Free Carolyn G. Hart_Henrie O_05 by Death on the River Walk Page A

vivid brown eyes plumbed mine.
    â€œI am her grandmother’s best friend. Gina and I have been friends for years. Iris is a good granddaughter. She keeps in touch with Gina. But Gina’s heard nothing for several days and she hasn’t been able to get in touch with Iris. Gina is frightened.”
    â€œSo you’ve come to find Iris.” She gestured toward a comfortable chair and sat across from me on the sofa.
    â€œYes, I have.” I spoke firmly.
    We regarded each other. Her hair was as dark as mine, though mine does not have a raven gloss. My face is the more lined, hers smooth with a creamy complexion. I’m afraid that through years of asking questions and so often hearing lies or distortions, perhaps my gaze is more skeptical than accepting. But in the warmth of her regard, I felt my own defenses crumbling. She looked at me with eyes that have surely seen as much as mine and yet there was an eagerness and a vivacity I have lost.
    â€œYou are frightened for Iris.” Her voice was high and clear and sweet with that liquid grace of those who also speak Spanish. “So am I.” Her fine black brows drew into a frown. “My daughter-in-law Susana tells me that Iris left Thursday without saying a word to anyone. I find that surprising. You see, Iris has been very much involved in the preparations for our annual auction and excited at being able to help. I saw her that morning and she was simply glowing. She’d been helping Rick prepare the auction area and she was planning to work that afternoon in the receiving room. So, yes, I am surprised. Please tell me what has happened.”
    I began with Gina and the E-mail that never came, the apartment in disarray, and concluded with the painting that I’d studied so carefully that morning.
    Maria Elena smoothed a tendril of ebony hair at her temple. A single gold band on her left hand, no other rings. “Even though the apartment was in disorder, you don’t believe there had been a struggle?”
    I looked at her with respect. That was surely the most important fact of all. “That’s right.”
    Her dark eyes narrowed. “Yet, Iris’s apartment was searched. That has to mean someone was looking for something, presumably something of value. But the painting”—this time her eyes accorded me respect—“wasn’t taken. The painting bothers you.”
    â€œYes.” My voice was crisp. “Yes, the painting bothers me.”
    â€œLittle Iris is not a thief.” She answered my unspoken question. Because how did Iris, penniless, budget-conscious Iris, have what I felt sure was a very valuable canvas?
    I relaxed back into the comfortable cushion.
    Maria Elena smiled gently. “I gave the painting to Iris.”
    I looked at her sharply.
    â€œI know. That puzzles you. Because it is indeed a painting that is worth quite a bit of money. But blood and bones count for more than cash. You will find that everything here has to do with family.” She was matter-of-fact. But there was an undercurrent in her voice now, uneasiness, concern.
    I didn’t understand. “Family?”
    â€œIris came to the store last April, asked to see me. She’d come to San Antonio hoping to find her father, Arturo. She’d found a cousin who told her Arturo died in a car crash. Yes, a young man driving too fast on a rainy night. He was so young and so gifted. The cousin knew I’d bought several paintings from Arturo. The painting you saw this morning is one of his finest. I gave it to Iris to remember her father. You see, Arturo’s mother was my cousin, a cousin I adored. I remember Arturo when he was a little boy. Even then he loved to draw and paint. He would have been a great success.”
    â€œSo the painting doesn’t mean anything.” I sighed. I was glad I didn’t have to tell Gina her granddaughter was a thief, and yes, that’s what had occurred to me because the