A Killer Closet

by Paula Paul

  “I just told you, I’ve been trying to reach you, and I didn’t send an officer to your house right away because we’re shorthanded because of that theft at the art gallery.”

  “Weren’t you afraid I’d leave town?”

  “If you were going to leave town, you would have already left before we found the body,” the chief said.

  “How did you get in the store? And what made you want to look there?”

  “We got in the store because your door was unlocked.” Andy scowled at her and ushered her toward the store. “You should be more careful.”

  “I locked my door before I left!” Irene said. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Calm down,” Andy said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  Irene wanted to protest that it was not possible to be calm when two women had been found dead in her store in a matter of days, but she lost her voice when she saw Susana’s body on the floor, a pool of blood surrounding he head. “Oh, no!” she whispered. The sight of the body affected her more than she’d expected it to. She’d seen plenty of dead bodies in her career, but never anyone she knew, and certainly not one she’d just been speaking with a few hours earlier.

  “A night patrolman noticed the open door and came in to have a look around. That’s how we found the body.”

  “I locked the door!” she said again, sounding even more emphatic. “Someone else must have a key.” The thought scared her.

  Andy took out a notebook. “You’re sure you locked the door?”

  “I’m absolutely certain.”

  “You knew the victim, of course.”

  “She was a friend of my mother’s, and she left clothes here for me to sell on consignment.”

  Irene went on answering questions, including what time she left the store, whether or not she’d noticed anyone around the store when she left, when the last time she saw Susana was, and what had they talked about. She even told him about the telephone call she’d received telling her to stay away from Susana and answered no when the chief asked if she recognized the voice. Then she told him about Susana’s strange request that her two friends search her mountain home in the event something happened to her.

  For the first time the chief showed some interest. “Search her home? What were they supposed to be looking for?”

  “No one knows,” Irene said. “Adelle said she and Mrs. Baumgarten dismissed Susana’s remarks as melodrama.”

  “Oh, yes,” Andy said.

  “You must have known her,” Irene said.

  “She was one of those people everyone knows.”

  “So, was she melodramatic?”

  “That’s not something I can discuss,” he said. He asked a few more questions before he finally closed his notebook and told her she wouldn’t be able to open her store for the rest of the day because of the investigation, and he assured her the body would be removed through the back door.

  “You mean I’m not a person of interest again?” she asked.

  “Not at this time,” he said, “but I don’t want you to leave town. Your mother, either.”

  “I have no reason to leave town,” she said.

  “Good,” Andy said. “Now I suggest you go home. We have a lot of work to do here.”

  Irene started to protest, but she thought better of it and walked out of her store and onto the plaza. Across from her, the steeple of the Basilica of Saint Francis pierced the deep blue, cloudless sky.

  Harriet, she remembered, attended Mass at the Basilica of Saint Francis every morning. She decided to wait for her, hoping she could give her more information than Adelle could provide about why Susana had asked the two of them to go to her mountain home and search it in the event that something happened to her.

  Harriet Baumgarten and her husband were both Santa Fe aristocracy, although they weren’t old aristocracy, as Adelle and Susana were. While it might be reasonable to expect someone with a name like Baumgarten could be Jewish, while Susana Delgado would most likely be Hispanic Catholic, few things in Santa Fe were reasonable. Its nickname was, after all, the City Different. Harriet and her husband were midwestern German Catholic stock and had inherited the Baumgarten family’s Santa Fe mercantile fortune that was established in the nineteenth century, while the Delgado family was one of the Marrano or crypto-Jewish families who pretended to convert to Catholicism during the Inquisition, as were Irene’s ancestors, the Mendozas and Abuela Teresa’s family, the Silvas.

  Though it was July and the height of the tourist season, the morning air was cool, and Irene pulled her colorful handwoven shawl tighter around her shoulders and arms as she waited for Harriet to emerge from the church.

  In spite of church attendance declining nationally, the Basilica of Saint Francis in Santa Fe still attracted relatively impressive numbers for morning Mass. Irene had to watch carefully to find Harriet among those leaving through the wide doors at the front of the church. She spotted the black lace mantilla Harriet wore on her head first. She was of the generation that, in spite of Vatican II, still liked to cover their heads in church. Of course her head covering would be black handmade silk lace. She, like Adelle, would never think of wearing anything but the finest and most expensive of anything.

  Irene called to her from where she stood a few feet away from the door. Harriet looked up when she heard her name and waved to Irene before she started walking toward her. When she got closer, Irene could see that Harriet’s eyes were reddened and her face blotchy from crying.

  “Oh, Irene!” Harriet said when she spotted her. “You’ve heard about Susana?”

  “Yes, I’ve heard.” Irene put her arms around Harriet and felt the woman’s body convulse with a sob.

  Harriet pulled away from her and dabbed at her eyes. “Who could have done such a thing?”

  “I was hoping you might have some ideas about that,” Irene said.

  “How could I possibly know anything about murder?” Harriet said, tears spilling out of her eyes again.

  “Adelle said Susana mentioned something to the two of you about searching in her hunting lodge if anything ever happened to her.”

  Harriet looked confused for a moment. “Searching in her hunting…? Oh, you mean Mariposa. She did mention something like that, but I had forgotten. I guess I ignored her when she said it. She could be so over-the-top that I got used to not…I shouldn’t have been so callous. I should have paid more attention and asked her what she meant by that.” She dabbed at her eyes again.

  “Don’t be too critical of yourself. Adelle obviously ignored her, too.” Harriet was the most tenderhearted of Adelle’s friends. Although she had no financial need to work, she’d been an English teacher at a Catholic high school in Santa Fe.

  “I feel just awful. And it happened in your store. Why?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that, Harriet. But I really want to find out why both of those bodies ended up there. Both of them were Adelle’s friends. I just can’t let this go.”

  “Irene…”

  “Can you tell me exactly what Susana said about—what did you call it? Mariposa?”

  “Yes, she named the lodge Mariposa Landing.”

  “Odd name for a hunting lodge. Mariposa means butterfly in Spanish.”

  “Well, Susana could come up with some odd ideas at times,” Harriet said. “Like her telling us to search Mariposa if anything should happen to her.”

  “Search where, exactly? In the house? On the grounds? Looking for what?”

  Harriet shook her head. “I don’t know. We didn’t ask. As I said, we ignored her. It was usually best not to get her started on anything like that. She had so many imaginary problems and ailments. Every new disease she heard about, she imagined she had it. Once she even told us she had low T.” Harriet shook her head. “She didn’t even know what that meant.”

  Irene remembered Susana’s rather dramatic remarks about Loraine’s death and her supposed affair. Was she only being overly dramatic? “Do you know where the lodge is located?” I
rene asked. “I mean where, exactly, within the Pecos Wilderness?”

  “Of course. I’ve been there several times. She even gave me a key in case George and I ever wanted to use the lodge.”

  Susana felt a momentary jolt of sadness for her mother, who had never been invited.

  “Lovely place,” Harriet continued. “Except for the way it’s decorated, of course. Susana had no sense of style when it came to decorating. Should have hired a professional, but she insisted she knew—”

  “Excuse me, Harriet, can you give me the address of Mariposa Landing?”

  Harriet’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Irene. “You’re surely not thinking of going there.”

  “I’d like to. Just to have a look around.” She pushed away the memory of Andy’s warning her not to leave town.

  “Well, I don’t know…”

  “All you have to do is give me the address. I’ll just drive by and have a look at the outside of the place. Unless you want to come along; then we can go inside.”

  A worried frown marred Harriet’s face. “Of course I want to go along. It’s just that…”

  “What?”

  Harriet frowned. “Well, that’s trespassing, isn’t it?”

  “Not necessarily. I mean, she invited you and Adelle there. In the sense that she asked you to look for something there in the event something happened to her. And you just said, she gave you a key.”

  The frown disappeared. “You’re right! You’re absolutely right! When can we leave?”

  “Not as soon as I’d like,” Irene said. “I have a store to run. I need to hire someone to help out, and that may take a while.”

  Harriet waved her hand, dismissing the notion. “There’s no reason for it to take any time at all. I have the perfect person.”

  “Still, I’d like—”

  “You have nothing to worry about,” Harriet said. “I’ve known Angel for years. Cleans my house to make money to pay for school. Stays there to keep an eye on the place when George and I are traveling.”

  “But…”

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Harriet said. “You’re thinking a young housekeeper can’t necessarily sell clothes or use a cash register. Angel has worked in sales. You don’t have to worry.”

  “I’d at least like to meet—”

  “You’ll be impressed.” Harriet was already on her way to her car, parked in the church lot. She waved her mantilla at Irene as she disappeared around the corner of the church.

  —

  The yellow tape was gone and the bloodstains removed from the floor by the time Irene reached the store the next morning. She hardly had time to open the turquoise-colored hand-carved doors before customers showed up, making their way through the front courtyard to enter the store. Most of the early customers were locals. She’d already learned to spot them by the cowboy boots they wore with skirts—both long and short. Apparently, the cowboy boots had taken the place of the heavy Native American jewelry Santa Fe women had chosen as their trademark a few years ago when Irene left the city. They came because they were curious about Susana’s death. Irene answered the same questions over and over again.

  What did the body look like? What was she wearing? Who found her? Why was the body in her store? Wasn’t it kind of creepy that two bodies had been found there? Did the police think they knew who killed her?

  Irene answered all of their questions with answers that were as short as possible. In the course of the morning she learned that Susana had indeed been a prominent socialite in Santa Fe whom everyone seemed to know, and that her husband was a wealthy businessman who was now too ill to work.

  Tourists showed up a little later, and most of them had not heard the story. Many of them wore the beautiful turquoise they’d bought from Native Americans who displayed their wares on blankets spread in front of the old Palace of the Governors nearby.

  The day proved to be a profitable one. By noon, Irene had sold two Donna Karan dresses for almost one thousand dollars each. They had been more than two thousand dollars new. She also sold a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo boots, and an Akaris leather-trimmed dress. Afternoon customers went for less expensive items, but the store always had at least three customers. Irene had been so busy she didn’t have time to eat the egg sandwich she’d packed for herself until almost four o’clock.

  She’d just removed the plastic bag containing the sandwich and a bottle of water from the refrigerator in the back when she heard the bell on the front door, signaling that a customer had entered. Before she could make her way to the doorway leading from her office to the store, she heard a male voice.

  “Hey! You here?” The person standing in her doorway was a young Hispanic male. Although he was obviously barely twenty, he was handsome, dark hair and skin, thin, medium height, dressed all in black—not the profile of her usual customer.

  “May I help you?” She couldn’t deny a bit of trepidation. She’d lived in New York too long to be unconditionally trusting.

  His dark eyes took her in for a moment. “You must be Ms. Seligman.” He extended his hand. “I’m Angel,” he said, pronouncing it Ahn-hell. “Angel Barreda. Mrs. Baumgarten sent me.”

  “Oh…yes.” When Harriet had said she was sending someone named Angel, Irene had thought the person would be female. She chided herself that she should have known better. She was back in New Mexico now.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” she said, a little too quickly.

  “I know about the death. Or deaths. It must be hard for you.”

  “Uh, yes. Yes, it is. Of course.” She couldn’t stop looking at him.

  “Oh, I get it. You thought I’d be a chick.”

  “Well, as a matter of fact—”

  He smiled. “It’s okay. Mrs. Baumgarten probably didn’t tell you. Probably pronounced my name wrong, too.” He turned his head to look around. “Nice place. She said you need some help.”

  “Perhaps,” Irene said, still cautious.

  “Don’t worry, I can provide you with documentation on my background check, and I…” He stopped mid-sentence when a customer walked in the door—a middle-aged woman, slightly overweight, with a pleasant face. “Good morning,” he said, walking up to her. “May I help you?”

  “Oh, no, I’d just like to look around.”

  “Of course.” Angel smiled and moved a few feet away. Irene kept her eyes trained on him. “Isn’t that beautiful,” he said, when the woman pulled a gray sleeveless Lela Rose from a rack.

  She held the hangered dress at arm’s length. “It is, yes.”

  Angel quickly pulled another dress from the same rack. The rich sapphire blue was stunning. “Look at this,” he said. “Now this would make those gorgeous blue eyes of yours sparkle.”

  The woman studied the dress for a moment before she took it from Angel. “I’ll try on both of them,” she said.

  “The changing room is there,” Angel said, directing the woman toward a door clearly labeled Changing Room.

  “Not bad,” Irene said when the woman was securely inside the mirrored room. “But I think you talked her into the Chanel. It’s less expensive than the Lela Rose.”

  “I don’t know the fancy brands,” Angel said, “but if you mean I pushed the blue one instead of the gray, then you’re right. She’s not going to buy the gray one. It’s sleeveless. She’s middle age. The arms don’t hold up in middle age. The long sleeves on the blue dress will be more flattering. Think Jane Fonda.”

  Irene gave him a doubtful look. “We’ll see.”

  Within a few moments, the woman emerged holding the blue dress. “I’ll take this one,” she said, handing Angel the blue dress. “You’re right. It brings out my eyes.”

  “Oh, yes, I knew it would,” Angel said. “Would you like to look around some more?”

  The woman declined, saying she’d already spent her limit.

  “I understand,” Angel said with a pleasant laugh. “But where else can you get a designer brand
for such a bargain? Especially one that looks that great on you?”

  “You are so right,” the woman said. “I’ve seen dresses similar to this at Neiman’s in Dallas selling for thousands.”

  “You’re from Dallas?” Angel took the dress from her and, without asking Irene’s permission, headed for the cash register near the front of the store to ring up the sale.

  Irene was about to protest, but she watched as Angel handled the credit card transaction and the cash register with expertise, all the while engaging the woman in a conversation about herself, her life in Dallas, and her visit to New Mexico.

  When the woman left, Angel turned toward her with a confident look.

  “I’ll pay you twenty percent above minimum wage and a commission on everything you sell,” Irene said.

  “When do I start?”

  “This afternoon. I have an errand to run that’s going to require me to leave early.”

  “There’s something you should know,” Angel said.

  Irene was silent, thinking, Here it comes.

  “I can only work part-time. I’m a student at Santa Fe University for Art and Design. I’m studying painting and sculpting.”

  “Oh,” Irene said, the word coming out with a sigh of relief. “That’s perfect. I only need you part-time.”

  Irene could hardly believe her good fortune. Angel showed up at the store at three o’clock, exactly the time she’d asked him to come. He brought Harriet with him along with all the documentation of his background check, just as he had promised, and she gave him a quick overview of the items she had for sale in the small boutique. She left Angel with two customers who had entered the store together. He was leading them toward a rack at the back of the store where she kept the styles more suitable to decidedly overweight customers.

  The first sign of problems began when she drove home to change her clothes.

  “Harriet’s going with you?” Adelle said. “Why on earth are you taking her along?”

  “Because she knows where the lodge is located.” She didn’t want to say she also had a key.

  “How could she possibly know if she’s never been there before?”