Leti gasped. “No I’m not!” she cried.
“Well you’re running out of time, so you better figure it out,” Lucy said.
Rina jumped up. “My turn.”
She disappeared, leaving the rest of us to grill Leti. Gracie leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I don’t think I can do it.”
I squeezed her hand. I wanted to encourage her, but not pressure her. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” I said, “but you might surprise yourself.”
She cocked her head as she looked at me. “I don’t think so. And imagine if Mami found out. We’d never hear the end of it.”
Now I looked at her. “Graciela, why in the world would we ever tell Mami about this? It’s our business. And even if she did find out, which she won’t, but even if she did, it is our business.”
Gracie didn’t look at all convinced, but before she could say anything else, Rina was back, a saucy smile on her face. “That. Was. Great,” she said. “I made an appointment to come back and do a whole session with clothing and setting changes. The whole shebang.”
Lucy beamed, clapping, and I noticed that she hadn’t changed into any lingerie. “Yay! I’m doing that, too. No quickies for me.”
I couldn’t help arching a brow at her. I was pretty sure she’d go for a quickie with her hubby any day of the week.
Natalie went, followed by Corinne, which left just me and Gracie. “You go next,” she said.
Which meant she’d be last. I didn’t trust her as far as I could throw her, which was actually pretty far. The second I walked out the door, she would probably hightail it to the dressing room and change back into her leggings. “Uh uh,” I said. “I know you. You’re going to chicken out.”
“No I won’t.” She held her hand up, little finger extended. “Pinkie promise.”
I considered her. If there was one thing that Gracie was good for, it was a pinkie promise. She had never, ever gone back on one. I clasped my pinkie with hers and we gave one sharp shake. And then it was my turn.
My phone buzzed in my hand just as I walked into Megan’s boudoir studio. I held up my finger to her as I answered it. Manny’s voice shot out at me like a flare from a gun. “Dolores, ¿donde estas?”
“I’m, uh, at my cousin’s bachelorette party.”
“Can you leave?”
Well, it would get me out of playing seductress for the camera, but truth be told, I’d finally gotten a little bit excited about the prospect. If Leti had liked it…
But the job came first. “What’s going on?”
“Marnie Haskell is awake.”
Gracias a Dios, she’d survived. “Is she all right?”
“She is asking to talk to you. That is all I know,” he said.
My heart thudded erratically. I ran my fingers through my hair. I couldn’t get there fast enough. “Okay. I’ll meet you at the hospital in—” I had to change. And somehow get back to my car. “Give me thirty minutes.”
“Bueno,” he said, and the line went dead.
I leaned against the foot of the bed, taking a minute to calm myself. Marnie Haskell was alive and wanted to talk to me.
“You’re leaving?” Megan asked.
I stood and turned. Her camera was slung around her neck. She held onto it, hopeful, I think. “I have to. Work.”
My robe hung open and she gestured at me. “No time for even one shot?”
“Another time.”
“I hope so,” she said. “The camera will love you.”
Who knew if that were true or not, but I chose not to acknowledge the statement. I had a recently poisoned and grieving woman to talk to. “Don’t tell my sister I didn’t take the pictures. I’m afraid she’ll back out if she finds out.”
“Mum’s the word,” Megan said.
I thanked her, waved goodbye, then I hurried through the dressing room. Gracie jumped up when she saw me. “You’re done already? That was fast.”
“Yeah, Megan’s great,” I said. It was easier that way. I couldn’t take the time to argue with Gracie, and I didn’t want my failure to take the pictures to influence her not to. I waited, watching to see what she’d do. She looked back at the others. They urged her on with encouragement.
“It’s easy, and so fun!”
“It’s going to be great!”
“If I can do it, you can do it,” Leti said.
That last bit prompted Gracie to smile, nod, and leave us all behind as she went into the studio. And that was my cue to get changed, call Jack, and hightail it to the hospital.
Chapter 14
The second I’d told Jack that Marnie Haskell was awake and asking to talk to me, he agreed to come pick me up. He would have come no matter the reason, but Marnie Haskell gave him extra incentive. I shared my location with him via my cell phone, waiting for him on the corner, well away from Megan Watner’s studio. “What are you doing down here?” he asked after I got in and closed the door.
“A stop for the bachelorette party,” I said vaguely, then I quickly changed the subject before he could ask anything more. “What were you doing?”
“Pining for you,” he said, quick as a whip.
“Uh huh.”
“Seriously, Cruz. When I’m with you, I never want to leave. When I’m not with you, I’m counting the minutes until we’re together again.”
I rolled my eyes. “Mentiroso,” I said, but I didn’t really think he was lying because I felt the same way about him.
He cocked an eyebrow as he tried to remember what that word meant. His expression shifted to surprise when he put it together. He held up three fingers and looked at me. “Scout’s honor.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Jack Callaghan, you were so not a Boy Scout.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Boy Scouts are handy. Resourceful. I could have been one.”
“Are you still handy and resourceful?” I asked, a hint of suggestion in my voice.
“You know it.”
I did indeed. Flirting kept our minds off whatever Marnie Haskell wanted to talk about. I could hypothesize all night long. Did she know who’d tried to kill her? Was she scared for her life? Had she changed her mind, and did she want to take Camacho and Associates off the case? We wouldn’t actually know until we were sitting with her. Guessing wouldn’t get us anywhere.
The drive felt like it took longer than it should have, but we finally made it. After Jack parked, we made our way up to the floor Marnie was on. Tim, George, and Anne Haskell stood in a huddle in the hallway.
“Something’s wrong,” I said to Jack.
His face was grim and his only response was squeezing my hand. We hurried, stopping when we got to them. Behind us, I heard someone walking. The uneven click of what sounded like boot heels against the hospital’s linoleum flooring told a story. I knew without looking that it was Manny. Jack tensed beside me. He didn’t know Manny well enough to know about his injury and the slight limp he had, but he sensed his presence.
Tim, George, and Anne turned to look at us as we approached. Tears streaked their faces. Anne held a crumpled tissue to her nose. “What happened?” I asked. “Is Marnie okay?”
Anne closed her eyes and turned away. George scrubbed one hand over his face. Only Tim seemed able to answer the question. His voice cracked with emotion as he spoke. “We thought she was going to be okay. It’s surreal. This can’t be happening.”
Dios mío, had she died?
“What happened?” Jack repeated.
Tim dragged his hands under his bloodshot eyes. “They’ve been giving her oxygen, but the doctor said she’s in a profound coma. That’s what he called it. A profound coma.”
“I thought the doctor was optimistic.”
“She inhaled too much of the carbon monoxide. It depleted too much oxygen,” George said.
Jack and I looked at each other. I knew the shock I felt was mirrored on his face. But she’d been awake. She’d asked for me.
Anne came back to us at the same time Manny did. “Lo siento. I am so sorry for the bad news,” he said.
Anne’s emotions bubbled just under the surface. “She has to recover. She has to.”
We all fell silent for a moment. Next to me, Jack dipped his head, working hard to control what he was feeling. “What did she say?” he asked. “Why did she want to talk to Lola?”
Tim stared at us. “What are you talking about. She didn’t say anything.”
“She hasn’t woken up,” George said. “The doctor doesn’t think she will.”
Jack looked from Tim to Anne to George. “I don’t understand.”
Manny shifted beside me. He turned to Anne. “When we spoke, you said your mother wanted to talk to Dolores.”
We all stared at Anne, waiting for her to explain. She scrunched her eyes together, clearing away the tears, and shot a nervous glance at her father, then her brother. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Well what the hell did you mean?” Tim demanded. “The doctor said she was in a profound coma.” He gestured at me. “Obviously she didn’t say she wanted to talk to her.”
“I—I went back to the house. Just to feel close to her, I think, since we can’t go in and see her. She’s old school, keeping an actual calendar on her desk. She writes things on it. Appointments, of course, but also other things. Lists. Ideas—”
What little color was left drained from Tim’s face. “What’s the point, Anne?” His patience appeared to be gone. I knew people handled grief and stress in different ways. For Tim Haskell, anger seemed to be his go-to emotion.
Anne pulled out her phone, tapping the screen then scrolling. She held it out for us to see. It was a picture of a utilitarian calendar that doubled as a desk blotter. The large lined squares were filled with what I presumed was Marnie’s handwriting. Seemed she was diligent about her schedule. Anne scrolled to the next photo. It was a close up of an undated box at the bottom of the blotter. “Do you mind?” I asked, holding my hand out for the phone. Anne handed it to me. I peered at the writing, immediately understanding why Anne had called Manny. Why she’d said her mother wanted to talk to me. Right there on the calendar was my name, a line drawn under it. Beneath that, she’d written some notes, presumably things she wanted to tell me.
Find out who he is.
How does Philip know? My son.
I handed the phone to George. He read the notes his mother had made, shrugged, then handed it to his dad. “What is this supposed to mean? How did Philip know what?” Tim asked. He read it again before handing it back to Anne.
“I don’t know. That’s why I called. I thought Dolores needed to see it. It seems clear Mom wanted her to.”
“She’s gone off the deep end with this conspiracy theory that someone killed Phil. It has to stop.”
Manny cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “Sir, your wife hired my firm to do a job. As long as she is alive, we will continue to do as she asked.”
I couldn’t help but wonder why Tim Haskell was so dead set against us looking into his son’s death. Did he have something to hide? Could he have had something to do with it? The idea that a father could do that to his son was horrifying, but with murder, I’d come to realize that anything was possible. Tim, I thought, was perfectly capable of climbing the tree at McKinley Park and stringing the hangman’s noose around the branch.
But what would be the motive? And what did Marnie’s calendar notes mean? Find out who is?
Jack gave Anne a hug and shook Tim and George’s hands. “Keep us posted if anything changes, would you?”
Tim didn’t respond, but George and Anne said they would.
Manny melted away, his heels sounding his retreat back the way he’d come. Before Jack and I left, I pulled Anne aside. “Would you text those photos to me?”
She nodded as she touched the screen, typed in my number, then pressed Send. Inside my purse, my phone buzzed with the incoming text. “What did you mean, Marnie?” I whispered to myself. “What were you going to tell me?”
Chapter 15
Jack and I stayed up to the wee hours of the morning talking. Or, at least, mostly talking. We kept our voices low. The last thing I wanted was for my mother to start pounding on the ceiling with the handle of her broom because we were being too loud. With my luck, she’d up the ante by putting up a ladder and pressing her ear to a glass so she didn’t miss a single solitary word.
Jack and I laid side by side in my bed. My head rested on his arm. I turned onto my side, snuggling closer to him. I sighed contentedly. Going to sleep with—and waking up to—Jack Callaghan was something I could definitely get used to.
My eyes drifted closed. What time I woke up in the morning depended on if I wanted to go to Mass. Did I? Or did I want to stay wrapped in Jack’s arms and not worry about our voices while my parents and grandparents went to Mass, leaving the downstairs apartment blissfully vacant?
No contest. I’d skip lighting a candle, kneeling, singing hymns along with the choir. Jack could help me hit my own high notes right here.
I tried to let sleep take me, but my brain wouldn’t turn off. The words Marnie had written on her calendar danced behind my eyes. They were cryptic, and I couldn’t make sense of them. Who was she talking about? What did Philip know, and could that have something to do with his death?
I realized that whatever Marnie thought Philip knew, she knew. I wanted to ask her. To find out what secret she was harboring, and if she knew it before she met with me at Camacho and Associates, or if she came by it later. But who knew if she’d ever come out of her catastrophic coma. And without her help and the secret she’d wanted to tell me, would we ever be able to figure anything out?
I don’t know when I finally fell asleep, but morning came too soon. I opened my eyes to a faint noise coming from somewhere in the apartment. Just like in the movies, I flung my arm out, feeling around for the man who was supposed to be there next to me. But, also just like in the movies, that space was empty, the sheets cold. I clutched the sheet to my chest as I sat up and opened my mouth to call to Jack, but instantly thought better of it. Were my parents gone? If not and Mami heard me calling for Jack, she’d be up here faster than a mass of ants at a picnic on a piece of watermelon. There was no upside to that.
Instead, I slipped out of bed and into a sexy robe I had for just such an occasion. I’d never actually had a reason to use it, and plenty of times had thought about tossing it out, but now I was thrilled I’d kept it. I wrapped the lavender belt around the lavender satin and tied it in a bow. The aroma of coffee was like an invisible ribbon in the air, guiding my way out of the bedroom, through the little living room. I stopped at the bathroom, ran my fingers through my hair, and brushed my teeth—no morning breath for me—then went into the kitchen.
There stood Jack in his jeans—the top button undone, his feet bare. A tangle of dark hair began on his chest, faded, then snaked below his navel and disappeared beneath his jeans. He held the coffee pot in one hand, a mug in the other. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he said, the dimples carving into his cheeks as he smiled at me.
“Buenos dias,” I said, giving him my own little smile. I added the mi amor in my head and thought again how much I liked having him around.
He poured the cup of coffee and handed it to me, set down the pot, and pulled me to him. The only thing between us was the thin satiny fabric of my robe and his jeans. Suddenly, my body was alert. And his was, too. Just as quickly as he’d handed me the coffee, he took the mug from me, set it down, and started to lead me back to the bedroom.
“Oh no, espera!” I said. “Wait. I have to see if…if…” It sounded ridiculous to say it out loud, but I had to see if my family downstairs had left for Mass.
&
nbsp; He chuckled and let me go. “I know your mother. Go check.”
He’d read my mind. Or, after so many years in our orbit, he just knew the Cruz family too well. I stepped out onto the back porch and peered over the fence looking for my father’s basic gray sedan. It was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t pulled it around to the front of the house to make it easier for Mami and mis abuelos to get in.
Jack followed me to the front room, but stayed inside while I stepped out to check the street. There it was. My grandparents had just gotten into the back seat. I caught a glimpse of my father closing the back door on abuela’s side, then heard the driver’s door slam. So he was in the car. But what about my mother? Where was she?
I had my answer the next second when she hollered my name from across the street. She stood on the sidewalk on the other side of a car, staring up at me. “Dolores Falcón Cruz,” she bellowed. “¿Qué pasa? Ese mujuriego Jack Callaghan. ¿Está áhi contigo?”
“¿Qué? I can’t hear you,” I said, feigning innocence. I ignored the fact that she’d, once again, called him a ladies’ man, focusing on her sixth sense. Then I realized that it was Jack’s Volvo she stood behind. She could have been a detective in another life.
“Dolores Falcón Cruz,” she said again, this time speaking more slowly. “What is going on in there?” Her English sounded more broken than usual thanks to the anger bubbling inside of her. I could practically feel the strength of her righteous indignation as she stepped out from behind Jack’s car, checked both ways, and marched across the street toward me.
“Nada, Mami. Everything’s fine. Have fun at church!” I smiled and waved and started to back up. Inside the open door, Jack laughed.
“Mentirosa,” she said. “You know better, Dolores.”
Was I a liar, or was I just acting out of self-preservation? She started toward the stairs, but I held my palm out. “You’re going to be late.”
But it was my father’s voice that actually stopped her from stomping up the stairs. “Magda!” My father’s voice bellowed. “¡Andele! Let’s go.”
Drop Dead Lola Page 13