3 Savor Read Online Free Page B

avoid a collision.
    “Damn cyclists,” he muttered,
before releasing her arm.
    She grimaced. “Don’t care for them
myself. I think I’ve had about a dozen near collisions since I’ve been here.
They’re whipping around all over the place.”
    “Pedestrians need helmets in San
Francisco.” He chuckled.
    They found an empty bench by a
fountain where a giant concrete fish spewed a continuous arc of water from his
mouth. Two little boys bent over the pool on the other side of the fountain,
splashing in the water and giggling while their father watched from a nearby
bench, a stroller at his side.
    Billie sat down, wondering at the
source of the children’s laughter. They wouldn’t be here unless someone they
loved was sick or injured. She imagined their mother, like Handel, lying
unresponsive in a cold, sterile room, behind stonewalls. How did children
continue to find joy in the bleakest of times? Did God give them an innate
sense of hope in their naiveté? She longed for some of that.
    The fading sun streaked pink above
distant buildings. It reminded her of evenings at home with Handel when he’d
take her hand after dinner and lead her toward the vineyard. They’d walk
between rows of vines; closed off from the clamoring outside world, and watch
the last rays of the sun paint the horizon ahead of them. The vineyard was
their sanctuary; common ground where they were able to relax away from family
and responsibilities.
    Mr. Alvarez dug in the pocket of
his slacks and pulled out a penny. He closed his eyes and flipped it into the
pond. “For luck,” he said, taking a seat beside her.
    “I thought you were a praying man,”
she teased. “Where does luck come in?”
    He shrugged. “God works in
mysterious ways, or so my priest tells me.”
    “I wish he’d work a little less
mysteriously,” she said, pushing hair behind her ear. “I could use a blatant
miracle right about now.”
    He was quiet for a moment.
    Billie lifted her hair off her
neck, feeling a trickle of sweat slip between her shoulder blades. “It’s warmer
out here than I thought.”
    “Si,” he said. Sliding an arm along
the back of the bench he turned to face her better. “Handel said you’re from
Minnesota. Is the temperature cooler there this time of year?”
    “Not really. I’ve gotten kind of
spoiled by the weather in the valley though. The city is always hotter.”
    She began to wonder if the man just
wanted to make small talk, when he finally took out his wallet and produced a
small photograph. “This is Jimena Kawasaki, taken about a year ago.”
    Billie took the photo and looked
closely at the face of the woman whom the media and prosecuting attorneys said
had been murdered by her own husband. She looked about thirty, with model
perfect skin, long, silky black hair, and a dazzling smile. She seemed happy.
Content. Billie wondered what happened to turn this stunning beauty into a
victim. “She was Latino?”
    “You didn’t know?” Mr. Alvarez
slipped the photo back into his wallet. A rather personal place to carry the
photo of a murder victim. “That’s the reason Handel had me investigating gang
activity. Jimena’s brother is a former member of MS-13, the Maras . They have a heavy presence in the
Bay area. They’re into smuggling people over the border, white slavery, drugs…
the list goes on. Since Kawasaki has been accused of having connections to Las
Boyz, we can’t rule anything out.”
    “Las Boyz? I don’t think I’ve heard
of that one.”
    “They’re fairly new to this area,
but have already sunk their claws into a good chunk of illegal activity,
especially down at the wharf. The Maras have drawn a line in the sand, so to
speak, and will not tolerate any more Las Boyz’ infringing on their turf.”
    “You think her brother had
something to do with killing her?”
    “Of course not,” he said, shaking
his head. His eyes sparked with anger before he turned away. When he spoke
again his voice was quiet but