Read Online Silent Night: A Spenser Holiday Novel by Robert B. Parker - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert B. Parker
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open, friendly look. And there were those eyes again.
“And what can I do for you?” I said.
“I hear you help people. Jackie told Slide, and Slide told me.”
“Word gets around.”
“Yes.” She paused. “You know Jackie is Juan’s younger brother?”
“Yes,” I said. “Is that a problem?”
Carmen frowned. “Juan Alvarez is the reason I need your help.”
“Maybe this would be easier if I offered you a cup of coffee?”
“Do you have anything stronger?” she said.
“My coffee is pretty strong,” I said, “but yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”
I pulled my emergency bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue and two water glasses from the cabinet against the wall, and grabbed the tray of ice cubes from the small refrigerator next to my desk. I dropped the ice cubes one at a time into the glasses and poured two fingers of scotch into each glass. I handed her one and returned to my desk with the other.
“How can I help?” I said.
Carmen took a sip of the scotch, rolled it around her mouth, then closed her eyes and swallowed. It was good to encounter a woman who enjoyed scotch.
“I come from a very poor area near San Juan. My father is Puerto Rican, my mother was Irish. She died when I was two. My dad had a lot of different jobs when I was growing up. Sometimes he drove a cab. Sometimes he gambled or dealt drugs. Small-time stuff. It was a shame, too, because he had a knack for sports. He played a little tennis and fell in love with the game. He put a racquet in my hand as soon as I could hold a doll. He saw what I could do, saw it could get us out of that slum we lived in.” She looked at me hard.
I waited. She sipped her drink.
“Go on,” I said.
“I was his ticket. I was a quick study, and he saw a way out. He coached me, just like a lot of parents have coached their kids in tennis. Parents coached both Martinas, Steffi Graf, the Williams sisters, all of us. My dad worked me very hard, but I loved it. And I was talented. I was headed for the big time. Started when I was eight and never looked back.” Her voice rose slightly. “By the time I was twenty, I was playing Wimbledon, the Open. And not just playing. Winning.”
I waited while she went back. I waited some more. Then I said, “What happened?”
She took a deep breath and focused on me again.
“The papers said that my knees went bad. I was only twenty-two, and I had to retire from professional tennis. The real story is a little different.”
“You want to tell me about it?”
“I fought with my dad. I was rebellious and wanted to be independent. I thought I knew everything. He stopped coaching me and left the circuit in disgust. I went crazy from the fame and money. I was wild and tried everything that came my way. Booze, drugs, men, women, you name it. I was young and healthy and strong and did my workouts and continued my training no matter what else I did at night. And I was able to get away with it for a while.” She took a swallow of her scotch and looked hard at me with her amazing eyes. “You know how easy it is to throw everything away when you never had anything to begin with?”
I nodded.
“I thought I was invincible.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “When I hit bottom, I hit pretty hard. I don’t seem to do things halfway.”
“And now?”
“A couple of years ago I got straightened out. There was a very rich man I had met in London when I was playing Wimbledon who now lives in Boston. I ran into him.” She paused. “When we first met, I had no idea he knew my father, that his family had left the same bad neighborhood in Puerto Rico and come over here to live in Lawrence.”
I nodded. “Juan Alvarez.”
“Yes. Almost four years ago he got me into a rehab place, and after I got out he took me to live with him in Weston at his farm. He wants to get married, but that’s not for me.” She smiled. “I don’t mind playing his hostess at his social events, and up until recently he’s been good to me. I got
“And what can I do for you?” I said.
“I hear you help people. Jackie told Slide, and Slide told me.”
“Word gets around.”
“Yes.” She paused. “You know Jackie is Juan’s younger brother?”
“Yes,” I said. “Is that a problem?”
Carmen frowned. “Juan Alvarez is the reason I need your help.”
“Maybe this would be easier if I offered you a cup of coffee?”
“Do you have anything stronger?” she said.
“My coffee is pretty strong,” I said, “but yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”
I pulled my emergency bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue and two water glasses from the cabinet against the wall, and grabbed the tray of ice cubes from the small refrigerator next to my desk. I dropped the ice cubes one at a time into the glasses and poured two fingers of scotch into each glass. I handed her one and returned to my desk with the other.
“How can I help?” I said.
Carmen took a sip of the scotch, rolled it around her mouth, then closed her eyes and swallowed. It was good to encounter a woman who enjoyed scotch.
“I come from a very poor area near San Juan. My father is Puerto Rican, my mother was Irish. She died when I was two. My dad had a lot of different jobs when I was growing up. Sometimes he drove a cab. Sometimes he gambled or dealt drugs. Small-time stuff. It was a shame, too, because he had a knack for sports. He played a little tennis and fell in love with the game. He put a racquet in my hand as soon as I could hold a doll. He saw what I could do, saw it could get us out of that slum we lived in.” She looked at me hard.
I waited. She sipped her drink.
“Go on,” I said.
“I was his ticket. I was a quick study, and he saw a way out. He coached me, just like a lot of parents have coached their kids in tennis. Parents coached both Martinas, Steffi Graf, the Williams sisters, all of us. My dad worked me very hard, but I loved it. And I was talented. I was headed for the big time. Started when I was eight and never looked back.” Her voice rose slightly. “By the time I was twenty, I was playing Wimbledon, the Open. And not just playing. Winning.”
I waited while she went back. I waited some more. Then I said, “What happened?”
She took a deep breath and focused on me again.
“The papers said that my knees went bad. I was only twenty-two, and I had to retire from professional tennis. The real story is a little different.”
“You want to tell me about it?”
“I fought with my dad. I was rebellious and wanted to be independent. I thought I knew everything. He stopped coaching me and left the circuit in disgust. I went crazy from the fame and money. I was wild and tried everything that came my way. Booze, drugs, men, women, you name it. I was young and healthy and strong and did my workouts and continued my training no matter what else I did at night. And I was able to get away with it for a while.” She took a swallow of her scotch and looked hard at me with her amazing eyes. “You know how easy it is to throw everything away when you never had anything to begin with?”
I nodded.
“I thought I was invincible.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “When I hit bottom, I hit pretty hard. I don’t seem to do things halfway.”
“And now?”
“A couple of years ago I got straightened out. There was a very rich man I had met in London when I was playing Wimbledon who now lives in Boston. I ran into him.” She paused. “When we first met, I had no idea he knew my father, that his family had left the same bad neighborhood in Puerto Rico and come over here to live in Lawrence.”
I nodded. “Juan Alvarez.”
“Yes. Almost four years ago he got me into a rehab place, and after I got out he took me to live with him in Weston at his farm. He wants to get married, but that’s not for me.” She smiled. “I don’t mind playing his hostess at his social events, and up until recently he’s been good to me. I got
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