A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn by Patrice Greenwood Read Free Book Online

“Thought coffee wasn’t allowed in this joint.”
    â€œYou know very well that it is, I just don’t brew it during business hours.”
    The aroma of coffee is out of place in a tearoom. I had laid down the law on that early on. Julio always brewed two pots of coffee first thing in the morning and poured one into a thermos to drink during the day.
    â€œGood night, Ellen,” Kris said, and with a defiant glance at Tony, she headed for the back door.
    â€œGood night,” I called after her.
    Tony was watching her narrowly. I waited until she was gone before offering a gentle reproof.
    â€œI know it’s your job to be inquisitive, but perhaps that should be left to business hours as well.”
    He looked at me. “I got no business hours.”
    â€œBut is it appropriate to demand to look at someone’s personal possessions when she’s not suspected of anything?”
    He glanced toward the back door again. “I was just curious. Recognized the shipping label.”
    That gave me pause, and also aroused my curiosity, but I had no intention of intruding on Kris’s privacy. She was gone, so the point was moot in any case.
    â€œWould you like that coffee?”
    Tony looked at me. “Actually, I was going to offer to buy you a drink.”
    He said it flatly, and stared at me flatly. Had I been unacquainted with him I would have been taken aback, but I knew him well enough to know that this was defensive behavior, caused by a momentary lack of confidence. I smiled.
    â€œThat would be lovely. Let me just make sure everything’s locked up. It’s been a very long day.”
    He followed me as I made the rounds, turning off lights and checking doors. “Did the press come and hassle you?” he asked.
    â€œNo, thank goodness! I don’t suppose they’d be that interested in the quiet death of an elderly woman.”
    â€œMaria Garcia was pretty important, actually. What you’d call a pillar in the Hispanic community. Fairly rich, too.”
    I turned off the lights in the butler’s pantry and stepped back into the hall. “Was she? I know that she owned El Vaquero.”
    â€œAnd three other restaurants in town.”
    â€œGoodness! I had no idea.”
    I went into the kitchen to make sure the ovens were off. The note Julio had taped to the door of the regular oven said: “Don’t Touch! Meringues.” I left it alone and turned out the lights, rejoining Tony in the hall.
    â€œI remember when I was a kid going with my mom to church so she could help decorate the altar,” Tony said. “Maria Garcia would bring armfuls and armfuls of roses. Every Saturday, all summer long. What I can’t figure is what she was doing in your tearoom,” he said.
    â€œWhy shouldn’t she come to tea?”
    He smiled wryly. “No offense, but it’s such a white lady thing.”
    I bristled. “I’ve had any number of Hispanic customers.”
    I knew I was overreacting. The truth was that he was right—most of my customers were Anglos, and most of them women. The exceptions were far in the minority.
    â€œThere was an added reason for Mrs. Garcia to come,” I admitted. “Her grandson and granddaughter both work here.”
    Tony’s brows rose. “Oh. Were they here today?”
    â€œYes. Her grandson is my chef, and her granddaughter was waiting on her. I’m afraid it was Rosa who discovered she was dead.”
    â€œThat’s rough.”
    â€œYes. I sent her home. That’s why it was such a long day for me—I had to fill in.”
    â€œThen you definitely need a drink. Got a favorite bar?”
    I looked into the dining parlor, now restored to order after the successful bridal shower. I turned out the lights.
    They came on again. Giving up, I closed the door and turned to Tony.
    â€œHow about the Ore House?”
    He made a face. “Touristy.”
    â€œGood