by Paula Paul
“To become the chief of police?”
“Yes, I saw a lot of opportunity here.”
“Well, we have our share of crooks and criminals, if that’s what you mean.”
He laughed. “Just enough to keep me busy.”
Irene offered a nonchalant shrug. “A dead woman in a closet now and then…”
Andy smiled and shook his head. “That doesn’t happen too often, thank goodness.”
Irene’s expression became more serious, and she leaned toward him from across the table. “Tell me, who has taken my place as a person of interest?”
“You of all people should know I can’t discuss that.”
“It’ll be on TV before you know it,” she said, egging him on.
“Not if I can help it. I don’t want anything to jeopardize the investigation.”
Irene leaned back in her seat. “Of course. I can understand that.”
“But you couldn’t keep yourself from asking,” Andy said, and smiled at her.
“I guess I can’t stop thinking like a prosecutor,” she said.
“Maybe you should consider resurrecting your profession in Santa Fe,” he said. “The courts could use a person like you.”
“No, thanks,” she said. “I came here to take care of my mother. I don’t want to get myself into something that consumes me more or less twenty-four hours a day.”
“Admirable,” he said.
“Speaking of my mother,” she said, after a waitress had taken their order, “is she by any chance on your list of persons of interest?”
Andy almost choked on the water from the glass the waitress had placed in front of him. “Adelle Seligman a person of interest? Why would you say that?”
“Well, if I’m a person of interest, I suppose anyone could be.”
“Your mother told you about the so-called bidding war, I assume.”
Irene was surprised that he would bring it up. Apparently, it had been the hot topic of local gossip. “Uh, yes,” Irene said. That was a lie, but she wasn’t sure she should mention P.J.
“What else did she tell you?”
Irene’s body tensed, and she sensed a need for caution. Had she been wrong to bring up Adelle at this point? “Not much,” she said after a pause. “Just that she was pleased with the deal she got. Why do you ask?”
“Was there animosity between them?”
“Of course not,” Irene said, although she had no idea whether or not there was animosity. Her mother hadn’t even told her about the bidding war. That had been P.J.’s story. Her probing obviously wasn’t going well.
“No, I can’t imagine there would be,” Andy said. He smiled. “Relax, Irene. Your mother is not a person of interest. For one thing, it doesn’t make sense that she would kill Loraine and leave her body in your store for you to find. I know Adelle Seligman has a reputation for being a bit unorthodox, but a body in your closet is way too out there.”
Irene felt some of the tension release. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, it is a little too out there. Even for Adelle.”
“Now, relax,” he said, giving her his shy smile. “Let’s talk about something else. Something besides police work.” He looked at her over the rim of the glass of tea he’d ordered, took a sip, and set it down. “Tell me about you,” he said. “What was it like growing up here in Santa Fe?”
“Oh, a lot like growing up in San Antonio, I would think. Culturally diverse, but not as hot and humid.”
“Thank God for that,” he said, smiling again.
She liked his smile and liked being with him. They talked for a long time, she telling him about growing up Jewish in Santa Fe, and he telling her about growing up the son of a poor Mexican immigrant in San Antonio.
“Our lives couldn’t have been more different,” he said. “You from a prominent family, me from the wrong side of the tracks.”
“And yet we end up in the same place on a summer day, eating meatloaf.”
“Next time it will be someplace nice,” he said, then added, “if you’ll consent to a next time.”
“Ask me,” she said, and glanced at the at the big neon clock with the words Time to Eat around its face. “Oh, my God! It’s one-thirty. I was supposed to be back at one.”
“I’ll call,” he said, as she hurried away.
“Yes,” she answered. “Please call.”
Chapter 4
The rain had stopped by the time Irene walked back to her store. It was only a few minutes later that Susana Delgado showed up, looking grim and carrying a big shopping bag from Nordstrom in Denver. It contained clothes she wanted to leave to be sold.
“I’m sorry, Susana, I only look at consignment pieces on Tuesdays after five,” she said.
“Oh, come on, Irene, don’t be such a stickler,” Susana said, shaking the rain off her umbrella. You don’t have any customers now,” she added with a sweep of her hand around the store. “You can spare a few minutes for your mother’s old friend, can’t you?”
Irene breathed a deep sigh, knowing it wasn’t a good idea to upset any of her mother’s friends, since they were her best connections to other women who could provide her with upscale merchandise. “All right,” she said with a glance out the door. “It doesn’t look as if customers are beating down the door. I’ll have a look at what you have.”
There were three outfits, all of them in perfect shape and all of them no more than one season past.
“Certainly I’ll take them,” Irene said, “for the usual sixty-forty split. Sixty for the business and forty for—”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” Susana said, much to Irene’s surprise. She’d expected her to argue for a bigger cut. “There’s something I want to tell you,” she added, looking even more grim than she had when she first came in.
“Of course,” Irene said, wondering why she’d thought she had to use an excuse of consigning clothing to the store in order to talk.
“It’s about Loraine,” Susana said.
Irene’s eyebrows went up in surprise, and she glanced out the front window at the empty sidewalk just beyond the courtyard, wondering if, now that it had stopped raining, customers would stay away long enough to allow her to talk to Susana. Just as she turned her attention back to Susana the storm bared its teeth with a streak of lightning and bellowed thunder in the same instant. The big glass pane in the front of the store vibrated, and Susana collapsed into the chair Irene kept behind the counter.
“I hate these summer storms,” Susana said just as another loud roar burst from the heavens, followed by an ocean of rain that obscured the view of the ancient streets of Santa Fe.
“They never last long,” Irene said, and the rain lessened as if she’d commanded it.
The look on Susana’s frightened face seemed to suggest she’d forgotten whatever it was she wanted to tell her.
“What about Loraine?” Irene prompted.
Susana looked at her for a long time without speaking. Finally she said, “Loraine was involved in something. I couldn’t talk about this in front of the others, but…” She didn’t seem to be able to go on, and Irene could now see that her frightened expression had nothing to do with the storm.
“Involved in something?”
“Something very dangerous.”
“What do you mean, ‘dangerous’?”
Susana shook her head. Irene didn’t know if that meant she didn’t know or wouldn’t tell.
“The man, the one she was having the affair with…I can’t tell you who. It would be too risky, but I know him. It wasn’t the governor. I know I was trying to make everyone think that’s who it was, for reasons I can’t explain. The point is, Loraine knew too much. That’s why she was killed.”
“Are you saying the man she was having the affair with thought she knew too much and killed her?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Look,” Irene said, “if you know something about this, you should tell the police. Don’t be afraid. I’ll go with you if you want.”
Susana blanched even whiter, and she shook her head. “You don’t understand. I can’t go to the police, but I had to tell you for your own good. Besides, you used to be a D.A. You can tell me what to do if…”
“If what?” Irene said when Susana didn’t seem to be able to continue.
“I’m afraid,” Susana said finally. “And Adelle…”
At that moment the front door opened and two women, obviously tourists, entered, grumbling about the weather. Irene knew she should ask if she could help them find something, but she spoke to Susana instead. “What about Adelle?” Her voice was low but urgent.
“I can’t talk now,” Susana said, eyeing the two customers. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Tell Adelle to be careful, because—”
“Do you have this in a size eight?” one of the women asked, holding up a pair of jeans.
“I’m sorry, but everything’s one of a kind. It’s all consignment,” Irene said.
“Are you sure? It’s not impossible to have it in a size eight, is it?”
“Just highly unlikely,” Irene said, “but that’s a ten. Maybe it runs small. If you’d like to try it on—”
The woman scowled at her. “Don’t argue with me. I know what size I wear, and I always wear an eight.”
“Of course,” Irene said, holding her temper at bay as she walked toward the woman. “I do know that I have a similar pair in a size eight. A different designer.” She pulled the jeans from the rack and held them up for the woman to examine.
“They’re more expensive,” the woman said.
“That’s because they’re Dolce and Gabbana. They retail for seven hundred dollars.”
The woman sniffed. “I’d never pay that much for a pair of jeans.”
“These are only two hundred,” Irene said, still holding the jeans.
“Only? Only two hundred? That’s still too much for a pair of jeans, I don’t care who the designer is.”
Irene tried to interest her in several other pairs, but she was having a hard time staying focused. Did Adelle know the same thing Loraine knew? Something that could get her killed?
By the time the disgruntled woman and her companion left without buying anything, Susana had slipped out the back door. In between customers Irene tried to call Adelle, but there was no answer either on her cellphone or on the home phone.
She left messages on both phones for her mother to call her back. When her business phone rang just before closing time, she raced to pick it up, but a quick glance at the number display indicated that the caller was “Unavailable.” Adelle may have borrowed someone else’s telephone. She often forgot to keep her own phone charged. Had she been in an accident and someone else was calling to inform her?
All of those thoughts raced through Irene’s mind in the short time it took her to pick up and say hello.
“Stay away from Susana Delgado,” an unfamiliar voice said. “And no more questions.”
“Who is this?” Irene asked while her heart hammered.
“Just do as I say.”
“Who is this?” she demanded again.
This time the only answer was a dial tone.
Chapter 5
Irene was sitting in the kitchen the next morning and had just poured herself a cup of coffee when she picked up the paper and saw the headline about the theft of several pieces of valuable art from a gallery on Canyon Road. Loraine Sellers’s death had been demoted to a story below the fold with no new details.
She scanned the paper quickly as she finished her coffee. She wasn’t certain what she was looking for. Maybe something that would provide an answer to why anyone would warn her to stay away from Susana? She had decided last night that the call was nothing more than a prank. Now she wasn’t sure. Should she call the police and tell them about the call? She switched on the small-screen television that hung suspended from a wall in the kitchen. A voice blared at her in full volume, telling her that she had only a few minutes left to purchase at a bargain price the glittering diamond ring displayed on the slender, perfectly manicured hand. Irene fumbled to turn down the volume and to switch to the station that carried a morning newscast, hoping to learn more about Susana’s death. A sexy brunette lounging on a bed was extolling the advantages of Viagra.
Irene turned down the volume and poured herself another cup of coffee while an announcer told her she could lease a new Lexus for as little as four hundred dollars a month. Before that commercial ended and another began, Adelle stumbled into the kitchen with a bad case of bed hair and wearing an elegant satin robe.
“Adelle! What are you doing up so early?”
“You shouldn’t have to ask,” Adelle snapped. “I was awakened by the most horrific sound of someone shouting from the television. My God,” she added, her voice hoarse from sleep. “Look at the clock. It’s only eight o’clock! Why must you wake me up so early?”
“I didn’t wake you on purpose,” Irene said. “I just switched on the TV and—”
“A cup of coffee, please,” Adelle said. “And why is the TV so loud?”
Irene reached into the cupboard for another cup. “You’re the one who turns the shopping channel up to full volume every day.”
“I need to be able to hear it anywhere in the house,” Adelle said. She accepted the coffee Irene had just poured and added a splash of cream.
“Of course you do.”
“No need to sound patronizing,” Adelle said, staring at the coffee cup as if she was still too sleepy to know what to do next. “You never turn the TV on in the morning, and I don’t understand why you…What? What did that newsperson just say? Something about Susana?”
Irene turned to the TV, giving it her full attention.
“The dead body of prominent socialite Susana Delgado was discovered less than an hour ago. The body was on the floor of a store on the Plaza that just recently opened. The store, known as Irene’s Closet, is the same location where the body of another socialite, Loraine Sellers, was recently found. It is not known if the two deaths are connected, and few details are available. Police Chief Andrew Iglesias said more details will be forthcoming as the investigation continues.”
Adelle gasped “Dead? Susana? I should have known.”
Irene was almost too stunned to speak. All she could think of was getting to her store.
Adelle took a sip of her coffee. “God, that’s awful! You know I don’t like it so strong.”
“Make yourself another pot.”
“Make it myself?” Adelle stood and walked to the sink to pour the coffee down the drain. “You know I never—”
“I have to go, Adelle.” Irene hurried to the door leading from the kitchen, but turned around again to face Adelle. “What do you mean, you should have known?”
“Susana knew it was going to happen. That’s what she was trying to tell us when she mentioned that house in the mountains.”
“What are you talking about? What house in the mountains?”
“It’s somewhere in the Pecos Wilderness.” Adelle looked down at her coffee cup with a forlorn look. “One of those luxury places with all the amenities, swimming pool, spa, tennis courts, the works. Or so I’ve heard. She never invited me up so I could see it for myself. I don’t understand why she didn’t invite me. I thought we were friends. After all, I even agreed to take a class with her at the community college just because she didn’t want to go by herself.” Adelle looked up at Irene. There were tears in her eyes. “She wanted to learn to read ancient Hebrew. Why, I can’t imagine, but it was the most boring thing I’ve ever done. Gibberish. I couldn’t figure out what it meant in English, much less—”
“Adelle, please! Get to the point. What does her mountain home have to do with her death?”
“I don’t know.”
Irene felt a headache coming on and covered her eyes with her hand. Talking to Adelle had always been a challenge for her.
“The thing is, she mentioned to Harriet and me not long ago that if anything ever happe
ned to her we should search her mountain lodge.”
Irene moved her hand from her eyes and stared at Adelle. “Go on.”
“Well, of course, I thought she was being melodramatic to imply that something could happen to her. Something bad, I mean.”
“What else did she say?”
“Nothing. We just ignored her, both of us, because, as I said, I thought she was just seeking attention, and I wasn’t going to fall for it. Are there any tea bags in the cupboard? I can’t drink this coffee.”
Irene took a box of tea bags from the cupboard and set it on the table with considerable force. “Where in the Pecos Wilderness is the lodge?”
“How should I know? I told you I’ve never been.”
“Does Harriet know?”
Adelle answered with a huff, then added, “I should think not. If I have never been invited, you can be certain Harriet hasn’t. I need hot water for my tea, dear.”
“The kettle is on the stove, Adelle.” Irene spoke over her shoulder on her way out of the kitchen. “Surely you can boil water.” She took the time to glance at the TV again, but the announcer had gone on to a story about the art theft.
Irene ran up the stairs, hurrying to shower and get dressed, wondering how the police got into her closed store to find the body. It had been found only recently, too late in the morning to make it in the paper and just in time for the TV morning news. She grabbed her mobile phone from the dresser as she hurried out and clicked it on to search for Harriet’s number, hoping she would be more help than Adelle had been. The phone didn’t respond. She’d forgotten to charge it. That might explain why she hadn’t heard from the police. Her mobile number was the only number she’d given them when she was taken to the station, since her landline had not yet been installed.
The yellow crime tape was up again when she arrived. She recognized Andy Iglesias, standing in front of the store with a mobile phone to his ear. He clicked it off and stuck it in his pocket as soon as he saw her.
“I’ve been trying to call you,” he said.
“Sorry. My phone’s dead. I’m surprised you haven’t already come to pick me up. Apparently, the body was found long enough ago for the media to get a story. Why wasn’t I notified?”
