“Claudia, what do you know about La Fonda?” I asked. “I’ve been reading some old nineteenth-century letters and it sounds like there were concerts and maybe dances there.”
“I can believe that. It was the biggest building other than the church, back then. And the church, of course, wasn’t nearly as big as the basilica is today.”
“Bigger than the Palace of the Governors?” Nat asked.
“I think so, and it had a ballroom. The Palace didn’t.”
“Is there a good history of the hotel in print?” I asked.
“Not that I know of. You could check with the museum, or there might be some records in the state archives.”
I took a swig of beer. Part of me wanted to tell them about my find, but another part of me wanted to keep the letters to myself, at least until I’d had a chance to read them all. I was afraid everyone would insist that I turn them over to the museum. And I would … but not just yet.
“Hey,” Manny called from around the corner. “What does a guy have to do to get a beer around here?”
I jumped up. “I’ll get you one. No, you stay put, Nat. I bet you’ve been cooking and cleaning all afternoon.”
“Bring the pitcher,” she called after me.
I fetched a beer and the pitcher and brought them back, by which time Manny was moving sausages onto a platter. He took a deep swig from the bottle, then gave an appreciative “Ahhh!”
“Those done?”
“Yes. Tell Nat to bring out the sides.”
I conveyed this message, which caused Nat and Claudia to spring into action. I offered to set the outdoor table while they carried out the potato salad, green beans, and a basket of garlic bread that had been hiding in the oven. By the time we were done, Manny appeared with his platter heaped with meat.
“I hope you invited more people,” I said to Nat, looking at all the food.
“The Lindholms, but they weren’t sure they could make it.”
“Tony said the same thing.”
“More for us,” Manny said, taking his seat and helping himself to a steak.
I tried a little of everything. The veggies were wonderful, of course. Manny always made sure that Nat had the best produce, which would have made me jealous except that he did the same for me.
“Oh, Manny—I’m probably going to need extra lemons and cucumbers this week. And maybe some shallots.”
“Just let me know by two tomorrow.”
“OK.”
Julio had said he would come in for the afternoon; I’d draw up an estimate of what we’d need in the morning and have him approve it before I adjusted the week’s orders.
“Got some nice organic peaches in,” Manny said. “First of the season.”
“From Colorado?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll take a couple of pounds for me.” I couldn’t quite afford organic produce for the tearoom, though that was one of my hopes for the future.
My seat faced the north, and though there were hills in the way, I knew the Opera wasn’t far away. “You know, it just occurred to me that we should have gone to Cesar Chavez. Are you interested in it, Manny?”
He shrugged. “That’s history, as far as I’m concerned. I can take it or leave it.”
Nat chuckled. “Like any opera.”
“No, I like going with you to the opera. Chance to dress up.”
“That’s the spirit!” said Claudia. “Better keep him, Natasha.”
“As a matter of fact…” Manny said, glancing at Nat.
Her gaze rested on him fondly. “Oh, well—now you’re letting the cat out of the bag,” she said, teasing. She looked at me and broke out in a beaming smile. “I’ve accepted Manny’s proposal. We’re getting married in the fall.”
“Nat!” I jumped up and hugged her, then ran around the table to hug Manny. “Uncle Manny!”
“Ahem. My nieces and nephews say ‘Tio’.”
“Tio Manuel. That’s fabulous!”
“Here’s to the happy couple,” said Claudia, raising her glass.
I grabbed my beer. We drank several more toasts so that everyone was sure to have consumed enough liquor. The pink stuff in the pitcher underwent serious depletion.
“Doña Tules is almost gone,” Nat said, looking at the pitcher. “We’re going to need to make more.”
“Not on my account,” said Claudia. “I have to get myself home in one piece.”
“Well, there’s dessert.”
“I’ll have one,” I said, feeling reckless and wanting to please my aunt.
Nat stood, divided the last of the pink between her glass and Claudia’s, and headed for the kitchen. I tagged along.
“Bring me another beer while you’re in there,” Manny called after us.
The kitchen faced north, but the living room to the west was bathed in orange light from the setting sun. I leaned against the counter and watched Nat concocting more Doña Tules.
“Have you made any plans about the wedding?” I asked while I watched her squeeze limes.
“Nothing elaborate,” she said. “Just family and a few friends. I was wondering if you’d be willing to have it in your garden?”
“I’d love to! Should I ask Julio about the cake?”
“Oh, Manny would love that! He’s crazy about that cake you did for the opera.”
“Julio did it. Maybe he can make a larger version for a groom’s cake.”
“That,” she said, handing me a martini glass brimming with pink, “would make Manny’s day.”
“No, getting married to you will make his day,” I said, raising the glass to her.
“Then the cake will be the … icing on the cake.”
She gave a chuckle, got another beer from the fridge, picked up the pitcher, and headed back to the deck. I took a swig of pink and noted its effect on me as I walked. I would definitely need some dessert to help me get over it.
Manny and Claudia were chatting about the upcoming Spanish Market and Indian Market, two of the big tourist events of the year in Santa Fe. Like most locals, I tended to avoid them—because, traffic nightmare—but this year I might walk over since the Plaza was so close to the tearoom.
I mused about whether to try some kind of advertising connected to the events … but that was bound to be expensive. And I didn’t need it so much this time of year; certainly not at the moment. It was the slower seasons when I’d need some help getting people into the tearoom.
The pink was making me drowsy. The mountains were pink, too: pink with sunset. I gazed at them, feeling content, listening to Manny and Nat discuss where to go for their honeymoon.
A memory of Uncle Stephen, Nat’s first husband, came to me. A party at my parents’ house, gathered around the fireplace in the great room, Stephen playing the guitar while we sang some silly folk song. He’d been gone for almost a decade, now—cancer—and it had taken Nat a long time to recover.
I hoped she and Manny would be happy together. They were certainly happy now, and marriage should only increase their bond.
By the time the pink had faded from the mountains, it was starting to get just a little chilly. We carried the leftovers and dishes inside, and Nat fed us strawberry shortcake and coffee.
“No coffee for me, thanks,” I said. “I have to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day, gearing up for this week.”
“You sure you don’t want me to come in?” Nat said.
“I’m not sure at all. How would you feel about manning the gift shop?”
“I’d be glad to. Starting Tuesday?”
“Yes. Let me check the schedule. I think we’ll be all right in the mornings but I could use you for sure in the afternoons. We’ll be open late all week.”
Nat traded a look with Manny.
“Good thing I made extra steaks,” he said.
I finished my dessert, firmly declined seconds, and hugged and kissed everybody, Claudia included.
“I’ll walk out with you,” she said.
“Nat, thank you for a lovely evening.”
“And Manny, thanks for the excellent viands,” I added.
“Viands.” He chuckled. “Call me tomorrow with your order.”
“Will do.”
As I walked out with Claudia, I paused to look up at the Milky Way. The sky was a deep, velvety indigo. Santa Fe twinkled, but it was the cloudy ribbon across the heavens that drew my gaze.
“Magnificent,” Claudia said. “Not many cities in the country where you can see a sky like that.”
“Yes. We’re blessed.”
We hugged again, promising to meet soon, and went our separate ways. I drove home carefully, suspicious of the possible lingering effects of Doña Tules. When I pulled up, I saw that the hall light was on.
Interesting. Usually Captain Dusenberry messed with the lights in the dining parlor.
I approached the door cautiously, listening, looking for signs of trouble. Other than the light being on, there was nothing unusual. I unlocked the back door and went in, locked it behind me, and stood still for a minute, just listening to the house.
The stereo was not on. I noted this, pondering its meaning. Had Captain Dusenberry run out of music he liked? Or had he played it for me, not for himself?
Or was he a figment of my over-active imagination?
Smiling, I started toward the stairs. I froze as the music began.
Not the stereo. It was coming from the main parlor. My piano.
6
I stepped out of my loafers. It was my habit, and it just seemed proper, to make a silent approach to any ghostly activity in the house.
I wished for my cell phone, and resolved to make a dash for the gift shop to dial 911 if it happened to be a fleshly musician, then tiptoed toward the parlor. The music was hesitant, a melody picked out note by note. It began with the “Three Blind Mice” opening but went on from there into a different phrase. Slow and mournful.
I reached the doorway to the parlor and stood listening, observing. I heard no breathing, no movement. Only the notes from the piano: a second phrase, balancing the first, with an accidental that sounded very familiar.
Mozart.
I peeped around the doorway. There were no lights on in the parlor, but the light from the hallway lit the edges of the furniture.
No one was seated at the piano. The keyboard was closed.
This was my cue to run screaming, and if I’d been twelve, I would have. I was more than twice that age, though—and I wasn’t afraid, exactly. But I did want to know what was going on.
The music didn’t continue. After that accidental and one more note to resolve it, silence filled the room.
I closed my eyes and ran the phrases through my head again. I recognized them. Definitely Mozart, but which piece? He wrote hundreds.
All right, never mind. I’d figure out the source later. Meanwhile, I would establish that there was nothing wired to my piano to make it play remotely.
I flipped the light switch and the parlor lit up. Blinking at the brightness, I approached the piano and lifted the keyboard lid.
Nothing additional, nothing out of place. I moved several ornaments and a fringed shawl off the top of the instrument and opened the lid to the case. Peering down into it, I saw no strange wires or foreign mechanisms.
I closed the lid and restored the decorations to their places, then sat on the bench with my back to the instrument and just gazed around the room. The phrases ran through my head, repeating over and over. I feared I would fall asleep to them that night.
“What are you trying to tell me?”
Silence.
I could put all my Mozart disks in the stereo. Maybe Captain Dusenberry would find the right piece and play it.
Shaking my head, I drew a deep breath and stood up. I had letters to read.
I left the room, turning out the light. Stepped into my shoes and went upstairs to my office.
My phone was on the desk, right where I’d left it. I checked for messages and found three—two texts and a voicemail—all from Tony. I checked the texts first.
SORRY I BAILED 2NITE – HOPE U HAD FUN
and
CALL ME PLS
The voicemail was equally brief: “Ellen, give me a call. Need to talk to you.”
I glanced at the clock. Not quite nine. Tony would probably be up.
I felt strangely reluctant to call, though.
Setting the phone aside, I unlocked my desk drawer and took out Captain Dusenberry’s letters. I read through them all, starting with the one that came after the first one I’d read, and going back to pick my way through the Spanish ones after I’d finished the English ones.
They were all pretty similar. Lots of talk about music, sometimes a mention of a baille or concert they had both attended. The musical group was formed and met a couple of times, much to Maria’s delight, “not only for the music, but for the company of my dear friends.”
The story between the lines was bittersweet. I was certain that Maria Hidalgo was in love with Samuel Dusenberry, and I gathered that he was equally fond of her.
The Hidalgos disapproved.
The last two letters had an edge of desperation. Maria repeatedly entreated the captain not to confront Reynaldo—whoever that was—and warned that his temper was “like fire.” What the topic of confrontation might be I had to guess, but the captain’s friendship with Maria was probably a good bet.
I reread the last paragraph of the final letter:
Patience is not easy, but it is the only weapon we have. Just as time will dull the sharpest blade, so too will our patience dull the harshness of my family. We will have our day. I pray for it each morning, that today will be the day that God softens their hearts.
I laid the letter down, saddened by the sense of doom it conveyed, even after more than a century. Like Romeo and Juliet, they seemed to be losing their options, hemmed in by opposition.
Or maybe I was reading too much into it. I sort of knew the ending, after all.
But I didn’t know what had happened to Maria Hidalgo. I wondered if I could find out. I really did need to talk to Bennett Cole at the Museum of New Mexico.
My phone rang, making me jump. I picked it up, glancing at the caller ID. Tony again.
I took a deep breath. “Hello?”
“Good, you’re there. I was starting to worry.”
“Sorry, I forgot my phone when I went to Nat’s.”
“Listen, I talked to Vi today.”
“Yes?”
“She seemed pretty upset.”
“That’s natural, don’t you think?”
“I just think there might be something she didn’t tell me. I was wondering if you could talk to her.”
“As a matter of fact, I saw her today, too.”
“Yeah? What did she say?”
A complete answer to that would take a while, assuming I could remember everything we’d talked about. I gave him the highlights of our conversation, and added my suspicion that Matthew Carter might have killed Victor Solano so that he could take over the role of Scarpia.
“Murder, for a part in an opera? That’s sick!”
“Murder is generally a sick act. And it’s not just a part. This is the kind of role that can make a career. Vi was telling me the competition is very fierce.”
Tony’s silence told me he was giving it serious consideration. I was gratified.
“OK, I’ll look at that. Thanks.”
“Sure.”
“What are you doing now?”
My heart gave a little thump. Why did he ask? Did he want to come over?
My fingers went to the ancient rosebud tied in its fragile ribbon. “Reading some very old letters that belonged to Captain Dusenberry. I found them under the floor in the dining parlor.”
“Wow. I’m surprised they didn’t crumble to dust.”
“Well, they’ve been undisturbed, I think.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Yes. I think they may help me
figure out who killed Captain Dusenberry, and why.”
Silence again.
“You want to solve a hundred-and-fifty year-old murder? Good luck with that.”
I bit back a defensive reply, and took a steadying breath before answering. “From what I’ve gathered, there wasn’t much attempt made to solve it at the time.”
“Yeah, probably not. The Wild West and all.”
This was a side of Tony I didn’t much like. I abandoned the thought of inviting him over for coffee. I couldn’t deal with cynicism. Not now.
“Listen, I’ve got to turn in,” I said. “This whole week is going to be busy.”
“Too busy to get that steak?”
“Ah … maybe. We’ll be open ‘til at least seven every night.”
“Except tomorrow.”
“Yeah. I’ll still be working, though.”
“Well, how about I call you in the afternoon and see how things are going?”
I let out a long breath. “All right.”
“OK. Sleep well.”
“You too.”
“Thanks.”
Dead line.
I put the phone down and rubbed my forehead. Mixed feelings about seeing Tony. I did have a lot to do the next day: deposit Saturday’s receipts, look over the reservations and write up our grocery orders, give Julio whatever help he needed when he came in, reorganize the work schedule with the additions of Nat and Rosa’s brother Ramon.
Identify the Mozart that was running through my head.
I wondered if I’d have time to drop by the State Archives after I made the bank deposit. I decided to try, at least to ask a few questions. Maybe I’d learn something about Maria Hidalgo.
~
Despite good intentions, I slept late. It was almost eight by the time I got up, brewed some tea, and got dressed. I still wasn’t very hungry after Manny’s grill-fest. I washed a handful of fresh blueberries, put them in a bowl with a spoonful of yogurt, and called it breakfast.
With the rest of my first pot of tea in a tall, thermal mug, I went downstairs for my Monday morning prowl. Armed with scissors, a small watering can, and a big bowl, I strolled through all the sitting areas and freshened each flower arrangement, culling faded blooms and trimming stems. I’d do new arrangements on Thursday, so that they’d be fresh for the weekend, and nurse the current ones along until then.
Patrice Greenwood - Wisteria Tearoom 03 - An Aria of Omens Page 10