Intermezzo: Family Matters Read online

  PATRICE GREENWOOD

  Evennight Books/Book View Café

  Cedar Crest, New Mexico

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  INTERMEZZO: FAMILY MATTERS

  Copyright © 2018 by Patrice Greenwood

  All rights reserved

  An Evennight Book

  Published by Book View Café Publishing Cooperative

  P.O. Box 1624

  Cedar Crest, NM 87008

  www.bookviewcafe.com

  Cover photo: Pati Nagle

  ISBN: 978-1-61138-771-1

  First Edition December 2018

  http://bookviewcafe.com

  Digital version: 20181205pgn

  for Doranna

  Acknowledgments

  My thanks to Sherwood Smith, Vonda McIntyre, and Chris Krohn for their help with this book, and as ever to my colleagues in Book View Café.

  A Note from the Author

  Dear Readers,

  This book is a little different. I’d like to explain a few things so you’ll know what to expect.

  ~ This is not a mystery. The next Wisteria Tearoom Mystery will be A Black Place and a White Place, coming out in 2019.

  ~ This is not a novel. It’s a novella, about a third as long as a novel, yet it is a complete story. It is short and sweet. That's why it costs less than the novels.

  ~ This is not “leftovers.” It is not text that was edited out of a novel. It’s all original material that is focused on the characters in the series.

  ~ Where it fits: this story falls between book 6, As Red as Any Blood, and book 7, A Black Place and a White Place.

  ~ Finally, if you have not encountered the Wisteria Tearoom books before, this is not the best one to start with. Any of the mysteries—the full-length novels—is a better choice. Since they’re sequential, I recom­mend starting with book 1, A Fatal Twist of Lemon.

  I hope you enjoy this little interlude. Meanwhile, I’m off to the writing chair to work on book 7.

  —Patrice Greenwood

  1

  Warm and drowsy, I gradually remembered where I was: at home, in bed, not alone. Christmas morning.

  From his deep, rhythmic breathing, I gathered Tony was still asleep. Careful not to wake him, I shifted enough to see my clock, even as I began to recall the previous night.

  Oh, yes. I was engaged.

  Jumbled memories, some of dreams, some of reality, swirled through me like eddies of snow. Cold feet and singing hearts as we walked down Canyon Road and over to the cathedral for midnight Mass. The organ’s music buzzing deep in my bones, bright light and many candles flickering, Tony’s family smiling, happy to have me among them.

  We hadn’t told them.

  8:57, the green numbers of the clock said. I blinked, hoping I’d misread it, unwilling to move, but the numbers stayed the same.

  I turned my head to look at Tony. Just that small movement brought him awake, eyes sharp with caution, until they softened as he realized where he was.

  “Merry Christmas,” I whispered.

  “Mmm.” His arms slid around me, pulling me closer.

  “No, we can’t,” I said. “Nat’s expecting us.”

  “’Sokay,” he said, kissing me.

  I had to laugh, but gently pulled away. “No, please. I don’t want to be late. It’s rude.”

  He blinked, waking up a little more. I sat up, hugging the covers to me, the chilly air clearing away my own sleep cobwebs.

  “Do you want to shower first?” I said. “I can make coffee.”

  Tony grunted, then raised himself onto his elbows. “’Kay.”

  I brushed a strand of hair back from his temple. He caught my hand and pressed a hungry kiss into my palm, almost enough to make my determination waver, but the knowledge that my brother was at Aunt Nat’s kept temptation at bay. I didn’t want to raise any critical feelings on Joe’s part, particularly toward Tony, whom he hadn’t met.

  I kissed Tony’s forehead, then slipped away, shrugging into my robe and stepping into my slippers on the way to the kitchenette. A minute later, as I was putting a filter into the coffee maker, he mumbled past on his way to the bathroom with his clothes bundled under his arm.

  Questions flitted through my mind as I measured coffee and started the machine. Would Tony prefer a change of clothes? Did he have presents to bring to Nat’s Christmas brunch? I doubted we’d have time to drive to his apartment and back.

  Not that I knew where his apartment was.

  I decided I wanted tea. Just a small pot, since Tony would be having coffee. He was definitely a morning coffee person—that much I knew—pretty much monosyllabic until he’d had a substantial infusion of caffeine.

  Quite possibly, I was crazy to have accepted a proposal from a man whose home I’d never seen. We’d been acquainted less than a year, and there was a lot we didn’t know about each other.

  That’s what engagements are for.

  I’d said that to Tony the night before, and I held it in my heart as a mantra now. There was no need to hurry. We could take all the time we wanted. The love was there.

  Importantly, so was the respect. We were from different cultures, but as long as we respected each other, we’d do all right.

  The tea timer went off, just as the coffee maker gurgled to a halt. I moved the teapot to the table by my wing chair, grabbed a cozy to keep the pot warm, poured myself a cup and added sugar as a holiday treat, then sat and looked out the window to the south. The telltale brightness of the sun on fresh snow reminded me of the time, and moved me to get up after a few sips and go to my closet to decide what to wear.

  Not too fancy, since Tony had only his clothes from last night: a lightweight sweater over black jeans, the latter a nearly-new pair in honor of midnight Mass. I chose a plaid skirt and a green sweater over a lace-collared blouse. Knee-high boots, because of the snow. I threw the bed together and laid my clothes out on it, then bundled up my hair on top of my head since there wasn’t time to wash it.

  Hungry now, I turned on the oven and got out a couple of frozen scones while it preheated. More than that would spoil our appetites for brunch. I popped them in and set the timer, then returned to my chair and my tea to await my turn in the shower.

  Watching the birds hopping around in the snowy garden below my window, I mused. A vague memory of a comment from Tony made me think he lived fairly close to his mother’s apartment. So, probably somewhere along or near Cerrillos Road, which was usually pretty heavy with traffic. Driving out there would definitely make us late. If Tony needed to go collect presents, he could ride his bike home while I showered...

  Still not ideal. I suspected, though, that he hadn’t bought presents.

  I, on the other hand, had. I finished my cup of tea and got up, this time to put my gifts for my family and Tony in a canvas tote and set it by the door of my suite. By then, Tony had emerged, ruffling damp hair with a towel as he headed for the coffee.

  I kissed his cheek. “The timer’s for scones in the oven. Save one for me.”

  “Mm.” He nodded, then dove into his coffee mug.

  I headed for the shower, not bothering to mention the possibility of his dashing home. Though dressed, he was not yet in any condition to dash.

  Hot steam and fragrant bubbles helped me relax. No need to worry. It was a holiday, which meant celebration and good cheer. We’d have fun.

  I kept my shower short, and kept the hair and makeup simple and quick. The smell of hot scones greeted me as I opened the door, making my mouth water.

  Tony, standing in the kitchenette and gazing t
oward the window, turned toward me. “Good coffee,” he said, raising his mug.

  Three syllables. Progress!

  “It’s Julio’s brand,” I said. “I get it from my supplier.”

  I checked that the oven was off, and found my scone sitting on the baking sheet on the stovetop. Nearby, a holiday tin of biscochitos lay open. I gave Tony a look.

  “You wanted me to save you a scone,” he said, with the face of a little boy. “They’re not that big.”

  I put the lid back on the tin as he reached toward it. “I hope you’ll still have some appetite. Nat lays out a good spread.”

  “No problem,” he assured me.

  I buttered my scone and tried not to gobble it too fast. Appreciate the flavor, the texture, I told myself. Savor it.

  Tony poured himself more coffee and leaned against the counter as he drank it. I ate the last bite of scone with my eyes closed, relishing the salty-buttery bread, the sweet, pungent bite of a currant. When it was gone, I tidied the kitchen before going in to dress, aware of Tony watching me.

  “I didn’t dream it, right?” he said softly.

  The doubt in his voice was unlike him. Turning to him, I told my fluttering heart to settle down. “Dream it?”

  “Last night. By the fire.”

  By the luminaria, he meant. A little bonfire. On Canyon Road, surrounded by the magical light of farolitos, lightly falling snow, silence. Really, he couldn’t have planned a better spot to propose. I didn’t think he had planned it, though. We’d both been caught off guard.

  I crossed over to him. “No, you didn’t dream it.”

  He put down his mug and slid his arms around my waist. “Good.”

  “Second thoughts?” I asked gently.

  “No.” His dark eyes held questions, though. “I just don’t want to screw it up.”

  “We won’t.” I gave him a hug and a kiss, then pulled away. “Got to get dressed.”

  “OK.”

  I was aware of him following me, standing in the doorway, watching me dress. I could have made a show if it, but that would be teasing. Plenty of time for that later.

  Purse, keys, bag of gifts. I stepped out into the hall with Tony behind me, and paused to lock the door to my suite.

  “You lock it when no one’s around?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I set down my bags and took my long, wool coat off the coat rack. “Some of my staff have keys to the house, and I never know when one of them might come in to work on something.”

  Tony gave me an ironic look as he shrugged into his leather motorcycle jacket. “On Christmas?”

  “It’s a habit, OK?”

  I picked up my bags. Tony promptly relieved me of the gift tote, and we headed downstairs.

  Brilliant sunshine on freshly-fallen snow. I fumbled in my purse for my sunglasses. The city was fairly quiet, still—only a little traffic so far. I drove us to Nat’s, admiring the mountains adorned with snow and the evergreens along the streets—every one a Christmas tree, today.

  An unfamiliar car sat in Nat’s driveway under four inches of snow. Probably my brother’s rental.

  “Tony, do you ski?” I asked as I parked behind it.

  “No. Why?”

  “My brother does, and he wants to get up a party to go to Taos this weekend. Don’t hesitate to decline if he asks you.”

  “Do you ski?” Tony asked, looking slightly alarmed.

  “I haven’t gone in a few years, and I’m not wanting to go this weekend. I’m pretty exhausted after all the holiday rush.”

  He shot me a sly look. “You need more time in bed.”

  I grinned back. “I do.”

  Nat’s driveway was lined with farolitos, somewhat the worse for a night in the snow. The aroma of piñon smoke greeted us as we got out of the car, instantly making me feel at home and content. Smiling, I gathered my gifts and joined Tony at the door. He was fingering a gash in the wood, made by a murderer a few months before—the man Tony had killed in my driveway.

  I reached past him to ring the doorbell. Voices sounded inside, then Manny—my Tio Manny, now—opened the door, looking jolly in a red flannel shirt and jeans, his belt sporting the inlaid buckle I’d bought him as a gift when he and Nat got engaged.

  “Here they are! Merry Christmas, hijos!”

  “Merry Christmas, Tio! Let us in to the fire.”

  He opened the door wide and exchanged a nod with Tony. Nat came out of the kitchen as we were taking off our coats. She had on her wedding dress, red velvet in the traditional Navajo festival style, and her salt-and-pepper hair was caught back with a couple of silver and turquoise combs.

  “Merry Christmas, sleepyheads! How was the midnight Mass?”

  “Beautiful,” I said.

  “Crowded,” Tony said at the same time. He then surprised me by taking a small, giftwrapped box out of his coat pocket and offering it to Nat.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” he said.

  Nat beamed, and shot me a pleased glance. “How sweet of you, Tony! Thank you. Come on in, there’s coffee and cocoa—”

  “Or cerveza,” Manny put in.

  “—or champagne,” Nat added.

  “Champagne sounds good,” I said, setting my gift tote on the kitchen table and taking off my coat. Manny took it from me and slung it over his arm, heating toward the hall closet with Tony behind him.

  I gave Nat a big hug. “Thank you. This is lovely.”

  “Oh, sweetie, you’ve been working so hard! I’m happy to host the holiday.”

  “You’ve been working hard, too!” I said.

  “Not as hard as you.” She took a bottle of Gruet from the fridge and filled a pair of flutes, adding fresh raspberries from a little bowl on the counter. She gave one flute to me and raised her own. “Cheers!”

  “Cheers. Mmm,” I said, enjoying the sting of effervescence on my palate.

  Nat glanced toward the hall. “How was meeting the family?”

  “I’d already met them. Dinner was delightful. Tony’s grandmother gave me her tamale recipe!”

  “Oh! Well, you’ve got tamales again today, but there are other choices. Come on into the living room.”

  “I love tamales,” I said, collecting my gifts and following Nat into the long, low-ceilinged room at the west side of the house.

  Light filtered in through the windows, softly illuminating the oriental rugs and Nat’s collection of pueblo pottery on high shelves around the walls. The tree gleamed against the wall opposite the windows. My brother sat on a banco in one corner, gazing into the flames in the kiva fireplace. He looked up as we came in.

  “Hi, Joe,” I said, raising my glass toward him. I took a sip and set it down on an end table by the sofa. “Merry Christmas!”

  “Merry Christmas,” he said without enthusiasm. “I heard you had a long night. You going Catholic on us?”

  I had started unloading my gifts and arranging them with the other packages beneath the tree. For an instant I bristled, then I deliberately relaxed.

  “No,” I said lightly as I folded my bag and set it aside. “Just enjoying the pageantry. The cathedral was beautiful. Have you been in it lately?”

  “Not for years.”

  “They’ve added some new things since you moved away,” Nat said, joining Joe by the fire. “New bells, a gift from France. You should visit some time.”

  As I moved to retrieve my champagne I became aware of Manny and Tony standing by the archway into the kitchen, holding bottles of beer. How long had they been there? Long enough to hear my brother’s uncivil question?

  “Tony, come and meet my brother,” I said, going toward them with a smile intended to reassure.

  Tony’s right eyebrow twitched slightly, but he walked over with me. Joe stood.

  “Joe Rosings, meet Tony Aragón.”

  “You’re the policeman,” Joe said, offering his hand.

  Tony’s face clicked into observation mode, assessing my brother. “That’s right,” he said, shaking hands.
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  “He’s a detective, actually,” I added.

  “Ah. Gold badge,” said Joe.

  “But off duty today,” Nat put in, standing and smoothing her skirt. “Now that we’re all here, let’s have brunch!”

  She led us into the dining room, where a buffet awaited us on the sideboard: tamales, enchiladas, cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs, ham, potatoes, fresh pears, and a spinach souffle. I did my best to take tiny portions of each, though my stomach urged me to pile up my plate. A long, narrow Nambé-ware platter of biscochitos lay at the end of the sideboard like an exclamation point.

  “You didn’t buy those from the tearoom, did you?” I asked. “I would have brought some!”

  “No,” Nat said. “I wheedled the recipe out of Julio and made them myself! Please try one, if you’re not sick to death of them by now. I want to know if I got the consistency right.”

  I added a cookie to my plate and went to my place at the table. Nat had calligraphed place cards and tied them into our napkins with green ribbons, seating me and Tony across from Joe.

  I sipped my champagne. I’d drunk half the glass already. Manny appeared at my elbow with the bottle and topped it up again, then turned to Joe.

  “You want champagne? Or beer?”

  “Just coffee, thanks,” Joe said.

  “Coffee sounds good,” I agreed. “Can I help?”

  Nat shook her head and bustled about fetching mugs of coffee for us all. I noted with a smile that Manny quietly filled her plate while she was busy, so that she could sit down and raise her champagne glass without keeping us waiting.

  “Merry Christmas, all!” she said, smiling.

  “Merry Christmas!”

  It occurred to me that I should toast my engagement to Tony. I didn’t know whether he’d be comfortable mentioning it to my family, though. We hadn’t told his family, when we’d all met at the cathedral. It had been late; there were lots of people around. I’d had the feeling it would be better to wait until we could agree on what to say.