Read Online Cool Cache by Patricia Smiley - Free Book Online Page A

member. We think he killed his mother because she was interfering with his gang activities. Now we want to know if any of his homeboys helped him out.”
    As I’d promised, I told O’Brien about the break-in at Helen’s condo and asked if he thought Roberto might have been involved. He didn’t express an opinion; just said he’d check it out with the LAPD.
    It was around one thirty before I got back to the office. Eugene was working at his computer. The air purifier was still hanging around his neck, whirring. I handed him the chocolates Helen had sent. He clutched the bag to his chest in ecstasy.
    “Isn’t she just too wonderful?”
    “Yeah,” I said. “She’s a peach. Did you find out any more about the quetzal?”
    He set the bag on his desk and handed me a stack of notes. “Yes, but it’s going to make you sad. I still don’t know if they’re extinct or not, but it doesn’t look good. The birds were considered a symbol of freedom to the Maya because they couldn’t be held in captivity. If you put them in cages, they’ll kill themselves in a sort of live-free-or-die suicide pact.”
    For a moment, I imaged a cult of colorful birds wearing black tennis shoes and toasting the arrival of the Hale-Bopp Comet with poisoned punch.
    “I found a book in the library’s online database,” he went on. “It’s about an East L.A. street gang called the MayaBoyz. And—get this—there’s a picture of some gang graffiti on the book cover. There’s a feather that looks a lot like it came from a quetzal. At least, it was long and green. There must be something about it in the book, or the link wouldn’t have come up in my search.”
    “O’Brien told me Roberto Ortiz is a member of that gang, but I’d like to find out more.”
    “I’ll stop by the library this weekend.”
    The library. That didn’t sound dangerous.
    “Great,” I said.
    I was heading toward my office when Charley strolled into the lobby.
    “Any luck with Helen’s neighbors?” I said.
    “Nah. Only one person was home—the guy who lives next door. He said he was home sick all day Thursday, but didn’t see anything unusual. Claims he took enough cough syrup with codeine to sleep through an earthquake. He didn’t want to talk to me, wouldn’t even open the door. Said he was afraid I might catch whatever he had. The guy was weird, like one of those quiet types who turn out to be a serial killer. He gave me the willies.”
    “Somebody must have seen something, ” Eugene said.
    Charley shrugged. “The place is secluded, lots of trees, and all the units have separate entrances.”
    Eugene’s face was flushed. “Doesn’t Helen’s condo have a security gate or a concierge?”
    “Sorry, kid,” Charley said. “The place doesn’t have anything like that.”
    “So Helen loses again, and nobody can do anything about it.” Eugene’s voice was laced with futility and indignation. “We’re private investigators. We should be able to solve a simple burglary.”
    Charley put his hands on his hips. I could tell he was about to scold Eugene about the use of the word we . I didn’t want Eugene pressured before he downed a couple of Mango-Tango squares, so I caught Charley’s eye and shook my head.
    “What about that police contact of yours?” I said. “Did he know anything?”
    “Not much. One of the neighbors heard Ortiz arguing with his mother at around four thirty. The kid wanted money to buy drugs, and she wouldn’t give it to him. The neighbor saw her leave for work at around five o’clock. Roberto left a few minutes later.”
    “So the police think Roberto followed Lupe to Beverly Hills to kill her?” I said.
    “Yup.”
    “That doesn’t make sense, Charley. If he needed money for drugs, why didn’t he steal the cash from Nectar’s register?”
    “Beats me.”
    Charley walked into his office. Eugene and I followed. Several file folders were stacked on his desk chair. He dropped them on the floor and sat.
    “Where did