Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery Read Free

I’d like to keep this as
quiet as possible. After all, I have to live here.”
    “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. We don’t like
to advertise either.”
    We linger in the entry until a group in CSI jackets
arrives. Greene motions us toward the living room. “Have a seat.
This won’t take long.”
    We settle together on the couch and watch as Greene
gives orders.
    When he turns away, Angela jabs me and murmurs,
“Okay, okay. Who does he look like?”
    I can’t believe she’s playing that dumb game at a
crucial time like this. My sister has been a movie star nut ever
since she could read and religiously pores over People and Us . She’s positive I have the exact same facial features as
the woman who once starred in television’s Law & Order though she sees not one ounce of the star in herself.
    I give her a withering stare. “I haven’t the
faintest.”
    “Oh, c’mon now. You know who I mean. He’s Jamaican.
Well known for his Calypso songs. You know. ‘Day-O’?”
    “I get it, I get it. But not now. Give it a rest.”
She crosses her arms, sniffs and turns away.
    Once the CSI disappears up the stairs, Greene turns
to Angela. “Any sign of forced entry?”
    When she shrugs, I say, “I called here night before
last. Caro answered. She was with someone. From the bit of
conversation I overheard, I’d say she knew that someone pretty
well.”
    The detective jots a few lines. “So you’re saying
the perp left through the front entrance?”
    “Possibly. Maybe he had a duplicate key.”
    He turns back to Angela. “Your roommate travel a
lot?” “More than I did. Her phone rang off the hook.”
    “Her phone?”
    “We live on separate floors and have different
telephone numbers. Mine has an extension in the kitchen.”
    Greene makes a note, then calls out, “The phone on
the second floor is a separate line.” He pockets the pad. “Better
pack a few things. This place is now officially off-limits to
anyone except the NYPD.”
    Angela jumps up. “Leave? No way. It’s almost four
and I’ve just had major surgery.”
    Delighted I won’t have to sleep in the
roach-infested maid’s room off the kitchen, I say, “No problem.
Give us a few minutes and we’ll be out of your way.”
    I am amazed at Angela’s ability to exude so much
venom through those two tiny eyeholes. “We’re not leaving unless
your people pay for the room.”
    I shove her toward the stairs. “We’ll discuss this
later.”
    She blocks me. “I will not be evicted like a common
criminal.”
    Greene gives her a weary look. “I’m sorry to
inconvenience you, but we’re trying to solve a murder. I’m guessing
this woman was your friend. Don’t you want to know who did
this?”
    “Of course I do. But I didn’t kill Caro. Can’t you
see I’ve just had surgery?”
    Greene yanks out the notepad. “Thanks for the
reminder. I need your surgeon’s name and telephone number.” “You
must be joking.”
    I poke her in the ribs. “Give it to him.”
    “Okay. Okay. It’s Doctor Frederick Severeid.”
Greene’s pen is still poised. “His number?”
    Angela sniffs, then murmurs, “Five-five-five, six
thousand.”
    He scribbles the number, then points to his card
still clutched in my hand. “Let me know where I can contact
you.”
    ————
    The sun is high when I awake to see Angela on her
back, arms folded across her chest. All she needs is a coffin and a
crucifix. This is the way she sleeps. It used to freak me out when
we were kids.
    I reach for the phone and call the number on
Greene’s card. “This is Alice Armington. We’re in seven twenty-two
at Hotel Wells.”
    After a too-long pause on his end, a dim alarm
sounds somewhere in the back of my head as Greene says, “There
seems to be a problem.”
    Background noises filter through the receiver.
Printers print. Phones ring. Low conversations twist in and out of
range.
    The detective clears his throat. “I spoke with
Doctor Severeid’s nurse, uh—uh, a Miss