Bare-Naked Lola (A Lola Cruz Mystery)

by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez

  “We can’t eliminate any of them, Lucy,” I said as I scribbled down the information from each card. Which wasn’t much. Gathering information about its members, growing a mailing list, or anything else that required more than a name and e-mail address wasn’t high on Cuerpo y Alma’s marketing plan. “Everyone’s a suspect.”

  And really, since once a person was on the grounds, they could conceivably be anyone they wanted, who knew if the cross-referencing was completely accurate? They didn’t check IDs. A person could pretend to be anyone they wanted.

  Something about the idea of a person pretending to be someone else struck me, but I couldn’t pinpoint why. I let go of the idea as we heard more voices pass through the lobby, and the rhythm of the music changed. I recognized Beyoncé’s voice telling the guys in the room to put a ring on it, followed by the crowd shouting, “And nothing else!” So they’d adapted this song to a nudist anthem.

  “Let’s go,” I said, pushing away from the table.

  I snapped my head up as Tiffany burst through the door. Lucy lurched into the edge of the table, surprised, and Crack! one of her balloons popped.

  “He’s coming,” Tiffany hissed, snatching the card files from the table and shoving them back onto the bookshelf where they’d been.

  I jerked as my heart catapulted into my throat. What now? I quickly folded the list of Facebook names into a small square, jamming the paper into my knee sock.

  She rolled her hand in the air as if that could speed us up. “Hurry!”

  We moved, making it to the front room barely a second before Craig, dressed as a construction worker with a tool belt slung around his hips, a yellow hardhat—y nada más—marched through the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Another group of people was right on Craig’s heels. Behind me, Lucy screeched. I tore my gaze away from Craig, the naked Village People construction worker, and turned to the new revelers.

  There was a familiar face. I swallowed. Did a double take. Oh boy. Zac. I quickly dipped my head, squinting my eyes a moment later as I peered up. He was my cousin. Curiosity about what costume he and Lucy had rustled up for him got the better of me.

  I dared to focus as Lucy raced past me, her balloons bobbing around her. Zac was bare-chested, a kids’ pool float around his hips. Bright blue bike shorts. Phew! I breathed out, relieved that I hadn’t corrupted my primo.

  Lucy fell into Zac’s arms, bending at the hips so she wouldn’t crush her balloons or the aired-up duck floatie he wore. I couldn’t help but laugh. Water, bubbles, and a rubber ducky. They were so sweet together at the nudist resort Halloween bash.

  The other people who’d come in weaved around them. I studied each one, combing through my memory to see if any of them had been in the photos at Jennifer Wallace’s house.

  None of their faces set off alarms in my head.

  “You’re here,” a man’s voice said in my ear. “I knew you’d come.”

  “Craig,” I said, turning to him, pretending to be the best new, reluctant nudist I could muster. Which wasn’t a stretch.

  “Are you checked in?”

  “Lucy and I are. Her husband isn’t.”

  “Tiffany,” Craig said, an unspoken command in the one word. He never took his eyes off me. Which meant he must have really been over Jennifer.

  Tiffany took out a new index card and slid it to Zac. “Name and e-mail address,” she said.

  Zac walked toward the counter like he was a prisoner about to walk the plank rather than a man about to party with a bunch of nudists. “Do I have to give my real name?” he muttered in my direction as he passed.

  “No,” I said.

  “This is your doing,” he said to me in Spanish, talking from between clenched teeth.

  “I didn’t ask either of you to come,” I answered back under my breath. Speaking Spanish was like a secret code language and it came in handy sometimes. Like now.

  “How about a personal tour of the grounds?” Craig asked, dropping his arm across my shoulders and guiding me away from Zac.

  A shiver wound through me, but I pushed away the creepy factor of taking a private walk with an X-rated construction worker. “Definitely,” I said, walking quickly toward the door, forcing his hand off my shoulder.

  “How are you doing, Craig?” a woman’s voice said. I turned back to see Deirdra, the woman who’d chased down Lucy, Selma, and me outside the restaurant last time we’d been here. She was dressed as Cleopatra, with an Elizabeth Taylor–style cornrowed black wig and gold tassels, but minus the toga. Gold bracelets climbed up her arms and a wide belt was slung low on her hips.

  “Hanging in there, thanks,” Craig replied.

  “Something wrong?” I asked.

  He took off his hardhat, scratching his head. “My ex-wife died a few days ago.”

  I shot a glance at Dierdre. Had she asked him about Jennifer for my benefit? She winked, confirming it.

  “Wow,” I said, jumping at the opening and turning back to Craig. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have kids? That would be awfully hard.”

  “No. No kids.” He shrugged, putting the yellow hat on and pushing it down on his head with the palm of his hand. “She lived here, so we still saw each other, but we’d both moved on, you know?”

  Which explained the private tour of the grounds I was about to get.

  I let my eyes open wide. “Is that the cottage you said is available?”

  “Sure is. If you want to rent it out, you’d be right down the hall from me,” he added with a wink.

  “Rent it out? Lola,” Zac said with a hiss. “Ven aquí.”

  I turned and frowned at him, making angry eyes. Then I turned to Lucy. She got the message. She put her hand on Zac’s arm and whispered something in his ear. He visibly relaxed, but I still thought he’d rather be anywhere but here, and I got the impression that he definitely didn’t trust what I was doing or what Craig was saying…or maybe both.

  I shifted my thoughts back to my investigation. Did Jennifer’s affairs have anything to do with their divorce? “I’m not sure about giving up my apartment,” I said.

  “Lots of people transition slowly. Jennifer—that’s my ex-wife,” he clarified, since, of course, he didn’t know that I knew who she was, “was the only person I knew who never hesitated in her commitment to the naturist lifestyle.”

  Based on Selma’s inner conflict, I had to believe that was true. The only problem was that I knew Jennifer did have another place on the outside. “She must have been really special,” I said.

  “She would’ve thought you have too many clothes on,” Craig said.

  I grimaced at his suggestive tone, but my thoughts spiraled. I’d seriously considered Larry might be Jennifer’s murderer and the mysterious letter-writer. Against my will, I’d wondered if Selma could be involved. But what about Craig? Could he be an Academy Award–caliber actor, completely fooling me about his nonchalance over Jennifer’s death? Or had he really still been in love with her, found out about the affairs, written the letters, and then killed her?

  “I tried to leave something to the imagination,” I said.

  “You did.” He skirted around me, pulling open the door that led to the event room. Beyoncé was done singing about rings on her finger, another song had ended, and now the first strains of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” played. I leaned against the banister. Squeals erupted from down below. Red plastic cups were held high into the air. The people scurried toward the center of the room as the song played. As if expertly choreographed, the people started the “Thriller” zombie dance. If I hadn’t been on a case, determined to figure out what this place had to do with Jennifer’s death, I’d have laughed at the naked spectacle. Instead, I let Craig lead me to the stairs. A quick search of the room told me that if Larry were here, it might be more difficult to find him than I’d thought. Nudist costumes didn’t just mean a mask and nothing else.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I spotted what had to be the most cre
ative costume I’d seen so far. A woman in roller skates glided by. She had a thick rope tied around her waist. A man with a cardboard crank attached to his back, his face and body painted at the joints so he resembled a wind-up Ken doll, held onto the length of rope and pulled her across the floor.

  Recognition dawned. Selma Mann.

  So the wind-up toy had to be Parker, her boyfriend, and their pre-party party must be over.

  “Selma!” I called, waving my hand in the air. I couldn’t believe it, but I was sort of getting used to seeing naked people. I hardly flinched when Parker turned full frontal on me, and only jumped a tiny bit when Craig’s muscular arm brushed against mine.

  Like an ice skater, Selma lifted one straight leg in front of her as she glided along the floor, pulled by Parker. She saw me, and her brightly painted cheeks rose as her hot pink lips formed an O. She yanked on the rope until Parker stopped, then she skated over to us, towing her boy-toy behind her.

  “Not bad, Lola. Kinda conservative, but I’m impressed.”

  “She could stand to lose some of it,” Craig said.

  Selma tilted her painted face, considering me. “She should take off the shirt but leave on the tie.”

  Suddenly, Selma lunged toward me and grabbed the knot of my shirt from between my breasts. My first instinct was to knock her hands away and block her with my fisted forearms, but I kept myself in check. She knew my purpose here, but no one else did, and I couldn’t overreact.

  “Come with me; I’ll help you,” she said.

  I stepped backward but she’d picked the knot and my shirt started to fall open. Craig’s eyes were glued to my chest, so I grabbed the flaps of the shirt and held them closed. “I’m okay, really.”

  Before I knew what was happening, Craig was behind me, his hands on my shirt, tugging it down to slip it off my shoulders.

  This time my instincts kicked in and I didn’t fight them. I raised my arms. “¡Basta!” I snapped, using every ounce of reserve I could muster to stop myself from stomping on his exposed toe. But I swung around to plunge the heel of my hand against his chin. He tried to hold onto my shirt as I moved away from him, but I gripped tightly in front. This shirt was coming with me.

  “Just the tie, huh? Remember, this is only my second time here,” I said with a nervous laugh. “I need to work up to it, and this is allowed.” I quickly retied the ends of the shirt, but with my cleavage plumped I felt exposed by the sheer fabric and the short skirt.

  “Work up to what?”

  A shiver swept over me at the gravelly voice. My biggest underlying anxiety about the night, aside from potentially facing a killer, was the fear that Jack might show up, but it turned out I’d miscalculated. This was worse.

  Manny Camacho stood behind me.

  In black leather pants and bare-chested. No panza for him. Not even a single bit of fat, let alone a belly. Manny had un cuerpo espectacular.

  What in the hell was my boss doing at Cuerpo y Alma? Another shiver danced over my skin and I swallowed. Híjole. Was he a member?

  “Nada,” I said just as Parker wound up the rope attached to Selma’s waist, rolling her toward him. She lifted her hand in a quick, horror-stricken wave. She didn’t want to be recognized by Manny. Without even so much as a ta-ta, she skated away.

  I pushed my fake glasses up the bridge of my nose. “Wait, I want to talk to—” I started to say to her, but I zipped my lips as a woman came up behind Manny, her red-tipped fingernails scraping his skin as her hand snaked over his shoulder. Oh God, was he back with Isabel? Had he brought Tomb Raider Girl?

  But then the woman moved to his side and I saw that it wasn’t Manny’s model ex-girlfriend.

  It was, however, the sexiest policewoman I’d ever seen. The black, shiny bodice of the dress only half covered her breasts, and the skirt was shorter than mine—and that was saying a lot. A sexy thigh holster held a fake gun and a pair of handcuffs dangled from a clip on the holster. She’d rounded out the costume with slinky black fishnet stockings.

  My eyes flew wide open. I recognized her immediately. Her velvety hair cascaded down her back. A black choker encircled her long neck. Oh. My. God. Victoria Wolfe.

  Here. With Manny.

  The world was off its axis, especially because I knew that I had my Victoria’s Secret thong on underneath my schoolgirl skirt, but I wasn’t so sure she had on anything. And from the glimmer in her eyes, I got the distinct impression she wouldn’t mind arresting Manny, slapping her handcuffs on him, and frisking him.

  “Good to see you, Lola,” Manny said, his gaze boring into mine with such intensity that a shudder fluttered over my skin.

  I swallowed, finding my voice, keeping my cover in front of Craig but wanting to know what the hell was going on. “I never expected to see you here.”

  “I read something about this place,” he said slowly, and I suddenly knew exactly what he’d been reading. The whiteboard for the case at the office. I swallowed. Was he checking up on me and my ability to do my job?

  “I heard about it from a friend,” Victoria said, and I got the very definite impression that the friend had been Jennifer. But if she knew that Jennifer came here, why hadn’t she mentioned it?

  “Decided to check it out,” Manny said, his gravelly voice sounding like it had an extra layer of rocks in it. His lips were drawn tight and his nostrils flared. He wasn’t entirely comfortable. Good to know Manny had limits, too. I’d often wondered.

  “Dragged him here in my car is more like it,” Victoria said with a demure laugh. “I’m always willing to try new things. Lance? Not so much. Do you know I parked behind those buildings, as close to the front entrance as I could, just so he wouldn’t back out.”

  “Wait,” Craig said, suddenly speaking up. “You all know each other?”

  “He’s a Royals fan,” I said, shoving my nerves away.

  “Aren’t we all? You a player?” he said to me, his thin lips quirking up at his joke.

  “A dancer,” I said. And with any luck, that gig would be up soon.

  There was a pause as he processed this, and I knew just what he was thinking. Had I known Jennifer?

  “How did you say you found out about Cuerpo y Alma?” he asked me, as if he were trying to figure out if it was a coincidence that I was here, or if I’d come because I knew he murdered his ex-wife. Which, of course, I didn’t know and wasn’t even sure I believed, since I had no evidence.

  I kept playing along, darting quick glances at Manny and Victoria to keep their lips zipped. “A friend,” I answered.

  “Well,” he said, extending his hand to Manny. “Royals fans are always welcome here. So are the Royals themselves,” he added, indicating one particularly tall man dressed as a gladiator. I recognized him but didn’t remember his name or number.

  “So I noticed,” Manny said, glancing at a group of people who’d painted half their naked bodies blue, the other half white.

  I couldn’t help but notice that Craig didn’t comment on my boss being overdressed, and he certainly wasn’t trying to strip his black leather pants off of him like he’d tried to remove my shirt. I shook my head.

  “Mujeriego,” I muttered. Craig was a big-time player with a wide-open field of women right here in his yard. All the more reason to be a nudist—er, naturist.

  Manny’s dark eyebrows shot up. He’d understood me. I shrugged. Let him think I was talking about him. He did have a girlfriend. And an ex-wife, so the fact that he was here with Victoria—and without Lance—meant maybe calling him a player wasn’t too far off the mark.

  As if he could read my mind and decided to act the part, his eyes smoldered and slipped down to take in my costume. His lips parted, just slightly, but enough to know he liked my psuedo-innocent costume un poquito better than he liked Victoria’s bad-girl get-up.

  “How about that tour?” I said to Craig, once again feeling overly exposed even though I was one of the most clothed people around.

  Across the room, I saw Lucy and Zac da
ncing. Or Lucy dancing and Zac staring vacantly, still shell-shocked. His horror-filled eyes roved the room, stopping every now and then on a body before moving on. I didn’t blame him. One thing I was learning was that nudists came in every shape, size, and age, and no matter what those factors were, they had an underlying confidence about them. They were proud of their birthday suits.

  “Sure thing,” Craig said, “but I need a couple minutes. Gotta check the food tables.” He turned to Victoria. “Good to see you—”

  “Going to be quite a night,” Victoria interrupted, throwing her shoulders back, preening like a peacock. All for Manny’s benefit, I suspected. Or maybe for the guy she waved at across the room. Pobrecito Lance.

  As Craig wandered off toward the buffet, I called after him. “I’m going to get some air.” He nodded at me, and then his bare behind disappeared in the sea of naked bodies.

  I wheeled around and threw my hands on my hips, staring at Manny and Victoria. “Why are you here?”

  “We saw your notes on the whiteboard,” Manny said.

  Victoria chimed in. “I knew Jennifer came here, but I never imagined…Do you really think there’s a connection? Does this place have something to do with Jennifer’s death?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping to find out. Nothing makes any sense. She had her place in Natomas, but her ex-husband says she only lived here. She kept this place a secret, but you know about it, so who else does? She had a boyfriend but no one can tell me who he is, and that doesn’t quite jive with all the jerseys and pictures we found at the apartment. Nothing makes a whole lot of sense,” I said again.

  Manny’s dark eyes narrowed. “We’ll circulate in here,” he said.