Cozy Mystery Fiction With Courtroom Drama
A Man's Face by B. Roman
Book excerpt
At luncheon the next day Marc is guided to the veranda overlooking a garden that could have been painted by an impressionist master. Seeing the rainbow of flower varieties, with sun shining through their petals giving off a translucent glow, Marc feels it is more heavenly than material. He greets Abuela and assists her with her chair at the table. Today she is the little grandmother, less formal and without her mantilla to reveal striking silver-streaked black hair. Her dress is sedate but colorful, a teal green, accented by the same silver cross and a turquoise and silver ring.
“I’m glad you could make time for me, Marc Jordan.”
“Anabel needed a personal day so I was fortunately free to visit with her Abuelita. She was quite happy about it.” He finds it easy to smile affectionately at this fine woman, yet is somewhat bemused as to why they have formed a personal connection so quickly.
“Good. Then we can take our time.”
“This is an enchanting garden,” Marc comments, knowing not a thing about flower varieties but quite taken with the array of vivid colors, sculpted hedges and towering trees. He thanks the waiter who brings sumptuous plates of food and a bottle of wine.
“It’s my favorite part of the house,” Abuela confides. “There are no walls or boundaries. The beauty extends forever. So,” she shifts the conversation, “how did you and Anabel meet? She is an artist and you are a lawyer. Two different worlds.”
“A friend took me to the opening of an art exhibit. Anabel was there. She had designed the gallery’s logo and interior display areas. I found her work amazing, but must admit I was more impressed with her persona. She was truly in her element there. And she has a regal quality about her, in a very sultry way.”
“There is more to Anabel than her sultry good looks, Marc Jordan.” Abuela’s gaze is steady but her eyes twinkle.
“So I have happily discovered.” Not the time to expound on Anabel’s appetites. Instead he reveals his own. “Gosh, this food is wonderful.” He tries to eat the queso croquettes with decorum and not scarf them down. He barely succeeds. He swears to himself he will run an extra mile to compensate.
“And what was it that she found so scintillating about you?” Abuelita asks. “Aside from your sultry good looks.”
Marc is usually embarrassed by compliments about his thick chestnut hair, smooth warm complexion and trim runner’s body. After all, he had nothing to do with it; he won the gene pool lottery - gifts from two very attractive parents. He takes care of himself physically, out of survival and not vanity. But “sultry” is not an adjective anyone has ever used to describe him. In fact, he is rather reserved, unlike Anabel whose passion about everything is obvious and undeniably irresistible.
“I guess it’s true what they say: opposites attract,” Marc reasons.
In between food delights, they exchange pleasantries about the weather, the food, the flowers, and enjoy the nature surrounding them. After expounding on the plight of vanishing bees Abuela announces with finality, “enough small talk.”
They move from the veranda through open doors and step into the library, a comfortable room with polished cherry wood bookshelves and a vast collection of books that no one could possibly read in one lifetime. Abuela motions to Marc to sit next to her on the plush settee. On the coffee table in front of them are stacks of photo albums which she invites Marc to enjoy with her. An antique photo of a handsome couple catches Marc’s attention.
“Yes, that is me and my late husband on our wedding day in Segovia, Spain. Your wedding will be a grand affair as well when you become Anabel’s husband.”
Marc is surprised she mentions “husband,” since neither he nor Anabel have spoken in detail of a wedding. There hasn’t even been a formal proposal.
“You are not sure you want to marry her?”
“Yes, of course I am. But I’m told I have to ask permission of her father, and she doesn’t think he’s ready yet.”
“Do not worry about Amador. I am the one who will pronounce the time to be right.”
Focusing back on the photos, Abuela speaks romantically about the history of wine in the family, going back many generations. She shows him photos of their home in Spain, a splendid Spanish Colonial style, but a modest one compared to the present Ibarra estate.
“My husband Angelo tilling the vineyard plots by mule,” Abuela describes the black and white picture. “Such a romantic sight compared to this age of technology. In some regions they still do this, you know.”
Marc gestures that it’s not something he knows.
“Angelo considered each wine he made to be singular and magical, and he believed it was the symbiotic relationship with his mule that created that magic,” she reminisces. “He lived and worked by that philosophy until the day he died - behind that beloved mule.” She smiles at Marc’s half opened mouth. How does he respond to that?
“Ah, and here we are at the early vineyard in Chula Vista, much smaller than it is today, but with endless vistas of property ready for nurturing. Eventually, under Amador’s supervision the winery grew and the vineyards expanded for acres and acres into what it is today.”
Abuela jumps ahead many years, leaving a void in the Ibarra business history. Discomforting history? Marc wonders. Something to be kept secret for family’s sake, or just kept from me?
More album pages display the typical pictures of family members at celebrations, of the many winery and house employees that are with them still, and of Anabel as she grows from a tot to an adolescent to a hauntingly beautiful young girl. In one photo a young boy is behind her, holding up her pigtails in a teasing manner, yet she is laughing at his playfulness.
“Something only a brother would do,” Marc jokes. “Is that Anabel’s brother?”
“Tell me,” Abuela says, changing the subject abruptly, “about your family.” She closes the album.
Marc hesitates, not wanting to reveal the intimate details or relive the pain, then doles out some generic facts. “My mother, Helena, was born in Mexico City. Her parents owned a restaurant and taught my mother to be an amazing cook. I never really knew them, because my parents and I moved to California when I was very young. Mom worked as a chef for a wealthy businessman. My father, Franco, grew up in the wine business in France, then worked for a vintner somewhere in this region, I don’t remember where. After he died my mother took care of me completely on her own.”
Upon hearing the name Franco, Abuela feels a turbulence inside but remains outwardly steely, not wanting to believe there is any connection to the Franco who worked for Amador years ago. Her eyes dare not look into his. “And your mother? Are you still close?”
“She died also, not long after my father did. Then I went to live with my aunt and uncle up north to finish school.”
Sorrow stabs at Abuela’s heart for this man that she is growing fond of. “For you to lose both parents at such a young age must be devastating.”
“Yes. It’s been difficult,” Marc admits.
“And yet you overcame it all to become a lawyer.” There is sincerity in her compliment.
“Yes, I was very fortunate that a trust fund was set aside for my education, but I never knew how my parents could afford it.”
“From your grandparents, perhaps?”
“I doubt it. My grandfather, Claudian Jourdain, was a Frenchman and a pilot in WWII.
So it is true, Abuela mourns silently. It is the same Franco.
“My dad would tell me stories about his missions, the danger, the romance. I think that’s where I developed my love of flying. Grandfather survived the war and took over his family’s vineyard in Alsace. My father grew up learning all about the business. Unfortunately, my grandfather lost it all to disease and frost and died poor. So, no, the trust fund could not have come from him.”
“I can empathize with that story. Despite all the wealth and luxury you see now, the Ibarra family has had its ups and downs. Hardships, lost crops, bankruptcies, before we finally realized success. It’s extremely hard work and money does not flow consistently. And your parents, they must have worked very hard to set up a trust fund for your education.”
“Yes, between that and some life insurance I was able to pay for college and law school without incurring student loans.”
“I’m glad that your shoulders are so unburdened, Marc Jordan. Jordan - you changed your name?”
“Yes, after I passed the bar and moved back to San Diego.”
Abuela does not ask why, but she is thankful that she does not have to say the name Jourdain over and over as Marc comes closer to being a part of the Ibarra family.
“I have never met Anabel’s mother.” Now it’s Marc’s turn to shift the topic of conversation. “I had hoped to, but Anabel says she travels and is rarely in the states.”
“My daughter-in-law, Madalena, lives in the family home in Spain and is a very sought after fashion designer in Europe.”
“A fashion designer. So that’s where Anabel gets her artistic talent. Does she see her often?”
“She moved away when Anabel was a young girl. She and my son are estranged and Amador would not let Anabel visit then.”
“Would not let her?”
“Irreconcilable differences as they say.”
“But she’s old enough to visit her now and she never goes?”
“Time heals old wounds, sometimes. Other times absence breaks a bond that was always fragile to begin with.”
Marc tilts his head, puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“When the time is right, Anabel will tell you. I’m not at liberty to divulge family secrets.”
“Clever writing, wicked family... I really enjoyed this read”
“Suspense at its best”
“Symphonic in structure and in mastery of themes and variations, B. Roman has created a mystery thriller that addresses human responses to evil while illuminating the tenor of courtroom drama and the global aspects of the art of enology. An excellent novel.”
Book Details
AUTHOR NAME: B. Roman
BOOK TITLE: A Man's Face
GENRE: Mystery
SUBGENRE: Cozy Mystery / Courtroom Drama
PAGE COUNT: 248
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