Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 01 - Living the Vida Lola (21 page)

He hung up the phone and stretched his hand out to us. In three strides, I was face-to-face with him, grasping his hand firmly, trying to hide my satisfaction. This man was definitely Sean Diggs’s father. Emily had good taste, assuming he wasn’t a killer. “Thank you for seeing me,” I said.

“Not a problem. Ms. Cruz, isn’t it?” Then he looked at Lucy.

I gestured toward her. “My colleague—”

Lucy thrust her arm out and strode forward. “Clarice Clooney. A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

I stared at her. Oh. My. God. Apparently George topped Lucy’s strip list.

Bonatee gestured to a pair of black leather chairs facing his desk.

I started to sit, grimaced at the ache in my belly, and straightened back up. “I’ll stand.” This navel piercing was proving to be a big pain in the ass. It hurt like hell. I needed some Advil. Bad.

Bonatee pushed himself back under his desk and directed his full attention at me, his fingers steepled and perched under his chin. The man had a lethal mixture of suave sophistication and base animal magnetism. “That’s a nasty abrasion on your arm.” He peered at my face. “And your lip. Were you in an accident?”

“Yes, they are, and I was. Played chicken with a car last night.”

He stared at me for a beat, but when I didn’t offer any more information about my injuries, he went on. “What can I do for you ladies?”

“Emily Diggs.” I paused, waiting for him to blurt out that she was the mother of his child. Or, at the very least, his tenant. He sat silent, his face like chiseled stone.

I kept waiting. A good screw, maybe? Anything?

No dice. Bonatee’s poker face was stellar.

“Yes,” he prompted.

“You are aware Ms. Diggs disappeared last Wednesday.”

“Disappeared,” he repeated. His eye twitched slightly, and the crack in his voice when he spoke revealed a tiny bit of… something.

“Your daughter told you your tenant was missing, didn’t she? I assume the police have been to speak with you.”

Bonatee shifted in his chair and sputtered a cough. “No, I haven’t seen the police. Mary e-mailed me, but I haven’t read it. I’ve been tied up on a case. Disappeared. That word has strong implications. You’re sure Emily’s not on vacation somewhere?”

“Do you read the newspaper?” I supposed it was possible he
hadn’t heard Emily was dead. Was I the only person that read the obits?

“Of course, Ms. Cruz.” His spine seemed to stiffen. “But as I said, I’ve been out of town.”

Likely story, but a little too convenient. “You arranged the rental for Ms. Diggs, is that right?”

He nodded, the muscles in his face pulsing. “Correct. We were actually, er, old friends. She needed a favor.”

The small repetitive movement of his jaw only added to his attractiveness. “Is that right? How far back do you go?”

He folded his thumb under the lip of his desk, sliding it over the edge. “Our daughters went to kindergarten together.”

I stood up straighter and drew an imaginary line between Allison and Mary. I didn’t know what it meant, but Allison was the common denominator.

“Really, Ms. Cruz,” Bonatee said, interrupting my thoughts, “what’s this about?” His voice had tensed, and a transformation seemed to take place. The cutthroat litigator materialized, replacing the congenial man he’d been a moment before. He didn’t want us here.

“Emily’s not on vacation.”

There was a knock on the door and he pushed back from his desk. “Yes, Margaret. What is it?”

The mousy receptionist shuffled into the room a few feet. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Bonatee. You—you have a call. You can take it out here… .”

Bonatee smiled indulgently, if a little forced. “Of course.” He looked back to Lucy and me. “Excuse me a minute, won’t you?”

Lucy popped out of her chair the second the door closed. “He’s hiding something. Did you see his shifty eyes? What do we do? What do we do?”

“Good question,
Clarice
.” This guy was a lawyer, probably
trained in cross-examination. I snapped my fingers. “How about good cop, bad cop?”

Lucy smiled, big and diabolically. “So we need to get him to admit he was boinking the woman, right? I can do that. He’s good looking.” She winked at me. “Probably topped Emily’s strip list.”

That was an image I could have done without, but it did get me thinking about exactly what had transpired between Emily and Bonatee since she’d moved into his rental house. Had their old relationship been rekindled?

Lucy settled back into her leather chair. “Okay, I’m ready,” she said a split second before Bonatee came back into the room.

Lucy would make the perfect “good cop.” She was bubbly and exuded innocence. The question was, could I be a convincing “bad cop”? Manny, yes. Sadie, without a doubt. Neil could just charge. Me? I could take Bonatee down, but without resorting to kung fu, I was a little less confident… .

“I apologize for the interruption,” Bonatee said, rounding his desk. He was back to Mr. Congeniality. “Where were we?”

“Emily and her son did not go on vacation—” I started.

“Do you know where they are?” He asked the question a little too quickly to be indifferent.

“Sean is with his uncle,” I said, waiting for the right moment to unleash my bad cop.

Anxiety seemed to flow off him. He relaxed and slid back under the desk. “I’m relieved to hear that. I’m sure Em, er, Ms. Diggs will turn up.”

Lucy rearranged herself in her chair, fanning her skirt out and shaking her Birkenstocked foot. “She did turn up, you son of a bitch, facedown in the river. Now cut the bullshit, and tell us what you know.”

I gawked at Lucy. No! The sweet, bubbly, mother was not
taking on the role of bad cop.
¡Ay, caramba!
I shifted gears. Good cop. Good cop. I fumbled for words. “
Clarice
, I’m sure Mr. Bonatee knows the seriousness of the matter. Let’s give him a chance to cooperate—”

Bonatee’s voice snapped as he looked from me to Lucy, his pleasant demeanor gone. “You just said she was missing—”

Lucy jumped up and slapped her palms on his desk. “She
was
missing. Now she’s
dead
.”

“That can’t be right—”

“It’s exactly right. She was killed. Now, where exactly
were
you last Wednesday?”

His face froze, his amber eyes looking fossilized. “Wednesday?”

“That’s right, sir,” I said. A good cop should sit. I gripped the arm of the chair, grimaced, and lowered myself down. “The day she disappeared.”

“I—I was out of town, working on a case. I told you that.” Finally, he managed to quash his bubbling emotion and bring his face back to a normal expression. “How? How did she die?”

Good question if he was innocent. Diabolical if he was guilty. “We’re waiting on the autopsy—”

“Autopsy?”

Lucy marched up and down the room, her Birks slapping, her skirt flowing. She wheeled around. “That’s right. Au-top-sy. They do that with a wrongful death. As an attorney, I’m sure you know that. Now, stop playing dumb and tell us about your relationship with Ms. Diggs.”

Damn, she was good. Even with my black belt, she had me on edge.

“You’re sure it wasn’t an accident?”

I watched Bonatee carefully. This guy was either Samuel L. Jackson good, or he was genuinely shocked. And maybe even upset. “She had drugs in her system—”

Lucy interrupted. “Yeah, like a Cuban boatload full.”

“Drugs?” He coughed. “What kind of drugs?”

Lucy didn’t know the specifics, but she was in full improvisational mode. “You tell us,
George
. What kind of drugs did your
lover
do?”

His face grew hard and calculated, like Lucy had said something that pissed him off. “My lover?”

I covered my eyes with my hand. Shit. She was beyond bad cop. She was out of control. I maneuvered myself out of my chair and took her arm, jumping in to smooth things over. “We know Sean’s your son.”

I could see him relax slightly. “Is that why you’re here? To confirm your suspicion that Emily and I have a son together?” He threw his hands up, like he was giving up. “I confess. We had a relationship years ago. Sean was the result of that union.”

“What happened with your relationship?” I asked.

His expression didn’t change, but his eyes seemed to sadden. “Let’s just say it didn’t work out.”

There were all kinds of reasons why relationships didn’t work out. Who had been the one to call theirs off? “I’m trying to understand Emily,” I said. “Can you tell me what happened?”

He lowered his head for a beat, and I felt his sadness. “It was my fault,” he finally said. “I—I met someone else and—” He broke off.

“And she found out?” I finished.

He nodded. “But it was a mistake. I tried to apologize, but she wouldn’t forgive me. I didn’t see her for years. When she called me a few months ago and needed my help, I didn’t hesitate.”

“What about Sean? Did you see him much?”

“I didn’t even know about him.” His gaze dropped to the
desk. “When I saw him, I—I—” The glimpses of emotion he’d shown slowly faded. “I couldn’t believe she never told me.”

After having kept Sean a secret for so long, why would Emily have introduced him now? And if he’d cheated on her, why would she have come to him, of all people, for help? “What about your daughter?”

“What about her?”

“Why’d you set Emily up in the same house with her?”

“Emily came to see me, said she was having a hard time making ends meet. She’d lost her job, was struggling with some—” He cleared his throat. “—some personal issues.”

“And Mary?” I asked, silently thanking God that Lucy wasn’t unleashing her bad cop anger again.

“She’s a student.” He gave a proud smile. “Pre-law.”

So Mary was following in her dad’s footsteps. “Have you told Mary about you being Sean’s father?”

He shook his head. “I only told—” His expression froze and then took on a touch of remorse. “No, I told no one. I wanted Mary to know, but I didn’t want to hurt her, I thought if they got to know each other…”

Lucy was right. The man was attractive, and there was an underlying charm about him. The way he held himself. The line of his shoulders. There was almost a familiarity about him. I liked him and actually wanted to believe him, but Bad Cop Lucy was back. “You said she came back and asked you for help. Did she need money? Child support?”

He shook his head, but Lucy kept on. “She took a risk having you meet Sean. You could have fought her for custody. And you might have won.” She sucked in a quick breath and glared at him, accusation in her eyes. “It’s way more convenient for you that she’s dead, don’t you think? Once paternity’s established, and if you want him, Sean will be yours.”

He shook his head, looking indignant. “I would never take
a child from his mother. I set her up in the house. I offered to help her. She wanted—” He stopped abruptly. “As I said, she had some personal issues.”

“Right,” Lucy said. “Her other son and the tattoo.” His mocha-colored face paled, and Lucy rattled on, spitting out the words. “Did she want your help as a lawyer? Did it piss you off that she wouldn’t take you back after you betrayed her?” Her face lit up as if she’d had an epiphany. “Did you try to be with her again? Did she reject you? Is that why you killed her?”

“Clarice!” I jumped up and grabbed her arm, giving it a hard warning squeeze. “Back off,” I murmured, and Lucy stepped back, letting me take the lead. “What she means,” I said to Bonatee, “is that we have to look at all possible scenarios.”

He rose slowly. “I did not kill Emily.”

“Of course not,” I said. “Clarice here always suspects the worst.” I threw in a small laugh, hoping to lighten the moment, but it flopped. Emily was still dead, after all, and Bonatee hadn’t forgotten that little fact.

“You said she was in the river?” he asked.

“Near the marina off Garden Highway,” I confirmed. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” And I was. The hum of emotion in his voice was real. Whatever Emily’s motives for contacting him again had been, it seemed clear to me that Bonatee had seen it as another chapter in their story. Or a chance for a rewrite.

Or maybe it was just the rose-colored glasses I wore. I wanted to believe that Emily had known love at the end of her life, and that Sean’s father was the one to offer it.

“What have the police concluded?” he asked.

Lucy jumped back into the conversation. “
We’re
asking the questions, Mr. Lawyer Man—”

I stared at her. Mr. Lawyer Man? Where was she getting this stuff?

“I don’t buy your story,” she said, marching toward him, skirts flowing. “I know your type. All smooth jazz and shit. You could convince a girl that the sky is green with all that sweet talk and charm. You want us to believe you loved her, but she didn’t want your love.” She shook her head. “Tsk, tsk.”

I could see anger pooling behind Bonatee’s tiger eyes. “She was the mother of his child,
Clarice
,” I said, trying to signal Lucy so she’d lighten up.

She bunched her fists. “But cheating is never, ever okay. Shoulda kept your pants zipped—that’s what I say. A cheating man is enough to drive plenty of women postal. Poor Emily. She did the right thing by just walking away.”

Bonatee’s face turned stony.

“Clarice,” I said as sweetly as I could, “we’re trying to find out who killed Emily, not judge Mr. Bonatee’s personal life.”

“We’re done here.” Bonatee was at the door in three determined strides.

No! No!
I channeled all the good cop I could. “Love doesn’t always fit in a tidy little box, Clarice.” I squeezed her arm again and smiled sweetly at the lawyer. His shoulders seemed to tremble under his suit. He looked like a volcano, bubbling and ready to erupt. I decided to quit while I was still ahead. “Thank you for your time.”

He opened the door, standing stiffly alongside it.

I had one more question to ask. “Emily’s personal issues… did they involve her older son and how he died?”

“From a tattoo,” Lucy threw in.

He stared her down. “People don’t die from tattoos.”

“No, but they can die from infections.”

“The kid had a bad heart,” he said. “No one was responsible for that. I encouraged her to let it alone.”