A Killer Closet Read online

  The visitor greeted him with “Shit! You still here?”

  Angel tried to close the door, but Rafael already had a foot over the threshold.

  “Rafael!” Irene exclaimed. “What’s going on?”

  “I found Adelle.”

  Irene rushed toward him, feeling as if she was going to faint. “Where? Is she all right? Rafael, tell me, is she—”

  “She’s okay,” Rafael said. “Least I think so, but I gotta tell you—”

  “You think so. What’s that mean?” Irene’s voice was high-pitched and frightened.

  “Last time I saw her she was still okay. By that I mean she was alive.”

  “Where?” Irene grasped his upper arms.

  Rafael pushed her arms away and glanced over his shoulder as if he expected someone to enter through the closed door. “I tried to find you in town, but when I saw your store was closed, I figured you’d be here. I told you to stay away. We gotta get outta here.”

  Angel lunged toward him. “Tell her, asshole. Tell her where her mother is.”

  Rafael deflected Angel’s advance with his left forearm and shoved him back with a forceful push. Angel stumbled against the wall. “P.J. has her, you little prick, somewhere up here in the mountains. Now do what I say! Vamonos before they find us here.”

  “P.J.?” Irene felt blood rush to her head. “P.J. kidnapped her?”

  Rafael ignored her question. “There’s someone out there!”

  Angel glowered at him. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “Because you was too busy falling into the wall, pendejo!” Rafael said. At the same moment a car door slammed. “Upstairs!” Rafael commanded, as he started for the stairs and signaled that they should follow him up.

  Angel pulled Irene’s arm and steered her toward he stairs. Irene tried to do his bidding, but a mixture of fear for herself and worry about her mother caused her to stumble. Angel helped her to her feet and herded her up the stairs. They had barely reached the top and turned into the hall out of sight of anyone in the entryway when the front door opened.

  Irene heard a voice she didn’t recognize. “That way!” the voice said. Then the sound of footsteps walking away. More than one person walking, she thought. How many? She wasn’t sure. She glanced at Angel, who stood next to her, holding her arm, and then at Rafael farther down the hall. He signaled them with a finger pressed to his pursed lips.

  They waited, hearing nothing. Irene was barely breathing. Who besides Harriet and her husband had a key to the Delgados’ mountain lodge? Why would anyone be here, with Susana dead and Tomas incapacitated?

  Silence dissipated with the soft sound of a shoe making contact with the bottom stair. Another quiet, padding sound, and then another, and another. Someone was creeping up the stairs, trying not to be heard. Irene, Angel, and Rafael all three pressed themselves closer to the walls of the hallway, hoping to stay out of sight.

  Irene, standing closest to the landing, saw the gun first. It was pointed directly at her face, no more than an inch from her nose. The next thing she saw was P.J. holding the weapon. His eyes widened when he recognized her, and he lowered the gun.

  A voice came from somewhere on the stairs. “Bailey! Anyone up there?”

  P.J. raised the gun again. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

  A man appeared behind him—short, with a stocky build and closely cropped dark hair. His eyes were gray beads in a tanned face. He spoke two words.

  “Kill her. The kid, too.”

  P.J. didn’t move, but he had raised the gun and had it trained on Irene again. Irene cut her eyes sharply to the left and saw that Rafael was no longer in the hallway. He must have slipped into one of the bedrooms.

  “I said kill!” the swarthy man said.

  “I told you, no more killing unless it’s unavoidable.” P.J. still held the gun in her face. “Two dead is enough.”

  “Well, this is fucking unavoidable. Kill them or give me the goddamned gun and I’ll do it myself.”

  P.J. lowered the gun, holding it barrel down along the side of his leg as he turned toward the man. “I make the decisions. You do as I say or the deal’s off.” He turned suddenly toward Angel when he sensed his movement, and the gun was now squarely in Angel’s face. “Don’t move, kid. I’ll kill you if I have to.”

  Angel backed away, but P.J. didn’t lower the gun this time.

  “What the hell are we going to do with all these people? That mouthy broad is bad enough, now we got two more?” the man asked.

  “I’ll take care of it, Sagan. But I’ll do it discreetly. No more bodies in closets. You got that?”

  “You sure as hell better take care of it!” The man he’d called Sagan said then added, “You check out all these rooms?”

  “Get downstairs. Let me handle this,” P.J. said.

  “You’re full of shit. I’m checking these rooms myself,” Sagan said. He started up the hallway, kicking each door open and stepping inside with his gun drawn. P.J. kept his gun trained on Angel.

  “Where’s my mother? Why are you doing this?” Irene spat the words at P.J. in a low, trembling voice.

  “Shut up!” P.J. said, and turned the gun on her.

  “These rooms are all clear,” Sagan said. “I’ll check that other hallway.”

  As Sagan moved to the other wing of the house, P.J. jabbed the barrel of his pistol at Irene’s ribs and barked a command: “Downstairs! Now!”

  Angel took her arm and led her down the stairs while P.J. walked behind them. Irene could no longer feel the pistol pressed against her, but she didn’t turn around to see whether or not P.J. still had it trained on the two of them. She was too filled with fear, but she was also angry at his betrayal.

  “Where’s my mother?” she demanded, speaking over her shoulder to P.J.

  “Shut up!” P.J. shouted again. “Go to the kitchen,” he said in a quieter tone.

  They moved through the living room and dining room and into the kitchen with Angel still holding her arm and with one of his arms behind her back in a protective manner. P.J. stayed behind them. As they entered the kitchen, Irene heard voices coming from the downstairs area of the pantry, where the vault was located.

  “Greedy, that’s all I can say.” The voice was female. Adelle’s voice! Irene felt a flood of relief rush through her. “They had enough money. They didn’t have to sell the skins of innocent little animals.” Adelle again—Adelle, who owned a mink coat as well as a silver-fox coat, each a gift from a husband. Now she was defending innocent little animals.

  A male voice responded. “Do you ever shut up, you dumb bitch?”

  Irene heard a thud and then Adelle’s voice crying out. Her instinct was to run toward her mother, but P.J.’s voice held her back.

  “Stop, Irene! Don’t move until I tell you to.” He stepped in front of her and Angel, but still kept his gun trained on them while he looked over his shoulder toward the pantry door. “What’s going on down there?”

  “It’s cool. Just the mouthy bitch, but she won’t be squawkin’ much for a while.” He laughed and added, “She’ll be too busy spittin’ out teeth.

  Irene made another quick move toward the basement stairs, but P.J. raised his gun again and met her gaze with a stern expression. “Slowly,” he said. “Put your hands up and walk down those basement stairs slowly.”

  Angel and Irene did as he’d commanded, but as soon as Irene saw Adelle’s bloody face and the blood seeping through her fingers as she held her hand over her mouth, she ran toward her and dropped to her knees in front of her. A handkerchief suddenly appeared, dangling between them. Irene looked up to see that P.J. was holding the handkerchief by a corner as he offered it to them with the gun still trained on Angel.

  “Clean yourself up,” he growled.

  “Who the hell’s this?” asked the man who had been guarding Adelle. He had the same olive skin as the man called Sagan, but his eyes were dark, and he was thinner and taller.

  “Not important,” P
.J. said.

  “Thank God! You’re here!” Adelle said, speaking at the same time. Tears dripped from her eyes, mingling with the blood from her mouth. “What took you so long? Get me away from these awful people, Irene!”

  “She knows ’em,” the man said.

  Adelle gave the man a disdainful look. “Of course I know her. She’s vy daughter.” Her speech was distorted because of her swelling lip.

  The man eyed Angel with caution. “Who’s that?”

  “Sonvone who works for vy daughter. His nane is Jesus, I think.”

  “What the hell is this all about?” the man asked, looking at P.J. “Where’s Sagan?”

  “Upstairs. Checking the place for more people,” P.J. said.

  “We got to get rid of these fuckers,” the man said. “How we going to load the goods with all of them around?”

  Adelle whispered to Irene, “He’s talking avout furs! See all those voxes? Furs! I think they stole then.”

  Irene gave her mother a warning: “Shhh!”

  Adelle ignored the warning and whispered again. “If we could get then, you could sell then in your store!”

  “Adelle! For heaven’s sake…”

  “Shut up, you two!” the man commanded, as he stood and pointed his gun at the two of them. He glanced at P.J. “We got to get rid of ’em.”

  P.J. snarled at him. “I told you before. Leave it to me. I’ll take care of it when the time is right.”

  “Yeah, like you took care of the old bitch. I shoulda killed her a long time ago. She’s driving me crazy.”

  P.J. took a menacing step toward the man. “What did I just say?”

  The man backed away, holding his hands, palms out, in front of him. “I know, I know. You’re in charge until the boss shows up. He ain’t going to like all this extra company, though. I can guarantee you that.”

  “That’s for me to worry about,” P.J. said. “Did you check those crates?” he asked, motioning with his gun toward the boxes in the vault.

  Irene watched him carefully, wondering if there was some way she could get the gun away from him. But the other man had a gun too. Maybe Angel could…No, too risky. One slip and they’d all three be dead.

  “Why should I check?” the man asked. “I was with the boss when they was loaded up and delivered here. I know we’re good. We’ll ship ’em out tomorrow, like the boss said.”

  “Check ’em,” P.J. said. “Open that top crate there. You know the buyers will check when we deliver. If it’s not what they asked for, we’re all dead men,” he said.

  “Shit!” the man said. “Can’t get a minute’s rest with you in charge, Bailey. If I was the boss, I’d kick your ass out of this outfit.”

  “But you’re not the boss, are you, Webster?” P.J. said.

  “Okay, okay,” Webster said. “I got a crowbar in the truck. Bring it to me.”

  “Get it yourself. I’m staying here with the goods.”

  “Shit!” Webster said again, and disappeared up the stairs to the kitchen. P.J. kept his gun trained on Irene, Adelle, and Angel until he heard the kitchen door open and close.

  “Now, listen to me, you three,” P.J. said, lowering the gun. “I want you to—”

  “It’s all clear up there,” Sagan shouted from the top of the stairs. His footsteps sounded like rocks rolling down the wooden steps as he pounded his way down. “Where’s Webster?” he asked, looking around as he entered the vault room.

  “I sent him on an errand,” P.J. said.

  “Okay, well, listen, I got a plan,” Sagan said. “Since nobody else is here. We can take these three out to the woods and off ’em. Nobody’s gonna hear a gunshot in these boonies, and even if they do, it’s like somebody’s huntin’ elk, you know what I mean? And the bodies? Piece a cake. Animals, man. Animals. They eat the evidence, man. Like you said, won’t be no bodies in closets. Whatta ya say?”

  “You’re thinking, Sagan,” P.J. said. “Using the old noggin.”

  “Yeah,” Sagan said, smiling broadly.

  “Don’t do it again.”

  “What?”

  “Leave the thinking to me.”

  Sagan’s face turned red with anger. “What are you? A pussy? Sometimes I think you’re scared to kill somebody.”

  P.J. glared at him. “What did you just say? Sometimes you think? Didn’t I tell you leave the thinking to me?”

  “Pussy,” Sagan said. “You may be a smart lawyer, but you’re a goddamned pussy.”

  Before P.J. could respond, Webster opened the pantry door and yelled, “All right, here it is. I got the crowbar.”

  “Crowbar? What’s that for?” Sagan asked, as Webster entered the room.

  “Bailey says we got to check the goods,” Webster said, moving toward the crates. He placed the end of the tool on the top edge of one of the boxes and pried upward.

  “Oh vy God, ve careful,” Adelle said. “You’ll danvage the furs!” Her swelling mouth was making her speech even more imprecise.

  The crate made a loud cracking sound as the box opened. It held a painting. A beautiful western scene of a waterfall.

  “My God! A Bierstadt!” Angel said. “How did you get your hands on—”

  “Shut up!” P.J. barked.

  “That’s not furs!” Adelle said.

  “Where’s the O’Keeffe?” P.J. asked.

  “In one of the other boxes, Bailey,” Sagan said, emphasizing each word as if he might be speaking to a slow-witted child.

  “I’m not opening no more,” Webster said. “I know for sure the boss won’t want ’em opened. We got to nail this one back. You satisfied?” he added, glaring at P.J.

  “What was that?” Sagan asked. They had all heard it—the muffled sound of a motor.

  “Must be the boss,” Webster said. “Looks like he’s early. Said he wouldn’t be here until late tonight or tomorrow.”

  “Quiet!” Sagan ordered, holding up his hand. He paused for a moment, then spoke again. “That’s somebody driving away. What the…” He started toward the stairs and bounded up to the top.

  Irene felt her heart leap. It had to be Rafael. She glanced at Angel and knew he was thinking the same thing. Rafael would go for help. At least that’s what she hoped.

  Webster’s face had grown pale. “I thought Sagan said there was nobody else here.”

  “I don’t trust Sagan,” P.J. said.

  “He’s not turning us in, is he? You think he’s in bed with the Feds?”

  “Sure,” P.J. sounded sarcastic. “What else? So’s the boss,” P.J. said. “The boss is in bed with Feds.”

  “Who’s the voss?” Adelle asked.

  “You’re full of shit,” Webster said. “The boss is too smart for that. I ought to kill you for saying it.”

  “Who’s the voss?” Adelle asked again.

  “Shut up and sit down, Adelle!” Irene said.

  “How dare you talk to your vother that vay!”

  “Adelle, please!”

  “See what I mean?” Webster said. “The bitch will drive you crazy. I say we plug her. Drag her body out in the woods,” he added, echoing Sagan’s plan.

  “You vouldn’t dare,” Adelle said.

  Webster made a lunge toward Adelle, holding his pistol by the barrel, ready to knock her unconscious. Irene stepped in front of her mother, blocking the assault. The handle of Webster’s pistol came down. She ducked, but the bullet grazed the side of her head. She felt a trickle of blood along her ear. He raised the pistol again, ready to strike, but P.J.’s angry shout distracted him.

  “Goddamn it, Webster! Control yourself.” He jerked the man away from the two women.

  Webster turned his gun around and pointed it at P.J. “Don’t mess with me, Bailey. The boss wouldn’t like it.”

  P.J. used the side of his hand to knock Webster’s gun to the floor, causing it to fire as it landed. P.J. picked it up in a quick move. “He left me in charge, so shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he said, speaking over Adelle’s terrified scream. />
  Webster’s face was flushed with anger. “Give me back my gun!”

  “I’ll decide when you get it back,” P.J. said. “Now go up to the kitchen and find a towel. Some ice, too, so she can stop the blood on her head.”

  “Why?” Webster asked. “The bitch won’t bleed to death.” Angel moved to Irene’s side and pulled his T-shirt off over his head to place against the wound above her ear.

  P.J. jabbed the pistol barrel hard into Webster’s ribs. “Evidence, dickhead! I want no evidence. No blood on the floor. Nothing! Now do as I said.”

  Webster started toward the stairs, but he stopped short and turned around. “Hear that? Somebody just came in the front door.”

  Irene had heard the sound, too, but it wasn’t clear to her that it was the front door. Her head hurt, and blood was now running down to her chin and onto the jacket she’d chosen for herself from some of her stock. It was a nice jacket—an Eileen Fisher organic linen—but that was of little concern to her now. She waited, remaining as quiet as everyone else in the room, not knowing what to expect and praying that Adelle would continue to be too frightened to speak.

  “Hey! Maureen’s here with the truck.” It was Sagan’s voice coming from the kitchen. “We can move these crates out now.”

  “They’re taking the vaintings?” Adelle’s eyes widened as she spoke and she dabbed at her lip with P.J.’s handkerchief. “They must be stolen! They must be selling them to—”

  Irene saw P.J. give her mother a look that could only be described as dangerous. She, herself, was too busy looking at the woman coming down the stairs. Maureen—the same woman who had bought the dress from Angel, the same woman who had followed her here earlier and then had tried to kill her. She was speaking as she came down the stairs.

  “Somebody tipped off the Feds. We got to get the goods out of here fast. He said to kill the old lady first.” Maureen’s eyes met Irene’s. “You!” she said. “Kill her, too. Get it over with. We’ve got to move!”

  Chapter 17

  Irene glanced at Adelle. Her face was colorless except for her swollen lip, which had now turned a garish purple. Irene reached for her hand. It felt cold and dry, and it trembled, like the rest of Adelle’s body. She heard P.J.’s voice over the buzzing in her head.