A Killer Closet (13 page)

Irene turned around to face him. “I will certainly do that.”

“Don't try to contact him yourself.”

Vine's warning surprised her. “Why would I do that?”

“Just making sure you understand,” Vine said. “P. J. Bailey can be dangerous.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Irene said, trying to appear calm, yet that specific warning had unnerved her. She was once again on her way out the door when she turned around again to face Vine. “Is there something about Mr. Bailey I should know?”

“Just be careful. I'm not at liberty to say more.”

Irene and Angel were out the front door on their way to the parking lot before Angel spoke.

“The cops hate P. J. Bailey,” he said.

“Most cops hate most defense lawyers. Especially if the lawyer is good.”

“He's good.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Irene asked. “You just told the police you knew him only by reputation.” When Angel didn't answer, she stopped walking and looked at him. “What? He defended you for some crime?”

Angel shrugged. “Just something that happened when I was a kid.”

“You're still a kid.”

“I've grown up some since that.”

“Since what? What did you do?”

“I got busted for possession of marijuana. My grandmother hired P.J.”

Irene looked at him from across the top of her car as they were each about to open a door. “So you weren't telling the truth when you said you didn't know him.”

“Well, I don't exactly know him. I mean, I hardly said three words to him. Didn't even have to go to court. He just worked some kind of behind-the-scenes magic. Besides that, I don't think he charged my grandmother a dime. I'm not sure about that, but I am sure my grandmother couldn't afford a high-priced lawyer.”

“Then why did she hire him?”

“She said it was because she didn't want my life ruined.”

“Possession of marijuana isn't the kind of offense that ruins your life or that would warrant hiring a high-priced lawyer.”

“Well…” Angel got into the car without finishing the sentence.

“Well, what?” Irene asked, as she slid into the driver's seat.

“Nothing really,” Angel said, without looking at her. “Except, well, I guess I was kind of mixed up with these guys. Kind of like a gang, you know.”

“Kind of like?”

Angel took a deep breath. “Okay, it was a gang. But I never did anything bad with them. P.J. got hold of me and set me straight before it went too far.”

“I thought you said he only said three words to you.”

“No, I said I only said three words to him. He had plenty to say to me. Told me I'd better get my life together.”

“I see.”

“It was a long time ago. I was just a kid. I don't think he remembers me.” Angel glanced at her. “What? You look like you're pissed.”

“Not pissed, but I have to tell you, I had some experience with gangs when I was an assistant D.A. They don't usually leave you alone once you've been with them.”

“Well, so far, so good,” Angel said. “It's not like I was really a member. I mean, I just hung out with some of them sometimes. Bought weed from them, that's all. That's all behind me now.”

“I hope you're right.”

“I swear.”

Irene drove in silence for a while, thinking of the encounter with Lieutenant Vine. “I wish they'd open that vault up there in the lodge,” she said finally.

“Why are you so hung up on them opening that vault?” Angel asked.

“Because I suspect that whatever is in there is the key to both of those murders, as well as to Adelle's disappearance,” Irene said.

“In that case…”

“What?”

“Never mind,” Angel said.

Irene gave him an annoyed look, which he ignored. There was no more time to talk, anyway. She had pulled into the parking lot behind her store, and it was time to open Irene's Closet.

There was a steady flow of customers all day. Most of them only wanted to browse, but by the end of the day, Irene calculated they had at least made enough to pay the utility bills for the day, with a small profit left over. Much of it had been thanks to Angel's skill of charming the customers.

Irene dreaded going home to a house void of Adelle's often annoying presence and wondered how she was going to get through another night of worrying about her when Angel spoke. He was washing the last of the teacups they'd used to serve customers.

“There's something I probably should tell you,” he said.

“Now what?” Irene's clipped tone revealed the emotional exhaustion she felt.

“About that plan I mentioned…”

“Forget the plan,” Irene said. “I don't want you involved in this.”

“Whatever. But I think you should know I believe I can help you find out what's in that vault you mentioned.”

She stared at him with a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

“I can't promise,” Angel said, “but there's a good chance I could open it.”

“Are you serious? Are you going to tell me now that besides being arrested for possession of pot, you also have a rap as a safecracker?”

Angel ducked his head and appeared uneasy. “It's not exactly like that.”

“And what, exactly, is it?”

“Well, you remember I told you I hung out with those guys a little bit.”

Irene nodded. “The gang members.”

“Yeah, well, there was this one guy who was trying to learn how to open a safe. I mean, he got stuff off the Internet, and he kept trying, but it wasn't easy. I don't know, I guess it seemed kind of interesting to me, so I tried it, too. He had this old safe, see. I don't know where he got it, and I didn't ask.”

“Wise of you.”

“So, anyway, I kept messing with it, and I got even more stuff off the Internet, and finally, after a long time, I got the hang of it.”

“Please tell me you've never put it to use.”

“Never. I swear. Except…”

“Except?” Her anxiety rose another notch.

“Well, I kind of taught the other guy a little more about it. I don't know if he ever used it, but…”

“Let's hope he doesn't use it,” Irene said.

“He won't. He's dead now.”

“God, Angel!”

“Killed in a drive-by shooting. I guess he made somebody mad.”

“And you think you're safe.”

“Like I said, so far, so good.”

Irene shook her head. “I should have stayed in New York, where it's not so dangerous.”

Angel hung the dish towel on the bar next to the sink, making a production of spreading it straight and even. “Just let me know when you want to go.”

Irene hesitated before she responded. “You're serious, aren't you?”

“Of course.”

“I don't know…”

“We could go Monday. That's your slow day,” Angel said. “And don't worry. I can do it without leaving a mark on the vault. I promise.”

“The police told me to stay away. Twice. I think this time I should listen.”

“Like you said, it might help us find your mother.”

“Monday,” she said. “We'll go Monday.”

Irene tried reading the paper when she got home. Next she tried watching the TV news, but she couldn't concentrate enough to absorb anything. All she could think of was Adelle. Where was she? What might be happening to her?

She decided to try to eat something and was standing in the kitchen with the refrigerator door open and staring at the inside, hoping to be inspired, when her phone rang. She saw on the phone's digital display that it was Andy's cellphone.

“Hey!” he said, when she answered. “I just heard about the incident. Sorry I wasn't there when you came to report it. Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, without meaning it. How could she be all right? Her mother was missing, two of her mother's friends were dead, and someone she thought was a friend had tried to run her off the road.

“I'm sending a patrolman out to watch your house.”

“Do you really think—”

“Do I really think it's necessary? Yes, I do. I've never trusted P. J. Bailey, and now he's just proven he's dangerous.”

“If he was the one driving.”

“What do you mean ‘if'?” Andy said. “You said it was his pickup. Who else would it be? Who else would want to drive that junker?”

“I don't know. Since I didn't actually get a good look at his face, and neither did Angel, that leaves it open to doubt, doesn't it?” Was she trying to defend P.J.? If she was, there was no reason to.

“Ha!” Andy sounded derisive. “I suppose from a legal standpoint, it leaves it open, Madam Prosecutor, except you're not Madam Prosecutor anymore, and I'm telling you I have reason to believe it was P. J. Bailey. If you see him again under any circumstances, I want you to report it to me immediately.”

Irene closed her eyes against a pounding headache and leaned her head against the cupboard door and murmured, “Okay.”

“You sound terrible.”

“Do I?”

“I'm coming over!” Andy's tone was decisive. “You probably haven't eaten anything, and you probably don't feel like going out. I'll make you some dinner.”

“That's sweet of you, Andy, but I really don't—”

“See you in a few.”

He hung up before Irene could protest more. She sat down at the kitchen table, too troubled and too confused to do anything else. The truth was, she was glad to know Andy was coming. She didn't want to be alone.

He arrived a few minutes later carrying two plastic bags from the supermarket. “I'm going to cook you some Santa Fe comfort food,” he said, as he unloaded eggs, cheese, flour tortillas, and potatoes from one of the bags.

“What's this?” Irene asked, as she removed plastic containers of what was obviously something home cooked from the other bag.

“Homemade green chile, and that one with the blue top is beans. I'm making you
huevos rancheros,
” he said.

“Eggs with green chile. One of my favorites,” Irene said. “And you're obviously going to add beans and fried potatoes. I'll peel the potatoes for you.”

“All right, if you want. And just to make sure what I told you earlier sinks in, I want you to stay away from P. J. Bailey.”

“I have no reason to do otherwise,” Irene said.

Andy glanced at her as he poured the green chile sauce in a pot to be warmed. “Any idea why he would want to run you down?”

“That's what your assistant chief asked me. I was hoping you would have some insight,” she said, as they worked together in the old-fashioned kitchen.

“Nothing I can prove.” Andy poured oil in a skillet for the potatoes. “If you have onion, I'll add that to the potatoes. I forgot to bring one.”

“But you have a theory.” She picked up an onion from a basket on the counter and handed it to him.

“Could be he's afraid you've uncovered something. Maybe something connected with those deaths.”

“Like what?” Irene asked.

“I don't know. Something you saw at the lodge.”

Irene was silent. She'd thought of that. She'd also thought that it could be whatever was inside that vault, but she was still unsure of how much she should say, even to Andy.

“Well, did you?” Andy asked, after several seconds had passed.

“Did I what?”

“See something at the lodge?”

“Nothing you wouldn't expect to find in a fancy place like that.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You know, nothing out of the ordinary for a house that belongs to someone with money…You know, people with money are…Well, they have…Really, it was nothing out of the ordinary,” she added, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut.

Andy turned a burner down and turned around to face her. “What are you trying to say, Irene?”

“Just that vault that Harriet mentioned.”

“Yes, the vault. Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

“No,” she said, wondering if she should mention the note.

“For Christ's sake, Irene. I'm a cop. If you can't trust me, who can you trust?”

“Nothing else, really.”

Andy waited.

“Just that I keep thinking about the vault,” she said. “You know, like a safe. Only it really was more like a vault, because it looked like it was an entire room that was sealed with that big steel door.”

Andy looked at her expressionless before he spoke. “I see.”

“I told you it was nothing out of the ordinary. As you said, a lot of rich people have vaults.”

“Yes,” he said, “plenty of people, even people who don't have as much money as the Delgados, have safes, but I'm going to look into it.”

She was on the verge of telling him of her and Angel's planned excursion, but she hesitated just long enough, it seemed, for him to read her mind.

“Just stay away from there.”

“Well…”

“I mean it. Stay away. Two people are dead and your mother is missing. I don't want you to be next. You shouldn't be going down into people's basements, anyway, after what you found in your closet.”

Irene leaned against the counter, feeling suddenly tired. “I should have stayed away from Santa Fe and insisted Adelle move to New York with me. The only thing good I can say about all of this is that I'm no longer a person of interest.”

He turned toward her again, holding a wooden spoon full of chile. “I wouldn't say that. You've been a person of interest from the minute I laid eyes on you. Here, taste this.” He moved the spoon close to her mouth.

“Mmm, good. Who made it?”

“I did.”

“Oh, my God! A man with a full-time job and he can cook. Adelle would have us married before you leave the house, if she was…” Her voice trailed off. She'd forgotten, if only briefly, that there was a good chance Adelle was dead by now.

Andy put the spoon on the counter and put his arms around her. “Hey. It's going to be okay.”

“You don't know that.”

“I'm going to do my damnedest to make sure it is.”

“I'm scared for her.”

He pulled her closer. “Want me to stay here tonight?”

“No. I mean yes. I don't know.”

He turned her face toward his and kissed her. It was a nice kiss. She wanted to respond, but she was still too upset.

“Andy…”

“I know. I'll wait until you're ready. No pressure.”

She smiled at him, still feeling tired.

“I'll fry the potatoes, warm the beans, put it all together, and we'll eat,” he said, turning back to the stove.

She sat down at the table and watched him as he moved, assembling the meal.

“While you're not an official person of interest, there is something you should be aware of,” Andy said.

“Oh, dear, now it's coming, more bad news.”

“No, it's not bad news. I just want you to know you could be called back for questioning,” he said. “If it's determined that you know something more.”

“I wish I did know more,” she said, “especially about Adelle.”

He set two plates on the counter next to him. “I believe you, and I believe you'll let me know if anything happens,” he said over the sizzle of potatoes and onions frying. “And don't go looking for anything more. Leave that to me. I have some leads. I'll follow through on them.”

“Leads? What are they? What have you learned?”

He smiled. “Nothing I can talk about.”

“Don't give me that shit. Adelle is my mother, for Christ's sake. And she's missing.”

“You've got to let me do my job. You've got to trust me.” He set a plate before her—eggs, potatoes, and beans on a tortilla, covered with chile and topped with cheese.

“Okay, but you have to trust me as well.” She couldn't keep her eyes off the plate. “You can tell me about the leads.”

“No, I can't, Irene,” he said, as he sat down with his own plate. “I can't tell you anything except stay away from P.J. Call me if he tries to contact you. Stay away from the lodge. Promise me that.”

“I think I'm getting the picture,” she said. “That makes three times you've said that.”

“I don't have to say it again, do I?”

“I told you, I get the picture.”

“Good. Let's forget about it for a few minutes and eat.”

“This is good!” she said after her first bite. “I didn't know how hungry I was.” She spoke around a mouthful of
huevos rancheros.

Later, after he'd helped her wash the dishes, he gave her another kiss—a light one on the lips—then he left, warning her to lock her doors and assuring her that a patrolman would be on her street all night.

He put no pressure on her to allow him to stay. If he had, she might have given in because she dreaded being alone. But after the lights were out and she was in bed, she was glad no one was there to disturb her. She needed to think.

She hadn't told Andy about Angel and his plan or about Rafael saying he would find Adelle. She'd dismissed it when Rafael said that, thinking it was probably bravado. Now she wondered. Maybe she should have mentioned it to Andy. On the other hand, maybe she should contact Rafael. Shouldn't she ask him why he thought he could find her? Maybe not, since she'd promised to stay out of it. She knew she should cancel the trip she and Angel had planned.

She didn't want to decide now. She'd slept so little the last several days, and now she was too exhausted to stay awake. She didn't want to think about anything except maybe the way Andy had kissed her. She hadn't been kissed like that in a long time. Yet she couldn't keep her mind off the vault. And Adelle. She wanted to believe Adelle was alive. Rafael said he'd seen her. That should give her hope, but in the gloom of night, hope seemed out of reach.

Thoughts and doubts tumbled in her mind, and in spite of her resolve to sleep, she lay awake most of the night.

The first thing she did the next morning when Angel showed up just after she'd opened the store was tell him she was canceling their planned trip to the Mariposa lodge.

“Why?” Angel asked, frowning. “You know we need to know what's in that vault.”

“I think we should leave it to the police.”

“You told them about the vault?” Andy sounded incredulous.

“Well…”

“You did; you told the chief. He showed up at your house, and you told him.”

“How did you know he came to my house?” Irene asked.

“I didn't
know,
” Angel said, “but I'm not surprised. I mean, you're an attractive woman. He's single. Maybe he's horny.”

“For Christ sake, Angel!”

“All right. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I just meant a mutual attraction doesn't surprise me.”

“Well, anyway, I didn't tell him. Harriet did. But it was the right thing to do, especially if it helps him find Adelle.”

“I don't see how it could,” Angel said.

“I'm not sure myself, but I'd be willing to bet that the answer to why Loraine and Susana were killed and Adelle disappeared has something to do with whatever is in there.”

“I suspect that. You suspect that. And I want to help you find out what's in there. You've done your duty by telling the cops about the vault. I just don't see why they have to be the first to know what's inside.”

“Don't confuse me, Angel. Look! A customer just walked in. Go turn on your charm.”