Chapter 4 #2
“No, you’re fine. I’m the one who's sorry. We have to be so careful about what to reveal and when and to whom that it’s a habit for me to clam up.
” He drove past Regency Meadows Park, where the giant tree shone so brightly it cast a merry light on everything around it.
“I’m working on a couple of songs but we don’t have a set date on when to release a new album.
” He looked like he might say more, but I wanted to get far away from a topic that would make him feel uncomfortable or think I was fishing for information.
“Do you have any siblings?” I asked.
His smile lit up his face. “Four sisters. You?”
“Only child.”
“I can’t imagine that childhood. What was it like?”
I paused, considering. “It was lovely, but there were times when I was lonely and wished for a sibling, if only to help share the burden of expectation.”
“Does your mother expect a lot of you?”
I nodded, but didn’t say more. Ernesto was a good listener, but I wasn’t about to unload a lifetime of baggage on our first…
date? Was this a date? Or were we just two people who were grabbing food together because we were singing a duet?
I pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter what this was—I was going to savor every minute of it.
He pulled into the parking lot and came around to open my door. A bracing wind hit me when I stepped outside, but once we were within fifty yards of the truck, the air turned warm and balmy. I sighed contentedly.
Ernesto noted my pleasure and gestured to the brightly colored truck. “José enchants the space around his truck to feel like his hometown, El Rosario.”
I inhaled the subtle scent of mango groves and palm trees beneath the more immediate aroma of cumin and citrus. It was refreshing after the pine and gingerbread the whole town seemed to have been doused in since thanksgiving.
We walked up to the ochre food truck where a dark-haired satyr with large hands and a wide smile leaned across the counter to shake hands with Ernesto. “Neto! It’s been too long!”
Ernesto laughed. “José, you forget, I was here last week.”
“Yes, I suppose you were. And who is this bella senorita you’ve brought to my truck?”
Someone without the gift of enhanced senses might not have picked up on the slight reddening of Ernesto’s cheeks, but I did.
“This is Anne,” he said.
“Bienvenido, Anne. If you need an event catered, I’m your taco man.”
“Gracias, José.”
We ordered tacos and aguas frescas.
“Oh, and add green chiles for me, please,” I said.
“Coming right up,” José said, turning to face the grill.
Ernesto grinned. “You’re a green chile fan?”
“I love them.”
“Me too. My mother puts them in everything: enchiladas, alfredo sauce, scalloped potatoes, even apple pie.”
“No way. Apple pie?”
“I swear it. It’s actually delicious.”
“I’ve got to try that sometime,” I said as we moved to sit at a little table carpeted in white sand.
Ernesto kicked off his shoes and buried his toes in it.
I followed suit, slipping off first my boots, then my fuzzy socks.
The sand was warm and dry and felt absolutely heavenly and completely at odds with the light snow that melted when it fell on the palm tree stretching over us, its trunk wrapped in red and white Christmas lights.
Ernesto scooped salsa with a corn chip, and I catalogued his every movement, gathering memories.
It was kind of Ernesto to spend time getting to know me before our duet, and I was going to enjoy every second of this while I could.
“This is just what I needed,” I said, sipping my agua fresca. “Thank you, Ernesto.”
“Please, call me Neto.”
A smile played on my lips. “Okay. Neto.”
“Which do you like better, singing or playing the violin?” he asked.
“Definitely violin. We’ve never had singers perform at the Christmas concert before, but Fred wanted to try something new. How about you—voice or guitar?”
“Voice. The guitar is fine, but the band is large enough that they don’t really need me to do much playing.” He smiled that crooked smile again. “It is nice to have something to do with my hands, though, otherwise I’d look completely awkward on stage.”
I laughed. “Well, you’re going to have to figure something out, because you aren’t going to be playing the guitar when we sing together for the concert.”
He covered his mouth with one hand, his eyes widening.
“Don’t worry,” I said, placing one hand on his very toned forearm, “I won’t let you look awkward.
” As if that were even possible. His other hand covered mine and my heart quivered wildly like when my teacher first tried to teach me vibrato.
José appeared and Neto released my hand to receive the warm food.
I took a small bite, cautious because my gift amplified any imperfection in a dish and my senses were wide open, but I needn’t have worried.
The carne asada was tender, with smoky, crisped edges, and the citrus, green chiles, cilantro, and onion were perfectly balanced, with just the right punch of heat in the salsa. I sighed contentedly.
A group of carolers dressed in Victorian outfits trotted by on the sidewalk, singing It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas. I buried my toes deeper in the sand. I loved Christmas in Austen Heights, but I wasn’t ready to leave this beachy oasis just yet.
A caroler tipped his top hat to me, and his bright yellow waistcoat brought the image of Paolo, lying dead in his yellow sweater. I frowned down at my plate.
“What’s wrong?” Neto’s carefree smile melted into a look of concern.
“Sorry to bring down the vibe. I was just thinking about the murder.”
“That’s okay. It must have been harrowing.”
“It was,” I said. “And it’s even worse knowing that whoever killed Paolo is still out there. It could only have been one of the people who was at the sound check. But I don’t think it was Fred.”
Neto twirled the ice around in his glass. “I don’t think so either, and I’m worried it will get pinned on him. If the police think they’ve found the killer, they’re going to stop looking.”
“Good point.” I drummed my fingers on the table. I shouldn’t get involved. It was foolish for me to even suggest it, but I said, “What if we figured out who the killer is?”
Neto pursed his lips. “That might work. What do you know about the musicians that were in the building when Paolo was murdered?”
“Honestly, I don’t know who it would have been. None of the soloists seem like murderers.”
“Tell me about them,” he said, folding his arms in front of him. “I’ve watched a lot of murder mysteries with my dad.”
“There are only four people who were there,” I said. “Well, five if you include me. But it wasn’t me.”
“Of course not!” He shot me that heart-stopping grin, and it was an effort to continue speaking. “Fred vouched for you and I trust his judgement. Tell me about the others.”
“Besides Fred, there’s Walter, James, and Cecelia.”
He took out his phone and opened the notes app. “Okay, let’s start with Cecelia.”
“Okay. Cecelia Wentworth plays the violin. She’s not very nice, but she’s not violent or anything.”
“What would her motive be?”
I took another bite of taco. “No idea. In fact, I’m not even sure if she knows him. It’s possible, since he’s originally from here, but I don’t think they interacted at all yesterday.”
He took another bite of taco. “How about Walter?” parents
“Well, Walter is a Bramwell, his parents run in all the same circles as my mother. He’s nice enough, if a bit stuck up. We went on one date but it was unremarkable.” I cringed inwardly. Why did I volunteer that last bit of information?
Neto grunted. “I bet it was him. What’s his motive?”
I pursed my lips. “Nothing I can think of.”
“And the other guy?”
“James Yoon, he’s our percussionist. He’s smart, quiet, and doesn’t seem to make a lot of drama. I don’t know what his motive could be. Jealousy, maybe, because he can’t sing and Paolo can.”
Neto leaned back in his chair. “Do we know when the murder was committed?”
I bit my lip, trying to remember all the details from the afternoon. “Paolo left the rehearsal room around 1:15, and I found him a little before 1:30.”
“Good to know.” Neto picked up another taco. “Do we know where anyone was during the murder?”
I thought back to that day. “Fred and Walter headed to the stage for their sound check, and Cecelia stayed in the common area. Paolo had gone to a practice room to warm up, and I joined him there. James was rehearsing in the room next to us.”
“Were you in the room with Paolo for long?”
“No, only a minute or two. He left to find Fred and I stayed behind. A few minutes later I went to find Paolo and discovered the body on the stage with a knife sticking out of his back.” I swallowed, pushing away the image that came to my mind.
Neto’s eyes tracked the movement of my throat bobbing, and his expression softened. “I’m so sorry. We’ll find out who did this.”
“We will,” I agreed.
“When you left the practice room, was James still next door?”
“Yes.”
“And did you see anyone on your way to the stage?”
“No.”
Neto pursed his lips. “Then James is the only one with an alibi. I wish Fred had one. He told me he went to the bathroom after Walter’s mic check, but there’s nobody who can confirm that.”
I sighed through my nose. “I wish I had seen him so we could easily clear him. But I guess we’ll just have to find whoever actually did it. What’s our next step?”
“Find out more about the suspects and hopefully figure out a motive.”
“Well, there’s one surefire place to get all the gossip in Austen Heights. If anyone has secrets, Mrs. Bennet knows them. She’s the owner of Cupid’s Confections.”
Neto grinned. “Yes, I remember her. Her bakery was my favorite when I was a kid. Can I come with you?”
My heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing him again so soon, but I tried to play it cool. “Of course. Let’s meet at Cupid’s Confections at 10:00 and we can see what Mrs. Bennet knows.”
The rest of the meal was delicious, and we talked outside in the warm, balmy air until José flicked the lights off and on. “I’m closing in five minutes,” he called.
We shook the sand from our feet and reluctantly put our boots back on.
I shivered as I crossed the line where the enchantment around the truck ended and the cold waited to grip me.
Neto walked closely by my side, one arm around my shoulders, and I leaned into his warmth, wishing his car was farther away.
When we reached my house, Ernesto opened my car door and walked me to the front porch. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight.”
“Thank you. Those were the best tacos I’ve ever eaten. But don’t tell my tías.”
He grinned. “I won’t tell yours if you don’t tell mine that I agree.”
Something nudged my shoulder, and I turned to see a sprig of mistletoe that had been spelled to encourage couples. I’d seen them at Regency Meadows Park, but I didn’t know we had one at Rosings. The mistletoe floated between us, then rose over our heads.
Neto’s eyes practically smoldered as his eyes flickered from me, to the mistletoe hanging overhead, and back again.
Bless you Caroline Bingley, I thought as all the pieces clicked into place.
Ernesto played hockey with Fred, he’d heard me perform at the rehearsal, and he’d already had my number.
Neto was the guy who’d asked Fred for my number.
Somehow at José’s, I’d stopped thinking of him as Ernesto Garcia and started thinking of him as a real person. So it was completely natural and only a little bit crazy when I went up on tiptoes and kissed those kissable lips.