The Tree of Death

“His wife refused to go with him.”

“What?”

“She said she would rather make her way alone in the United States than return to what she calls ‘that backward place.” “

“To go off and leave poor Susana like that,” Mama muttered.

Carlos added, “Don’t be surprised if she comes to you for a job. Elena.”

“Oh, no!”

“When I spoke with her, that seemed to be her intention.”

“She can’t do anything.”

Carlos merely smiled and gave me a very Latin shrug.

We all sipped tea in silence for a time. Then Mama said, “Elena, do you know why Isabel killed Frank?”

“I think so. I’m pretty sure she’d found out about the embezzlements. Isabel was very active in museum affairs. She was everywhere, doing everything from making bank deposits to helping me arrange the exhibits. If anyone could catch on to what they were doing, it was Isabel. And, remember, she was always afraid Frank would do something to ruin the museum. She watched him every minute.”

“But to kill him…”

“She didn’t plan to, I’m sure. That afternoon, before I left, she said she was going to have a few words with him. I think she was going to tell him what she’d found out and warn him to quit. Or maybe she didn’t even know that much and was just going to question him. Anyway, when I left, she was still in the museum, maybe in the ladies’ room or checking on supplies in the kitchen, as she often did. Then she went looking for him and when she finally found him, it was in the folk art gallery.”

“And she killed him,” Mama said flatly.

“No, I doubt it was that way. She confronted him. They argued. She realized he would destroy the museum, and the museum was all she had, now that her marriage had fallen apart. Remember the conversation we had with Nick? About how a man like Frank would have driven Isabel mad?”

Mama nodded.

“Well, that’s what he did. Isabel had always deferred to Don Francisco, as she did to her husband. But, like Douglas Cunningham, Frank finally did something that caused all her repressed rage to boil over. With her husband, she could express it by divorcing him. With Frank…” I stopped. The picture was too vivid in my mind.

“Well, she may not have planned to kill Frank, but what about you?” My mother’s eyes were flashing. “She was the one who hit you and left you out in that field to die, wasn’t she?”

“I don’t think she knew what she was doing then. She hit me in a panic. Probably she thought she’d killed me. I have a slow heartbeat, and she might not have been able to find my pulse. The whole thing was pretty clumsy.”

“You’re too charitable.”

“Well, actually if she hadn’t done it, I might never have realized she was the murderer.”

Carlos leaned forward, looking interested. “Now we’re getting to the part I want to hear. How did you catch on to her?”

“First, I realized she was the only person I had told about finding those boxes of artifacts in the cellar. At the time, I told her I’d first thought the killer had hidden in the museum all night. That probably gave her the idea to hide there and remove the artifacts after dark. She had to hide because she didn’t have any way to get in after I sent everybody home and set the alarm that afternoon. Isabel was the only person who knew I’d found those artifacts and might go to the police. And obviously, she didn’t want the police around there any more than necessary. She had some idea she was saving the museum from ruin-as well as saving herself.”

Carlos said, “Isn’t that a pretty flimsy reason for suspecting her?”

“Alone, yes. But there was also, I guess you’d call it a clue”-I looked at Kirk-“that I’d seen even before I knew Frank had been murdered.” • “What?” Mama asked.

“A dirt smudge on Isabel’s tennis dress. It wasn’t there when I last saw her at the museum, but it was there when I ran into her at the supermarket later that night. It stayed in my mind because Isabel is usually so immaculate.”

“What does a dirt smudge have to do with killing Frank?”

“Isabel got it when she was making her mysterious exit from the locked museum-the thing that had us all puzzled.”

“Ah, yes,” Carlos said. “Exactly how did she manage that?”

“This way: There were two sets of keys to the alarm system and the padlock on the gate. The alarm keys had never been duplicated. I had my set, so Frank’s keys had to leave with Isabel so she could reset the alarm. But they were still in the museum the next morning. Obviously she had to have put them back somehow.”

Carlos frowned. “But if she put them back, she’d have to go inside, and that meant she’d have to turn off the alarm.”

“Not really. She didn’t go back inside. She left by a door other than the front one; the alarm lock position indicated that. It could have been the loading dock, but then there wouldn’t have been any way she could replace the keys. So it had to be the door to Frank’s courtyard. She went out there and set the alarm with the key. Then she went down the path to the gate and opened the padlock. She returned to the courtyard and took a stake from one of the new azalea plants, looped the key ring over the tip, and slipped the keys back on the hook on Frank’s wall through the bars over the office window.”

“But wouldn’t you,” Carlos said, nodding at Kirk, “have noticed if the window was open the next morning?”

“Yes. It wasn’t.”

“Then how…?”

“The windows are old,” I said, “and the latches work loosely. Isabel probably tested this all before she went outside. If you slam the window, the latch will fall into place. And that’s what she did. Then all she had to do was go through the gate and lock the padlock after her. It was as if she’d never been inside.”

“But,” Carlos said, “how did you know this?”

“I put three facts together. First, the stake was missing from the plant nearest the window. It had fallen through the cellar window grate. Isabel was probably nervous and dropped it and then couldn’t get it out. The stake hadn’t been down there when I left because Frank had just finished tying the plant to it.

“Second, when she slammed the window, she did it too hard and cracked it down in one corner. I knew it was a recent crack because we’d inspected the building for things like that before we took possession.

“And, third, Isabel was clumsy when she slipped the keys on the hook; it’s a difficult angle to work from. She got a dirt smudge on the wall right over the hook. It hadn’t been there that afternoon before I left.”

“And the dirt smudge on the wall matched the one on her tennis dress,” my mother said.

“Right.”

“My smart daughter.”‘

“Smart? Hah! It took me three days to figure this all out.”

“At least you figured it.” Mama gave Dave Kirk a stern look.

Kirk had the grace to look embarrassed.

Carlos cleared his throat. “Lieutenant, this super lawyer-he won’t get Isabel off, will he?”

“No,” Kirk said, “we’ve already got plenty of evidence. She had the keys to the museum in her purse when we arrested her, so we know for sure she was the person who hit Elena and drove her up the highway. And we’ve got a witness, a man who picked Isabel up when she was hitchhiking back into town. Her fingerprints are superimposed over Frank’s on that garden stake-fortunately it’s the kind of finish that takes prints well-so we can prove she was the last person to touch it before it went down into that grating. And, finally, we found a fragment of the tree of death in her car-a little terra-cotta skull from one of its branches.”

It was a final, chilling touch.

“Well,”‘ Carlos said briskly, “we have our work cut out for us. The museum staff has been reduced to two.”

“I want to dismiss Maria,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Call it starting with a clean slate.”

Carlos smiled; he’d used the same words yesterday. “Do as you see fit.”