Suspicion of Malice Read Online Free PDF

"I know. I'm sorry."
    The door creaked on its big metal springs, and an elderly lady thumped in on a walker, accompanied by a younger .woman carrying her bag. Applause from the theater faded as the door swung shut. It opened again, and more women came in, filling the room with their chatter.
    Irene picked up her purse. "Well. I'm going to find Betty and Verna. Coming?"
    "In a minute." Brush in hand, Gail watched her mother march out, quick little steps in her patent leather pumps. Gail wanted to scream, to get out of here, to walk on Lincoln Road until the performance was over. Of course they knew. What a juicy piece of information. They were just too polite to bring it up in front of her. They were talking about her right now.
    If they weren't blind, what did they see? Moving around the other women at the mirror, Gail turned sideways and studied her body. The sleeveless black dress still skimmed over her tall, thin frame. She smoothed her dark blond hair back from her ears. Nothing had changed.
    In the small lobby she stood in line for a soda. The small theater was restored Art Deco, all curves and red carpet, brushed steel, and frosted glass. Her gaze swept over a group of girls, then backtracked. One of them was looking at her with wide brown eyes. Angela Quintana. In that moment of recognition, Gail caught her breath. It was too late to turn around, too late to slip back to her seat.
    The girl hurried across the lobby, dodging around people in her way. She was all legs in a short black skirt and chunky sandals. Angela put a polite kiss on Gail's cheek, then smiled again and hugged her, an unhesitating gesture of affection that took Gail by surprise.
    "Hi, Gail. How are you?"
    "Great." Unsure what else to do, she continued to smile. "Well. What's up? Have you started college yet?" Angela had been living with her mother in New Jersey since her parents' divorce, but she would attend the University of Miami. Gail remembered hearing Angela's father say she needed to be close to her Cuban heritage, and where else but Miami? Exiled parents often said such things, Gail had noticed.
    "School doesn't start for a couple of weeks," An gela said. "I've been taking classes with the ballet."
    "Oh, yes, that's right. How's it going?"
    "Wonderful. Really hard, but I love it."
    "And your brother? How's Luis?"
    "Okay, except for having to attend summer school, so he didn't get to go to Spain with Dad. I couldn't go either because of ballet. Dad just got back with this dark tan and about ten rolls of pictures—the whole tourist thing. I had to stay with Nena because, well, you know, he wouldn't let me stay by myself."
    "Your great-grandparents are well?" Gail main tained her smile. At some point they would run out of conversation.
    "Oh, sure. Getting old, but they're so sweet." Angela wore a blue top with little cap sleeves, and her waist seemed as narrow as a flower stem. A tiny gold crucifix hung just below the notch in her collarbones. As she looked at Gail, her brows slanted downward. "My dad told me you guys split up. I didn't believe him at first. Gail, I'm so sorry."
    For an instant Gail wondered just how he had explained it. He must have been fairly vague, may even have pretended a certain regret, or Angela would never have crossed the lobby to say hello. Her dark eyes shone with curiosity.
    Gail made a dismissive wave. "Well, you know. Really, we're both fine with it." The line moved toward the concession stand. "Oh, can I get you something to drink? A soda?"
    The girl shook her head and came closer. "Gail, there's something really important I have to ask you. It's a favor—not for me, but for a friend of mine. He's one of the dancers—Robert Gonzalez. He's the one who did Tarantella?"
    The Italian dance that Gail had walked out on, halfway through. "Oh, yes. He's very good." Gail told the attendant to give her a club soda, no ice. She laid two dollars on the counter, then turned back to Angela. "I'm sorry. This friend of