Paloma: A Laurent & Dove Mystery (12 page)

“How good of a friend is this person?”

Max gave a nervous laugh. “We used to be friends a long time ago.”

“Is the person capable of taking care of his own business?”

Max shrugged. “I don’t know. Possibly, possibly not.” 

“If something were to happen to this person, how would you feel?”

“Not good.”

“There’s your answer. Max, bottom line is we all got to live with ourselves.”

Max nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“So, who are you talking about? Do I know him?”

“It’s Agnes.” 

“Agnes?”

Max settled back. “Curtis, I don’t know where to start. The last couple of days have been a bear. I’ve been chasing her.”

“Chasing her? Why would you do that?”

“Well…” Max paused, he’d been misrepresenting his relationship with Agnes for years. “Listen Curtis, I know I’ve been telling you stuff about Agnes. How she’s been doing great and everything. But for sometime, I haven’t actually spoken with her.” 

“Not spoken to her? How’s that possible?”

“Oh, I’ve been seeing her all right, but we haven’t exactly talked.”

“I’m totally lost Max. What are you trying to say?”

Max smiled nervously. “My contact with her hasn’t been face to face.”

Curtis grinned. “Sounds like you had her under surveillance.”

Max didn’t answer.

A look of disbelief crept into Curtis’s face. “She was under surveillance? But I thought she was your friend. Why would you need to sneak around?”

Max wanted to defend himself but shrugged. “There’s a lot more to it.”  

The door to the den suddenly opened and Satchel rushed in. “Daddy, look what I got in my happy meal.” He held up a small toy car.

“That’s nice,” said Curtis. “Did your brothers get one too?”

“Yes, but Randel doesn’t want his. Can I have it?”

Max smiled at Satchel. “Can I see?”

Satchel showed Max. “We bought it with the money Tía gave us.”

“Really? Well, it sure is cool,” said Max.

“Layla,” Curtis called out. “Come and get Satchel. Max and I are talking.”

Layla came to the door. She and Curtis seemed to exchange a meaningful glance. Layla then grabbed Satchel’s hand, led him from the room and quietly closed the door.

Max edged forward. “Listen, Curtis, I know I’ve haven’t been forthcoming about Agnes. A lot’s happened over the years. Now things are closing in and I need to sort things out.”

“Max,” Curtis said with a warm smile, “whatever’s on your mind, I’m here for you. You know that.”

Relieved by Curtis’s support, Max sighed. “Do you think people change?”

Curtis laughed. “I assume that’s a rhetorical question.”

“No, I’m serious. Do you think people change?”

“Of course, people change. You’re looking at one right now. Remember how I used to be? I was an angry man. Angry about Michael, about Ma, the system, about God. You name it. So, what does this have to do with Agnes?”

“Well, Agnes…she liked me once.”

“Liked you? How?”

“You know.”

Curtis shook his head. “Max, I don’t know.”

“Like a woman likes a man.”

“You and Agnes?” Curtis grinned. “Get outta here.”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Not really. You’ve always spoken highly of her, but I thought it was more out of respect. I’ve always encouraged you to take it to another level. Now you’re telling me it went further from the get go?”  

Max slumped in the chair. “Yeah, it was pretty hot at one time.”

“When?”

“During the trial.”

Curtis got a faraway look. “You and Agnes all along, huh?” He gave Max the once over. “So what happened? How did it end?”

“She was placed in the Witness Protection Program.”

“Yeah, and…”

“She moved to Chicago.”

“And?”

“I had to let her go.”

Curtis looked confused. “Max, you’re jumping from point A to point C. Something’s missing.”

“No. That’s pretty much it.”

“Okay. Let me get this straight. You and Agnes were involved, right?”

Max nodded.

“You cared for her and she cared for you.”

“Yes.”

“So she moved for her own protection and you let her go.”

“Right.”

“Why did you let her go?”

Max fidgeted in the chair. “It was for her own good, her safety.”

“So your feelings for her changed?”

“My feelings never changed.”

There was more to the story than Max wanted to say. If only he could live his life over.

Curtis asked, “Did you visit her in Chicago?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t pick up where you left off?”

“No.”

“Why was that?” 

“She met someone, got married, had a daughter.” 

Curtis nodded. “And that’s how it ended?”

“Pretty much. I mean once she got married, what was I supposed to do?”

Curtis rubbed his face. “Tough luck. Sounds like you went separate ways.”

“I still saw her a few times after she got married. Visited her house, met her family. Then something happened – Tony got paroled.”

“Oh, God,” said Curtis shaking his head.

“Even though she was living in Chicago and had married, I felt I needed to tell her about Tony. Just so she’d be aware, you know?”

“Did she freak out?”

“I didn’t think so at first. She seemed to take the news in stride. She was married, had a new name, but within the week, Nancy Abbott, the woman Agnes had become, drowned in Lake Michigan.”

“Drowned?”

“At least that was what she wanted people to think.”

“But why? To get out of her marriage? Why would she do that? And leave a child behind.” Curtis shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like Agnes.” 

“No it doesn’t. Anyway, after Chicago, she moved to New York City where she’s been for about fifteen years.”

“How did you track her down?”

“We’re all creatures of habit. Agnes’s no different. The February after the alleged drowning, she showed up at her parents’ graves.”

“Man, that must have been a shock. Seeing her when she was supposed to be dead.”

“It was. But a good shock,” said Max.

“Yeah, I suppose it would be.”

“I followed her from the cemetery to an apartment in the South Bronx. Later on she moved to Manhattan.”

“And you’ve never spoken with her?”

“Right.”

“Why is that?”

Max shook his head. “I don’t know. Never seemed like a good time. But everything changed a couple of days ago. I thought she was gone for good and I’d never get a chance to talk to her. It scared the crap out of me.”

Curtis put his elbows on the desk and leaned forward. “What do you mean ‘gone for good’?”

“Her apartment was firebombed. Apparently someone’s after her.”

“After her? You mean to kill her?”

Max nodded.

Concern clouded Curtis’s face. “When did you find this out?”

“Last Friday.”

“And she hasn’t been heard from since?”

“Right.”

Curtis rubbed his forehead.

“But, listen Curtis, getting back to my question, about people changing. Agnes isn’t Agnes anymore. She isn’t even Nancy Abbott. She’s now a woman called Paloma Dove, a stranger. So where does that leave me? Can a person change so much? ”

Curtis wheeled the chair back. Distracted, he looked out the window. Exhaling an audible breath, he then turned to Max. “Agnes was here yesterday.”

Max leapt forward. “Agnes was here?”

Curtis raised his hand. “Listen. She made me promise not to say a word to you. But if she’s in danger, we need to do something.”

“She doesn’t want to talk to me?”    

“Max, she doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

Max felt as if he had been hit in the solar plexus. He slumped into the chair. “Did she say why?”

Curtis shook his head. 

“How did she look?”

“To be honest. Not good. Too thin, kinda nervous.” 

“What did she want?”

“She picked up a package she had mailed to me.”

“I have to see her. Where’s she staying?”

“She didn’t say.”

“When was she here?”

“Last night around eight.” Curtis looked worried. “Max, could the Catonis be behind this?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve got to find her. Anything else you can tell me?”

“All I know is that she came into town early evening and left by foot.”

Max bolted up. “Curtis, I gotta take off.”

“What are you going to do?”

“If she spent the night in Buffalo, I think I know where she might be.”

Curtis stood. “Listen, if you catch up with her, tell her I’m sorry. Now what can I do?”

Max slapped his friend’s arm. “You’ve already been a big help.” 

After a quick good-bye to Layla and the kids, Max shot down the front porch stairs and dove into his car.

***

After hanging up on Max, Paloma decided to look for guidance the only way she knew how. She went to the supermarket, bought a bouquet of roses, and headed to the cemetery.

Now climbing the ridge to where her parents were buried, she stopped, took a breath and admired the splashes of color along the way, blooming rhododendrons and heavily laden peonies. They were beautiful to the eye, but fleeting. In a few weeks the petals would fall and the blossoms would brown and wither. Take a special moment and before long it disintegrates, leaving a vague memory. She resumed walking. Max. The good memories had long since faded. Not the best testament to their love, or was it her love? What did it matter? At the crest of a hill, she looked down to Mirror Lake. The brilliant sunlight glinted off the blue gray surface. She took a deep breath of fresh air and peacefulness, easing away the trauma of the last few days then continued onward.

At the two granite headstones Paloma whispered,  “
Hola, Popi.  Hola, Mamá.  Aquí estoy
.” She laid the flowers across the graves, made the sign of the cross, and sat on the ground. Passing her hand over the blades of grass, she said, “How are you today?” The gentle breeze was her only answer. Paloma plucked a few dead leaves off the grass, then felt the granite. Its heat warmed her hands, like the support both parents had always given her. Through the polio, her parents often went without. First selling and leaving their home in Puerto Rico and traveling to New York City for better health care. Then later moving to Buffalo where there was less violence and the hope of a better life. Paloma shook her head by the irony of it all. She had tried to be the good daughter, church on Sundays, novenas on Mondays, prayers every night. But that was a long time ago. Whatever faith she had, wavered then crumbled the night she found Michael Mays’s body. 

At first it wasn’t any of her business. Certainly Tony and Joey would be arrested. The evidence was overwhelming. But she had underestimated the honor among police and the common disregard for a black man’s life. Before he died, it was Popi who convinced her to make that fateful call to Max. Popi who always said there were reasons for being on this earth. Justice. But where was the justice for her? Since Michael was murdered, she had become a scurrying mouse, always hiding in shadows, always fearful of retribution. And now her greatest fear had finally come to pass. Someone wanted her dead. Paloma sighed deeply. “Popi, what should I do?”

An answer came. She had to stop running and confront her fears. 

After saying a Hail Mary, she then set off to the place she hadn’t returned to in twenty-five years – the scene of the crime.

Chapter Eleven

While it was possible that Agnes had left town, it was just as plausible that she’d remained and stayed overnight. Leaving by foot from Curtis’s home could take her to the bus terminal or to any number of hotels. She had been running for days and would likely want to sit tight in a place she knew well. Hitting the downtown hotels was a priority, but there was one other place he needed to check out.

He turned into Forest Lawn Cemetery and passed through the iron gates. Within moments, the traffic noise, buffered and barely noticeable, was left behind and the winding road that dipped and curved, quieted his heart. The tranquil park-like setting amid the mausoleums and statues was timeless and eerily comforting – nature with its process of birth, death and rebirth was an endless cycle. Take any one segment and it may seem fleeting or final, but seen as a whole, nature was complete. 

He geared away from Mirror Lake and forged along a narrow road that hugged the side of a hill. He then pulled onto a short gravel shoulder, stopped and hauled out a pair of binoculars from the glove compartment. He lumbered from the car and stepped into the brilliant sunlight. The vantage point was similar from earlier visits, but the season was different. Greenery replaced the stark, winter landscape and the water of Mirror Lake was no longer a steel gray, but blue. His glance ran across the vista. The only people in sight were two women walkers who skirted the rim of the lake. Moving to a spot beneath a sugar maple, he sat and adjusted the binoculars. Once focused, he pointed the glasses toward the distant rim and checked for the grave site.

Agnes’s parents, Miriam and Roberto López, were buried in an area to the right of a small statue, which in turn was situated several feet away from a Hawthorne tree. Through the glasses, he zeroed in on a row of tombstones. At the name
López
, he stopped. A flash of color caught his attention. He squinted into the binoculars, made an adjustment, then zoomed in. What the… flowers? 

Suddenly, he jumped from the ground, barreled down the hill, and bounded up the incline. 

A hundred yards later and out of breath, he saw them close up and personal – fresh red roses. He spun in every direction, looking for any movement. Finding none, he ran higher to the crest of the mound. Once on top, he glanced down the other side. The timeless landscape held no clues. 

Like the wind and water, she had slipped through his fingers.

***

A sign, in red curlicue letters, jutted out –
Catoni’s Pastries
. Paloma stood stock still. The sign was different, but little else had changed. She looked down the narrow driveway and saw the side door she’d come out of that early Saturday morning. She’d been taking garbage to the dumpster and had to squeeze between the cruiser and the brick wall. That’s when she saw Michael, curled in a fetal position with blood coming out of his ear.