Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 01 - Living the Vida Lola (8 page)

“So,” Antonio said, pressing his fingertips together and frowning at me.

“So,” I finally managed. Sparkling conversation. I set down my cup and suddenly remembered my shirt. I tried to cover myself, heat rising to my cheeks. Jack Callaghan reappears in my life, and suddenly my body was going haywire. What was wrong with me?

Jack forced a laugh. “I think you’ve ruined me for other women, Lola.”

Join the club, buddy. Back at you.

Antonio looked at me as if he was sending me a message—
keep yourself covered
—then knocked Chely on the arm. “Hey,
prima,
let me play you the song I’m going to do at your party.”

Chely was dreamy-eyed and goggling at Jack. “Later.”

But he grabbed her sleeve and pulled her toward the front room. “Not later. Now.”

She sputtered but let herself be dragged.

Subtle, Tonio. Real subtle.
Yep, we were definitely back in high school.

When they were gone, Jack turned back to me. “You really have ruined me,” he said.

“Do you say that to all the girls?”

His eyes smoldered. “I was thinking we should go out. Talk about old times. What do you say?”

I jammed my hands onto my hips and laughed. “What old times? We don’t
have
any old times.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “Sure we do.”

I suddenly felt the effort of him trying to keep his attention on my face and quickly covered myself again. I had to get out of here. “Are you talking a date?”

“If that means we’d have a specific social engagement at a specific time—then, yes, sure, a date.”

I tilted my head, suspicious, remembering my thin shirt. Why the sudden interest? But I chased away my doubt. Antonio had said Jack had liked me since high school. I found it hard to believe that I’d missed that little detail in all my early sleuthing, but I took it at face value. “Uh, okay.”

Smooth. Lola Cruz—woman of words. “I can do lunch Monday,” I said, thinking it’d be better to stick to broad daylight. The way my body was reacting to him, I was pretty sure I’d be putty in his hands the second the sun went down. I had to stay focused on my case and question him some more before I turned to goo.

The way he smiled, I wondered if he could read my mind. “Monday it is.”

We made plans to meet at Szechwan House—if the date
was a disaster, at least I’d have a great meal and an inspiring fortune. He walked to the front door, nodding at Antonio. “Later.”

“See you tomorrow, man,” my brother said.

“Tomorrow?” I looked at them blankly.

Jack’s smile got bigger. “Right, dinner tomorrow. Seeing you four days in a row. I’m a lucky guy.”

How many dates before a good Catholic girl should succumb to carnal pleasures? Was two enough? Did the Forty-niner count? I frowned. The strikes against Jack ran like ticker tape in my mind: Not Hispanic. Divorced parents. “Are you Catholic?” I blurted, then immediately cringed.

He gave me a puzzled look. “Am I Catholic?”

Chely burrowed between us and gazed up at Jack. “We’re Catholic. You have to, like, be Catholic to be in this family.”

Oh my God, now he’d think I was trolling for a husband. I shot a look at Chely that said,
Shut up!
Then I smiled brightly at him. “Never mind. I was just curious.”

“You can ask me anything, Lola,” he said, and I felt a rush of flutters spread from my core. “We’re an Irish Catholic family.”

I did a mental cheer. Now there was a check in my “pro” column on Jack. I let my gaze drift over him and added another bold check for his body.
Muy caliente.
I tore my eyes away and split off from them at the living room. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, and hurried back to my room.

“Why can’t a guy like that ask
me
out?” Chely said, following at my heels. She closed the door and fell onto my bed, chattering at warp speed. “Who
was
that? He’s, like, awesomely hot. I mean
H-O-T.
Think my mom would let me go out with an older guy? Could I borrow him for the
quinceañera
?” Then, apparently remembering the whole reason she was here, her face dropped. “What about the
quinceañera
? I really need your help,
Lola. You can talk to your mom and then, like, she can talk to my mom.”

I gestured my hands in the air, unable to take any more drama for the morning. “All right.”

She sat up, perky again. “Cool. Thanks.”

I pulled her up by the wrist and shoved her out of my room. “Great. I’ll call you later. Tomorrow.”

She stood in the hallway. “Promise?”

“Yes.”

She grinned. “What time?”

“When I can. Good-bye.” I breathed a sigh of relief and checked the clock. Nine-thirty. I had to get moving.

I jammed over to Camacho and Associates first. Had to look up Allison Diggs’s address and do a little background investigation on her. Turning into the conference room, I stopped short when I saw the associates sitting around the conference table. It was Saturday, right? Why were they all here? Indignation hit me like a horde of women at a shoe sale. And why hadn’t I been invited?

“Dolores,” Manny said by way of greeting.

“Morning.”

“We’re just finishing up some business.” He waved his hand toward the vacant chair. “Since you’re here, take a seat.”

“I didn’t realize there was a meeting today.”

“Check your messages,” Sadie said. “I called your cell phone myself.”

I yanked my phone out of my purse. Sure enough, I had a voice mail. Damn phone needed the volume button fixed. “Guess I didn’t hear it.”

Sadie’s lips thinned, her chin looking more pointy than usual. “So, Miss Marple. What’s next on your agenda? Do you
have a plan, or are you just praying that Emily Diggs will materialize in front of you in a gracious act of God?”

Oooh, low blow,
I thought just as Manny shoved his chair back. “Sadie. My office.” His voice was measured.

She sat up stick straight, her upper lip curling. “Excuse me?”

I had to stop myself from gawking at her. Had she seriously thought her boss wouldn’t call her on her attitude? Her condescension was so blatant, it was pathetic.

“Now.” Manny’s cowboy boots thumped against the tightly woven Berber carpet as he walked to his private office. When Sadie reached the door, he guided her inside by the back of her arm and then kicked the door closed with his foot.

I spread my hands out on the table and studied my fingernails, straining to hear. Damn Manny and his soundproof glass. As surreptitiously as possible, I stared at them through the flattened slats of the blinds on his window. It was like an overly dramatic silent movie. Sadie yanked her arm away from Manny and stood with her back to us. Her hands were on her hips, and her posture looked pretty damned defiant. Unlike with most movies, this time I wasn’t rooting for the woman.

Manny leaned back against his desk. His lips were drawn tight, like a thin string splayed across his square jaw. Sadie’s head jerked back and forth, and her right arm waved in front of her face every few seconds. If she’d been talking to me, I’d have been tempted to catch her wagging finger between my teeth and chomp down. God, I think I needed anger-management classes.

Another awkward minute passed before the office door swung open and they returned to their chairs. Looking at their tense faces, I had no clue who’d won.

“Dolores.” Sadie turned so her back was to Manny. “What’s on your agenda in the Diggs case? Can you share those details with us?”

“Sadie,” Manny warned.

She threw him an innocent look and flung her hands up. “What? I have a right to ask.”

I couldn’t imagine why she had any right to ask, but I answered anyway. “I’m on my way to visit the older Diggs kids. And I’m going to see the younger one a little later today.” I channeled my optimism and showed my determined face to Sadie. “I’ll find Emily Diggs.”

“Sadie, you’re on at Laughlin’s tonight and tomorrow night,” Manny said. “Check in as needed.”

She nodded at him, uncharacteristically submissive, and walked away. Neat trick. Guess Manny had won the battle. What the heck had he done to turn her into a Stepford detective?

My creative brain concocted the absurd theory that they were sleeping together—or had. Yuck. It was too horrible to contemplate, and yet… It might explain why he tolerated her unprofessional behavior and why she fell back into line at the slightest reprimand. I suspected that once a woman had Manny Camacho, it’d be tough to give him up.

Unless, of course, she had someone like Jack Callaghan waiting in the wings.

Still, I had trouble imagining Manny and Sadie doing the zigzag. I’d have to pick Reilly’s gossipmonger brain some more about the idea. Maybe put it on my list of things to investigate off the clock. Inquiring minds wanted to know!

After I found Emily.

Neil headed off to work on his own confidential cases. And that was that. Class dismissed.

I went through Emily Diggs’s file and found that Walter Diggs, Emily’s brother and Camacho’s client, had supplied the last known address for his niece. With any luck, she’d still live there—and she’d be home.

A
llison Diggs’s small house sat close to the sidewalk on a seedy-looking side street off Del Paso Boulevard. There were no spaces available at the curb—didn’t anyone on this street work? I parked in the short driveway, tucked my CDs into the glove box, and made sure nothing valuable was in plain sight. Slipping my backpack purse on, I peered up and down the street, climbed out of my car, and locked the doors.

Cracks in the driveway splintered out from underneath my car. The postage stamp front yard was overgrown, weeds long ago choking out any trace of lawn. I headed up the short walkway, stepping over cracks, not wanting to break any backs, least of all my own.

Something scurried past my feet, and I shrieked. It was either a small cat or a large rat.
Ew!
I toe-sprinted through the rest of the growth, leaping up to the front stoop.

A young woman stared blankly at me from behind a shredded screen door, clutching a smoldering cigarette between two fingers. Even through the aged mesh of the screen, I could see a tattoo creeping down her arm. Leopard print, in full color. Very high-class. “Hi,” I said, darting a glance behind me, still
on the lookout for the furry creature. The low buzz of a fan came from inside the house.

“Yeah?” Smoke crept out of the girl’s mouth as she spoke.

“I’m looking for Allison Diggs.”

Nothing. No response. More smoke.

I rifled through my purse and held out a business card, hoping to detect some sign of acknowledgment.

She pushed the screen door open and took the card from my hand. Her dwindling cigarette was in a death grip between her lips, and the smoke filtered up into her face. Very attractive. She must spend a fortune on Altoids.

The steady purr of the fan filled the dead air while she studied the card. It seemed to take an eternity. I couldn’t tell if she was a slow reader or just high. Really, I didn’t care. I was too concerned about the mutant rat that lurked somewhere behind me.

Finally, she cracked open the door and, just as the fan circulated in my direction, flicked the gray ash that hung from her cigarette onto the porch. I jumped back and turned my head to avoid a faceful of cigarette dust. Lovely.

She leaned against the screen door, holding it open. “So, are you Allison?” I asked again.

“Yeah.” She smashed her cigarette butt into a rusted sand-filled coffee can that sat next to the door, and then she moved aside, making room for me to pass. No “nice to meet you” or “come on in.” Whatever.

I pasted a smile on my face as I peered into the depths of her house, wishing I’d worn my crucifix or that I had a hunk of garlic in my purse—or a gas mask. The fan was clearly useless in the smoke dungeon.

The screen door slapped closed behind me, and I automatically tensed, holding my arms close to my sides. Another tattoo peeked out from the waist of her hip-hugger shorts.
More leopard spots. Judging by the utter blackness inside the cavernous house and her body decorations, I wondered if she thought she was part cat. Did her eyes glow yellow in the dark?

Allison perched on the edge of a saggy black velour couch. A leopard-skin throw lay haphazardly over the back. Big surprise. She gripped a fresh cigarette between her teeth. I searched for the resemblance between this young woman and Emily. It was difficult to find under the angst, but I detected similar cheekbones and the same deep-socketed eyes.

“So?” she said as she flared up a blue mini Bic lighter. The cigarette sizzled fiery red at the tip as she puffed it to life.

Right. Cut to the chase. “Thanks for talking with me,” I said. “I’m looking into the disappearance of your mother.”

“So they haven’t found her yet.”

Dios mío,
where was the concern? “No, they haven’t.”

“So?” she said again.

I watched Allison, looking for the smallest sign of interest.
Nada
. “Emily
is
your mother?”

She gave a snide laugh. “If your definition of
mother
includes purposefully keeping a child from their father, then yeah, I guess she’s my mother.”

Okay, so Allison had been kept from her father, but Emily had fed her, wiped her bum, had the purse where Allison had probably stolen the money for her first pack of cigarettes. “Great, glad that’s established,” I said, trying to keep the annoyance out of my voice.

“She gave birth to me. That’s about it.” She took another drag, and her eyes rolled upward. She readjusted herself on her broken-down sofa. “What makes you think she wants to be found, anyway?”

Not another skeptic. “You think she walked out on Sean?”

She jabbed her finger in the air at me. “Who the hell
are
you, anyway? And who gave you permission to talk about my brother?”

My gaze dropped to the card on the floor. Hadn’t she spent a couple minutes reading it? She reached to pick it up, and I filled in the blanks, speaking slowly. “My name is Dolores Cruz. I’m investigating the disappearance of your—of Emily.”