Drop Dead Lola

by Melissa Bourbon

  I stretched my right hand out, holding on for dear life with my left. I patted the tree with my palm, searching. “Where is it?” I yelled.

  “A little more. You’re almost there. That’s it. Almost. You got it!” he said as my fingers curled around a curved bulge.

  I pressed my body against the tree, trying to stay calm. “What now?” I asked. Jack was my eyes. I’d need him to find my way down the rest of the way.

  “Okay, you need to place your left foot. There’s a little branch straight down.”

  I extended my leg, finally finding the spot he was talking about. “Okay,” I breathed.

  “Your left hand next.” He’d moved to the side, looking for a place I could grab on to. “Hold on tight with your right hand. You have to let go with your left.”

  I exhaled a shaky breath and did what he said.

  “There’s a divot in the tree at your shoulder.”

  I turned my head to look, but all I saw was a blur of brown bark. “Here?” I asked, patting at the rough wood.

  “You almost got it,” he said.

  I kept searching. “Here?”

  “A little to your left. Yes. Yes! Right there!”

  My fingers dug into the hole.

  “Okay, Lola. A little more, then you can let go and I’ll catch you.”

  But could he? Would my careening body just plow into him, knocking him to the ground? Trust him, I told myself. I had no other choice. “Tell me what to do,” I said.

  He continued to direct me, bit by bit, hands first, then feet. “I can’t hold on anymore,” I said. My muscles screamed and threatened to lock up.

  “I got you. Let go.”

  I froze. I didn’t know if I could. I tried to look down. How far from the ground was I?

  “I got you, Lola. I’m not going to let you fall.”

  You can do this, I told myself. Slowly, I let my left hand go, then my left foot, letting my body turn away from the tree. It looked too far to jump, but I had no choice. My right hand slipped. I used my right foot to push off and I fell. Jack backed away, giving him room to catch me. His arms were outstretched.

  I heard a scream—my scream—and then my body crashed into his. He wrapped his arms around me, using the force of my momentum to swing me as he backed up again.

  He didn’t let go.

  He didn’t fall.

  He’d caught me.

  I steadied my breath, letting Jack’s arms around me hold me up for a good minute. My heartbeat returned to normal and I pushed away. “That was a little scary,” I said.

  “Yeah, for you and me both.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t say I told you so, or rub in the fact that climbing the tree had, in fact, been dangerous.

  “Thanks for catching me,” I said.

  His grimace turned into a smile. “I’ll always catch you, Cruz.”

  Together, we stared up at the tree. The blood could belong to Philip, but that would be easily proved by the ME’s report. Did Philip have a cut? Trace evidence of bark on him? If he didn’t, then I didn’t see how he could have strung the rope onto the tree himself. He couldn’t have used a ladder because no ladder was found anywhere near the site. Which meant Marnie Haskell was right. Someone else had done it.

  Jack’s silence made me think he’d realized the same thing. I took his hand after another few minutes and squeezed. “Ready?”

  He nodded and we started walking. He slowed and gave the tree a backward glance before tightening his hold on my hand. Back at the car, I pressed unlock on my key fob. Jack reached past me to open the driver’s side door for me, but he stopped. He put his hands on the sides of my face, pulling me close, brushing his lips and then resting his forehead against mine. I wrapped my arms around him and we stayed like that, holding each other, until he finally pulled away.

  “Lola, I…” He trailed off, looking as if he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. I wished I could take away some of his pain, but all I could do was help find the truth about Philip.

  “Want to watch some men’s baseball?” I asked him. I’d looked up the men’s league and found Philip’s friend Ricky on the roster. It was a Sunday league, but they had a practice tonight. “Philip’s team practices at North Natomas Regional Park.”

  He stepped back and smiled. “A hot date with you at the baseball diamond in Natomas? How can I possibly resist?”

  I wagged my finger at him. “Exactamente. You cannot.”

  And, truth be told, neither could I.

  Chapter 12

  Jack and I stopped for dinner on the way, timing it so we arrived at North Natomas Regional Park thirty minutes before Philip’s team was set to begin practice. A different team was wrapping up their time on the field as we approached the dugout.

  Baseball. It was a sport men could play well beyond their salad days. Because all of my brothers had played in high school, I’d spent a fair amount of time in the bleachers, cheering on men in tight pants. Pues, it had been time well spent. After all, Jack had been on the team, too.

  I couldn’t say I was thrilled to be back. Those had been good times, but I’d moved on. Jack had moved on. Baseball was in our past.

  Apparently Jack didn’t feel the same. “God, this brings back memories,” he said, a touch of nostalgia in his voice.

  “Do you miss playing?” I asked.

  “No, I don’t miss it. But seeing you in the bleachers, popping your bubble gum while you watched us play?” A smile danced over lips. “That might have been the first time I saw you as just Lola instead of Antonio’s little sister.”

  “Glad to see you acted on that right away,” I said.

  My sarcasm wasn’t lost on him. “Young and dumb, but—” He put his arm around me, his hand slipping to my hip. “—you were worth the wait.”

  I flicked my eyebrows up suggestively. “Only a little while longer.”

  “Oh yeah? Your place or mine?”

  “How do you feel about handcuffs?” I asked coyly.

  His eyes opened in surprise for a split second before he schooled his expression. “As long as it doesn’t involve either of us in the back of a police cruiser, I think I’m okay with them.”

  I walked ahead of him. Okay, maybe I sashayed a bit. I wanted his eyes trained on me. I threw him a backward glance and gave him my best sultry smile. “Great,” I said. “My place, then.”

  I didn’t wait to see his reaction. Instead I directed my focus to the two men standing behind the dugout. They looked like the early birds, waiting for the other team to vacate the field. One of them had his mitt on and tossed a ball into it, working the leather of the glove. The other was crouched down in front of his sports bag and was rifling through it.

  “Hey, guys,” I said as I approached.

  The one crouching down peered up at me and nodded. The other guy caught the ball in his hand and held it. “Hey,” he said.

  They were both dressed in gray baseball pants, t-shirts, and cleats. The one standing was black, with short dark hair and a spattering of freckles across his nose and the tops of his cheeks. He was skinny, close to six foot, and had striking amber eyes. The other man was much shorter, on the stocky side, Hispanic with light eyes, and had skin marked by a childhood of acne. They both looked at Jack as he came up beside me.

  Jack notched his head up in greeting, which the taller man mirrored. “Can we help you?” the guy asked.

  “I hope so. I’m looking for Ricky?”

  “Yeah, that’s me.” He gestured to the guy still crouching by his bag. “That’s Gustavo.”

  What luck. I smiled at them both. “Great! This is Jack. I’m Dolores.”

  Ricky dipped his chin in a brief nod. “Jack. Dolores.”

  The other team’s practice looked like it had officially ended. The men were jogging off the field, heading to the dugout to grab
water and collect their gear. Jack and I stepped back, putting a good ten feet between us and the dugout, beckoning for Ricky and Gustavo. They looked at each other, shrugged, and followed.

  “We have practice,” Ricky said. If he were a turtle, he’d be about to pull his head in under his shell. He definitely didn’t come across as the chatty type.

  “Right. I know. We got here early to try to catch you.”

  “Okay, but I don’t know you.”

  Jack spoke up. “I’m an old friend of Phil Haskell.”

  Once again, Ricky and Gustavo looked at each other. I didn’t know what they had silently communicated to each other, but their faces became more open and their shoulders relaxed. “That was…unexpected,” Ricky said.

  Gustavo nodded. “Tragic, man.”

  “Mrs. Haskell mentioned you to me,” I said to Ricky. “You were pretty good friends?”

  Ricky dropped his chin and shook his head. “I saw her at the funeral. She looked pretty broken up.”

  We’d discussed the approach we wanted to take on the drive to Natomas and had decided to be a little cryptic, giving only what we needed to as we tried to elicit information from them. “She’s in the hospital,” Jack said.

  Gustavo’s eyebrows pinched together in concern, but he left the talking to Ricky. “What happened?”

  “She had an accident,” I said, leaving out the details. “You’re right, she’s been broken up about losing Philip.”

  “How’s Gemma holding up?” Ricky asked.

  “As well as expected, I guess. She was buying her wedding dress when she got the news,” I said. “None of it makes sense to me, you know?”

  Guys from the team that had just finished skirted around us and started toward the parking lot. Ricky absently tossed the baseball into his glove. “To me, either. It doesn’t make sense to any of us.” He looked at Gustavo. “He never seemed upset or depressed or anything, did he, man?”

  “Not to me. He was always just talking about his next big thing.”

  “Oh yeah, like his new business, you mean?”

  “He was doing well with that, I thought,” Jack said.

  Ricky tossed the ball again. “Seemed like it. He was all fired up about it, anyway.”

  Jack chuckled to himself. “When we were kids, we’d be playing a game, or riding our bikes, or doing…I don’t know, whatever, but, man, Phil was always ten steps ahead. Always looking at what we’d be doing after.”

  Gustavo laughed. “Exactly. That’s how he saw things. What was happening now, sure, but what would be next. We played chess once in a while. He could see three, four, five…hell, maybe ten moves ahead of me. Killed me every time.”

  Ricky started. Gustavo clamped his lips together the second those last words left his mouth. “Oh shit. I didn’t mean…sorry man.”

  Ricky waved the apology away. “You’re right. He strategized. He just started his company but was already thinking about how he could expand. He and Gemma just got engaged but he was planning the family. He had names for the kids picked out, did the whole genetic testing thing, knew which neighborhood they’d live in based on the park.”

  “He wanted to be near a good playground for the kids he was planning on having.”

  I felt a little whiplashed. Philip might not have shared it with his parents, but he had a whole family master plan with Gemma. That did not sound like someone who also planned to commit suicide.

  Ricky suddenly looked at Jack. “You weren’t at the funeral.”

  “I was out of town for work and couldn’t make it back in time,” he said. His words were laced with his regret.

  Gustavo raised his arm, waving at someone over our shoulders. I turned to see three more baseball-clad men coming toward us. They stopped at our little group, flanking Ricky and Gustavo. “What’s going on?” one of them asked.

  Ricky answered. “This is an old friend of Phil’s.”

  “Jack,” he said, holding his hand out. One by one, he shook hands with the men.

  “Seth,” said one.

  “Michael,” the next one said.

  The third guy practically scowled at us, but he extended his arm. Jack met the guy’s hand, but instantly winced when the guy squeezed. Jack’s jaw pulsed and I could see the muscles in his forearm flex as he tightened his own grip.

  “Aaron,” Ricky said as he backhanded the guy’s shoulder. “Knock it off.”

  Aaron loosened his grip and laughed. “What’dya say your name was?” He looked at me.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Jack Callaghan,” Jack said, his voice terse, then he introduced me. “This is Dolores Cruz.”

  There were some people you met and instantly connected with, then there were some people you met and knew just as quickly that you did not like them. Aaron was on my DID NOT LIKE list.

  “Cool. Well, it’s all good,” Aaron said. “Nice to meetcha.” He slapped Jack on the back, then he turned to look at me. Instinctively, I took a step back. Aaron was not someone I would want to come across in a dark alley.

  “You a friend of Phil’s, too?” he asked me.

  “No, a friend of Jack’s,” I said, suddenly wishing Jack had not offered up my name to this guy.

  “And Jack knew Phil,” Aaron said. “What brings you here?”

  “Like I said, I’m an old friend. Putting him to rest,” Jack said.

  Ricky handed Gustavo the baseball he’d been holding. “Why don’t you guys go warm up? I’ll be there in a second.”

  Gustavo stood and slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder. He notched his head to the side, a gesture to get the others to come with him. Michael and Seth had been silent since introducing themselves. Now Michael, without a backwards glance, headed off after Gustavo. Aaron lifted his upper lip in a strained smile before throwing another look my way. “Sure thing, boss,” he said, then followed Gustavo and Michael.

  Seth picked up the sports bag he’d set down and started off after the others, but then he stopped and turned back to us. “I’m new to the team so I didn’t know Phil as well as the others, but he was a good guy. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Jack nodded his thanks. Seth waved, then turned and jogged to the dugout.

  “Don’t mind Aaron,” Ricky said. “He’s harmless.”

  I didn’t think there was anything harmless about the guy. He was a loose cannon. I didn’t ever have to see him again, though, so what did I care? “The others seem nice,” I said.

  “It’s a good team, but we feel Phil’s absence. He’s what you might call a peacemaker. Liked to bring people together. Always pumping them up. Some of us have been playing ball for a long time, so when someone new joins up, like Aaron or Seth did this season, it was Phil who helped make them feel like part of the team. It was Phil who made the beer schedule.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “You know how parents sign up for drinks and snacks with Little League? Same thing here, only with beer. Phil organized it. Everybody has a turn.”

  Little by little, I was getting a clearer picture of Phil. Everyone said he was a great guy who was caring, mature, responsible, and ready to be a family man. Everyone, that is, except Joe Quaffman.

  “Did Phil ever say anything about his old boss?” I asked Ricky.

  Ricky gave me a puzzled look. “Why?”

  Jack jumped in to respond. “I’m trying to make sense of things. The Phil I knew wouldn’t have killed himself. I didn’t know he was depressed or on the edge.”

  Ricky’s suspicion evaporated. Sorrow slipped in instead. “I didn’t either,” he said. “I never would have pegged him as someone who’d do that. I guess it shows you never really know another person, do you? What they keep deep down inside, hidden away.”

  Ricky, it turned out, had some depth to him. “No you don’t,” I said.

 
“I don’t think he killed himself,” Jack said suddenly.

  I blinked. Then blinked again. This had not been part of the plan. “Uh, Jack—” I started, but Ricky interrupted me with a clipped, “What are you talking about?”

  “Just what I said. I don’t think he took his own life.”

  His voice rose. “Are you saying someone killed him?”

  I shot a quick glance at the field. A couple more guys had shown up, coming in from the other side of the parking lot. Most were on the field. A few were lollygagging in the dugout. No one was paying us any attention.

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Jack had opened the door, so I had to walk on through. “Did he ever talk to you about…stuff?” I asked trying not to sound too much like I was actually investigating Philip’s death, and more like a grieving friend.

  “No,” Ricky said. “We played ball. We drank beer. He didn’t tell me his troubles, and I didn’t tell him mine. It wasn’t that kind of friendship.”

  “Come on, man,” Jack said. “You knew him. Was he in some kind of trouble?”

  Ricky didn’t say anything for a minute, then he turned and hollered. “Hey, Michael.”

  Michael had been playing catch with Seth along the third base line. He turned when he heard his name and registered Ricky calling to him. “Come here, man.”

  Michael adjusted his cap, threw the ball to Seth who snatched it from the air in his glove, and jogged around the dugout to us. “What’s up?”

  “Didn’t you hang with Phil after last week’s game?” Ricky asked.

  Michael nodded. “Me and Seth. Pizza and beer.”

  “Did he mention anything about, what, being in trouble?”

  “What do ya mean, like in debt, or something?”

  “Anything,” Jack said.

  Michael turned and yelled to Seth. Thirty seconds later, he stood with us. “Phil seemed okay after last week’s game, right?”

  Seth shrugged. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

  “We were just talking about Phil and how it didn’t seem like he was on the brink of killing himself,” Ricky said.