The Turquoise Mask

by Whitney, Phyllis A. ;

  Gravely Juan and Eleanor clinked each other’s glasses and sipped wine, their eyes meeting in affection. Then Juan glanced at Clarita.

  “You had better go to Sylvia,” he said.

  Clarita faced him down the length of the table. “No! I have no comfort to offer anyone. This was a cruel thing to do. A mockery, as you know very well.”

  “I’ll go to her,” I said, and slipped from the table.

  She had run into the living room and flung herself full length on the leather couch. The scent of piñon wood was pungent on the air. I went to sit beside her, touching her shoulder gently. “Don’t be upset. Eleanor is heedless.”

  “She’s utterly cruel.” Sylvia took several deep breaths to quiet her emotion, and looked up at me tearfully. “This isn’t Kirk’s birthday, as she knows very well. This is the anniversary of the day he died.”

  I stared at her in dismay. I hadn’t known. I’d never known the exact date. Then this was also the anniversary of my mother’s death.

  “Why would Juan”—I faltered—“why would he gather us for a dinner on such an anniversary?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know!” Sylvia cried. “Perhaps to torment someone. Perhaps to remind. Perhaps really only because he’s sending you away tomorrow.”

  “Then let’s go back to the table. I want to go back, so I can watch.”

  “No!” Sylvia cried. “Don’t wake up the sleeping. Don’t call back the ghosts!”

  I stared at her. “You always surprise me. When I first met you, I thought you were worried about something, but I also thought you were contained and controlled. I thought you were the unruffled type.”

  She sat up beside me, suddenly defiant. “I am. I must be. God knows I’ve practiced long enough!”

  I pounced on the word. “Practiced—what do you mean?”

  “Nothing, nothing. Let me alone, Amanda. If you’ll wait for a moment till I run to the bathroom and wash my face, I’ll go back to the table with you.”

  “I’ll wait,” I told her.

  She hurried off, brushing against the end table as she went. The ugly tarantula fell off into my lap and I picked it up and replaced it on the table with repugnance. I remembered my thought that Juan Cordova was omnivorous. Tonight he had joined with Eleanor to prove that fact. If Sylvia was right, he had meant to disturb someone, and he knew very well who that someone was. But whom would he protect, if he knew the truth? Clarita, perhaps. Sylvia, possibly. Paul—surely not.

  I heard Gavin’s steps as he came into the room, regarding me gravely. “Is Sylvia all right?”

  “She’s pulling herself together. She’ll be back in a moment.”

  “Juan says you’re going away tomorrow.”

  “Juan doesn’t know. I haven’t decided.”

  “It’s best if you do go,” he said. “What happened last night was meant for you, no matter what Juan believes.”

  “Yes, I think so too.”

  “And it may happen again—and be worse.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  He was silent, and I knew the answer. Gavin believed that his wife was behind the attack upon me, but he would not say so.

  “Please believe me,” I said. “I don’t want anything from Juan in his will. He hasn’t changed it yet, and I don’t think he will. Eleanor is his darling.”

  “Eleanor is the daughter of Rafael—a son he thoroughly disliked. You are Doro’s daughter.”

  “I’m not the one he cares about,” I said. “I’ve been watching the way his eyes follow her. There’s no danger to anything she wants. He’ll take nothing away from her. And I need to stay. Gavin, I’m close to the truth of what happened. There are cracks in the surface. They’re widening.”

  Sylvia came back in time to hear my words. “You mustn’t stay now. I urged you to go in the beginning, but now everything is much worse. What can it matter to you, Amanda, whether some buried ‘truth’ comes out? What good will it do your mother if it only harms someone still living?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that. I only know that I must stay.”

  She gave me a long, despairing look and started for the dining room. Gavin waited for me, as relentless as Sylvia, and I went with him.

  Salt had been sprinkled on the wine stain and a padded cloth mounded beneath it. Clarita looked strained, nervous, and no longer able to carry off the wearing of her handsome gown. Juan, on the contrary, was himself again. If anything, he looked renewed by what had happened, and he and Eleanor were talking to each other animatedly. Eleanor glanced around as we took our places at the table.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, mockingly contrite. “Grandfather tells me that I’m wrong about my dates. So I apologize. Anyway, he’s feeling much better these days, and I’ve coaxed him into taking a little outing with all of us. Tell them, Grandfather.”

  While Clarita served the meal with hands that shook a little, Juan spoke to us cheerfully. “It has been too many years since I have been out to the rancho. So we are all going there one day soon. We will drive out in the morning, have lunch, and come back in the late afternoon.”

  “I don’t think—” Sylvia began, but he shook his head at her gently.

  “You too, of course. And Paul. It will be like the old days. It is unfortunate that Amanda will not be here, but otherwise it will be a family party.”

  I put my hand lightly on his arm. “But of course I will be here. I’m not going away yet, Grandfather.”

  Around the table heads turned toward me, eyes were fixed upon my face, and I had the feeling that one of those who stared was angry and perhaps dangerously frightened. But I looked only at Gavin. His face was cold, shutting me out, condemning me.

  Eleanor laughed softly. “Then we’ll all be together. What fun, Amanda! If only Kirk and Doro and Grandmother Katy could be there too, our party would be complete.”

  She was once more stepping upon dangerous ground, but no one said anything, no one reproached her frivolity. After that the meal turned into an ordinary dinner, even though I sensed awareness, watchfulness below the surface. Once more I had time to think ahead to the errand Juan had planned for me. And to be again afraid of what I must do. I had no taste at all for an excursion into the dark reaches of the store at night. Now even less than ever.

  XIV

  Though it was Saturday night, the plaza was quiet by nine o’clock, and few people were about on the streets. Most of these were wandering turistas.

  I paid off my taxi near the plaza, since, when I was through with Juan’s errand, I could go to the Fonda del Sol and phone for another. As I walked quickly toward the store, I could hear sounds of gaiety from the direction of the Fonda Hotel, but there was no one in sight when I walked down the side street and around to the back of CORDOVA.

  The key Juan had given me slipped easily into the lock, but I hesitated for a moment before I pushed open the door. If I’d had any choice, I would have preferred to turn around and go home right then, but the thought of Juan Cordova’s displeasure forced me to open the door. He had told me that lights were left on in the store overnight, and I found them dim but welcome as I stepped inside and closed the door softly behind me.

  At once I was in an alien world, cut off from all I knew. It was a shadowy world of faint light and no sound. The daytime bustle was gone with the flow of customers on the main floor. The quiet was so intense that it was as if my coming had caused the great open space of the store to hush and hold its breath, waiting for me to make some move. At night this place had a life and being of its own—the entity that was CORDOVA seemed alive.

  I stood very still in the center of an aisle near the back door and listened. The smothering silence seemed without boundary. Scents of leather and sweet grasses came to me, mingling with other exotic odors that were closed into the store at night. But I mustn’t stand here, I thought, listening for some whisper of sound, waiting for an imaginary footfall. Last night’s attack upon me had undermined my courage, and I was sharply awa
re that while someone could come to my aid quickly in the patio, here no scream of mine would ever be heard and no one would come if there was danger.

  But this was nonsense. Who but Juan knew that I was here? I wasn’t a child to be afraid of the dark and a strange place, and I must get this over with quickly.

  The nearest aisle led to the front of the store, and I followed it, walking with light steps so as not to disturb the sleeping hush. Near a lighted window I stood for a moment looking out into the street where nothing moved.

  When I turned toward the stairs that led to the floor above, I had again the strange feeling that, for all the quiet about me, the store had a living spirit of its own. This was the beating heart of the thing which ruled the Cordovas, and would rule me if I let it. All about me rich stacks of merchandise were piled—offerings on a temple’s altar. And the gods of the temple lurked just out of my line of vision, waiting for sacrifices.

  I shook myself impatiently and started up the stairs. If there was anything here to fear, it would be living, not imaginary, and I did not feel that anyone was here. Juan had not wanted my mission to be known, so no one could be lying in wait for me, ready to strike.

  The great cavern of the first floor continued to lie breathlessly still below me as I mounted the stairs. Only the creaking of wooden steps broke the blanketing silence and seemed startlingly loud. At the head of the stairs, behind glass, the figure of the flamenco dancer glimmered at me in dim light. She looked as though she might burst into movement at any moment and I could almost hear the beat of wild music. I was reminded of Eleanor tonight in her high comb and swinging fringe.

  As I left the stairs, the upper floor seemed suddenly a maze, a labyrinth in which I no longer knew my direction. When a cold hand touched mine, I stifled a cry, before I realized it was only the mailed glove of a set of Spanish armor, standing lifesize beside me. I hadn’t seen the armor before. I hadn’t come this way. Where had Gavin led me so that I had found the cabinet of Toledo steel? I no longer knew the course I had taken and I could recognize no landmarks.

  Confused by the dim aisles, with the lighting up here even fainter than it was downstairs, I moved haltingly. The clinging silk of a Spanish shawl brushed my arm, and I tried to remember where I had seen those splendid shawls.

  This wouldn’t do at all. I stood still, trying to regain my sense of direction, and listening in spite of myself to the utter silence. Or was it silence? Had a faraway door creaked open? Had I heard a whisper of voices? Were those feet upon the stairs? I was not imagining this time.

  Laughter that sounded like Eleanor’s crashed suddenly through the upper reaches of the store, echoing to the high ceiling. Because my knees weakened, I grasped a nearby counter to steady myself and shake off the alarm that swept through me. Now I could hear someone running on the stairs, hear another pair of feet coming after her, another voice speaking.

  Paul Stewart’s voice!

  “The display is over here. Have you brought the whip?”

  “Of course,” Eleanor’s voice replied. “And you’ve brought the Lady. Let’s fix up the display and then explore. I wonder if all these things have a life of their own when no one is watching? I’ve never been here before at night.”

  “Nor have I,” Paul said, sounding less enthusiastic.

  It was all right, I told myself. They didn’t know I was here. For some odd reason—probably Eleanor’s whim—they had brought the Penitente things here tonight to return them to the display. I had only to be quiet and wait, and they would go away, never dreaming I was present in the empty store. Why I felt it vital to keep my presence secret, I wasn’t sure, but I knew I wanted neither of them to discover me.

  They made no attempt to be quiet themselves. I heard the showcase opened and the sounds of rearrangement as Doña Sebastiana was restored to her place in the stone-filled cart. In fact, they were making enough noise in the quiet store so that I could move again myself, under the cover of sound. When I reached the place where my aisle met a cross aisle, I looked carefully around.

  Now I could see it. The case of Toledo swords was a tall cabinet, rising above others in its vicinity, and I made my way toward it, stepping softly. I had slipped my second key into its lock, when Eleanor’s voice halted me to listen intently.

  “How did you like the way I managed to plan a trip to the rancho?” she asked.

  Paul’s laughter held approval. “You handled it perfectly. The old man fell right in with what you wanted.”

  “I thought I could coax him. Do you know what he told me before tonight’s dinner? He said we could use the fact of the date to make someone worried and uncomfortable. But the only one who went to pieces was Sylvia. I wonder why? Do you suppose she’s worried about you?”

  “Worried about me?” Paul repeated her words evenly.

  The taunting little laugh came again. “Why not? You and Kirk hated each other, didn’t you? Isn’t it possible—” Perhaps something in Paul’s expression stopped her, for she broke off.

  Now she seemed to back down. “Oh, don’t think I care about what happened that day. I’m interested in now. Amanda’s getting around Juan, and I don’t like it. But when they all go out to the rancho—perhaps tomorrow if I can work it—they’ll be out there for most of the day. Then it won’t matter what Juan does about his will. I don’t like that trust he’s set up for me anyway. I want money in my hands—so I can be free of Gavin, free of them all.”

  “Come here,” Paul said.

  There were faint sounds that were not of struggle, and I suspected that he was embracing her, kissing her. Silencing her? Poor Sylvia, I thought, and disliked Paul even more intensely than before. I no longer wanted to wait for them to go. All I wanted now was to get the box I had come for, and escape from the store before those two discovered me.

  I turned the key and the cabinet door creaked faintly as it opened.

  “What was that?” Eleanor said.

  She and Paul were quiet, listening, and I kept very still. After a few moments their attention returned to the display, and when there were sounds again I reached quickly into the bottom of the cabinet to find the flat case Juan had told me to bring him. My fingers touched the carving on the lid as I drew the box out. When I closed the cabinet door, it creaked again, betraying me.

  “I’m sure I heard something,” Eleanor said. “Let’s look around.”

  They were moving in my direction, and I dropped below the level of the nearest counter and crept in the direction of what I hoped was the stairs, carrying the box with me. Since they made no attempt at secrecy in their approach, I could tell where they were, and it was easy enough to keep out of their way.

  The flamenco dancer loomed above me and I found the stairs. But try as I would for quiet, the ancient wood groaned under my feet, and I heard Eleanor cry out again.

  “There is someone here! The stairs are creaking!”

  I ran down without trying for stealth, and found my way toward the back door. Eleanor and Paul had left it open, but there was a light outside, and I knew I would be silhouetted against the outdoors if I stepped into the doorway. The stack of great wooden Santa Fe doors offered me a hiding place, and I stepped behind their shelter, clutching Juan’s carved box to me.

  Across the store, the two ran down the stairs, and I heard Eleanor whisper, “Whoever it is must be down here. Hush, Paul. Don’t make any noise.”

  Now they were both as silent as I, and I lost track of their location. At any moment they could creep upon me, and I quivered at the thought. Eleanor would not share her secrets readily, and neither would Paul. I had heard too much. Perhaps I’d better chance the door and escape into the narrow side streets of Santa Fe. There would be less chance of their catching up with me then. Moving as softly as I could, I stole toward the escape of the open door. The stuffiness lessened, and a hint of breeze came through the doorway, welcoming me. I crept toward the opening.

  There was a single instant of awareness before it happened—an in
stinctive premonition of danger, so that I ducked my head just as the blow fell, and I was spared its full, deadly impact Crashing lights on a wave of pain went through my brain as I sank into oblivion.

  For a long time the darkness behind my eyelids seemed to pulse with a beating of pain. Faraway voices seemed to be discussing my plight. Someone was calling my name, calling me back to pain that I wanted to escape.

  “Amanda, Amanda, Amanda,” the voice urged, insisting on my return.

  The mists cleared slowly and I seemed to be floating in some dim void where my only contact with reality was the sound of my own name being repeated over and over. I opened my eyes to dim light and a face bending over me.

  “That’s better,” a voice said. “You’re coming round now.”

  Gradually the misty weaving of my surroundings steadied and I could see Paul Stewart kneeling beside me, with Eleanor standing just behind him, her face shadowed in the dim light of the store.

  “Can you sit up?” Paul asked me. “We’d like to get you home, Amanda.”

  As he drew me to a sitting position, memory drifted back. I recalled being in the store, remembered the Penitente case and Paul and Eleanor—and my errand for Juan. Feebly I moved my hands about, concentrating only on the latter, seeking the carved box I must take to Juan—as if it were more important at the moment than anything else. The case lay under me. My hands found it and drew it from beneath my body, while Eleanor and Paul watched.

  “What were you doing here, Amanda?” Eleanor demanded. “Who struck you down?”

  Didn’t you? I wanted to ask, but the throbbing increased and silenced me as I got to my knees, and clutched at Paul, steadying myself.

  “Someone tried to kill me,” I said. “Didn’t you see who struck me?”

  Eleanor shook her head, all her mockery gone. Paul leaned over and picked something up from the floor.