To prove it, she tossed the cork onto the blanket and took a swig. A macho wipe across the lips with the back of her hand and she offered the bottle over to him. They passed it back and forth a few times, watching the sun on its downward course.
“What else is in that basket?”
He pulled out an insulated container about a gallon in size. “Chile—my specialty. Uh, I think I forgot bowls, though. But there are spoons.” He held them up with a grin that gave her an excellent picture of what he’d looked like as an eight year old.
Sam ripped open the bag of corn chips, took one and scooped up guacamole with it. “Did you make this? It’s really good.”
He blushed a little. “Should I admit that I found the recipe on the internet? It was the only one that used two ingredients so I thought I could handle it.”
“It’s great!”
“Now the chile—that’s my own recipe. Sorta. My mama used to make it. She doesn’t cook anymore, so I make it for her. After I moved to New Mexico I started adding green chile to it. I mean, you really can’t live here and not eat green chile, right?”
They sat cross legged on the quilt with the Thermos between them, spoons at the ready as he unscrewed the lid and released a bouquet of meaty, tomatoey, spicy goodness into the air. They dipped their spoons at the same moment.
“Ohmygod, that’s good.” Sam had to admit she’d never had chile that tasty—either in New Mexico or back home in Texas. A moan escaped her.
He grinned and went for a second spoonful. She did the same.
“Try it this way,” he said. He grabbed a few corn chips and tossed them onto the chile, then spooned up a big bite that included a couple of them. Sam did the same and agreed. Heaven.
“You could cook for me any time,” she said, once she got the chance to take a breath.
“You’d have to like chile a whole lot. This and grilled cheese sandwiches are about the only things I can make.”
The idea of this chile and a grilled cheese sandwich nearly made her swoon. The sun dropped below the horizon, leaving the silhouettes of black volcanic cones and turning the few clouds into every shade of flame. Cicadas droned their metallic stridulation in the soft dusk.
“I could die this very minute and be happy,” she told him.
“Well, we’ll hope that doesn’t happen.”
“You know what I mean.” She took another hit from the wine bottle and passed it over. “I feel so lucky right now. What a spectacular evening.”
“I’m glad you like the spot. I was afraid you might have been hoping for a restaurant dinner, some fancy place. Course I worried about it a little too late, after I already had the basket loaded up.”
“Beau, it’s just right. Absolutely perfect.” And it was. She couldn’t think of a more relaxed, fun way to get to know him better. She would not call it a date, and she would do her best to ignore that kiss.
They finished off the chips and dip, made a good-sized dent in the quantity of chile, and were sipping at the last of the wine when his phone rang. Okay, an almost perfect evening.
He glanced at the readout. “OMI’s office. I better take this.”
Sam leaned back on her elbows and stretched her legs out as he conversed quietly. The first star showed in the east and soon there were a dozen of them.
“Sorry. I knew Archie was hustling to get the autopsy finished tonight so he could take the whole weekend off. He wanted to let me know the gist of it.”
“Can you tell me?”
“It’s Riley Anderson. Hair from a brush in the master bedroom matches the body’s DNA. Archie is ruling natural causes. There was lots of lung congestion, no wounds or trauma. Probably untreated pneumonia, which he says is consistent with an age-related death.”
“So, now what? Do you find relatives of Mr. Anderson? Bury him back on the property or what?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Since he was in default on his mortgage, the USDA has the power to auction off the property, so someone else will soon own it. Are they going to want a stranger’s body buried in their back yard?”
“Probably not. I guess the answer is to find him a spot in the public cemetery. Technically, a pauper’s grave. Unless someone comes along who can claim kinship and then they can make their own arrangements.”
“What about the guy who was living with him?” Sam asked. “The neighbor hinted that they might have had a relationship.”
“You talked to the neighbors?” He gave her a firm stare.
“The last time I was there a lady named Betty McDonald came walking up. I just kind of let her ramble on.”
“I’ll run some background on Anderson,” he said. “See if we can track down someone.”
The sky was completely dark now and at least a billion stars were visible, out here away from town. Sam felt she could be content to stare up at them all night but could tell that Beau was getting restless. It was time to call it a night and go home. They used the big flashlight to be sure they’d left nothing behind, then stowed the picnic gear in the Explorer.
“I sure didn’t want to cut the evening short,” he said as he turned into her drive. “But I’m on duty early tomorrow and I’d like to stop off and get that autopsy report they faxed over so I can look at it yet tonight.”
“Hey, duty calls. I understand.” She, too, had work planned for the morning.
Chapter 11
Sam awoke Saturday morning feeling lazy. At the suggestion of Delbert Crow, she’d planned to dash over to Bertha Martinez’s place one last time and apply a couple coats of neutral paint to the walls in the red room. He was right, the house would stand a better chance of selling quickly without strange symbols painted on red walls. She’d have probably done it in the first place but needed an okay to lay out money for refurbishment on a property.
Now, she lounged in bed for an extra thirty minutes reliving the picnic dinner and last night’s beautiful setting. Maybe the extra wine was making her lazy today. Maybe the niggling thought that a fling with Beau Cardwell might not be such a bad thing . . . just maybe, that was the source of her unaccustomed languor.
After awhile she couldn’t postpone getting to work. She rummaged in the closet for her painting jeans, the ones that had already met with the touch of a brush, and an old shirt. Her hair was too short to gather into a ponytail but she decided a bandana over it might help keep it out of her face during the job. She stashed her watch and the favorite opal ring that she usually wore into her new jewelry box. Again, she swore that the stones on it glowed more brightly after she’d touched the box.
A quick stop at the hardware store for two gallons of paint and she was headed out to the Martinez place. The red bedroom felt less ominous this time, with sun shining in the window and all the weird artifacts gone. In no time at all, she’d pulled down the heavy drapes and hardware and began rolling paint onto the dark walls. As expected, it would need at least two coats, but the stuff dried quickly and by the time she finished the fourth wall the first was about dry enough. She stopped for a granola bar and cup of coffee from the Thermos she’d brought. The second coat went on even more quickly and the trim work was minimal. She glanced at her wrist but remembered that she’d left her watch at home. Not that it mattered.
She bagged up the throwaway paint roller set and the empty cans and set them out for garbage collection, locked the house and was on her way.
Back at home a message on the machine told Sam that the Casa de Tranquilidad spa near Santa Fe wanted eight dozen specialty cookies for a reception. She’d worked with them before, supplying cakes and pastries for different events. Driving down there to deliver was a little bit of a hassle but they paid well and it was a way to get her business name out in front of a whole new clientele. She returned the call, got the details, and inventoried her supply of ingredients. Wrote up a little shopping list. Before she quite made it to the door the phone rang again.