Accessories to Die For

by Paula Paul

  “No!” Irene said. “We can’t just let it go. Juanita isn’t thinking straight. All she can think about is finding Danny.”

  “He may not even be alive by now, Irene.”

  Irene shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Juanita doesn’t want to believe that. She’s desperate. I have to help her. If I can find her, maybe I can convince her that things will go better for her if she turns herself in.”

  P.J. looked at her silently for a moment. “I think you need to go home and get some rest,” he said finally. “We can’t do any more tonight. Adelle is still out there in the lobby waiting for you.”

  Irene’s eyes widened in surprise. “She is? That’s not like her.” She was remembering a time when she’d been a child and had fallen off a slide, breaking her arm. It had been a complicated break that required surgery and an overnight stay at the hospital. It had not been Adelle who stayed with her, but her grandmother Teresa Maria Josepha Ortega y Silva de Seligman.

  P.J. shrugged. “I’ll wheel you out, and you can see for yourself.”

  Adelle was asleep on one of the sofas in the waiting room when P.J. pushed Irene’s chair to the area. Harriet had obviously gone home, but Angel sat in a chair across from Adelle, drawing something on a sketch pad. He stood as soon as he saw Irene.

  “Are you all right?” His voice was anxious. “God, they don’t give you much information around here.”

  “I’m fine,” Irene said, “and I don’t need this chair,” she added, standing. “But you should be home in bed. I’ll probably have to depend on you to open the store tomorrow.”

  He pointed to her head. “Are you sure you’re all right? That bandage—”

  “Just a little cut. The doc removed the glass and put in a few stitches. I don’t think I’ll be crippled for life.”

  “You’d better go home,” Angel said, echoing P.J.

  Irene made no resistance to his suggestion. The events of the evening had taken a toll. She was ready for rest.

  “Oh, my God!” Adelle said, opening her eyes at last. “Are you going to survive?”

  “I believe I will,” Irene said.

  “Of course you will. I’m your mother. I’ll take care of you.”

  Irene was a little surprised to hear Adelle admitting to be the mother of a woman well past thirty, but she managed to mumble a thank-you. By the time they reached Irene’s house, the police were waiting to question her. So much for their promise to wait until she felt better. The questioning was routine, and all Irene told them was that she had no idea who might have fired the shot or why. Adelle was asleep by the time the questioning ended.

  The next morning, Irene was awake at her usual time, and when she got out of bed, she was pleased to see that her headache was gone. The ibuprofen the doctor had told her to take the night before had done its job. She was able to replace the elaborate bandage wrapped around her head with a smaller square of white gauze.

  Adelle was still asleep when Irene made her way down to the kitchen, already dressed for work. She was drinking her second cup of coffee when Adelle stumbled into the kitchen wearing a robe.

  “Coffee,” she said with her eyes half open, sliding into one of the chairs at the table.

  “On the counter,” Irene said. Her eyes were on the wall-mounted television set as she watched the morning news. Adelle’s demand for coffee, and Irene’s instructions for how to find it, had become their morning ritual.

  Adelle fetched her own coffee, only a little less disgruntled about the task than she had been when the two of them had first moved into the Seligman family’s old Victorian house.

  “What a night!” Adelle said after she’d downed half a cup. “I hope I never have to go through that again. I’m absolutely exhausted.”

  Irene didn’t bother to tell her mother she felt that in spades. She was busy watching the news. She and P.J. and their “encounter” with a gunman was one of the stories, including an interview with the police chief speculating that it was a stray gunshot from a hunter on or near pueblo land. A picture of P. J. Bailey captioned ONE OF SANTA FE’S MOST WELL-KNOWN LAWYERS flashed on the screen. There was no picture of her. She hadn’t been back in Santa Fe long enough to have one available in news media files, but her name was mentioned, and she was called a member of the prominent Seligman family.

  The name caught Adelle’s attention. “What was that? Something about the Seligman family? Was it good or bad?”

  “It was nothing, Adelle. Finish your coffee.” Obviously she’d forgotten about her vow to take care of Irene.

  Adelle’s attention was riveted to the television. Irene knew Adelle loved publicity, and she still liked to consider herself a member of the Seligman family in Santa Fe, although it had been decades since she’d divorced her first husband, David Seligman.

  The mention of the Seligman family was followed quickly by a story reiterating Juanita Calabaza’s escape from jail and the fact that there was now a reward offered by the Crime Stoppers organization for information leading to her arrest.

  “I hope the news media doesn’t know anything about that woman, that Juanita, coming to your store.”

  “They don’t. Don’t worry, and don’t say anything to anyone about it.”

  “Heavens, I wouldn’t,” Adelle said. “And neither would Harriet, I’m sure.”

  “Good,” Irene said. She was less worried about Harriet than she was about her mother. She wouldn’t put it past Adelle to tell the story of a jail escapee showing up at Irene’s Closet while she was there, simply because she liked being the center of attention.

  “Are you going to look for her again?” Adelle asked.

  Irene gave her mother a look that conveyed nothing. She didn’t want Adelle to know she’d just been contemplating that very thing because it seemed even more important to find Juanita now, before things got even worse for her.

  “Well, are you?” Adelle demanded.

  “Umm, I have to go to work,” Irene said.

  Adelle poured herself another cup of coffee and didn’t reply. Irene took the opportunity to hurry upstairs and change into something more appropriate for trekking across a desert landscape. She had made up her mind that she would, indeed, go looking for Juanita again. She was certain that she would be able to slip out the door without Adelle seeing that she’d changed out of her work clothes into jeans and a T-shirt. It took her mother a long time to become fully awake each morning. She would still be lingering over coffee in the kitchen, so Irene took the time to call Angel and tell him about her plan.

  “You shouldn’t go out there alone,” Angel said. “I should go with you.”

  “I need you to mind the store,” she said.

  There was a silence on Angel’s end of the line before he finally said, “If you don’t want me along, maybe P.J.—”

  “I’ll be fine,” Irene said. “And I’ll have my cellphone. I’ll call if anything goes wrong. And I won’t worry about the store if you’re there.” She hung up before he could protest again.

  Adelle was waiting for her when Irene got to the entry hall. She was seated on one of the ornate velvet chairs that had graced the entry for over a century. Dressed in designer jeans with rhinestone accents that had come from Irene’s store, she was using a mother-of-pearl mirror to help her put the finishing touches to her makeup.

  “Does my hair look all right?” Adelle asked. “I didn’t have time to style it the way it should be.”

  “It looks great,” Irene said. “Where are you going?”

  “With you, of course.”

  “But—”

  “I had to hurry to get down here on time. You know I hate that. A woman should always take plenty of time and great care when she’s dressing.”

  “Adelle…I…You…”

  Adelle stood and dropped her mirror into a small red Prada handbag. “Stop stuttering, Irene. I thought you outgrew that before you were ten, and don’t look so surprised. You think I don’t know when you’re planning something? Someth
ing like going out to search for that woman again? Of course I do. I know my own daughter.”

  Irene took a deep breath and resisted the urge to tell her mother that she hardly knew her at all, since she had been mostly raised by her father’s Hispanic mother while Adelle was busy with the life of a socialite in Santa Fe or New York or Paris. Now that they were compelled to live together and Adelle had become dependent on her daughter, she obviously liked to fantasize that she’d been the kind of mother she used to see on 1950s television.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come with me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Irene said. “We’re likely to be on some rough terrain, and you’re not dressed for it.”

  Adelle was already at the door. She turned to face Irene. “I most certainly am dressed for it. I’m wearing jeans, just as you are. Now, come on, let’s go.”

  Irene gave a defeated sigh. “At least change your shoes.”

  “Why? These match my shirt perfectly.”

  “They have three-inch heels, Adelle. Go find a pair of sneakers.”

  Adelle snorted with indignity. “You can’t be serious. I don’t even own a pair. They’re so—”

  Irene turned around and hurried up the stairs. When she came down holding one of several pairs of sneakers she had in her own closet, Adelle had gone back to working on her makeup. “Here,” she said, thrusting the sneakers at Adelle. “These should fit you perfectly.”

  “Really!” Adelle sniffed. “They don’t—”

  “I know,” Irene interrupted, “they don’t match your shirt. But who’s going to see you in the middle of the desert?” She opened the front door, still holding the shoes. She walked outside, hoping the fashion faux pas was enough to keep her mother at home.

  It wasn’t. Adelle glanced at the shoes, turned up her nose, and minced her way on three-inch heels to Irene’s car.

  “You should try to comb your hair down in the front a little to cover that bandage,” Adelle said when they were on their way.

  “It would be too sweaty,” Irene said, wondering why she bothered to say anything. Adelle had always criticized her fashion sense.

  “A little discomfort in the name of elegance is always—”

  “Look! A roadrunner! There in front of us.” Irene was grateful for the iconic desert bird who, along with a few of his relatives, inhabited the streets of Santa Fe.

  “Mmmhmm. Stupid bird. Runs in the street where it can get killed. Can’t imagine why they’ve named it the state bird. Now, what was I saying?”

  “You were asking me about Juanita,” Irene lied. “You were wondering why I thought she’d go back to the pueblo.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked that!” Adelle said. “The answer is obvious. She wants to find her son. She probably expects to find his body on pueblo land.”

  “I don’t think she expects to find his body,” Irene said. She turned on the freeway and headed south toward Kewa. “I think she believes he’s still alive.”

  “Maybe he really is the one who killed Monsieur Armaud.”

  “Oh, God, I hope not,” Irene said. She didn’t want to admit even to herself that she had considered that possibility.

  When Irene turned her car off the freeway onto the road to the pueblo, she spotted a vehicle ahead of her. It wasn’t moving but was, instead, parked along the ditch at the side of the road. As she drew closer, she noticed that the vehicle, a BMW, was sitting at an odd angle. She slowed her car. When she was next to the vehicle, she saw that the right front tire and wheel were missing. The BMW leaned on its axle, and the passenger-side door was open. There was obviously no one inside the vehicle. Irene stopped her car next to it.

  “Why are you stopping?” Adelle asked.

  “I’ve seen that car before. Maybe in town, I’m not sure, and I can’t remember who was driving it.”

  “There are a lot of cars in Santa Fe. A lot of BMWs.” Adelle sounded disgruntled. “Does that mean you have to stop and inspect…?” Adelle’s voice trailed off when she realized that Irene wasn’t going to answer her.

  When Irene leaned over to peer into the car, she saw the top part of the orange jail uniform Juanita had been wearing when she came to Irene’s Closet. It was crumpled on the floor behind the front seat. Someone must have brought her something to change into so she wouldn’t be so conspicuous in the jail uniform.

  Irene leaned closer to examine the discarded clothing. She picked it up to get a better look. One side was soaked with blood.

  “Blood!” Adelle said. Irene was surprised to see her mother standing behind her. “There’s blood on that thing,” Adelle added. “Is there a body in there? Oh, my God, I don’t want to see it,” she said, although she was craning her neck to look into the abandoned BMW.

  Irene didn’t answer. She was walking around the car searching for anything that would provide more clues about what had happened. There were tire marks in the sandy soil next to the vehicle and a few footprints. They were indistinct and confused, as if two or more persons had been scuffling. Splotches of blood mingled with the sand. Juanita’s blood, maybe. She had no way of knowing for sure. The footprints seemed to lead nowhere, but as she continued to examine the ground, she saw that the tire tracks curved away from the road, toward the rough stretch of rocks, shrubs, and cacti. Someone had come to rescue the crippled BMW—or at least its occupants.

  Adelle called to her from behind as Irene tried to follow the tire tracks. “Where are you going? You’re not thinking of leaving me here alone in this godforsaken country, are you?”

  Irene turned around to see her mother making an awkward attempt at running toward her in her three-inch heels.

  “Get back in the car, Adelle. I’m not going to leave you. I just want to have a look around.”

  “It’s hot in the car,” Adelle said. “This is a desert, you know.” Her foot turned to one side as she stumbled on a clump of dry grass, but she righted herself and tried to mince her way toward Irene. “I don’t want to be abandoned and die of thirst.”

  “You won’t die of thirst,” Irene said. “I’ll only be a minute, and the keys are in the car.”

  Adelle would not be discouraged. She continued picking her way across the rough terrain, holding her arms out to aid her balance.

  “This is going to ruin my shoes!” Adelle said. “Do we really have to do this?”

  Irene refrained from saying I told you so and kept her eyes to the ground, looking at the tire tracks. They grew fainter as the sandy soil gave way to coarse, rocky dirt, but she could see bunches of dry grass that had been bent by the tires.

  “Look over there!” Adelle’s voice came from behind her. She was pointing to something in front of them. A cloud of dust billowing near a raised mesa. “I think there’s a car over there.”

  Irene kept her eyes in the direction Adelle was pointing. “Yes,” she said. “There’s a car. It’s moving.”

  “That must be the people who killed that poor woman in the jail uniform.”

  “Juanita,” Irene said. “Her name is Juanita, and we don’t know that she’s dead.”

  “But all that blood…”

  Irene didn’t want to think of the blood. She didn’t want to come to the same logical conclusion her usually illogical mother had.

  “I don’t think we should follow them,” Adelle said, still looking at the car in the distance. It was moving slowly along the cliff. “We don’t want to come face-to-face with them. We might get killed, too.”

  Irene was wishing with everything in her that she’d insisted that Adelle not tag along, but all she said was “I’ll be careful.”

  “But…Irene, I forbid you to—”

  Irene was already walking back to her car. “Come on, Adelle. You don’t want to be left out here all alone, do you?”

  “You wouldn’t dare…”

  “Of course not. You’re my mother. Why would I want to leave you alone in the desert?”

  Adelle walked behind her, falling farther behind and
mumbling something incomprehensible.

  When Adelle finally got to the car, Irene pulled the extra pair of sneakers from the backseat and handed them to her. “If you’re going to follow me on this search, I insist you put these on. Otherwise, you’re going to break an ankle or fall into a cactus, or worse.”

  Adelle turned up her nose as she took the shoes, holding them an arm’s length away from her. “I don’t wear sneakers, Irene.”

  “Okay.” Irene started the car and headed it toward the distant mesa.

  “You wear a size larger than I do.”

  “Fasten your seatbelt. This is rough terrain.”

  Adelle was silent for a moment, still holding the shoes away from her body. Finally, she sighed loudly and, with considerable drama, kicked her fashionable shoes off to slip on the sneakers, bouncing from side to side before she had them on her feet.

  “This was not a good idea,” Adelle said. She was trying to fasten her seatbelt.

  “No, it wasn’t,” Irene answered, thinking again that she should have insisted Adelle stay at home.

  They had driven only a few miles when they came upon a road Irene recognized. It was the back road to Cochiti Lake. They had left the Kewa Pueblo and were now on Cochiti land.

  “Are we going back to civilization?” Adelle asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” she said as they continued at a slow pace along the rough unpaved road. The lake was now in sight, but it was a secluded section, away from the cluster of marinas and campsites that dotted the shores. A small town of five hundred residents had sprung up near the lake on land confiscated by the government, but it was too far away to be seen. What could be seen, however, was the swirl of dust stirred up by a car on a remote lakeside area.

  Irene watched as the car slowed and finally came to a stop. She saw two people get out of the car, and then a third. They were too far away for Irene to tell whether they were male or female. She continued to watch as the three people walked to the lake’s edge. One of them appeared to have a gun, a rifle of some sort. She wasn’t familiar enough with guns to know the type. She stopped the car suddenly when she saw the obstruction in the road in front of her. It was a washed-out area that had formed a long trench and laid bare several large rocks.