Paloma: A Laurent & Dove Mystery (10 page)

“Intruding? Never.” The woman’s words came out soft and sincere.

Curtis called out, “Boys, this is Aunt Agnes.” 

The kids exchanged glances.

Curtis gleamed with pride. “The one at the end is Michael. Then there’s Satchel and Randel.”

Paloma smiled as the young boys eyed her with curiosity. Randel, the smallest, stood up and walked into the dining room. He plucked a framed picture from the wall and without saying a word, delivered it to Paloma. It was a newspaper photograph of her, Curtis and Max coming down the court steps. She was in the middle being spirited away. They all had bright smiles. The heading read,
Star Witness Seals Catoni Fate
. How strange she had been smiling. The entire event was horrific from beginning to end.

She patted the child’s head, then handed the picture back. “You are a very bright boy to recognize me.”

The middle child, Satchel, not more than five, walked over and looked up. “Are you really my aunt?”

Paloma laughed and stooped down. “Well, really and truly, I’m your
tía
.”

“
Tía
?” he repeated.

Michael, the oldest, yelled from the couch. “That’s Spanish for aunt.”

“
Miguel, que listo eres
!”

Michael smiled. “
Sí
.”

“Hey, wait you two,” Curtis said. “No private conversations.”

Layla beamed. “Michael’s learning Spanish.”

“Yes, I see that.”

“Agnes, how about something to eat?”

“No thanks, Curtis.”

“Coffee, then?”

“Well, I…”

Layla rushed in. “I’d love to make a pot.”

Curtis put his arm around his wife. “Great idea. Meanwhile I’d like to talk to Agnes in my office.”

Layla smiled, “Finally get to use my new china,” and she herded the boys back into the living room.

The den was painted a hunter green. Plush leather chairs surrounded an expansive cherrywood desk. A flat computer screen and keyboard sat atop the shiny surface.  

Impressed, Paloma said, “You must be doing well. What kind of business are you in?”

“I’m a fireman, but I have an insurance business I’m trying to get off the ground. Layla helps me.”

“With three kids you have to be creative when it comes to money. Layla’s lovely. Curtis, you certainly have it all.”

He beamed. “Never thought I could be this happy, but I am. Every day I wake up and give thanks. Have a seat.”

Paloma sank into one of the leather chairs. All her worries of how she might appear dissolved. She relaxed.

After settling in behind the desk, he pulled out a drawer and reached in. “Before I forget, this came today.”

He slid the manila envelope over to her. Her bold script, written in a rush, appeared fluid and steady. “Thanks,” she said and slipped it into her bag. “I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience.”

He leaned on his elbows. “Don’t be ridiculous. Agnes, I can’t tell you how often I’ve thought of you, how much I’ve wanted to talk to you.”

“I’ve thought of you too.” Her voice cracked.

Concern lingered in his soft brown eyes. “What’s been happening? Where have you been? Why the questions about Max and the Catonis? If something’s wrong I want to help. Do anything I can.”

Paloma’s eyes welled up. She couldn’t breakdown in front of Curtis. And she certainly couldn’t tell him someone was after her. Wherever she was, those around her would be at danger, just like Daisy’s mother. She didn’t need that kind of responsibility or guilt. “Well, there’s nothing you can do, but... I do have some questions. I’ve been out of touch for so long.”

“Shoot. Ask me anything.”

“About the Catonis. You told me on the phone that both of them are now out of jail.”

He sighed heavily. “Yeah. Can you believe it? Kill a cop, it’s the death penalty, but when they kill an eighteen-year-old kid, it’s a slap on the wrist.” He shook his head. “Anyway, Tony got out quite awhile ago, fifteen years or so.”     

Paloma nodded. This was when she’d left Chicago.

“Then Joey got paroled about three years ago. They still run the donut shop. I guess I should have gone to the last couple of parole hearings, but after a while I just wanted to let it go. The whole thing had been eating me alive. Even Ma forgave them. She said we were giving them too much power.”

Paloma felt an ache in her heart. “No mother should’ve gone through what she did. She was a courageous, kind woman.”

Sadness crept into his eyes.

“Curtis, how could one night have changed our lives so much?”

Concern flooded his face. “Has it ended for you?”

“Has what ended?”

“The ramifications of that night.”

The answer in her head screamed – No! She had lost everything and was still losing. “To be honest, I don’t know. I have blamed that night for so much that has happened to me. But ...” She stopped unsure if she wanted to go on. “I’m not sure what have been my choices and what’s been chosen for me.” Hoping for some insight, she looked into his sympathetic eyes. “You know?”

He nodded. “Life’s a pinball machine. We bounce around hitting bumpers, falling down holes. Velocity, trajectories, seem senseless. Still, I believe there’s a divine plan.”

Paloma wasn’t convinced. “I wish I had your faith.”

“Agnes, you don’t have to wish for faith, you just have to believe. If God isn’t on your menu, just step back and think of the good things in your life.” He leaned toward her. “There are good things, aren’t there?”

She pressed her lips together, stifling a sob. “I do have a daughter.”

His face lit up. “A daughter! How wonderful. I mean boys are great, but a daughter. She must be beautiful.”

“Yes, she is. Very. Not like me at all.”   

He shook his head and laughed. “Right. How old is she?”

“Seventeen.”

“Oh, a teenager. They say girls are tough at that age. Do you argue about clothes, boyfriends?”

Paloma wrung her hands. “Actually, I don’t see her much.”

He looked puzzled. “Why’s that?”

“She lives with her father.”

“Sorry. Got divorced, huh?”

Paloma didn’t have the energy to lie, especially to Curtis. She shrugged. “Sort of. It’s a long story. Nothing I want to talk about.”

“Sure thing,” he said. His face brightened. “I have to say Max has been great over the years. Never missed one parole hearing.” 

“Yes. You had mentioned him on the phone. I was surprised to hear he told you I was doing fine.”

“Why is that?”

“I haven’t seen him in over fifteen years.”

Curtis reared back. “Really? Whenever I ask him about you, he says you’re doing fine. In fact a few weeks ago he stopped by and said he’d seen you and that you looked great.”

Her stomach did a somersault. How was that possible? “Was he more specific? Where had he seen me?”

Curtis shrugged. “I never asked. Sorry. Figured it was confidential.” He reached for the telephone. “I got a great idea. I’ll call him right now. It will be like old times.”

She lunged, stopping his hand from picking up the receiver. “Curtis, that’s a very bad idea. I don’t ever want to see him again, ever.”

“But –”

“And you have to promise never to mention my visit. Please, I beg you.”

“Well, sure Agnes. It’s just that –”

Suddenly Paloma panicked. Could Max show up at any moment? 

She jumped up. “I got to go.”

“Go? But you just got here. You haven’t had coffee yet.”

“I’m sorry.” She turned to leave.

Curtis rushed out from behind the desk and grabbed her arm. “Is it something I said?”

“No, of course not. I... I’m very tired. The traveling. It’s catching up with me. Please understand.” 

 “Sure, but where are you going? Let me drive you.”

“No. That won’t be necessary.”

 He looked at her with concern. “Please.”  

His consoling eyes weren’t enough. “Curtis, next time I’m in town, I promise to stay longer.”

He loosened his grip. “I know you’re a truthful woman, a woman of your word.”

Speechless, she nodded, and they walked into the living room.

“You’re leaving?” Layla said. “Coffee’s almost ready.”

“Sugar, she’s got to go.”

Paloma reached for Layla’s hand. “It was wonderful meeting you and the kids.” She then turned to the children. “Boys, how about a little something from your tía? Maybe a happy meal?”

Their eyes widened as she handed them five dollars each. “Thanks,” said the two older boys. Randel took the money and passed it from one hand to another.

“Make sure your brother doesn’t eat it. Okay?”

They nodded.

At the door, Curtis leaned over and kissed Paloma on the cheek. “You know me, my wife. Door’s always open.”

Paloma smiled. “Thanks Curtis. I’ll be in touch.”

Walking down the steps, she could feel his eyes on her. Would she ever see them again? A truthful woman, he had called her. 

Hardly.

***

With dwindling funds and another thirty-six hours until the bank opened, Paloma headed to a familiar haunt where, in the past, she’d turned water into wine.

Chippewa Street, the hub of Buffalo’s bar scene, was a short walk crosstown. Paloma no longer intended to steal. She had seed money and the last thing she needed to do was get herself arrested. Too much was at stake. Enclosed in the envelope were items for solvency. With this small package she could access the safe deposit box, get back in business and plan her next move without scavenging. But first and foremost she had to secure the contents of the envelope to her body. She stopped at a bodega on the corner of Chippewa and Pearl and bought a box of safety pins. She then went to the bar.

Q.T.’s had survived regentrification unscathed. There were no high polished surfaces, no bistro chairs, no servers in white shirts and black slacks. The place was dark, dingy and smelled of cheap wine. Her last visit here had been the previous winter when she was stranded in the city after a horrendous lake-effect snowstorm. She got lucky that night and left with a bundle. Paloma wasn’t sure if she believed in luck, but she knew the place, the lighting, and the slight angle where the table dipped. 

Walking to the rear, she entered the ladies’ room. In the stall, she rummaged through her bag and pulled out another pair of underpants. She slipped them on, then ripped open the envelope. Enclosed were some photographs and three safe deposit keys. Taking the safety pins she had purchased in the store, she slipped the keys onto a pin and fastened the pin to the inner lining of the second pair of panties. She then placed the snapshots into the small plastic bag from the store and secured the bag into the pouch that formed between the two sets of underwear. Digging through her bag, she pulled out the remaining cash. It amounted to twelve dollars and change.

Exiting the lavatory, Paloma gave the bar a once over. There were far fewer people today than the previous time. Several older men were planted at the bar. They spoke easily with each other. A hefty, older woman in an apron and hairnet leaned up against a doorway. “Harry,” she shouted. “How ya want them wings?”

“Kamikaze,” he yelled back.

A flurry of responses followed. “Sure you can handle it Harry?” “Burning those hemorrhoids off?” “Whoa, steady stallion.”

Paloma smiled and looked into the small room to her left. Three young men were playing pool. Sashaying over to the bar, she got a Coke, then sauntered back to the pool table and rested against a wall. She needed to size them up.

One young man stood across from her with a beer in hand. His friendly face was youthful and unlined. The soft curl of his lip and clear rose-colored cheeks made him seem untroubled, unchallenged. He watched the game intently. The other two, one short, the other with glasses, played pool. The short guy was muscular. She suspected in time he’d grow fat if he wasn’t careful. His opponent, the one with glasses, already had the inkling of thinning hair. It appeared to be a semi-serious game, no talking about sports or women. After each shot, the players  straightened and watched the path of the cue ball. The short muscular one was about to win and took time to configure his shot. After a few walks around the table, he leaned down and took aim. He misfired, hitting the cue ball too low and off center. It spun and grazed the black ball at an angle. Still, it was a winning shot and the eight ball fell into the pocket. Sometimes just being in the ballpark was enough.

The short guy picked up his two buck winnings. The lanky man who’d been watching slapped down two more. A fleeting, silent glance passed among them. The short, muscular man racked up the balls and the innocent one made the break shot. Another game was underway. 

Paloma sipped her drink, contemplating her approach. 

She waited, then sidled up to the man with glasses who’d just lost. “I used to play a lot of pool,” she said.

He turned and looked at her. “Oh, yeah?”

“I once came in second in a citywide competition,” she lied.

He nodded politely.

The stocky man was on a roll. Closing in he announced, “Twelve in center.”

She leaned into the guy who was watching. “Nine in the corner pocket should be his shot.”

The onlooker smiled.

The stocky kid walloped the cue ball. The twelve was hit too hard and overshot the pocket, bumping off the rail. 

Paloma shook her head. “Shame.”

The man with glasses called out, “Hey, Frank, the lady here says you should have gone for the nine.”

Frank ignored the comment and told his opponent. “Your turn.”

The tall lanky kid took a shot and scratched.

Paloma stayed quiet, watching. Clearly Frank was the best player of the three. He evaluated his next shot.

Paloma coughed, then said aloud. “Nine corner. Twelve center.”

This grabbed his attention. “Excuse me?”

“Two for the price of one.”

“You think so, huh?”

She nodded.

He walked over and handed Paloma the cue stick. “Your shot.”

Paloma took the stick. She walked to the table and laid a few diagonals, placing the cue stick this way and that. She then positioned herself behind the cue ball in the opposite direction of the two balls, angled the stick and eyed down its shaft. Some of her moves were for real, most for show. She gave the three men a quick glance. Frank was grinning ear to ear.