"Umm..." I said. "Are you sure you don't need someone to mix more masa, or another filling instead?"
She laughed. "It's easy once you get the hang of it."
"Right," I said, unconvinced.
"Practice makes perfect," she said. "Time to start practicing!"
By the time eleven o'clock rolled around, we'd made hundreds of tamales. Mandy made them three times as quickly and at least twice as neatly as I did, but I was getting better. I watched as Mandy filled the last husk and set it with the others, then peeled off her gloves and washed her hands.
"What now?" I asked.
"We'll steam them in batches," she said. "The hard part's done; thank you so much."
"My pleasure," I told her. "That beef filling looks delicious. What's in it?"
"Beef, spices... and peppers, of course. We make beef, pork, chicken, and bean tamales. If you like, I'll give you the recipes, but you can't tell anyone I gave them to you; they're a family secret."
"Really? I'd love that," I said.
"Now that you know how to fold them, you can have your own Mexican Christmas. Just a little bit of cinnamon hot chocolate and some salsa, and you're done!"
"Can I have the recipe for the salsa, too?"
"That I can't give you," Mandy said. "I don't even know it! My mother promises she'll leave it to us in her will." Her smile sagged, as suddenly everything that had gone wrong came back to her. Her mother was sick and her sister was in jail; so far, it hadn't been a very happy holiday season for the Vargas family. "Think they'll let me take tamales to Isabella?"
"Talk to Opal," I suggested. "She'll make it happen." Speaking of Opal, I realized I hadn't heard from her yet. I glanced at my watch; I had the Buttercup knitters in a couple of hours, and I still had some work to do to get ready for tonight's Christmas Market. I was about to tell Mandy I had to run when one of the servers from the front came looking for her.
"I'll be right back," Mandy said. "Could you put those in a clean container and in the fridge?" she asked, gesturing to a stack of white food storage containers stacked on a shelf. "There's a pen right there for the time and date."
"Got it," I said, grabbing two large white plastic containers and loading them with the tamales, being careful not to let them fall apart as I transferred them.
I had almost filled the first bucket when a petite young woman with dark eyes drifted over to me.
"Hi," I said.
"You want to know what happened to Randy, don't you?" she asked bluntly.
"I do," I said.
She glanced over her shoulder; looking for Mandy, I presumed. "Isabella came back that night," she whispered. "She took the cash out of the drawer... I think she was afraid if she didn't, Randy would come and steal it. He borrowed the key sometimes."
"So she was here that night?"
She nodded. "I had just left after finishing clearing up. I don't think they saw me; I was in my car over there at the back of the parking lot."
"What were you doing in the parking lot?"
Her eyes darted away for a moment, then back to me. "My sister called," she explained. "I don't like to talk on the phone while I'm driving."
Something told me she wasn't telling me the whole truth, but I let it go for now; I wanted to hear what she had to say. "Got it," I told her. "What happened?"
"She drove up after midnight and parked by the door. She let herself in... She was in there for like, ten minutes or so."
"Was she carrying anything when she came out?'
The young woman shook her head. "Not that I saw, but she had a big coat on. She was about to get in the car when her husband pulled into the lot."
"Really?"
"Oh, yes," she said, and her eyes grew round. She glanced over her shoulder. "They screamed at each other. She actually threw something at him. I thought she was going to hit him."
That didn't bode well for the Vargas family, I thought. "What did she throw?"
She shrugged. "I didn't see. She got into her car and drove off. And then he went into the restaurant."
"What happened then?"
"I don't know," she said. "I waited... I mean, I was on the phone with my sister for a few more minutes, but it was getting cold, so I went home."
"But Isabella left before he went into the restaurant?"
She nodded. "She did. She went toward town," she told me.
That wasn't particularly helpful news, either, because from what Mandy had told me, Isabella lived in the other direction.
"Did anyone else show up while you were here?"
"No," she said. "But about Randy..." She hesitated.
"What about him?"
Before she could answer, Mandy bustled back in. She spotted the young woman talking to me, and her brow wrinkled. The young woman scuttled away, ducking her head. "What were you and Julie talking about?" she asked.
Julie shot me a desperate look. "She was just helping me," I said, not entirely untruthfully. "Everything okay up in the front of the house?"
"Fine," Mandy said, but I could tell she wasn't buying my easy explanation. Her eyes moved from me to Julie, and then back again. "Thanks for helping me out today," she said. "Want to take a few tamales with you?"
"I'd love it," I said.
"I'll fill up a to-go container for you," she offered, "and a tub of salsa. Just steam them till they’re heated up, and you're ready to go."
"Thanks," I said. "Maybe I'll invite Tobias over to share. Are you coming to knitting at Molly's today?"
"I wish I could, but with everything going on..." She waved her hand at the busy kitchen. "I should probably go to the paper and finish getting this week's issue going." She grimaced. "I hate having to write that my sister's in jail."
"Maybe there'll be someone different in jail by the time it goes to press," I suggested.
"I hope so," she said. As she handed me the to-go box and the tub of salsa, she gave me an intent look. "You'll let me know if you find anything out, won't you?"
"I will," I confirmed.
"Even if you think I won't like it?"
"Even if I think you won't like it," I agreed. Although, in this case, I was going to do a little more digging before I told Mandy what Julie had shared with me. My gut told me it wasn't yet time to share, and I had learned to trust my gut.
6
I barely had time to put the tamales in the fridge and let Chuck out before it was time for the Buttercup Knitting Brigade. I'd hoped to have time to make a few more candles, but I'd stayed at Rosita's longer than I'd expected; the stock I had would have to be enough. I was down to only six bundles of mistletoe, though, so I took a few minutes to head down to the oaks by the creek, using a sharp knife to cut the green shoots off the trees. I didn't feel too bad about it—it was a parasitic plant, after all, even if the Druids did think it was a magical remnant of lightning strikes—but I did start wondering about the sprig of mistletoe in Randy's hair. Where had he picked it up? Was it one of the sprigs I'd cut? I tried to remember who all had bought bunches at my stall, but there were too many to recall. Had he come back from another assignation... possibly with someone other than Rhonda? Was it possible Isabella had killed him after all?
Julie had said Isabella left before Randy did... but was she telling the truth? And why tell me any of what she'd seen at all? I wished Mandy had stayed up front a minute or two longer, so Julie had had the chance to tell me everything she knew about Randy. Maybe I'd swing by to see if I could get her alone again for a moment.
Speaking of Rhonda, I still had no idea what had happened to her, I thought as I tramped back to the farmhouse with my basket full of green mistletoe, the berries gleaming in the bright sunshine. When I got there, I set the basket on the table and picked up the phone. One of the deputies answered at the police station, so I called Opal's cell, but she didn't pick up. I left a message for her to see if she'd heard anything about Rhonda, and then called Tobias's cell. He wasn't answering either; he was probably with a client.
It was a short drive to the Kramers' ranch, and when I got there, Flora's truck was already parked; everyone I knew in Buttercup, it seemed, drove a truck.
"Come in, come in!" Molly called when I knocked on the door. I opened it, and a rush of ginger-, cinnamon-, and clove-scented air wafted over me. I inhaled, feeling 10 percent calmer already, and stepped through the front door, where I was greeted by Molly’s enormous lab, Barkley.
Flora and Molly were already sitting at the big kitchen table. There was a pile of gingerbread cookies on a plate in the middle of the table, and what looked like mugs of mulled cider. "Away in a Manger" was playing in the background, and despite the fact that it was the middle of the day, Molly had lit one of my beeswax candles, lending a honeyed scent to the already delicious-smelling air.
"This place is heaven," I said.
"Wait three hours for the kids to get home," Molly said with a wry smile, "and you might have a different opinion."
I laughed. Molly's four kids were terrific, but like all teens and preteens, they could be a handful.
Flora didn't say anything, but I noticed she was wearing a dress today, a red plaid number that reminded me of a Christmas tree skirt I'd once owned, and bright red lipstick to match. "You look nice," I told her.
"Thanks," she said. "I'm looking forward to helping out again tonight at the Market."
"Somebody has a date afterward," Molly said with a mischievous grin. Flora's cheeks turned as bright as her lips, and she ducked her head.
"A date? With whom?" I asked, although I had my suspicions.
"Gus Holz," she muttered, blushing. "I'm going to help him tidy up at the end, and then we're going to go to the Hitching Post and have a drink."
"That's wonderful!" I said. "He's a nice man. Did he ask you last night, at the Market?"
"I saw him at the Red and White today. We were both looking at the apples," she told me. "He asked if I was going to be at the Market tonight. I told him I was, and he... well, he suggested we go get a drink afterward." She looked down at her outfit. "Is this okay? I had no idea what to wear."
"It's fine," I told her. "You look lovely. And if you go to the Hitching Post," I said, "try a Tom and Jerry. Tobias and I had one the other night; it's Frank’s grandmother's recipe, and it's delicious."
"Do you think it's proper for a lady to drink on a first date?"
"We're in the twenty-first century, darlin'," Molly told her.
She still looked nervous. She was pulling the yarn so tight, her stitches were the size of sesame seeds; I resisted the urge to tell her to relax. "What if he turns out to be like Roger?" she asked.
"I've known Gus for years," Molly reassured her. "He's a good man; I've seen nothing to suggest his character is anything but solid. And you're just going to get a drink," she reminded her. "You're not walking down the aisle with him."
"The aisle," Flora said. "I never thought I'd get married. And then, with Roger..." Tears filled her eyes.
"He wasn't a good guy," I said. "We all have to kiss a few frogs. I know I did, anyway."
"Oh, I kissed more than I care to remember," Molly volunteered.
"Just take it slow," I suggested. "See if you enjoy his company. You can set the pace."
"But I like him," she said. "I like him so much! And I just don't want to make a mistake!"
"You'll be fine," Molly said. As she spoke, there was a knock at the door. Barkley let out an enormous woof and went to greet the new visitor; Molly followed her.
"I'm scared," Flora confessed when she'd left the kitchen.
"It's okay to be scared," I said.
"Maybe I should say no," she said. "Maybe you could tell him I'm sick."
I shook my head. "Go. I can tell you like him, and he likes you. What do you have to lose?"
Before she could answer, Opal walked in, carrying an enormous knitting bag and looking grim. "I was hoping you'd be here," she said.
"Did you find anything out?" I asked. Molly and Flora looked at me, and then Opal.
She shook her head. "Not a word."
"What's going on?" Molly asked.
"We took Rhonda Gehring home to stay with us last night—she had a bit of a falling-out with her husband," I told them, omitting a few details, like the affair with Randy Stone. "But when we woke up this morning, she was gone."
"Weird," Molly said, looking concerned. "Do you think she's okay?"
"I don't know," I said, and looked at Opal. "Did you talk to her husband?"
She shook her head. "I even drove out there. Nobody home."
"Was his truck there?"
"No," she said.
"I know Keith works out toward La Grange, so it could be he's there today."
"Where does Rhonda work?" I asked.
"At a hairdresser's in La Grange. Shear Perfection, I think it's called," Molly said.
I picked up my phone and Googled it, then dialed. A woman with a smooth voice picked up.
"Hi," I said. "Does Rhonda Gehring cut hair for you?"
"She does," the woman confirmed. "Would you like an appointment?"
"Is she there today?" I asked.
"No," she said. "But she should be in tomorrow."
"What time?" I asked.
"She works twelve to six," she said. "I could fit you in at one..."
"Drat," I said. "I'm crazy busy tomorrow, but maybe I'll drop in if I have time."
"She should be here the next two days, too, if you'd like me to schedule you."
"Thanks," I said. "Let me check my calendar and call you back."
"Smooth," Molly said when I hung up.
"All those years of investigative reporting," I told her. I hated misrepresenting myself, and tried very hard to avoid outright lies, but sometimes the sin of omission couldn't be avoided. Besides, it was for a good cause. "If we haven't heard from her, I'm swinging by tomorrow."
"What happened between Rhonda and her husband?" Flora asked.
Molly and I exchanged looks. "Marital troubles," I said.
"Who else is coming?" Molly asked, to change the subject. "I know Serafine is in Houston with her sister today, but is Mandy going to make it?"
"I doubt it," I said. "With everything going on, she's got her hands full. I went down to Rosita's to help make tamales today. They're slammed."
"Well, I'm glad business is good," Molly said. "It could have gone the other way."
"No chance to pick up gossip if you don't stop in for a bite," Opal pointed out.
"Does Rooster know Rhonda's gone yet?" I asked Opal.
She shook her head. "Haven't seen him. I told Deputy Shames, though. She said there was an incident at the Gehrings' a few months ago. Rhonda called, asked for an officer to come out."
"Why?"
"Argument with her husband. The deputy didn't go into details, and I didn't see the police report."
"Keith Gehring hauled off and socked it to Randy Stone at the Hitching Post the night Randy died. He's got a bit of a temper. Is Rooster still investigating other options as far as the murder’s concerned?"
Opal rolled her eyes. "Rooster's main concern is gettin' out to his deer lease and keepin' his wife happy. He's not doin' much in the way of investigatin'. Says it's the holidays."
"It's the holidays for the Vargas family, too," I pointed out.
"Well, his wife Lacey’s been puttin' the screws to him lately. Says he's been workin' too much, is never home. But you and I both know that of all the crimes you could accuse Rooster Kocurek of committin', overwork ain't one of 'em."
"Too much time at the deer lease?"
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"There's a competition to see who can get the biggest rack. Prize is one of those five-hundred-dollar coolers and braggin' rights for the year."
"So that's more important than a murder investigation and his wife? He'll be lucky if all he gets in his stocking is coal this Christmas," Molly said. "If I were Lacey, I might be tempted to stuff it with divorce papers."
"Well, she got pretty fed up with him last week," Opal said. "Said if he spent one more weekend at that deer lease, she was takin' the kids to her momma's house for Christmas. He's been online lookin' at diamond necklaces ever since."
Flora was knitting, her needles clacking and her stitches getting smaller and smaller. "Maybe I shouldn't go out on this date. Maybe I should stay single."
Opal's head swiveled. "You got a date, honey? With who?"
"Gus Holz," she said. "We're going to the Hitching Post for a drink after the Market."
Opal nodded. "Gus is a good man. A bit quiet, and maybe not a beauty queen contestant, if you know what I mean, but he's a good man. Plus," she said, winking, "he cooks. If I weren't married, I might think about askin' him out to drinks myself!"
Flora's shoulders dropped a little, so they were no longer around her ears, and the rate of clacking decreased. "Really?" she asked Opal.
"Really," Opal reassured her. "Besides, it's just a drink. If he gets too frisky, you just whack him over the head with your purse and go home."
She nodded. "I guess that makes sense. But... but what if he doesn't like me?"
"He asked you to drinks, didn't he?" Opal said. "He likes you. But honey, if you don't mind my sayin' so, you might want to tone down the lipstick."
Flora's hand leaped to her lips. "You think?"
Opal nodded. "I've got a real pretty pink you can try. I think it would make your lips look fuller. You can try it out before you go."
"Thank you," Flora said, looking at Opal as if she were some kind of dating goddess.
Opal turned toward me. "I heard you were helping out at Rosita's this morning. Is Mandy coming?"
I shook my head, pulled my stunted scarf from my knitting bag, and reached for a cookie. "She's got to get this week's issue out. I'm worried about her."
Mistletoe Murder Page 5