Paloma: A Laurent & Dove Mystery by Linda A. Lavid

grabbed her arm. “Is it something I said?”
    “No, of course not. I... I’m very tired. The traveling. It’s catching up with me. Please understand.” 
     “Sure, but where are you going? Let me drive you.”
    “No. That won’t be necessary.”
     He looked at her with concern. “Please.”  
    His consoling eyes weren’t enough. “Curtis, next time I’m in town, I promise to stay longer.”
    He loosened his grip. “I know you’re a truthful woman, a woman of your word.”
    Speechless, she nodded, and they walked into the living room.
    “You’re leaving?” Layla said. “Coffee’s almost ready.”
    “Sugar, she’s got to go.”
    Paloma reached for Layla’s hand. “It was wonderful meeting you and the kids.” She then turned to the children. “Boys, how about a little something from your tía? Maybe a happy meal?”
    Their eyes widened as she handed them five dollars each. “Thanks,” said the two older boys. Randel took the money and passed it from one hand to another.
    “Make sure your brother doesn’t eat it. Okay?”
    They nodded.
    At the door, Curtis leaned over and kissed Paloma on the cheek. “You know me, my wife. Door’s always open.”
    Paloma smiled. “Thanks Curtis. I’ll be in touch.”
    Walking down the steps, she could feel his eyes on her. Would she ever see them again? A truthful woman, he had called her. 
    Hardly.
    ***
    With dwindling funds and another thirty-six hours until the bank opened, Paloma headed to a familiar haunt where, in the past, she’d turned water into wine.
    Chippewa Street, the hub of Buffalo’s bar scene, was a short walk crosstown. Paloma no longer intended to steal. She had seed money and the last thing she needed to do was get herself arrested. Too much was at stake. Enclosed in the envelope were items for solvency. With this small package she could access the safe deposit box, get back in business and plan her next move without scavenging. But first and foremost she had to secure the contents of the envelope to her body. She stopped at a bodega on the corner of Chippewa and Pearl and bought a box of safety pins. She then went to the bar.
    Q.T.’s had survived regentrification unscathed. There were no high polished surfaces, no bistro chairs, no servers in white shirts and black slacks. The place was dark, dingy and smelled of cheap wine. Her last visit here had been the previous winter when she was stranded in the city after a horrendous lake-effect snowstorm. She got lucky that night and left with a bundle. Paloma wasn’t sure if she believed in luck, but she knew the place, the lighting, and the slight angle where the table dipped. 
    Walking to the rear, she entered the ladies’ room. In the stall, she rummaged through her bag and pulled out another pair of underpants. She slipped them on, then ripped open the envelope. Enclosed were some photographs and three safe deposit keys. Taking the safety pins she had purchased in the store, she slipped the keys onto a pin and fastened the pin to the inner lining of the second pair of panties. She then placed the snapshots into the small plastic bag from the store and secured the bag into the pouch that formed between the two sets of underwear. Digging through her bag, she pulled out the remaining cash. It amounted to twelve dollars and change.
    Exiting the lavatory, Paloma gave the bar a once over. There were far fewer people today than the previous time. Several older men were planted at the bar. They spoke easily with each other. A hefty, older woman in an apron and hairnet leaned up against a doorway. “Harry,” she shouted. “How ya want them wings?”
    “Kamikaze,” he yelled back.
    A flurry of responses followed. “Sure you can handle it Harry?” “Burning those hemorrhoids off?” “Whoa, steady stallion.”
    Paloma smiled and looked into the small room to her left. Three young men were playing pool. Sashaying over to the bar, she got a Coke, then sauntered back to the pool table and