Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 01 - Living the Vida Lola

by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez

  But it’s my life, I reminded myself. I checked Jack out again. His arm was stretched along the back of the chair, all muscled and perfect. And then there was his chest and legs—and that face. He was like a movie star, back when movie stars had character, charm, and charisma. Even with three strikes, Jack Callaghan was beyond tempting.

  I stood my ground, threw my shoulders back, and smiled sweetly. “Nice to see you again so soon, Jack.” Then turning to my brother I said, “Antonio, could I see you in the kitchen?” I forced the smile to stay plastered to my face, but gritted my teeth. “Now.”

  As I did my best nonchalant walk through the living room and into the kitchen, I felt Jack’s eyes on me the entire time. At least my boxers covered my ass.

  I turned at the kitchen to see Chely lagging behind, craning her neck in a lingering gaze at Jack. She stopped at the archway, and I grabbed her wrist and yanked her in. Salsa yapped at the back door. I opened it and released her out into the yard.

  “Who is that?” Chely whispered.

  “He’s, like, so totally hot.” “He’s too old for you.” I patted my hair and grimaced at the tangles I felt.

  “Um, you look fine,” Chely said, staring at me with one brow arched. “But, like, the shirt…”

  I peered down to see how bad it was, and my shoulders drooped. It was thin enough to see dark quarter-sized circles through the white. Oh. My. God. Had my mother put a curse on me because I’d been ungracious in not wanting to welcome Jack into her house? I coughed. Oh God. Did I have pneumonia?

  I crouched down in front of the oven and shoved the dish towel out of the way. My reflection appeared before me. Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest—?

  Oh, forget it. I had a rat’s nest on my head, and my soldiers were at full attention. It was hopeless.

  Antonio finally strolled into the kitchen.

  I sprang up and turned on him. “What the hell are you doing?”

  He looked pissed as hell. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. Why is he here at eight in the morning?”

  He stared at me. “First of all, it’s almost nine—”

  I whipped my head around to look at the clock. Yep, 8:55.

  “And second of all, what the hell are you doing walking around—” His face twisted. “—like that.”

  I leaned my back against the wall and banged my head on it, folding my arms over my chest. “This is my house. You need to tell me when someone’s here.”

  “No, you need to wear some goddamned clothes when you walk around.” He made the gagging face he used to make when he was ten. “At least until I move out.”

  “Don’t tease me.” I stared daggers at him. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “I will. Soon. Now, go put something on.”

  Easier said than done. If only I could beam myself back to my bedroom. Since I couldn’t, I went postal, jerked my hand out, and grabbed the front of his shirt. He tried to knock my hand away, but I blocked him. “Why is he here?”

  He stepped back, and I let my hand slip away. “Jesus Christ. Relax, Lola.”

  “Okay.” I regrouped, folded my arms over my chest again, and arched a brow. “So, why is he here?”

  “You’re too wrapped up in this damn private eye thing—”

  “This private eye thing is my career, and what does that have to do with him being here?”

  “It’s your career, but you have no life.” He stroked his goatee. “I mean, be straight with me. When was the last time you went out?”

  I cocked my head to the side. “Yesterday. With Reilly—you know, the girl you’re going out with Tuesday.”

  He chose to ignore his upcoming date. “Let me clarify. When was the last time you went out with a guy? And going to the movies with me doesn’t count.”

  I scratched my chin and frowned. It counted to me.

  “Callaghan’s a pretty good listener,” he continued. “Cheaper than a shrink.”

  I punched his arm. “You think I need therapy?” And anyway, Jack was a reporter. Not the same thing.

  He shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”

  “Nice, Tonio. Thanks for the support.”

  He shrugged again. “He’s always had the hots for you, so I figured, why not…”

  My brain skidded to a stop. “What?”

  He looked at me like I needed a straitjacket. People were doing that a lot lately. “I know. News to me, too. I thought he had better taste—”

  I slugged him again.

  “Hey!” He backed away before saying, “I would have beat the crap out of him in high school for even thinking about one of my sisters, but that was then. Let’s face it. You’re going to be past your prime pretty soon. Then where will you be?”

  I was too shocked to speak. Past my prime? Who was this man, and what had he done with my brother?

  “And he’s, like, really hot,” Chely said, sneaking a look into the living room. “Did you see that bod? You may not get another chance for someone, like, that good. Go for it, Lola.”

  I glared at Chely. If I had the same taste as my teenaged cousin, well, that couldn’t be a good thing, could it? But Jack did have a killer body.

  “I am not anywhere near my prime, and you are not my fairy godmother, so butt out,” I said to Antonio.

  “So this is where the party is.” Speak of the devil. Jack stopped in the archway of the kitchen.

  He was taller than I remembered. I’d have to stretch up on my toes to kiss him—Stop! I shooed away the thought. Oh God, I was losing it. Where was the damn coffee? I needed caffeine.

  Actually, I needed sex. The way my body was screaming, I needed it now. But coffee would have to do.

  As if reading my mind, Antonio said, “It’s cool, man. Lola just needs to feed her addiction.” Then, bless his demented heart, he poured me a cup.

  I took it gratefully and gulped, scalding my throat and not taking my eyes off Jack.

  He smiled, and shivers shot up my spine. A good man could make my life so much more interesting. Even if it was short-term. But was Jack a good man?

  “So,” he said.

  “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 f
ace 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.

  Chapter 5

  Allison 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 scur
ried 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?