The Tree of Death

“And came to in this field?”

“After midnight.”

“Good. If your story is true, someone may have given your assailant a ride back to town. Or he may have called a cab. I’ll check it.”

“What do you mean, if my story is true?”

“I also want to check your car for fingerprints and other evidence. I assume it’s still on the highway where it ran out of gas?”

“No, it’s downstairs in the parking lot. A friend of my mother’s got some gas and brought it to me. I drove back to town.”

Kirk straightened his chair. “Now, that, Miss Oliverez, is one reason for my saying if your story is true.” He looked at his watch. “It is eleven in the morning. You say you got to your mother’s around two-thirty. But you did not call us then to report the attack. Instead, you slept, got up, retrieved your car. By letting another person drive it and then driving it yourself, you probably destroyed any evidence that might have been there. You claim you were assaulted and technically kidnapped, yet you slept, changed your clothes, and, for all I know, ate a hearty breakfast before you bothered to inform us of anything.”‘

I looked down at my hands. He had a point.

“Also, Miss Oliverez, you tell me your assailant took your extra set of keys to the museum. Didn’t it occur to you that he might have robbed the place blind? Shouldn’t you have called us immediately and asked us to send a squad car there?”

“But he didn’t take anything. I checked…”Again, he had a point. It didn’t make sense unless I said I knew the person’s reason for taking those keys. And I couldn’t…

I looked at my watch. The opening was seven hours away. Was it worth keeping silent until then? I could tell Kirk right now, ask him not to do anything until after the opening. But, no, he would probably send men over there, arrest Vic and Tony.

I couldn’t do it. I’d worked hard for the museum. For five years I’d struggled to bring it into its own, to give our people and their art the standing they deserved in this community. I was not going to throw that all away by revealing our staff as embezzlers on the day of what should be our greatest triumph.

And, face it, I’d worked hard for me. I’d come out of the university with a lot of flimsy theoretical training and landed myself a better job than most graduates. Sure, it had little prestige. Sure, I’d done everything from making coffee to cleaning the rest room. But it was a damned good job for someone whose grandparents had been migrant field workers, and I’d made something of it. If the museum sank in the wake of a scandal, I would sink with it. Then there might not be a second chance for me.

“Well, Miss Oliverez?”‘ Kirk said.

“All right! I didn’t handle it well. I’ve never been involved in anything like this before, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“Logic should have told you that.”

“Then I’m not logical! Would you give me a break?”

“I have given you all the breaks you have coming.”

What did that mean? “Look, Lieutenant Kirk, I have a museum to run, an opening to prepare for. Are you going to have someone go over my car or what?”

“I’ll have someone go over it right away.” He reached for his desk phone. “You can have it back in an hour. I trust that won’t cause your opening to be delayed.”

I stood up. “I’ll be back for it at noon.”

Kirk sat, still holding the phone. “Miss Oliverez, I sense you’re holding something back.”

“Me? No. Of course I’m not. I’ve tried to help…”

“And that’s another odd thing. You certainly have tried to help. The other people connected with the museum merely answered my questions and then stayed out of it. But you’ve been bringing me these… tidbits of information daily. Why?”

“Because I don’t think you’re doing your job!” The words were out before I could stop them.

Kirk’s jaw hardened. There was a measured silence before he spoke. “After your opening, I’ll show you how I do my job, Miss Oliverez.”

I backed toward the door.

“If your museum weren’t important in this town,” he added, “and if you didn’t have a lot of influential supporters, I’d start doing my job right now-and to hell with your opening.” He paused and seemed to make an effort to regain his professional calm. “The truth is, though, I’m rather looking forward to the party.”

“You’ll be there?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Por Dios, did he plan to arrest me at the opening? Immediately afterward?

I turned tail and fled.

Now you’ve done it, Elena, I thought as I ran down the stairs rather than wait for the elevator. You’re really in trouble now.

If I couldn’t find out who Frank’s murderer was by the end of the Cinco de Mayo party, it would probably spell the ruin of my career. To say nothing of my life.

thirteen

I arrived at the museum at one-fifteen, disgusted with myself because I had wolfed down a hot fudge sundae with walnuts and cherries for lunch. Its sweetness had not comforted me, only made me slightly sick.

Maria looked up from her typing as I came in. “Don Carlos, to see you.” She gestured at Frank’s office.

I glanced back there and saw our board chairman seated at the desk. Then I looked back at Maria. “You’re looking very good today.” Her cheeks were pink, and she had her hair done up on top of her head in a fancy new style.

“I have reason.” She held out her left hand. On the third finger was a small emerald-cut diamond.

So she and Jesse were serious about the engagement. I supposed it was in bad taste, coming even before Frank’s funeral, but bad taste had ceased to matter very much to me these days. My primary emotion was relief that Maria had something to take her mind off the cuts on my forehead.

“Congratulations,” I said. “Have you set a date?”

“We will go to Reno to be married next week, after the funerario has been held. There is no point to having a wedding; my aunt would not attend.”

“Well, I’m happy for you.” The museum would have to buy them a wedding present. I would ask Vic to pick it out; he always chose the right thing… Then I remembered that Vic was an embezzler. He would not be picking out any more gifts.

As if my thoughts had conjured him up, Vic came out of Frank’s office, saying something over his shoulder to Carlos. He saw me and smiled, but I avoided his eyes, afraid he would somehow read my mind. I went into the office to find Carlos swiveled around toward the window, staring meditatively at the courtyard.

“Mr. Bautista. Good afternoon.”

He turned, a handsome gray-haired man dressed casually in golf clothes. His eyes took in the cuts on my forehead, and he frowned. “Elena, have you had an accident?”

“Only a small one. It’s nothing.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Then he smiled, gesturing at my faded jeans. “At this museum even the acting director does dirty work, eh?”

I took the hand he extended, conscious as I always was of an attraction between us. Carlos was a widower, and I’d sensed for a long time that his interest in me was more than professional. He, on the other hand, must have felt my reluctance to pursue a relationship with a colleague, and had never once dropped his somewhat old- fashioned courtesy.

“I have to help with the guacamole and quesadillas,” I said.

“Then I’m sure they’ll be delicious.” His smile faded, and he motioned toward the courtyard. “Those… are those