Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_05

by Death on the River Walk

  “The searcher was looking for something about this size.” I spread my hands in the shape of an attaché case. “Not too big, not too small. What do you think he was looking for?”

  “He?” His voice was sharp. I certainly had his attention.

  “A blond man.” Maria Elena watched her grandson. “In his late forties. Muscular.”

  “With a big head,” I added. “Bright blue eyes. Curly hair. Do you know this man?”

  He shook his head, but his eyes were remote, as if he were thinking and thinking hard. Finally, he realized we both were staring at him. He looked at his grandmother. “I don’t know him. I’ve never seen anybody like that.”

  I asked quickly, “Do you know what Iris might have that someone would want?”

  “Iris?” He looked incredulous. “She doesn’t have anything anybody would want to steal. I’m sure of that. Maybe somebody saw her leaving with that guy and decided to break into her place. Maybe it’s a good thing she’s gone. Anyway, I’m sure she’ll be back.” He crossed the room, gave his grandmother a hug, held her tight for a moment, pressed his chin against her head. “Don’t worry, Abuelita. Everything will be all right.” His voice was deep and reassuring. Then his eyes sought mine. “Please tell Iris’s grandmother not to worry. I’m sure she’ll be back.” He gave his grandmother a gentle squeeze and stepped away, but his handsome face was still strained.

  Maria Elena patted his arm. “Rick, I know how Iris’s grandmother feels. She will not be content until she knows Iris is safe. Mrs. Collins”—a nod toward me—“is going to stay in San Antonio until she finds Iris. I want you to help her.”

  He kept his face smooth, but dismay, if not hostility, flickered in his eyes. His voice was genial. “Of course. If there’s anything I can do, I will.” Once again he shrugged. “But I don’t know anything else. I told the police officer everything I know.”

  I smiled cheerfully. “That’s wonderful.”

  Rick’s face looked frozen.

  I wasn’t surprised. He didn’t want to be helpful. But he had no choice. I was going to spend some time with this young man whether he liked it or not. As far as I could gauge, his responses to our questions had been an intriguing mixture of truth and diversion.

  Once I knew why Iris left the store, why she went to her apartment, where she went from there, then maybe I would be on the trail to finding her.

  five

  OUR shoes clanged on the spiral staircase. I’d noticed the staircase yesterday when Susana Garza took me into the back area of the store, but I’d only glanced at the end of the corridor and had no real sense of how steep and difficult the stairs were.

  “Does your grandmother still use these stairs?” I don’t mind heights, but these steep steel steps were daunting.

  Rick had bounded ahead of me. He stopped and looked back at me. “Oh, yes. It’s the most direct way. Is this hard for you?” His courtesy was automatic, even though he obviously didn’t want to deal with me.

  “Not at all.” I knew my reply came too quickly. It is an odd truth about aging that we never want to admit we can’t do something that was once easy. I hoped that pride didn’t, in this case, literally precede a fall. I concentrated on placing each foot firmly in the center of the metal grid. My hand slid along the railing. I was blithe in my speech, but my body was exhibiting intelligent caution. And I didn’t trust the young man below me.

  Rick waited until I reached the step above him. “This is the quickest way down to the store. Of course, it’s possible to take the outside steps from La Mariposa, but it’s definitely the long way around. Everyone in the family comes this way.” He clattered down the remaining steps.

  As I followed sedately, he chattered, “The interior back stairs in La Mariposa end in the ground-floor hall. Tony and Susana live on the third floor. They walk down to the ground floor and use these stairs.” He pointed up at a door next to the one we’d opened to leave Maria Elena’s quarters. I knew that door was close to my room.

  Rick was apparently delighted to share nonessential information. The better, I suspected, to avoid any more questions about his relationship with Iris.

  “Now, down here—”

  I reached the base of the staircase.

  “—we have the offices.” He gestured across the hall.

  A large floor fan at the far end of the long hall stirred the cool air. There was no need of air-conditioning here. Old, thick walls kept the temperature cool. The air, though moving, had a dry mustiness that reminded me of a visit on a fall day many years ago to the catacombs in Rome.

  “And there is the receiving area.” Rick gestured toward closed double doors as he led the way to the doorway into the store.

  I said quickly, “I’d like to see the receiving area.” Susana had said that Iris left the shipping area unattended. “That’s where Iris was working Thursday, isn’t it?”

  He waited an instant too long to reply. Where was Iris working Thursday? A simple question requiring a simple answer. Instead, he said blandly, “Really? I didn’t know that. I didn’t see her after she told me about going to Padre. And that was upstairs in La Mariposa. We hold the auction in one of the large rooms on the main floor of La Mariposa. I was working on the display tables, setting up the electronic bidders. But you said you wanted to talk to everyone. When Abuelita called for me, I was at Tesoros. We’re finalizing plans for the auction. If we hurry, we may find everyone still there.”

  “Everyone? The whole family?”

  He grinned. “Well, it’s never everyone in the Garza family unless you’ve made room for a hundred or so. All the aunts and uncles and cousins. Whenever anybody gets sick or wants to take a vacation, somebody in the family fills in. And trouble? They come through the door in droves.” He spoke easily with the security of a man who knows where he belongs and is comfortable there and with the fluency of a man determined to control the course of the conversation. “But day to day, Tony and Susana oversee the store. Along with me and Celestina. I don’t think you’ve met my Aunt Celestina. Or my Uncle Frank and Aunt Isabel. They run La Mariposa. So, of course, they’re right in the middle of the planning for the auction. Anyway, everybody’s in Tesoros.”

  Was Rick simply trying to divert me from asking questions of him? Or did he want to steer clear of the receiving area? Whatever, I knew his volubility had a definite purpose.

  I smiled. “I’m certainly eager to meet everyone. Whatever they can tell me about Iris will be a help. But it will only take a minute to look at the receiving area.” I walked determinedly to the closed doors.

  Rick reluctantly followed. He punched a keypad mounted on the wall. I tried to recreate in my mind the movement of his hand. Oh-nine-two-one. It was certainly not a combination which would occur to an intruder in a hurry.

  Rick pulled open the nearer door. We stepped into a cavernous room that was perhaps twenty feet wide, thirty feet deep. A single globed light hung from the ceiling. Shelving ran around the four walls, broken only by the wide metal door of a freight elevator in the far wall. The throaty hum of a dehumidifier explained the dust-free, dry air.

  Rick flipped a switch and bright fluorescent light glowed, running in panels above four long worktables. The sharp white glow transformed a dusky cavern into a storeroom with colorful treasures everywhere. On the shelves, I glimpsed a variety of artworks of every color and kind imaginable: pottery, marionettes, sarapes, clay figures, straw mosaics, wax figures, bas-relief wood panels, lacquerware, wooden carvings, baskets, earthenware vessels, stone sculptures, toys, dolls, masks, retablos, Day of the Dead offerings.

  “Everything comes down in the elevator.” Rick pointed toward the back of the room. “We unpack at the first table. Every item is recorded in the Tesoros great log. Over there”—Rick pointed to a huge leather-bound book on a stand—“that’s Maria Elena’s original journal. Then we put everything into the computer”—now he swung to his left and gestured toward a computer station against the near wall—“and index it so
we can find an entry by type, point of origin, price, age, provenance.” Pride lifted his voice. “We have one of the most modern systems available.”

  My shoes clipped on the cement floor as I walked briskly to the old journal. “What does Iris do when she works in here?” I glanced at the facing pages. The date was handwritten in the center of the page above a listing of items received. Nothing for today’s date. Nothing for Sunday.

  On Saturday, a shipment of six late-classic sarapes from San Miguel de Allende, circa 1920, fine, tight weave with diamond medallions in the center against alternating red and black horizontal designs, purchase price $4,500 each, sale price $5,750.

  I backtracked, scanning the entries made on the previous Friday, turned the page and found the entries for Thursday:

  Sixteen wax figures, Jalisco, matadors, circa 1950, purchase price $110 each, sale price $250.

  Lacquerware, Uruapan, seven trays, purchase price $350 each, sale price $450.

  There were more entries—for pottery from Guadalajara, Tonalá, and Santa Cruz de las Huertas, some old, some new, ranging in price from a few hundred dollars to several thousand. All of this was in a school-girlish handwriting. I pointed to these lines.

  “Is this Iris’s handwriting?”

  Rick barely glanced at the page. “Yes. She did a lot of unpacking. It’s really a lot of fun. We check the invoice, unpack, then get out the right collector’s book for the current pricing. Of course, Maria Elena goes over a printout from the computer every day. Sometimes she changes the prices. But if she approves the shipping-room price, the next step is to tag the work and place it according to price within its storage area. We rotate pieces in the front of the shop. Our turnover rate is excellent. We usually don’t keep any particular piece more than a month. That keeps our inventory manageable. And we don’t buy in a particular area unless our inventory is low.” He reached out, turned the pages gently forward. There was pride and delight, almost reverence, in that touch.

  I smiled at him. “You enjoy being a part of the store?”

  “Tesoros.” He savored the name, his hand smoothed his sleek black goatee. “That’s what we have, treasures. And to be surrounded by all of this”—he looked around the room from one lovely piece to another—“how could life be any better?”

  His grandmother’s instinct was sound. This young man indeed appreciated Maria Elena’s lifework.

  “Does Iris feel the same way about the store?”

  “Oh, yes.” Rick was too swept up in his eagerness to realize for a moment to whom he spoke. And why. His eyes glowed. His mouth spread in a huge smile. “It’s amazing how quickly she’s learned. She cares more than—” He broke off. The happiness fled from his face, leaving it wooden.

  “If Iris loves Tesoros so much, why did she leave?” I stared up at him.

  He turned away. “I already told you.” His voice was harsh. “She found somebody else. She’s gone to Padre.” He strode toward the door to the hall.

  I followed, hurrying to catch up.

  He yanked open the door. Despite his anger, he held the panel, waited for me to precede him.

  I stopped in the doorway, facing him. “What time did you last see Iris?”

  He scowled. “About four, I guess.”

  “She came from the shipping area”—I pointed back into the huge room—“upstairs into La Mariposa to find you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know where she was.” The muscles ridged in his face.

  “Why did she come at that particular moment?”

  Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “How should I know? You can ask her. When she gets back from Padre.”

  I wished I could calibrate Rick’s emotion. He towered over me, his face sullen. Yet, his anger seemed hollow, forced. I didn’t understand this young man. I had a conflicting sense of him in every way: he loved his grandmother, he loved this store, he eagerly told of Iris’s interest in the store, but every inquiry ended with his claim that Iris had run away because of another man.

  “Rick, please.” I spoke gently. “Please help me.”

  “I tell you, Iris”—he broke off, looked past me, his eyes suddenly guarded—“Iris told me she was going to Padre. Hi, Celestina.”

  A small woman glided toward us from the door to the main showroom. She had a mouselike face, the features small and tight. Wire-rimmed glasses and raven dark hair drawn back in a bun gave her an air of severity. “Tony’s looking for you, Rick.” Her voice had a dry, gritty sound, like gravel crunching underfoot on a country road. “The computer hookup in the auction room isn’t working.” She held out a hand. “Hello, I’m Celestina Garza.” Her hand was limp and cool and faintly moist.

  “This is Mrs. Collins.” Rick put a firm hand on my elbow and I was out in the hall and the doors to the delivery area closed behind us. “She’s a friend of Iris’s grandmother and she wants to know all about Iris’s job here. If you’ll show her around, I’ll run up and see what’s going on with the hookup. See you later, Mrs. Collins.” He strode to the steel stairway and hurried up, his shoes clanging on the metal. I doubted he was nearly as eager to deal with computer problems as he was delighted to be done with me.

  Celestina Garza’s eyes glittered with dislike. But not of me. Her disdainful glance followed Rick’s noisy ascent, then she turned toward me with a smile. At least I supposed it was intended as a smile. The tiny movement of thin lips in tightly drawn skin evoked all the warmth of a face chiseled in mortuary stone.

  I beamed at her. “I’m so glad to meet you, Celestina. I’m so impressed at how the family all works together here in the store. I’d like to learn all about it. For Iris’s grandmother. When Iris comes back—”

  “Is she coming back?” Celestina looked at me curiously. “I heard she ran out on Rick. But maybe Maria Elena doesn’t care. She’s been terribly interested in Iris. And for what reason, I’d like to know?” Her tone was sharp. “That girl came out of nowhere and Maria Elena treats her like family.” Her eyes glinted with resentment. “So she’s coming back, even though Rick has his nose out of joint. What do you know about that! Maybe for once Abuelita’s darling won’t get his way.” Now she smiled fully, her lips curving in malicious delight.

  “Iris told me you’d been very kind. And that you are very important in running the store.” I learned long ago in interviews that it never hurts to toss in a bit of butter.

  She blinked in surprise. Then she preened. “Well, I’m glad Iris recognizes how things really work. Why, to hear Tony or Rick talk, you wouldn’t even think I existed. But who works behind the scenes, making sure that everything happens when it should? I do. And never a word of thanks from anyone. As for Mother, she’s never let me do as much as I wanted. At least she has the sense to get Magda out on the road. That’s my sister, Rick’s mother. She’s in Jalisco now on a buying trip. Magda and Tony never could be in the same room without fighting. Tony bulls his way around and everyone runs to do what he says. But not Magda. And not Susana, for that matter. And if a man can’t control his own wife, that tells you something, doesn’t it?” A short laugh. “Susana thinks she’s better than everyone else but she’d better be careful. The walls can have ears. And eyes. Although I don’t know if I blame her. How many little friends is a man supposed to have? But Susana takes too much on herself. And then she’s never satisfied, always jealous when Frank buys Isabel new jewelry.” A thin hand straightened the plain collar of her beige silk blouse. “Jewelry!” She tossed her head and not a hair in that taut bun quivered. “That’s all Isabel thinks about, jewelry and trips and fine furniture and silver. Well, it’s a good thing I’m here. And I’m glad to know Iris appreciates me. When is she going to be back? I didn’t understand why she left, with the auction coming up.” Celestina peered at me and the thick lens magnified her brooding brown eyes.

  I watched her carefully as I spoke. “I understand from Rick that he expects Iris to return sometime tomorrow.”

  But Celestina merely nodded, as if the fact w
ere of only marginal interest. “Well, we’ll have to make you welcome until she gets here. So you want to find out about the store for Iris’s grandmother? Is her grandmother an old friend of Maria Elena’s?”

  It was like being at the end of a long line when a message is whispered to one, then another in turn, and the final account is entirely garbled. Fun, when it’s a game. Interesting to me now, and very helpful, in dealing with Celestina Garza. I was being accorded a legitimacy I hadn’t expected. Instead of posing questions, perhaps unwelcome questions, about Iris’s last day at the store—and why she’d left in secrecy if not in haste—I was now merely an honored guest to be shown every respect.

  “Maria Elena?” I spoke easily, as if I knew her well. “Actually, she and I have known each other longer than she’s known Iris’s grandmother.” It’s always such a pleasure to speak the truth. And it sounds so well. “But, Celestina, tell me more about Tesoros. I feel like I have so much to learn. And I don’t know anyone who could be a better guide. Now”—I pointed at the closed doors to the delivery area—“what’s the procedure for working there? I suppose with so much valuable artwork, you are very careful about security?”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” she said importantly. “You see the electronic keypad. The code changes every day. But it’s so simple. And so clever. I thought of it. The code depends upon the date. The first number is the month, the second the day of the month. Say it’s May seventh. You punch oh-five-oh-seven. But”—she paused importantly—“if it’s the twenty-first, like today, you punch in oh-nine-two-one.”

  “Oh.” My tone was admiring. “And if it’s the twenty sixth, it’s oh-nine-two-six.”

  “Yes.” Her tight smile awarded me a gold star.

  I nodded in admiration. “And if it’s the thirtieth, you punch oh-nine-three-oh. That’s very clever, Celestina.”