Miguel agreed. “That is unusual.” He slipped his notepad into his suit pocket and surprised Rosa with a change of subject. “How long are you planning to stay in Santa Bonita?”
“My return date is yet to be determined.”
“No family to get back to? You never married?”
He dared to ask the questions!
A knot formed in Rosa’s stomach. She couldn’t very well tell him she’d recently left a good man at the altar. And at twenty-eight years of age, she had no other prospects. Many people considered her on the verge of spinsterhood.
“No,” she said simply. “You?”
“Engaged.” He seemed to watch Rosa for her reaction. She kept her expression impassive though her emotions were an inner storm. Of course, he was, she thought to herself. She was surprised he wasn’t already married with a bunch of children clinging to his legs.
“Congratulations.” It came out dryly, and before she could check herself she asked, “Who’s the lucky girl?”
Miguel held her gaze for a moment too long before answering. “Her name is Charlene. Charlene Winter. She’s an aspiring actress and lives, for the time being, in Los Angeles.”
“I see.” Rosa was dying to know more, especially about how their long-distance relationship was working, and then chided herself. It was none of her business. She’d lost all rights to know anything about Miguel’s life when she left him—refusing his proposal—to return to London in ’45.
Miguel smoothed out his slacks and stood. “I need to get going. I was hoping to interview Mr. Clarence Forrester and Miss Gloria Forrester, but your aunt tells me they are still asleep. I guess I came a bit early in the day.” He smiled, and this time Rosa was ready for the dimples.
“No need to show me out,” he said. “I can find my way. I’ll be back sometime over the next couple of days.”
After he left, Rosa found her way to the rear garden again, feeling emotionally drained. She’d thought she’d pass through the rest of her life without ever setting eyes on Miguel Belmonte again, chalking up that tumultuous time—four measly months out of her twenty-eight years—to a youthful, emotional lapse. Seeing Miguel again was like awakening Mount Vesuvius, or rousing Old Faithful. Oh, what a dreadful turn of events!
Aunt Louisa approached with an iced tea in each hand. She handed one to Rosa.
“The two of you must’ve had a lot to say.”
Rosa plopped onto a pool lounger. “We only spoke about the case, Auntie.”
Aunt Louisa gracefully lowered herself into a nearby patio chair. “I would assume nothing else.”
“They’re considering the death suspicious.”
Aunt Louisa turned sharply. “You can’t be serious.”
“Detective Belmonte was quite serious.”
Aunt Louisa sipped on her iced tea, deep in thought. “Detective Belmonte will do his best, I'm sure,” she said, sounding platitudinal, “but there aren’t many suspicious deaths in Santa Bonita. I personally have my doubts that he is experienced enough to solve a homicide. I know this sounds terribly insensitive, but the truth is, people of his ethnicity have a harder time in positions of authority.”
Not sure what to make of that statement, Rosa furrowed her eyebrows.
Her aunt continued, “Well, you see people who are . . . like us, dear, may be reluctant to discuss every detail with a Hispanic man. Not everyone is as open-minded as you and me, Rosa.”
Rosa choked on her iced tea. Aunt Louisa’s view of herself was stunning.
Her aunt frowned in her direction. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
Aunt Louisa continued her monologue. “It just may be that he’ll have a harder time getting to the real truth of it.” She took a sip of her tea. “Frankly, I think you have more experience. And look at your pedigree.”
Rosa’s parentage was common knowledge to the Forrester family, but what they didn’t know, what almost no one knew, was that her mother had been a secret agent during the First World War. Rosa only knew about her mother’s secret and often dangerous life because she’d happened upon an old journal where her mother had, selectively and roughly coded, recorded some of her exploits. Rosa suspected that both of her parents had been recruited by the crown during the last war.
“Rosa? Are you listening?”
Rosa snapped back to attention. “Yes, Aunt Louisa.”
“I think you’d do a better job.”
Aunt Louisa’s statement was preposterous. “I don’t have jurisdiction in California. I doubt anyone would appreciate a police officer from another country interfering.” Much less a female officer, but Rosa kept that unsavory sentiment to herself.
Aunt Louisa’s lips twitched. She stood and patted Rosa on the shoulder. “I have some pull with the mayor. Just leave it to me.”
“Aunt Louisa! You mustn’t.”
“Of course, I must. I mean . . . there are a few details that I would rather keep ’in-house’, you might say. Besides, you’re bound to get bored with no grand puzzle to solve.”
Rosa’s mouth dropped open as she watched her aunt walk away armed with a new project—her pumps clicking on the tile as she strutted away, her shoulders straight with confidence
Rosa would’ve laughed if she didn’t know her aunt better. Louisa Hartigan Forrester was a force to be reckoned with, and the kind of lady who fully expected to get her way.
5
Rosa spent the rest of the day trying to relax and recharge her mental and physical batteries. When Gloria finally got out of bed, they spent time lounging around the pool. Rosa was glad she’d brought her swimming suit along, but if she were to stay much longer, she’d buy something a little more in vogue. Perhaps something from the Egyptian Collection on the cover of the Cole California magazine Gloria was currently reading. She liked the lemon-yellow one with diagonal hieroglyphic ribbons. Gloria looked especially charming, in her red suit with contrasting white
