Paloma: A Laurent & Dove Mystery (14 page)

“In that case, she’s in the lobby.”

“Thanks. By the way you got any rooms?” Max said.

Ari pulled the cigar out of his mouth. “For you? Sure. How about the Wedding Suite?”

Max rubbed his chin. “Wouldn’t I need a bride for that?”

Ari sat back. “Comes with.”

Max nodded. “Really? Now that’s service.”

He burped. “Always aiming to please.”

Max waved and sauntered down another short hall.

The place was a rickety mishmash of paneling, unmitred corners. Scuffs marks marred the green-pea walls along with poor plastering jobs that had shrunken and cracked. The “lobby” was halved from the original. It was one of Ari’s preferred renovations – two-by-fours thrown up with paneling tacked on. A big screen TV played in the darkened room where several roomers lounged on a couple of sagging plaid couches. Off to the side, by a bay window, Lola sat in a wheelchair. She’d been Ari’s mistress, a red-haired beauty at one time, who came down with sugar and lost part of her leg.

Max crossed the room and patted her shoulder. “Hey, Lola. How you doing?”

She looked around, squinted, and gave Max a warm smile. “I thought that was you.”

Max walked around and stood in front of her. Her eyes were still crystal blue. “Can’t get anything by you.” 

She reached out and grabbed his wrist. The cold grip was firm. “And don’t ever forget it. How nice to see you. Pull up a chair.”

A bearded man watching TV said, “Hey we’re listening to a program here. Go somewhere else to talk.” 

The old Lola would have bitten the guy’s head off, but instead she waved him off. “Put a lid on it, Scrub.” She looked at Max. “Don’t pay any attention. Sit.”

Max did as he was told.

“What a nice surprise. Max, you’re so considerate visiting the elderly. Penance or pleasure?”

Max laughed. “For one thing, you’re not elderly. Secondly, with you it’s always pleasure.”

She gave him an impish grin. “Always a charmer.”

“You taught me well.”

“I thought you might’ve forgotten.”

“Never.”

She turned her head and looked out the window. “Been watching a family of cardinals, the bird kind, not the Catholic ones. Let’s see where are they now?”   

Max smiled. 

His relationship with Lola had been unique, one of those people in his life that defied description – more than friends, less than lovers. Five years older than Max she’d come to the Villa at just seventeen, homeless, out of school. Ari had taken a liking to her. She was funny and smart, but drank too much. Perfect for Ari, her svengali, to control.

Her bright blue eyes turned to him. “Which reminds me… birds of a feather. We had some good times, didn’t we?”

Max nodded. “The best.”

They had never ‘gone all the way’, although Max had wanted. She taught him about women, what they liked. They practiced together, he the ingenue, she the pro. But Ari was always in the background, taking up her emotional space. Whatever potential they had never materialized.

“So what can I do for you?”

Max would have denied a hidden agenda, but Lola’s scent for bullshit was unprecedented.

“I’m looking for someone.”

Her eyebrows rose. “A case? I thought you retired.”

“This is personal.”

She smiled. “Personal?  You?”

“Yeah. Hard to believe, huh?”

“Oh, Max, everyone’s got to take a fall eventually.”

He grinned then slipped Agnes’s picture from his shirt pocket. “Have you seen this woman around?”

Lola reached into a side pouch for glasses and put them on. Her lips twisted. She shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Did you show this to Ari?”

“Didn’t bother. He’s never straight with me. Besides I know what he would’ve said.”

“What’s that?”

Max puffed his chest out and talked out the side of his mouth. “Well, Maxie my boy, maybe I have or maybe I haven’t.”

She laughed. “You got him nailed.”

“Yeah. Took me years to figure his game.”

“Who is she?”

Max looked at Agnes’s photo. “The woman I fell for after you dumped me.”

“I dumped you? Great, now you tell me. Let me take another look. See what I was up against.”

This time she looked more closely. She bit the inside of her cheek. “Hmm. Give me a hint.”

“Remember Agnes? The woman who testified in the Michael Mays case?”

“Yes, now I remember. The young Puerto Rican woman who was put in the Witness Protection Program. She’d gotten married, right? And had a baby.” She handed the photo back. “But hadn’t she drowned?”

“That’s what she wanted people to think.”

Her face scrunched up. “Why would she have done that? Bad marriage? Seems rather extreme. Hell, look at me and Ari. Sometimes I still can’t stand him, but give him the satisfaction of disappearing. No way. So what happened?”

“Long story.”

She nodded. “Always is.”

“Anyway, just recently her apartment was firebombed and she’s missing again.”

“Another staged event?”

Max shook his head. “Somebody wants her dead.”

Lola’s eyes widened. “Could it be the Catonis?”

“A possibility.”

Lola tapped her fingers on her lap. “But if it’s one of those cretins, why would she be in Buffalo?”

“I don’t know.”

“And why do you think she might be at the Villa?”

“She doesn’t want to leave tracks.”

“Yes, now I understand. Ari doesn’t ask questions.”

“Right. And neither does Barker’s nor The Superior.”

“Have you stopped by the other hotels?”

“No, I came here first.”

“I’m flattered.”

Max pulled the chair closer and lowered his voice. “Truth is I’m wondering if you could help me out.”

“How?”

“I can’t be in more than one place at a time.”

“Really? I thought you had that covered.”

“No, that’s God.”

“Right.”

“Anyway, I need a pair of hundred-dollar eyes.”

“A hundred? And where would you be needing those eyes?”

“At the library.”

“For how long?”

“However long you can manage.”

“When would I start?”

Max looked at his watch. “Whenever you can be ready.”

“Half hour?”

“Great,” Max said. “I’ll meet you in front. Is the chair foldable?”

“Won’t be necessary. I’ll get my peg leg and put on the dog.”

“You sure?”

“Woof.”

Max laughed. He stood and squeezed her shoulder. “Thanks, Lola.”

She waved her hand as if it were nothing.

On Max’s way out, Ari called out to him. “Hey, Maxie, there’s a special, two brides for the price of one.”

“Sorry Ari, I’m not that creative.”

“Not to worry, they’re innovative all on their own.”

Shaking his head, Max walked out. How had Lola gotten involved with such an idiot?

Max made record time. He visited the two other dives, Barker’s and The Superior, with no luck, then stopped by Radio Shack for some walkie talkies. At eleven-ten, he pulled up and waited for Lola. A woman with sunglasses, dressed neatly in black slacks and a tailored shirt, stepped from the Villa. He opened the car door and she slid into the front seat. The whiff of her perfume, gardenias, brought back memories. 

Back in the driver’s seat, he started up the car. “You weren’t kidding about the dog.”

Lola peeked at him over the rim of the glasses. “Opposite sides of the coin don’t change value.”

“No argument here.”

On the ride to the library, Max had something on his mind. “Lola, how long have you and Ari been together?”

“Um, let’s see. Forty-three years.”

“Did you always think it would last?”

“Yeah, for the most part.” She turned sideways, half-facing Max. “Why do you ask?”

“You both seem so different.”

“You know for the longest time I wondered about that too. What draws a woman and a man? Some say it’s chemistry. You may not remember, but Ari looked a lot like Marlon Brando. Come to think of it, over the years, the resemblance never changed.” She laughed. “Anyway, when he was young, he was a hunk. Smoldering, you know?”

Max nodded.

“I suppose we’ve been an odd couple, but we’re not that different. We both got monkeys on our backs, mine’s booze, his is money. But when the monkeys are put to sleep, we got a good thing going.” She smiled. “You know what he still tells me? ‘Lola, I’ve loved you from the day I met you.’”

“How come you never married after his wife died?”

“His daughters would run him ragged. Hell, he doesn’t need that. Besides, I want to be a free woman. Keep him on his toes.” She scrunched up her face. “Max, why the sudden interest?”

“I was hoping for a few pointers.”

“With Agnes?”

“Yeah.”

Lola shook her head. “I’m hardly the best person to ask for advice, but there is one thing I can pass along.”

Max looked at her expectantly. “Whatever it is, lay it on me. I’m a drowning man.” 

“Okay, this is what I’ve learned – to keep a man, tell him you want him; to keep a woman, tell her you love her. The rest can be negotiated.”

“That’s it?”

“Seems to work, assuming you both feel a certain way.”

“Oh so there’s the rub – you both have to feel a certain way. Lola, I’m not a drowning man, I’m a dead man.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He pulled over to the curb. “If there’s anything I can be certain of, that’s it.” 

“Max, think of it this way. You already have half of the equation, just have to convince her.”

Max smiled. “But first she’d have to talk to me.”

“Hmm. I see your dilemma.”

He reached over and patted her knee. “So you ready for a little espionage?”

She saluted. “Yes, sir.”

He showed her how to use the talkies, then gave her Agnes’s picture along with some folded up twenties.

“Max, I’m not doing it for the money.”

“Yeah, and you’re not doing it for free either.”

“You sure?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Once out of the car, she blew him a kiss. 

***

Paloma cracked open her eyes. The morning light seeped through the grimy window. Her dress was twisted around her. Throughout the night she must have been caught up in desperate, torturous nightmares, she could thankfully no longer remember. Then she felt it – the numbness in her leg, and along with it, the fear of impending, unavoidable pain. With her good leg she kicked off the sheet and blanket, and repositioned the dead weight. She lay quietly, dreading when the numbness would dissolve and the needles and pins would begin. 

Waiting for the inevitable, she took in the room’s shabbiness. The remnant of a large brown water stain spread across the ceiling. How many of her apartments had there been similar blots? How often had she attempted to paint them over only to have the spots bleed through? For some imperfections there were no cover-ups, no cosmetic cures. Her breath quickened as an echoing, hollow pain spread through her leg. Her thoughts returned to Max. Why should he have noticed her? She wasn’t blond or tall or beautiful or young. No flash of color, no disarming scent. And yet, each time, she was aware of him, gangly and bigger than life.

She reached down and rubbed her thigh. The blood was now rushing through. Guardedly, she bent her knee. The pain was abating. Time to get up. 

Once standing, she hobbled to the window and looked out. The street was clotted with morning traffic – cars, busses, delivery trucks with brake lights flashing. The bustle of a Monday morning was underway.

Turning back into the room, Paloma looked forlornly at the summation of her life. At age forty-seven, it amounted to an unmade bad in a seedy hotel. What if she were to die this very moment? She envisioned her lifeless body lying in bodily fluids and discharges, stinking up the place. God, she hated feeling sorry for herself. She’d made choices, everyone did. Anyway, she wouldn’t have time to rot. She hadn’t paid for another night.

She gathered a change of clothes and headed to the shower.  

The fluorescent light over the medicine cabinet brought out the subtle green undertone of her skin. This, along with her chopped hair and lump on her forehead, made her look dismal. She leaned in toward the mirror and saw close up and personal the ravages of time. Wrinkles, moles, and errant, sprouting hairs confirmed that her body was indeed aging. And yes, perhaps beyond recognition. She made a mental note to buy a pair of tweezers and some moisturizer. 

Half an hour later with her bag packed, Paloma limped down the flight of stairs. 

A heavy-set man smoking a cigar at the registration desk looked up at her. “Happy with the accommodations, Mrs. Rennin?”

Paloma smiled. “Yes, they were fine. Here’s my key.” 

“Sorry to see you go. Keep us in mind if you’re in town again.”

“I’ll do that.”  

“Can I ask you something?”

Paloma braced herself. “Certainly.”

“What made you come here?”

Paloma felt uneasy. What did he mean by ‘you’? “Excuse me?”

“You’re a classy lady. This place, well, it’s my business, but we don’t seem to attract, you know…”

Paloma gave a nervous laugh. “A cabbie brought me.”

He nodded. “Oh, that’s right. You got hoodwinked. Well, keep us in mind if you need a place to stay. Cash customers are always welcome.”                   

“Yes, I will. Thanks.” 

But as Paloma stepped out into the hazy, humid morning, she hoped another stay wasn’t in the cards. Ever.

Ten minutes later, Paloma stood in a windowless room at the First Niagara Savings Bank. A safe deposit box sat in front of her.

Standing at the door, the bank manager said, “When you’re ready to leave just knock.”

“Yes, thank you.” And the latch clicked, leaving her alone.

In hand was the set of keys she had mailed to herself. In three cities, New York, Chicago and Buffalo, she had safe deposit boxes. She had learned the hard way – without a back-up plan, life could turn ugly. She now compared numbers from the safe deposit box to the numbers etched on each key. Finding a match, she slid the key into the tiny jagged opening and twisted to the right. The key turned effortlessly. She raised the lid.