Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [readnow TXT] 📗

My car is a burgundy, 1964 Mark II Jaguar, and one of the few possessions I have that I am genuinely attached to. I like driving it, and it helps me to think. I climbed in and pulled the door closed. I inserted the key in the ignition and counted slowly to three. I hadn’t heard the bleep of Dehan’s Focus, so I figured she was going to ride with me. I turned the key as she opened the door. The engine growled, she climbed in, and I pulled away.

“Guess you should have had that coffee, huh, Stone?”

“You seemed to be in a hurry.”

“Yeah. I was thinking last night about what Sue told us. It looks like the link between the two cases is rape, right?”

I nodded.

“We know from Sue that Ed raped her. There is an at least even chance that he raped and killed Rosario.”

She paused, watching me, waiting for me to agree. I was feeling uncooperative and didn’t say anything. So she shrugged and went on.

“I was thinking, I know you want to talk to Angela again today, but it might be an idea if we go and talk to Rosario’s sister first.”

I glanced at her. “Her sister?”

“Paulina, Pauli. They were really close. They were always in and out of each other’s houses. If Rosario was working some afternoon, Angela would go to Pauli’s after school, they would eat at each other’s homes, spend the weekend together… you know the kind of thing. Real close. So if Rosario was seeing somebody, or involved with a guy in any way, Pauli would know the details. I figured it might be helpful to talk to her.”

I nodded. “Good call. You spoken to her?”

“Yeah, I called her last night. She’s expecting us. If you’re with me, she’ll treat you like we’re family. Just ignore her.”

I frowned at her. “Thanks.”

She looked embarrassed. “I didn’t mean… I mean…”

“Don’t worry about it, Dehan.” I said sourly. “I get it. What’s the address?”

“She lives on Faile Street, at the back of the gardens.”

“That’s the next street to Angela. They’re all in walking distance, huh?”

“Yeah, family.”

We got there a little after eight. It was a big, gray, clapboard house with a big bow window and an ugly, white, steel-tubing fence, faced in what looked like chicken wire. The rest of the street had all the signs of gentrification that were appearing all over the Bronx, but they hadn’t reached this house yet. Dehan spoke half to herself.

“She’s not rich. Her parents bought it. It was cheap back then. Even so, they struggled. Her son has the upstairs, with his wife and kids.”

We got out and climbed the stairs. The door opened before we rang the bell. Pauli was cute. She was barely five feet, comfortably rotund, noisy, and loving. She squealed at Dehan and smothered her in kisses. I speak a little Spanish, but all I could get was “Ay!” The rest of it was too fast. After they had disengaged and exchanged ‘ays,’ she turned her attention on me, grabbed my cheeks, and planted two big kisses on my face, telling me I was very ‘guapo’.

She led us inside to a big living room and I saw she had coffee and cakes that looked like French brioche laid out for us. I was grateful.

“I hope you didn’t eat!” She said, “I made caw-fee and I made Mallorca! When you called last night, I thought, ‘I gotta make Mallorca for Marta’s little girl! Ay!” She grabbed her cheeks and squealed again. “Sit down! Sit down! How you been?”

We sat. Dehan was smiling. It was a nice smile, free from the sardonic twist it so often carried. “I’m good, Pauli.”

She started pouring coffee. “You see your father’s family much?”

“Yeah, sometimes. We stay in touch.”

“Good.” She said it without much conviction. Then she changed the subject. “You made detective!”

“I did.”

Pauli turned to me, oozing pride like it was her own daughter. “Ain’t she the best? Ain’t she something special?”

It was impossible not to smile back. It was contagious. “She is that, Pauli. She is definitely special.”

The coffee was good. The Mallorca was better than good. I ate and drank in silence while Pauli launched a barrage of talk at Dehan, and Dehan responded monosyllabically. I looked up when she asked her, “So when you gonna get married, Carmen? A beautiful, smart girl like you should be married! You ain’t so young anymore, chiquilla!”

Dehan shrugged. “Nobody wants me, Pauli. Who wants a half-Jewish, half Mexican girl with too much attitude? Huh? Nobody, that’s who.”

“Hoy! Chiquilla!”

“Listen, changing the subject, I wanted to ask you about Rosario.”

Pauli looked sad for a moment and sat back in her chair. “Yeah, you said on the phone, but I don’t know what I can tell you, Carmen.”

“Detective Stone,” she gestured at me, like Pauli might not know who I was, “heads up a cold cases team.”

I smiled at her with my mouth full of Mallorca and said, “You cam caw me Johng!” She smiled and I swallowed. “Anyone who makes cake this good can call me John.” I winked for good measure and she blushed prettily. Dehan was giving me her inscrutable look, but I ignored her.

“So, we are reviewing Rosario’s case in the light of some new evidence, and I was wondering if you could tell us anything about her friends at that time, who she was hanging out with, if she had a boyfriend…”

Pauli became abstracted for a moment, staring out of the window. She shook her head. “I don’t like to remember it. Sometimes it seems such a long time ago, and other times it’s like yesterday. She went a bit…” She waved her hand in circles in the air. “She