Paloma: A Laurent & Dove Mystery (29 page)

He punched more keys. “You certainly have. There must be a mistake. Wait a moment, please.”

The young man reached for a phone and spoke quietly. After hanging up, he told Paloma that someone would be with her shortly.

Standing to the side of the registration desk, Paloma racked her brain. What the hell now? It had to be a mistake. Some computer snafu.

Moments later a woman approached. “Miss Dove? My name is Ms. Rawls. I’m head of security.”

“Security?”

“I spoke with someone recently who told me you had a problem with our service.”

“But I’ve never complained.”

“Do you recall an incident last week?”

Paloma tried to jog her memory. “I can’t seem –”

“About the gentlemen in the white car.”

“Yes, the white car. But –”

“Miss Dove it was evident from our security cameras that no one from a white car got out and robbed you on these premises.”

“Robbed me? No one robbed me. What are you talking about?”

“I spoke with the manager and since you have a liable suit against us, it would be best for all parties to keep their distance. Wouldn’t you agree? Now I’ll happily have our desk clerk make some calls for a room close by.”

As the words came out of the woman’s mouth, Paloma couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The only person who knew about the white car was Max. Had he come to Chicago?

Finishing up the woman added, “Would that be all right?”

Paloma nodded. “Yes, certainly.”

“Once everything is settled you would be welcomed to return. Although, I have to say I’m not sure why you’d want to. We do not tolerate frivolous claims.”

Paloma smiled. She couldn’t blame this woman for Max’s lies.

“The gentleman at the desk will call for another room. Is that satisfactory?”

“Yes,” Paloma said. What the hell was Max doing? Was his plan to track her all over the world just to make her life miserable? 

“Miss Dove?” The young man was at her side, proffering a piece of paper. “There’s a room at the Continental, only two blocks away. If you like, a cab will be provided by us.”

“I have a car.”

“Well, then you’re all set.”

“Actually, there is one more thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“I need to inform my colleague where I’ll be staying. Can you give me his room number?”

“Certainly. What’s the name?”

“Max Laurent.”

As the elevator climbed to the ninth floor, Paloma shook more with anger than surprise. The man was a joke, never around when you needed him and when he was, he just wasted everyone’s time. Hell. No more. She sprang from the elevator and walked with determination to Room 921. She walloped the door with her fist. “Open up Laurent!”

No response. 

She kicked the door. “It’s too early to be out. I know you’re in there. You want to wake up everyone? Fine with me. Only fair to get you thrown out like you did to me.”

Nothing.

She rammed her shoulder against the door. A searing pain wracked her side. She put her ear to the door. No sound, but had the door moved? Like Brandon had done, Paloma glanced into the telescopic lens of the peephole. Paloma noticed a shift of light, as if an eye had been looking then pulled away. Paloma whispered to the door. “I know you’re there. You’re a coward for not seeing me.”

The distinct sound of the door unlatching echoed in the hall. Paloma stood back. Slowly, the door swung open. 

In the backlight of a risen sun, Paloma blinked, trying to focus. A slender young woman with mussed hair stood in front of her. The familiarity to her own face was uncanny. Paloma needed to look more closely, put on a light or two, when the girl’s lips moved. “Are you my mother?”

Paloma strained to comprehend. She stepped closer, disbelieving yet hoping. She reached out to touch the girl’s face. When the young woman didn’t cringe, Paloma felt a tidal wave of emotion. Instantaneously, Paloma, choking with love, put her arms around the girl. “Yes, I’m your mother.” Paloma felt the small bones in Maddie’s back. Her dark soft hair smelled of lavender. Tears washed down Paloma’s face. “Yes, it’s me,
angelita
.” She stroked the girl’s hair. Paloma could only repeat the words spoken by her own mother. “
Estoy aqui, hijita. No te preocupes
.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” the girl’s voice said calmly.

Paloma froze, realizing the emotion of the moment was hers and hers alone. The girl’s arms remained at her side, her back was stiff, unrelenting.

Paloma pulled herself off and looked into her daughter’s face. “It’s a long story.”

Maddie stepped back and rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother.”

***

Like the previous day, Blondie was the first to leave the house, only today it was at eight. Instead of pink, she was decked out in the palest green, a dinner mint. Again, she stopped at the top of the steps and dug into her purse. With keys in hand, she then clacked her way across the drive and bounced into the Beemer. Off she sped to decorator land and her alibi destination, or so Max assumed.

With the sun up, he felt a second wind coming on. The night in the car had been long and tedious. He had listened ad nauseam to the tape. Max sighed deeply. Later on in the day, he’d have to call Tank and see if Agnes or one of her aliases showed up dead. Not something he was looking forward to. Still, Agnes had always been resourceful and there was no reason to jump the gun. He wasn’t going to allow it. The important thing was to keep focused on the matter at hand. Brandon. Max couldn’t wait to get his hands on him.   

At eight-thirty a man walked out the front door. Max leveled the binoculars and got a close up. The red hair wasn’t quite as dark and he wore glasses, but everything else marked him as Clay – laptop, bumbling gait, and his trademark tendency to look down when he walked. Still, the man had managed to marry twice. Must have something powerful under the hood. But then one of the wives was, from all probabilities, homicidal. Maybe whatever he had under the hood got rusty.

The Lexus was his. He got in and, like his wife, sped off. The Yellow VW bug, looking like an oversized M&M, now sat alone in the drive. The stage was set.

For the next hour, Max listened to the birds, watched the girl joggers in his rearview mirror, and wondered if the world was an atom of something greater. He also thought about Agnes’s body and how it played to his touch. He isolated each sensation – the heated breath on his neck, the rake of her fingernails along his back, the encircling legs. And before he realized it, he was fiddling with a one-way ticket to oblivion in a public park. To distract the achiness away, he flipped on the radio, catching the news. Turned out it was a wonderful day in the neighborhood. The roads were clear, the humidity low, and the Cubs won. The newscaster’s voice was sultry, smooth and an octave below normal. 

She continued, “In a late breaking report, entrepreneur Clay Abbott of Computer Tech was found fatally shot this morning in his penthouse office… We have on the line WGHT’s own Tim Granger. Tim what can you tell us?... Well, Morgan, specifics are sketchy at this time, but apparently Mr. Abbott’s secretary found him slumped over his desk at around nine this morning. From all preliminary reports he was shot at close range within –”

Max slammed his fist into the steering wheel. “Sonofabitch!” He then fired up the engine and blew out of the park.   

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Wringing her hands, Paloma sat beside the window oblivious to the Chicago skyline. Instead of the glimmering high-rises and diamond studded lake, her attention was drawn to the sound of the shower, the pounding water as it beat against the rattling glass. Her daughter had said she wanted to wash up, that she, Paloma, had woken her from a deep sleep. Over an hour had passed and Maddie was still tucked away in the bathroom. Girls could take a long time to get ready, but this seemed extraordinarily so. Paloma, getting increasingly nervous and unsure of herself, stood up and began to pace. 

Family reunions. Like a firefly to light, she was drawn to them on TV. Countless times she watched with tissue in hand, imagining her own reunion with Maddie. It always seemed that neither parent nor child ever asked questions, but fell into each other’s arms in a quaking heap. Now, Paloma wondered if the reunions were staged with a stick and carrot; if the director demanded drama for another night’s stay at the Ramada with room service. The follow-up trailers were often vague, “Christie and her dad Roy have plans to spend Christmas together” or “Mary and her daughter Jessica are saving money to meet again.”

Paloma didn’t want to have a follow-up. Instead she hoped this would be the beginning of something continuous, renewing. Now that they finally met, Paloma wasn’t about to let her daughter slip away. 

But there were a few concerns, discretion being foremost. She’d have to stay dead to the outside world. The danger to her daughter couldn’t be underestimated. And there was Clay. It wouldn’t be fair to him either. He had moved on, remarried as far as Paloma knew. She’d have to convince Maddie to keep their reunion a secret. There was no sense in putting anyone in danger with either a physical or emotional ambush.

Suddenly, silence. Paloma looked at the bathroom door. The shower was turned off. It wouldn’t be much longer before they’d be face to face. Paloma felt nervous. It would be up to her to carry the conversation. But where to start – apologies? explanations? questions? She had tons of each.

Paloma walked to the door. “Maddie? Would you like some breakfast? I could order something.”

“I don’t eat breakfast,” came the reply.

Paloma opened her mouth, about to say how important breakfast was but swallowed her words. Maybe telling her daughter what to do wouldn’t be the best idea. “Well, okay then. No problem,” she said in a hardly convincing tone.

A hair dryer went on.   

Paloma returned to her spot by the window. The absurdity of the situation couldn’t be ignored. Here she was in a hotel room where two antithetical forces in her life somehow converged – Maddie and Max, one to protect, one to be protected from. How had this happened? Perhaps it was a reunion from their earlier meeting, the time when Maddie had shown up in Buffalo asking questions about her. They must have exchanged addresses, phone numbers. But why was Maddie in the hotel when she had a perfectly fine home? 

Ten minutes later, the bathroom door opened. Her daughter, fully dressed with a purse draped from her shoulder, emptied into the room. Paloma felt panic. “You’re not leaving are you?” 

Maddie sat at the foot of the bed. “Possibly. I’m not sure.”

Without eye contact, her daughter reached over to the television and flipped it on. The room filled with talk show banter and the forced laughter of an overenthusiastic crowd.

“Maddie, I’m feeling a little uncomfortable. I’m not sure where to begin. I have so many questions and you probably do too.”

Her daughter turned up the volume. 

Paloma got up and sat in a chair by the TV. Reflection of the television screen flickered on her daughter’s face. Maddie appeared intent, her eyes fixed on the program. 

Paloma said, “Maybe I can ask you something. Would that be all right?”

No response.

“How do you know who I am?”

Maddie’s face remained unchanged.

“Maddie, I know you must be upset with –”

“You’ve been hovering,” Maddie said to the air in front of her.

“Excuse me?”

Shutting off the television, Maddie faced her mother. With a cool penetrating gaze, she asked, “How long have you been stalking me?”

“Stalking you? I never –”

“How many years have you snuck around spying on me?”

“I wouldn’t call it spying –”

“Just answer me. And it would be nice to hear the truth for a change.”

“Well, for a while –” 

“What’s a while, five years? Ten years?”

The edge in Maddie’s voice was cutting. Paloma felt rattled. She wanted to answer, but suddenly was worried about saying the wrong thing. Had it been ten years, longer, shorter?

“I don’t understand why this is such a tough question. You’re stalling.”

“I’m not stalling.”

“Then answer me,” Maddie demanded.

“Yes, now I remember. You were in Kindergarten.”

“WHAT?”

Paloma’s words tumbled out. “You went to a school that was on a circle. You had a pink backpack and a shiny yellow raincoat.”

Maddie shook her head. “You’re sick.”

“Sick?”

“I was your daughter. Not the enemy in guerilla warfare. What kind of mother are you?”

“I thought you were in danger –”

Maddie rolled her eyes. “Here we go again.”

“But you don’t understand. I had no other choice. My life had been threatened. If I was in danger that meant you were too.”

Maddie laughed. “Newsflash. The worst thing you can do to a kid is walk out on it.” She smirked. “My turn for a question. Why didn’t you take me with you?”

“Well, I…”

“It wasn’t even an option, was it?”        

“Of course it was an option, but it wasn’t…practical.”

“You mean expedient. Wouldn’t want to haul a whiny kid around.”

“That’s not true. You had a future with your father. I had nothing to offer. No job, no money. I didn’t even know if I’d survive.”

“But you did, didn’t you?”

“I managed.”

“So why didn’t you come back for me?”

“It wasn’t that easy. I was supposed to be dead. I had broken the law.”

“Oh, I get it. You would have gotten arrested. Now we’re getting somewhere. It’s always been about you, hasn’t it? Your comfort, your safety and to hell with me.”

“No, I –”

“Let me finish. It’s been almost fifteen years. At any point you could have claimed me. Maybe not the first year, or the second, but what about all the other years? You could have talked to dad, worked something out.”

“It’s just that things weren’t good for a very long time.”

“And how are things now? Are you destitute?”

“No.”

“Finally something truthful.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your car keys are sitting on the table. You drive a Lexus.”