“Second, when she slammed the window, she did it too hard and cracked it down in one corner. I knew it was a recent crack because we’d inspected the building for things like that before we took possession.
“And, third, Isabel was clumsy when she slipped the keys on the hook; it’s a difficult angle to work from. She got a dirt smudge on the wall right over the hook. It hadn’t been there that afternoon before I left.”
“And the dirt smudge on the wall matched the one on her tennis dress,” my mother said.
“Right.”
“My smart daughter.”‘
“Smart? Hah! It took me three days to figure this all out.”
“At least you figured it.” Mama gave Dave Kirk a stern look.
Kirk had the grace to look embarrassed.
Carlos cleared his throat. “Lieutenant, this super lawyer-he won’t get Isabel off, will he?”
“No,” Kirk said, “we’ve already got plenty of evidence. She had the keys to the museum in her purse when we arrested her, so we know for sure she was the person who hit Elena and drove her up the highway. And we’ve got a witness, a man who picked Isabel up when she was hitchhiking back into town. Her fingerprints are superimposed over Frank’s on that garden stake-fortunately it’s the kind of finish that takes prints well-so we can prove she was the last person to touch it before it went down into that grating. And, finally, we found a fragment of the tree of death in her car-a little terra-cotta skull from one of its branches.”
It was a final, chilling touch.
“Well,”‘ Carlos said briskly, “we have our work cut out for us. The museum staff has been reduced to two.”
“I want to dismiss Maria,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Call it starting with a clean slate.”
Carlos smiled; he’d used the same words yesterday. “Do as you see fit.”
Kirk set down his teacup and stood. “I’d better get back to the station,” he said. Then, surprisingly, he took my hand. “I must apologize again, Elena. I should have paid more attention to your… tidbits of information. Ah, can I call on you in the future?”
“For what?” I asked.
He grinned. “More tidbits. Or just some good conversation.”
“Of course.” I glanced at Carlos and saw a flicker of annoyance cross his face. He stepped forward and took my hand as soon as Kirk let go of it.
“And we must have a conversation about the museum,” he said. “Perhaps over dinner tomorrow. I’ll call you in the morning.”‘ Then he gave Kirk a smug look that made me want to laugh.
Mama led the two men through the house to the front door. I poured more tea and sat there, contemplating the sun through the gnarled branches of the old pepper tree. Mama came back and sat beside me.
“I think they’re both interested in you,” she said.
“Oh, do you?”
“Yes. I have this feeling, you know.”
“You and your feelings!”
“Don’t laugh. Didn’t I have one the night that Frank-”
“Yes, Mama.” I sipped more tea. “Okay, since your feelings are always so accurate, tell me this: Which one of them is going to be the love of my life?”
“Neither of them, Elena. Neither.” Then she grinned wickedly. “But they’ll both be fun while they last.”
Marcia Muller
