A Sprig of Blossomed Thorn (24 page)

“W
hat?” I said, staring at Rosa in surprise.

“It was a rose that poked her,” she repeated. “It got infected and never healed. She told me about it, and when they said it was the hurt on her wrist that had gotten the botulism, I realized it must have been the poke from the rose.”

“Did she tell you which rose caused the wound?”

Rosa shrugged and shook her head. “Could've been here, or it could've been in the city garden. She went to visit there a lot. It doesn't matter, does it? You said the botulism probably came from the soil.”

“Yes, I did say that.”

I frowned. Maria had recently been released from the hospital, and was in no shape to be down on her knees gardening. I couldn't picture her coming in contact with the soil. Getting poked by a rose I could picture, but how would the wound have been infected?

“Rosa, when did she tell you about being poked? Do you remember?”

Rosa frowned, thinking. “It was the same day she decided to come to the tearoom, and I know I made the reservation a week in advance, so—almost two weeks ago?”

“And when was the last time you saw her near a rosebush?”

“She comes to dinner here every week, but she hasn't been out in the garden since she came home from the hospital.”

“You're sure?”

Rosa nodded. “Why?”

“Just trying to narrow things down.” I glanced at my watch. “I think I'll stop by the City Rose Garden.”

“I wish I could come with you,” Rosa said. “Nana had a favorite rosebush there. I'd like to try to figure out which one it was.”

“I think I can tell you that.”

Rosa's eyes widened. “You can? Oh, please take me with you then! I want to see it.”

“Won't your parents mind your leaving?”

“No, it'll be fine. I'll go tell Mama where I'm going.”

She ran back to the house as fast as her long dress would let her. Her urgency surprised me a little, but I wasn't about to question it. If seeing her grandmother's rosebush would comfort her, I was all for it. I dug in my purse for my keys, and by the time I had the car unlocked she was back, with her own small purse in her hands.

“Didn't your grandmother ever take you to the city garden?” I asked as I started the car and fired up the air conditioning.

Rosa shook her head. “That was something she did away from the family. She had stuff like that. The Chamber of Commerce, business stuff, you know. She took Papa to the Chamber meetings sometimes, but she never took us to Rose Guild stuff. I'm not sure she really liked it.”

“She liked it enough to stay in for twenty years.”

“She was always complaining about it, though. The other ladies argued a lot, I guess. It didn't sound like fun.”

I turned toward the City Rose Garden, which was only a few blocks away. Glancing at Rosa, I wondered how specific Maria had been about what went on in the Rose Guild.

“I think it was mostly just one or two ladies arguing,” I said. “I've met several who were very nice.”

Rosa shot me a skeptical glance. “She said they didn't want to plant her rosebush.”

“Well, that's true, but it was only a few of them.”

“I asked her to show me the rose after they planted it, but she said no. Said she didn't want to take the chance we might run into one of the nasty ladies. She didn't want me anywhere near the fighting.”

“That bad?”

Rosa nodded and looked out the window. The garden was ahead on our left, full of people as before. I parked in the first space I could find, and walked with Rosa toward the corner where Maria's rosebush was planted.

“Why do you want to see this rose if your grandmother wanted you to stay away?”

A determined frown came onto Rosa's face. “She could take care of it when she was alive. Now it's my job.”

“The Guild will take care of it, I'm sure.”

Rosa shook her head. “Nana didn't trust them to, and neither do I.”

We passed an elderly couple sitting on a bench and traded smiles with them. Even on this warm Monday afternoon there were several people in the garden. I found myself tallying up the Anglos and Hispanics. Looking for balance, an even mix? There were a slight majority of whites, though most of the kids were Hispanic.

Stop it, I told myself. No one's keeping score.

We neared the corner of the park, and I started looking for Maria's rosebush. I didn't see the splash of pink where I expected it. For a moment I thought I'd gotten turned around, then I recognized a Brigadoon rose nearby.

I stopped in front of a gap in the cornermost bed. With Rosa beside me, I stared at the shorn-off stumps of canes that were all that was left of the Our Lady of Guadalupe rose.

 

 

24

R
osa turned a hurt face toward me. “Was this it?”

I nodded. A terrible sinking feeling gripped me. Why would someone chop down a perfectly healthy rosebush? Aphids aside, the Our Lady rose had been a beautiful plant. Could someone have hated Maria enough to have cut down her rosebush the very day of her funeral?

I knelt to look more closely at the stumps. They were still green, and the sap on the cut ends looked relatively fresh. My guess was that the rose had been cut that morning.

I stood up and looked around, wondering if anyone from the Guild was in the garden. I didn't see anyone I recognized.

“They hated her, didn't they?” Rosa said.

I looked at her and saw tears streaking her face. I gave her my handkerchief and put an arm around her shoulders.

“No, dear. They didn't hate her.” Not all of them.

“Then why did they cut down her roses?”

“I don't know, honey. I don't know.”

She cried into my shoulder for a couple of minutes. I held her, knowing she probably needed the release.

I suspected Lucy Kingston had cut down the rose, though I had trouble imagining her doing something so vicious. Lucy was a follower, Joan had said. This act of hatred seemed more like the act of an instigator.

As we stood there, I noticed an older Hispanic woman looking at us from a yard across the street. She came out through a gate in the picket fence and crossed the street toward us.

“You looking for Maria's rosebush?” she said in a challenging voice. “It's in the dumpster.” She waved an arm toward a trash dumpster over by the Guild's storage shed, her face in an expression of contempt.

Rosa was pulling herself together, but was in no shape to answer yet. She sniffled into my handkerchief.

“Did you see who cut it?” I asked the woman.

She nodded. She wore a striped top and beige slacks, and a well-worn wedding ring. Her dark hair was piled on her head in an old-lady salon do. She seemed a nice neighborly type, except that at the moment she was scowling.

“One of those Rose Club people,” she said. “I don't know her name, but she always wears a floppy hat.”

That could describe half the Rose Guild, I thought.

“She was here earrrrly in the morning,” said the neighbor lady, relishing her recital. “I saw her through the window when I was making my coffee. She had some of those big clippers—” she gestured as if using long-handled shears “—and she just chopped it, snip, snip! Then she rolled it up in a tarp and threw it in the trash.”

I looked at the dumpster, frowning. I was beginning to have a nasty suspicion.

“You friends of Maria's?” the neighbor asked.

“Yes,” I answered for both of us. “This is her granddaughter. Did you know Maria?”

“I knew who she was. She didn't know me, but I saw her come to the garden to take care of that rose.”

“When was the last time you saw her here?” I asked.

“A week ago Sunday. She came and pruned that rosebush, even though she was in a walker!”

My pulse started to accelerate. The timing was right, if I recalled correctly. Tony had said that botulism could take several days to build up in the system.

“You didn't see her get down on the ground, did you?” I asked.

The neighbor shook her head. “No. She had a little bucket hanging on the walker, and she put the clippings in there, then she threw them away when she was done.”

“Was she wearing gloves?”

“No. She didn't used to wear gloves, not that I ever saw.”

“Nana never wore gloves,” Rosa said in a thick voice.

A choice that might have cost her life, I thought. Keeping that to myself, I turned to the neighbor.

“Thank you. May I ask your name? I'm Ellen Rosings.”

“Alma Chacón.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Chacón. You've been very helpful.”

She smiled then, transforming from angry old lady to sweet old lady in an instant. “Maria was a saint,” she declared with a firm nod, then turned to go back to her own garden.

I looked at Rosa. “Do you mind waiting here for a couple of minutes?”

Rosa shook her head, still staring at the severed cane stumps. I squeezed her shoulders and let go.

“I'll be right back.”

I hurried to the dumpster and threw the lid open. A ripe smell of rotting junk food and dog poop arose. Frowning, I held my breath and tried to look over the edge, but the dumpster was too tall for me to see inside.

I was not dressed for dumpster diving. Looking around, I spotted an empty milk crate by the Guild's storage shed. I hauled it over to the dumpster and carefully stood on top of it to look in.

There, beneath a day's accumulation of miscellaneous garbage, was a blue tarp. I could see the ends of rose canes sticking out of one end, and a few faded pink petals.

I stepped down from the crate and closed the lid, then put the crate back by the shed and walked away, anxious to escape the smell. Taking out my cell phone, I looked up Tony's number and called it. He answered on the second ring.

“Yeah?”

“Tony, it's Ellen. You're going to think I'm crazy, but I need your help.”

“What's the matter?”

I kept my eye on Rosa, who was still standing by the place the Our Lady rose had been. “I think I've found the source of the botulism that caused Maria Garcia's death. Can you bring some of your evidence people to the City Rose Garden?”

“The Rose Garden?”

“Yes. I'm in the northeast corner. Tell them to wear gloves—heavy gloves.”

“Ah ... okay. It may take a while.”

“How long?”

“Half an hour at least, probably.”

I wasn't willing to leave, even to run Rosa home. I didn't want to risk the garbage collectors coming by and taking away the rosebush.

“Well, I'll be here waiting,” I said. “Please come as quickly as you can.”

“You all right?”

“Worried, but yes, I'm all right.”

“I'll be there soon.”

He disconnected. I put away my phone and rejoined Rosa.

“Let's walk a little,” I said, pulling her arm through mine.

I felt protective of her, and didn't want to take the chance, small though I suspected it was, of our being observed by whoever had cut down the rose. I grimaced as I realized I was echoing Maria's behavior. Keeping Rosa away from the danger of the rose garden. The danger of the Rose Guild.

We strolled among the flowering bushes. I stayed fairly close to the dumpster, keeping a jealous eye on it. Rosa meekly came where I led her. I suspected her thoughts were far away.

My phone rang. Worried that it was Tony with some delay, I pulled it out, but the number it showed was Willow's.

“Please excuse me, Rosa. I need to take this.” I stepped away from her. “Hello?”

“Ellen. I'm at the museum. Are you coming?”

I hissed and bit back a curse. “Willow, I'm so sorry. I'm afraid I got distracted.”

“That's all right. It wasn't a meeting, I just told Bennett we might be dropping by. Should we reschedule?”

“Yes, please. I'll call you this evening, if that's all right.”

“Sure.”