Read Online Suspicion of Betrayal by Barbara Parker - Free Book Online Page B

Anthony could go home, but he had said that Hector Mesa wanted to talk to him. She wouldn't have cared, but she could never figure out what Mesa was after. He was a friend, not a relation. He had no particular occupation that she knew of, not in accounting or in the law. His card said "consultant." His suits were blue or gray, his hair was thinning, and in a group he would vanish. All one could see was a pair of black-framed glasses and a small gray mustache.
    Drinks were made for those who wanted them. A tray of espresso was brought out. Gail went to look at the baby, and Betty let her hold him. His eyes were deep blue, and he had a fine blond fuzz on his head. "Well, aren't you a gorgeous guy? And heavy! Karen was only six pounds." Gail tickled his cheek till he grinned at her. "I'm in love," she said.
    Aunt Adelita, even older than Digna, laid her papery hand on Gail's knee and patted it. "Tú y Anthony, ¿quieren hembra o varón?"
    Did they want a girl or a boy? Embarrassed, Gail laughed and handed the baby back to its mother. "No, not for us. No babies." The meaning was too clear to need a translation. Adelita stared at Gail as if she were very strange indeed, then went on quickly to some other topic.
    No children. She and Anthony had decided this months ago. He already had two children—and with Gail's career—Karen was enough. A sensible decision, one that did not have to be explained. Even so, Gail knew that she had been judged.
    Elena pulled her closer, laughing. "Never mind Aunt Adelita. She's still in Havana, nineteen-forty."
    Gail noticed Anthony and Hector Mesa in the hall, just past the carved wood that framed the entrance. Hector, touching Anthony's arm. Anthony with a smile that could mean anything. He had taken off his jacket. His dark green shirt was open at the collar and tucked smoothly into pleated linen slacks. He looked her way, and she pursed her lips in a little kiss. When Hector Mesa happened to glance in another direction, Anthony rolled his eyes up to the ceiling as if he were already dead of boredom.
    Murmuring her excuses to the women, Gail went over to rescue him. She smiled at Hector as she took Anthony's arm. "They just brought the coffee in. Would you gentlemen like some?"
    Anthony said, "Go ahead, Hector, I'll talk to you later."
    The man made a slight nod in Gail's direction, his eyes obscured by the glasses and a wink of yellowish light on the lenses. "Señora.” Then soundlessly he walked across the tiled floor and vanished into the living room.
    "What did he want?"
    "A legal matter. He was pulled over for speeding, and they arrested him for carrying a concealed weapon—a .22 caliber Beretta. He wants it back. I'll see what I can do."
    "Good old Hector, playing with his toys."
    "Hector's all right."
    "If you say so. I've never heard him say more than three words in sequence. Do you want coffee? I don't."
    "I don't either." Coming closer, Anthony brushed his lips across her ear. "I've got another idea." "Really. What?"
    "Come upstairs, I'll show you." The hall was tiled in terra cotta and paneled in dark wood. Sconces lit the way to the rest of the house. The stairs were behind him, curving out of sight. He pulled her toward them.
    She said, "You're taking me to see your boyhood collection of Spider-Man comics."
    "Oh, I wanted to surprise you." He walked backward, tugging her hand.
    She laughed. "They'll look for us."
    "No, they won't. Come on. Nena won't be back for half an hour."
    "We can't!" she whispered. "It would be like doing it in church."
    "So much the better." When she shot a glance toward the living room, he added, "Or we could listen to Uncle Humberto tell us again how President Kennedy sold out the exiles at Playa Girón."

    He had been kicked out of here at twenty, but the small room upstairs at the far end of the hall was still his. He used it when he stayed over—not often, but sometimes. There were clothes in the closet, and some of his things