Suspicion Read Online Free PDF Page B

like that before,” Danny said. “What’s the breed?”
    “Xoloitzcuintli,” Celina said.
    “I’m sorry,
what
?” All he could make out was something that sounded like
show
and maybe
queen
.
    “Xolo,” she said slowly. She pronounced it like
show-low
. “They’re extremely rare. Mexican hairless. The ancient Aztecs thought they had magical healing powers.”
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “They also ate them,” her husband said.
    “That is not true,” Celina said sharply. “Why do you always say this?”
    “It’s true,” Galvin said. “There are these Spanish accounts of huge banquets with platters heaping with Xoloitzcuintlis. I read it somewhere.”
    “Oh,” she said. She sniffed. “Will you excuse me? I think they burn the garlic.” She hurried down the hall.
    “Probably tasted like chicken,” Danny said.
    Galvin roared with laughter. “I’m going to do you a big favor and not tell Lina you said that.”
    “I appreciate it.”
    “Hey, you didn’t need to bring wine.”
    Danny shrugged. “Not a problem.”
    In a low, confiding voice, Galvin said, “Man, I love Trader Joe’s. Ever try the Two-Buck Chuck? Not bad at all.”

9
    B usted.
    Danny smiled, but winced inwardly.
    It wasn’t as if he’d tried to pass off a nine-dollar bottle of wine as a two-hundred-dollar Bordeaux, but now it looked like he’d been somehow sneaky about it. Anyway, how the hell did Galvin know about Trader Joe’s? No way did a man who had his own home basketball
court
buy two-dollar bottles of wine.
    But maybe that was the point. Maybe Galvin wanted to show he was just a regular guy.
    Or maybe he was just ribbing Danny, the way guys do with their buddies.
    In any case, Galvin obviously didn’t miss a trick.
    “I figure our girls are spending all this time together, we ought to get to know each other,” he said.
    Somewhere deep within the house, someone was practicing a classical piano piece, imperfectly but well. He heard Abby’s laugh, smelled garlic and maybe fried chicken.
    “Love your house,” Danny said. “The layout is perfect.”
    “That’s Celina. She worked with the architect. Made all the decisions. I didn’t do squat.”
    Yeah, right
, Danny thought.
All you had to do was shell out fifty million bucks for it
.
    “Hey, so Abby says you guys live right in the city.”
    “Yep.”
    “You’re lucky, man. Back Bay, huh? I’ve always wanted to live there. Walk to work. All that scenery. The college girls walking around in shorts.”
    “It’s not bad.”
    “Celina likes the whole suburban thing. I just do what I’m told.” He shrugged broadly.
    Their kitchen was magnificent, bigger than any restaurant kitchen he’d seen. Copper pots hung from racks over two large islands topped with black stone. There were several wall ovens, and an enormous, gleaming burgundy commercial gas range with copper trim, looking like an antique steam engine. Danny’s father had built a house in Wellfleet for a software magnate who’d specified this same La Cornue range.
    The vaulted ceiling was crisscrossed with hand-hewn beams that could have come from a medieval castle. The floor, ancient-looking limestone scarred and worn to a velvety patina, might have been salvaged from the same castle.
    Jenna stood over a giant round skillet that was sputtering and smoking.
    “
¡Ay
,
Dios mío!
”
Celina said, rushing over to her daughter. “Don’t burn the chicken,
mija
! Just brown it.” The dogs scrabbled around the kitchen, yapping hysterically.
    “I’m not burning it!” Jenna protested.
    “Hey, Daddy,” Abby said. Her smile faded a bit when she saw him. She avoided his eyes. She stood at one of the islands, mashing something in a bowl. Obviously, she was still upset or angry or both, still worrying about whether she’d have to leave school. She didn’t believe her father had things under control, and he couldn’t blame her.
    “Hey, baby.” Danny entered the kitchen, gave Abby a hug. “What’re you