Bad Penny by Sharon Sala Page B

is his name?” “Solomon Tutuola.”
     
    Luis resisted the urge to clap his hands. Finally, a lead. “How do you know him?” he asked.
     
    She hesitated only a moment, as if choosing the way she would describe their relationship.
     
    “When I was younger, I knew many men. He was one of them.”
     
    Now Luis understood. Paloma had once had what his mother would call a bad reputation.
     
    “When was the last time you saw him?”
     
    She shrugged, then finally looked up. “Why do you ask?” “I’m investigating his murder.”
     
    There was a long moment of silence; then Paloma seemed to relax. “Bueno…El Diablo es muerte.”
     
    The devil is dead. After reading his rap sheet and remembering how the people he’d interviewed had described him, the appellation seemed even more apt than when the Realtor had used it.
     
    “You didn’t like him?” Luis asked.
     
    Paloma shook her head. “No, no. He was bad. He was mean to everyone. Always pushing, demanding, using people for his own gain.”
     
    “So…I asked before…when was the last time you saw him?”
     
    Paloma shrugged again. “Not so long…maybe a month. I don’t know. Time doesn’t mean much in Agua Caliente. One day is like the next.”
     
    “I understand,” Luis said. “One more thing…when you last saw Tutuola, was he alone?”
     
    Paloma nodded quickly. “Sì, sì, he was alone.” “Where did you see him?”
     
    “He came to my casa…like he had a right.” She frowned, then made the sign of the cross. “He was as he’d always been, mean and demanding. I sent him away.”
     
    Luis tried to imagine how this tiny woman would be able to handle a man of Tutuola’s size.
     
    “How did you manage that?” he asked.
     
    She smiled, and for the first time Luis got a glimpse of the pretty young woman she’d once been.
     
    “I put a curse on him. He was a superstitious man. It frightened him. He gave me much money to take the curse away. I took his money, but I did not remove the curse. I am glad he is dead.”
     
    Luis sighed. So…Tutuola already had the money when he came here. “Did you see his money?”
     
    “No. He went out to his car and came back with a handful. He threw it at me. I took it.” Then she glared at Luis. “He gave it to me. It was mine to do with as I wished.”
     
    “Of course. I’m just trying to find out who else might have known about the money…maybe someone who followed him and killed him for it.”
     
    Paloma immediately thought of the American woman who’d been in her house, and the look of horror on her face when she realized that Paloma knew Tutuola—and that he was alive. She remembered the woman calling him the devil and almost fainting.
     
    Paloma had seen the scar on the woman’s neck. She understood that kind of fear. If the American woman had taken the money, it didn’t matter to her. Solomon deserved to die.
     
    “I saw no one,” she said. Luis nodded, then stood up.
     
    “Thank you for taking time to speak with me. It has been very helpful.”
     
    Paloma nodded, then got up, too, and opened the door, anxious for the detective to leave. But Luis paused on the threshold.
     
    “Oh…one last thing.”
     
    “Que?”
     
    “When Tutuola was here, did he say where he’d been or how he came by the money?”
     
    “No. All he wanted was food and sex. He took both without asking. I am
     
    glad he is dead.”
     
    Now Luis was the one who was ashamed—ashamed that any member of his sex would do such a thing.
     
    “I am sorry you were mistreated,” he said softly. “Thank you for your time.”
     
    “De nada,” Paloma said.
     
    Luis was on the doorstep and about to walk away when he stopped and turned around.
     
    “I wish you a long and happy life, Paloma Garcia.”
     
    Paloma’s eyes filled with tears, but she only nodded and closed the door.
     
    Luis sighed. The world was harsh to women alone. He thought of Conchita and how many times he had left her in