Paloma: A Laurent & Dove Mystery (27 page)

The spiel sounded canned. “Comforting to know. I guess my first problem is I don’t know my own style.”

She laughed. “Not to worry, no one does. Trust me.” 

She reached beneath the coffee table and pulled out an acrylic clipboard. “We’ll start here. It’s your decorating profile, totally confidential of course.” 

“Of course.”

She leaned closer. She smelled flowery. “Just go down the list and check the boxes that pertain to your situation. You retain the top page and I keep the answer sheet. I’ll then put the answers into the computer and
voilà
, we’ll have a starting point.”

Max glanced at the questions –
How often do you entertain? What kind of music do you prefer? Which one of the following painters do you like? What is your average annual salary? 

“Interesting approach,” Max said. “A lot different from Home Depot.”

“I should think so.”

Max smiled. “But I’m a little confused.”

“How so?”

“Well, once we figure out my profile, how do we decide what to do?” He looked around the pristine office. “Aren’t you supposed to have books around or samples?”

“That’s so yesterday. Everything’s computerized. Colors, styles, room dimensions, layout. I’ll be able to show you hundreds, thousands of items with the click of the mouse.”

“Really? That’s interesting.”

“Yes, it’s cutting edge technology.”

“You know I used to know a guy who did lots with computers. Clay Abbott. Any relation?”

Her smile froze. “Clay? Why he’s my husband.”

Max sat back. “No kidding. Is this a small world or what?”

“I’m sorry. Have we met?”

“No, I’m afraid not. When I knew him he was married to Nancy.”

She stiffened. “I see.” 

“Tragic what happened to her.”

“Yes,” she said flatly.

“I remember visiting Clay, Nancy and their daughter… Can’t seem to remember the child’s name.”

“Madeleine.”

“Yes of course, Maddie. Cute as a button.”

With a plastic smile she asked, “And how did you know Nancy?”

“We were from the same hometown.”

Her tan seemed to take on a reddish hue. “And where was that?”

“Buffalo.”

“So you two were friends?”

“Yes.”

She seemed distracted. Silence fell between. 

Max picked up the slack. “Did they ever find the body?”

“The body? No.”

“That’s a shame. There’s never closure.”

“Yes. I suppose you’re right.” She rubbed her palms along her skirt.  

Nerves? Max changed the subject. “From the looks of your business everyone must be doing fine.”

Her smile returned. “Yes we are.”

Max padded his pockets. “Oh, shoot.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I must have left my glasses in the flower shop. Listen, I’ll be right back. Can I leave the form here?”

“Certainly.”

Max got up and laid the questionnaire on the couch cushion. “Won’t be long.”

She walked him to the door. “Take your time.”

On the way to the flower shop, Max consulted his watch. How much time should he give her? During their brief interaction Max was certain he’d rattled the cage. Five minutes should do it.             

The florist was three stores down. An electronic bell chimed. The sudden profusion of color and scents hit him like a wall. He stepped down the short circular aisles. How deceptive flowers could be – beautiful yet dying if not dead already. Checking out the roses in a refrigerated case, Max decided to splurge. On a card he wrote,
Tank, Roses are red, Violets are blue, Who da Man?, Gotta be You
, and sent them to his old office. 

When he returned to Natalie’s, she was back at the desk. “Did you find your glasses?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I totally lost track of time. Listen, could I take the form with me and return it tomorrow.”

“No problem.”

Max reached down and removed the questionnaire from the clipboard. “You have a great place here.”

“Thanks.”

Once outside Max got in the rental and drove onto a side street. 

Out of sight, he removed the voice-activated tape recorder from the folds of the questionnaire. Had she taken the bait? He pressed
rewind
, then hit
play.
After some dead space, her voice came through nicely. He turned up the volume.

“It’s me… Then listen. This guy came in here a minute ago. Max somebody. Said he knew the family. Have you heard of him…What’s going on at your end?... Five hundred? What feet… Don’t screw it up again… About tomorrow. I’m sick of waiting for the right time. Shoot the sucker… Damn that little bitch... Just do it.”

He rewound and listened again. Sonafabitch!  Where the hell was Agnes? Again he listened to the tape – “
Shoot the sucker
”. Who was being set up tomorrow? “
Damn that little bitch
.” Max could only imagine one person – Maddie.

Chapter Twenty-Five

After Daisy left, Paloma gathered some clothes in the bathroom. Her underwear, still damp, hung on the shower rod. She had washed at 3 a.m. but not early enough. Debating whether to toss the few things out, a knock rapped at the door. She froze and listened. Maybe it was for the room next door. 

“Paloma, it’s Brandon. I need to speak with you.” 

Her face scrunched up. Brandon? 

Stepping from the bathroom, she looked to the table where they had been sitting. Had he left something behind? Did he want the handkerchief back? 

“Be right there,” she said heading to the door. 

Reaching for the chain, she glimpsed through the peephole and froze. Yes, it was Brandon but his face was plastered against the door, his one eye directly in her line of vision. Their heads were no more than two inches apart, the thickness of the door.

Paloma reared back from the proximity. 

“Is there something you forgot?” she called out. 

“I need to talk to you. It’s about Daisy.” 

“I’ll be a minute,” she said feeling uneasy.   

Taking a deep breath, she shook out her shoulders. This was silliness. There was no need to be nervous. But what could he possibly say about Daisy? Was she falling apart?

Once again, she looked through the peephole. His head was turned just so, the profile of his face off to the side. She blinked with disbelief. The crisscrossed weave in the light-colored hat was familiar, too familiar. My God, was she going mad? 

She pulled away from the door. Had he been wearing a hat? No! His head was uncovered. He had blond hair, a full crown of it. She rested against the door. Her heart hammered. This made no sense. It was Max who was after her. Not this guy. Think. Was he carrying a hat? Possibly. Of course…but she’d shaken his hand. Maybe it’d been tucked under his arm or…what? 

Paloma braced herself and peeked again through the peephole. He was farther away, standing in the middle of the hallway. His upper body showed. She focused on the hat. There were thousands of straw hats. And this wasn’t really straw, just a heavy weave. Not the same at all. Besides he’d want to wear a hat, especially in the summer, especially being so fair. She breathed deeply. Anyway, he was wearing a suit. No trench coat. He continued to stare at the peephole. What was it about him that creeped her out? Yes. His relationship with Daisy. He didn’t care about her. So why was he back expressing concern? There was only one way to find out. 

Paloma turned the latch and yanked the door open. But the chain pulled taut. She peered through the crack, about to say something, when he stepped toward her. Suddenly she caught a full view of him. Her eyes dropped. A trench coat was draped over his arm. 

She slammed the door shut.

“Paloma, what’s wrong? I need to speak with you about Daisy. Only take a minute. I need your advice.” 

The room swirled. She buckled. This had to be a bizarre coincidence. He’d just sold her a gun. 

Her eyes settled on the handkerchief. If he was the killer, why would he have given her a gun? There was only one way to find out.

She rushed to the table and unwrapped the gun. 

Another knock. 

With her heart pounding, she turned off the safety and held the gun with two hands. Aiming at a pillow, she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

Click. 

Her hands shook. 

Calm down. Try again.   

With eyes wide open, she applied pressure. The hammer edged backward. Dear God, please shoot. 

Click.

“Paloma?”

She bolted for the phone and lifted the receiver. 

“How can I help you?” came a calm voice.

She tried to get the words out. “There’s a man –” and stopped. What good would this do? He’d only leave and wait for her outside.

“Ma’am?”

She threw the phone back onto the cradle. Her eyes darted around the room for something, anything she could use to defend herself. 

The lamp! 

Fumbling into her bag, she called out. “You caught me in the shower. Be there in a second.”

Inside her bag, she dug around for the straight edge. Returning to the bedside table, she ripped the lamp cord from the wall and severed the wire from the base. She then split the wires and stripped four inches of insulation off the copper. Her fingers were remarkably steady as if they weren’t attached to her. 

At the door, she looped the bare wires to the stem of the knob, then twisted the ends together. Was she insane? Could this possibly work? 

She picked up the plug and went into the bathroom. Next to the door was an outlet. She’d have one shot. Maybe she’d get lucky. 

She stood at the bathroom door and kept an eye peeled to the knob. Suddenly, the surroundings melted away. “Brandon?”

“Yes.”

Wait for the slightest turn. “Come on in,” she said in a firm voice.

The moments, milliseconds stood still. She dared not blink. Her life sped by in warp speed, impressions of the lush island, the market with so much color, guavas, pineapples, chinas; her mother’s soulful eyes, her father’s adoring words, and Maddie. These images could only mean she was about to die. Remarkably, she felt calm. Would it be so awful? Not any harder than this life. She thought of doing the sign of the cross, but her hand still held the plug. Instead she begged for forgiveness, for all she had done, for all she was doing. “Bless me Father,” she said when the knob distinctly moved. Guiltless, she rammed the plug into the socket. Instantaneously, an eerie buzz reverberated within the walls. A thud hit the door. The lights went out. 

She flew from the bathroom and grabbed her bag. 

At the door, she yanked loose the wires, slid off the chain and threw open the door. 

Half sitting, he lay crumpled on the ground. His one hand was red, the other dangled, hanging uselessly to his side. The straw hat had fallen off his head, the trench coat was puddled beside him. “Bitch,” he said.

A woman from the room next door poked her head into the hall. “Is your electric out?” 

“Yes,” Paloma said. 

The woman’s eyes sank to the man on the floor. She slammed the door.

There wasn’t much time. “Who sent you?” demanded Paloma.

He reached into the folds of the coat. 

Paloma stepped between his splayed legs and kicked as hard as she could. He groaned and  doubled over, falling against the wall. Paloma stooped down. With a featherweight grasp she reached beneath the coat and felt metal. Pulling it out, her stomach clenched. The gun was three times thicker and a foot longer than the snubbie.

“Hardly playing fair,” she said dryly. 

He looked at her with hate in his eyes. 

She dumped the gun into her bag and fled down the stairs.

***

Max dialed information then put a call through to the Abbott residence. When a female voice answered, Max asked for Clay. He was at work, she told him. 

In record time, Max returned to the same spot near the Abbott home. The only car left in the drive was a yellow Bug. He knew what he had to do, but the logistics presented a dilemma. Convincing Maddie to go with him, a stranger, wasn’t going to be easy. She had no reason to trust him, no reason to believe him. Another concern was how much to divulge, about himself, about her mother. He put the binoculars down and opened the car door. Walking across the park lawn, he knew it could get ugly. Still, he’d have to do whatever it took. 

At the front door, he braced himself and pressed the bell. In the distance a pleasant, unobtrusive chime sounded. Apparently, no one disturbed the sleep of the
nouveau riche
. Footfalls came loping downstairs. Moments later the door swung open. 

The girl, now a woman, shocked him. She was all grown up, a knock off of her mother, only taller and more modern. The low slung jeans and crop top showed a pierced belly button.

“Can I help you?” she asked with a broad smile.

“You’re Maddie, right?”

She nodded.

“It’s so nice to meet you again.”

She blinked. “And you are?”

“Max Laurent. I was a friend of your parents many years ago. The last time I saw you, you were finger painting at the kitchen table.” 

No recognition showed on her face. He held out his hand, but she seemed tentative. Think, Max. What else? He blurted, “You also enjoyed tap dancing around the kitchen.”

She laughed and loosened up, shaking his hand. “I was always such a ham. Won’t you come in?”

The foyer was bathed in light from the two-story window. An interior water fountain gurgled in a corner grotto.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember you, Mr. Laurent.”

“You were very young. Around three years old, I think.”

“Hmm,” she said politely. “My father’s at work –”

“Actually, it’s you I want to see.”

“Me?” She stepped back. “Why’s that?”

“To be honest I’m not sure where to start.”

Her face retained a pleasant smile.

Max needed time to talk with her, but the house wasn’t the place. Natalie could breeze in at any time. “Would you like to go for a walk in the park?”

Her smile faded. “Excuse me?”

There was no good way of putting this. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the recorder. “Maddie, I want you to listen and tell me what you think.”