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

the philosopher. So, what do you need?”
    “Tank, maybe I just want to talk.”
    “Really? No catch?”
    “You’re a sharp guy. I should have given you a better evaluation.”
    “Shoulda, woulda, coulda. What can I do for you?”
    “Paloma Dove. New York City. Bank accounts, credit card activity, flights in the past year, phone records from her apartment at 125 MacDougall, 1A.”
    “How about the results of her last GYN exam?”
    Max laughed. “You read my mind.”
    “Who is this woman?”
    “I’ll tell you when I see you. How about I take you to lunch on Monday?”
    “Not sure how much I’ll have.”
    “Whatever you can get. Chutney’s at noon?”
    “Chutney’s? You are one desperado.”
    Desperate? Max couldn’t deny it. “Luv ya dawg.”
    “Way to go, Maxo. See ya in a couple.”
    Max hung up and looked at the clock. Two p.m. Saturday. Almost forty-eight hours between now and then. Plenty of time to get rolling on some hard-core S&R, search and rescue. Where to start? Max fumbled around for a pen and pad. Tracing someone wasn’t brain surgery. What she did in the past, she’d do in the future. And there was something else – just yesterday Agnes was headed to Buffalo. Why? Was it for the same reasons everyone returned home – visiting family, seeing old friends? He wrote down two headings Family, Friends and considered each one.  
    As far as family was concerned, Agnes was alone, an only child whose parents had died years ago. Still, there was the cemetery, a spot she returned to yearly. Along with these visits, she’d also stay at an airport hotel and rent a car. Under Family Max wrote Forest Lawn, Airport Ramada, Hertz. Now what about friends? Were there people she visited? Certainly not him or the Catonis. The only person was Curtis, but he hadn’t seen or spoken to Agnes since the trial twenty-five years earlier. He crossed out Friends and looked at the short list. Something was missing, something critical. Buffalo and Agnes. Agnes and Buffalo. But what?
    Then it hit him. Maybe the variables weren’t Agnes and Buffalo, but Paloma and Buffalo. And if it were Paloma trying to get to Buffalo that left one obvious destination – the library.        
    ***
    The Buffalo and Erie County library, a building of reinforced concrete panels and tall windows, spanned a downtown block. Entering from the Washington street entrance, Max smelled the familiar library scent. He’d learned from Cindy, it was from glue, lots of it. He liked the smell, it comforted him, gave him an instant high of relief and relaxation. 
    In recent years his visits to the library had been limited to the magazine section and to the auditorium, where he’d often stopped during his lunch hour. There he’d learned about the mating rituals of raccoons from a writer of wildlife, got a headache listening to the zoning ordinances regarding lakefront property and, most recently and ashamedly, slept through a showing of Casablanca. He liked the library. It was big and quiet, and people were respectful, even groups of kids seemed mellow. Maybe it was the glue after all.
    He walked beyond the darkened auditorium and onto the escalator. As the stairs rose, the oncoming view sparked memories. On past occasions he had stood on the stairs, taking his sweet time. Other times, when in a hurry, he’d bounded up the escalator jumping two, three steps at once. Past the second floor and onto the third, everything appeared unchanged, as if the intervening years had hardly mattered. Of course there must’ve have been alterations, slight shifts in the foundation, maintenance of the plumbing, heating, and undoubtedly several coats of paint. But to the naked eye, it remained the same – the speckled tiled floor, the bland beige walls.
    Stepping off the stairs, he felt a vague sense of discomfort. He needed to focus on the matter at hand, not recall the past and how he’d been caught between two women – being with one, but wanting