cream in it, and walked over to her. Leaning against the counter, she studied the cook whose plump fingers worked the spoon, scooping and tossing a small mountain of peppers and onions in a huge frying pan. The extra flesh under her arms jiggled with each movement. Her breath came in short steady gasps, her small nostrils flared, thin lips pursed into a frown.
She was upset about something. Again. “Rosa,” Sara said, her tone gentle, encouraging. “What's the matter?” The cook shook her head, eyes fixed on the food she was preparing. “I know you're upset about something. Please tell me what it is.” She laid a hand on the older woman's sun-weathered forearm. Rosa shot her a glance, her black eyes misted with tears. “Why are you crying?” Sara set her coffee mug on the counter and took the wooden spoon from her.
“Onions,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. “Onions do this to Rosa.”
“I don't think so.” Sara moved the frying pan to the back burner. “You've been upset since you met me. Please tell me why. Have I done something?” Tears trickled down the older woman's cheeks, following the path of lines etched into her skin. They reached her jaw, hovered an instant, then fell, unchecked, onto her ample bosom. “Tell me.” What could she have done that would cause her this much distress? She hadn't even been in California twenty-four hours.
Another sniff. Rosa pulled out a white lace handkerchief from her apron pocket and blew her nose. “It is Mister Matt,” she said in halting syllables. “I worry for him. He say no more women. He go crazy last time with lady doctor. Make big scene. Very, very bad.” Her thick braided bun bounced back and forth as she shook her head.
“I'm sorry, Rosa,” Sara said, amazed at the loyalty this man's employees showed toward him. First Rex and now Rosa.
“Mister Matt take care of Rosa. Give me nice job, food to eat, place to stay.” She raised her eyes heavenward and blessed herself. “He say maybe hire nephew, Chico, in few months.”
Did Adam know about Chico? Probably not.
Rosa wiped her damp eyes with the corner of her printed apron. “Rosa want Mister Matt be happy. Too much sadness for him.” She sniffed again. “Too much pain.”
“I want to help Mister Matt, Rosa, not hurt him. But he might not want my help at first and he may get very angry with me. But I won't hurt him.” She held the other woman’s gaze. “Okay?”
Rosa eyed Sara a full fifteen seconds. “Yes,” she said. “Yes.” Then she reached into the opening of her starched white shirt and pulled out a small gold cross. Holding it between her plump fingers she said, “You promise, Rosa, on this cross, that you no hurt Mister Matt.”
Sara looked at the gleaming gold. This woman was willing to give her a chance, but only if she gained protection for her boss. The simple honest request moved her, and again, she wondered how he'd earned this kind of devotion. Sara reached for the shiny cross and said, “I promise you, Rosa, on this cross, that I will not hurt Mister Matt.”
A half hour later, Sara headed down the hall toward Matt's study and the sliding door that led to his patio. From what Adam had told her, this particular patio was his refuge. He came here every day and spent several hours doing exactly what she'd seen him do yesterday.
Nothing.
Well, not today. Today was going to be different for Matthew Brandon, because in her own subtle way, she was going to get him to talk. About anything. The weather, the state of foreign affairs, the stock market. Why he wore a Pittsburgh Pirates ball cap. Nothing too personal. That would make him uncomfortable and alert him to potential privacy infringements. She'd work the safe zone for a few days and if she didn't show her hand too early and bluffed when necessary, she might just win the pot and get him to talk about himself.
The door to his study was open. Rex sat in the big leather chair behind the desk,
Learning to Kill: Stories