A Killer Closet (8 page)

Irene picked up the renewal form, turned it over, and placed it back on the desk. She opened the laptop computer, but since she had no password, she couldn't get beyond the opening wallpaper. A dictionary lay on the desk. She picked it up and held it by the front and back covers and shook it, but nothing fell out. There was no time to look through all of the novels on the bookshelves if she was going to stick to her plan to leave before Maureen could send someone back for them.

She started for the door and, on a whim, lifted a small watercolor of pine trees from the wall and turned it over. An envelope was taped to the back, and scrawled almost illegibly across the front was her mother's maiden name:
Adelle Seligman.

Adelle had followed Harriet back to the large entry hall of the hunting lodge, thinking they'd stay together as Irene had suggested, but Harriet wouldn't hear of it.

“We need to split up,” Harriet had said. “You go back that way to the living room, and I'll go this way.” She pointed to the right side of the grand staircase.

Adelle had started to protest, but Harriet took off to the right, leaving Adelle standing there. She felt a stab of anger that Harriet would leave her alone. Never mind that Irene reminded her all too often that she needed to learn to rely on herself. She'd never liked that idea. Besides, she'd never had to before, and she saw no reason to start now. She took a step in the direction Harriet had gone, thinking she'd catch up with her and set her straight. After only one step, she stopped and turned around, looking toward the giant living room.

She realized she had the perfect opportunity to look around for herself. She didn't consider it snooping, just curiosity about how people as wealthy as the Delgados lived. What kind of silverware did they have? What kind of china? Was it something distasteful and nouveau riche? Or was it old-family inheritance? What might she find in the drawers of the mahogany lamp tables in that gauche living room?

Adelle started in the living room, trying to ignore the glassy staring eyes of dead animals surrounding her, and went straight for a lamp table and opened the drawer. There was nothing in the drawer except a few paperclips, some lint, two medium-sized screws, a flashlight, and a photograph. Adelle picked up the photo and recognized the two subjects—Harriet's daughter, Liz, and Irene. It was an old picture, taken when they were about ten years old. Adelle remembered giving it to Susana when she asked for it. Back then, Susana was still mourning the fact that she couldn't have children.

Adelle had never meant to have a child. She'd never considered herself suitable for motherhood. Irene's father was her first husband, David Seligman, and possibly the only man Adelle had ever really loved. He had died of cancer when Irene was somewhere around five or six years old. As she studied the picture of Irene with her messy hair and freckles with her arm around the more petite and well-mannered Liz Baumgarten, she remembered thinking back then that if fate had ruled that she had to have a daughter, she wished she could have been more placid and conventional like Liz. She could have tucked her away in a quality boarding school and not worried about her. She had, in fact, tried that once or twice, but Irene had rebelled. David Seligman and his mother, and the esteemed Teresa, sided with Irene. Children, they insisted, belonged with their families until they were grown, or at least until they went away to college.

Now, in retrospect, she was glad Irene had not spent all of her young years away from home. The Seligman family was a good influence for her, and they gave her something Adelle wished, even then, that she could have provided for her only daughter. Adelle realized too late in their relationship that Irene meant more to her than any other living person. The problem, Adelle was only too aware, was that she never knew how to show her love. She wouldn't deny that, at first, she was jealous of the pretty child with her unruly blond hair that eventually became chestnut-colored, and her stunning green eyes. She wanted the attention Irene got from Teresa and especially David for herself. Too late, she realized how selfish she'd been. Too late, she believed, to change anything. She wished she could have been a better mother. It was just that she didn't know how. She'd had no mother of her own to teach her. She'd spent most of her own life in boarding schools after her own mother ran away with a Greek merchant and later died in an automobile accident. The only thing Adelle learned from her was that if she couldn't make herself loveable, she could, with enough money, at least make herself beautiful and desirable to men.

As she stared at the picture, Adelle realized with painful acuteness that she had missed something important and irreplaceable with Irene. She couldn't get her daughter's childhood back, and she had no idea how to fix it now, so regrets were a waste of time. In an act of spontaneity that surprised even her, Adelle kissed the picture of her daughter, then looked over her shoulder to make certain no one had seen her. She slipped the photograph back into the drawer, closed it quickly, and went on to the next lamp table and opened its drawer.

A partially completed crossword puzzle, a pencil with broken lead, and a letter opener were the only items in the drawer. None of the drawers she opened held anything of interest, and since the soulless stares of the other beings in the room were beginning to unnerve her more and more, she hurried away to the dining room.

At least the drawers in this room proved more interesting to her. The silverware, she noted, was definitely old-family—Francis I that had no doubt been handed down for generations. The china was Wedgwood, and there were several sterling silver serving pieces. All of it was every bit as fine as what Susana had in her Santa Fe home. Adelle had no doubt that the Delgado home on the Côte d'Azur as well as her apartment in Santa Fe held just as many treasures.

How lovely to be fabulously rich! One of her husbands had been wealthy, although not as wealthy as Tomas Delgado. Still, he was wealthy enough that she had wanted for nothing. Nothing, that is, except affection. In the end, he left her for a network TV anchor.

Affection! Why, since she craved it, could she not show it? She made herself forget that thought and wandered into the kitchen. She stood in the center of the enormous room for a moment, not remembering what she had been searching for.

Ah, yes, the mysterious thing Susana had wanted Harriet and her to find. Poor Susana! Adelle genuinely grieved for her. She was a friend, after all, and, Adelle supposed, no more imperfect than anyone else. But to be murdered! Nothing could be more dreadful or unexpected than that. Now it seemed the entire town was wondering if the two deaths—Loraine's and Susana's—were related. But how? It was difficult to connect the two. Loraine and Susana had not been friends, only acquaintances, just as she and Harriet had been mere acquaintances of the younger woman. They all attended the important functions in town where everybody who was anybody showed up, so of course they all knew her. But Loraine was younger than the three of them and had her own circle of friends.

Adelle envied Loraine's youth and even the affair she was rumored to have had as much as she envied Susana's wealth. How wonderful to be young and desirable!

Now, when she thought about it, Adelle knew that Susana must have known more about Loraine's death than she ever admitted. It must have had something to do with that crazy statement about Harriet and her looking for something in her mountain lodge. Maybe she wasn't just being her usual overly dramatic self after all. But what was it she wanted them to find? Did it have something to do with her husband's business? Now that Tomas was in a nursing home, the Delgado empire was being run by some deputy Adelle didn't know. All she knew was that, up until her death, Susana was still enjoying all the financial benefits of being Tomas's wife.

She was still pondering Irene's question about Tomas or Susana or their business interests being involved with something shady. She had told Irene the idea was too scandalous for her to have considered. And it was, if it went too far. Not that she didn't enjoy juicy morsels of gossip, but nothing that could lead to murder or death. She had her principles.

Her eyes swept over the enormous kitchen. Where to start searching? She had no idea. Would Susana be likely to hide something in a kitchen in the first place? Susana was as unfamiliar with kitchens as Adelle was. Perhaps she should start with the refrigerator. Or perhaps all the cupboards.

Irene opened the envelope bearing Adelle's name and pulled out a piece of paper. There was writing on it, but it was gibberish. Maybe it was code meant only for Adelle. She hurried down the stairs with the cryptic note in her hand and saw Harriet crossing the entry hall before she reached the bottom. “Where's Adelle?”

Harriet glanced up at Irene. “She's still searching in that part of house.” She pointed toward the living room.

“Still searching? I thought she'd give up quickly.” Irene hurried toward the large room, calling for Adelle. When she got no answer, she moved through the dining room and into the kitchen, still calling for her. Opening a door that proved to lead to a pantry, she called again. There was still no response. She turned around to see Harriet following her. Irene felt an old anger awaken in her. How like Adelle to wander off. How like her to be irresponsible.

“She must have gone upstairs to find you.” Harriet's eyes were wide with alarm. “I don't think she liked the idea of being alone.”

“She didn't come upstairs,” Irene said. “At least I didn't see her.” Nevertheless, she turned and ran up the stairs, calling out, “Adelle? Where are you?” When she got no answer, concern mixed with her anger.

Harriet was several steps behind Irene. “Is she up here?” she asked, out of breath from climbing the stairs.

“Look for her over there,” Irene said, pointing to her left, “and I'll search the other side. She called out for her mother over and over, and she could hear Harriet doing the same in the other wing. When they met in the hallway, Irene could see the worried look on Harriet's face. They agreed to search downstairs, but when several more minutes passed and they had searched every room, including the kitchen, they still hadn't found her. Irene was sick with worry.

“This is too scary,” Harriet said. “How could she just disappear like that?”

Irene sat down in one of the leather chairs underneath the enormous head of a grizzly bear. “I have to think,” she said. “There has to be an answer.”

“What's that?” Harriet asked, pointing to the sealed envelope Irene still held in her hand.

Worry about Adelle had caused Irene to forget about the envelope momentarily. “It's…I found it upstairs. It has Adelle's name on it.”

“From Susana?”

“I suppose. It was hidden in her office. Is this her handwriting?” She showed Harriet the envelope.

“It is!” Harriet said. “I'd recognize it anywhere. That penmanship! I would have flunked a kid for writing like that. But Susana was always in a hurry, you know. She'd start out fairly legible and then…See the way that capital
A
in Adelle's name is written with such flourish? That's so typical. Then you can hardly read the rest of it.”

Irene pulled the folded sheet of paper she'd tried to read from the envelope. “I don't know what this means.” She handed the paper to Harriet. “Does this make sense to you?”

Harriet read aloud: “
Lk n plc w dnt s…
Next it looks like
Pntngs. Cll Fds. Dnt cll chf wll kll.
For heaven's sake, there aren't any vowels in the entire thing. How is anyone supposed to read it?”

“Doesn't make sense,” Irene said.

“Poor handwriting is one thing, but she didn't have to be so cryptic,” Harriet said.

“Unless she didn't want anyone except Adelle to understand.”

Harriet frowned. “Why Adelle?”

Irene stood. “
Where
is Adelle? Did you hear anything? Doors opening? Someone else in the house?”

Harriet shook her head. “Nothing. Adelle would never go out in the dark by herself, and no one came in. I'm certain I would have heard.”

“You're certain?”

“Yes, of course. That is, unless…”

“Unless?”

“Well, I could have been in the back part of that wing. It's a long ways back there. And so many doors to open. Maybe the sound of opening all those doors masked—”

Irene sprinted toward the front door and opened it to a black cloister with stars covered in dark robes of clouds. The sharp knives of lightning she had seen earlier had by now sunk so deeply into the horizon, they were little more than dull flashes.

She called out, “Adelle!” And then, without realizing she was going to, “Mom!” She hadn't used that word since she was twelve years old and Adelle scolded her for it. “Just too conventional for our family,” she'd said. Irene had always suspected she didn't like being called that because she had always thought of her daughter as an encumbrance on the life she wanted.

There was no answer to her call, no sound except the wind in the trees and the distant growl of a motor.

“Adelle, where are you?” Harriet cried.

Irene responded with a sharp
Shhh!
that sounded almost like a hiss.

Silence, then Harriet whispered, “I hear it, too.” Another pause before she whispered again, “Is it coming or going?”

“The sound is growing fainter!” Irene grabbed her purse from the table in the entry hall where she'd left it when they arrived and hurried outside. “Follow me, Harriet. We're going after that car.”

Harriet sat in the front seat, trembling, as Irene turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. No responsive purr from the motor. Only silence.

Irene turned the key back and forth, her shoulders tense, her heart pounding. “Shit!” she said in response to the silent motor.

“What's wrong with the car?” Harriet asked.

Irene popped the hood and was out of the door as she answered. “Someone must have messed with it.”

“Oh, my God! What if there's a bomb? Be careful when you open that hood all the way.”

A bomb?
Irene had been so worried about her mother she hadn't thought of that. She'd already forced the hood all the way open, though, and nothing had exploded. She peered into the cavity under the hood, but all she could see was a thick mass of black.

“Hand me the flashlight that's in my purse,” Irene called. She heard Harriet rummaging, then her voice.

“There's not one in here!”

“There has to be. It's…” Then she remembered. She'd taken it out to loan it to that lawyer, P.J., and he'd never returned it.

Irene slammed the hood closed and got back into the car because she needed to think and because she was cold. Summer nights at an altitude of ten thousand feet above sea level could feel like winter. Harriet was staring straight ahead with her cellphone to her ear.

She dropped the phone into her purse. “Nothing works up here,” she said in a tone of voice that implied lost hope and doom.

“How did the Delgados communicate with the outside world, since there are no telephone lines up here?” Irene asked. “I can't imagine a man like Tomas with so many ties to the business world could be completely out of touch.”

“He had some kind of a big, awkward phone. I thought it was just one of those out-of-date cellphones, but Susana said it was some kind of space phone.”

“You mean a satellite phone?”

“That's it!” Harriet said. “Do you have one?”

“I'm afraid not.”

“Neither do I.” Harriet sounded defeated. After a pause, she added, “What are we going to do?” Her voice broke, and she was near tears.

“Let's go back inside. It's cold out here. Maybe I'll think of something once I get warm.” Irene got out of the car and waited for Harriet before she walked toward the house. She held the older woman's arm as they walked and noted that she was still shaking—whether from the cold or from fear or both, she wasn't sure.

Once back in the house, Irene led Harriet to the large living room, where, even with the lights on, there was a dark heaviness. The enormous bright-eyed heads protruded from the walls and hulked like prowlers waiting for prey. Harriet sat on one of the sofas, but immediately sprang to her feet and walked toward the dining room.

“I wonder if there's anything to eat in the kitchen,” she said. “I think it's just beyond the dining room.”

“Look for a flashlight while you're in there. I'm going to search for one, too.” Irene was already opening drawers in chests and lamp tables. In a little while she called out to Harriet, “I found one! And it works,” she added, when she pushed the button. “I'm going out to have a look at the car to see if I can figure out what's wrong.” She waited for a response. “Harriet?” Walking toward the dining room, she called out again, “Harriet? Where are you?” There was still no response. She kept calling as she walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. The kitchen had an industrial appearance, with a large gas range, no doubt connected to a propane tank, and two massive freezers. She called Harriet's name again. This time she heard a weak response.

“Irene! I'm down here.”

Irene turned in a circle, searching for the source of the voice. “Where? Where are you, Harriet?”

“Down here. In the cellar. Go into the pantry. You'll see.”

Irene found the double doors that opened into a spacious pantry lined with cans and boxes of foodstuff. She heard Harriet calling to her again and saw the opening in the floor. She bent over the opening and called out again. “Harriet?”

“Walk down the stairs. Be careful, they're steep.”

Irene made her way down the steep decline of wooden stairs and saw Harriet standing in front of a tall steel door that looked like a bank vault, complete with a lock on the front.

“I was looking for something to eat, and see what I found!” Harriet was breathless with excitement. “This must be what Susana wanted us to find.”

“Very possible.” Irene walked to the door and tugged at the large leverlike handle.

“I tried that. It won't open,” Harriet said.

“Not surprising.”

“What do you suppose is in there?”

“Just as you said, Harriet. It's probably what Susana wanted you to find.”

“Do you know how to crack a safe?”

“Never got around to learning that. But that's not my priority now. I've got to find Adelle.”

“Well, of course we have to find Adelle.” Harriet pounded on the door with her fist. “There may be money in there. Lots of money.”

“Get that look out of your eyes, Harriet. Whatever's in there, no one is likely to share it with you.”

“Well, I wasn't thinking about that,” Harriet said. She paused for a moment before she spoke again. “What if Adelle is in there?”

Irene, who was already making her way up the stairs, turned to look at Harriet. “How could she have gotten in there?”

Harriet's eyes were wide, and she was too frightened to speak.

Irene hurried down the stairs again and pounded on the steel door, then waited for a response. There was nothing.

“She's not in there, is she?” Harriet said.

“Of course not,” Irene said, wishing she could be sure.

“What are we going to do?”

“I found a flashlight, so I'm going out to the car and have a look,” Irene said, forcing herself to sound rational. “Maybe I can get it started.” She hurried up the stairs and started toward the door. “I wish I'd brought a coat,” she said. “I'll probably freeze my ass off.”

“Take one of Susana's,” Harriet said. “I know where she keeps them.” Harriet led Irene upstairs to one of the locked rooms and opened the door with a key Irene didn't know she had, although it was on the same ring as the key that had opened the door to the house. “In here,” she said, going to a closet.

Several animals appeared to be crowded together in the space. Not animals, Irene realized. A row of fur coats. Harriet pulled one from a hanger and helped Irene put it on.

Within a few minutes, Irene was outdoors, wrapped in the luxurious fur of silver foxes who had given their lives for this opportunity. Irene tried not to think about the unsavory sacrifice as she peered into the display of technology under the hood of her car. Mechanical apparatuses were always bewildering to her, and her knowledge of the workings of modern automobiles was woefully limited. She did remember, however, that her ex had looked at the battery when the car failed to start. Locating the battery wasn't difficult, but how was she to go about examining it? How would she know if anything was wrong?

She was feeling woefully inadequate until she noticed two cables drooping down into the car's mysterious interior. They'd been disconnected! That meant that whoever had done this had wanted only to delay her, not to strand her completely. She reached for one of the loose cables. She was uncertain about where to attach it to the battery until she saw the markings denoting positive and negative points. A light rain had started by the time the cables were attached. She made an attempt to start the car and felt a sense of accomplishment and relief when she heard the monotonous hum of the motor. If the disconnected battery was meant to delay her, did that mean Adelle had been taken away in that car they'd heard and wasn't in an airless safe after all? She could only hope that was the case.

When she was back inside the house, Harriet's enthusiasm was tempered with caution, however. “The battery cables? Well, that's good news, I guess,” she said. “But you're not thinking of driving back on that awful road in the dark, are you? Shouldn't we wait until morning?”

“I have headlights,” Irene said with a show of impatience. “I'll be able to see all the twists and turns in the road.”

“There's a storm coming.”

“The storm is in the distance. I think it's moved on,” Irene said. “There's nothing more than a light sprinkle out there now.”

Harriet shook her head. “You never know about storms in the mountains. They can come up so quickly. Why don't we wait a few minutes?”

Irene hesitated, unwilling to waste any more time. Finally, she sighed and said, “All right. Ten minutes, then we're leaving.”