by Paula Paul
“I know. Crazy and ugly. I’m sorry you had to get mixed up in it.”
Irene gave him a dazed look. She was sorry anyone was mixed up in it.
“Okay, it’s your turn,” P.J. said. “How in hell did you figure out the chief was heading up the operation?”
“It was something he said when we were together,” Irene said. “Something about me not going down to the pantry. I hadn’t mentioned a pantry or that a person had to go downstairs to get to it. I finally realized he knew more than he was admitting. I was guessing he might know what was in those boxes if he knew they were down there.”
“Smart woman,” P.J. said.
“Smart? I don’t know about that, but I have Susana to thank for telling us all about the paintings and about Andy Iglesias.”
“She told you? And you didn’t let anyone know.”
“It took me a while to figure out what she was saying. In fact, I didn’t figure it out until you took us into the woods to shoot us—”
“I didn’t take you into the woods to shoot you. I was just trying to—”
“Whatever. Anyway, Susana had told Adelle and Harriet a long time ago that if anything ever happened to her, they were to go to Mariposa. Both of them forgot about it until she died. That’s when we all went up there to look for something I thought she wanted Adelle and Harriet to find.”
“And…”
“I found a note addressed to Adelle.” Irene pulled it out of a drawer and handed it to P.J.
He took it with his unbandaged hand and looked at it. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“That’s what I thought at first. Hand it to me, and I’ll read it to you.” She took the note from him and read, Look in place we don’t use. Paintings. Call Feds. Don’t call chief will kill. The place she doesn’t use is the kitchen. She didn’t even know how to cook, but the paintings were there. And she was warning Adelle about Andy Igelsias.
“Give me a break,” P.J. said. “You made that up.”
“No, I didn’t. Look at it.” She handed the paper back to him. “Harriet noticed right off the bat that there were no vowels in the entire thing.”
“So?”
“That’s what I thought at first—so what? Then I finally remembered after it was almost too late that Susana had talked Adelle into taking a class with her at Santa Fe Community College.”
“Where are you going with this?” P.J. asked.
“It was a class in ancient Hebrew. Adelle hated it, but that’s beside the point.”
“Are you ever going to tell me just what is the point?”
“Ancient Hebrew didn’t have vowels. Susana wrote this so no one except Adelle could read it, but Adelle never got the chance. Not that she could have read it anyway. Susana obviously learned more than Adelle, but the point is, she wasn’t sure who she could trust with what she knew, but she wanted someone to know if anything happened to her. So she wrote the note to Adelle, hoping she could read it and contact the Feds.”
“Let me see that again,” P.J. said and reached for the paper, looking at it for several seconds. He shook his head. “You were just guessing.”
“No I wasn’t. I figured it out.”
“If you’re really that smart, you should have figured out a long time ago that Andy Iglesias was a crook.”
“Really? How was I supposed to do that?”
“Just how often were you together?”
“Does it matter?”
P.J. was silent for several seconds. “Sorry. I’m being an asshole.”
Irene narrowed her eyes and nodded slowly.
“Tell you what,” he said. “I’ll make it up to you. As soon as I can use my arm again, I’ll cook you a fantastic meal. Huevos rancheros. I make a fantastic sauce. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Irene Kraas, who was supposed to be the original owner of Irene’s Closet.
BY PAULA PAUL
Irene’s Closet
For Dead Men Only
Medium Dead
PHOTO: LAUREN ASHLEY CREATIVE GROUP, INC.
Award-winning novelist PAULA PAUL was born on her grandparents’ cotton farm near Shallowater, Texas, and graduated from a country high school near Maple, Texas. She earned a B.A. in journalism and has worked as a reporter for newspapers in both Texas and New Mexico. She’s been the recipient of state and national awards for her work as a journalist as well as a novelist. She lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
Paulapaul.net
@paulapaul4
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