As I was brushing my hair before the bathroom mirror she came in and said, “You’re going straight to the police, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you can’t go to a police station in that blouse.”
I looked down. The blouse was torn in several places.
“It is an invitation to rape,” my mother added.
I wanted to ask her how she thought I could be raped while surrounded by policemen, but she had left the room. When she returned she was carrying one of her own blouses. “Just until you can go home and change.”
I put it on. It was a couple of sizes too large for me, and the way it fit reminded me of my gym blouse at the Catholic girls’ school. All it needed was my last name embroidered on the pocket.
By eight-forty-five I was on my way. Since volunteers and staff would be lined up at the museum, waiting to get in and set up for the opening, I decided I had better stop there first. Certainly whichever one of them had the extra keys wouldn’t reveal that by producing them and opening up.
Vic, Maria, Isabel, and three volunteers stood by the front door, looking around anxiously. When I approached, they turned and stared at me and my bandages with varying degrees of surprise. I tried to assess each person’s reaction to see if any of.them seemed shocked to see me alive. They were all pretty taken aback, however, so I couldn’t tell.
“Elena, qui pasa?” Maria demanded.
“No questions now. We’ve got a lot to do today. Do you all know what you’re supposed to take care of?”
There were murmurs of affirmation as I turned the key in the alarm switch and opened the carved door.
“Good. I have some things to take care of this morning also, away from the museum, but I’ll be back early this afternoon. We’ll hold a general meeting at four, to go over final preparations for the party. Isabel, will you be in charge while I’m gone?”
She nodded, anxious eyes on my face.
I took a quick trip through the galleries. Our collections were unharmed. Nick was right; the killer was a careful person and evidently had no interest in anything other than the artifacts he’d removed from the cellar. Reassured, but still reluctant to face Dave Kirk and give him my partial story, I went home to change my clothes.
I gathered up yesterday’s mail-bills and a request for money to save the whales-and went to the bedroom. The house had an unlived-in look, with coffee cups piled in the kitchen sink, rust forming from a drip in the old-fashioned tub, and a lumpy, unmade bed. After the opening, I’d have to give the place a thorough cleaning and start spending more time here.
Then I thought, what if the lieutenant remained convinced of my guilt? Could they arrest you on the flimsy kind of evidence he had? Bring you to trial? Convict? I might never get to spend more time at home. I might-Nonsense, Elena, I thought. When he hears about last night’s adventure he’ll realize you’ve been telling the truth all along.
Won’t he?
The immediate-and much more solvable-problem was what to wear. I had to go to the police station. Our board chairman, Carlos Bautista, had said he would drop by the museum at one. But I also was going to help with the food preparations; in a small museum no chore was beneath anybody. Deciding on practicality rather than protocol, I put on a pair of faded jeans and a cotton blouse. I went to the bathroom, took a couple of aspirins, and then removed the bandages and looked at my forehead. The cuts were small, really, and without the bandages wouldn’t attract much attention. And attention-and questions about what had happened-was exactly what I didn’t want. I washed my face, redid my makeup, and then I drove to the police station.
Kirk was in his cubicle, looking as if he hadn’t moved since yesterday evening. If he was surprised to see me, he didn’t show it.
“Good morning, Miss Oliverez. Have a seat.”
I took the chair I’d occupied for all those hours yesterday.
“Have you been in an accident?” He motioned at the cuts on my forehead.
“Not exactly. I’ll get into that in a minute. I have some things to tell you.”
“Go ahead.” He leaned back in his chair, his discounting-the-information pose.
“I found out who Frank De Palma’s girl friend was. It’s Gloria Sanchez, the woman who bought La Galena from him.”
“I see. How did you come by that fact?”
“I went over there to…” I couldn’t go into that without telling him about the embezzlement. “I was passing by and wandered in because she had a couple of Jesus Herrera’s camaleones on display. Frank’s brother Robert was there collecting Frank’s things.”
“Things?” He raised an eyebrow.
“His bathrobe, for one.”
“How do you know what Mr. De Palma’s bathrobe looks like?”
Irritation flashed through me, and I felt it reflected in my eyes. “Robert came out of the living quarters at the back of the gallery holding a bathrobe and asked Gloria Sanchez if that was all of Frank’s things.” I spoke slowly, trying not to lose my temper. “And, afterward, he confirmed that Gloria and Frank had been having an affair for five years.”
Kirk nodded. “All right, Miss Oliverez, I’ll check it out.”
I was sick of his standard refrain-check it out.
“What else do you have to tell me?”‘ Kirk asked. “I’m beginning to enjoy these little conversations with you.”
My hostility bubbled over, and I glared at him. “It all started when I went back to the museum last night to look for the murder weapon.”
This time I had succeeded in startling him. “The murder weapon?”
“The tree of death.” I explained how it had been missing and my reasons for thinking it had been used to kill Frank.
“And did you find this tree of death?”
“No. Someone found me first.” I went on with my story.
Kirk nodded, still looking skeptical, but his eyes were somewhat concerned as he glanced again at my forehead. “You were hit on the head about what time?”
“Maybe ten.”
“And came to in this field?”
“After midnight.”
“Good. If your story is true, someone may have given your assailant a ride back to town. Or he may have called a cab. I’ll check it.”
“What do you mean, if my story is true?”
“I also want to check your car for fingerprints and other evidence. I assume it’s still on the highway where it ran out of gas?”
“No, it’s downstairs in the parking lot. A friend of my mother’s got some gas and brought it to me. I drove back to town.”
Kirk straightened his chair. “Now, that, Miss Oliverez, is one reason for my saying if your story is true.” He looked at his watch. “It is eleven in the morning. You say you got to your mother’s around two-thirty. But you did not call us then to report the attack. Instead, you slept, got up, retrieved your car. By letting another person drive it and then driving it yourself, you probably destroyed any evidence that might have been there. You claim you were assaulted and technically kidnapped, yet you slept, changed your clothes, and, for all I know, ate a hearty breakfast before you bothered to inform us of anything.”‘
I looked down at my hands. He had a point.
“Also, Miss Oliverez, you tell me your assailant took your extra set of keys to the museum. Didn’t it occur to you that he might have robbed the place blind? Shouldn’t you have called us immediately and asked us to send a squad car there?”
“But he didn’t take anything. I checked…”Again, he had a point. It didn’t make sense unless I said I knew the person’s reason for taking those keys. And I couldn’t…
I looked at my watch. The opening was seven hours away. Was it worth keeping silent until then? I could tell Kirk right now, ask him not to do anything until after the opening. But, no, he would probably send men over there, arrest Vic and Tony.