was doing something.
I flipped through the ledger sheets. They were covered with Vic’s neat figures. The last one, however, was scrawled in Frank’s bolder hand. Maybe he had done some work after all. I scanned the sheet.
It was a list of names with numbers opposite them. The names were unfamiliar to me, and the numbers were much too large to have anything to do with the museum budget: $50,000; $61,500. If only we had that many grants of that amount!
So it must be a personal ledger sheet. What did it mean? Prices of houses Frank was looking at? He’d been talking about moving recently. No, they were much too low for Santa Barbara’s real estate. Debts? Surely Frank hadn’t been that far in the red. Gambling debts? Maybe he’d had a secret vice. The thought pleased me, but I shrugged and replaced the ledger sheets. It wasn’t my business, especially now that he was dead. Flipping through the desk calendar, I finally found the number of Carlos Bautista’s hotel in Acapulco and reached for the phone.
One of the buttons was lit and another flashing. Isabel was obviously having trouble keeping up with the calls. I punched the flashing button and said, “Museum of‘ Mexican Arts.”
“Elena? Is that you?” It was Susana Ibarra, Tony’s teen-aged bride. With a start, I remembered Tony hadn’t put in an appearance that morning.
“Yes, Susana.”
“What are you doing answering the phone?”
“Maria’s not here.”
“Is she sick?”
Impatiently, I tapped my fingers on the desk blotter. Susana was a silly girl, the perfect teenage vamp. She wore her skirts too short, her makeup too heavy, and her long dark hair extravagantly teased. She chewed gum constantly and, if given the opportunity, would babble on for hours, punctuating her conversation with shrill giggles. “No, Susana,” I said, “Maria’s not sick.”
“Well, that’s good because there’s something terrible going around. First I had it and now Tony. That is why I’m calling, to say Tony won’t be in to work today.”
That was nothing new. She frequently called in with excuses for Tony. He didn’t appear sickly, but he was out at least five days of every month.
“You haven’t heard the news, then,” I said.
“News?”
“Frank’s dead. Somebody murdered him in the folk art gallery.”
There was a gasp, then silence.
“Susana, are you there?”
“I am… here.”
“Maybe I better talk to Tony.”‘
“No! You can’t.”
“Why not? He
“Yes…he is… but he can’t come to the phone. He’s sick. That is, he’s throwing up and he can’t… I will have him call back.” She hung up.
I stared at the receiver for a moment, then replaced it. For the first time ever, something I had said had gotten through to Susana. I only hoped she’d be able to communicate it to Tony before she went off into babbling hysterics. I sighed, then direct-dialed Carlos Bautista’s hotel in Mexico.
Carlos, an amiable, shrewd-minded man who had made a fortune in oil, was shocked but calm. He told me to refer the press to the police for information; he would cut his vacation short and return tonight; we would hold a board meeting as soon as he arrived. “In the meantime,” he added, “I’m appointing you acting director. You can hold your press conference and tell them that, no more.”
“Me? Acting director?”‘
“Yes, you. Why not? You’re the only one there who appears to be doing anything.”
“Well, I’m honored, of course. Do you think perhaps we should cancel the Cinco de Mayo party?”
There was a pause. “No, I don’t. Vic tells me we’ve sold a large number of tickets for it. There will be almost as many more sold at the door. We can’t afford to cancel the party-or to lose the support and enthusiasm of those people. We’ll go ahead with it.”
“All right. I’ll see you tonight.”
I hung up the phone, imagining a heavy weight descending onto my shoulders. Days ago I would have given anything to be running the museum. Now the thought of it just made me tired.
“What are you doing in here?” It was Lieutenant Kirk, and he looked furious.
“Calling our board chairman.”
“Don’t you know better than to mess with the deceased’s desk before I’ve had a chance to go through it?”
“All I did was use the phone!”
“That doesn’t matter. Come on. I need to talk to you anyway.”
I stood up, feeling even more tired. “I told you everything I know.”
He looked at me. Again, I couldn’t read his expression. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll go over it once more. Certain inconsistencies in your statement have come to light.”
Inconsistencies? What did that mean? I followed Kirk back to my own office.
The office smelled of cigarette smoke, and the ashtray was full of butts. A coffee cup sat on a stack of papers. Kirk certainly was making himself at home. The lieutenant plunked himself in my swivel chair, and I sat down across the desk from him, feeling displaced.
“What did your board chairman say?” he asked.
“That we’re to refer press questions to your department. I’ll tell them at the press conference.”
“Why have one at all?”
“I’m also to announce that I’ve been named acting director.”
“Acting director? Come up in the world, haven’t you?”
I looked sharply at him, but his face was blank.
“All right.”‘ He consulted a legal pad on the desk in front of him. “I see here that a couple of your people are not on the premises. Mr. Ibarra…”
“Tony’s at home sick. His wife called in. He’s supposed to call me back.”
Kirk nodded. “And Miss De La Cruz?”
“She and Mr. Herrera are at the De Palma home.”
“Mr. Herrera?”
“He’s an artist. Actually he isn’t on staff, but he was supposed to be here for the press preview. He’s one of our best known contemporary exhibitors.”
“You have home addresses for these people?”
“Yes.” I motioned at my Rolodex.
Again Kirk nodded.
“Lieutenant Kirk,” I said, “what about these inconsistencies you mentioned? I’d like to clear them up so I can get on with my work.”
“What work is that?”
“Well, the press conference. And notifying our other board members so they can schedule time for a meeting.”
“Taking charge rather quickly, aren’t you.”
It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer.
“Inconsistencies. Yes.” Kirk leafed through his legal pad. “Let’s see. You say the big tree of life arrived yesterday morning about eleven o’clock.”‘
“Yes.”
“And Mr. De Palma wanted it displayed for the press preview.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t, however.”
“If you mean I didn’t want it displayed, no.”
“Will you go over your reasons for that again, please.”
