by Paula Paul
“I only wish I knew,” Irene said.
For the rest of the day, she did her best to let her work push all thoughts of Danny and Juanita out of her mind. It proved less difficult than she expected. There was a steady stream of customers in and out of her store—both locals and tourists—all of them looking for bargains in designer clothes and accessories.
The end-of-day tally was gratifying, but once the work was done, all of Irene’s worry and despair came rushing back. She noticed that Angel seemed to be in the same gloomy mood as she was when he left the store to go home.
“Give me a call at home and let me know how Juanita is feeling,” she called to him as he left.
He gave her a thumbs-up.
When she arrived home, Adelle was holding court in the parlor. In addition to her old friend Harriet, Barbara and Linda were there as well. Barbara, like the Silva side of Irene’s family, was part of Santa Fe’s old Spanish aristocracy. She had chosen to keep her maiden name despite her marriage to Hudson Griffith, a renowned physicist and a vice president at nearby Los Alamos National Laboratories, where he headed up nuclear research. Hudson, an amiable man, was a Texan, which made him suspect among some native New Mexicans in spite of his intellectual accomplishments. Irene had always wondered if Hudson’s Texas heritage was part of the reason Barbara had chosen to keep her maiden name. Many old-family New Mexicans had never forgiven the Texans for taking their homeland in the nineteenth century.
Linda, a relative newcomer to Santa Fe, had only been there since the 1950s. She and her husband owned art galleries in Santa Fe and New York.
Adelle was still wearing her head bandage and milking her recent experience for all it was worth. “It was absolutely awful. I was climbing in and out of ravines, running from gunshots. I ruined a perfectly good pair of Armani shoes. Not to mention that I’m still recovering from the strain.”
“You should be more careful,” Linda said. “After all, you’re not so young anymore.”
Adelle sat up straighter in her Queen Anne chair. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well,” Linda said, “you just turned seven—”
“It doesn’t matter what I just turned,” Adelle snapped. “I’m still in good shape, and I can still get into a size-six dress.”
Linda shook her head. “Your dress size doesn’t matter. It’s your body, sweetheart. Time takes its toll.”
“Hello, ladies,” Irene said, walking into the parlor just as Adelle’s eyes began to burn, and her nostrils flared.
“Hello, Irene,” Barbara said. “You look stunning, as always.”
“Oh!” Irene said. She was unused to compliments. “Thanks,” she added and looked down at the gray and black Roberto Cavalli pantsuit she’d treated herself to from her stock.
“Are you all right?” Harriet asked.
“Of course she’s all right,” Adelle said, sounding disgruntled. “Didn’t you just hear Barb say she’s stunning?” There was a clear note of jealousy in her voice. Adelle always wanted to be the center of attention.
“Well, I just thought she looked a little upset,” Harriet added. Irene had known Harriet all her life, and she’d always been more motherly toward her than Adelle had ever been.
“I’m fine, Harriet. Thank you,” Irene said. To say anything else would have been asking for trouble. She definitely did not want to discuss the predicament she’d found herself in with Juanita at this point, and she certainly didn’t want to talk about Angel possibly having seen Danny.
“I didn’t realize it was so late that people are arriving home from work,” Linda said. “We really should be going,” she added, addressing Harriet and Barbara.
“Of course,” Harriet said and began clearing wineglasses from the parlor. Within minutes all three of the women had left, with Harriet adding an admonition to Irene to get some rest so she’d feel better.
“You’re looking well, Adelle,” Irene said as she settled onto a settee in the old-fashioned living room and helped herself to a glass of wine from the bottle the women had left on a table.
“Hmmpff,” Adelle said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Irene asked. “Aren’t you feeling better?” She was admiring the deep color of the wine in her glass rather than looking at her mother.
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? No matter what Linda says, I’m not so far over the hill I can’t recover from a little outing.”
“Good,” Irene said.
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you so distracted?” Adelle asked, still sounding annoyed.
“Distracted?”
Adelle frowned. “No use in denying it. I’m your mother. I know when you’re distracted.”
With great effort, Irene resisted telling Adelle that she probably knew less about her than anyone. Certainly less than most mothers know about their daughters. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be inattentive.”
“Of course you did,” Adelle said, “but that’s beside the point. Something’s wrong. Has something else happened with Juanita? Is she in jail again? Or is it Danny this time?”
Irene turned her gaze on her mother, surprised at how perceptive she was being. She started to speak but said nothing.
“It is, isn’t it?” Adelle said. “Something’s going on with Juanita. She’s in jail, isn’t she? You must have turned her in.”
“No, Juanita’s not in jail. What makes you think I’d turn her in?”
Adelle poured herself a glass of wine. “Well, you are one of those law-and-order people—a famous district attorney.”
“I’m not famous and I’m not a district attorney anymore, and what’s wrong with being a law-and-order person?”
“Nothing, I suppose,” Adelle said, “but stop trying to change the subject. What’s going on with Juanita and Danny?”
Irene sighed and leaned her head against the back of the settee. “Juanita believes there’s a witness to Danny killing Armaud.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell Adelle the necklace had surfaced briefly in her store.
Adelle set her wineglass aside and leaned toward Irene. “A witness? Who is it?”
“A spirit. Or a ghost.”
“Just how much wine have you had today, Irene? Not one of those liquid lunches, I hope. You know alcoholism runs in the family.”
“I take it you agree that a ghost is not a reliable witness,” Irene said, ignoring her mother’s implication about alcoholism.
Adelle gave her an exasperated snort. “What are you getting at, Irene?”
“Juanita claims this spirit she encountered, when she was most likely hallucinating with a fever, told her he saw Danny kill Armaud.”
“Well, she didn’t need a spirit to tell her that. Others claim the same thing. People are saying it was either Juanita or Danny. They even go so far as to say they saw Danny do it. And anyway, just because someone claims they saw it happen doesn’t mean it actually happened. I mean, some men will do anything to impress a woman. I may not be as old as Linda McKee thinks I am, but I’ll admit I have been around long enough to learn a thing or two about men. Some of them can come up with the most outlandish things when they’re trying to—”
“Hold on a minute! What was that you said about others claiming the same thing? Do you know someone who claims to have seen Danny commit a murder?”
“Now, there’s the key word, isn’t it? Claims to have seen it. You have no idea the lengths a man will go to when he wants to impress a woman.”
Irene responded to that remark with a confused frown. “What man?”
“You should have heard that guy at the Green Corn Dance. He was really coming on to me, and I have to tell you, he was at least twenty years younger than I am. I just wish I had remembered to tell Linda that. Did you hear that insult? I couldn’t believe it! She’s still in her sixties, and if you ask me, she looks years older than I do.”
“Hold on!” Irene said. “Back up a little. You just hinted that a man told you he saw Danny Calabaza mur
der someone?”
“Oh, that,” Adelle said. “Who knows if it’s true? You know how men are. Or maybe you don’t. You’ve had limited experience, but still…”
Irene ignored Adelle’s implied insult. “Did you know this man?”
“Of course not. He was just someone at the Green Corn Dance. We started talking, and he mentioned the murder. Not unusual. Everyone’s talking about it. He just happened to mention that he hoped the cops get their man, and he said he knew it was Danny Calabaza because he saw him do it.”
“Did he say he’d told the police that?”
Adelle shook her head. “He didn’t say, but he was lying, my dear. He was just trying to impress me.”
“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”
“Because he was lying to try to impress me.”
You never saw this man before?”
“Never.”
“Why do you suppose he singled you out to tell you this?”
Adelle gave her a condescending frown. “Irene, my dear, he didn’t single me out just to tell me that. He was merely using it as a conversation starter because he wanted to flirt with me. Is that really such a surprise to you? I mean, men still try to flirt with me occasionally.”
“Sure,” Irene said by way of dismissal, although she wasn’t completely confident that Adelle was right. Someone might have seen Adelle come into the plaza with her, someone who knew she was trying to help Juanita find the killer in order to clear Danny’s name. Maybe he thought he could use Adelle to get information.
“Can you describe this person? You know, tall? Short? Hair color? Handsome? Anything distinctive about him?”
“Well he was, you know, average. Not as tall as your father, but taller than my second husband. Certainly taller than that pipsqueak I married the fourth time. His hair was sort of, I don’t know, brownish. I wouldn’t call him handsome, but he wasn’t ugly or creepy looking, and I would call him average rather than distinctive.”
“Uh-huh. Did you get his name?”
“Not that I remember.”
“Any distinguishing marks on his body?’
Adelle stiffened. “I did not see his body. Only his face.” Her tone changed to sarcasm. “I think he may have cut himself shaving. He had a little nick on his chin. It’s probably healed by now, so it wouldn’t be incriminating. You’re taking this to extremes, Irene.”
Irene was feeling more and more frustrated, yet she managed to ignore Adelle’s last remark. “Can you remember anything else he said?”
“He asked me to have a drink with him, but I refused of course. He didn’t seem to know that alcohol isn’t allowed at the corn dance, and I wasn’t about to leave with him to go to a bar.”
“I saw you in the parking lot at the dance. You and some man were getting out of a car.”
“You were spying on me!”
Irene shook her head. “I didn’t have to spy. You were there in plain sight for everyone to see.”
Adelle flushed. “All right. I was in the car for a brief moment. Just to get away from the noise. But I did not go to a bar with that man. I don’t do that sort of thing.”
Irene looked at her mother with some skepticism, but all she said was “Wise of you.”
“Don’t be condescending, Irene.”
“No condescension was meant,” Irene said. “But tell me, do you think you would recognize this man if you saw him again?”
Adelle made a slight shrug. “I suppose so. Why do you ask?”
“I’d like to talk to him if he ever shows up again.”
“I don’t think you’re his type.”
“Jeez, Adelle. I’m not interested in dating him.”
“No,” Adelle said. “You wouldn’t be, would you?”
Irene almost had to bite her tongue. “Just let me know if you see him again.”
“Oh, all right,” Adelle said, “but I’m not likely to see him again. It wasn’t that kind of relationship. Just a little flirtation, that’s all.”
“You never know,” Irene said. “You just never know.”
Chapter 13
“And then she implied that I’m not interested in men, but I couldn’t get anything else out of her. Not even his name. Just that he was ‘average.’ ” Irene was going through a stack of receipts as she described her encounter with her mother to Angel.
“I wonder if he could be that guy someone saw Danny with not too long ago.” Angel was keeping an eye on the front door as he stood in the back room talking with Irene.
“Danny? Someone else saw him? When?”
“Not too long ago. I don’t know exactly.”
“A month ago? A year ago? A day ago?”
“Oh, a couple weeks, I think. Before all this murder business started.” Angel spoke without looking at her. His eyes were still on the front door.
Irene sighed. “Why is everyone being so evasive? Can you at least tell me who told you this?”
“Just someone I used to know.”
“Damn it, Angel!”
Angel turned suddenly to look at Irene. He was unused to hearing her swear. “Well, it was…um…”
“Oh, I get it, you’ve been talking to those gang members again.”
“Well, not exactly, but sort of.”
Irene looked at him with steely eyes but didn’t speak.
“You remind me of my grandmother when you look at me like that.”
Irene still did not speak, nor did she take her eyes off him.
“Okay, it was Paco Martinez, and he’s still kind of with the Capitolistas, I guess.”
“Kind of, you guess.”
“Yeah,” Angel said. There was another silence while he looked at her with a decidedly guilty expression before he added, “Okay, I know you told me to stay away from members of the gang, and I didn’t go looking for anyone. I saw Paco just by chance. Just like I did that guy at the grocery. Paco knows I know about Danny and what he and his mother are accused of. Well, everybody does, I guess, but anyway, he knows, and so he started talking, and he told me about seeing him a few days ago with a guy. Some Anglo in a suit. Thought he might be someone high up in the trade, so—”
“Trade?”
“Drugs.”
“Go on.”
“So that’s it. He thought maybe Danny was making contacts and trying to get into some high level of the trade himself.”
“And that would cut into the Capitolistas’ business.”
“He didn’t say that, but yeah.”
Irene bit her lip and momentarily forgot about the new stock. “So Danny is in danger from more than one group.”
Angel’s expression changed. “You know, it just occurred to me that may be the reason Paco told me that. He’s not a bad guy at times. He knows I know about Danny, and maybe he thought I could warn him.”
“Not a bad guy, huh? Just a member of a gang of thugs.”
“You don’t understand. Some of those guys don’t really have a family, you know. They’re like me. No mom, no dad, grandmother is dead. They’re just looking for somewhere to belong.”
Irene pulled Angel around to face her head-on. “Listen to me, Angel. They’re not like you. They’re dangerous, and I don’t like you hanging around them. I’ve told you that before. Many times.”
“I know, but—”
“No buts. Stay away.” She scrutinized his face. “Just where was it that you happened to run into him?”
Angel’s face turned red, and he looked down at the floor for a second. “Jack’s,” he said, forcing himself to look her in the eye.
“Jack’s? That place out on the road to Los Alamos?”
Angel nodded.
“What were you doing there? You’re too young to drink.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“If you know, then stay away.”
“I will. I promised my grandmother I wouldn’t hang out there. It’s just that, well, you know, it was Saturday night, and I didn’t have anything else to do.”
&nbs
p; “Can’t you find someone nice to hang out with?”
“You’re mad? About Jack’s, I mean.”
Irene scrutinized his face again. “Yeah, I’m mad. You’re still hanging out with gang members, and going to bars when you’re too young to drink.”
Angel smiled. “You remind me so much of my grandmother.”
“Thanks,” Irene said just as a customer entered the store, and Angel moved away to help her. Irene put a hand to her head and closed her eyes. She wasn’t used to being told that she reminded anyone of their grandmother. All she could hope for was that he meant it as a compliment.
Irene returned to her work sorting the stock, but it was hard to concentrate. All the while she was formulating a plan to go with Angel to his home after work so she could talk to Juanita again. She wanted to ask her if she knew anything about the man Danny had been seen with. She wanted to know if it could possibly be the same man Juanita had seen, who might not have been a hallucination after all. Adelle’s vague description of the man would make it difficult to describe him to Juanita. Angel’s reluctance to talk about what Paco Martinez might or might not have told him wouldn’t help much, either.
She was relatively sure Angel would eventually divulge more, if there was more to be told. He was, after all, a good kid, in spite of the disadvantages of his background. Irene knew he respected her enough to tell her everything eventually. He seemed to think of her as a surrogate mother. That thought was sobering. Was she old enough to have a nineteen-year-old son? Of course she was. Plenty of women gave birth at the tender age of twenty. Or, she admitted reluctantly to herself, in this case, twenty-one.
She was still trying to come to terms with that thought when she heard Angel’s voice. “She’s in the back. Go ahead. She’ll probably be glad to see you, but I have to warn you she’s in kind of a funky mood.”
In the next moment, P.J. stuck his head around the corner of the opening to the back room. “Hello, Irene,” he said.
“Oh, it’s you.”
“Why yes, and I can hear the enthusiasm in your voice.”
Irene waved a hand at him. “Don’t mind me. It’s just my funky mood.”
P.J. poured a cup of coffee from the replacement pot Irene and Angel had bought. His only comment was “Um-hum.”
