Jack leaned back and rasped to Antonio, “You’re not going to let her go!”
“Tonio’s not my dad,” I snapped. “I can go if I want to.”
Jack glared at me. “Why’s Garcia even here?”
Antonio answered. “Familia, dude. His aunt’s best friend is my grandmother’s goddaughter or some shit.”
Jack scoffed. “That’s not even close to family.”
I slapped Jack’s leg, shooting him a piercing look. “He’s more family than you are. Why do you care?”
Jack’s face darkened. After a pause he said, “I don’t.”
Much as I fantasized about it, Jack was not in my future—he’d made his indifference clear. I turned my back on him and whispered to Antonio, just loudly enough for Jack to hear. “Tell los padres I went with Sergio. See you there.” To Sergio, I smiled and said, “I’d love a ride.”
Sergio took my hand and pulled me up off the bench as Jack muttered, “You sure you’re ready for that kind of ride?”
A hand suddenly grabbed my wrist and jerked me back. “Lola, wait,” Tonio blurted. “You better not—”
Sergio gripped Antonio’s shoulder. “Hey, man, it’s cool. I’ll take real good care of her.” He took my hand again, and we crossed the parking lot to his half-mile-long Impala. My feet dragged, my stomach twisting into knots. I slid across the bench seat. What had Jack meant, am I ready for that kind of ride?
As we drove away, I glanced back through the rear window to see Antonio scowling at the Impala, and Jack standing at the curb staring after us. His legs were firmly planted on the cement, his hands shoved in his pockets, a pissed-off look on his face that I hadn’t understood.
I traced my hand across the back of the bench where Jack’s arm had rested behind me that day. I understood that look now. Why had he kept his feelings to himself back then?
I thought about Jack’s easy laugh, his confident stride, his protective nature. He was the complete package and had never wanted for dates. No, I decided, it was better that we’d never dated in high school. His father still would have left the family; Jack still would have withdrawn from everyone and left Sacramento; I’d have been left with a different set of memories, and we still wouldn’t be together.
I snapped out of my memories. A change of scenery was in order. I’d run another errand, and by the time I got back, the restaurant would be open.
Chapter 14
Climbing into my car, I grabbed for my ringing cell phone, not bothering to look at the readout on the screen. “Hello?”
“Hey, you,” Jack said. My nerves sizzled as if he’d whispered those two little words into my ear.
“Hey.”
“How’s your day been?”
Nice innocent small talk. This was good. “Eh. I checked out Rosie’s drug stint. Nothing revealing. No word from Detective Seavers, so whatever they’re doing, it’s very hush-hush.”
“Maybe this’ll cheer you up.”
Him telling me that he was never seeing Sarah the ex-fiancée again was too much to hope for. “What’s that?”
“I have a contact at Sac State. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. She might be able to give you some help on the admissions problem and tuition. Her name’s Margaret Wallis.”
Contact. Female. As in someone from Jack’s past? “She works in admissions?”
“She does.”
I weighed my desire for information against meeting face-to-face with a woman who might very well be one of Jack’s former conquests. Practicality won. My need to straighten out my credit took priority over my pride. Trust him. He’d asked me to, and he’d been sincere. “Okay. Thank you.” So original.
“I’ll make the appointment and get back to you.”
We hung up. I didn’t want to think about how much time he’d need to sort out his personal life. The kiss from the night before was burned into my brain, and I couldn’t shake it.
Three situations, like riotous bees, buzzed in front of me: Lucy and Zac, Rosie Gonzales, and Jack Callaghan.
I was trying a new tactic. I’d tackle them one at a time. Methodical. Determined. First up was Lucy and Zac. A plan suddenly materialized in my brain. I made a quick phone call to facilitate it; then I dialed my cousin’s wife for the second time that day. She was back in aesthetician mode. “Skin Delicacies,” she said into the receiver, but there was no zing her voice.
I was a girl on a mission. No time for small talk. “I have a proposition for you.”
“Hang on,” she said. She dropped the phone, and I heard her schedule an appointment with a client, then heard the sound of a door closing. “Two in one day?” she blurted when she came back on the line. “Tattoos? Piercings? Druggie impersonations? You’re really expanding my view of the world, you know that?”
“You said you wanted the roller-coaster ride back in your marriage, right?”
She sighed. “That’s a stupid metaphor. I’m sorry I ever mentioned it.”
“Work with me, Luce.” I cupped my hand over my forehead for strength and went on. “Let me rephrase it. You want the excitement back. You need time to communicate with your husband. Just you and Zac. No kids.”
“Like that’s gonna happen. Do you know what babysitters charge these days?”
I slapped the steering wheel and snapped, “It is going to happen. I’m going to babysit your kids overnight, and you and Zac are going to go out on the town. No charge.”
She sputtered. Lucy rendered speechless. I pumped my arm. Hah! It was a mini success. “Out on the town in Sacratomato?”
“Yes. And I know just the place. All you need is to be together, without the kids. And talk. And, you know”—I cleared the frog from my throat—“other stuff.”
“I don’t know,” she said, but I could tell she was intrigued by the idea.
“Look, marriage is work. Even I know that. You and Zac have to try.”
“You could have a relationship, too, if you worked at it,” Lucy said.
Diversion. Neat trick, but I was on to her.
“We’re not talking about me. It actually takes two committed people to have a relationship. I’m lacking the second person. You’re not. Nice try, though.”
I sensed her sticking her tongue out at me, but I went on, laying out the details of my cupid plan. “I made reservations for Friday night at the Delta King. You and Zac are going to spend a romantic evening in Old Sac, have dinner on the boat, and do whatever married couples do when they’re alone for a whole night.”
I braced myself for an onslaught of indignant refusals. Instead I heard sniffling on the other end of the phone. “Lucy?” Uh-oh. Were they too far gone for my love intervention? “Are you all right?”
“Y-you d-did that? For us?” she asked in between sniffles. “Are you sure? Three kids is a lot to handle.”
Ay, Dios mío. Was I going to have to drag her out to the boat myself? “Lucy. I’m their aunt.” I thought about that. “Well, their aunt once removed. Or something. I’ll be fine. I’ll get Antonio to help me. He loves hanging out with your kids.”
“This Friday night?”
“Right. This Friday night.”
“Zac might not want to,” she said.
“Of course he’ll want to. He wants things to get better between you two.”
Lucy gave a final sniff. “What if it doesn’t work?”
“It will. You just get yourself ready for romance.”
We talked about a few more details before Lucy’s next client arrived. “Thanks for today,” I said, then added, “See you Friday.” A weight lifted off my shoulders. I didn’t know if one night alone could fix what was broken between my cousin and his wife, but it was definitely a start.
Next on my to-do list was the Rosie situation. I dialed the number—now committed to memory—from the birthday party invitation for what felt like the zillionth time. If I didn’t get through this time, my next call would be to Seavers. Surely they’d used their resources to track down the address. I
f they’d put it together that Rosie had been at this party the day she’d died.
There was a click and a child’s voice said, “Hello?”
I nearly dropped my phone. They were home! “Is your mom there?”
The phone bounced on a hard surface, and the kid barreled through the house yelling, “Mom, phone! Mom!”
A full minute elapsed before a frazzled-sounding woman picked up the dropped receiver. “Yeah, hello?”
Stellar etiquette. Señora Cruz would be appalled. “Hi. Um, I’m calling about the birthday party from a week and a half ago?”
“Why?”
“I just have a few questions, if you have a minute.”
“Depends who you are.”
She was a prickly one. “My name is Do—” I broke off, changing my mind. “Magda Falcón. I’m looking into the death of a woman named Dolores Cruz. I believe she attended a birthday party you held. With her son.”
I heard a crash and a rustle. The woman held the phone away from her and covered the mouthpiece. “Clean that mess up! Now!” Even muffled, the scream demanded attention. She came back to the conversation, shifting between her domestic chaos and chatting about a dead woman, without skipping a beat. “Yeah, I heard she died. Too bad. I didn’t know her or anything.”
“If you don’t mind my asking…”
“Juana,” she supplied. So cooperative!
“If you don’t mind my asking, Juana, if you didn’t know her, why did you invite her to the party?”
“She came with my brother-in-law.” She covered the mouthpiece again, yelling at the top of her voice, “You better take care of that!”
The kid said something back to his mother. She dropped the phone with a thunk and scuttled across the room for a face-to-face conversation. “You don’t talk to me like that,” she said slowly, a trace of accent behind her words. I imagined her grabbing hold of her son’s shirt, pulling him up close and getting in his face. “El piso esta sucio. Limpia. ¡Pronto!”
The boy mumbled something, and Juana—mother of the year—called him a name that even I can’t repeat. She came back to the phone. “My son spilled juice all over the floor.”
“No problem,” I said weakly. And Jack wanted how many? ¡Chale! This lady had only one, and she’d clearly lost her mind. What if Lucy and Zac’s kids declared mutiny? Could I stay calm and rational?
I cleared my throat and carried on stoically. “You were telling me about your brother-in-law?”
“Right. Francisco. That was the first time he ever brought anyone around.”
“Did you talk with her at all?”
“Not really. I was busy with the party.” The boy muttered something to his mother. “Espera,” she said to me, laying down the phone, more gently this time. Her footsteps grew faint as she walked away. “Bien,” I heard her say, and though I tried to envision her ruffling his hair, I couldn’t quite bring the picture to mind.
“All better,” she said when she picked up the phone again.
“You sound busy.”
“Always busy. If it isn’t laundry, it’s homework, or housework, or unpaid bills—”
“Mucho trabajo,” I said.
“Hablas español bien.”
“Sí, soy mexicana.” Couldn’t hurt to try to connect with Juana. “So, about Dolores Cruz. Can you tell me anything about her?”
Juana grew quiet. Her house was strangely calm compared with the ruckus a few minutes ago. “She and Francisco were, uh, simpatico,” she said finally. “Said they were living together.”
I hadn’t seen a man’s clothing or belongings in the apartment, but there was the toilet seat that was left up. And Francisco would have had plenty of time to get his things out. Was he an abuser? A killer? Did he have the kid?
“Did you hear anything about them moving out of the area?” I asked, thinking about the boxes at Rosie’s apartment.
She covered the mouthpiece again. “Change the channel, Juanito,” she said in a muffled voice. Returning to me, she said, “Not a word.”
I rolled down my car window, a slight breeze stirring the air inside my stationary car. “Do you have a phone number for your brother-in-law? Or an address?”
“Nope. He’s my husband’s brother. Haven’t seen him since the party.”
“Would your husband have a way to reach him?”
“Doubt it. They don’t talk much. Francisco got ahold of Rafael. Wanted to borrow some money. That’s why they came to the party.”
“Did you loan it to him?”
“Ha! No way! We’d never have seen it again. We’re no charity.”
“Can I speak with your husband? Just to cover all my bases.”
“He’s a trucker. He’s not due back for a week.”
Damn. A dead end. “Maybe you could double-check it with him. When he calls you,” I added in case she didn’t know what I was getting at. “A phone number. Or a new address. Anything he might have.”
She threw out a beleaguered sigh. “Okay. I’ll ask him, but he won’t call for a few days.”
Clearly Juana wasn’t going to go out of her way to help me. “Just one more thing,” I asked. “Can I get your address for my records?”
She rattled it off without hesitation, and I jotted it down. “Muchas gracias, Mrs… .” I broke off, hoping she’d fill in the blank.
“Zuniga.”
Score! “Thank you, Mrs. Zuniga.”
She said good-bye, but as I started to lower the phone, her voice screamed at me. “Oh! I do remember something! ¡Escuchame!”
“I hear you!” My eardrum was ringing from the accost. “What do you remember, señora?”
“That lady, the one who died? She got into an argument with one of my neighbors.”
I straightened, snatching up the notebook I’d tossed aside and flipping it open to a blank page. “Which neighbor?”
“Bill Johnson.” She rattled off his number, and I scribbled it down.
“Did you hear the argument?”
“No. I was in the kitchen. They were outside in the backyard. I just remember how mad he was. He took his kids and left after that.”
“Was anyone else near them? Anyone else that might have heard what they talked about?”
“Not that I know of.”
I thanked her, disconnected, and immediately dialed Bill Johnson. The answering machine picked up after the third ring. “Yeah, this is Bill. Leave me a message, and I’ll get back to you.” I hung up, not wanting to scare him away with a message from a detective. Better to try again later.
I hit the office-supply store next, found the perfect paper shredder for the low, low price of $39.99. I bought it and then headed straight for the restaurant. I mused the entire drive back about how Rosie Gonzales had gotten my information. My research on identity theft had taught me that the trash in my garbage can was considered public domain once it sat on the street for pickup. Anyone could riffle through it. From now on—with my handy-dandy shredder—I was going to make mincemeat out of every personal piece of paper, and I mean everything. Not even the tags from my Victoria’s Secret chonis were safe.
Abuelita’s was open when I got back. Sylvia greeted me as I walked in. “Here to eat?”
The dining room held a smattering of early-bird diners. “Definitely. My appetite has returned,” I announced grandly. “And,” I said, swiping my lips with my shimmering gloss, “I have a lead on the Rosie Gonzales case and I have a plan for my cousin and his wife. Things are definitely looking up.”
Sylvia nodded, appraising me with a small grin. She tucked a wiry strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re playing marriage counselor now?”
“Against my will, but for a good cause. I’m going to babysit their kids while they rekindle the old flame.” I winked. “If you get my drift.”
She double-winked back. “Oh yeah, I get it. And you have a lead on your mistaken-identity thing? You are on a roll.”
“Definitely. I got the name of someone she argued with at a part
y. Can you believe it? Finally, a viable clue.”
Sylvia’s jaw dropped. She froze and seemed to lose her senses for a beat. Then she slapped her forehead. “Oh!” She seemed to find herself again. “I almost forgot! Your friend is here.”
She pushed me into the dining room. “What friend?” I said over my shoulder. And then I saw him. Open laptop on the table. Reporter notepad flipped open. Cell phone clamped to his ear.
Jack.
I ambled over to him. Even after our phone call a while ago, I didn’t know where we stood. Did giving him time mean we were friends? As in platonic? Could I do that? Did I want that?
He smiled at me, his hair falling casually over his forehead. He brushed it back as he hung up his phone. “I called that contact of mine.”
I stood frozen, looking at the angles on his face. The way the sun threw blades of light onto his hair. His lips and their full, perfect—¡Callate! A platonic relationship with Jack was so not going to work for me for very long. “Oh. That was fast. Good,” I said, all the while thinking I needed to avoid him in order to maintain my sanity.
He got up, and with his hand on the small of my back, he guided me to the table. “Sit,” he ordered, pulling out a chair.
“You didn’t tell me you were here,” I said.
“I wasn’t when we talked. I am now.” He sat across from me, his indigo eyes pulling me in like a magnet. “This is becoming my office away from the office.”
I frowned. “What about your apartment?”
“I’m there every night. I like to be out during the day. People are inspiring.” His gaze grew pointed. “It’s no fun to be home alone all the time.”
Alone. I blinked slowly. When my eyes opened, Jack was still looking at me, his gaze softening. It was like magic.
“I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t want to tell you—”
I waved his words away. “It’s fine,” I lied. All my imaginings with Jack now had Sarah smack in the middle of them. “I understand. You have to help her.”
He nodded, his expression dark and guarded. “I got you an appointment with Margaret Wallis,” he said after a few seconds. “This afternoon at four o’clock. I told her it was urgent.”
Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 02 - Hasta la Vista, Lola! Page 17