“But-Susana?”
I shrugged.
“I don’t think you should be speculating like this,” Isabel said.
“Why not?”
“It’s dangerous.” She shivered. “Murder. The killer might not stop with one.”
It sounded so dramatic, coming from the cool, practical Isabel, that I almost laughed.
She saw the amusement on my face. “It’s not funny, Elena. I, for one, am going to be very careful around here from now on. You should be too.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
“It’s a serious thing, murder. You should leave it to the police.”
“I will. Although I think I have more to fear from the police than from the killer. Lieutenant Kirk really does suspect me.”
“Why, do you think?”
“Well, you have to admit that quarrel I had with Frank looks bad. I didn’t tell Kirk about it right away because I didn’t think it was important. Frank and I quarreled all the time. And now that Kirk’s caught on to how much we fought, he’s determined to prove I’m the murderer. From the very start, he just wouldn’t listen to me.”
“About what?”
“Well, first I suggested Frank’s killer had hidden in the museum all night.”
“Hidden here?”
“Sure. There are plenty of places. Then, when I realized someone had left after I did because the alarm lock was set differently when I came back the next morning, Kirk conveniently chose to ignore that. He claims it’s impossible because Frank’s keys were on the hook when I opened up.”
“Is it impossible?”
“Yes.”
Isabel and I stared bleakly at each other. “I wish I’d never bought that arbol de la vida,” she said.
She looked so woebegone that I patted her hand. “Don’t blame yourself. It wasn’t the tree that got Frank killed.”
“No.”
I looked at my watch. “It’s almost three. I have to see Kirk in an hour. Why don’t I send everybody home now so I can set the alarm for the night? There’s no telling how long I’ll be.” I stood up. “And, Isabel, thank you for listening.”
“De nada. I only wish I could help.”
“You have.”
“Good.” She stood up, too. “But, Elena, do be careful around here. I worry for you.”
“Don’t. I’m afraid I’m in more danger at the police station than here.”
The police station was only a few blocks away, on Figueroa Street, near the Spanish-style courthouse. On the way, I stopped at the Chamber of Commerce and checked on the current owner of La Galena. Her name, Gloria Sanchez, had a familiar ring. I decided to stop at the gallery after leaving the police station-providing Kirk didn’t find a reason to hold me. I bought a sandwich at a hole-in-the-wall stand, then walked over to Figueroa Street. The clock on El Mirador-the courthouse bell tower-said five minutes to four. As I approached the police station, the hunted feeling settled over me once more.
A uniformed officer showed me to Kirk’s cubicle on the second floor. The lieutenant was behind his desk, again dressed in brown. His face was its usual blank.
“Come in, Miss Oliverez.” He indicated a chair across the desk from him.
I sat, smoothing my skirt over my knees.
Kirk consulted his ever-present legal pad, then said, “Are you still planning to go ahead with your opening?”
“As I told you yesterday afternoon, yes. Except for rearranging the displays in the folk art gallery we’re all set.”
“Rearranging the displays?” He cocked his head to one side.
“Yes. We’re replacing the tree of life with some of Jesus Herrera’s camaleones.”
“Camaleones?”
“The Spanish word for chameleon. They’re fantasy animals. Jesse claims they change-” Why was I bothering to tell him this? Probably to ward off the inevitable questioning. “Lieutenant, why did you want to see me?”
“More questions, Miss Oliverez. That’s what police work is-questions. And legwork. No glamour like you see on TV.”
“Well, before you begin, I’ve discovered a few facts that I think I should pass along to you.”‘ I couldn’t tell him about the embezzlements, but I could give him the other things I’d found out.
“Very good.” He pushed his swivel chair away from the desk and tipped it back. The action annoyed me; it implied he already felt that anything I could tell him was not worth noting down on that damned pad.
“Did you know that Frank De Palma was involved with another woman?” I asked.
“Who?”
“I don’t know. But Vic Leary let it slip. He would probably tell you.”
“I’ll check on it.”
“And Jesus Herrera had quarreled with Frank. More seriously than I. He gave Frank a black eye.”
“When?”
“A couple of months ago.”
“What did they quarrel over?”
“Frank’s niece, Maria De La Cruz.”
“Oh, yes, the secretary. I’ll check on it.”
“And then there’s Maria.”
“What about her?”
“She was sent to live with the De Palmas because…”I hesitated. It was unfair to Maria to bring up her promiscuity. “Because she wasn’t getting along with her family. Frank was very strict with her. She resented him and seems glad he’s dead.”
“The way I hear it, there are any number of people who are glad he’s dead.”
“But his death paves the way for Maria to marry Jesse. She was very defiant this morning.”
“I’ll check on that, too. Is there anything else?”
He hadn’t listened to me this time any more than he had before. “No, there isn’t.”
“All right.”‘ He straightened the chair and picked up a pencil. “I’d like to go over your actions the afternoon Mr. De Palma died again. Start with when you went to his office to ask if he wanted you to set the alarm.”’
I sighed and began recounting.
As I spoke, Kirk made notes on his pad and nodded. When I was done, he said, “Now, let’s talk again about your relationship with Mr. De Palma and the others at the museum. Start with the beginning, when you graduated from UCSB. That was when?”
“Five years ago.”‘ I went on telling him about my job interviews, my appointment to the staff, the early days there. Occasionally Kirk would ask a question.
“What about the time you went over Mr. De Palma’s head to the board about the Ramirez collection?”
“What about it?”
“Why did you feel it necessary to defy his authority?”
“I wasn’t defying. I was questioning his judgment. We had the opportunity to acquire a very fine collection of Zapotecan funerary urns, but Frank wanted to put the money into new carpeting.”
“Did the board back you up?”
“Yes.”
“What was Mr. De Palma’s reaction?”
“He was furious.”
“I see. Go on with what you were telling me.”
And later: “Did you get on with Mr. Leary?”
“Very well. He was like a father to me.” The words, in light of my recent discovery, rang false.
“Oh?”
“Vic is very good to all the staff and volunteers.”
“Including Mr. De Palma?”
“They were friends. Vic was devoted to Frank. He worried about him constantly. All Frank had to do was sneeze and Vic would be running out for vitamin C tablets.”
“Would you say this was unusual devotion?”
“Not really. Vic is a lonely man. He needs someone to care for.”
“And you say he was like a father to you.”
“Yes.”
“Why ‘was’ and not ’is,” Miss Oliverez?“
But I couldn’t tell him that.
“What about Mrs. Cunningham, the woman who started the conflict by presenting that tree of life to the museum?”
“What about her?”
“How do you get along with her?”
“Very well. She’s dedicated to the museum. We couldn’t get along without her.”
“No quarrels of any kind?”
“Lieutenant Kirk, I am not a quarrelsome person.” But my voice sounded contentious.