"Rain, Anthony Vincent - Three Palms" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rain Anthony Vincent)

"He lived alone, and he had no family that I know of."

"That's a shame," I said.

"Oh, I agree. Most of my family is back in Queens. That's in New York. I followed my daughter down here, but now she's moved to LA." Her face flushed.

"I'm from New York too," I said. "Manhattan."

The woman gave a slight jerk of her head. "Really? You know what I miss? New York pizza. I'm Delores Kenny."

"Nice to meet you. I'm August Caruso. Did you talk to the police, Delores?"

"Well, yes. They questioned me. They asked me for some personal information, you know, my full name. Things of that nature. They also asked me when was the last time I had seen Donny. They were in his apartment a long time, and they took some of his things away in plastic bags. Then they left, and Frank locked up. He's the head maintenance man. They told him to let no one inside."

"Is Frank around?" I asked.

"No," she said quickly. "He works other complexes besides this one. Poor Donny. He seemed so happy the last time I saw him. He came over to watch the Marlins game with me last week. Awful game. He had a nice haircut, though. He seemed so upbeat."

"Was there a special reason?" I said.

"Excuse me?"

"Why he seemed upbeat. Maybe it was for a special reason?"

"I don't think so. I noticed the haircut, of course, so I thought maybe he had some occasion, but he didn't say anything about that. I did ask him where he got it. He told me The Chatterbox off Wickham Road, a girl named Karen." She laughed and touched her hair. "I went there a few days ago to get my hair colored. The girl was awfully nervous, but good."

"So you and Donny were friends?"

"Well, no. I think I was more of a replacement mother to him. Sometimes we would have a cup of coffee together, or watch a game like I said. Every now and then I would cook dinner for him. He seemed so lost. Like he needed someone to talk to, you know, a parent figure. I tried to help, but he was so impulsive. Quick to get in trouble."

"Did he have any friends?"

"Well, there's Louis," she said. "He lives across the way," she pointed with a stubby right forefinger, "but you'll probably find him by the pool."

Louis was lying out on a lounge chair, a bottle of sunscreen and a towel to the side, sports pages splayed open on the ground. He was about Donny Jackson's age, same dirty blond hair and wiry build. He had a disheveled look, but in a cool way. Something I could never pull off in my twenties.

A long blue pool dominated the space. The water was crystal clear with wavy ribbons of sunshine bouncing around inside it. I could smell the chlorine.

I sat down on the lounger next to Louis and he looked at me over streamlined sunglasses, the type baseball players wore. His eyes were vacant and dark.

"My name is August Caruso," I said. "I'm a private investigator looking into Donny Jackson's death. I heard you knew Donny." I flipped my wallet open and showed him my license.

Louis considered me. His mind processed thought without any ripple effects on his face. "L and D Landscaping. I'm the 'L', he was the 'D'."

"You don't seem surprised to hear he's dead."

"It's a small complex. News travels fast. I mean, I'm sorry he's gone and all."

"Anything that you can tell me about Donny would be helpful."