A Fatal Twist of Lemon Page 8

  He watched me through narrowed eyes. “Or maybe you know it because you destroyed any prints there might have been.”

  “What? I would never do that!”

  “Sure you did. You told me so yourself.” He leaned forward in my chair, his dark eyes intense and accusing. “You pulled the necklace away from the victim’s throat.”

  “I was trying to save her!”

  “You know CPR, Ms. Rosings?”

  “Yes, and I tried. I tried everything I could. So did the paramedics.”

  “We might have been able to get some prints if you hadn’t moved the necklace. Those little amber beads, though—”

  “Not amber. Lemon agate.”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “They were lemon agate. She mentioned that.”

  He frowned as he looked at me, as if he were trying to place a piece in a puzzle. “Whatever. When you pulled them away from her throat, any prints that might have been on ‘em got jumbled like a jigsaw puzzle.”

  “Well, I’m sorry about that, but I couldn’t just leave her there! I didn’t know she was beyond reviving!”

  The cop who had gone for the fingerprint kit came in with a metal case about the size of a briefcase. Aragón glanced at him and gestured for him to put it on my desk.

  “Okay, we’ll need to get everybody in here to be printed. We can start with you,” he said to me.

  “Why are you bothering, if there are no prints on the murder weapon?”

  He gave me a look that said he thought I was a complete idiot. “Because we dusted everything in the room for prints—”

  “I’m well aware of that! It took me over an hour to clean up all that black powder!”

  “—and we need to match them up to the people we know were in the room. If we find a print that doesn’t match, then there’s another suspect.”

  “Oh.”

  Feeling foolish, I submitted to having my fingers pressed onto an oily stamp pad and rolled around on a large card printed with boxes. As I got up to go wash my hands, Detective Aragón glanced up at me.

  “Send in your office manager. I need to interview her.”

  I left, pausing on my way out to look into Kris’s office. I told her the detective wanted to talk to her, then went downstairs to use the public restroom to wash up.

  By this time I was wishing I had taken Nat’s advice and gone to the spa. I was tired and cross, not having a very good day, and the television crews were about to start arriving. I glanced into the kitchen, realizing as I did so that I hadn’t offered Detective Aragón any coffee. Well, he wasn’t being particularly courteous, so I didn’t feel obliged to treat him as a guest.

  “Everything okay, boss?” Julio asked, looking up from stirring a large pot on the stove.

  “Yes. The police want to get everyone’s fingerprints.”

  Julio rolled his eyes. “Okay. I made some chicken soup for lunch. Want some?”

  I couldn’t resist going over to the stove. The heavenly smell of the original comfort food rose from the big soup pot.

  “Smells fantastic, but I’ll have to wait. I’ve got to deal with the press.”

  “I’ll save you some,” Julio said.

  The noon hour was long since over, and the tearoom had quieted down. Only one party of two sat in Iris, sipping tea and enjoying the fire while they watched the rain out of the window. I went across the hall to Hyacinth and found Nat there ahead of me, shifting the low table aside.

  “Hello, dear. I thought I’d make a little more space in here for the camera people,” she said.

  “Thanks.” I picked up a petite, lace-draped side table and put it against the far wall.

  “Are you all right, Ellen?”

  I summoned up a smile. “Fine. It’s just that Detective Aragón. I think he’s deliberately being a pest.”

  “You can file a complaint if he’s harassing you.”

  “If he keeps it up I will.” I shifted a fragile antique lamp to the mantelpiece, where I hoped it would be safe out of the way. “Julio’s made some soup. Why don’t you go back and have some?”

  Nat straightened up and brushed her hands. “That sounds wonderful. I was just getting a little peckish.”

  “You know, you don’t have to stay. I’ll be all right, and the afternoon looks quiet.”

  “What about four o’clock? Won’t it get busy at tea time?”

  “We have no reservations.”

  “But you might get walk-ins. I’ll stay.”

  She gave a nod of cheery determination, as if her willing business to pick up at four would make it happen. I hugged her, then sent her off to the kitchen for soup while I went to the gift shop to keep an eye out for the news crews.

  The shop was sparkling with light glinting from twin chandeliers and gleaming off the displays of china and knick-knacks. Outside the rain was coming down a little heavier, making me glad to be cozy and warm. I stood at the hostess station, looking over the woefully empty reservation chart and thinking about everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

  Dee looked in, wiping her hands with a paper towel. “Hi. Just checking there was someone here. Boy, that fingerprint stuff is yucky, huh?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry about that.”

  “It’s OK. It was interesting to see how they do it.”

  I smiled. “You’re really interested in police work? You know it isn’t like on television.”

  “I know. I’ve read some books about forensics. Mick thinks I’m nuts.”

  I tried to picture Dee, with her cheerleader looks and sweet outlook, as part of a crime investigation team, and failed. “Well, it doesn’t matter what he thinks. Follow what interests you.”

  “Oh, I will!” She grinned, then left.

  I glanced at the clock. Dee had reminded me of the whole fingerprint fiasco, and I realized I’d been wanting to follow up on something. I just had time to make a phone call, and since Detective Aragón was still in my office, I used the phone at the hostess station.

  “Santa Fe Preservation Trust,” said a young woman’s voice after a couple of rings.

  “Hello, this is Ellen Rosings. May I speak to Claudia Pearson, please?”

  “I’m sorry, she’s in a meeting.”

  “Oh. Well, I’d like to come by and see her this afternoon. Would four-thirty be all right, do you think?”

  “I don’t think she has anything then. I’ll let her know you’ll be coming.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and gave her my number in case Claudia needed to cancel. As I hung up I saw a news van pull up to the curb out front.

  The interviews were more or less the same as the one I had done in the morning, except that there seemed to be a lot more equipment involved. Each station brought in its own assortment of lights, sound booms, and cameras, taking up most of Poppy, the neighboring alcove, as well as Hyacinth. Fortunately I was able to close the pocket doors between them and the gift shop and keep the fuss confined.

  As for the actual interviews, I’m sure the reporters were disappointed. I refused to give any details or speculation about Sylvia’s murder, confining my comments to what I’d already told channel four.

  I was just ushering the channel seven bunch out when Detective Aragón came tromping down the stairs with his two cops. He took one look at the camera crew and went ballistic.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The reporter’s face lit with delight. “Detective Aragón! Got time to answer a couple of questions?”

  “No! No comment.” He turned to me, looking fit to burst a blood vessel. “What the hell inspired you to invite the media in here?”

  “That’s not quite how I’d put it,” I said calmly.

  “If you’ve told them anything that compromises the investigation—”

  “I haven’t. Ask Mr. Rodriguez,” I said, gesturing toward the reporter.

  “That’s the truth,” Rodriguez said, shaking his head. “Maybe we’ll get a few seconds before the
weather, but heck. It’s yesterday’s news. C’mon, Dirk, we got that school break-in to get to.”

  They trundled out, followed by the cops, but Detective Aragón stayed. He stood glaring at me like a bull in the chute until the front door closed.

  “If you have compromised this investigation I will bring you up on charges,” he said in a tight, angry voice.

  I answered calmly. “I have done everything I can to assist your investigation—”

  “Bullshit! You forced me to get a warrant to examine the crime scene!”

  I drew myself up. “My private suite is not a crime scene!”

  “This whole building’s a crime scene!” he yelled, waving his arms. “And now you’ve turned it into a media circus. I ought to book you right now!”

  I’d had it. Gloves off.

  “Fine,” I said, “then I’ll file a complaint for harassment and illegal search!”

  “You forget the warrant.”

  “You didn’t have it when you went through my desk last night!”

  He didn’t have an answer for that, so he just glared at me, nostrils flaring with each angry breath. He looked rather magnificent actually, though I wasn’t in an admiring mood.

  “I have been very patient, Detective,” I said with what calm I could muster, “but I do have a business to run.”

  A corner of his mouth curled up in a sneer. “Yeah, you look real busy giving press conferences. That’ll give your sales a boost.”

  I was stung, partly because of Gina’s pushing me to do the interviews for just that reason. I took a careful breath before answering.

  “Contrary to your obvious belief, I am not talking to the press because I want to. I’m talking to them because they won’t leave me alone. When they ask for details I refer them to the police.”

  “Oh, thank you very much, your highness.”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  He stepped toward me, thrusting out his jaw. “It’s all a game to you, isn’t it? You come in here and fill this place with Victorian crap—”

  “It’s a Victorian house!”

  That just made him madder. “You people don’t give a shit about Santa Fe, you just think it’s fun to move in here and play tea parties! Play gallery owner or antique dealer—”

  “I was born in Santa Fe!”

  “Yeah, but was your grandmother?” he said nastily.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact!”

  He stopped short, blinking in surprise, then scowled. His jaw worked for a moment and I thought he was about to say something else, but instead he brushed past me and stormed out the front door.

  I watched him go, stunned by the strange turn the argument had taken. A moment later the roar of a motorcycle engine sounded, swiftly fading into the muted noise of traffic and rain.

  A smattering of applause made me turn around. Julio, Mick, Dee, Vi, and Nat stood gathered in the hall near the kitchen. Kris was on the stairs just below the landing, one hand on the banister, peering down at me.

  “Well,” she said, sounding highly amused, “you gave him what-for, didn’t you?” She showed a Cleopatra smile, then went back upstairs.

  Nat hurried toward me. “Brava, darling. That man’s had a chip on his shoulder ever since he walked in here.”

  “Well, I didn’t set out to knock it off,” I said, trying for a laugh. “I’m just glad there weren’t any customers here.”

  In fact, I was shaken, and when Nat pulled me into the main parlor I didn’t resist. She led me to Rose and nudged me toward one of the wing chairs by the fire.

  “You sit down and relax for a minute. You’ve been on your feet most of the day.”

  “There’s one more TV crew coming—”

  “They can wait. You haven’t eaten anything, have you?”

  “A couple of scones, and I did have breakfast.”

  “That was hours ago. I’ll go fetch you something.” She bustled off, leaving me to frown at the raindrops running down the window.

  I hadn’t intended to argue with Detective Aragón, and I had a feeling I was going to regret it. I knew he considered me a suspect for Sylvia’s murder. Would he carry out his threat and charge me with obstructing the investigation?

  Nat returned almost at once with a tray bearing a steaming bowl of soup and half a grilled cheese sandwich. I thanked her and set about devouring them while she went out to watch for the news crew.

  Julio had done something wonderful and subtle with the soup, some combination of herbs that made me think of French cuisine and New Mexican food at the same time. I felt better almost at once, and when the last news crew arrived I was able to face them with a good grace and answer the familiar round of questions.

  “I understand this death is now being investigated as a homicide,” the reporter told me in the glare of their lights.

  “The police haven’t informed me of that,” I said blandly, hoping that little soundbite would make it onto the evening news and into Detective Aragón’s awareness. As my equilibrium returned, I was feeling less frightened and more annoyed with him.

  I shooed the news crew out the door at ten to four and heaved a sigh of relief at finally being done with the interviews. I hoped Gina would be satisfied. For my part I doubted it would bring us any business, but at least now maybe the media would leave me alone.

  Yesterday’s news.

  I glanced at the seating chart. We had two reservations at five. I was beginning to give up hope for Friday, but maybe Saturday would be better. Or next week. People who didn’t know Sylvia, who only saw the story on the news, would have forgotten about it by then, even if the rest of us hadn’t.

  Poor Sylvia. To be relegated to the back page before she was even in the ground.

  What had she done that had made someone want to kill her? Was it something she’d said at the tea? I couldn’t remember her saying anything that provocative, though there had been some undercurrents in the conversation that I hadn’t fully understood.

  If her murderer was someone at the tea, and I felt pretty certain it was, then he or she had decided to kill her during the tea or as it was breaking up. Someone impulsive, who had a reason for wanting Sylvia dead.

  The bells on the front door tinkled as a party of three women in business attire came in. I greeted them warmly, by this point feeling profound gratitude toward every customer who crossed the threshold. I showed them to their seats in Jonquil and informed Dee and Vi of their arrival, then poked my head into the kitchen looking for Nat. She was at the work table talking with Mick and Julio.

  “I’m going out for a bit,” I told her. “There’s a party of walk-ins, and two reservations at five. You can let the girls handle it if you want.”

  “All right, dear,” she said, getting up. “I do have to get ready for dinner. Manny’s offered to take us out, given the circumstances. You are still going to join us?”

  I stifled a sigh. “Can I take a rain check? Sorry, but I think I’d better make an early night of it. I was up late last night.”

  “Of course,” said Nat. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  Julio stood up and reached for his jacket on the corner coat rack. “Think I’ll go, too, if it’s okay. The pâté and the brioche are done. I’ll come in early to do the last minute stuff for the opening.”

  I suppressed a groan. I still had all the flowers to deal with, not to mention straightening up the mess Detective Aragón and his flunkies had made of my suite. Maybe I wasn’t going to make an early night of it after all.

  “Thanks, Julio,” I said. “You want a ride to your place? It’s still raining pretty hard.”

  He glanced toward the window. “If you’ve got time.”

  “Sure. I’ll just get my purse.”

  I ran upstairs to my suite and grabbed my wool coat and a scarf as well as my purse. I locked the door again, then looked into Kris’s office.

  “I’m going out. Might not be back by the time you leave. Any important messages?”

  She shook her head. “It
’s been quiet all afternoon.”

  “How does tomorrow look?”

  She gave a small, rueful smile. “Pretty quiet.”

  I tried not to wince. “Cancellations?”

  “A couple.”

  “Hm. Well, thanks.”

  I hurried back downstairs, shrugging into my coat. Julio met me at the back door and we walked along the porch to the back of the kitchen, where I parked my car.

  Julio was silent as I drove down the alley to Marcy, then took Washington north toward his apartment.

  “Is your roommate coming to the opening tomorrow?” I asked.

  “Yeah. He’s always up for free food.”

  I had given each of the staff one free pass for a friend to attend the grand opening. Now I wished I had given them two each, but it was a bit late for that.

  “I thought he was a chef.”

  “He is.” Julio glanced sidelong at me and grinned. “We’ve been having a little competition to see who can come up with the best dessert.”

  “Oh. You’re not going to surprise me, are you?”

  “Don’t worry. Nothing that isn’t appropriate for the tearoom.”

  “Okay,” I said, suppressing a twinge of concern.

  Julio was sharing a place with a fellow culinary graduate. I worried that he’d be offered a position he liked better than the tearoom. My hope was that he’d be satisfied with the creative range of our menu, especially the afternoon teas.

  We’d even talked about trying a high tea eventually, though with Julio’s talent and flair it would be a far cry from the traditional hearty evening meal of a British laborer. Welsh Rarebit, yes, but it would be Welsh Rarebit with a difference.

  I pulled into the parking lot for Julio’s apartment building. Before getting out of the car he gave me a serious look.

  “What did you say to get Tony Aragón all steamed up?”

  “I have no idea. One minute we were talking about the media, the next he was screaming at me about my grandmother.”

  Julio rubbed a finger down the dashboard in front of him. “See, his folks are pretty poor. I think they lost their house or something. He’s always been touchy about rich people.”

  “I’m hardly rich—”