Marcia Muller - The Tree of Death

“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.”

Kirk set down his teacup and stood. “I’d better get back to the station,” he said. Then, surprisingly, he took my hand. “I must apologize again, Elena. I should have paid more attention to your… tidbits of information. Ah, can I call on you in the future?”

“For what?” I asked.

He grinned. “More tidbits. Or just some good conversation.”

“Of course.” I glanced at Carlos and saw a flicker of annoyance cross his face. He stepped forward and took my hand as soon as Kirk let go of it.

“And we must have a conversation about the museum,” he said. “Perhaps over dinner tomorrow. I’ll call you in the morning.”‘ Then he gave Kirk a smug look that made me want to laugh.

Mama led the two men through the house to the front door. I poured more tea and sat there, contemplating the sun through the gnarled branches of the old pepper tree. Mama came back and sat beside me.

“I think they’re both interested in you,” she said.

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes. I have this feeling, you know.”

“You and your feelings!”

“Don’t laugh. Didn’t I have one the night that Frank-”

“Yes, Mama.” I sipped more tea. “Okay, since your feelings are always so accurate, tell me this: Which one of them is going to be the love of my life?”

“Neither of them, Elena. Neither.” Then she grinned wickedly. “But they’ll both be fun while they last.”