Chile Death Read online

  As we walked back across the street, Ruby was shaking with exasperated laughter. “What a smug, patronizing . . . Yankee!”

  “Do you think she got it?”

  Ruby shook her head. “1 doubt it.”

  “Maybe we were too rough on her.”

  "I doubt that, too. She’s probably in the kitchen this very minute, telling Barbara that we’re so country that we think a seven-course meal is a possum and a six-pack.” Ruby glanced at me. "Do you have a few minutes to talk? As I recall, we were interrupted.”

  I pushed my hands into the pockets of my jeans. "Are you sure you want to get into it again? As I recall, we were having an argument.”

  "That’s because you were being stubborn.”

  "Put that into the present tense. I am stubborn. And you are pushy.”

  We were halfway up the path to our shops. Ruby stopped and gave me a slit-eyed look. "Right on both counts, and it’s ridiculous. I have all this money that I’m dying to put to work, and you won’t let me — ”

  "I’m not keeping you from putting your money to work, Ruby.” The sun was hot on my back and the bees were busy among the thyme blossoms on either side of the path. A hummingbird was poking its long beak into the orangey-gold bloom of the butterfly weed, pollinating while it harvested the nectar. "If you’re looking for big bucks, buy stock in a Harrison Ford movie or invest in some lakefront real estate. But don’t keep nagging me about—’’

  "Do you know what your problem is, China Bayles?”

  Ruby put Her fists on her hips, her eyes narrowing. “You’re afraid of being partners—with me, or anybody else.”

  "That’s nonsense,” I said. "Unwilling, perhaps, reluctant, maybe — ”

  "You are afraid. Why do you think you said no to McQuaid all those years?”

  I scowled. "I said no because I . . . because—”

  I stopped, my' eye catching a tall, feathery fennel, covered by a dozen caterpillars striped in greenish white and black and dotted with yellow. They were stripping the fennel.

  “You see?” Ruby demanded. "You’re saying no to me for the same reason. I realize that you need to have your own business, where you can call all the shots. But at some point in our lives we all have to admit that a partner can help share the risk. After all, we do get ourselves into tight spots now and then. And two heads are better than one when it comes to figuring things out.” She looked at me. "Are you listening?”

  I nodded absently. In a few days, stuffed with fennel and ready for a snooze, the caterpillars would spin themselves into cocoons. After a while, the cocoons would split and swallowtail butterflies would emerge into the sun, their new black wings handsomely chevroned in cream and blue. The fennel, meanwhile, would have sprouted fragrant flowers, ready to be pollinated by the newly hatched butterflies and play host to the next round of caterpillars. A joint venture, so to speak.

  "Listen, China.” Ruby looked at me steadily. "It’s only money. Spend it, save it—either way, it’ll soon be gone. But you and I can use it to build something neither of us can have on our own.”

  "Well,” I said slowly. "Maybe.”

  Ruby's face broke into a broad grin. “Yes? Was that a yes’ I heard?”

  “You heard a maybe," I growled. "There you go again, Ruby, jumping to—”

  "Oh, China, this is terrific!” Ruby cried. She grabbed my hands and began to dance around. "This is fabulous! This is — ”

  "Premature,” I said firmly. "I haven’t said yes. I don’t want to rush into anything.”

  "Oh, we won’t rush,” Ruby assured me. She was breathless with excitement. "We’ll go very slowly. I’ll just talk to the Department of Health about the permit, and sketch out the kitchen, and put together some ideas for our menu. And then there are the furnishings, and the—” She stopped suddenly and looked at her watch. "Oops! Late for my hair appointment. I’ve got a date tonight.”

  "Ah,” I said. I took my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the shop door. "I hear that Roxanne and Jerry Jeff have reached a property settlement.” Maybe it was time to pass along Fannie’s cautionary advice.

  "I heard that too,” Ruby said, "and if you ask me, it’s about time they got their business straightened out.” She gave me a straight look. "You didn’t think it was JJ I’m seeing tonight, did you?”

  “Well ...”

  "Well, it isn’t. Haven’t you heard that he’s dating Felicia Travis?” She made a little mouth. "I understand that they’re planning to get married and go on an around-the- world honeymoon.”

  "Off with the old, on with the new,” I murmured, wondering where this left Lulu Burkhart. "And I think my love life is complicated.”

  "Yes, well, Felicia has many obvious charms,” Ruby said dryly, "not the least of which is extreme youth. And big boobs, which in my humble, flat-chested opinion are more a liability than an asset.”

  I picked up my trowel and a flat of four-inch pots of rue, destined for the center of the front herb bed, where no one was likely to brush against them. The plants yield a juicy sap that can raise blisters if you get it on your skin and expose the skin to the sun. "So if our local insurance salesman is totally out of the picture, who is tonight’s lucky guy?”

  Ruby followed me out to the walk. "Guess,” she said happily.

  I knelt to my planting with a sigh. This is one of Ruby’s favorite games, and she usually plays it for ail it’s worth— an irritation just now, since I was really curious. “Paul Newman? George W. Bush? The Pope?”

  The corner of her mouth quirked. "I’ll give you a hint. His name begins with H."

  “H?” I was drawing a blank. "Okay, I give up. Who is it?”

  "Oh, come on.” She grinned, letting the suspense build. “He’s your boss.”

  "My boss? I don’t have a boss.” And then I realized who it was. “Hark Hibler?” I asked, surprised. And then, because I was afraid she’d take it the wrong way, I added enthusiastically, "That’s great! I like Hark.”

  "He’s certainly no hunk,” Ruby admitted. "But he’s not bad-looking, now that he’s lost so much weight. He may not be the most thrilling man in the world, but his psyche seems reasonably well-adjusted, he reads books instead of watching football, and he thinks it’s neat that I have a brain." Ruby made a face. "Pecan Springs isn’t Houston, you know. There aren’t a dozen smart, sexy, reconstructed males lurking behind every bush.”

  I scraped the bark mulch to one side and began to make planting holes in the soft earth. "What makes you think there are a dozen of those anywhere in the world?” I asked. "Face it, Ruby. You and I are getting picky in our middle age.”

  Ruby nodded seriously. "Be glad you have McQuaid.” "Oh, yeah?” I sighed and shoved a plant into the ground. "So who says I’ve got him?”

  Chapter Five

  A number of other seasonings commonly find their way into chili. Here are a few of the most frequent contributors.

  Cilantro

  A fresh herb resembling broad-leafed Italian parsley, with a refreshingly spicy, astringent flavor.

  Coriander

  Used in the ground form for chili, this seasoning has an intriguingly sweet spiciness.

  Cumin

  Almost as integral to chili as chile themselves, this spice—used as small whole seeds, or, more often, ground into a fine powder—has a distinctively pungent, slightly musty flavor.

  Oregano

  This very popular, aromatic dried herb beautifully complements the flavor of chili, particularly when it includes some form of tomatoes.

  Norman Kolpas

  The Chili Cookbook

  My quip to Ruby wasn’t just something I had tossed off. When I went out to the Manor late that afternoon, I found McQuaid stretched out on his bed, hands clasped under his head, looking up at the ceiling. Jug was playing Bingo in the recreation room, so we had the privacy for something a little more intimate than wordplay. I shut the door, lay down on the bed beside him, and touched his cheek with my fingers. When he didn’t respond, I t
urned his head to mine and kissed him. His lips were cool and remote, and there was no pressure from his arms. Once upon a time, even a light touch had been enough to send currents of sweet, high-voltage desire pulsing through both of us. Now, it felt like the wires were shorted out, the batteries dead.

  He turned his head away and said what was in both our minds. “Sony.” His voice was gruff.

  "Yeah. Me too.” I propped my head on my hand and traced the jagged scar that makes a white diagonal across his forehead. "But it’ll get better soon.” I spoke with more confidence than I felt.

  "Maybe. Maybe not.” He sounded resigned. “I’d like to think I’m just tired, China. Therapy for hours on end, trying to get some strength back, trying to make my legs work—” He shook his head. "But it’s not just physical exhaustion. It’s . . . everything else, everything on top of that. Not knowing whether I’ll ever be able to have you. Or even want you.” He lay still for a long moment, his chest rising and falling under my hand. "I don’t . . . let’s not talk about it anymore. This isn’t something you can understand.”

  "Then make me understand,” I said urgently. I had never been a star quarterback, or a tough cop, or a man, so I couldn’t know what it felt like to lose the ability to run, to win a fight, to make love to a woman. I couldn’t feel his pain, or fathom his fear. But what frightened me most was the idea of not talking.

  “That won’t help,” he said. “It won’t change anything.”

  "Of course it will. We need to get this out in the open before you come home.” I could feel his heart beating under the flat of my hand. "Brian and I can’t wait, McQuaid. We hope it’s soon. Like tomorrow. Or next week.”

  "Yeah, I know. Brian is part of this, too. But I'm not sure ... I don’t think . . .” He fell silent. I could hear a woman’s voice on the paging system out in the hall, and the muted sound of the air -conditioning, and McQuaid’s breathing. After a few minutes, he spoke in a lighter voice, letting me know that the painful subject was closed, "So. What’s new at the shop?”

  I would rather have talked some more about us, but I answered, matching his tone as well as I could. "I finally told Ruby I would consider going into business with her.”

  "Well, that’s good,” he said. "I wondered what was holding you back. It’s not every day of the week that somebody offers to bankroll a business." He grinned crookedly. "Most people would walk through fire to help Ruby spend her lottery money.”

  "I know,” I said. I sat up and hooked my arms around my knees. "She’s anxious to get started this afternoon, of course. Hire an architect, hunt for furnishings, plan menus. But that’s out of the question.”

  He looked up at me. “Why?”

  I gave his leg an affectionate pat. "Because my plate is already full, you dummy. There’s the shop to manage, and the gardens, and Brian will soon be out of school. And there’s you, and—”

  His jaw tightened. "You don’t have to come here every day, China. And I’ve already told Leatha she and Sam can take Brian to the ranch for the summer. The kid deserves some fun—and you need some breathing space.”

  Startled, I twisted so that I could see his face. "You told Leatha— but didn’t she tell you I’d already said no?”

  He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I don’t know why you didn’t want him to go,” he muttered. "A summer on the ranch will be good for the boy, and a lot more fun than hanging around here. I can’t play ball with him or go fishing or—” His voice was ragged. “Anyway, you need a break. He’s not your kid, after all.”

  I felt as if I’d just been dunked in an icy tub. "Brian id my kid,” I said sharply, "And I don’t want a break.”

  "You know that isn’t what I mean,” he said testily. "I just mean that he isn't your responsibility. You don’t have to give up—”

  "I’m not giving up anything. I like being responsible for him.”

  His face had closed down. "What have you got against Leatha and Sam?”

  "Nothing. But you should at least have consulted with me before you agreed.” Now I was really angry. "And she had no business coming to you after I said no."

  "I don’t feel like arguing.”

  I turned to touch his face. "I’m not arguing,” I said, more softly. "I’m just telling you how I feel. I know I’m not Brian’s mother, but when you’re not around, I’m responsible for him. I told Leatha I wanted him here for the summer, so he could visit with you every day.”

  He closed his eyes. "Look, China, this afternoon’s workout took a lot out of me. I’d like to get some rest before dinner. Okay?”

  It wasn’t okay, but I couldn’t tell him that. We traded a peck on the cheek and I left him lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

  I was walking past the nurses station, head down, when I collided with Joyce Sanders.

  “Oops, sorry,” I said. “I guess I was wool-gathering.” “Oh, China, hello.” Relief was apparent in her voice. "I’m so glad to see you. If you’ve got a minute — ”

  She took me by the arm and tugged me into her small office, a narrow room that was mostly taken up by a long worktable with a computer and phone, a couple of office chMrs., and bookshelves. The tiny cubicle would have been claustrophobic if it weren’t for the large interior glass window over the desk, which looked out on the hallway and the nurses station. We sat down and Joyce pushed her brown plastic-rimmed glasses up on her nose.

  "Do you recall that problem I mentioned to you last week?”

  I nodded.

  "Well, something's going to have to be done, and quick,” Joyce said. She had turned so that she was facing me, with her back to the window. "Don’t be obvious about it, please—but can you see that dark-haired aide in the blue scrubs, working at the nurses station?”

  I glanced quickly over Joyce’s shoulder. "The pretty one?” The girl, who was barely out of her teens, certainly was pretty, with dark eyes and olive-brown skin and a generous mouth.

  "Her name is Carita Garza. I hired her about eight months ago, and she’s done a very good job. She’s bright, pays attention, and learns fast. Unfortunately, she has a dreadful situation at home—most of her paycheck goes to support a couple of younger sisters and an alcoholic mother. Her father is in prison, and she goes to visit him once a month. But she somehow manages to put all that trouble aside when she comes to work. She’s quite amazing, actually.”

  Having grown up with an alcoholic mother, I could appreciate Carita’s efforts. “She sounds like a jewel. So what’s the problem?”

  Joyce picked up a pencil, turned it in her fingers, dropped it. When she looked up, her brown eyes were troubled. "Mrs. Hogge—she's the Manor’s chief administrator—suspects her of theft.”

  In its outlines, the story was simple, sad, and very troubling. Since Carita had come to work at the Manor, there had been a half-dozen thefts, mostly in Rio Grande, the assisted-living facility. Those residents were wealthy enough to afford the pricey apartments and were discouraged but not prohibited from keeping cash in their suites. Many of the women kept valuable jewelry around too. “Her jewelry is often the only thing an elderly woman really treasures,” Joyce said, "and it’s something she can easily bring with her. You can’t tell her it isn’t a good idea. And you can’t tell an eighty-year-old man that he shouldn’t keep cash in his bureau drawer.” She gave me a rueful smile. “I mean, you can tell them, but they don’t listen.”

  "Don’t people lock their doors?”

  "Seniors are terribly forgetful, so we’re sure that some of the doors in Rio Grande were unlocked. But the rooms in the convalescent unit can’t be locked because we need constant access to them—there’ve been thefts there, too. And a couple of wallets were lifted from guests’ purses left unattended in the dining room or lobby.”

  "That was what you wanted to tell me the other day?” Joyce nodded. "The last theft, from an apartment in Rio Grande, was something over three hundred dollars. All told, several thousand dollars are missing. It’s certainly

  a po
lice matter, but it isn’t the sort of situation where a police investigation after the fact would turn up much.”

  "You say that Carita is suspected. Did someone see her and report her?”

  “I almost wish that’s what happened—it would make things much easier. The trouble is that I like Carita, and I want her to be successful. I can’t quite believe she would—” Joyce took off her glasses and polished them absently on her sleeve.

  "Would what?”

  "This morning, Mrs. Hogge noticed that the earrings Carita was wearing were identical to a pair that had been reported missing a few months ago. Carita says she bought them at a local flea market, but of course her statement can't be verified.”

  "Are they in fact the same earrings?”

  "That’s what makes this so awkward.” Joyce rubbed her eyes with her hand, then put her glasses back on. "The woman from whom they were stolen is now . . . well, she’s been transferred to the Alzheimer’s section in Brazos. She says they’re her earrings, but I wouldn’t trust her recollection.” She looked at me. "You see the problem.”

  I certainly did, and the criminal attorney part of me felt like making a motion for dismissal. There was no eyewitness testimony to tie the girl to the thefts, and not even any clear evidence that the earrings were actually those that had been taken. Not to mention that being fired on suspicion of theft would put a tragic end to a promising career—and pose a potential large liability for the Manor.

  "I see the problem but I can’t suggest a solution,” I said. "Carita might be the thief, but it’s at least equally possible that she isn’t. In that case, firing her would do her a terrible injustice—and invite a messy lawsuit that could keep the Manor’s lawyers busy for a long time.”

  "On the other hand,” Joyce said gloomily, "we can’t just allow the thefts to continue without taking dome sort of action. Mrs. Hogge feels that if it isn’t stopped, we’ll lose residents.”