Paloma: A Laurent & Dove Mystery by Linda A. Lavid Read Free Book Online Page A

uncomfortable silence came between them.
    “So you’ll be expecting Paloma back on Sunday?” he asked.
    “No, I’m not sure when she’ll be back.”
    “I thought that’s what you told me in the hospital.”
    “Did I? Yes, I may have, but I meant next Sunday and that’s tentative. You know how Paloma is.”
    “Yes. She does keep to herself.”
    “You can say that again.”
    Max smiled. They agreed on an irrefutable point.
    Daisy rose from the couch. “Dinner should be ready. I’ll set up a spot near the window.”
    “Can I help?”
    “No. You sure I can’t get you anything? How about a bottle of water?”
    “I’m fine. Thanks.”
    “Feel free to browse. If there’s anything you like, I’ll give you a good price. Be back in a minute.”
    “Thanks for the offer.”
    As the clatter of dishes filtered from the kitchen, Max considered Daisy’s offer. The volume of merchandise was intimidating. He wouldn’t know where to start. Instead, he stood and wandered to the window.
    The evening sun bathed the city in a soft yellow haze. Between the towering buildings and reflecting stories of glass, the city was Oz-like, magical. But what truly caught his attention were the pigeons roosting on a shadowed ledge. How well they acclimated to city life, living in the open but unreachable in another realm where no matter what happened in the sewers or alleys, the streets or parks, they survived. So where was his little bird?                
    “Dinner’s ready.” 
    Max turned. Managing two heaping plates of food, Daisy walked to the table.
    Max rushed over. “Let me help.”
    “No, please sit.” 
    “Ladies first,” Max said and pulled out her chair. 
    “Thank you.”
    Max slid into a seat beside her. “My pleasure. The food smells delicious. Compliments to the cook. Perhaps you could give me the recipe.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t use a recipe. Maybe you should find a nice boricua girlfriend.”
    “Boricua?”
    “A Puerto Rican girl.”
    Max smiled. His thoughts precisely. He took a bite of food. “Tell me about Paloma.”
    “Paloma?  But you know her.” She broke eye contact and reached for a glass of water. “I suspect she hasn’t changed.”
    Max sensed some resistance. What was she hiding? There was one way to find out. He put his fork down. “Daisy, have the police been here yet?”
    “Police? No. Why would they come here?”
    “Your mother, well someone purposely threw a fire bomb into that apartment. She died as a result of it.”
    “Yes, that’s true, but – ”
    “Daisy, your mother was murdered.”
    “Murdered?” she echoed.
    “And whether it’s tonight, tomorrow, or next week, they’ll be here asking a lot of questions. Questions that will need answers.”
    She swallowed hard. “What kinds of questions?”
    “For one, how often did she stay at Paloma’s.”
    “You mean overnight? The first time was this past week.”
    “Why was she there? Was it her choice?”
    “We agreed it would be like a mini vacation. She’d have the place to herself. Get to visit with some of her old friends.”
    “But why this particular week?”
    “Well, I needed a break too.”
    “A break from your mother? Didn’t you two get along?”
    She dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Of course we got along. But like I said, we sometimes argued.”
    “Daisy, didn’t you tell me you had company from out of town?”
    “Yes, exactly. My friend was visiting.”
    “So why didn’t you and your friend stay at Paloma’s?”
    She challenged his gaze. “Why are you asking me these things?”
    “Daisy, I want you to understand the kinds of questions you may have to answer.”
     “Really? Sounds like you’re asking me to get my story straight. But I have no story.”
    “Can your friend vouch for you? Account for where you were the night of the fire?”
    Her breath caught for a moment. “After the first night, he got a call and had to leave. I haven’t seen him since. As for the night of