The Tree of Death

display. The tree of death was bland by comparison, two feet tall and of unpainted terra-cotta. Its red-brown branches held a few leaves and no flowers. In the center a grim skeleton sat, surrounded by five skulls. It was not a cheerful sight, but somehow a less unsettling one than the riot of color up in the folk art gallery. We lugged all three trees upstairs, where we found the others, including Frank and Tony, waiting in front of the offending arbol. Frank once again avoided my eyes, talking in low tones to Vic until the trees were in place. Then he stepped back, surveyed the scene, and nodded complacently.

“Wonderful, Isabel,” he announced. “Just wonderful. Such a generous gift. Such a magnificent beginning in our new quarter. And I’d like to thank you-Tony, Jesse, Vic, and Maria-for doing such a splendid job.” Then he turned and marched from the room.

Isabel looked at me and shrugged sympathetically. Jesse patted me on the shoulder. Tony smirked, but his heart wasn’t in it. Maria gave her uncle’s back a contemptuous glance. I looked at Vic and was surprised at what I saw. He was watching Frank leave, his large fists balled at his sides, his homely face twisted in anger. It was an expression I’d never seen Vic wear, an emotion I hadn’t supposed he possessed. Quickly I turned my eyes back to the garish display.

It was nearly five. The others said their good-byes and began leaving. The truck driver, now twenty dollars richer, accepted a couple of beers and drove off. Only Isabel lingered.

“Is everything set for the buffet tomorrow, Elena?” she asked. She seemed unsure again, and I felt sorry for her. Her gift had been well meant and had brought nothing but trouble.

“Almost. We have the orange juice and champagne. The strawberries are being prepared by a couple of your volunteers. We’ve got coffee and cheese and bread and… oh, damn!”

“What?”

“The sour cream. I was afraid it would spoil, so I was going to pick it up tonight. And I’ve still got to do my laundry and pay some bills before they come take me away…”

Isabel brightened. She had always been one of those women who need to be needed, and the trait had become more pronounced since her divorce a year ago. “I’ll take care of the sour cream.”

“Are you sure you want to? You’ve done so much already.”

“I’m sure.” She nodded firmly. “And now I think I’ll go have a few words with Frank. Where do you suppose he went?”

“His office or the courtyard outside it. The plants, you know.”

Isabel looked grim. “Yes, the plants, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”

Isabel left, and I turned back to the arbol. “You just might get broken,” I whispered. “Yes, you might.” Then, relishing the quiet that had descended, I made a quick check of the other galleries. Everything was in place; everything looked right. I made an adjustment here, flicked at some dust there. I knew I’d check the galleries once more tomorrow morning and still find nothing wrong. But I couldn’t help it. This was the first opportunity I’d had to show what I could do. When the press entered my museum it had to look right.

My museum! How Frank would sneer at that. But it was mine, by virtue of the sweat and love I’d invested here. And no fat, lazy Tio Taco was going to ruin it.

Unfortunately, I should check with Frank before leaving, to see if he wanted me to set the alarms. We had no security staff, and our collections’ sole protection was the barred windows and a simple household alarm system on the doors. Still, it was an improvement over our previous quarters, where we’d had no alarms at all. I was proud of the new system; I’d fought hard to get an adequate one installed when we’d moved here. Now I could rest better at night, knowing our collections were safe.

I went through the offices, stopped at Frank’s, and knocked softly. There was no answer. The office was empty, but in the courtyard his stocky form leaned over the plant closest to the little barred window. He was alone; Isabel’s few words with him must have been few indeed.

Frank straightened, wiping dirt from his palms onto his dark blue pants. He stopped, studying the plants, then nodded. When he came in, he didn’t notice me.

I cleared my throat.

Frank whirled. His eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

“Are you leaving soon?”

“Is that any business of yours?”

I sighed. “All I want to know is whether I should set the alarm or if you want to do it.”

“You lock up.” He turned away.

“Then you’re leaving right away?”

“No. I plan to work late, on the budget, and I don’t want someone walking in here when I’m not looking.”

He could have locked up himself. All he had to do was throw the alarm’s inside toggle switch on the wall beside the courtyard door. But, no, I would have to get out my keys and turn on the alarm beside the front entrance. And then, he’d probably forget to reset it when he left. That had happened before.

“Well?” Frank said.

I glanced at the hook midway between the window and the patio door. Frank’s ring with the alarm system key and the key to the padlock on the patio gate hung there. He was so absentminded he had to hang his key ring up every morning or he might lose it in his wanderings through the premises. Of course, if he stayed at his desk and worked, that would be less of a danger.

“Don’t worry.” Frank’s eyes had followed mine. “I won’t forget to reset it.”

“Good.”

“And Miss Oliverez…”

“Yes?”

“After the opening you’d better start looking for another place of employment.”

He’d threatened to fire me before, so his words didn’t surprise me. “Sure, Frank.” I turned to go.

“I’m serious. I’ve already talked to my Colombian about taking over your position.”

Slowly I turned back. “Tony? You’ve got to be kidding;”

He assumed an aggressive stance. “Tony is qualified. He has been education director for over six months now.”

“And he knows nothing about Mexican art. He hasn’t done a thing as education director, and everybody knows it. You yourself generally call him your ‘stupid Colombian.” Besides, the board would never approve his appointment.“

“The board approved his initial appointment.”

“That was on your recommendation. They didn’t know him. Now they do, and they’ll never-”

“That will be all, Miss Oliverez.”

“You know what, Frank?”

“I said, that will be all.”

“I don’t regret what I said to you out on the loading dock. I don’t regret a word of it.” And before it could erupt into one of our full-scale arguments, I left the office. When I went to set the alarm, I was so angry that my hands shook and I could barely turn the key from the up to the down position. That done, I almost ran to my car. Home. I needed to go home.

Of course, traffic was terrible. I sat behind the wheel of the Rabbit, fuming and muttering. Just let Frank try to put Tony in my job. All it would do was prove to the board that he was a certifiable lunatic. He ought to be stopped before he did irreparable damage to the museum. He ought to be…

A horn honked behind me. I gestured angrily, tried to shift the Rabbit into gear too quickly, and stalled. By the time I got it started, the light had changed.

Maybe I should look for another job. The problems at the museum were sapping my energy. I was there to care for our collections, dammit, not act as referee for a bunch of quarrelsome, petty…

This time I was ready for the light. I shot through it, heading crosstown.

Santa Barbara is a seaside city of around 75,000, stretching north along the coast to the University of California, my alma mater, and south to Montecito, where the rich people live. The shoreline curves along the Pacific, edged with beaches and parks. To the east, softly rounded hills form a protective bowl. The beauty of the natural setting is further enhanced by the graceful Spanish architecture, which reflects the town’s heritage. Santa Barbara has become one of the foremost vacation areas in California and is a haven for the wealthy and famous, many of whom are seeking to escape the cheap glitter of Hollywood to the south. My house was not in one of their