Beyond the Grave

FIVE

The next morning I went to my office at the museum to wait for the Express Mail package from the San Francisco library. As soon as I got there I checked to see if the first installment of Quincannon's report was still in my desk drawer where I'd locked it two days before. There was no reason it shouldn't have been there, but I felt a quick sense of relief at the sight of its cracked leather cover.

It was now a little after nine, and around me I could hear the museum coming alive. We don't open to the public until ten, but already the staff was arriving, and preparations for the day were under way. Camilla, the volunteer who tends the gardens, was watering the azalea bushes in the little courtyard outside my office window. The phones had begun to ring, and I heard the voice of Susana Ibarra-who had volunteered to handle them in my secretary's absence-answering in cheerful tones. Doors slammed, voices called out greetings, and from the cart that sat outside my door came the smell of freshly brewing coffee. My stomach gave a hopeful growl, and I wondered if anyone had thought to buy doughnuts or sweetrolls this morning.

I was about to go out and investigate when Susana appeared in the doorway. She is an extremely pretty girl with black hair that flows nearly to her waist, and she habitually wears short, brightly colored dresses that accentuate her good legs and tiny waist. Susana, whose first job at the museum had been as my secretary, had turned into an excellent public relations director and all-around trouble-shooter. I alternately took pride in her newly developed skill at dealing diplomatically with people and became nervous at her ambitiousness. At one time, in fact, I'd suspected her of having designs on my job; as it turned out, they were only directed at my then-boyfriend, Carlos Bautista.

Today Susana's silk dress was a warm tangerine color, and a matching band held her hair back from her forehead. Her long fingernails also matched; I noticed that right away because she had her hands pressed to her breastbone in a peculiarly breathless gesture. I was about to ask her if she was in danger of choking and if so, should I summon someone who knew the Heimlich maneuver, when I saw the ring.

Such a ring would have been hard to miss even if Susana had not been so intent on displaying it. It was a diamond, one huge square-cut stone surrounded by at least a dozen smaller ones. Por Dios, I thought, she must feel as if she's carrying a baseball around! That stone has to be at least three carats.

Susana said, “It's three point seven-five carats.”

I said, “Oh.”

“Of course, the small diamonds bring the total to around five.”

“That's pretty impressive.”

Susana frowned, dropping her hands to her sides. “What's wrong, Elena?” she asked. “Aren't you glad for me?” There was no gloating or cattiness in her voice; when Susana was happy, she genuinely wanted everybody to share in it.

“Of course I am!” I got up, went around the desk, and hugged her, then examined and exclaimed over the ring. Susana beamed and blushed, and let loose one of her piercing giggles. Then she went to get coffee for us to drink while she told me about her wedding plans.

I sat down in my desk chair, still a little stunned. Rudy had forewarned me about the ring, but I certainly hadn't expected anything of that size, and seeing it gave Susana's engagement to Carlos an overwhelming reality. Was I jealous? I wondered. No, not of her winning Carlos. He was my own discarded suitor; in fact, my standing him up one night was what had thrown him into Susana's arms. No, I wasn't jealous. I just wished this had come at a better time, when I could listen to her plans secure in the knowledge that somebody loved me, too.

By the time Susana returned with the coffee, I had composed my face into what I hoped was a pleased, anticipatory expression. Susana, for all her youth and self-absorption, is not insensitive, however, and she fussed over me a little, setting the coffee carefully on a napkin and going back to get a better sweetroll because the one she'd brought me was missing some of its sugary topping. Her solicitude only made me more determined not to let her realize how low I felt.

Finally she sat down across the desk from me, her hands clasped around her shapely knees, the ring positioned so it caught the light from the window behind me. “The wedding,” she said, “is to be on September fourth-my birthday.”

She would be all of eighteen, I thought. And Carlos was fifty-three. My preoccupation with my own feelings quickly evaporated and was replaced by a greater concern for Susana. How could such a marriage work, given the vast age difference? Carlos had seemed old to me….

“We do not wish to have a large wedding,” Susana went on. “I had that with my first marriage, in Bogota. I did not enjoy it.” She paused, then wrinkled her nose. “Of course, I did not enjoy the marriage, either.”

I smiled faintly. Tony Ibarra, Susana's first husband, had been a smirking, pretentious man who always reminded me of what used to be called a “lounge lizard.” By the time she had seen through him, he had proven himself to be much worse-an embezzler.

“So,” Susana said, “it will be a simple ceremony with only our close friends present. And I wish you to be my maid of honor!”

From the way she beamed at me, I knew she thought she was presenting me with a precious gift. I forced a smile and said, “Why, Susana, I'm honored.”

She brushed the words away with a gesture of her left hand that sent out a shower of sparkles. “I would have no one else. When I was starting over all alone in this country, you gave me a chance to prove myself. Not many would have done that-not after the way I aided my husband in his wickedness. I have never really expressed it, but I am very grateful, Elena.”

Touched, I searched for words, but Susana went on. “There is only one problem. I must ask you-do you easily become seasick?” I stared at her.

“The reason I ask is that the wedding is to be held on Carlos's yacht. We want something different from the usual type of ceremony.”

Something different in a wedding: It seemed to be the California dream. People got married on beaches and in redwood groves, in hot-air balloons and on ski lifts. The settings and ceremonies were ingenious, while the marriages that resulted were often drearily the same. And now Susana and Carlos would formalize their union on the high seas. A weariness settled over me, and suddenly I wished I could say I turned green at the slightest ripple. But I couldn't do that; I have the world's steadiest pair of sea legs, and Carlos knew that from the numerous hours we'd spent together on that same yacht. “No,” I said, “I don't get seasick.”

“Bueno!” Susana clapped her hands together. I realized we'd be treated to many dramatic hand gestures before she got used to that ring.

She reached for a pen and a legal pad that lay on my desk, then said, “Now we can go on with the planning. I think pink for your dress. Or perhaps yellow-something to express the joy of the occasion.”

I look like the devil in yellow, and I hate pink. “Fine,” I said. “You choose.”

“And roses for the bouquet. In colors to match the dress.”

Roses make me sneeze. “Whatever you think best. But what will you be wearing?”

“A long dress.” She paused. “Oh, you mean the color. Well, certainly not white. But ivory, perhaps. A color that is only a little tainted.” And then she giggled so loudly I winced.

If Susana was going to be a millionaire's wife, I thought, we'd have to work on that giggle. Perhaps I could train her…. But how? I'd ask Mama. She had spent years trying to turn Carlota and me into ladies and-at least with my sister-had been moderately successful.

I was about to ask about the food and the guest list when Rudy Lopez poked his head through the door. Today his shirt was a hideous bright orange. Perhaps I could train him, too….

“Elena,” he said, “there's an Express Mail package here for you.” He held up a thick brown envelope bearing a blue-and-orange label that went surprisingly well with his shirt.

I jumped up and went to take it from him. “Thanks. The reason I came in was to pick this up.”

Rudy looked disappointed. “Oh, I thought you might be here all day.”

“Why?”

“There are some invoices I need to go over with you. And Linda said something about needing your approval on the copy for the display of Chiapas textiles before she can send it to the typesetter.”

Susana added, “And I would like your advice on the fall advertising campaign. I am having a difficult time deciding which publications to use.”

I sighed and looked down at the envelope, feeling trapped by the demands of other people. I was needed here at the museum; I had to stop at the hospital and see Mama; and I'd promised Sam Ryder I'd bring the documents to Las Lomas and read them with him. Finally I said, “I can remain here until quarter to eleven. You may decide among yourselves who gets to see me first.”

Of course, the next hour was not long enough to solve everyone's problems, and I had to promise to call Susana at home that evening-both to discuss the ad campaign and make more plans for the wedding. Then, when I arrived at the hospital, I found Mama was not in her room; she was having a number of tests run, the nurse informed me, and it would be better if I came back in the late afternoon. Fuming, I drove to Las Lomas, only to find that Sam wasn't at home.

I stood on his front porch clutching the precious envelope and debating what to do for a moment. After making the long drive up here, I hated to turn around and go back to Santa Barbara. Besides, Sam might return at any moment. Would it be cheating on my promise that we'd read the documents together if I started without him? I wondered. Of course not; Sam wasn't a child; he'd understand my eagerness.

I considered sitting down on the porch steps, but the cement would be cold, and anyway, after my experience yesterday at the ruins, I felt uncomfortable about reading there, where all the town could see me. I was about to go sit in my car when I remembered the picnic table where we'd had dinner on Sunday night; it was reasonably isolated, screened by scraggly rosebushes.

I went around the house and sat down there in the weedy bower. Tearing the envelope open with eager fingers, I pulled out its contents and spread them on the table. What appeared to be Xeroxes of the personal correspondence and diaries I set aside for later. The notes made for the report of the Velasquez investigation were what I wanted, and I began to read them first.