Read Online Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery by Louise Gaylord - Free Book Online Page A

when he charges into the
chaos. Drawers yanked out of their slides, comforter and pillows
slashed to shreds, upended chair burping stuffing.
    Greene looks around the room, slumps and mutters,
“We’re too late. The sonovabitch must have gotten what he came
for.”
    ————
    A locksmith has just finished changing out the front
lock and is heading for the kitchen to replace the lock there.
    Greene sits across from me as I tremble the
Styrofoam cup of coffee to my lips for a third try and welcome the
semi-molten trickle on my tongue.
    “You say the man who was here last night isn’t
Montoya?” “That’s right.” The detective leans forward. “But much of
what that man told you is true. Montoya was in South America and
returned to Madrid to get permits to export his sister’s body.”
Greene looks down at his notepad for a few seconds, makes the
customary tick with his pen, then continues. “Montoya arrived at
JFK yesterday around three.”
    He reads one page and half of another, then looks
up. “They found his body in the men’s room near Baggage Claim. The
prelim showed a massive contusion to the back of the head. Someone
must have lured Montoya into the bathroom and did him in.”
    I take a bigger swig and cringe, unsure if it’s the
scald or the icy shard jabbing my stomach. “And the man who said he
was Señor Montoya?”
    “No idea.” Greene shifts his lank in the chair,
crosses his legs and turns to a blank page. “Can you describe
him?”
    I run down the list. “Medium height and handsome.
Dark complexion. Nice brown eyes. Slight accent. Hair slicked back,
but not in a greasy, unattractive way.”
    “Any scars or unusual features?”
    I visualize Montoya or whoever he is touching the
small scar on his forehead. “A half-inch-long scar on his
forehead—right side. He said he was in an auto accident—said his
wife was killed in the wreck.”
    Greene’s eyebrows arch. “You must have had quite a
chat.”
    I shudder realizing how easy it would have been for
the stranger to kill me. “We talked for almost an hour. He was
polite—even solicitous. Frankly, I didn’t get the feeling that he
was a murderer.”
    He scribbles something. “That’s what’s so puzzling.
He must have known you weren’t Angela.”
    “Not necessarily. He claims to have met me briefly
on the steps last summer.”
    One of the men comes down the stairs. “Your battery
must be dead. Headquarters has been trying to reach you for the
last half hour.”
    Greene plays with his cell for a second or two and
shakes his head. “Dead as dirt. Isn’t anything gonna go right
today?”
    He looks around and waves at his cohort’s phone.
“May I?” Then, muttering a string of cuss words, he steps into the
outer vestibule.
    He returns, tosses the cell back to its owner and
slumps in the chair. “Jesus, this is getting more complicated by
the minute. Seems the DEA had a man on the flight out of Madrid.
Apparently, Montoya realized he was being followed and bolted. By
the time the guy caught up, Montoya was dead.”
    “Then who?” He shrugs.
    “No idea, but we’ll catch—”
    The shrill buzz of the doorbell cuts off his last
words. Greene steps to one side, draws his heavy-duty police issue
and motions me to answer. “You’re about as covered as you can get,
but if you see a gun, drop.”
    “Oh, thanks.”
    A man in chauffeur’s livery says, “Miss
Armington?”
    He shoves a long plastic dress bag into my right
hand, an ecru envelope into the other and hustles down the
steps.
    Greene grabs the hanger and removes the plastic to
reveal a scarlet taffeta evening dress.
    After he looks it over, he hands it back. “What’s in
the note?” The penmanship is barely legible:
    I sincerely hope you like my choice. It’s a ten, as
promised, hope it fits. Wear no jewelry. I will supply that. Please
be ready at seven.

    C

    I look up. “No formal signature, just a big capital
C.”
    I hand the note to Greene who scans and pockets