another familiar voice, speaking to Susana in a too-loud whisper. “I heard she was having an affair. With someone in government.” Irene recognized the voice. It belonged to Harriet Baumgarten, another of Adelle’s longtime friends. “I wonder if that’s why she was killed?” she added, in another whisper that was loud enough for anyone to hear.
Harriet was obviously talking about Loraine, but it didn’t distract the other customers, who were mostly tourists and either didn’t care about local gossip or hadn’t heard the titillating story about the body in the closet.
By the time Irene had the customer checked out and her package wrapped in tissue paper and placed in a ribbon-tied bag worthy of the finest boutique, another customer demanded her attention. She considered herself lucky that she managed to stay busy or could at least pretend to stay busy until Susana and Harriet grew tired of waiting for her and left the store.
By the end of the day, several more of the locals had stopped by, curious to know if the story they’d read in the paper and seen on the TV news was true, and had Irene any idea how a body could have gotten there? And how frightening it must have been to find such a thing. And did the police have any idea who could have done it, and wasn’t it awful that something like that could happen in Santa Fe?
When she finally hung up the
Closed
sign, locked the front door, and left through the back, she was dog-tired. Her only compensation was that in spite of the tragedy being linked to her store—or maybe because of it—business had exceeded all her expectations.
All she could think of was a hot bath, a cup of tea, and bed, but as soon as she opened the front door to her home she saw Adelle sitting with Susana and Harriet. They were seated in the old-fashioned parlor, drinking wine from Waterford crystal glasses that Adelle had garnered from one of her marriages.
“Oh, you’re home!” Adelle said with an uncustomary show of delight. “You must be exhausted! I must get you fed and to bed right away.”
Fed and to bed? Adelle was
never
nurturing and domestic. She wasn’t used to preparing even her own food or turning back her own bed, much less doing it for someone else. Irene gave her a brief stunned stare before she recognized the frown and hard-set mouth that meant Adelle was annoyed. She was using her pretended need to care for her daughter as a way to get the other two women out of the house. Without a doubt they’d been talking about the dead woman, something Adelle would most certainly wish to avoid. More specifically, the location of the dead woman. A daughter with a dead body in her closet was even worse than a daughter who ran a secondhand store.
“Oh, Adelle, let her unwind for a moment,” Harriet said. “I’m sure she’d like a glass of wine and a chance to relax.”
Irene accepted the wine, and within minutes she had learned that both Harriet and Susana knew a great deal about the dead woman.
“Rob, that’s her husband,” Susana said with a glance at Irene, “is in London. Something to do with his banking business, I suppose. Or maybe it’s real estate. He has his fingers in so many pies. Very successful. I heard he wanted to fly home, but he was being detained for some reason. It must just be awful for him. He’s such a dear man.” In spite of her chatty gossip, she appeared ill at ease.
“Wasn’t he in business with Tomas, too?” Harriet asked. Tomas Delgado was Susana’s husband, who was even more successful and more wealthy than Rob Sellers, but he had been ill and in a nursing home for several years.
Susana gave Harriet a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, that was a long time ago. They haven’t been in business together in ages.”
“Well, Rob didn’t seem to know anything about Loraine’s lover, did he?” Harriet asked.
Susana looked at Harriet over the rim of her wineglass. “If he did, he didn’t let on. Could be he thought it was to his
Harriet was obviously talking about Loraine, but it didn’t distract the other customers, who were mostly tourists and either didn’t care about local gossip or hadn’t heard the titillating story about the body in the closet.
By the time Irene had the customer checked out and her package wrapped in tissue paper and placed in a ribbon-tied bag worthy of the finest boutique, another customer demanded her attention. She considered herself lucky that she managed to stay busy or could at least pretend to stay busy until Susana and Harriet grew tired of waiting for her and left the store.
By the end of the day, several more of the locals had stopped by, curious to know if the story they’d read in the paper and seen on the TV news was true, and had Irene any idea how a body could have gotten there? And how frightening it must have been to find such a thing. And did the police have any idea who could have done it, and wasn’t it awful that something like that could happen in Santa Fe?
When she finally hung up the
Closed
sign, locked the front door, and left through the back, she was dog-tired. Her only compensation was that in spite of the tragedy being linked to her store—or maybe because of it—business had exceeded all her expectations.
All she could think of was a hot bath, a cup of tea, and bed, but as soon as she opened the front door to her home she saw Adelle sitting with Susana and Harriet. They were seated in the old-fashioned parlor, drinking wine from Waterford crystal glasses that Adelle had garnered from one of her marriages.
“Oh, you’re home!” Adelle said with an uncustomary show of delight. “You must be exhausted! I must get you fed and to bed right away.”
Fed and to bed? Adelle was
never
nurturing and domestic. She wasn’t used to preparing even her own food or turning back her own bed, much less doing it for someone else. Irene gave her a brief stunned stare before she recognized the frown and hard-set mouth that meant Adelle was annoyed. She was using her pretended need to care for her daughter as a way to get the other two women out of the house. Without a doubt they’d been talking about the dead woman, something Adelle would most certainly wish to avoid. More specifically, the location of the dead woman. A daughter with a dead body in her closet was even worse than a daughter who ran a secondhand store.
“Oh, Adelle, let her unwind for a moment,” Harriet said. “I’m sure she’d like a glass of wine and a chance to relax.”
Irene accepted the wine, and within minutes she had learned that both Harriet and Susana knew a great deal about the dead woman.
“Rob, that’s her husband,” Susana said with a glance at Irene, “is in London. Something to do with his banking business, I suppose. Or maybe it’s real estate. He has his fingers in so many pies. Very successful. I heard he wanted to fly home, but he was being detained for some reason. It must just be awful for him. He’s such a dear man.” In spite of her chatty gossip, she appeared ill at ease.
“Wasn’t he in business with Tomas, too?” Harriet asked. Tomas Delgado was Susana’s husband, who was even more successful and more wealthy than Rob Sellers, but he had been ill and in a nursing home for several years.
Susana gave Harriet a dismissive wave of her hand. “Oh, that was a long time ago. They haven’t been in business together in ages.”
“Well, Rob didn’t seem to know anything about Loraine’s lover, did he?” Harriet asked.
Susana looked at Harriet over the rim of her wineglass. “If he did, he didn’t let on. Could be he thought it was to his
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