Paloma: A Laurent & Dove Mystery (32 page)
Read Paloma: A Laurent & Dove Mystery Online
Authors: Linda A. Lavid
“What kind of snags? How does she explain the tape?”
“She doesn’t deny speaking to Brandon.”
“That’s a good thing, right?”
“Yes, but there’s something else.”
“What?”
“She said she was talking to Brandon about you.”
“Yes, but we already knew that.”
“Well not quite. According to Natalie, they were going to shoot you, not with a gun but with a camera. To prove you were alive.”
Paloma reeled back. “That’s absurd.”
“There’s more. She says you killed Clay.”
“What!”
“Paloma, Natalie’s desperate, reaching for straws. Problem is if the police discover you’re alive, then that could give credence to her claim.”
“But I have no intention of resurrecting myself.”
“That’s another snag. Unfortunately, she and Brandon aren’t the only ones who know about you. There’s Maddie. If the police were to question her about you, I don’t think she could or would lie.”
Paloma collapsed onto the bed. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“Sit tight. I can refute each point she made. But that’ll take time. Paloma, I don’t think she’s going to be taken into custody just yet.”
“You mean they’ll let her loose? What about Maddie? If she killed Clay for his money, will she hurt Maddie?”
“No. That would be suicide.”
“And Brandon’s still out there.” Paloma could feel the hysteria in her voice. “My God!”
“Calm down. We have to take one step at a time. Listen, the reason I’m calling is to ask your permission if I need it.”
“Permission for what?”
“Natalie’s taking a big chance by getting you involved. You have incriminating evidence against both her and Brandon for not just one murder but two. If she keeps up this story, it may be better for you to materialize.”
Materialize? What did that mean? Another trial? Paloma’s heart sank. How could this be happening again?
“Paloma. Are you there? We need to do this for Maddie’s sake.”
“Yes of course.” She heard herself say. “Whatever is necessary.”
“Only as a last resort, I promise.”
“Do what you have to do.”
“And one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Please don’t leave.”
“Leave? You mean the hotel?”
“No, I mean leave. Disappear.”
“What are you saying?”
He didn’t answer right away. “Listen forget it. I got to get back in there. Don’t worry. Everything will turn out. I promise.”
After hanging up Paloma knew exactly what Max was saying – that she was a coward, striped and yellow-bellied. She couldn’t deny it. But something tugged at her, not fear or even anger. Suddenly she felt very calm, very focused.
She reached for the phone book, found his address and called a cab.
How simply life became uncomplicated by purpose. Maybe that had been the problem all along – not having a purpose. She reached into the bag and felt the gun. Or was it the power, long ago abdicated, that she finally felt? Whatever the reason she was ready.
The Rainoak Apartments were located on a pristine park-like setting of curving lanes and very green lawns.
The cab swerved onto a parking pad.
“I need you to wait,” Paloma said. “Keep the meter running.”
The cabbie nodded.
She walked to the apartment door and pressed the small lit pad. A buzz sounded, followed by footsteps. Suddenly, the door swung open.
He wore a T-shirt and shorts. His blond hair was damp and brushed back. At the moment of recognition, the cool, collected look of a Ralph Lauren model suddenly turned sour and pinched. His eyes dropped to the gun, his gun. “What the –”
And the door slammed shut.
Negotiations were out of the question. Paloma simply pointed the gun at the lock and pulled the trigger. The sound of splintering wood was oddly comforting. She rammed her shoulder against the door and barreled in.
At the end of the short hall, Brandon stood with a raised golf club.
“Put that thing down,” she told him.
“Get the hell out of here.”
“Dear Brandon, I’m not going anywhere. We need to talk.”
“Screw you.”
She raised the gun in his direction. “Put the club down now.”
He took a step toward her.
She pulled the trigger. A wayward shot ricocheted off the ceiling and hit a glass cabinet behind him. He froze.
“If you don’t want to talk. I’ll shoot you right here, right now. Your call.”
He stepped backwards into the living room. “You’re crazy.”
Paloma followed. “No argument here. But besides being crazy, I’ve got nothing to lose. I’m a dead woman, remember? And can hardly be held accountable for my actions. So, put the club down. NOW!”
He let it fall.
“Good boy. Do you know where Natalie is at this very moment?”
“Natalie who?”
“She’s down at the police station telling them you killed her husband. She’s setting you up Brandon. Having you take the rap. A jealous lover. She’s squeezing you out of all the money and moving on.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Really?” Paloma surveyed the room. A land line sat on the floor beside the couch. She nudged her chin. “Use that phone. Call the precinct yourself. Ask to speak with her.”
He looked confused.
“Don’t act as stupid as you look. It’s unbecoming and deadly. In sixty seconds I’ll be leaving. In the same sixty seconds you’ll either be alive or dead. Your choice.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to call 911 and tell them everything – about killing Clay Abbott, about Natalie being behind everything. It’s your only hope for a semblance of a life.”
His eyes darted around the room. Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. Paloma understood all too well. He wanted to run, but fear and uncertainty were gathering momentum. Perhaps she should take him out of his misery.
Suddenly, the gun she was holding felt light. Her index finger rested on the trigger. What would it be like to shoot a bullet into his head? Would it be like an exploding watermelon? A glorious burst? With two hands, she raised the gun. Yes, maybe she was crazy. And aimed.
“Stop, stop,” he screamed, protecting his face with his hands. “I’ll do it.”
Was it too late? Paloma wanted to shoot, to end his pain. And hers.
Remarkably, he scrambled for the phone and punched in the three digits. “My name’s Brandon Sills,” he said into the receiver. “I have a confession to make…”
Paloma let the weight of the gun pull her arm down.
She then turned and left.
At seven-twenty that evening, Paloma lay on the hotel bed wrapped in the same blanket left behind by Maddie. She continued to bury her nose into the wooly coverlet. The girl’s lavender scent was both comforting and upsetting. Swaddled in the sweet warmth, Paloma succumbed to the idea that this would be the closest she’d ever get to her daughter. Their reunion proved the girl hated her and Paloma understood why. The litany of reasons were endless and reprehensible. But clearly, the most defining cause was Paloma’s total lack of maternal instinct. How else could she explain the abandonment of her very own child? She felt empty and so very tired. A black and white movie played on the muted television. This was her life, alone and colorless.
Intruding on her endless and deplorable self pity, the phone rang. Her body jolted as if electrified. She made a quick sign of the cross, hoping for good news, but ready for bad. If Brandon or Natalie were to get away, she’d kill them both. She picked up the phone.
“Paloma?” Max said.
“I’ve been waiting.”
“Listen, I’m sorry. Let’s see where to start –”
Paloma interrupted. “Before you say anything, you got to promise me one thing. No more lies.”
“Lies? I don’t lie to you.”
“Like hell. What about me suing the hotel or you meeting with Maddie a few months ago? And God only knows what others. I want the truth. I can handle the truth. No sugar-coating, no creative reframes. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” He paused. “Are you ready?”
Paloma felt sick. “Go on.”
“We caught a break. For some reason, Brandon rolled over and sang like a canary. Of all the crazy things he called 911 and made a full confession, a confession that is admissible and legal.”
“What did he say?”
“Just like we suspected it was all Natalie’s idea. But the plan was more involved than we’d figured. The first person they had planned to kill was Maddie, Clay’s only heir. Apparently they wanted all of Clay’s assets, past, present and future. But when they realized you were still alive and interested in the health and well-being of Maddie, they had to get you first.” He took a deep breath. “Paloma, all this craziness bought your daughter time.”
Paloma’s body went boneless.
“Anyway, as time went by and they couldn’t get to you, Natalie got antsy and decided to get rid of Clay.”
“How’s Maddie?”
“She’s a trooper. I couldn’t have done it without her. Listen. We spent a lot of time talking. I’m thinking it would be a great idea for all of us to go on a trip after the funeral.”
“Max, she wouldn’t want to do that. She hates me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re her mother. Here, I’ll put her on.”
Paloma was about to say, no, when her daughter’s voice came through, “Mom?”
Paloma’s heart fluttered.
Say it again, Maddie. Just one more time.
“Yes, sweetheart,” she managed.
“Mom, let’s go to Disney.”
People write for all kinds of reasons – to amuse, to purge, to create, to take words and give them life, to seek fame, fortune, to live beyond death. Then there are people like me, who bumble along only wishing to take a thought and make it two, then three. I never write about myself. Who would read it? But somehow, hidden in the smoke and mirrors, it is always about the writer. And now I must confess – Paloma is my emotional story and is truer than anything I’ve ever written.
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