Accessories to Die For

by Paula Paul

  “Looks that way.” Irene stared at the crushed blooms.

  “May have been trying to break in through the window.” He moved the beam around the opening. “No sign of that, though. Maybe he just wanted to look inside.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  “Too bad Adelle didn’t see who it was,” P.J. said.

  “Maybe,” Irene said, “but can you imagine how hard it would be to deal with her if she’d seen a face in the window?”

  P.J. shrugged. “Can’t say I can. You know her better than I do.”

  “Count yourself lucky.”

  “Irene! She’s your mother!” P.J. said with pretended shock.

  “Yes, and I love her, but she’s a pain in the ass.” Irene was still searching the ground in the flower bed.

  “See anything else interesting?” P.J. asked.

  Irene’s answer was to bend over and pick up a small round object. She held it up to the light to see it better. A little rain had begun to fall, and lightning displayed itself over a distant mesa.

  “What’s that?” P.J. asked.

  “Looks like a bell to me,” Irene said.

  P.J. took it from her and held it between his fingers to inspect it. “One of those little jingle bells you see at Christmastime.”

  “Or one of those little bells you hear on those knee-high moccasins the Kewa men wear for the Green Corn Dance.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “I’m not sure.” She was wondering if Danny Calabaza could have been one of the dancers. If he could have been the one outside the house.

  “You think it has some connection to Danny or Juanita?” P.J. said, as if he’d read her mind.

  “Doesn’t everything?”

  “Irene, you need to call the—”

  “I. Will. Call. The police.” She measured her words and sounded annoyed. She hesitated a moment. “But I want to do it from my store. I don’t want Adelle to hear anything that will upset her even more.”

  “Adelle is not going to want to stay here alone,” P.J. said. “And we need to go inside. The rain is getting harder.”

  “You can stay here with Adelle.”

  “I’m going with you.”

  Irene opened her mouth to protest but closed it just as quickly. She opened the door and stepped inside, almost bumping into Adelle, who was still waiting near the door.

  “Is he out there?” Adelle’s voice was timid, anxious.

  “No one’s out there,” Irene said.

  “But I heard—”

  “I think it must have been an animal,” Irene lied.

  Adelle’s hands flew to her chest as if to stop a racing heart. “An animal? Oh, my God! A bear? A wolf?”

  P.J. spoke up to back up the lie. “Most likely a neighborhood dog or cat.”

  “But I’m certain I heard someone rattle—”

  “How about a cup of tea?” Irene asked. “I’ll make you one while P.J. waits with you in the parlor.” She hurried past the two of them before either had time to protest. She was aware of P.J. ushering Adelle toward the parlor as she made her way into the kitchen. Just as she reached for a cupboard door to retrieve the tea, she changed her mind and took down a jar of decaffeinated coffee, then went to another cupboard for a bottle of whiskey. After she’d splashed a generous amount of the whiskey into the microwave-heated coffee, she took it to her mother.

  “Thank you,” Adelle said as she took the cup. “You’re such a dear.”

  Irene tried not to appear to be watching too closely as Adelle took a sip.

  “Oh!” Adelle said. “I haven’t had an Irish coffee in a long time. But you know coffee keeps me awake.”

  “Decaf,” Irene said.

  Adelle smiled. “How thoughtful.”

  Before Adelle had finished the first cup, Irene brought her another and then another, each with an even more generous addition of liquor. “Drink up,” she said. “It will help you relax. She stayed with Adelle until she leaned her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes. When Irene was certain she was asleep, she turned toward P.J. and mouthed, Let’s go!

  P.J. gave her a puzzled look, but he stood and followed her out the door and helped her into his truck.

  “You just drugged your mother so you could get away,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t put it that way. I merely helped her get to sleep.”

  “What’s the difference?” P.J. asked as Miss Scarlet grumbled to a start.

  “Don’t condemn me,” Irene said. “In truth, I’m protecting her. I want her to relax and not worry until I can get back, and I don’t want her eavesdropping on my conversation with the police. That will only upset her more. Besides that, I’m uneasy about that necklace being in my safe. I want to turn it over to the authorities as soon as I can.”

  “Okay, but you gave her enough whiskey to knock her out a while.”

  “She won’t sleep long. And remember, I asked you to stay with her, and you refused, so you have to take part of the blame.”

  “Do you think I’d let you go back to your store alone after all that has happened? Anyway, you wouldn’t be able to drive Miss Scarlet.”

  “Of course I would. You’re being sexist.”

  They continued to spar with each other until they reached the back parking lot of Irene’s Closet. When Irene got out of the pickup, followed by P.J., she was surprised to find that the back door was unlocked. She gave P.J. an alarmed look, and he immediately stepped in front of her to enter the building first.

  They both stood quietly, listening for noises. When neither of them heard a sound, P.J. switched on the light. There was no one in sight, and nothing appeared to have been disturbed.

  Except the safe.

  It was open, and the necklace was missing.

  Chapter 10

  The rain stopped sometime during the night. Juanita had no recollection of when, but when she awoke next to the juniper shrub, the right side of her face was in a small puddle of water next to the bush. Her hair, clothing, and skin were all soaked with the rain that had pounded her all night. One of her eyes had begun to swell.

  She forced herself up, but the stiffness in her arms, legs, and torso made it difficult, and she shivered as a cool morning breeze assaulted her wet body. Mornings were always cool on the high mesa, and the rain compounded it. Instead of a close, muggy feeling after a rain, rapid evaporation at the high altitude gave the air a sharpened coolness. It was enough to shock Juanita into complete wakefulness. She remembered the man who had hurt her, the one she was afraid had followed her. Terror choked her as she searched in all directions. It had been too dark for him to follow her, and she’d come a long way. A spark of hope that she had escaped him for good gave her a flicker of energy.

  Juanita remembered that she had been trying to get to the top of the mesa, where she knew Danny often went to play his flute and where he and others in the tribe said the spirits of their ancestors convened. She took a few steps toward where the tabletop mountain loomed in the distance, but she was seized by a fit of coughing and had to stop. Her head hurt, and her nose felt as if it was stuffed with cotton. She’d caught a cold during the damp night. She refused to think it could be more than a mild cold, and she could not afford to let it stop her. She walked toward the mesa.

  Within a few minutes, she was shivering even more than she had before, but she seemed to be sweating at the same time. She coughed again, and her chest ached and felt as if her lungs refused to fill with air. Yet she couldn’t stop. She walked, ever more slowly, toward the mesa, coughing at least twice with each step. She walked until she stumbled and fell, rolling a little downhill in the direction she’d just come. When at last she came to a stop, she lacked the energy to get to her feet and lay in place for longer than she meant to.

  Finally, she managed to stand, and for the first time noticed the bruises on her bare arms and saw that the legs of the jeans she wore were covered with wet grass and mud. She coughed yet again, and her breathing be
came more labored, yet she had to go on. She had no idea how long she walked, but she didn’t stop until her head was pounding hard enough to affect her vision. She told herself she would only rest a minute or two.

  By the time she awoke, the moon had positioned itself at the edge of a cloud, making the colors of the world around her uncommonly vivid. Ancestors who visited as rain clouds had scrubbed everything clean and perfumed the air with the scent of damp earth. Walking would be easier now, she thought. It would be like walking in a new world, and she herself would be renewed.

  The struggle to get to her feet made her cough again, and her chest hurt more than ever, but the rain-cooled air made her hot skin feel better. She would walk, and she would keep walking. It was an effort to focus, to decide where to go next to find Danny, but she pushed on.

  There he was! Just ahead of her in the distance, playing his flute, the sweet sound wafting toward her. The sight of him made her smile, but when she called out to him in her hoarse voice, he vanished. She stretched an arm toward him and tried to move closer to the small piñon she’d seen next to him, but the little tree seemed to be moving farther and farther away from her.

  Another shape materialized in front of her. A woman, she thought at first, but she couldn’t be sure. She extended her hand to try to touch her, but the figure dissolved. Juanita closed her eyes and slumped to the ground. She was frightened at what she had seen and frightened that she might be sick enough to be hallucinating. Sitting upright on the damp ground, she dropped her head to her knees and tried to think. Tried to breathe. Another cough racked her chest and made her shudder. She raised her head again, certain that the hallucination had passed and that she was alone on the high desert mesa.

  But she was not!

  The spirit woman had become a man. The man was shouting at her. “Your son killed him. You must know that.” The voice was like an echo. “Know that, know that, know that.” She saw the mark on the evil one’s chin. The mark that looked like a bolt of lightning. The lightning spirit. The same one who had once come to her own mother to tell her that her father was dead.

  “No!” she said. “Danny wouldn’t kill a man. Danny wouldn’t—”

  “Killed him, killed him, killed him.”

  The female spirit returned and whispered, “Save Danny. Help him. Only you can do that.”

  “Danny is a murderer. A thief,” the evil male spirit said, forcing the other spirit away. “He stole the necklace. Wanted to sell it for money for drugs. Drugs, drugs, drugs. Changed his mind. Danny changed his mind, so he killed a man. I saw him kill with my own eyes. Now Danny will die. Die, die, die.”

  “No!” Juanita struggled to her feet. “No!” she screamed again. “Danny wouldn’t kill. Danny won’t die.” Juanita turned in circles, looking for the female spirit to give her encouragement, to give her strength. There was nothing there except blackness, no spirits, male or female, good or evil.

  Darkness, dampness, cold. It took Juanita a while to realize that the dampness and cold she felt was because she was lying on the wet ground again. Darkness dissipated when she opened her eyes.

  Confusion clouded her mind as she tried to sit up. There was a noise. She’d heard the noise before, only minutes before, in fact—the roar of a beast. The beast was close by then, but now it was roaring in the distance. When she was on her feet again, she looked around and saw the cars moving in the distance. Cars, not beasts. They were traveling along a highway. The highway to Santa Fe? Yes, it had to be, and that was where she had to go. She could not say why that was so.

  The highway was closer than she’d thought, and minutes after she reached it, a car stopped and asked if she wanted a ride. She didn’t know the man, but she thought he was Navajo because of his square face and the staccato of his speech.

  “You want to go to Santa Fe? That’s where I’m headed.”

  “Yes,” she said and got into his pickup.

  The man looked at her face, taking in the cuts on her face, the bruises on her throat. His only reaction was to shake his head. It would not be like a Navajo man to question her, and he didn’t speak again until they reached the city limits. Juanita felt herself growing sleepy, and finally she dozed.

  His question awakened her. “Where you want to go? There’s a cheap hotel on this end of town if you need to sleep it off.”

  Juanita looked around, trying to orient herself. They were on the south end of town. Sleep it off, he had said. He must have thought she was drunk.

  “No,” she said. Her throat was so dry it was difficult to speak. “Take me to the plaza. I’ll show you where.”

  The man nodded and made no objection as she directed him to the parking lot behind Irene’s Closet. She mumbled a thank-you as she got out of the pickup and instinctively felt for the purse she usually carried on a shoulder strap. A policewoman at the jail had taken it from her.

  “I have no money to pay you,” she said.

  The man frowned and in the next moment dismissed her with a wave of his hand before he drove away.

  Juanita had the odd sensation of being outside her body and watching herself walk to the back door of Irene’s store. She knocked on the door, still feeling detached. It was not until the door opened and she saw the young man called Angel standing in front of her that she felt whole again.

  “Juanita? What the hell are you…”

  She tried to speak, but no words came. She felt herself swaying and then Angel reaching to steady her. He pulled her inside and closed the door.

  “Where have you been? And why are you here? Don’t you know there are at least three law-enforcement agencies looking for you?”

  When she could finally will herself to speak, all she could say was “Irene. Must see her.”

  “She’s not here.” Angel led her to one of the chairs around the table and pulled it out for her. “She went home early to see after her mother. Besides, I already told you, she told the cops. You don’t want to see her, believe me.” He glanced toward the front of the store. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

  Before she could answer, Angel pulled her to her feet. “I have to move you,” he said. “Anyone who comes in the front door will see you.” When he had her settled, he asked again, “Does anyone know you’re here?”

  Her answer was a deep, rattling cough. The sound of it made Angel frown. He put his hand to her forehead.

  “My God,” he said. “You’re burning with fever. You need a doctor.”

  Juanita managed a hoarse “No!”

  “You’re right,” Angel said. “We can’t do that, can we?” He paced the floor for a few seconds. “Okay,” he said, still pacing. “Okay.” He socked his left fist into his right palm and turned toward Juanita. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll leave a note for Irene, and I’ll take you to my place. I think I can mix up some—”

  “Irene,” Juanita said, coming to her feet. “Must see Irene.”

  “I know, I know,” Angel said. “But we can’t do that now. If I took you to the Seligman place, Adelle would be there and probably a dozen of her friends. We can’t risk anyone seeing you. Besides, I told you, the police are…Oh, never mind. Come on, we’re going to my place.” He was on his way to the front door, keys already out of his pocket.

  Juanita watched as he locked the door and flipped the OPEN sign over so that it read CLOSED from the outside, then switched off the lights. He glanced toward the cash register, hesitated a moment, then hurried toward the back, talking to no one in particular.

  “I should tally up the receipts, but it’ll have to wait until morning.” He glanced at her. “Not that it matters to you. Don’t know why I’m babbling like this. Just nervous, I guess. Got to get you out of here.” He took her arm and led her toward the back door and out to the parking lot. “Listen, you’re going to have to lie down in the backseat. You know, so no one will see you. Can’t risk…Well, you know what I mean.”

  Juanita lay in the narrow backseat of Angel’s old Mustang, just as he ha
d instructed her. He threw a jacket that must have been in the car since the end of winter over her head and covered her legs with a cardboard sun shield designed for the windshield, then piled books, a backpack, and a laptop computer on top of that. When he started the car and drove away, the sound of the motor rumbled along with the roar in her head.

  In spite of the smothering jacket over her head and the weight of Angel’s belongings on her legs, Juanita thought the hard but slightly cushioned seat of the Mustang felt better than anything she’d felt in a long time. At least there were no bruising rocks beneath her, no grass stinging her face or muddy rainwater trickling into her ears. The ride was a little bumpy, however, probably because Angel was driving too fast. She wouldn’t caution him to slow down, though. Her head hurt too much to summon the words. At least he had stopped his nervous talk. Before long, though, he uttered one word to break his silence.

  “Shit!”

  Juanita didn’t have to ask what had evoked his sentiment. She could hear the sound of the siren coming from behind them.

  Angel slowed the car and came to a stop. She heard a window being rolled down.

  A voice spoke from outside the window. “What’s your hurry, kid?”

  “I, uh, I guess I just wasn’t paying attention to how fast I was driving,” Angel said.

  Juanita held her breath and willed herself not to cough, all the while praying that the policeman wouldn’t search the car.

  “Oh, it’s you,” the policeman said. “Angel Barreda. I knew your mother.” The policeman had pronounced Angel’s name Awn-hell, the correct Spanish way.

  “Yeah, I suppose you did,” Angel said. Juanita could hear the sadness in his voice. She, too, had known his mother. She’d died of a drug overdose when Angel was five.

  “Knew your grandmother, too,” the cop said. “Good woman. Did a good job of raising you. I hear you’re working and going to college.”

  Angel was silent, and in the next moment, Juanita could see, even through the thickness of Angel’s jacket, that the policeman had shone the light on the backseat.

  “You got a mess back there, kid. Ever think of cleaning up this wreck?”