Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_05 (6 page)

I don't know what I expected of the owner of a shop like Tesoros. A plethora of beautiful possessions, so many that the room would shout of her success? But the room where I awaited her was small, almost monastic, painted a stark white, a crucifix on one wall, a straw mosaic on another. The furniture was simple: two woven chairs, a plain wooden sofa. The sharpest splash of color in the room was the red-and-orange-figured material of the cushions. A low blue tile table sat between the sofa and the chairs. A Talavera jar with blue Aztec figures sat in the center of the table. Nothing else. I found the simplicity of the room enchanting.

Maria Elena Garza surprised me, from the first moment that we met. She was taller than I'd thought from the photograph and she moved with a quick, confident, youthful step. The face that glowed with good humor in the picture was grave this morning but not hostile. In fact, her handclasp was warm.

She went directly to the point. “How do you know Iris?” Her vivid brown eyes plumbed mine.

“I am her grandmother's best friend. Gina and I have been friends for years. Iris is a good granddaughter. She keeps in touch with Gina. But Gina's heard nothing for several days and she hasn't been able to get in touch with Iris. Gina is frightened.”

“So you've come to find Iris.” She gestured toward a comfortable chair and sat across from me on the sofa.

“Yes, I have.” I spoke firmly.

We regarded each other. Her hair was as dark as mine, though mine does not have a raven gloss. My face is the more lined, hers smooth with a creamy complexion. I'm afraid that through years of asking questions and so often hearing lies or distortions, per
haps my gaze is more skeptical than accepting. But in the warmth of her regard, I felt my own defenses crumbling. She looked at me with eyes that have surely seen as much as mine and yet there was an eagerness and a vivacity I have lost.

“You are frightened for Iris.” Her voice was high and clear and sweet with that liquid grace of those who also speak Spanish. “So am I.” Her fine black brows drew into a frown. “My daughter-in-law Susana tells me that Iris left Thursday without saying a word to anyone. I find that surprising. You see, Iris has been very much involved in the preparations for our annual auction and excited at being able to help. I saw her that morning and she was simply glowing. She'd been helping Rick prepare the auction area and she was planning to work that afternoon in the receiving room. So, yes, I am surprised. Please tell me what has happened.”

I began with Gina and the E-mail that never came, the apartment in disarray, and concluded with the painting that I'd studied so carefully that morning.

Maria Elena smoothed a tendril of ebony hair at her temple. A single gold band on her left hand, no other rings. “Even though the apartment was in disorder, you don't believe there had been a struggle?”

I looked at her with respect. That was surely the most important fact of all. “That's right.”

Her dark eyes narrowed. “Yet, Iris's apartment was searched. That has to mean someone was looking for something, presumably something of value. But the painting”—this time her eyes accorded me respect—“wasn't taken. The painting bothers you.”

“Yes.” My voice was crisp. “Yes, the painting bothers me.”

“Little Iris is not a thief.” She answered my unspo
ken question. Because how did Iris, penniless, budget-conscious Iris, have what I felt sure was a very valuable canvas?

I relaxed back into the comfortable cushion.

Maria Elena smiled gently. “I gave the painting to Iris.”

I looked at her sharply.

“I know. That puzzles you. Because it is indeed a painting that is worth quite a bit of money. But blood and bones count for more than cash. You will find that everything here has to do with family.” She was matter-of-fact. But there was an undercurrent in her voice now, uneasiness, concern.

I didn't understand. “Family?”

“Iris came to the store last April, asked to see me. She'd come to San Antonio hoping to find her father, Arturo. She'd found a cousin who told her Arturo died in a car crash. Yes, a young man driving too fast on a rainy night. He was so young and so gifted. The cousin knew I'd bought several paintings from Arturo. The painting you saw this morning is one of his finest. I gave it to Iris to remember her father. You see, Arturo's mother was my cousin, a cousin I adored. I remember Arturo when he was a little boy. Even then he loved to draw and paint. He would have been a great success.”

“So the painting doesn't mean anything.” I sighed. I was glad I didn't have to tell Gina her granddaughter was a thief, and yes, that's what had occurred to me because the painting had no place in that shabby apartment. And the second anomaly was also answered. Now I knew why Iris had been hired to work in a store that was exclusively family. Iris was, in a distant fashion and certainly in this generous woman's heart, a part of the extended family.

I was left with nothing to explore. Except—

“The manager and another resident noticed a man who doesn't live there. He's stocky, blond, probably in his late forties, with a big head and tight curly hair and bright blue eyes. Do you know this person?”

She considered it, then slowly shook her head. “No. But I very much want him to exist.”

Maria Elena was continuing to surprise me. “I don't understand.”

“Because there must be a reason why Iris disappeared. This morning the police lady came and talked to my grandson Rick.” She lifted a hand, touched the white ruffle at her throat. She looked away from me. The planes of her face sharpened. Suddenly she looked old.

Now fear sat between us, fear and uncertainty, and bourgeoning anguish.

“I love Rick,” she said softly. “He is—oh, I will admit it—so much like me when I was young. He loves beautiful things and he is so proud of who he is and what the store is and that everyone respects us. Collectors come from all over the world to see what we have. And I was so pleased that he and Iris—well, what is an old woman but a matchmaker at heart—it seemed such a good choice. Iris has laughter that can set a room alight. And a sweet, silly happiness that she wants so much to share.” Maria Elena clapped her hands together. “So I must know what has happened. Because, in my heart, I know something has happened. Iris loved Tesoros. She would never run away, leave us behind.” Maria Elena rose, still as swift and graceful as a young woman, but the steps she took across the room were measured. She stopped, clasped her hands, and looked up at the crucifix. “I believe the good God sends us not only angels—often, when we
are unaware, he sends us messengers when there is a path we must take, no matter how hard and difficult.” She turned, suddenly a majestic figure, and gazed at me with somber, sorrowful eyes. “You have come to discover the truth. That is God's wish. The truth. I have tried to live my life, teach my family, practice in the world that which God wishes us to do.”

I don't think I have ever felt so humble. Or in the presence of such goodness. I wanted to please this woman as I've rarely wanted to please anyone. And yet I felt overwhelmed. In her heart, she was hoping that whatever had happened to Iris, her family, her beloved grandson, were not involved.

And she was looking to me, I realized with a sinking heart, to finish what I'd begun, to solve the mystery of Iris's disappearance.

A sudden smile curved her lips. “I know. It is much to ask. But you have come. It was intended. And so”—the smile fled, the haunted look returned—“let us begin.”

She walked to the door, opened it. “Tommy, tell Rick to come.” She closed the door and returned to the sofa. “Another of my grandsons”—she gestured toward the closed door—“Tommy is still in school. He works here between classes, in the evenings.”

Family. All family.

Then she fell silent, once again her face composed, her hands in her lap. But every so often her eyes strayed to the crucifix.

Quick steps sounded in the hallway leading to this front room.

“He's coming through the house.”

I'd already figured in my mind the arrangement of the store, the bed-and-breakfast, and Maria Elena's living quarters. Tesoros was the ground floor, with the
display area, the storeroom and the offices. Portions of the ground, second, and third floors made up La Mariposa. Tony and Susana Garza had an apartment on the top floor above La Mariposa. Maria Elena's rooms were directly above Tesoros.

Rick strode into the room, his dark eyes seeking his grandmother's face, his wide mouth curved in a smile. “What is it, Abuelita? I—” Then he saw me. He stopped, his body rigid. Whatever he was, this young man was not schooled in subterfuge. His long face was a study in dismay, his eyes flicking from my face to hers, his mouth open but with no words, scarcely any breath.

“Rick.” She stood, her fine-boned face stern. “What do you know about Iris's disappearance?”

He swallowed. “Abuelita, I swear to you the last time I saw Iris she was fine. She was wonderful.” His voice was low and husky. “Abuelita, I swear it.”

Abuelita, the term of endearment, little grandmother.

“Rick, you haven't answered my question.” There was a steely ring of authority, but her eyes were anguished and her tightly clasped hands trembled.

Rick stared at his grandmother, his eyes strained, his face pleading. “Iris”—he swallowed jerkily—“she and I talked Thursday. I was upset about the idea of her going to Padre with a guy. She ran out of the store. But she said”—he picked his words carefully—“that she could be back sometime Tuesday. That's tomorrow. So, like I told the police, I'm sure she'll be back tomorrow. She'll turn up. I'm sure of it.” His voice throbbed with sincerity. He shoved back a tangle of dark hair. “Look,” and now he spoke to me, “I'd tell you where she is if I could.” Again there was a sound of truth.

I believed him. And so did his grandmother. The tension that had gripped Maria Elena eased. She smiled, a smile of relief.

And yet…I leaned forward. “Do you know anything about the search of Iris's apartment?”

Rick's dark eyes flared. His full lips parted.

I would swear he was stunned, that he had no knowledge of that littered, disturbing room. I didn't think Rick was acting. If he were an accomplished liar, he would have managed to appear at ease when I first arrived at Tesoros to inquire about Iris. Instead, he'd alternated between uneasiness and outright fear.

“The searcher was looking for something about this size.” I spread my hands in the shape of an attaché case. “Not too big, not too small. What do you think he was looking for?”

“He?” His voice was sharp. I certainly had his attention.

“A blond man.” Maria Elena watched her grandson. “In his late forties. Muscular.”

“With a big head,” I added. “Bright blue eyes. Curly hair. Do you know this man?”

He shook his head, but his eyes were remote, as if he were thinking and thinking hard. Finally, he realized we both were staring at him. He looked at his grandmother. “I don't know him. I've never seen anybody like that.”

I asked quickly, “Do you know what Iris might have that someone would want?”

“Iris?” He looked incredulous. “She doesn't have anything anybody would want to steal. I'm sure of that. Maybe somebody saw her leaving with that guy and decided to break into her place. Maybe it's a good thing she's gone. Anyway, I'm sure she'll be back.” He crossed the room, gave his grandmother a hug, held
her tight for a moment, pressed his chin against her head. “Don't worry, Abuelita. Everything will be all right.” His voice was deep and reassuring. Then his eyes sought mine. “Please tell Iris's grandmother not to worry. I'm sure she'll be back.” He gave his grandmother a gentle squeeze and stepped away, but his handsome face was still strained.

Maria Elena patted his arm. “Rick, I know how Iris's grandmother feels. She will not be content until she knows Iris is safe. Mrs. Collins”—a nod toward me—“is going to stay in San Antonio until she finds Iris. I want you to help her.”

He kept his face smooth, but dismay, if not hostility, flickered in his eyes. His voice was genial. “Of course. If there's anything I can do, I will.” Once again he shrugged. “But I don't know anything else. I told the police officer everything I know.”

I smiled cheerfully. “That's wonderful.”

Rick's face looked frozen.

I wasn't surprised. He didn't want to be helpful. But he had no choice. I was going to spend some time with this young man whether he liked it or not. As far as I could gauge, his responses to our questions had been an intriguing mixture of truth and diversion.

Once I knew why Iris left the store, why she went to her apartment, where she went from there, then maybe I would be on the trail to finding her.

O
UR shoes clanged on the spiral staircase. I'd noticed the staircase yesterday when Susana Garza took me into the back area of the store, but I'd only glanced at the end of the corridor and had no real sense of how steep and difficult the stairs were.

“Does your grandmother still use these stairs?” I don't mind heights, but these steep steel steps were daunting.

Rick had bounded ahead of me. He stopped and looked back at me. “Oh, yes. It's the most direct way. Is this hard for you?” His courtesy was automatic, even though he obviously didn't want to deal with me.

“Not at all.” I knew my reply came too quickly. It is an odd truth about aging that we never want to admit we can't do something that was once easy. I hoped that pride didn't, in this case, literally precede a fall. I concentrated on placing each foot firmly in the center of the metal grid. My hand slid along the railing. I was blithe in my speech, but my body was exhibiting intelligent caution. And I didn't trust the young man below me.

Rick waited until I reached the step above him. “This is the quickest way down to the store. Of course, it's possible to take the outside steps from La Mari
posa, but it's definitely the long way around. Everyone in the family comes this way.” He clattered down the remaining steps.

As I followed sedately, he chattered, “The interior back stairs in La Mariposa end in the ground-floor hall. Tony and Susana live on the third floor. They walk down to the ground floor and use these stairs.” He pointed up at a door next to the one we'd opened to leave Maria Elena's quarters. I knew that door was close to my room.

Rick was apparently delighted to share nonessential information. The better, I suspected, to avoid any more questions about his relationship with Iris.

“Now, down here—”

I reached the base of the staircase.

“—we have the offices.” He gestured across the hall.

A large floor fan at the far end of the long hall stirred the cool air. There was no need of air-conditioning here. Old, thick walls kept the temperature cool. The air, though moving, had a dry mustiness that reminded me of a visit on a fall day many years ago to the catacombs in Rome.

“And there is the receiving area.” Rick gestured toward closed double doors as he led the way to the doorway into the store.

I said quickly, “I'd like to see the receiving area.” Susana had said that Iris left the shipping area unattended. “That's where Iris was working Thursday, isn't it?”

He waited an instant too long to reply. Where was Iris working Thursday? A simple question requiring a simple answer. Instead, he said blandly, “Really? I didn't know that. I didn't see her after she told me about going to Padre. And that was upstairs in La Mariposa. We hold the auction in one of the large rooms
on the main floor of La Mariposa. I was working on the display tables, setting up the electronic bidders. But you said you wanted to talk to everyone. When Abuelita called for me, I was at Tesoros. We're finalizing plans for the auction. If we hurry, we may find everyone still there.”

“Everyone? The whole family?”

He grinned. “Well, it's never everyone in the Garza family unless you've made room for a hundred or so. All the aunts and uncles and cousins. Whenever anybody gets sick or wants to take a vacation, somebody in the family fills in. And trouble? They come through the door in droves.” He spoke easily with the security of a man who knows where he belongs and is comfortable there and with the fluency of a man determined to control the course of the conversation. “But day to day, Tony and Susana oversee the store. Along with me and Celestina. I don't think you've met my Aunt Celestina. Or my Uncle Frank and Aunt Isabel. They run La Mariposa. So, of course, they're right in the middle of the planning for the auction. Anyway, everybody's in Tesoros.”

Was Rick simply trying to divert me from asking questions of him? Or did he want to steer clear of the receiving area? Whatever, I knew his volubility had a definite purpose.

I smiled. “I'm certainly eager to meet everyone. Whatever they can tell me about Iris will be a help. But it will only take a minute to look at the receiving area.” I walked determinedly to the closed doors.

Rick reluctantly followed. He punched a keypad mounted on the wall. I tried to recreate in my mind the movement of his hand. Oh-nine-two-one. It was certainly not a combination which would occur to an intruder in a hurry.

Rick pulled open the nearer door. We stepped into a cavernous room that was perhaps twenty feet wide, thirty feet deep. A single globed light hung from the ceiling. Shelving ran around the four walls, broken only by the wide metal door of a freight elevator in the far wall. The throaty hum of a dehumidifier explained the dust-free, dry air.

Rick flipped a switch and bright fluorescent light glowed, running in panels above four long worktables. The sharp white glow transformed a dusky cavern into a storeroom with colorful treasures everywhere. On the shelves, I glimpsed a variety of artworks of every color and kind imaginable: pottery, marionettes, sarapes, clay figures, straw mosaics, wax figures, bas-relief wood panels, lacquerware, wooden carvings, baskets, earthenware vessels, stone sculptures, toys, dolls, masks, retablos, Day of the Dead offerings.

“Everything comes down in the elevator.” Rick pointed toward the back of the room. “We unpack at the first table. Every item is recorded in the Tesoros great log. Over there”—Rick pointed to a huge leather-bound book on a stand—“that's Maria Elena's original journal. Then we put everything into the computer”—now he swung to his left and gestured toward a computer station against the near wall—“and index it so we can find an entry by type, point of origin, price, age, provenance.” Pride lifted his voice. “We have one of the most modern systems available.”

My shoes clipped on the cement floor as I walked briskly to the old journal. “What does Iris do when she works in here?” I glanced at the facing pages. The date was handwritten in the center of the page above a listing of items received. Nothing for today's date. Nothing for Sunday.

On Saturday, a shipment of six late-classic sarapes
from San Miguel de Allende, circa 1920, fine, tight weave with diamond medallions in the center against alternating red and black horizontal designs, purchase price $4,500 each, sale price $5,750.

I backtracked, scanning the entries made on the previous Friday, turned the page and found the entries for Thursday:

Sixteen wax figures, Jalisco, matadors, circa 1950, purchase price $110 each, sale price $250.

Lacquerware, Uruapan, seven trays, purchase price $350 each, sale price $450.

There were more entries—for pottery from Guadalajara, Tonalá, and Santa Cruz de las Huertas, some old, some new, ranging in price from a few hundred dollars to several thousand. All of this was in a school-girlish handwriting. I pointed to these lines.

“Is this Iris's handwriting?”

Rick barely glanced at the page. “Yes. She did a lot of unpacking. It's really a lot of fun. We check the invoice, unpack, then get out the right collector's book for the current pricing. Of course, Maria Elena goes over a printout from the computer every day. Sometimes she changes the prices. But if she approves the shipping-room price, the next step is to tag the work and place it according to price within its storage area. We rotate pieces in the front of the shop. Our turnover rate is excellent. We usually don't keep any particular piece more than a month. That keeps our inventory manageable. And we don't buy in a particular area unless our inventory is low.” He reached out, turned the pages gently forward. There was pride and delight, almost reverence, in that touch.

I smiled at him. “You enjoy being a part of the store?”

“Tesoros.” He savored the name, his hand smoothed
his sleek black goatee. “That's what we have, treasures. And to be surrounded by all of this”—he looked around the room from one lovely piece to another—“how could life be any better?”

His grandmother's instinct was sound. This young man indeed appreciated Maria Elena's lifework.

“Does Iris feel the same way about the store?”

“Oh, yes.” Rick was too swept up in his eagerness to realize for a moment to whom he spoke. And why. His eyes glowed. His mouth spread in a huge smile. “It's amazing how quickly she's learned. She cares more than—” He broke off. The happiness fled from his face, leaving it wooden.

“If Iris loves Tesoros so much, why did she leave?” I stared up at him.

He turned away. “I already told you.” His voice was harsh. “She found somebody else. She's gone to Padre.” He strode toward the door to the hall.

I followed, hurrying to catch up.

He yanked open the door. Despite his anger, he held the panel, waited for me to precede him.

I stopped in the doorway, facing him. “What time did you last see Iris?”

He scowled. “About four, I guess.”

“She came from the shipping area”—I pointed back into the huge room—“upstairs into La Mariposa to find you?”

“I don't know. I don't know where she was.” The muscles ridged in his face.

“Why did she come at that particular moment?”

Anger flashed in his dark eyes. “How should I know? You can ask her. When she gets back from Padre.”

I wished I could calibrate Rick's emotion. He towered over me, his face sullen. Yet, his anger seemed
hollow, forced. I didn't understand this young man. I had a conflicting sense of him in every way: he loved his grandmother, he loved this store, he eagerly told of Iris's interest in the store, but every inquiry ended with his claim that Iris had run away because of another man.

“Rick, please.” I spoke gently. “Please help me.”

“I tell you, Iris”—he broke off, looked past me, his eyes suddenly guarded—“Iris told me she was going to Padre. Hi, Celestina.”

A small woman glided toward us from the door to the main showroom. She had a mouselike face, the features small and tight. Wire-rimmed glasses and raven dark hair drawn back in a bun gave her an air of severity. “Tony's looking for you, Rick.” Her voice had a dry, gritty sound, like gravel crunching underfoot on a country road. “The computer hookup in the auction room isn't working.” She held out a hand. “Hello, I'm Celestina Garza.” Her hand was limp and cool and faintly moist.

“This is Mrs. Collins.” Rick put a firm hand on my elbow and I was out in the hall and the doors to the delivery area closed behind us. “She's a friend of Iris's grandmother and she wants to know all about Iris's job here. If you'll show her around, I'll run up and see what's going on with the hookup. See you later, Mrs. Collins.” He strode to the steel stairway and hurried up, his shoes clanging on the metal. I doubted he was nearly as eager to deal with computer problems as he was delighted to be done with me.

Celestina Garza's eyes glittered with dislike. But not of me. Her disdainful glance followed Rick's noisy ascent, then she turned toward me with a smile. At least I supposed it was intended as a smile. The tiny movement of thin lips in tightly drawn skin evoked all
the warmth of a face chiseled in mortuary stone.

I beamed at her. “I'm so glad to meet you, Celestina. I'm so impressed at how the family all works together here in the store. I'd like to learn all about it. For Iris's grandmother. When Iris comes back—”

“Is she coming back?” Celestina looked at me curiously. “I heard she ran out on Rick. But maybe Maria Elena doesn't care. She's been terribly interested in Iris. And for what reason, I'd like to know?” Her tone was sharp. “That girl came out of nowhere and Maria Elena treats her like family.” Her eyes glinted with resentment. “So she's coming back, even though Rick has his nose out of joint. What do you know about that! Maybe for once Abuelita's darling won't get his way.” Now she smiled fully, her lips curving in malicious delight.

“Iris told me you'd been very kind. And that you are very important in running the store.” I learned long ago in interviews that it never hurts to toss in a bit of butter.

She blinked in surprise. Then she preened. “Well, I'm glad Iris recognizes how things really work. Why, to hear Tony or Rick talk, you wouldn't even think I existed. But who works behind the scenes, making sure that everything happens when it should? I do. And never a word of thanks from anyone. As for Mother, she's never let me do as much as I wanted. At least she has the sense to get Magda out on the road. That's my sister, Rick's mother. She's in Jalisco now on a buying trip. Magda and Tony never could be in the same room without fighting. Tony bulls his way around and everyone runs to do what he says. But not Magda. And not Susana, for that matter. And if a man can't control his own wife, that tells you something, doesn't it?” A short laugh. “Susana thinks she's better
than everyone else but she'd better be careful. The walls can have ears. And eyes. Although I don't know if I blame her. How many little friends is a man supposed to have? But Susana takes too much on herself. And then she's never satisfied, always jealous when Frank buys Isabel new jewelry.” A thin hand straightened the plain collar of her beige silk blouse. “Jewelry!” She tossed her head and not a hair in that taut bun quivered. “That's all Isabel thinks about, jewelry and trips and fine furniture and silver. Well, it's a good thing I'm here. And I'm glad to know Iris appreciates me. When is she going to be back? I didn't understand why she left, with the auction coming up.” Celestina peered at me and the thick lens magnified her brooding brown eyes.

I watched her carefully as I spoke. “I understand from Rick that he expects Iris to return sometime tomorrow.”

But Celestina merely nodded, as if the fact were of only marginal interest. “Well, we'll have to make you welcome until she gets here. So you want to find out about the store for Iris's grandmother? Is her grandmother an old friend of Maria Elena's?”