Read Online Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_05 by Death on the River Walk - Free Book Online

Across the river, Manuel Garza was nearing completion of the first window. The door to Tesoros swung open.
    But I had one more stop to make before I crossed the river to meet Maria Elena Garza, a stop that might make my visit simpler. Or more difficult.

four
    T HE air was sharply cool. I’d left the window unit running in Iris’s apartment. I shivered as I crossed to turn it off. The room seemed even shabbier, dustier, its disarray more ominous. I turned on the lights, opened the blinds. Even so, the room was dingy. Yet, when I stood and looked at the small oil painting still propped on the wooden chair, its colors glistened as if brushed moments ago.
    It was such a small painting to have so great an impact, perhaps twelve inches by eighteen. A weathered wooden cross leaned against a mission wall, next to a stone doorway and massive wooden doors. That was all, wood and stone and sunlight, shades of brown and gray and a faintly apricot peach, evoking a cry to God, humble and hopeful.
    What was a painting of this stature and depth doing in Iris’s apartment?
    Oh, the quick answer was obvious. She was trying to copy the work. Actually, her half-finished effort was well done. But the greater question had no ready answer. At least, I knew I wouldn’t find the answer here.
    Â 
    I lifted my hand to knock, waited until the tinny blast of trumpets subsided.
    The door opened grudgingly. A blue smock this morning. No makeup. The apartment manager scowled. “You have her key. Why bother me?”
    The mariachis on the television program swung into a rollicking polka. The danceable music made the unkempt room seem even more forlorn. Or perhaps it was the bright sunlight spearing in through opened window blinds, teeming with dust motes, highlighting the scuffed floor, bleaching color from a sofa arm. The blinds looking out into the courtyard were open, as were the blinds on the window facing the alley and another overlooking the parking lot.
    â€œI came to see you. I know you take great care of this property.”
    She brushed crumbs from her smock, stared at me woodenly.
    I opened my purse, found a fifty dollar bill, clasped it between my fingers and my purse. “I know you have much to do. Your time is valuable. I would only ask a few minutes, Mrs.—” I waited.
    â€œHernandez.” Her dark eyes dropped to the bill. She stepped back, held the door for me.
    I sat on the sofa, placed the bill on the side table. Neither of us looked at it.
    She eased into her rocking chair. Her eyes were both sullen and curious, her face cautious.
    I waved my hand around the room, at the windows. “Obviously, you are careful to keep an eye out for anyone who does not belong.”
    She folded her big arms across her chest and, after a moment, slowly nodded. But she didn’t speak. She was waiting.
    I had to be careful. Iris’s searched apartment revealed many things. Perhaps the most important were Detective Hess’s conclusion that either Iris admittedthe person who searched the apartment or that the searcher had a key or the expertise to deal with an inexpensive lock. I could be sure Detective Hess had asked this woman about keys and, quite likely, about strangers.
    I doubted the manager had been particularly forthcoming. This was not a forthcoming woman. She might know something, but why would she bother to tell anyone? The detective’s questions didn’t matter to her. Iris didn’t matter to her. I was going to find out if money mattered. It does to a great many people.
    â€œNow, I don’t know whether Detective Hess—”
    The manager’s face was abruptly stone still.
    â€œâ€”explained that Iris has officially been listed as missing.”
    â€œShe was fine when she left here.” Mrs. Hernandez spoke loudly. “That last time I saw her. I think it was Thursday. Yes, I’m sure it was Thursday. So there is nothing wrong here.”
    â€œI’m sure of