Summer: Seasons de Santa Fe, #3

By Jo Carey

Can a chef and a diva find love on the Devil's Highway?

Iona McAndrews is a diva—an opera diva. Performing in Santa Fe is supposed to improve her attitude but Requiem on the Devil's Highway is even darker than her mood.

Karl Soderberg is the best Swedish chef in Santa Fe and the only one. He loves his job, but relationships have always been a challenge for him. He spends his free time working out in the gym and making unique flavors of mead in his apartment kitchen.

Will the Devil's highway be the road that leads these two to each other or will the power of Route 666 keep them apart? Find out in the third book of Jo Carey's Season de Santa Fe series. 150 pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jo Carey
• Release date: Apr 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386029151

Jo Carey

Jo Carey grew up in the Midwest but her curiosity and gypsy-spirit has kept her on the move. She's lived in eight US states and spent three years living in Ireland. She has always loved creature movies, so creatures and bugs often show up in her books. Jo, a former information security compliance guru, writes fast-paced, character-driven stories in a variety of genres from medical thrillers to space operas and cozy mysteries. Her novels are filled with humor, romance, and sometimes creatures or aliens, or maybe even all of the above. She often builds her stories around a strong female lead character surrounded by plenty of hunky male heroes. Jo's been under fire on a golf course and climbed out the roof of an elevator in the Netherlands. Life hasn't been boring. Now residing in Texas, setting often plays a huge role in her stories. Jo was intrigued by the League of Planetary Systems, a world her husband, Frank, created for his science fiction books, and she now writes mysteries and other types of tales sets in that world. Jo was bitten by a cat, a fire ant, and a snake, before succumbing to the bite of the writing bug.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

No. I will not attend an event at the local hospital. Why on Earth would you want me to risk getting ill? My voice is my wealth and yours, she said.

Iona, it’s only for a few minutes. These kids are suffering from horrible diseases and... Tim said.

And you want to expose me to that. I won’t do it. If you don’t see why this is a bad idea, then perhaps I need to hire a new manager, she said, pressing the end button on her phone and dropping it into the slim leather bag she carried.

Tim, I’m not just going to fire you, I’m going to kill you, she thought as she stopped at the top of the narrow metal stairs leading down to the tarmac. Is this even a real airport? she wondered.

Before walking into the terminal, if you could call it that, Iona smoothed the front of her black pants and tossed her long, copper red hair over her shoulder. She looked around for the signs to baggage claim but saw nothing. She was in a tiny room, crowded with the passengers from her flight and people who had come to meet them.

She walked out into what seemed to be the main hallway. There were a couple of car rental company desks, but still no indication of where she was to go to retrieve her luggage. To be honest, she had no intention of retrieving it until she found her driver. She assumed that the opera would send a limo to meet her.

A young man in a hotel uniform rushed up to her. Ma’am, are you Ms. McAndrews? he asked.

I am.

I’m from the Seasons de Santa Fe Hotel. Do you have your luggage yet? Iona made a point of looking at the small leather purse that was all she was holding. Oh, sorry, the young man said. Let’s go get your bags.

She looked at the name tag on the young man’s shirt. Jose, is it? she asked, pronouncing it with a hard J rather than the H sounds that was correct.

Actually, it’s Jose, ma’am.

Yes, well, where do we retrieve luggage. I haven’t seen any signs pointing to the location of baggage claim.

You walked right through it, he said. It’s this way.

He led her back to the small room she’d first entered. You’ve got to be kidding, she said as peopled jockeyed for position next to the baggage conveyor along the outside wall.

If you point out your bags, I’ll grab them for you, Jose said, oblivious to Iona’s attitude.

The young man never stopped smiling. Iona wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anyone smile quite as genuinely as Jose Tyler, even though she’d done nothing to hide her disapproval of the Santa Fe Airport. She pointed out each of her three huge bags and her only slightly smaller makeup case. Iona couldn’t help but admire the young man’s muscular arms as he easily hefted the luggage off the conveyor and made an orderly pile at her feet. Too damn young, she grumbled under her breath.

Jose happily prattled on about the hotel and the city of Santa Fe as he loaded Iona’s bags into the hotel shuttle van and drove her to the hotel’s front door. Reception is straight ahead through the doors. Maria will check you in. I’ll deliver your bags to your room.

Thank you, Jose, Iona said as he held the door open for her to enter. I’m sure my stay will be memorable.

Maria did indeed welcome Iona to the hotel and go on and on about how honored they were that she would be staying at the Seasons de Santa Fe while she was guest starring with the Santa Fe Opera.  It wasn’t like Iona had any say in the choice of hotel. The Santa Fe Opera people had made all the arrangements. She had to admit that the hotel seemed higher quality than she expected based on her experience with the local airport.

CHAPTER TWO

Good night, Chef, Maria said as Karl walked through the lobby on his way home.

Good night, Maria. I hope the rest of your shift is quiet.

Maria offered the chef a friendly smile. The executive chef at the Seasons de Santa Fe, was a quiet man who kept to himself. It had taken months of working closely with Maria, the hotel manager before he’d even exchange the basic pleasantries with her. He knew she probably thought that he was cold and unfriendly, but it was just his way. Rod Garcia, one of the hotel’s owners and the creative force behind the Garcia Group’s new line of boutique hotels, was a good friend of Karl’s. Rod had thought it would be good to have a chef that could offer a menu in the hotel restaurant that was not the traditional Santa Fe style food that was so prevalent in the city’s many restaurants. Chef Karl Soderberg was the only Swedish chef in Santa Fe. He jumped at the opportunity to move to Santa Fe and run the Season’s food service department when his friend Rod offered him the position. It was a step up from his head chef position at the Garcia Group’s hotel in Chicago, even though the property was much smaller.

Karl loved planning the menus and teaching his line cooks how to prepare his unique creations that blended many cuisine styles. When Americans thought of Swedish cuisine, Swedish meatballs was usually the first dish that came to mind. If they had any other ideas about his native cuisine, it usually included herring or some other fish. While Chef Karl was a master of Swedish cuisine, he enjoyed creating unique dishes that were his own, like his salmon bisque omelet.

There was an eight-hour time difference between Santa Fe and the small town in Sweden where Karl’s parents lived about an hour outside Stockholm. He missed his family, but was proud of the career he built since arriving in the US on a student visa at the age of eighteen. Every Saturday night, Karl walked from the Seasons de Santa Fe to a local twenty-four-hour gym where he worked out before heading home to call his family in Sweden. He went to the gym most nights after work. It had become his preferred method of calming his mind before trying to get some sleep.

XXX

Good morning, Mamma, Karl said, as he looked at the smiling face of his mother on his computer screen.

Good morning, Karl. You look tired, she said, scooting over until his father’s face appeared on the screen.

Hello, son. How are you?

After sharing stories about their weeks, Karl asked how his sister, Linnea, was doing and heard tales about her family and children.

Karl, do you ever take a day off from your job? his mother asked. How will you ever find a nice girl and settle down if you’re always in the kitchen.

If it’s meant to be, then it will happen, Karl said. His parents had voiced this same concern each week for the past few years. Karl knew they only wanted him to be happy, but dating was not something Karl enjoyed. He enjoyed his privacy and didn’t find it easy to allow anyone to get close to him. Karl liked people and had gotten more comfortable with strangers after being in the US for so many years, but still, by American standards, he was standoffish and aloof.

He finished his call with his folks, turned off his laptop, and crawled into bed.

CHAPTER THREE

Iona didn’t enjoy traveling. She only agreed to the role in Santa Fe because it was a chance to give the premier performance of an opera that was written with a starring role for a contralto, not something that happened often. She’d fallen in love with the music, if not the story behind the opera called Requiem on the Devil’s Highway. This was a modern opera that played to the paranormal sensibilities of a younger audience. Tim, Iona’s manager, had convinced her that it would broaden her audience and provide a unique showcase for her voice as she portrayed the lead character, Melinoe, the Greek Goddess of Ghosts. It was a dark role that suited Iona’s mood of late, and she found the music compelling.

Settled into her suite on the hotel’s top floor, Iona unpacked. She’d just sat down to review the week’s schedule when her cell phone played the tune that let her know her boyfriend, Lance was calling. She was tempted to let it go to voice mail, but she knew that would only delay the inevitable.

Hello, Lance, she said.

Hello, Iona. When is your flight to Santa Fe? I’ll take you to the airport.

My flight was this morning, so no need to alter your schedule of important meetings.

I’m sorry, Iona. I wanted to see you before you left, but with the Kretchfields in town, I’ve been tied up with family obligations.

I suspected that was the problem. How is Elizabeth?

Iona, you know she’s just a family friend.

Yes, a family friend that was more important than seeing me before I headed out of town for a month. Enjoy yourself, Lance and say hi to Elizabeth for me.

She ended the call. Iona’s track record with men wasn’t good. She dated a lot, but they always wanted something from her. If it was only about sex, she wouldn’t have minded, but in her case, they wanted something her fame could bring—one was convinced that his 16-year-old nephew was going to be the next Pavarotti, another man she dated for over a year had finally admitted he hoped being connected to her would garner his travel company the business for the opera’s touring schedule.

Iona’s fortieth birthday was on the horizon, and she wasn’t looking forward to it. Shed hoped to have a husband and a family by now, but since she was discovered at the age of 15 singing opera in her family’s restaurant in Rome, Georgia, she had little say about the path her life had taken. She knew how lucky she was to have been able to do the thing she loved the most—singing, but she needed something more in her life. She wanted someone to come home to at the end of a tour or the end of the night. Luckily, her voice was just as strong as it had ever been, but in another five or ten years, her age would become a detriment to her career even if her voice held strong.

Thinking about her voice reminded her that she hadn’t made a cup of the special throat soothing tea she credited with keeping her voice strong all these years. It was a strong black tea laced with a liberal amount of lingonberry mead. One of Iona’s first voice coaches had told her it would sooth her voice and keep it clear. She started drinking her special throat tea before she was old enough to drink the mead legally, but it worked. She seldom suffered with any afflictions that affected her voice. Normally, when she was going to be away from home for more than a day, she made arrangements to ensure that her special drink would be available. Tim had pushed her into this opportunity in Santa Fe without a lot of prep time, and she’d forgotten to make the necessary preparations.

She needed to ask some questions about local food options anyway, so rather than call down to the front desk, she decided a walk was in order. She threw on a pair of sandals and took the elevator to the lobby. The hotel was quiet as it was still mid-afternoon on Sunday. The woman who had checked her in was still behind the desk. Glancing at the woman’s name tag, Iona said, Hello again, Maria.

Ms. McAndrews. How can I help you? she asked.

Iona asked what time breakfast and dinner were served in the hotel restaurant and about local restaurants that delivered. She knew her schedule would be filled with rehearsals, and she might need to grab food at odd hours. Thanks for the information, but now I have a bit of a crisis. I normally make arrangements ahead of time for a special drink I use to soothe my throat, but this opportunity came up suddenly, so I didn’t have time to make my usual preparations.

If you can tell me what you need, I’m sure we can get it for you, Maria said.

I need a strong black tea, any high-quality brand should do, Iona said.

I’ll have the kitchen bring you up a selection of what we have available. If it doesn’t meet your needs, let me know, and I’ll look for other local options. Is there something else?

I mix the tea with a lingonberry mead.

I’m not sure we have that, but I’ll see what I can do, Maria said.

I guess I shouldn’t expect much in this remote location, Iona said with a haughty flip of her hair as she headed for the elevators.

CHAPTER FOUR

Who was that woman? Chef Karl asked as he walked up to the reception desk.

That was the opera diva that’s staying with us while she stars in the opera’s upcoming production. She plays the diva role well don’t you think? Maria asked.

Her voice is amazing. It’s mesmerizing, Chef Karl said.

Her name is Iona McAndrews. I don’t think she’s very happy to be here. Jose picked her up at the airport. She seems a little shocked by how backwards Santa Fe is. Now she needs a special drink.

What kind of drink? Karl asked.

Something she uses for her throat. Let’s see, she needs a good strong high-quality black tea and lingonberry mead. Maria shook her head.

Lingonberry mead, really? the chef asked.

That’s what she said. Do you know what that is?

Of course, the Swedish use lingonberries in everything even our liquor. If you’ll give me her room number, I’ll see that she has what she needs, he said.

Karl, if any other man said that too me, I’d be blushing, but coming from you, I’m sure you mean exactly what you say. She’s in suite 32. Let me know if you need help. Maria could see that Karl was awed by the opera star, but she worried that the soft-spoken Swede would be crushed by the diva.

Karl headed to