Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 01 - Living the Vida Lola (30 page)

That was it, just “Nope.” He might as well have professed his undying love and committed to a lifetime of monogamy with me, I was
that
moved by his response. In one quick motion, I pulled my feet off his legs, sat up, and straddled him. I suddenly didn’t care about his secrets.

He ran his hands up my arms. I wound my fingers through his hair, just as I’d done earlier. I couldn’t control whoever was trying to kill me, but this moment with Jack? That I could. I
needed
to.

Jack nudged the strap of my top off my shoulder and pressed his lips against my collarbone, then my neck. My body tingled, and I opened my thighs and moved against him.

I yelped, surprised, when his mouth grazed my breast through my top. My back arched, and I grabbed the side of the couch. My arm hit the lamp from the side table, and it crashed to the floor.

“Oh!” I lurched, nearly falling. Jack steadied me. Tears pooled in my eyes. My brother was in the hospital because of me. I didn’t want to confuse my need for comfort with what I felt for Jack, and I was so not in control at the moment. Maybe the lamp falling was a sign. Maybe it wasn’t the right time for this. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I c-can’t…”

“It’s okay, Lola.”

I dropped my forehead against his for a second then pulled back when I heard heavy footsteps up the back stairs followed by thunderous pounding at the kitchen door.

“Dolores! ¿Qué pasó?”

Oh God. Now the night was complete. It was—what?—one in the morning, and my dad was trying to break down the back door.

“Nada, Papi,”
I called.
“Estoy bien.”

“I heard a crash. What is going on in there?”

Reluctantly, I climbed off Jack and hurried through the kitchen, cracking the door open as I wiped away a stray tear. “I’m fine, Papi. Go back to bed.”

He tried to peer around me. I let him. There was nothing to see in the kitchen. And he didn’t have super vision that could make a right angle turn into the living room. Finally he gave up and leveled a look at me. “
You
go to bed,
mi’ja
. You have a job to quit in a few hours. You will come work at Abuelita’s.”

My jaw dropped. Oh no. As soon as I woke up in the morning, I was nailing a hit-and-run killer. “I am
not
quitting my job.”

My mother marched up the stairs, her finger wagging in front of her. “Oh yes, you are.”

“No. I’m not.”

She threw her hands up and made a motorboat sound with her lips. “Maybe when the bad man kills us, then you will get some sense, eh?”

I was not going to let her guilt me into quitting. “Maybe,” I said, heavy on the sarcasm.

But she had to have the last word. “We will talk tomorrow, Dolores.” The
punto
was implied. End of discussion.

Like hell. I was going to be busy. Family castigation could wait.

My father peered around me again, his eyebrows angled together in suspicion. I turned and looked at the empty kitchen then back at him. “What?”

With a frustrated shake of his head, he said, “Nothing.” Finally, he turned and followed my mother back into their house, and I went back to Jack.

I knew my parents would be downstairs for the next hour, each with an empty glass pressed against the ceiling. It really was time to find a new place to live. The hell with cheap rent. It wasn’t worth it.

Jack was leaning against the door to my bedroom when I found him. “I need to go to sleep,” I said. I didn’t know if my anxiety would let me, but I had to try. I had a killer to hunt in the morning.

Jack took my hand. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

I tried to read him, looking for ulterior motives, but saw only weary concern. “Okay.”

He wrapped his arms around me. “Okay.”

There was a loud thunk, and the floor vibrated, something pounding against the ceiling downstairs.
“¿Quien está allí
,
Dolores?
” My mother’s muffled voice followed more pounding. “Who is there?”

I pulled away from Jack, giving him an exasperated smile as
I shook my head. “Go to bed, Mami!” I yelled at the floor and stomped my foot. “Go to bed.”

Jack led me to my bedroom. We lay down under the quilt, and I curled up next to him. And amazingly, we slept.

A door shut, and I awoke with a start.

The killer! He’d tracked me down.

I bounded out of bed, grabbed the nearest weapon, my high school girl’s softball trophy, and slipped into the hallway. The blazing sunlight streaming through the living room windows cleared the bleariness in my brain. The night before flooded back to me. The killer wasn’t in my flat. It had to be Jack.

My white-knuckle grip on the trophy relaxed as I went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. A slip of paper on the counter next to the morning newspaper caught my eye.

Finish the job. I’ll call you later
.

—
J

I smiled. He’d written me a love note, brought the paper inside, and had faith in me. I didn’t need the pro list anymore.

My mind screeched to a halt.
¡Ay, Dios!
Today was Thursday. The
quinceañera
was in two days!

The clock came into focus. It was 7:49. I had to haul ass if I was going to catch a killer
and
help finish making the favors and arranging the flowers. After racing through my morning routine, I grabbed a cup of java to go, tucked the
Bee
under my arm, and ran out to the driveway.

Dead stop. I had no car. Shit. Papi had said the driver’s side was smashed, but the car was still drivable. After the accident, he’d taken it to the restaurant and left it there. I’d have to get it later.

I pulled out my cell and dialed Manny.

He picked me up ten minutes later, greeted me with a barely perceptible nod, and we plowed through the thick morning traffic into downtown. After a few minutes of the silent treatment, he asked, “How’s your brother doing?”

“They’re discharging him this afternoon. He’s going to be fine.”

Manny’s eyes went back to the road. Apparently that was it for conversation, so I ripped the rubber band off the newspaper and riffled through the sections until I got to the Metro. Jack’s latest column was there. Seeing his picture and byline sent a ray of warmth through me. I’d curl up with his words later—after I’d caught a killer.

A few minutes later, Manny parked and stepped out of his truck. He waited for me on the sidewalk, his face grim. He glanced at the paper that was tucked back under my arm but kept silent as we walked toward Assemblyman Case’s reelection office.

Mrs. Case had been talking to her daughter but stopped midsentence when she saw us. I wanted to spit at her and yell,
¡Mentirosa! You knew about Emily!

She snapped her cool gaze at Manny for a split second. “What is it now, Ms. Cruz?”

I was impressed that she remembered my name, but felt no compulsion to sugarcoat things anymore. “How far was your husband willing to go to protect your son Zod from Emily Diggs’s accusations?” I rattled off my thoughts out loud. “Or maybe it was all
you
, trying to protect your son and your husband.”

If the ice queen was thrown off guard by the questions, it didn’t show. She was a pro. “I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“
I’m
sure you do—” I gave her a
gimme a break
look. “—but let me share my theory with you. I think either Zod gave Garrett
Diggs a tattoo using poorly sterilized equipment
or
your son showed Garrett how to give himself a”—I made air quotes with my finger—“ ‘prison tattoo.’ Either way, it wasn’t very hygienic, and it caused a heart infection and he died.”

Mrs. Case slammed the stack of papers she’d been holding down on a desk, and her daughter jumped, her eyes wide.
That’s right
, I wanted to say,
your mom just might be a murderer
.

“That woman was a slanderous lunatic, and I told her so,” Mrs. Case said. “She was always getting involved where she had no business. Affairs with married men, secret children, each with a different father. She was a gold digger.” She took a step toward me. “My son was
not
involved in that boy’s death,” she ground out from between her clenched teeth.

I shrugged. “Maybe not intentionally, and we really can’t prove it anyway, but I don’t think the voters care too much about that. Your husband’s career could be ruined whether Garrett’s death happened the way Emily Diggs thought or not.”

The arctic shrew ran a palm down her charcoal suit and blinked, slowly, three times. “What do you want, Ms. Cruz?”

“Emily Diggs met with your husband. I believe she told him about Tattoo Haven and Garrett’s death with the hopes that he’d do something about it.”

Mrs. Case lowered her chin and stared at me through her spidery lashes. “The boy died. I’ll say it again. It was tragic, but Todd—” She took a deep breath and brushed her suit down again. “—Todd was not involved. Now, I do have a full schedule today. If there’s nothing else—” Then she picked up her stack of papers again and walked away from me.

“Mrs. Case, the story’s out there. She contacted a reporter, you know.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, flicked an icy look at Manny, and then faced me. “Let the story be told, then. My family has nothing to do with that woman’s death.”

She turned on her heel and passed through to the small office, slamming the door behind her. Before I knew it, a man who looked to be the president of the Young Republicans appeared out of nowhere and ushered us out of the building. With a pointed glare at us, he turned the key in the lock.

Manny took me by the elbow and steered me toward his truck. “Nice job.”

Yeah. His sarcasm wasn’t lost on me.

My cell phone vibrated from inside my purse. Pulling my elbow from Manny’s grip, I dug it out and flipped it open. “Hello?”

“Ms. Cruz?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Joanie. Case.” She whispered.

I perked up and knocked the back of my hand against Manny’s arm. “Joanie. What can I do for you?”

“Can we talk?”

Maybe she was going to snitch on her dysfunctional family. “Definitely. Now?”

“I can meet you around the corner in a couple of minutes.”

“We’ll be right there.”

“Uh…”

“What is it?”

“That guy you were with makes me nervous.”

Yeah, he makes me nervous, too
, I thought, darting a glance up at Manny’s brooding face. “I’ll leave him here, then.” The phone went dead, and I dropped it back into my bag. “She wants to talk,” I said to Manny.

“Good.”

“Alone.” I shot him a faint smile. “You make her nervous. Can’t imagine why.”

His jaw tightened. “I’ll wait for you in the truck.” He walked off, and I headed in the opposite direction to meet Sporty Spice.

W
aiting for  Joanie in the blistering sun, I started to open the paper, just to see the smoldering picture of Jack again. But then the assemblyman’s daughter was in front of me. She glanced at the paper before I tucked it back under my arm, Jack’s face against my body. I didn’t want to share him.

She looked up and down the street. “Can we go somewhere more private?”

Before I had a chance to answer, she started down the street toward the capitol. “Are you all right?” I asked.

“I—I’m not sure.” We walked onto the grass, and she stopped behind a huge evergreen, leaning her back against it.

Give up the goods
, chica. I knew from my conversation with her brother that she was on Prozac, but she was still seriously on edge. “Maybe I can help?”

“It’s just—” She pressed her palms against her eyes, shaking her head. “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?”

“You think my brother’s involved in Garrett’s death?”

Poor thing. She was so out of the loop. “I think it’s a possibility.”

She pressed her palms to her eyes again then shook her head as if she were clearing it of cobwebs. “How?”

“Like I told your mother, Zod may have given the tattoo—or he may have taught Garrett how to give himself one. I’ve spoken with the woman who manages the bar, and she said Emily Diggs felt that she had enough to go to the police and raise the question.”

“Proof? To prosecute him?”

“She kept a journal of everything she discovered. I think she wanted someone held responsible for Garrett’s death. She talked to a lawyer, but she died before there was an investigation.”

Despite the blistering heat, Joanie’s face lost all color. “She talked to a lawyer?”

“Your roommate’s father.”

She gave me a look like I was speaking pig latin.

“George Bonatee,” I said.

Her expression cleared. “Right. It makes sense that Mrs. Diggs would talk to him.” She played with the hem of her T-shirt, then looked at me. “So is Zod in trouble?”

Poor girl probably felt guilty for her part in getting him the job in the first place. “If he killed Emily to keep her quiet, he is.”

“He doesn’t have it in him.”

So she didn’t think mangy Zod had a violent streak. I inched to the left, trying to follow the minuscule bit of shade the tree offered. Sweat dripped between my cleavage. Lovely. “So Zod never talked about any of this with you? You’re not close?”

She shrugged. “Average, I guess. We don’t talk a lot. And if he wasn’t worried about it…” She hesitated and darted a glance at my newspaper. “You told my mom that Mrs. Diggs contacted a reporter?”

I nodded. “After she didn’t get anywhere with your father. What makes you so sure Zod didn’t kill her?” I asked.

Joanie’s eyelids fluttered in the heat, and she scoffed. “Zod
wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s all talk. Always has been.” She glanced around the park before she looked back to me. “What can I do to help him?”

My job is to help bring Emily’s killer to justice
, muchacha,
not help the potential killer get off easy
. “I can’t help you there. Sorry.” I squeezed her arm. “I’m just trying to find out what happened to her.” I ran the back of my hand across my forehead, wiping away the sweat. “Are you glad to be rooming with Mary again?”