by Paula Paul
With the gun in her hand, she crept toward the living room, but she didn’t enter. Instead, she peered around the doorframe. Sagan and Webster were seated on one of the leather sofas, and Andy Iglesias was pacing in front of them holding a gun. Seated on another of the sofas were Rafael and two other men. Their hands were tied behind their backs, their feet were bound, and they all had gags over their mouths.
“That was your first mistake,” Andy said, speaking to Sagan and Webster. “You should have figured it out long before—” He stopped speaking when he saw Irene standing in the doorway with the gun pointed at him.
“Irene,” he said, his voice calm, as if he weren’t surprised, yet his eyes scanned her suspiciously.
It was only then that she realized she wasn’t wearing a blouse and that her torso was covered with P.J.’s blood, but she pointed the gun at Andy’s head and spoke. “Drop the gun, Andy, and slide it toward me with your foot.”
“What are you talking about?” Andy asked. “These men are dangerous, and this is police business. Leave it to—”
She turned quickly when she saw Sagan try to pull his gun from the holster across his chest. She fired, hitting his hand, and he dropped the gun. It skittered across the floor. In less than a second she shot again, hitting Webster in the thigh, making him drop his gun as well. Webster cried out in pain, and Sagan grasped his injured hand with his good hand and swore loudly. In the same instant, Andy’s gun fired, and Irene felt as if her heart had dropped from her chest, but when she turned toward him, she saw him trying to right himself. Rafael had tripped him with his tied feet, making him misfire.
“What’s this all about?” Andy asked.
“I said slide the gun toward me. With your foot!” Irene barked at him.
He did as he was told. “You’re being irrational,” he said. “You don’t know what’s going on here. Don’t interfere with police business.”
“I know exactly what’s going on here,” she said. “You’re not here on police business.”
“For Christ’s sake, Irene.” Andy nodded toward Sagan and Webster. “These two men are art thieves, and those three over there do the dirty work for them.”
“Untie them!” she said, moving closer to Andy with the gun still raised. Andy hesitated, but she shouted again. “I said untie them!”
Andy turned toward the sofa, but just as he approached the men, a voice in the doorway caused him to stop and turn around.
“Thank God the volice are here!” Adelle walked into the living room with Angel beside her. “Irene! What happened to you? All that blood, and you’re naked.”
Irene turned around, too, and the distraction was just enough to cause her to lose her advantage. Andy grabbed her wrist, and in the same movement took the gun from her, then forced her in front of him as a shield while he pointed the gun at Adelle and Angel. Sagan tried to reach for the gun Irene had forced him to throw to the floor. In the process, he hit his wounded hand against the sofa and cried out in pain, once again holding his bleeding hand with his good hand. Webster was still trying to get up, but his wounded leg rendered him immobile.
“Put that thing down!” Adelle shouted at Andy. “How dare you voint a gun at ne.”
“Quiet, Adelle!” Angel was holding his hands above his head. “Can’t you see he’s got Irene?”
Andy repositioned the gun and pressed it into Irene’s temple. “I’ll kill her now if you don’t do as I say. Both of you! Over here with the cowboys. Stand against the wall.”
“Don’t you dare harn vy daughter,” Adelle screeched. “You’ll have to kill ne first.” She lunged at Andy, but Angel stopped her and pulled her against the wall.
“Now you three!” Andy nodded at Rafael and his friends. “Stand up!” The three men struggled, trying to stand with their hands and feet bound. “You’re going first, Irene,” Andy said. “Damn! I hate to kill you. I was beginning to enjoy your company.” He laughed. “But I saw how you can handle yourself the way you took care of those two idiots,” he said, nodding toward Webster and Sagan. The pistol clicked as he cocked the trigger. Irene closed her eyes. She felt a shove and fell against Rafael, who was standing in front of her, and then heard a voice.
“Run, Irene! I’ll take care of this.” It was Adelle. She had pushed away. Andy fired, and Adelle fell to the ground. “Run, while there’s tine.” Adelle’s voice was weak. In the next moment her eyes closed and her body went limp.
“Mother!” Irene cried. She tried to go to her, but Andy pulled her back.
“Goddamned P.J.,” Andy murmured. “If he’d done his job we wouldn’t have this mess. It’s going to be hell for Maureen to clean up.” He cocked the gun again and pointed it at Irene.
“Maureen’s not cleaning up any of this, you bastard!” Irene looked up to see Maureen standing in the doorway with a gun aimed at Andy. “I was such a fool to let you talk me into helping you with this.”
“Maureen…” Andy’s voice was pleading.
“Drop the gun!” she said, raising her own gun higher.
“Maureen,” Andy said again.
Maureen fired. Andy dropped his gun to clutch his bleeding side with both hands, freeing Irene. She dropped to the floor and hovered over Adelle. Blood was coming from somewhere near her temple.
“Oh, you’re a charmer. I can’t deny that,” Maureen said, moving closer to Andy, while Irene tried to determine whether or not Adelle was breathing. Angel had come to her side as well and was holding Adelle’s wrist, trying to find a pulse.
Maureen was still talking. “Showed up at my house and made huevos rancheros for me, sweet-talking me like nobody ever did before.” She laughed, a bitter sound. She looked at Irene and Angel, who was still bent over Adelle. “I just didn’t know he was going to make me do all those things.” Her voice broke. “When he told me he was going to kill you, Angel, well, I couldn’t let that happen. Nobody had ever been as nice to me as you were, except Andy, and he didn’t mean it. Nobody ever told me I was beautiful before you said it.”
Angel stood, and with a gentle movement, he took the gun from her hands and put his arm around her shoulder. “You are beautiful,” he said. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
Adelle opened her eyes and looked into Irene’s face. “Is that you, Irene?”
“Yes,” she replied. “It’s me.”
“And you’re alive?”
“Yes, Mother. I’m alive. Thanks to you.”
“Get ne out of this place!”
Irene tried to assure Adelle that she would get her out as soon as possible, but she wasn’t certain Adelle had heard her. Voices tangled in the room like colored yarn wrapping around words.
“Where’d you learn how to handle a gun?” Rafael asked Irene.
“Thank God she can,” Carlos said.
At the same time Jeraldo nodded toward Andy, who was still lying on the floor. “Look! That cop ain’t dead!” Jeraldo said.
Harriet and George entered the room, startling Adelle. “Harriet! Your face is vloody. Who hit you?”
“Who hit you?” Harriet said, staring at Adelle. “Your lip is purple! And you’re bleeding!”
George sat down on the nearest sofa. “Long walk,” he said, gasping.
“It was only a few yards,” Harriet said. “You’re out of shape.”
Adelle was on her feet by now and was near tears. “Oh, Harriet! It was terrible. You’ll never velieve what havened.”
“Where are you going, Irene?” someone asked. Irene wasn’t certain who asked that, but she threw the answer over her shoulder.
“I’ve got to get P.J. to a doctor.”
“Untie us first!” Rafael shouted.
“George,” Irene commanded. “Untie those men.”
“He’s breathing! Bullet knocked him down, grazed his side,” Jeraldo said, staring at Andy.
“The nonster hit ne in the face. It’s a wonder I’n not dead,” Adelle said.
“Airbag inflated,” Harriet said.
> “Not out of shape. It was all uphill. Untie what men?”
“Angel! Come back here,” Irene called, as Angel tried to lead Maureen out of the room. “I need you to come with me. You, too, Rafael. I’ll need help getting P.J. to a car so we can…Who said that? Andy’s still breathing? Harriet! See if you can help him.” She turned to Jeraldo. “Tie the chief’s hands, just in case he’s faking it.”
“I can’t! My hands are still tied.”
“George!” Irene was still issuing commands when two burly men, each holding a badge in one hand and a gun in the other, rushed into the large living room. Both men aimed their pistols at Andy, who was still on the floor.
“FBI,” one of them said, stepping toward the chief. “You’re under arrest.” The other man moved to Sagan and Webster and began reciting the Miranda warning before he turned to Maureen, who was crying and clinging to Angel. She cried even harder when she was told she was under arrest.
Irene was on her way out the door to find P.J. when the FBI men stopped her. “Stay where you are!”
At the same time she heard Adelle screech again.
“Get ne out of here, Irene!”
Chapter 21
It was late afternoon the next day. The store was still open, but there were no customers. It was often slow during the dinner hour. Angel had gone home and was supposed to be writing a paper on the history of Impressionism. Irene, with a small bandage on the side of her face where the bullet had grazed her, was sitting at the desk in the back of the store, working on invoices and watching the six o’clock news on a small television.
Chief Andy Iglesias, who was recovering from a bullet wound that turned out to be much more serious than P.J.’s wound, was the focus of most of the footage. There were pictures of him being transported into the hospital, footage of the stolen paintings, interviews with gallery owners and artists, and with the curator of the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum. The news anchor was talking about the elaborate scheme the chief and others had been involved in to sell the paintings to wealthy buyers in Saudi Arabia and other wealthy Middle Eastern countries. Rob Sellers was the overseas contact, and Tomas Delgado had been involved before his illness.
There were clips of the chief from the past when he was looking clean-cut, handsome, and sharp in his uniform. There were also interviews with Irene and Angel about how they found the stash, and pictures of Harriet and George looking bloodied and disheveled. There was also a shot of Rob Sellers being arrested in Paris, where he had been trying to hide. There was an older shot of Tomas Delgado before he was ravaged by Alzheimer’s disease. Even Adelle had allowed herself to be interviewed, in spite of her still-swollen lip.
“All of the credit goes to ny dear daughter, Irene Seligman,” Adelle said. “She saved all of us. She is incredidly snart. Used to be the District Attorney in Nanhattan, and…”
The rest of the quote was cut by the station’s editors, but her mother’s overly exuberant and exaggerated Manhattan D.A. statement made Irene tear up. Adelle had never before given her such elaborate praise, but that wasn’t all that made Irene emotional. Adelle had actually risked her own life to save hers. When Irene tried to thank her and before she could warn her that she’d better not ever do that again, Adelle cut her off. “I’ve got to get ready for the TV canera,” she’d said. “I’n not sure I have enough concealer to cover this liv.”
It turned out she didn’t have enough concealer to cover her swollen and blue lip or the raw wound where Andy’s bullet had grazed her face, but she went on television nevertheless, eager, it seemed, to extol the virtues of her daughter. She sounded like a normal, typical, doting mother. Adelle had never been any of those things.
The blond anchorwoman continued her newscast. “Maureen Elliot, the alleged shooter of Chief Andy Iglesias, was also taken into custody.” A picture of Maureen appeared on the screen, and the anchorwoman added, “She is believed to have been responsible for the actual transportation of the guns. She is said to be cooperating with police and—”
“Hey! They got Maureen!”
Irene looked up to see P.J. entering her store and walking toward the back. His arm was in a sling, and he still looked a little pale.
“P.J.! What are you doing here? You just had surgery on your arm. You should be at home in bed.”
P.J. looked at his heavily bandaged arm. “Will I ever be able to play the violin?”
“I didn’t know you played the violin.”
“I don’t, but…”
Irene rolled her eyes at his corny joke. “You’re going to be fine.”
“You saved my life.”
“Just returning the favor,” she said. “If I remember correctly, you saved my life as well as a couple of others.”
“Aw, shucks,” he said, pretending embarrassment.
“But you still have a lot of explaining to do.”
He sat down heavily in the other chair. “I knew this was coming. You want to know why I tried to run you off the road and why I got mixed up with that bunch to start with.”
“I imagine the police asked you the same thing.”
“First, I didn’t try to run you off the road. That was Webster.”
“But why…”
P.J. held up his one good hand. “I’m getting to that. Andy Iglesias mentioned that you and I were getting too chummy. Warned me to stay away from you in case you got word of what he was up to. So Webster, genius that he is, took it upon himself to scare you off. Iglesias was mad as hell. That’s one of the reasons he sent him out to the wilderness—-just to get his blundering ass out of the way, not thinking you would show up out there again. I guess he thought you’d obey him like a good little girl and stay in town waiting to hear about Adelle.”
“Why did he kidnap her? He couldn’t have possibly thought she knew anything.”
“He couldn’t be sure of that. He knew Loraine and Susana were on to what was going on, since both their husbands were part of the operation, Susana’s husband is no threat since he’s in an institution with Alzheimer’s, and Loraine’s husband was hiding out in some foreign country. But the wives. They were getting edgy about the scheme. Andy was afraid they were going to spill the beans, so he had them killed.
“By the way, Loraine was having an affair with Andy, and she tried to rent that building so he could stash some of his stolen paintings there. George knew nothing about any of it, but Andy and the others were suspicious of Harriet and Adelle, since they were good friends with Susana and Loraine. Harriet was supposed to be kidnapped with Adelle, but Webster the genius and Maureen messed that up.”
“Why didn’t they kill them like they did Susana and Loraine?”
“I told them not to. Just like I said when we were at Mariposa, there were too many dead bodies, and we were going to get caught for sure if any more dead women showed up.”
“We were going to get caught? So you are part of the whole thing.”
“Well…”
“Why would they listen to you otherwise?”
“They listened to me because I’m a good lawyer. They hired me because I’m a good lawyer.”
Irene stared at him but didn’t speak at first. Finally, she said, “You know you’re going to jail.”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean, no?”
“I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
“Oh, my God!” She turned away from him in disgust. “You’re so full of clichés it’s appalling, and besides that, you’re worse than scum, you’re…” She stopped speaking and looked at him again. “You’re the reason the Feds showed up! You were working for them all along.”
“Damn!” he said. “I’m going to have to kill you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? Don’t say it! Don’t say it’s because you’d have to kill me. I can’t stand another cliché.”
“Okay, I won’t say it. Let me just say I get hired often because I’m—”
“Because you’re a good lawyer,” she said.
> He nodded. “Exactly. The Feds knew I have what you might say is frequent contacts with what is commonly known as scum.”
Irene gave him a suspicious frown. “So? A lot of lawyers have frequent contacts with scum.”
“Of course,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve had your own interludes with a few seamy characters in your former job.”
“Like I said, a lot of us do. So why did the Feds hire you?”
P.J. shrugged. “It could be because they knew I was on to Iglesias.”
“How could you be on to him?” Irene’s voice was full of skepticism. “No one else was. He was the golden boy for this entire town.”
“Let’s just say that in my line of work, I have contact with a lot of cops as well as crooks. You hang around the police station enough, you learn things. You make friends with the right people, like Rafael. They help you put the pieces together.”
“Rafael?”
“Yeah,” P.J. said. “He thought there was something suspicious going on at Mariposa lodge. Saw a lot of traffic going up there. It didn’t used to be so unusual when Tomas was in good enough health to have his hunting buddies up there, but when he became senile and had to be institutionalized, the traffic didn’t slow down.”
“They were bringing the paintings up to hide them until they could ship them out,” Irene said. “How did Rafael know they were paintings?”
“He didn’t. He just thought it was odd that there was so much coming and going. Especially odd when he recognized Iglesias as one of the drivers he saw. The pieces were beginning to fit together, but the Feds had to be sure. That’s why they hired me. Rafael didn’t know about the Feds’ suspicions. He just thought he was helping me out.”
“But Susana’s husband and Loraine’s husband, they were mixed up in it too? And Andy Iglesias was afraid the women would rat on them? Even Loraine? His lover? They were afraid of Adelle and Harriet, too?” Irene shook her head. “This is crazy.”