Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 01 - Living the Vida Lola (13 page)

Sadie pulled up seconds after the cops left. She stared at the four of us, me in my Laughlin’s shirt, Manny grimly staring after the patrol car, Antonio looking smug, and Jack, hair tousled and palm tree shirt stained, leaning against my brother’s green Mustang.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

Manny pulled her aside and filled her in. When they came back, he said to me, “We’ll need to file a report.”

I nodded, silently cheering. I’d captured the bandits with a broom for a weapon—no gun required.

Sadie’s pointy jaw worked. “Nice disguise.”

It was sarcastic, but I took it at face value. “I shop here. Didn’t want people recognizing me and chatting me up… .” I glared at Jack and Antonio. “You know, blowing my cover.”

She turned from me and, teeth still clenched, hissed something I couldn’t hear to Manny. Then she walked away from him, storming across the parking lot.

Manny’s nostrils flared, but, unbelievably, he followed her.

Antonio stared after her. “She’s hot.”

I stared after her myself, trying to be objective. “Really? You think so?”

“Oh yeah. Definitely.”

I was trying to see Sadie from a man’s point of view when Jack came up next to me. “Are things always this exciting around you?”

I had an urge to let my fingertips wisp against his chest. To brush his wayward locks of hair back into place. To show him that my proclivity for excitement wasn’t limited to my job. Instead I slipped my fake glasses off and pulled the wig from my head, ruffling my hair back up to volume. “Comes with the job.”

“Your mom might have a point about the danger—”

I started to mentally erase one of the checkmarks I’d placed in his pro column. Unconditional support. That’s what I wanted in a man. I should have known Jack couldn’t offer that.

Antonio turned back to us. “You’re talking to a wall, Callaghan. Lola’s wanted to be a detective since she was—” He looked at me, that duplicitous smile sliding across his face again. “What fourteen? Fifteen? Been spying since then, anyway.”

“Spying?” Jack looked from Antonio to me. “Okay, what am I missing here?”

I swatted Antonio on the arm. “Nothing.” I was going to have to burn those pictures, damn it—and I didn’t want to.

He took me by the arm and led me away from Antonio.

“How about dinner?”

The adrenaline rush from Bonnie and Clyde was fading, hunger pangs beat against the inside of my stomach, and the tequila from earlier had zapped the rest of my energy. Dinner sounded like heaven. I opened my mouth to answer—

“Dolores!”

—and closed it again.

Jack and I both turned to see Manny walking toward us, his face tense, his cell phone clutched to his ear. Sadie walked double time to keep up with him, but they were oddly in sync.

“Dolores,” Manny said again when he reached me. He shot a searing look at Jack as he clipped his phone back onto his belt. “I just got a call from a buddy on the force. They found a body in the river off Garden Highway.”

The air was suddenly heavy and thick in my lungs. I felt faint.

Manny’s face grew stony. “They identified the body. It’s Emily Diggs.”

M
anny placed an immediate call to Walter Diggs, spoke to him briefly, and clipped his phone closed again.

“Well?” I asked.

He glanced at Antonio and Jack, who were leaning against the Mustang, then turned back to me. “It’s not over. He wants us to find out what happened.”

“Won’t the police investigate?” I didn’t get why Walter would want to pay for services the police would automatically provide. “I’m assuming they think this wasn’t an accident.”

“It looks suspicious.”

I covered my face with my hands. Murder. That was a far cry from subduing the freaky flasher thieves. I hadn’t made much headway in finding Emily when she was missing. Sean’s little face fluttered into my brain. I’d have to do better at finding her killer.

“Let’s go,” Manny said.

I tried to ignore the numbness in my fingertips and the chill that snaked through my body. “Go where?”

“To the police station. We’ll file our report on Laughlin’s and see what we can find out about the Diggs woman.”

“Right.” I wasn’t thinking clearly. News of Emily’s death had shaken me to the core. It felt like a personal loss, the weight of it like the water that had pressed down on Emily’s body. “I’ll take a rain check,” I said to Jack, my appetite, like a wave receding from the shore, gone again.

Jack had been studying Manny with a piercing look. His face softened as he ran his fingertips down my arm. “You okay?”

“Fine. But I have to go.” Even his touch couldn’t erase Emily’s tragedy from the front of my mind.

He nodded. “Sure.”

“Lunch tomorrow,” I said as I pulled my Laughlin’s shirt over my head, tugging my lavender top down to keep it in place.

Jack’s mouth tightened. “Yep.”

Manny took the shirt from me and tossed it to Sadie. “Take it back inside.”

I didn’t want to leave, but what else could I do? My missing person was dead.

Sadie clutched the shirt, glowering as I climbed into Manny’s truck. Red blotches appeared on her skin, creeping up her neck, coloring her cheeks. If she were a geyser, she’d blow any second.

I ignored her, mentally reviewing the things I’d learned so far in my search for Emily. Nothing that warranted murder. Of course, what
did
warrant murder?

I thought about Beatrice, Emily’s crazy roommate and Mary Bonatee’s aunt. I’d told her I’d find Emily, and I’d let her down.

Manny and I drove in silence. Despite the temperature—ninety-five degrees at 9:10 in the evening—my skin pricked with goose bumps. I was chilled to the bone.

At the station, I perched on the edge of a hollow metal chair, the cloth-lined frame scratchy against my arms and offering
no warmth. Manny sat in an identical chair next to me, unfazed. Of course. He was the perfect PI.

Detective Seavers, Manny’s buddy, sat across from us. He had a crusty voice and an even crustier demeanor. His suit was rumpled, his tie wrinkled, and he looked completely disheveled. A thin layer of hair grew around his head in a dome-wrap. After brief introductions, he said, “We’ve got next to nothing. Coroner’s report will be a few days.”

“What can you tell us?” Manny asked.

“A boater found her near Riverbank Marina. Initial report indicates she’s been dead several days.” Detective Seavers straightened his files and stifled a yawn. I glanced at my watch—9:30. Where was his stamina?

I yawned. Where was mine? A wave of dizziness flitted over me.

Manny shifted in his chair. “Anything else you can tell me, Randy?”

“Not right now. I’ll keep you posted.” He looked at me and raised his caterpillar eyebrows.

Manny hitched his thumb in my direction. “Dolores is working the case from our end. I’ll let you know if she finds anything.” Then he shook Seavers’s hand. “Welcome back to Sacramento, Detective.”

Seavers gave me a quick nod, then actually smiled at Manny. “Good to be back. Gotta love the valley.”

Manny stood up. “I’ll be in contact.”

Detective Seavers walked us out. He dropped his voice as he spoke to Manny. I could barely hear him ask, “So, are you and—?”

“Over,” Manny said.

“Right. Too bad.” The detective ran his hand over his sparse hair. “She was a feisty one.”

Manny shot him a look, and the detective shut his mouth.
Then he strode out of the police station, leaving Seavers staring after him.

I hurried to keep up. Seavers and Manny must go way back if the detective knew the ex. Feisty? I just didn’t know what that meant in relation to Manny Camacho.

Fifteen silent minutes later, Manny pulled his truck up in front of my parents’ house and turned in his seat. “Not a bad job tonight,” he said.

“Thanks.” I think. It wasn’t quite a compliment, but it wasn’t criticism either, so I took it graciously. “See you tomorrow.” I started to climb out of the truck.

“Peleadora,”
he murmured, and I nearly fell.

Now he was calling me a fighter? I leaned back in and did a double take at the glimmer in his dark eyes. “What’s with the nicknames?”

“Looking for the one that fits.”

I was speechless. “I don’t need one.”

He smiled slightly. “But you deserve one, Dolores.”

Whatever
that
meant. I slammed the truck door and went upstairs. Better not to think about it.

He didn’t leave until I’d gone inside. The apartment was empty, no sign of Antonio—or Jack. First things first. I raced to my bedroom and immediately searched my dresser for the photos of Jack and Greta Pritchard. I tossed all my lingerie out of the drawers, dropped to my knees and looked under the dresser, even pulled it out from the wall to look behind it.

They weren’t there. Damn Antonio. After fifteen years of having them, the thought that they were gone made my stomach feel hollow. I couldn’t remember when I’d eaten, but I didn’t think I could choke down water at this point. I hooked a leash to Salsa’s collar and went out for a late-night run around the neighborhood. The streets were lighted, the neighborhood
quiet and comforting. A half hour turned into forty minutes. And that turned into an hour.

Who would want Emily Diggs dead? I filtered through what I knew so far. I couldn’t come up with a motive for Mary Bonatee. Allison had a chip on her shoulder the size of Mt. Kilimanjaro, but did she dislike her mother enough to kill her?

How did Emily get into the river? Maybe it
was
accidental. Had she been on a boat and fallen overboard? But whose boat, and why would she be on it? Or had she been killed somewhere else and dumped in the river?

I came back to why she’d wanted to talk to a reporter at the paper. She’d had something big on her mind, but what?

By the time I got back home, it was painfully clear that I didn’t have even a fraction of the information I needed to figure out what had happened to her, and Salsa and I were both exhausted. I fell into my bed, names and ideas circling in my mind—Emily, Sean, Bea, boats, bodies in the river. Finally, as the sun started to come up, I drifted off to sleep.

Sitting at my usual table at Szechwan House, I pressed my fist to my cheek. Even with the yoga class I’d taken that morning and the extra primp time, I was still early. I dug out my phone and George Bonatee’s business card, and placed a call to Emily’s landlord.

Out of town until tomorrow, his secretary said. Damn. Visiting him would have to wait.

I always looked for signs of good luck—it was part of that eternal-optimism superstition thing—so when Helen brought over a single fortune cookie, a goofy grin smacked across her
face, who was I to question it? “You need good luck, eh, Lola? Open fortune.”

I cracked the cookie, and two small papers fluttered to the table. Ooh, was I double lucky today? The first one said
YOU WILL MAKE A LOT OF MONEY
. Great, but would I find a killer? That’s what I wanted to know.

I picked up the second one. Much better.
YOUR DESTINY AWAITS
. Vague—and slightly menacing if I thought about it too hard. I flipped the fortune over to see my lucky numbers. Just in case I decided to play the lottery later so I could make the money the first fortune predicted. There, scribbled on top of the numbers in green ink, was a handwritten message:
Am I it?

Helen giggled. “I slip it in for him.” She nodded toward the waiting area.

I spun my head around. Jack stood there, looking far better than lunch possibly could.

My destiny awaits.
I felt encouraged.

“You’re early,” he said, his voice smooth and velvety. Like a layer of scented lotion, it seeped right into me, working its magic.

“I’m hungry. I like to eat. You should know that about me right from the start.” Until I knew the man Jack had become, I thought I should keep my distance. That included prattling on about whatever inconsequential thoughts came to mind. “I’ll probably end up round, just like my mother.”

Jack slid into the chair across from me. “Your mom’s not that round.” He grinned wickedly. “And there’s always exercise to help keep a person in shape.”

It was perfectly clear that the exercise he was referring to included a bed and lots of heavy panting. I pretended to be naïve. “I run. Very fast. I like to run. And do yoga. I’m very active.”

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His navy polo shirt matched the smoky blue of his eyes and hung
on him perfectly, accentuating the hard body underneath. If he was trying to impress me, he was doing a fabulous job. “I had a different kind of exercise in mind,” he said.

Ay, Dios,
the man was bold. I felt myself blush and hurried to change the subject.
Keep your distance,
I reminded myself. “Exciting night last night, eh?”

His smile faded slightly, and he leaned back in his chair. “Yep.”

“Sorry about missing dinner.” My mother’s voice in my head reminded me of my manners. “But thanks for your help.”

“My pleasure,” he said. “You needed backup.”

“Manny was there for backup.” I sat up taller and folded my hands in front of me. “And I can take care of myself. You and Antonio being there just made it a little easier.” I wished I hadn’t sounded so defensive, but something about Jack’s scrutiny made my back go up.

“If you say so.” He turned his attention to Helen, who was back to take our order. “We’ll have Happy Family with prawns and—” He looked at me.

“Mapo tofu,” I said.

He added hot and sour soup and an order of paper-wrapped chicken. He had a healthy appetite and good taste. Another check in the pro column—if I was keeping track. Which, of course, I was. He was still down one from that comment last night about my mother having a point about the danger in my job. And his attitude today seemed to corroborate that sentiment.

“What else is new with you, Lola?” he asked after Helen disappeared into the kitchen.

My lust-filled crush on him was completely renewed; that’s what was new. “Nothing.” I made myself blink. “You were in San Luis Obispo for a long time, right?”