The Confidence Woman (12 page)

She found a class photo from junior year when all the sisters whose lives had recently intertwined lived in the same corridor on the third floor. Except for Evelyn they all looked surprisingly fresh and prettier than she had remembered. As she recalled, all had boyfriends then except for Evelyn. Had they been cruel to her without being aware of it? Had rejection by the boss in Denver triggered some unhappy memory of an earlier rejection?

Looking
beyond the sixties clothes and hairdos, Claire stared into the faces seeking some indicator of what they had become. The firmness of Elizabeth's chin indicated she was already accustomed to getting her own way. Ginny was the perpetual little sister with short hair who tagged along behind the boys. Claire remembered her as being athletic. Somehow her positive energy had turned sour and she had become a woman who drank too much. Lynn had a sunny smile, but Claire knew the darkness behind the sun. Until she met Steve, she had been filling the void with some very worthless men. In this photograph Miranda's theatricality was apparent. Her hair was dark and curly and she wore it in a tangled hippie mop. A long scarf was tossed casually over her shoulder. Claire studied her own picture and found her smile to be more confident than she remembered. She always considered herself a late bloomer. It took a while to grow into her bone structure and discover her personality and her looks. Much of the transformation took place while she was traveling around Europe with Pietro Antonelli. As her mother told her after she came back, “You were a sweet child, but you're much more interesting now.”

Evelyn was in the center of the group, a plain, overweight lump even then, a woman men were not likely to notice. She looked older than the other sisters, possibly because she was the only one who wasn't smiling. When had a not-wanting-to-please attitude turned into a wanting-to-harm attitude? Claire wondered. Would anyone have thought then that she was a thief or that someone else in the photo could turn out to be a murderer? When this picture was taken, Evelyn might already have been robbing her friends. Could theft have become an addictive behavior, a drug that she turned to in times of stress?

Chapter
Eleven

C
LAIRE HEARD NO MORE FROM
D
ETECTIVE
A
MARAL
and fell into the routine of dealing with books and avoiding Harrison Hough at work, of doing tai chi and tending to her rose garden at home, hoping the detective's investigation had taken him elsewhere.

She went to Elizabeth Best's presentation on the spotted owl, which was held in an upstairs conference room at the Hyatt Regency. Claire liked the Hyatt; it had an elegance that was uncharacteristic of Albuquerque and reminiscent of Arizona. Elizabeth was late so Claire had time to study the rest of the people in the room. It was a large room and was nearly full, not surprising since people in New Mexico had strong opinions about preservation of the spotted owl. The people in this room—younger environmental activists as well as older birders—were on the preservation side.

Just at the point when the audience began to get restless, Elizabeth swept into the room followed by a man Claire recognized as the Brian Duval she'd seen on the Web site. The center of a whirlwind with a man in her orbit was exactly where Elizabeth liked to be. While Brian took the mike and introduced Elizabeth as “one of the foremost environmentalists in the Southwest,” Claire wondered whether Ginny would classify him as a hunk. He had the height and the curly blond hair but wore the narrow, thick-rimmed glasses of an intellectual. She thought he was better looking on the computer screen than he was in person.

Elizabeth thanked him for the introduction. She began her presentation by saying, “One of the things I hate about this country is…” Then she read from a prepared statement without looking up. As she spoke it became clear that what she hated about this country was that not everyone saw things the way she did. Her hand made choppy gestures while she demonized the opposition, the loggers who opposed protecting the spotted owl on the grounds that protection cost them their jobs. Forest Watch was often accused of being a group of idle rich people indifferent to the needs of others to earn a living. In some respects Elizabeth's performance was that of a woman unwilling to make any concessions to the opposition or even to her audience. She seemed to have little experience with public speaking. Claire was an academic and academics learned how to speak before an audience, to look up and make eye contact, to pause for emphasis, to speak slowly and distinctly, to pace themselves. Speaking in public was how most academics earned their living. Environmentalists were more likely to be amateurs. Although people put money into the environmental movement, few took any out. Claire supposed Brian was paid a salary, but she doubted it was much of one.

In
spite of the unprofessional presentation, the audience gravitated to Elizabeth after it was over. Her looks and her passion for her subject made her a magnet. Claire stood at the back of the room and waited while Elizabeth basked in the glow. She was conscious of time and didn't like to be left cooling her heels. As time passed she got annoyed. If it hadn't been so important for her to talk to Elizabeth, she might have walked out.

After Elizabeth had given everyone else their due, she looked up. “Claire,” she said. “We were supposed to be having a drink, weren't we? I'm so sorry I forgot.”

The remark had the effect of making Claire feel belittled, which she supposed was the intent. She wondered whether Elizabeth's rudeness was simple arrogance or the sign of an insecure person unconsciously seeking the rejection she felt she deserved. When it came to human motivation, Claire was more inclined to accept the complicated than the simple. If she had been trying to renew an acquaintance with Elizabeth, she would have gone no further, but motive and character were critical in the death of Evelyn Martin, so she swallowed her anger and asked, “Do you have time?”

Elizabeth looked at her watch. “I can give you half an hour.”

“Let's go down to the bar,” Claire said. Elizabeth wasted precious minutes stopping to talk to people she saw on the way downstairs, but when they got to the bar, she spent an hour at a table with Claire. Elizabeth had an elastic sense of time that expanded when it served her own interests. They began by talking about the spotted owl. Claire was in agreement that endangered species should be protected whatever the cost. She thought Forest Watch's tactics were unnecessarily confrontational, but she didn't say so. Eventually she was able to direct Elizabeth's attention to Amaral's investigation.

“I assume asking about our alibis means he suspects one of us,” Elizabeth said.

“That would be my assumption,” Claire replied. “Did he give you a description of the woman the runner saw arguing with Evelyn?”

“No, but she must resemble us or why would he be asking for our alibis? The person he ought to be investigating is Miranda Kohl. She has a better motive than any of us do.” She sampled the bar nuts, grimaced and said, “Too salty. Have you got anything else?” she asked the waiter, who went off to do her bidding.

“Amaral contacted Miranda,” Claire said. “Her alibi is that she was on location in Mexico.”

“How did he find out about her?”

“I told him,” Claire admitted.

“You? Why?”

Claire felt that telling Elizabeth the truth would make her vulnerable, but lying was not her forte. She didn't trust herself to do it well. “Self-interest, I suppose. I don't have an alibi. I was home with my cat on April twenty-first.”

“Really?”
said Elizabeth, turning the spotlight of her attention on Claire. “Well then I can see why
you'd
want to direct Amaral's attention toward Miranda. I have a very good alibi myself.” Her tone suggested she thought Claire was dim for not concocting her own alibi.

“To tell you the truth, it struck me as rather convenient for you and for Ginny,” Claire replied.

“Oh? Well, I was in Santa Fe at a Forest Watch seminar that day. I have a credit card receipt for dinner at the Santa Café.”

“Which wouldn't prove you had dinner with Ginny.”

“Ginny told you we had dinner together, didn't she?”

“Yes, and she was drinking when she said it.”

The waiter came back with a bowl of unsalted nuts. Elizabeth sampled them and thanked him.

“Surely you've noticed that Ginny likes to drink.”

“Was she drunk when you got together?”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Most likely.”

“What time did you have dinner?”

“We started with drinks at five. Dinner went on till nine or ten o'clock, I'd say.”

“That's a long time for you and Ginny to spend together.”

“We had a lot of catching up to do.”

“You sent her out into the dark after dinner and let her drive home drunk?”

“I suppose I did. She wouldn't have given me the car keys so what was I supposed to do? I wasn't prepared to wrestle them from her.”

Claire believed that part of it—she couldn't imagine Elizabeth trying to wrestle the keys away from Ginny—but she didn't believe the two of them had enjoyed a long dinner.

“You ought to spend more time establishing your own innocence instead of questioning mine,” Elizabeth said. “You're the one with no alibi.”

Claire had noticed that Brian Duval was leaning against the doorway watching them and apparently waiting for the conversation to end. Elizabeth's back was to the door and she hadn't seen him yet.

“Brian Duval is here,” Claire said.

“Is he?” Elizabeth smiled. “Are we done?” she asked.

“I'm done,” Claire said.

“Me, too,” Elizabeth replied. She stood up, went to the door and walked down the hall with Brian, leading Claire to think that was who she was having dinner with.

Claire had made plans to meet her coworker Celia Alegria at the KiMo Theatre, a short walk from the Hyatt, to see a production of
The Barber of Seville.
The drink with Elizabeth had taken longer than
she
expected and it was almost time for the show. She left her car downstairs in the Hyatt parking lot and walked to the KiMo, a wonderfully ornate theater and one of her favorite buildings in Albuquerque. The Duke City had miles of undistinguished architecture interspersed every now and then with a jewelencrusted treasure like the KiMo.

Celia was waiting for Claire in the lobby. She always dressed with style, even at work. Tonight she was wearing a red velvet Navajo dress with a broomstick pleated skirt and a necklace made out of oversized silver beads. The color complemented her long black hair. Claire thought of Celia as a macaw among the sparrows at the library. She held her own in the KiMo.

“You look great,” Claire said.

“You're looking good yourself,” Celia replied.

“Me?” Claire wore a gray dress with an antique silver pin from Mexico. “I think I fit in better in the Hyatt than I do here. Here I feel like a plain Jane.”

“Never think that,” said Celia. She stepped back and examined Claire. “You have a simple style that works for you.”

They entered the theater, took their seats and waited for the curtain to go up.

“How was your meeting with your friend?” Celia asked.

“All right. Elizabeth is a person who gets her own way regardless of the effect on anyone else, one of those complicated people you either spend your lifetime trying to figure out or you run away from as fast as you can. She doesn't get along very well with women, but there's usually a man around willing to put up with her.”

“Capable of murder?” Claire had confided in Celia her fears about the death of Evelyn Martin. She trusted Celia not to talk about it at work.

“Who? Elizabeth? Or the man?”

“Either one.”

“I don't think the murder was a premeditated act. If it was committed in fear or anger or self-defense, I suppose Elizabeth was as capable as any of us. More capable, maybe, than some of us. She has a temper. As for a man, a woman was spotted at Evelyn's house the night she supposedly died.” Considering that a man might have been involved cracked open a few doors in the house of Evelyn Martin's death, but the opera began and distracted Claire from opening them any wider.

Celia loved opera and her enthusiasm drew Claire in and left her feeling she'd been diverted and charmed for a few hours.

They walked to Celia's car, which she had parked near the theater. Celia gave Claire a ride back to the Hyatt, letting her off at the front door on Tijeras. Claire said good night and walked through the revolving door feeling she was leaving Albuquerque behind and entering another city, Phoenix, perhaps,
which
had its share of elegant hotels. She intended to walk across the lobby and take the elevator at the rear of the building to the underground parking lot. As she stepped from the revolving door, she saw Elizabeth and Brian walking toward the elevators that went up to the guest rooms. They were about the same height and they looked good together. Elizabeth whispered something in his ear and he laughed. The elevator door opened, then closed behind them.

Claire went to the elevator banks and watched the buttons to see where the elevator stopped. She took the next elevator to that floor feeling like a private eye tracking a philandering spouse. A convex mirror was mounted high in the elevator. She could see her reflection in the mirror, but the convexity distorted it enough to make her wonder if she was who she pretended to be, the quiet, intellectual Claire Reynier or a snoop who was following an old friend to a hotel assignation? She reminded herself that she was doing it because she was a murder suspect, not because she was a voyeur. Still she was embarrassed by the tingle of excitement she felt when the elevator reached the floor and the door opened. It was in her power to let the door close again and push the down button, but she didn't do it. She held the door open with her hand and, as discreetly as possible, peered into the hallway trying to think of some reasonable excuse if she was noticed.