Accessories to Die For

by Paula Paul

  He brought her face close to his until his sour breath almost suffocated her. An ugly voice screamed, “Talk, bitch. Tell me where the goddamned necklace is!” She felt a powerful blow to her face, and her head was under water again. His screaming voice again, more sour breath, another blow to her face until, mercifully, the world went dark.

  She awoke later—she wasn’t certain how long it had been—curled in a fetal knot on the bed, gasping for breath and fighting away the dream of drowning. She sat up and looked at her surroundings. The room, the bed, the smell of stale cigarettes—all were unfamiliar to her. Finally, it was the smell of cigarettes that awakened her memory. There was a man, the smell of him, the brown stains on his fingers, the way he hurt her. Her heart jumped, and she began to sweat.

  Fear. She remembered fear.

  She turned her head suddenly, searching the tiny room. No one there with her. She saw an open door and, inside that room, a sink and a toilet. Her first impulse was to get up and search that bathroom, but she hesitated just after she swung her feet over the edge of the bed. He could be in there, ready to attack her again.

  The mirror over the sink reflected a wall with a shower curtain pushed to one side. Did that mean he wasn’t hiding in the shower? With a slow, careful movement, she got out of bed and walked soundlessly on bare feet to the bathroom and leaned into the open doorway to search the tiny room.

  No one.

  She started to turn around, knowing she had to escape, but before she could turn, she saw the reflection of his face glaring at her.

  In the next second, he had his thick, heavy arm around her neck, pressing against her throat. Her hands went up to try to pull the arm away, but she couldn’t budge it. She felt the flesh with her fingers, and there was enough fat on the arm, enough strength in her fingers that she was able to push the flesh into a roll, bring her chin down, and grasp the mound in her mouth. Her teeth sunk into the skin and into the layer beneath it. It felt tough, like gristle, and she tasted blood.

  The man screamed and flung his arm. Juanita staggered and hit the edge of the sink with her hip. Anger flared in the man’s eyes, and he swung at her with his good arm. She dodged him and ran, reaching the door ahead of him. Flinging it open, she ran into an unfamiliar cloister of darkness. She kept running, not knowing what was ahead of her or how far the man was behind her. Finally she stopped and realized there was no sound behind her. Had the moonless night protected her? Was it possible she’d lost him in the darkness? She listened for breathing, for the hard footfall of someone running, for the soft padding of feet stalking, but she heard nothing.

  She knew she was away from the town now, since there were no bright lights. Night sounds surrounded her—crickets, a whisper of wind, the call of an owl. The hooting caused a chill to ripple through her body. The owl was an ill omen to her people. Acting on instinct, she turned to the right, away from the eerie sound, and moved forward with a single-mindedness that was her only hope. She moved more slowly than before, until she stumbled on something crouching in front of her. Nettles pierced her arm and tore at her jeans and T-shirt. She had fallen into a scrubby juniper bush.

  It took more effort than she expected to right herself, and when at last she was free of the bush and standing upright, she didn’t move. She’d lost her sense of direction. If she turned to the right or the left, or if she tried to walk around the bush in the darkness, would she end up back at the place where she’d been held captive? The stars could be her guide, but when she looked up, searching for them, there were none in sight. They, along with the moon, were covered with a thick blanket of clouds. That was to be expected on an early August night. It was the season of the Southwestern monsoons, the rainy season that had borrowed its name from the monsoon rains of India. The amount of rainfall in the American Southwest paled in comparison to the Asian rains. Nevertheless, the season brought the most significant moisture of the year and could, at times, dump several inches, more than enough to flood the usually dry arroyos that cut through the landscape.

  Juanita heard thunder in the distance, and saw a weak flash of lightning, not bright enough to allow her to assess her surroundings. The sweet smell of rain kissed her nostrils. It was gentle at first, then became harder and harder until she knew she needed to seek shelter. Which way to turn? She had no idea where Kewa was, and even if she did know, she would not go there. She still refused to put her people in danger. But maybe her captor assumed that’s where she would run to, and he would go there anyway. She had no way of knowing for sure. By now her head had begun to ache again, making it difficult for her to concentrate. The only thing she knew for certain was that she had to find Danny. Rain pelted her head and face and splattered on her arms. She would have to wait. She sat down next to the dark hulking form that was the juniper bush and rested her head on her arms folded over her bended knees. The rain picked up its intensity, along with the thunder and lightning. She raised her head once when the electrical streaks brightened the night enough that she could see the flat-topped mesa in the distance to her left. She recognized the mesa and knew now the direction she must eventually walk. Still, she had to wait for the rain to stop.

  Juanita resumed her position with her head on her arms against her knees, her back bowed against hard raindrops let loose by the clouds above. Her hair was a black river washing over her face. She stayed there until she felt the soil beneath her loosen and become as liquid as the rain.

  Chapter 9

  At first Irene was too surprised to speak. Finally, she said, “Danny? Is that really you?”

  “My mom said you’d help me if I ever needed it,” Danny said again, his words still slurred. “She told me that a long time ago, before I…” His voice trailed off, and for a moment Irene thought he was no longer there.

  “Certainly, I’ll help you,” she said finally. “I’ll do anything I can. Where are you?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “Of course it’s important, Danny. Your mother is worried sick, and besides that she has—”

  “Tell her to try not to worry,” Danny said, interrupting her. “I want you to—”

  “I can’t tell her. She—” They were shouting, talking over each other.

  “Just listen to me!” Danny snapped at her. He sounded frightened. “Hold on to it until I can come get it. Don’t tell anyone you have it.”

  “You know I can’t…” Irene hesitated, deciding to use another tactic. “Come to my store. We’ll talk, and if you know where your mother is, you need to tell me.”

  “What are you talking about? My mother is at home. That’s where she always is this time of night.”

  “Home? Are you sure?”

  “What are you saying?” Danny asked.

  Irene hesitated, trying to make sense of the conversation. “You didn’t know Juanita was arrested? And that she escaped from jail? If you have any idea…”

  “Shit!” Danny said just before the line went dead.

  “What was that all about?” P.J. asked.

  Irene’s answer was to sit down at the table with her head in her hands.

  “Irene?”

  “Danny wants me to hold the necklace until he comes here to get it.”

  P.J. shook his head. “You told him he can’t do that, didn’t you? You told him you have to turn it in to the police.”

  “I tried, but he was so upset I couldn’t get him to listen. He wouldn’t tell me where he is, and he didn’t even know Juanita had been arrested. Now I’m even more afraid for him. Afraid of what he might do.”

  “Call the police. Tell them everything.”

  Irene looked up at P.J. and sighed. “I know I should, but I’m concerned it might do more harm than good.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been an officer of the court. You know what you have to do.”

  “You’re right,” Irene said. She was about to dial when the phone rang and her home number appeared on the screen. “What is it, Adelle?” She knew she sounded imp
atient.

  “You’ve got to come home. Now! I’m so scared!”

  Irene felt a stab of anxiety. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know, but they must be trying to kill me.”

  “Someone’s trying to kill you? Adelle! What…If you’re in danger, call the police!”

  “I can’t do that!”

  “Of course you can.”

  “What is it?” P.J. asked.

  Irene mouthed, I don’t know.

  “But Irene, if the police show up that just might excite whoever is out there, and they’ll come inside and kill me.”

  “I don’t understand why you think someone is trying to do you harm.”

  “Someone’s outside the house. I think he’s trying to get inside. My life is in danger! Just come home!” Adelle said. “I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Irene said and ended the call. “I have to go home,” she said as she stood up from the table. “Adelle says someone is outside the house. She thinks he’s trying to get inside and kill her.”

  “Kill her? My God, why would anyone try to kill her?”

  Irene shook her head. “It’s probably nothing. An animal in the garden or maybe a neighborhood kid. You know Adelle. She’s likely just being overly dramatic.”

  “At the risk of sounding like a broken record,” P.J. said, “shouldn’t you call the police?”

  “I want to check it out first. If it’s nothing to worry about, I could save myself some embarrassment, not to mention the taxpayers’ money if the police don’t have to make an unnecessary call.”

  “I’ll go with you.” P.J. took her arm and led her toward the door. “Just in case it’s a real emergency.”

  “Always good to have a man around,” Irene said dryly.

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  “Why, Mr. Bailey, why would you ever think that of me?”

  “How long is it going to take you to lose that New York edge?”

  Irene didn’t respond. She was looking at the sacred necklace she’d placed on the table. “I can’t leave this lying around,” she said. “I’d better put it in my safe.”

  “Not a bad idea,” P.J. said, “but you still need to turn it over to the police.”

  “I know, I know,” she said, showing her impatience as she opened the metal safe where she kept her deposits before they went to the bank. “I will, but I have to take one disaster at a time.”

  “Now who’s being overly dramatic?”

  “Runs in the family.” She placed the necklace carefully inside the safe, closed the door, and went to find Angel. It was late, almost closing time, but he was still with a customer, and he wore a worried look on his face. He knew what it meant to have the necklace on the premises. “Can you close up for me? I have to leave for a few minutes.”

  Angel’s response was a silent nod.

  “You really think Adelle is okay?” P.J. led her to his pickup and helped her inside before he went around to the driver’s side. “I’ll bring you back for your car later,” he said.

  “Adelle’s most likely okay,” she said. “I think it’s just that recent events have stimulated her imagination. Like the time she was living in the Hamptons with one of her rich husbands and had all the locks changed when a prisoner escaped.”

  “That’s not necessarily a bad idea,” P.J. said.

  “The prison the guy escaped from was in Indiana. She was in the Hamptons. The end result was that she locked her husband out of the house because when she thought the danger was over, she decided to make a shopping trip to Manhattan to soothe her nerves. The husband came home, bringing some bigwigs with him to finalize some multi-million-dollar deal. Adelle said she simply forgot about the meeting because she was so upset over the Indiana prison escape.”

  “Unfortunate,” P.J. said.

  “They were divorced six months later. She played that to the hilt as well. She was the poor, misunderstood woman, and she played that role long enough to get another rich husband. I forget what happened to him.”

  “A little theatrical, isn’t she.”

  “You could say that. Wait until you see how she’s playing the part of the wounded warrior after her injury yesterday.” Irene was silent a moment. “There’s always a possibility that everything’s not okay, you know? I just have to make sure.”

  “A good daughter.”

  “With a mother who knows how to pull my strings,” Irene said.

  There were no lights on in the house when P.J. drove the pickup into the circular driveway. The outside was equally dark, since they were in an area without streetlights, and the moon was no more than a sliver.

  “Looks deserted,” P.J. said.

  “Kind of like an old haunted house,” Irene added. She unlocked the door and stepped inside with P.J. following. She called Adelle’s name. There was no answer. She called again just as a figure appeared in a doorway at the end of the entry hall. The figure was barely visible, except that it appeared to be dressed in white.

  “Who’s there?” a faint voice said.

  Irene switched on the light. “Why are you in the dark?” She noticed immediately that Adelle was wearing her long, white, lace-trimmed dressing gown with an elongated train trailing behind her. Her face was pale, and her green eyes were luminous.

  Adelle’s response was to breathe a sigh and close her eyes in a long-suffering manner. “If you only knew what I’ve been through,” she said finally.

  “Are you all right?” P.J. asked.

  “I suppose so,” Adelle said, her voice dramatic in its breathiness.

  “Okay, tell us what happened.” Irene spoke over her shoulder as she made her way toward the parlor. Behind her, P.J. tried to lead Adelle there while she leaned against him, doing her best to look pathetic. When he’d helped her into a chair, Irene spoke again. “Adelle, please. What happened?”

  “Someone was outside. Making noises.” Adelle brushed the back of her fingers across her forehead. “I heard him. He was trying to get inside. He must be one of those serial killers.”

  “How do you know he was trying to get inside?” Irene asked.

  “I heard the door rattle and saw the knob turn.” Adelle slumped back in her chair.

  Irene and P.J. exchanged glances, each signaling that this could be more serious than they’d first thought.

  “Did you see anyone?” P.J. asked.

  “No!” Adelle said. “I didn’t want to see anyone. I ran upstairs and called Irene.”

  “Which door?” Irene asked. She was already on her feet.

  “The door by the kitchen. Where are the two of you going?” she asked when she saw that P.J. was following Irene.

  “I want to have a look,” Irene said.

  “Don’t leave me in here alone! Not when there’s a serial killer around.”

  Irene stopped and turned to look at her mother. “What makes you think it was a serial killer?”

  Adelle appeared momentarily nonplussed. “Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” Irene said. “It doesn’t.”

  “Well…it could be,” Adelle said. “You have to admit that.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ll admit it could have been a serial killer out there. It could have been anyone—Donald Trump, Leonardo DiCaprio, Warren Buffett…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Irene. None of those people are serial killers.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Irene spoke as she inspected the doorknob.

  “Warren Buffett? He has quite a bit of money, doesn’t he?” Adelle sighed. “But I hear he’s happily married. Leonard DiCaprio is attractive now that he’s gotten older. Is he married to anyone?”

  “The door is locked,” Irene said. “Did you lock it before or after you heard the noise?”

  “I didn’t touch the door,” Adelle said. “You must have locked it before you left.”

  P.J. opened the door and inspected it from the outside. “No sign of anyone tryin
g to force the door,” he said.

  “But he did wiggle the doorknob,” Adelle insisted.

  “You’re sure it was a he, not a she?” P.J. asked.

  “Serial killers are always men,” Adelle said.

  Irene tried to keep her voice even. “No, they are not always men, and it is not at all likely it was a serial killer, whatever the gender. If it was anyone, it was more likely a burglar.”

  Adelle gasped and put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear! We should get a watchdog. A Boston terrier. Like Helen Keller had. She always looked so beautifully tragic when she was with him in those pictures.”

  “We’ll get a security system,” Irene said.

  P.J. was standing in the doorway, staring into the darkness. “Do you have a flashlight? I want to have a look around.”

  “There’s one in the kitchen.” Irene was already on her way to find the flashlight. She was back within seconds, holding the light. “This will help us look,” she said and handed the light to P.J.

  “You’re not going to leave me in here alone, are you?” Adelle asked.

  “Unless you want to come with us,” Irene answered.

  Adelle scowled. “Of course I don’t want to go with you. The garden dirt and grass would stain the bottom of my robe.”

  “Go back to the parlor. You’ll be safe there,” Irene said. She was out the door before Adelle could respond to her.

  P.J. was sweeping the beam of the flashlight along the ground outside the back door. “See anything unusual?” Irene asked.

  “Not yet,” P.J. said, “but I don’t know what I’m looking for.”

  “Wait!” Irene said. “Shine the light over there again. Against the side of the house, just below the window.”

  “You see something?”

  “There,” Irene said, pointing to a clump of marigolds she’d planted in the spring. She was no gardener, but Harriet had told her marigolds were easy to grow. They had not exactly thrived under her care, and now they looked even worse than usual.

  “Someone trampled your flowers,” P.J. said.