The Summer Snow Read online

  Tejada raised his glass. “To the future.”

  The others raised their glasses as well, but Toño, tired of a conversation that he could not understand, where no one was laughing, began to swing his legs. Elena noticed his restlessness, and was about to offer to take him out to the plaza when Nilo turned to him and said cheerfully, “And what’s in your future, son? Are you going to join the Guardia?”

  “Maybe.” Toño spoke consideringly. “But I’d really like to be a railroad engineer. Or an architect.” Because Guardia Fuentes had been polite to him, he thought it was only reasonable to add, “I wouldn’t mind being a guardia. But I like trains.”

  “You could be part of the railroad patrols,” Nilo suggested, amused.

  “But they’re just in stations, and I like being on trains,” Toño explained.

  “Everyone I’ve known in that division says it’s boring work,” Nilo admitted.

  “Did you ever work in a station?” Toño asked, hoping for a train-related story.

  “No, I always did rural patrols. I guess the corps figured a mountain-bred boy was best off in the mountains.”

  “Were you ever in our mountains?” Toño said, interested.

  “Sure. I spent a dozen years in Órgiva.”

  Toño frowned over the unfamiliar name. “Is that in the Asturias?”

  “The Asturias!” Nilo repeated. “No, sir! Right here, in our own Alpujarra. A few hours’ drive. Longer on a horse, of course.” He shot a sidewise glance at the lieutenant. “Never thought I’d meet a Tejada who thought of the Asturias as home!”

  “We’ve lived in Cantabria since before he was born,” Tejada excused his son.

  Elena sensed her husband’s discomfort and quickly said, “So you spent your whole career in the Alpujarra?”

  Nilo shook his head. “No, I did four years in Cuba, first. And that was a hellhole, begging your pardon, Señora. Guerrillas everywhere you turned, and damp that gets into your bones and camps out there. Then, after 1898, I came home and they put me in the Sierra Nevada. And I was there and in the Alpujarra for sixteen years. And loved it.”

  “You’re from around here originally?” Elena asked, more for politeness than for information. The man’s accent was unmistakable.

  “Yes, Señora. I grew up in the Sierra Nevada. A little town called Acequias. I was lucky to be posted to Órgiva. It’s only a few hours away, so I was able to get home on leave.”

  In spite of his travels abroad in his youth, the old man’s attitude was similar to that of many of the residents of Potes, Elena thought. There really wasn’t much worth seeing outside their own mountains. Except, of course, that both the Granadino and the Cantabrians would have denied that they had anything in common. Wondering what had brought him from his mountains to the metropolis on the plain, she asked, “How did you end up in Granada then?”

  Nilo’s face darkened. “I had a bit of a run-in with some bandits. It was winter, and I should have known better than to chase them over that road. But I knew it like the back of my hand, and, well, pride goeth before a fall. In my case, pride went before a patch of ice. My horse came down on me.”

  Elena’s breath hissed through her teeth and she closed her eyes momentarily, reminding herself that Carlos was a good horseman and that the roads were better than they had been, and that anyway the Guardia used jeeps whenever they could nowadays. Tejada, who had heard and gloried in the story of the moonlight chase many times in his childhood, now found himself interested in a new facet of Nilo’s history. “Did the Guardia sent you to Granada for medical treatment?”

  Nilo shook his head. “Oh, no. They picked me up and brought me back to the post, and then the sergeant got the doctor to come take a look at me, but there wasn’t much he could do. The problem was when I healed up I had this limp. I couldn’t ride, and there was no way I was fit for service. So I went home to Acequias and was just set to go crazy with worry when Don Jesús offered to help.”

  “Don Jesús?” Elena asked, just as her husband said, “That would be Jesús del Rioseco?”

  “That’s right,” Nilo agreed. “He found me a little house in the city and offered me a place here as a porter. And I’ve been here ever since.” Turning to Elena, he added, “The Riosecos own a lot of land up in the Alpujarra. Don Jesús was the head of the family in those days. My family were tenants of his, and he took care of his people. A fine gentleman, Don Jesús.”

  “He owned the building where you work?” Elena guessed.

  “Yes, and some other properties around the city. His son, Don Ramiro, sold off this one a few years ago, but he told me to come to him if the new owners made any changes. He was like his father.”

  There was silence for a moment, as Nilo paid tribute to his patron. Toño began to swing his legs again restlessly. Elena, embarrassed by Nilo’s feudalism, noticed her son’s fidgeting and seized the excuse it offered. “You’ve been very quiet. Would you like to go look at the fountain?” she asked, stroking the boy’s forehead.

  Toño agreed enthusiastically and slid out of his seat with a speed that suggested his mother’s offer had come none too soon. They excused themselves and headed off to explore the plaza. Nilo watched them go, smiling. “Bright kid.”

  Tejada bowed his head, pleased. “Thanks. He can’t sit still, though.”

  “Mine couldn’t either at that age. But he’s a good boy. Like his father.” Nilo continued, “You’ve done well for yourself.”

  “All right, I suppose.”

  “No, I mean it.” Nilo looked out the window, to watch Toño clambering up the sides of the fountain, while Elena offered him a helping hand. “Becoming a lieutenant. Marrying a pretty, well-educated girl like that. A healthy son. You’re a lucky man.”

  It occurred to Tejada that he had never heard Nilo mention his family. Perhaps the former guardia was a widower. How did he support his children after he was wounded? Tejada wondered. The pension wouldn’t have been enough. He thrust away the unpleasant thought. His parents might dislike Elena, but they would see to it that no grandchild of theirs ever starved. “I didn’t know you had children,” he said aloud.

  “Four girls. All married now, up in the Sierra. And my little Paquito.”

  “Your son?”

  “He would have been about ten years older than you are. He died when he was six. Fever.”

  “I’m sorry.” Tejada cast an involuntary glance toward the window and was reassured by the sight of Toño scampering among the flower sellers, hearty and healthy.

  Nilo followed his gaze. “God’s will. Probably wouldn’t happen nowadays, with all these new medicines.”

  Tejada nodded absently, still watching Toño. “I’m more blessed than I deserve,” he said.

  “You are.” Nilo looked the lieutenant squarely in the face. “So what are you doing here?”

  Tejada blinked, caught off balance, and did not immediately reply. “It’s none of my business, of course,” Nilo went on. “But it must be more than fifteen years since you last came to visit Don Pablo. What’s happening? You’re not in any kind of trouble, are you?”

  “Trouble? No, of course not.” Tejada was not sure if his voice sounded as decided as he hoped. “I’m just here visiting family.”

  Nilo nodded. “That’s good, then. Your parents must be glad you’re home. And I’ll bet they’re proud of their grandson.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Why didn’t you bring him to visit Don Pablo? I’m sure he’d be tickled pink to meet the boy.”

  “I might, if I get a chance. But I wanted to see Don Pablo on business,” Tejada replied absently before he remembered that he had just claimed the purpose of his trip was to visit family.

  Nilo raised his eyebrows, but he said nothing. There was silence. Tejada recognized a professional’s technique for eliciting a confession. He was an expert at it himself. But it did not seem worth the effort to resist Nilo’s curiosity. “My father’s aunt Rosalia died a couple of weeks ago,” he said. “Tha
t’s actually why I’m here.”

  The old man nodded. “I wondered if that was it.”

  “What?”

  “There’s not going to be any need to drag the family into court over the will, is there?” Nilo spoke with concern.

  “What—?” Tejada reframed the question. “How did you know that there was . . . any controversy?”

  “I didn’t really,” Nilo said apologetically. “But Don Pablo was her lawyer, you know, and a couple of weeks ago she came in all steamed up, muttering about changing her will. She was always coming to Don Pablo with one thing or another, but that last time she was hissing and spitting about disowning this one and punishing that one. And then when I heard she’d gone so suddenly, I thought there’d be trouble. So when you came to see Don Pablo, I put two and two together.”

  “You know she made a will?” Tejada demanded, suddenly intent.

  “Not a will,” Nilo laughed. “At least half a dozen since her husband passed away, poor lady.”

  Tejada stiffened. How had Pablo Almeida described Rosalia’s will? “Some of the bequests are a bit . . . inequitable.” And now Nilo was offering confirmation. Then why had his father said that Doña Rosalia died intestate? Perhaps his father was simply mistaken and had assumed the old lady had left no will because if there had been one he should have been summoned to a reading of the document. If there was a will, why had it not been read and published? Maybe one of the potential heirs she disinherited took the will and is hoping he’ll receive a share according to the law if she’s presumed intestate, Tejada thought. With something like horror, he recalled that the only person who had insisted Doña Rosalia was intestate was his own father. No. Instinctively he searched for ways to discredit the half-formed accusation. “You don’t mean to say she confided in you about her will?” he demanded harshly.

  “Not about details,” the old man admitted. “But she passed the time of day with me when she came in. Maybe she talked a bit more freely than she should have. But she was angry and upset that last time, and Don Pablo’s a busy man, so he didn’t always have enough time for her.” Nilo coughed deprecatingly. “We old folks keep each other company sometimes.”

  Tejada sighed, defeated. Doña Rosalia had been anything but discreet, especially when she was angry. He could picture Don Pablo tactfully ushering her out of the office, still in midcry, ready to vent her annoyance on whoever happened to be within earshot. “What did she tell you?” he asked.

  “She’d fought with Señorita Dani. I don’t know what about,” Nilo answered. Tejada took a moment to translate “Señorita Dani” into the deceased’s daughter, his father’s cousin Daniela, more commonly known since her marriage as the Condesa de Almagro. Nilo continued. “They were always quarreling, but nothing serious. Just the way mothers and daughters do. But she was really angry with Señorito Felipe. She said he’d disgraced the family and was worse than a Red.”

  Tejada blinked. Although they were actually first cousins once removed, he had always known Doña Rosalia’s youngest son as “Tío Felipe.” Only fifteen years separated Felipe Ordoñez from the lieutenant whose older brother was even closer to him in age. Tío Felipe had been the good-natured playmate of their childhood and sympathetic counselor of their adolescence. The lieutenant remembered Tío Felipe as a lazily cheerful man, who delighted in shocking the female members of the family by his determined refusal to marry and settle down. Felipe had inherited a controlling share in a profitable sugar refinery from one of his paternal uncles, but he never seemed interested in business. In his youth he had written some poetry, which he freely admitted was terrible but published at his own expense anyway. Although Tejada’s mother, along with Doña Rosalia, had delighted in calling Felipe “irresponsible,” the charge was not really justified. He lived comfortably but not extravagantly, well within his income, and without being a burden on his family. Although his mother had nagged him from time to time, it was always with considerable affection. He was her youngest child, and he had mastered the art of being lovable. “She was angry at Felipe?” Tejada said, disbelieving. “Why?”

  Nilo shrugged. “I couldn’t really figure it out. She had the usual complaints about him.” He hesitated. “But she was more. . . more vicious the last time. I mean, she always said he was irresponsible and needed to learn that the world wasn’t there for his own amusement but . . .”

  “She enjoyed saying that,” Tejada confirmed.

  The old man nodded. “That’s right. But this time she was really angry. She was raving about how men like him would bring down the country with their immorality.”

  Tejada experienced a faint twinge of guilt as he remembered his last meeting with his Tío Felipe. He had been twenty-one and preparing to enter the Guardia. Newly imbued with the ideals of the Falange, he had eagerly preached them to his cousin. Felipe had laughed at him, making a light response about wine, women, and song. With his boy’s offended dignity Tejada had flared: “It’s people with your attitude who are responsible for the Republic! You’ll drink and dance while this country goes to the dogs, and you don’t even have the decency to care about it!” Annoyed, but still with a pretense of laughter, Felipe had told him to take himself less seriously. They had parted in anger. Now, hearing the echo of his own words in Doña Rosalia’s, and able to imagine his own reaction to the certainties of an arrogant youth, it occurred to Tejada that he had been cruel to his uncle. “You think she cut Felipe out of her will?” he asked, finding himself feeling sorry for his cousin.

  Nilo nodded. “Absolutely certain. But there was more than that.” He lowered his voice. “She was saying she ought to report Felipe to the Guardia.” He looked at Tejada and his voice was pleading. “She didn’t do that, did she, Lieutenant? I’ve met Señorito Felipe a time or two, and he’s a nice gentleman. He wouldn’t do anything wrong.”

  Tejada took a deep breath and silently thanked God that Rosalia had died before expanding her wild accusations about Reds from her servants to her children. “No,” he said. “No, of course not. And even if she had . . . well, the Guardia knew that she was an elderly lady who got a little confused sometimes.”

  “That’s good then.” Nilo relaxed. “I’m sorry to be nosy, but as I say, Señorito Felipe’s a good man, and when I saw you coming to Don Pablo’s I thought maybe there’d been some kind of trouble.”

  “And I thought you wanted the pleasure of my company,” Tejada said wryly.

  “That, too, of course,” the old man agreed. “And I was curious to meet your wife. I get bored, you know.”

  “It sounds like there’s plenty of drama at Number Five,” Tejada remarked with a laugh.

  “It’s not like being a guardia though,” Nilo said wistfully.

  The conversation became general again, and a few minutes later they were rejoined by Elena and Toño. The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. It was after eleven when the Tejadas said their good-byes, and Nilo warmly invited them to have dinner with him again whenever they had time.

  Away from the bustle of the cafés in the plaza, the streets were dark and silent. Toño walked between his parents, too sleepy to talk much. When they reached home, Elena tucked him in and, returning to their room, and found her husband already in bed.

  “That was a very enjoyable evening,” she said. “I liked him.”

  “I thought you would.”

  Elena frowned at his tone. “Didn’t you have a good time?”

  Tejada watched Elena undoing her hair and smiled, remembering Nilo’s estimation of her. “No. I did. But . . . it’s hard being home.”

  He woke early the next morning, restless. A lingering memory of Nilo made him decide to wear a uniform instead of his vacation clothes, and a shrewd suspicion of what his mother would say about his wearing it made him skip breakfast and head straight for the post. He told himself that since he had a limited amount of time he ought to spend most of it working. When he arrived, his industry was justified. The post was buzzing with activity as the shift cha
nged, and a guardia hailed him as soon as he entered, and directed him to Sergeant Rivas’s office.

  “Sir!” the sergeant saluted formally. “Good morning. Good to see you so early. What are your orders about the Ordoñez case? I’ve detailed two men to search the Casa Ordoñez and more are at your disposal if you need them. And naturally I’ll be happy to assist you personally as soon as you give the word.”

  “I thought you said you’d already made up the duty roster for the week.” Tejada wondered briefly if Rivas was also trying to ignore demons by losing himself in his work. He seemed almost unnaturally eager to help this morning. “There’s no need to waste men on this. I was really just checking in.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to check in, sir.” Rivas saluted again. His face had the expression of a man who is suffering from a toothache. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and prepared himself for a metaphorical dentist’s drill. “We received the autopsy report late last night. It seems Doña Rosalia had ingested cyanide. The poison killed her.”

  Chapter 9

  Tejada spared a moment to wonder why he had been so anxious to get to work early that morning.

  He asked, with faint hope, “I suppose there’s no possibility of eating or drinking cyanide by accident?”

  “I’m afraid not, sir. Not seeing how careful she was.”

  “Suicide?” Tejada knew as he spoke that this was nonsense.

  “She was very devout, sir. And, anyway, why would she do a thing like that?”

  “Your men are searching the house for a source?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tejada thought about what he should do next. No good options presented themselves. “Good work,” he said, paving the way for telling Rivas that he had absolute confidence in the investigative skills of the Guardia in Granada and that he would be happy to let Rivas continue to handle the case.