped short as I reached it.

  Standing to one side, looking at me through the lights, was Tony Aragón.

  15

  An echo of the previous night’s anger arose, and I almost turned my back, but Tony had seen me and I couldn’t be that rude. Instead I opened the door, not caring, for once, how disheveled I might look.

  “Hi,” he said, holding out a plastic bag containing several pieces of china. “I brought back your things from the lab. The food all tested negative, of course.”

  I accepted the bag, looking down at the china that had served Maria Garcia’s last meal. “Thank you.”

  “Still mad?”

  I glanced up at him. An apprehensive smile hovered on his lips. I took a deep breath.

  “Less so.”

  The smile broadened. “Good.”

  “I gather she talked back to the officers. She should have known better.”

  “Yeah.”

  We stood staring at each other for a long, silent moment. He had on a black t-shirt and jeans, his normal attire. He looked good, and a little anxious as well, which was endearing, much to my annoyance. I didn’t want to be attracted to him. I wanted to stay mad, but I just didn’t have the energy at the moment.

  “Would you like a glass of lemonade?” I said finally.

  “That sounds ... safe. Good, I mean,” he said, laughing at my frown. “It sounds good. Yes, I’d love a glass of lemonade.”

  I pushed the door open a little wider. “You can come in while I fix it.”

  He didn’t move. “I brought you something else.”

  “Oh?” I said, trying not to sound too haughty.

  He smiled and gestured to his right. “Want to see?”

  I stepped out and looked toward the south end of the portal. Next to the nearest wicker chair, where he’d apparently been sitting waiting for my return, stood two four-foot columns of wood, carved in the twisted style common to old Spanish furniture and each topped with a white pillar candle.

  “Oh! They’re beautiful!”

  I stepped forward to look more closely at them. They were stained a dark mahogany, and while they looked rough-hewn, I could see that they’d been carefully finished. For an instant I wondered if Tony had made them, but he wouldn’t have had time since the night before, and he didn’t seem like the type to have a hobby.

  He stepped up beside me. “I thought they’d look nice in your—room.”

  I glanced at him. “Yes, they’d go perfectly with the Renaissance decor. But you shouldn’t have.”

  “I just wanted to say I was sorry. I’m not good at speeches.”

  He said it lightly, but the look on his face was genuinely anxious. I relented, and smiled.

  “Well, thank you. They’re lovely.”

  He smiled back, looking relieved. “Should I bring them in?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He handed me the candles and picked up both pillars. I held open the door, struggling with a moment’s reluctance to invite him upstairs. The pillars would have to go up there eventually, though, and the lemonade was in my kitchenette. I locked the front door behind us, dashed to the kitchen to leave the china, then led the way upstairs, grabbing my straw hat along the way.

  “Looks like you were out hiking.”

  “No, I went to visit the Rose Guild. They were working in the City Rose Garden.”

  I waited for him to object or criticize, but he was wise enough to keep quiet. I opened the door to my suite and welcomed him in with a gesture.

  “Where do you want these?”

  “I don’t know yet. By the chimney is fine for now.”

  He set the pillars together beside the chimney that protrudes through the center of my suite and acts as a partial divider. I put the candles on top of them and invited Tony to sit down while I fixed the lemonade.

  “Let me guess. You hand-squeeze the lemons.”

  I hung my hat on the coat rack, then took out a couple of glasses and filled them with ice from my mini-freezer. “That’s tearoom thinking. On my own time I’m lazy and use frozen.”

  “Works for me.”

  Just to be contrary, I added a slice of fresh lemon to each glass before I carried them to the living room. I sat down in the second chair and handed Tony a glass.

  “Thanks. Mmm.” He took a long pull. “It’s good.”

  “Glad you like it.”

  I drank deeply myself, grateful for the cold. We sat in relatively comfortable silence, facing the chimney which I had dressed up with the suggestion of a fireplace. I had found a marble mantelpiece that looked sort of Renaissance at an antique auction, and I’d put it against the chimney with a black backing behind the hearth opening. Above it I’d hung a large painting of a mountain landscape, and in front of the backing I’d put one of those in-the-fireplace candle stands that hold a bunch of tea lights.

  Tony gazed at the display for a few minutes, then gave a decisive nod. “Television. Big flatscreen, right where you’ve got that picture.”

  “I like that picture, and I don’t need a television.”

  “Oh. Got one in the bedroom?”

  “No. I do own a TV, but it's in storage. Don’t look at me like I’m from Mars! Not everyone wants to spend her life glued to an idiot box.”

  “Sorry.” He took a swallow of lemonade. “So, what do you do when you want to see the news?”

  “That’s what the radio’s for. And the newspaper.”

  “Speaking of newspapers—” He dug a folded page of newsprint out of his back pocket. “Still interested in a movie?”

  He unfolded the page and offered it to me. I set down my glass and took it.

  I'd known I was out of touch, but I hadn't even heard of any of the films listed except for the chick flick Tony had mentioned. I looked at the ad for that one—a long-legged actress who looked vaguely familiar, dressed in a very short skirt and a slightly shorter mink jacket, kicking up one heel and grinning at the viewer. Most of the other movies looked pretty violent, except for one comedy that I suspected would be mostly potty humor.

  “Anything look good?” Tony asked.

  I shrugged. “What do you think?”

  “I'm curious about the mink.”

  “It looks inoffensive.”

  “Wow, high praise.”

  “Sorry.”

  I kept to myself the suspicion that he was trying to patronize me. What I would really have loved to see was Les Miserables, but he'd probably either already seen it or would hate it. And I wasn't sure it was still playing anyway. I looked back at the listings, peering at the small print.

  “To be honest, most of what Hollywood does these days doesn't reach me.”

  “Mm.” He drained his glass. “How about a baseball game?”

  “Not a sports fan, sorry.”

  “Except football, right?”

  “No, I don’t care for football.”

  He turned in his seat to face me. “I thought you were in marching band!”

  “Yes. Liking football isn’t a requirement for band.”

  “So you sat through a bunch of football games even though you don’t like football.”

  I sipped my lemonade. “Right.”

  “That’s crazy. Sorry, but—it’s crazy.”

  “I found ways to amuse myself. Gossiped with my friends. And I stood up and cheered when required.”

  “You are...” He laughed, shaking his head.

  “Yes, you’re right. I am from Mars.”

  “Nah. Venus.”

  “Oh, quite right. I stand corrected.”

  He chuckled. “Did you read that book? Or do books bore you too?”

  “No, I love to read, but I haven’t read that one. Have you?”

 
; “Nah.” He shook his glass, spinning the ice in the bottom. “My sister gave it to me. Said it would solve my relationship problems.”

  “You have relationship problems?”

  “No, ‘cause I don’t have relationships. Not long-term ones, anyway.”

  He tipped up his glass to get a piece of ice and crunched it. I watched, wondering if he was trying to warn me.

  “Would you like some more lemonade?” I said after a moment.

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Our fingers brushed as he handed me his glass, and he glanced up with a hopeful smile. Disturbed by the way that made my pulse quicken, I hurried over to the kitchenette.

  “By the way, I’ve had some Goth kids hanging around in my garden. They’re not Kris’s crowd—I think they’re younger—teens maybe. I scared them away last night when I came home, and the night before, too.”

  “Did you call the police department?”

  “I did, and they’re going to patrol tonight.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on the place too, if you want.”

  I handed him his glass. “That’s not your job, is it? I didn’t mean that you should patrol here, I just thought you’d want to know since you expressed an interest in the nefarious activities of Goths.”

  My voice developed an edge on the last few words. Tony wisely ignored it.

  “Are they acting nefarious?”

  “I think so. I found a roach under my lilacs where they’d been sitting.”

  “Crap. Yeah, better keep an eye out. I’ll cruise by when I’m in the neighborhood.”

  “Well, it’s not necessary, but thank you.”

  He looked as if he was about to say something more, then didn’t. I wondered if he was already keeping an eye on my place, and if so whether or not I should be annoyed.

  He sipped his lemonade. “You said you visited the Rose Guild. Do they have a headquarters or something?”

  “They might, but they were in the City Rose Garden today. I helped them prune roses.”

  “Oh. Pick up any gossip?”

  “As a matter of fact I did.” I finished my lemonade and swirled the ice in the glass, considering getting more.

  “Gonna make me beg?”

  Tony was grinning at me. I put down my glass.

  “I thought you might want to conduct your own investigation.”

  “I will, but it helps to be informed going in.”

  “All right. Maria Garcia got into a political fight over what kind of rose to plant in a vacant space in the public garden. Don’t laugh, they take these things seriously!”

  “I’m sure they do,” Tony said, coughing.

  “According to Joan Timothy, the Guild’s president, it was a nasty fight. She wound up casting a tie-breaking vote in Maria Garcia’s favor.”

  “So they planted the bush Maria wanted?”

  “Right. An Our Lady of Guadalupe rose.”

  Tony’s face went serious. “I see. No wonder there was a fight.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Our Lady of Guadalupe. Very Spanish.”

  “Very New Mexican. It’s lovely, what’s wrong with that?”

  Tony drained his glass again and set it next to mine on the table between our chairs. “Nothing. It’s just I can see a bunch of old white ladies getting huffy about it.”

  “You know, that remark borders on the offensive.”

  He leaned back in the chair and sighed, watching me. “I call them like I see them.”

  “They’re not just a bunch of old white ladies!”

  “Yeah? How many Mexicans did you see there today?”

  I opened my mouth, then closed it again, thinking back. I was astonished to realize he was right—not one of the Rose Guild members I’d encountered was Hispanic.

  16

  “There must be Hispanics in the Rose Guild!” I said. “Maria was a member!”

  “Bet there aren’t any others.” Tony shrugged. “It’s a white lady club.”

  “No, I’m sure you’re mistaken!”

  “They might not say it, but I’d bet money that’s how they operate.”

  I frowned, remembering Lucy Kingston’s reaction when I’d mentioned Maria. I didn’t want to believe it could carry forward to actual prejudice. “I wish I had a membership list. I think it would prove you wrong.”

  “Maybe they’ve got one online. Do you have Internet access, or are you a Luddite about that too?”

  “Of course I have Internet access, and I’m not a Luddite! I’m amazed you know the term.”

  “Now, that is offensive,” he said.

  “I don’t mean because of your race!”

  “No, you mean because of my background, which is almost the same thing.”

  He was glaring at me now. Not the cop glare, though there were echoes of that in it. This was the oversensitive non-college-graduate glare. It worried me.

  “I’m surprised you know it because most people don’t,” I said quietly. “Regardless of race or background.”

  His face relaxed a little, though there was still a tightness around his jaw. “Fine. Let’s fire up your computer and look up the Rose Guild.”

  “All right.”

  I led him across the hall to my office, and turned on the computer. He stood next to my chair while I brought up the Rose Guild’s website.

  “No membership list,” I said, looking at the menu.

  “Try that link that says ‘Thanks to our donors.’”

  I clicked it, and the page that came up showed a long list of names. Tony leaned toward the screen to peer at it as I slowly scrolled down the page.

  “Hah. Maria’s the only Hispanic name on there.”

  I stared at the screen in disbelief. He was right.

  “Well I’m sure there isn’t any policy,” I said. “I-I’m sure they’d be welcome.”

  “Yeah. Welcome, but not welcome.”

  “That’s a terrible thing to say!”

  He gazed down at me. “You grew up in this town.”

  “They’re nice people. I’m sure Joan Timothy would make a new member welcome, whatever her race.”

  “Look at it this way. If you wanted to join the Rose Guild, and all the other members were Spanish, would you hesitate?”

  “I ... well, no. No, I wouldn’t!”

  “You just did.”

  “That’s not fair—”

  “No it isn’t fair, but it’s a fact of life.”

  He was right, and I knew it, and it made me feel terrible. It was a fact of life. An ugly one.

  He looked at the screen again. “Go back to the top.”

  I scrolled up, looking through the names again, vainly searching for an Hispanic surname I might have missed. Tony pointed at Maria’s name.

  “She’s up in the top of the list. She must have donated a huge chunk of change.”

  “Yes, Joan said she made large donations every year.”

  “Uh-huh. She bought her way in.”

  I shot him an angry look, not wanting to believe it. “No,” I said, but my voice lacked conviction.

  “They put up with her because she spread her cash around,” Tony said. “That’s how you move up in the world if you’re a minority.”

  “Hispanics are not a minority in New Mexico.”

  “Hispanics with big money are.”

  I didn’t know about that. There were big-name Hispanics around, in politics and in business, but I didn’t know what the percentages were. Tony could well be right.

  He straightened up. “Well, thanks for the information. I’ll look into the Rose Guild. Who’d you say Maria had the fight with?”

  “I didn’t say.”

  I was reluctant to tell him, but I felt obligated. Could withholding the name be considered obstruction?

  “It was with Lucy Kingston. She’s one of the officers of the Guild.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Tony took out his pocket notebook and scribbled in it, glancing at the screen. He’d go through t
he whole website on his own time, no doubt.

  “Thanks. This is helpful.”

  “I can’t believe Lucy Kingston would do anything to harm Maria Garcia.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. Gotta look into it, though. Cover all the bases.”

  He put the notebook back in his pocket. I sat gazing at the screen, feeling depressed.

  Tony checked his watch. “Guess I’d better go. Getting on toward dinnertime.”

  I looked up at him. Part of me wanted to ask him to stay, offer to make dinner for him, but another part couldn’t wait for him to leave.

  “Sunday dinner at Mama’s,” he said, taking me off the hook. “If I miss it I’ll catch hell all week.”

  I smiled, not quite able to laugh. Our conversation still troubled me.

  Tony went out into the hall and I followed, going with him downstairs. At the front door he paused.

  “Thanks for the lemonade.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for the candlesticks.”

  “They double as a security system. If the Goths come after you, you can wallop them with one of those pillars.”

  This time I laughed. He smiled back, and brushed my chin with a finger.

  “Keep safe,” he said, then turned and went down the path to the street.

  I watched him put on his helmet, climb onto his bike and leave. Closing the door, I went back up to my suite and cleaned up the lemonade glasses.

  I had no appetite and couldn’t bear to think about dinner. Suddenly claustrophobic, I grabbed my hat and went back downstairs, fetched my gardening things from the back portal along with a bucket and a large vase of water, and went out front to trim my own roses.

  Poor Maria. All she had wanted was to garden, to grow her favorite rosebush. The Rose Guild had accepted her, but grudgingly, if Tony was to be believed. Thinking back over my conversation with Joan, I remembered her saying she felt sorry for Maria. That seemed to support Tony’s theory.

  My feelings about the Rose Guild were now hopelessly jumbled. I liked Joan, but if others in the Guild had subtly opposed Maria, perhaps tried to thwart her deliberately, then I wasn’t sure I cared to associate with them.