Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 02 - Hasta la Vista, Lola!

by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez

  I held my hand out to her. “I’m Lola.”

  She took my hand in a loose shake. “I’ve heard about you. The detective, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I’m Molly,” she said in a whispery Marilyn Monroe voice. “I work with Jack Callaghan.”

  Molly. My grip unconsciously tightened. As in the intern.

  “Ow!”

  “Oh!” I let her go, wiping my hand on my pants then staring at it as if she’d just given me cooties. “I—uh—I’m sorry.” I backed out of the booth as fast as possible, turned, and ran smack into Jack. The beer he carried sloshed over the sides of the pitcher and spilled down the front of my shirt.

  “Whoa! Sor—” He broke off when he registered who’d he’d just drenched. “Sorry,” he said again, and I knew he wasn’t talking about the beer. He slid the pitcher onto the table, setting down four frosty mugs. Looked like Molly was staying.

  Ay, Dios. My head felt fuzzy as I watched him lean against the side of the booth next to Antonio and force his fisted hands into his jeans’ pockets. “So Molly just happened to show up here right after I did.” He forced a smile. “Isn’t that a coincidence?”

  All the air in the room seemed to compress into solid, heavy molecules and jettison straight to our table. I could hardly breathe. Was she stalking Jack? Because if she was, I’d take her down right now.

  “Huh,” I said. “That is a coincidence.”

  Molly put a pout on her lips. “I’ve heard this is a great place, but if this is a private dinner—”

  “Don’t be silly,” Antonio said. “It’s not private.”

  I lifted my chin, meeting Jack’s gaze, thanking God he couldn’t see the lump of jealousy that was in my throat. My blood bubbled in my ear drums. I had to sit. My choices were next to Antonio or next to Molly. Before I could decide, Antonio grabbed my hand and pulled me down next to him.

  That left Jack to sit next to Molly. Great. She’d probably spent an hour primping, plucking, and painting to ready herself for her evening of stalking. Jack filled the mugs with beer, passed one to each of us, and I immediately started drinking, the foam skimming my upper lip.

  “Salud,” Antonio said cheerily, holding his glass over the center of the table with his right hand, his left hand still like a vise on my shoulder.

  My gaze was steady on Jack. I pulled the glass away from my mouth and ran my tongue over my lip, whisking away the foam. He might be sitting next to Molly, but his attention was fast on me. His eyes grew dark, his mouth parting slightly.

  “Salud,” I echoed.

  “Down the hatch.” Molly’s breathy voice couldn’t hide her irritation. She was no dummy. She knocked her glass against each of ours, giving mine an extra shove. Then she chugged the entire thing. We all stared at her as she poured herself another glass and downed it.

  “Slow down,” Jack said to her.

  She winked, put her hand on top of his, and edged closer to him. “A little beer makes Molly a fun girl.”

  Jack moved Molly’s hand from his and gently placed it down on the table in front of her. My breath rushed out; I hadn’t realized I’d been holding it.

  A potent awkwardness hung over us. Needing a distraction, I pulled my mail from my purse, riffling through the stack of letters and one catalog. I stopped short at a letter from Sac State. Antonio plucked it from my hand. “What’s this?” he asked. “You’re not taking classes again, are you? Enough school already, Lola. Christ, four years of you in college was more than enough for me.”

  I snatched the letter back. “No, I’m not taking classes.” I looked at Jack, a silent connection between us. I could tell from his expression that he understood my concern over the letter. “Probably alumni stuff,” I muttered, knowing that it wasn’t. I ripped the envelope open and flicked open the tri-folded papers, reading the first sheet. It was from the financial aid office.

  Dear Ms. Cruz:

  This letter confirms receipt of your application for financial aid.

  Your application is being processed and a response will be

  forthcoming. Feel free to call the financial aid department with

  any questions.

  I reread the letter, the bottom dropping out of my stomach, alarms going off in my head. I flipped through the forms and laid the whole thing on the table.

  Antonio scanned the letter. “So you are going back to school?”

  “No,” I said slowly, “I’m not.”

  Jack pulled the papers across the table, read the letter, and flipped through the rest. Then he handed them back to me. “That’s what it sounds like.”

  I nodded grimly. “Yep, that’s what it sounds like.”

  Molly had finished her second beer and was working on her third, looking decidedly pissed off. “Didn’t you graduate, like, eons ago?” she slurred.

  I frowned at her. Two beers, and she was already buzzed? Had the alcohol entered her bloodstream at nanospeed, or—oh, God—was she one of those lightweight, I’m going to act buzzed and cute kind of girls? The faker. “Seven years, actually. Hardly counts as eons.”

  She scoffed. “So, what, you’re like, thirty?” She made it sound like I had one foot in the grave.

  “I’m twenty-nine.” I looked straight at Jack. “I have plenty of time.”

  “How old are you, Mol?” Antonio asked.

  “Twenty-one,” she said defiantly, finishing her third beer. She ran the back of her hand across her mouth, wiping away the foam.

  Barely legal. I had a few years on her, but she had three solid cup sizes on me. “You’d better slow down, there, Mols,” I said. I was pretty sure her breasts wouldn’t double as air bags and block a face-front free fall.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll get you home safe.” Antonio grinned.

  “How’s Sylvia?” I asked, jabbing my elbow into his side. Though I didn’t want him to hurt our new waitress, I much preferred her to Mols.

  Molly slouched in the booth and peered at us. “Sylvia?”

  “Her ex came into Abuelita’s for dinner,” he muttered.

  “Oh. I didn’t know.” God, things changed on a dime around here. So Antonio was looking to drown his sorrows tonight.

  I folded up the letter from Sac State and slipped it back into the envelope. I’d deal with it tomorrow. I looked at the last envelope. Visa bill. I eyed it, not sure I wanted to open it and see my balance. I’d charged a dress for Chely’s quinceañera and then bought another one just because.

  The “just because” dress was an impulse buy and one that I regretted. The dress emphasized my boobs and hips, was fun and flirty, and, as Jack had told me when he’d seen it on me, not a good dress to wear unless I wanted my night to end in passion. “I’m going to take it back,” I muttered to myself as I ripped open the bill. “Two thousand dollars? That’s impossible!”

  Jack leaned forward. “What’s impossible?”

  I waved the bill in the air. “My credit card bill. It says I charged two thousand dollars last month, and the balance is”—I gasped—“six thousand three hundred ninety-two dollars!” My blood sputtered out of my arteries from the pressure around my heart. “Oh. My. God.”

  Antonio leaned close to me, looking at the bill. He pointed to the charges. “Tuition. The Hornet Bookstore.”

  I followed the line to the amount. “Holy shit. Four hundred dollars for books? You have got to be kidding.”

  Molly laid her breasts on the table and looked at me earnestly. “It’s an outrage. The cost of textbooks today is highway robbery.”

  Jack flicked his chin at the bill, his voice full of concern. “What else?”

  Scanning it again, I gave the rundown. “Tuition and books, post office, bus tickets, supermarket, a kid’s clothing shop…”

  “That’s a lot of charges,” Jack said.

  My cute little dresses weren’t on the bill. “Yeah, lots of charges.”

  My stomach churned as I thought about what to do and if I’d be responsible for the debt. The cre
dit I’d worked so hard to develop had been annihilated by Rosie Gonzales.

  “What are you going to do, Lola?”

  “About my credit? I’ve done everything I can. I’ve posted every alert possible. I’ve ordered every report available. My credit card company said there were no new charges.” I flipped the statement back to the top. First American Bank. My heart flip-flopped. My credit card was with Bank of America. “This is a new account. She actually opened this card in my name.” I waved the bill at Jack. “Remember, we found that partial application in her apartment, but—”

  Molly sloshed her beer as she slammed her mug down. She peered at us. “In whose apartment? What’s going on here?”

  Antonio cut his arm across the table so he could take her hand. “Don’t worry about it, Molly. Lola has a little problem Jack’s been helping with.”

  Molly’s voice choked. “I thought he was writing an article about her.”

  Jack sat back and put his arm on the back of the booth. “I am.”

  “I thought it was mostly about identity theft. I’m just the story behind the crime.”

  “You read my columns, Lola.” Jack flashed me a wry smile. “They’re a careful layering of fact and anecdote. This article will have your story, a behind-the-scenes account from a criminal point of view, and the hard facts.”

  “Wait. Jushst wait.” Molly seethed. “Sho why were you with her in an apartment?”

  We all ignored her. I shook my head, hair tumbling down from my makeshift bun, a second away from hurling. “What if she had more credit cards in my name?”

  Antonio leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “She was a piece of work.”

  I shoved my mail back into my purse. “Yeah, but she wasn’t too bright, since the bill and financial information were sent to me. She wasn’t going to be able to keep her secret for much longer… if she’d lived.”

  “Looks like she did plenty of damage, whoever she was.” Molly finished her mug of frothy beer. She shot daggers at me. “Another-pitcherJack,” she said, her words mashing together.

  We all looked from Molly to the nearly empty container of beer. Jack frowned as her head fell against his shoulder, her silky strawberry hair cascading down over his arm. Her hand reached under the table, and he visibly tensed.

  I stared, stunned. The girl had huevos. If she scooted any closer to Jack, she’d be on his lap. Did they allow lap dances at the Pizza Joint?

  I waited for Jack to shove her away, but it was an employee delivering our pizzas who interrupted Molly’s playtime. The smell of greasy pepperoni made my stomach churn. The air was suffocating, and I couldn’t stay cooped up here another minute. I dived out of the booth, stood, and faced the three of them. “Superfabulous evening,” I said, channeling Molly and plastering a fake smile on my face, “but I gotta go.”

  Antonio stood up. His face dropped into a frown that extended from his eyes to his mouth. “You okay? Want me to go with you?”

  I waved him off. “I’m fine.”

  Molly threw up a French manicured hand, a thin line of purple glitter between her nail bed and white tip. She wiggled her fingers at me, her delirious happiness to see me go like a neon sign on her forehead. Alcohol did not make Molly a nice girl. “Bye-bye, Lola,” she said with a gleeful snarl.

  “It’s been a real pleasure, Mols.” I flashed a look of what I hoped was cool dignity at Jack. He was trapped here with Molly, but I wasn’t. “See you later, Jack,” I said.

  He started to get up, but Molly dug her claws into his shoulder.

  I jetted out of there as fast as I could. No way was I sticking around to watch the show.

  Chapter 11

  The one-two punch of my credit card bill followed by seeing Jack with Molly had sent my stomach whirling. Now that I was in my car, my nausea waned. I needed nourishment. I parked in my parents’ driveway and let myself into their house through the utility room. I’d had no time to grocery shop, and since Antonio rarely performed that domestic duty—or any other, for that matter—I knew my refrigerator upstairs was bare. Raiding my mother’s leftovers was the obvious solution.

  My father walked in while I was in the middle of warming up a plate of fried chicken, rice, and beans. “Late dinner, eh mi’ja?” He planted a warm, fatherly kiss on my cheek.

  I willed myself to stay in control of my emotions. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Pero, I thought you went out with Antonio y su hombre.”

  “I decided I wasn’t in the mood,” I said a little too sullenly.

  My father’s weathered skin crinkled around his eyes in a knowing look. “I see.”

  I set my plate on the table and frowned at him frowning at me. “¿Qué piensas?”

  “Nada, Dolores.” He paused, pulling a piece of cold chicken from the Tupperware container I’d left on the counter and popping it into his mouth.

  I picked at my dinner. “Everything’s out of control, Papi.”

  “Dígame.” He sat across from me, waiting for me to fill him in.

  “That woman who died—she had a credit card in my name and enrolled at Sac State as me.” I slipped a forkful of rice into my mouth, the taste completely unsatisfying. I pushed the plate away—I couldn’t eat—and filled him in on what I knew of Rosie’s life, the credit card statement, and the financial aid letter.

  “¿Por qué tú? How does she do this?”

  Why me? That was a very good question and one I hadn’t been able to answer yet. “I’m trying to find out.”

  “Con cuidado, Dolores.”

  “I’m always careful, Papi.” I scraped my uneaten food into the garbage can and rinsed my plate. After kissing my father good night, I went upstairs to my flat.

  Zoning out in front of the television for a little while seemed like a good way to rest my brain. I passed through the archway between the kitchen and the living room and had barely settled onto the couch when a knock sounded at the front door.

  Peering through the peephole I saw Jack standing there, his expression brooding.

  I pulled the door open, too tired to think and definitely too tired to make small talk. “Hi,” I said.

  He walked in like he belonged here, and I stepped back to let him pass. He held out a thin box to me. “I brought you some pizza.”

  I took it, the slices sliding to one side as the box tilted from his hand to mine. I pressed the pizza box against my ribs, my knuckles turning white. “What happened to Molly the intern?”

  “Antonio drove her home.” He must have sensed that the real question burning in my mind was, Why was she at the Pizza Joint in the first place? because he added, “I didn’t invite her, you know.”

  “She sure was friendly.”

  He grimaced. “A little too friendly.”

  I didn’t even want to venture to guess what that meant. Had there been, er, friendliness under the table?

  He went on before I got a visual of Molly’s hand creeping up Jack’s thigh. “Let me be clear about this, Lola,” he said. “I am not interested in Molly.”

  He sounded sincere and he’d given me reassurance just when I needed it. I supposed I should return the favor. “You asked me about Manny,” I said after an awkward silence.

  He nodded slowly, his face stony, as if he was preparing to hear the worst. “I did.”

  “There’s never been anything between us. If he feels something for me, he keeps it to himself.”

  He looked at me like he was trying to read my mind. “But if he does have feelings, do you want him to keep them to himself?” he finally asked.

  I bit my lip. Then I lowered my chin, peering at him through my lashes. “There’s only one man I’m interested in, Callaghan.”

  He leaned against the back of the sofa and folded his arms over his chest. “Is that right?” It was more of a statement than a question, but there was the hint of a smile on his lips. “Should I venture a guess as to this mystery man’s identity?”

  “Sure, why not?” Games with Jack cou
ld be so sexy. “I’ll give you three tries.”

  He barely took a breath before saying, “I’m guessing it’s not Garcia.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Your guess would be correct.”

  “And you already said it’s not Camacho.”

  “Right.” I batted my lashes. “One more try.”

  He leveled those smoky eyes at me, his tantalizing grin gone. “Let’s cut the crap, Cruz. I know how you feel about me.”

  “You d-do?” I stammered. I wasn’t even sure I knew how I felt, so how could he?

  In a rush, I ticked off the things I knew for sure about me and Jack Callaghan. (1) I’d had a crush on him since high school. (2) It was because of him that I was a private investigator, so in a way, I owed him. (3) I wanted his body. (4) And his soul. (5) His secrets were like a brick wall between us.

  The fact was, I thought Jack might be able to fulfill me, but since I had no idea what the deal was with his emergency disappearance or his broken relationship with the mysterious Sarah, I didn’t know if I was deluding myself.

  “Yes, I do,” he confirmed, “probably better than you know yourself. And,” he added, “I don’t think there’s any question how I feel about you.”

  Those secrets circled in my mind. I shook my head. “Actually,” I said slowly, holding my thumb and index finger half an inch apart. “I have a little question or two about that.”

  He straightened. “If you don’t know how I feel about you, you’re either in complete denial, not as smart as I thought you were, or you’re overthinking things,” he said, “because I’ve been pretty clear.”

  I got stuck for just a second on the fact that he thought I was smart, but then I moved on with my thoughts. “I can’t help it. Assessing facts is what I do, and actions speak louder than words.”

  He reached for me, but I sidestepped, realizing exactly how right I was. If ever a man had been giving me mixed signals, it was Jack. And he thought his feelings for me were obvious?

  He scowled. “Damn it, Cruz, you’re making this too complicated.”

  I pressed my palm against my chest and stared at him. “I’m making this too complicated?” Momentarily speechless, I marched to the kitchen and practically threw the pizza box into the fridge. In no way, shape, or form was this—this—this thing between Jack and me my fault. I wheeled around. He’d followed me to the kitchen. “It is complicated,” I said, barely stopping myself from running into him.