The Tree of Death

by Marcia Muller

  I took a quick shower and more aspirin, put on makeup and the white cotton dress. Eyeing myself in the mirror, I decided it didn’t really look that much like a wedding dress. And if it did, I didn’t have time to do anything about it. I considered putting my hair up, but in the interest of saving time, just fluffed out my curls. I had more important things to worry about than my hairdo.

  On the way out, I tried calling Kirk once more, but he still wasn’t there, and the desk sergeant sounded clearly annoyed with me. I picked up the box of milagros, locked the house, and returned to the museum.

  The place was bustling with activity. Red, green, and white banners-the national colors of Mexico-had been strung across the entryway. Volunteers carried in card tables and folding chairs. A van stood in the parking lot, and two men were unloading instruments. Good, I thought. The mariachi band would be set up on time.

  I parked in the far corner of the lot, unlocked the gate to the courtyard, and entered that way. Once inside, I went directly to the cellar and placed the box containing the silver milagros behind several other boxes at the rear of one of the shelves. I looked around for the flashlight I’d used the previous times I’d been down here and found it near the foot of the stairs. The scene was set.

  Quickly I went upstairs, closed the cellar door, and locked it with the ornate iron key that was always in the latch. I dropped the key in my pocket, looked at my watch, and went into the offices for the meeting.

  The outer office was packed. People milled around Maria’s desk or sat on the floor. They all wore work clothes and looked hot and tired. I resolved to get the meeting over quickly so they could change and relax before our guests began arriving.

  Maria spotted me as soon as I came in. “Oh, a vestido de boda!” she exclaimed.

  So it did look like a wedding dress. “Maria, you’ve got marriage on the brain.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  “No.”

  She got up and motioned me toward her chair, but I declined and perched on the edge of the desk instead. I rapped with a letter opener against Maria’s coffee cup to get everyone’s attention. The crowd quieted.

  “From the looks of things,” I said, “I assume we’re ready to go. I’ll make an inspection tour right after this meeting to check details, though.”

  “And recheck every fifteen minutes until the doors open,”‘ Jesse remarked from the back of the room. His tone was friendly and he smiled; obviously he’d forgotten our harsh words of the morning before.

  “You guessed it. Right now I want to make sure we all know what to do. Jesse, you and Maria are going to take tickets and pass out the corsages, yes?”

  “Right. The corsages are here, in a cool corner of the reform period gallery.”

  “What on earth are they doing there?”

  “The refrigerator’s full of food.”

  “Oh. Okay. Food. Isabel, you and Vic are responsible for getting it onto platters and to the table. And you’ll supervise the people who are serving, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Now the important part-drinks. Tony?”

  “The ice, it is in the buckets. We have mixed margaritas. The beer, it is in the coolers. And there are oh-so-many cans of soda pops.”

  “And Susana will help you dispense it?”

  “Dispense?”

  “Susana will also play bartender?”‘

  “Ah, yes.”

  “Good. The mariachi band is setting up already. I’ll give them instructions about the music. Cleanup crews, please police the galleries regularly. We don’t want any of our collections damaged because people are careless with food and drink. Try not to let anyone smoke in there. And keep dirty plates and glasses picked up. It’ll make your job much easier afterwards. Did I forget anything?”

  There was silence.

  “Okay, I want everybody back here by five-thirty. And, even though we’re hosting this party, let’s enjoy it, too.”

  There was a murmur, and some people began to get up.

  I held up my hand. “Wait.”‘ I paused until I had everyone’s attention. “There’s another matter I should bring up now. I hope it doesn’t put a damper on the evening, but it’s something you should know.”

  Their faces became serious.

  “I’ve uncovered some irregularities here at the museum. They have to do with items not belonging to us, which were stored in the cellar. I found them, and they were removed without my permission before I could bring it to the attention of the police.” I waited, looking from one face to another. I saw varying degrees of surprise, but nothing more.

  “Fortunately for us, whoever removed the items neglected a box of silver milagros, which was packed separately from the other things. I’ve left it down there until the police can take a look. As a precaution, I’ve locked the cellar door.” I took the large iron key from my pocket and held it up. “I thought I should let you know why the cellar is off limits until further notice.”‘ Then I turned to Maria. “Can I have the key to your desk?”

  “Yes, but-”

  “I want to lock this key in there. It’s cumbersome. Yours will be easier to put on my key ring.”

  “Oh.” She dug in her purse and gave me a smaller key. The lock was one of those flimsy ones that could easily be opened with a credit card or nail file. In front of all the witnesses, I locked the cellar key in the desk drawer and pocketed the other one.

  “Now,” I said, “let’s get on with our party.”

  Everyone began filing out, and I went into my office. I slipped Maria’s key on the ring with my others and put the ring in the deep pocket of my dress. Everything was ready now; the trap was set, and I had only to explain it to Kirk when he showed up at the opening. It was time I got on with my duties as acting director.

  I turned to see Tony standing in the door. “Elena, may we speak a moment?”

  “Sure, Tony.”‘ I motioned for him to come in. He slouched into the room and stood, looking uncertain, in the middle of the Peruvian rug.

  “Elena, those things in the cellar-why must you show them to the police?”

  “Why? Don’t you think I should?”

  “I did not say that. I do not even know why they are there.”

  “Don’t you, Tony?”

  “How could I know? I was not in the cellar.”

  “Weren’t you?”

  He rubbed a slender hand over his forehead. “Elena, you are giving me questions for my questions.”

  “Yes, I am. What exactly is it you want, Tony?”

  “I want to know about those things you found in the cellar.”

  “They’re not in the cellar anymore. Someone took them.”‘

  “What were they?”

  “You know what they were, Tony.”

  He clenched his fists. “I do not know.”

  “Tony, the police are going to ask to see your passport.”

  “My… what is my passport having to do with it?”

  “It is ‘having to do’ a great deal. There are stamps in it, all sorts of little colorful stamps with dates on them. They’re proof of all those trips to South America.”

  “Trips?” He tried to look innocent, but only succeeded in looking trapped.

  “Trips. You might have been able to cover up buying the airline tickets-if you people hadn’t been so stupid as to use the museum’s travel agent and checkbook-but you can’t hide the proof in your passport. I guess you might rush home and destroy it and claim it’s been lost. But customs, both here and in South America, also keeps records.”

  Tony’s face was ashen.

  “You see, I know about it, Tony. All of it. I’ve only been waiting until after the opening to take it to the board-and the police.”

  “Elena, why are you doing this? The museum… the scandal…”

  “The museum will survive the scandal. I’ll see to that.”

  “But where is your loyalty?”

  “Loyalty? You talk to me of loyalty? Where was yours when you
entered into this scheme?”

  “Frank said it would not hurt.”

  “Frank said a great many untrue things in his lifetime.”

  “Elena, the dead… he is not even buried yet.”

  “That doesn’t change the facts.”

  “Elena, you must not do this!” He took a step forward, and lifted his arms as if to put his hands on my shoulders. Suddenly I was frightened. In my anger, I had set up a potentially volatile situation. I should never have spoken to Tony at all. He might be the killer. He might take his incriminating passport and run. He might never be apprehended.

  I reached up and took his hands, almost recoiling at their touch. They were icy and trembling. “Okay, Tony, calm down.”

  “But you must not do this!” His voice rose.

  “Hush! Don’t yell.”

  “Think, if not of me, of Susana. Think of what will happen to her. Deportation. Disgrace…”

  “All right, Tony. I tell you what. We’ll talk about it after the party.”

  A slight gleam of hope came into his eyes. Was it an act?

  “You will think again about this? For the good of the museum? And Susana?”

  “I’ll think about nothing else during the party. But, Tony, you have to do your part.”

  “My part?”

  “You must bartend as planned and say nothing of this to anyone-even Susana. For the good of the museum.” I released his hands, and his arms went limp at his sides.

  “Elena, you will not regret this.”

  If this wasn’t an act, I felt sorry for Tony-victimized by a greedy young wife who probably withheld her affection if he didn’t provide all the pretty things she desired. Used by Frank in his profit-making scheme and at the same time abused and ridiculed in front of others. And now he seemed to believe I would change my mind about revealing the embezzlements because he had pleaded for the sake of Susana.

  I began to see the embezzling scheme more clearly. It was like a giant board game, with Frank pushing around the static figures of Vic, Tony, his stupid brother Robert, and his mistress, Gloria. All of them had done as Frank wished, and all of them had been caught.

  Well, hadn’t Frank been caught, too? Caught in the most final way?

  fifteen

  El Cinco de Mayo. The day of the victory over the French at Puebla. Back then in 1862, my forebears had triumphed against overwhelming odds. With luck, I would do the same tonight.

  I stood near the arch to the central courtyard, surveying the scene. It was only seven o’clock, but the museum was already jammed. At fifty dollars a head, this crowd would fill our coffers. Funny-a week ago the thought would have excited me. I would have been scheming how to keep Frank’s hands off the money long enough for me to acquire some really good landscape paintings, build up our reform period collection. But now, my plan for tonight was much more vital, my freedom probably dependent on its result.

  Which one of my friends and colleagues was the killer? Which one of these people-whom, by and large, I liked-was I going to trap and deliver into the hands of the police? I felt nervous, excited, and a little ill. I wished it was all over.

  I glanced at the door, where Maria and Jesse sat at a table, accepting tickets and handing out corpinos, red carnations with red, green, and white ribbons. Maria wore her hair swept up on her head, and her lips and fingernails were as bright as the flowers. In between arrivals she would turn to Jesse and whisper behind one hand, her dark eyes flashing. He grew merry, then serious, then merry in turn, and he whispered back. The diamond ring glittered on Maria’s finger.

  Life had altered radically for Maria and Jesse. No more Tio Taco, no more rotund Robert, no more threats of not exhibiting the camaleones. Maria and Jesse stood to have a happy life together-if one of them hadn’t killed Frank. I watched them, eyes narrowed, for a moment, then went into the courtyard.

  The buffet table had been set up along the left side. Already it was surrounded by gaily dressed people reaching for quesadillas and taquitos, jicama and guacamole. As I approached, Vic emerged from the kitchen, carrying a platter of flour tortillas. Isabel followed, giving instructions on where to set it. She looked haggard, and there was a blossom of orange soda pop on her ruffled peasant blouse; the opening had taken its toll on her.

  The spicy smell of the food was turning my already nervous stomach. I changed course and headed for the bar. A drink, a small one, would help.

  The bar was even more crowded than the buffet. Behind it stood Tony and his giggly Susana, dispensing margaritas, Dos Equis beer, and Mexican soda pop. Tony wore a tuxedo, a ruffled shirt, and his lounge-lizard smirk. As the line inched forward, I heard him tell one of our patrons,“ The margaritas are oh-so-very strong. They will make it easier to bear looking at the arts.”

  I stopped moving, and the woman behind me bumped into me. I apologized to her through gritted teeth, my hands aching to seize the Colombian by his scrawny neck and strangle him. Who was he to knock “the arts”? What the devil did he know? Education director, indeed!

  I held out my plastic glass, regarding Tony thoughtfully. He looked up, saw it was me, and lowered his eyes. His smirk fell away, and his hand shook as he poured from the margarita pitcher. Some of the sticky substance slopped over onto my fingers.

  Tony had never considered me a powerful influence at the museum. Under Frank, I hadn’t been. Naturally Tony had never dreamed I would be named acting director, much less discover their embezzling scheme. Following Frank’s death he had expected he would be named director and go on collecting an even more comfortable salary, plus be spared the hated trips to South America. And, more important, he would be free of Frank’s ridicule and verbal abuse.

  I wiped my fingers on a napkin, glared at Susana when she emitted a particularly shrill giggle, and crossed the courtyard to where I’d been standing before. As I sipped the drink, I watched the crowd.

  There were men dressed in tuxedos and women in flowing floor-length gowns. Others wore traditional. Mexican garb. They ate and drank and chattered, the din rising to obscure the soft Latin rhythms played by the band on the platform in one corner. That would be remedied soon, however; the musicians had instructions to burst into mariachi at eight.

  I continued to scan the crowd until I spotted my mother and Nick by the buffet table. She was wearing a bright red peasant dress, and he had on a charro outfit, complete to the broad-brimmed hat. They saw me and waved, but my mother’s eyes were full of concern, reminding me of the dull ache in my head. I was glad when Nick distracted her with a taquito.

  Everyone was here; everyone was having a good time. Everyone, that is, except me. I felt nervous, my palms clammy. Time was passing, and I still hadn’t spotted the one person I wanted to see…

  I looked around once more, and suddenly there he was. Lieutenant Dave Kirk stood by the bandstand, dressed in his brown business suit, his one concession to gaiety the corsage in his lapel-and that, I suspected, only because Maria had insisted on it when he came through the door. Kirk’s eyes met mine, and he raised his can of soda pop in a toast, a cynical, questioning look on his face. So he had gotten my messages. I raised my glass in return, relieved.

  I took my eyes off the lieutenant and looked around for a place to set the glass. Tony was right about one thing: the margaritas were strong, too strong for the work ahead. One of the volunteers passed, collecting discards on a tray, and I plunked the glass down among the others.

  Quickly I reviewed my plan and what I would say to Dave Kirk. It had to sound well thought out or he wouldn’t listen. He’d ridiculed my “tidbits of information,” as he called them, all down the line. He had been right about the murderer not hiding in the museum all night, but he’d done nothing that I knew of about the other facts I’d brought him. So far as I was aware, he hadn’t even tried to find the tree of death, the murder weapon. Still, he’d have to see the logic of my plan and go along with it.

  Marshaling my arguments, I started toward the lieutenant. Before I reached him,
however, he disappeared into the galleries. I pushed my way through the crowd after him.

  The galleries were not nearly as crowded as the courtyard. Trust our patrons not to stray too far from the food and drink. In the colonial gallery, there was no sign of Kirk, but there was a half-empty plastic glass sitting on top of one of the new display cases. Irritated, I picked it up, wrinkling my nose at the cigarette butt floating among the dregs of the margarita. I supposed I should be thankful that the smoker hadn’t put it out on the rug. Carrying the offending glass, I went into the reform period gallery. There, a couple of youngish matrons were discussing the Velasco landscape.

  “It doesn’t look anything like the Mexico I remember.”

  “What did you ever see of Mexico except the bar in your hotel in Acapulco?”‘

  The first woman laughed. “The ceiling of the bedroom in our suite, my dear.”

  They started guiltily when they saw me. I smiled and continued my search for Kirk.

  He wasn’t in the contemporary gallery either. If he was looking at the collections, it had to be the fastest tour on record. I hurried into the folk art gallery. There a crowd had gathered around the display of camaleones that had replaced the tree of life.

  “… camaleones?”

  “… incredibly grotesque.”

  “… like the morning after.”

  “Not nearly as grotesque as what happened in this very room the other night.”

  “This was where-?”‘

  “Right there on the floor, darlings.”

  “What a way to die.”

  “Felled by two tons of Day-Glo pottery.”

  “Well, the fat spic never did do anything the usual way.”

  They all laughed, while I stiffened. The term “spic,” even applied to Frank, was ugly.

  “Excuse me,” I said, pushing past them through the door to the courtyard.

  An embarrassed silence fell behind me. Then I could hear the murmur of voices resume, gradually becoming punctuated by defensive laughter. I picked up the plastic glass so hard it cracked.