She held onto the railing with one had, her other arm folded in front of her, her purse dangling from the strap slung over her forearm. From the tight black ringlets on her head, I knew she’d slept in curlers. Magdalena Cruz did not believe in curling irons. She did things now the way she’d always done them. It was her way.
I folded my own arms over my chest as a barrier, like Wonder Woman’s gold wrist bands. Whatever she said to me would bounce right off. But as it turned out, I needn’t have bothered. “Pues, we will discuss this later.”
I waved at her before she turned and disappeared into my father’s car. She’d barely closed the door when my dad slowly backed up. All four of them—my father, mother, and abuelos—turned to look at me. I could see the angst in their eyes. Except—I blinked. Was I seeing things, or did Abuela actually just give me a thumbs up and a wink?
They drove off, leaving Jack and me to seize the moment. I’d ponder my grandmother’s little generational anomaly later.
An hour and a half later, Jack and I were dressed and standing at the door. “You know, Lola, I don’t have a mother living below me.”
The twinkle in his eyes gave away the subtext of that statement: maybe we should spend more time at his place and less at mine. That was a fine solution for any normal human being, but to Magdalena Cruz, it would mean that she’d know I was elsewhere. It would take her all of one second to realize that elsewhere meant I was with Jack. And that would lead to a similar, but more complex, set of problems for me to face. It was one thing for me to have a man over at my place, but for me to spend the night at a man’s apartment only meant that I was debauched and embraced that debauchery one hundred percent.
Did it make sense? No. But was it the reality of Magdalena Cruz’s way of thinking? Absolutely.
The only other solution, which would deal with all of the possible scenarios of Jack staying at my place, or me staying at Jack’s place, was finding a different apartment. It was time. I’d been saving my money since…forever. Antonio had moved out and moved on—although he was held to a completely different standard than I was. It was high time I did, too.
Jack, however, had come up with a different solution. “You could move in with me.”
I choked on the air I’d been so blissfully breathing, doubling over and hacking as I tried to catch my breath. “Wh-what?”
“You know I’m crazy about you, Lola. It’s time for you to move on. So why not?”
I could tick off the reasons why not. I was a good Catholic girl, which meant I wasn’t sure I was ready to live with my boyfriend. My family would still know, and could they get past that? Especially Mami and Papi? Living together was a huge commitment. Were Jack and I ready for that? We’d known each other since we were kids, true, but we’d only been together for a few months. I didn’t know all his quirks and warts, and he didn’t know mine.
And then there was the whole idea that I wanted to be in a committed relationship with him. I wanted a family—eventually—with him. What was that old saying? Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? Not that comparing myself to a cow was what I wanted to do, but if the metaphor fit.
My phone rang, saving me from having to talk about anymore. “Gemma! Hi!” I said when I realized it was her. I sounded way more enthusiastic than I felt.
“I didn’t know who else to call,” Gemma said. “And I thought…well, I thought that maybe you’d want to come with me.”
“Come with you where?” I asked.
“Phil’s baseball team is having a little memorial for him today before their game. Ricky invited me, but I…I don’t want to go alone.”
Didn’t the girl have other friends? People she knew who also knew Philip? Not that I was complaining. I definitely wanted to go with her. “What time?” I asked.
“The game is at two. Ricky said to be at the field at one o’clock.”
I pulled my phone away from my ear to look at the time. Eleven. “I’ll meet you there,” I said.
Less than two hours later, Jack and I were back in the parking lot of the North Natomas Regional Park. The fields were empty, but the parking lot held a spattering of cars. The two o’clock game must be the first of the day. Jack pulled into a corner spot under a newly leafed tree. As we sat and waited, a car pulled into the lot and parked on the opposite side. Out stepped Gemma. I would have placed her in a funkier vehicle—maybe a Mini Cooper or a Beetle—but there she was in a sedate beige sedan. Her blonde hair fell sleekly on either side of her face and she’d dressed up for the occasion, swapping her jeans and Led Zeppelin shirt for black pants, silver flats, and a snug white top.
The second her feet hit the ground, another car door opened, this one from a Jeep. Ricky appeared, decked out in his baseball garb, but instead of grabbing his sports bag and heading to the dugout, he set it on the hood of his car, then walked over to Gemma. He wrapped his arms around her and even from where I sat, I could see her chest heave as he held her. Poor thing, she was broken up.
Ricky pulled back and placed his hands on either side of Gemma’s face. My spine crackled as I sat up straighter. That was an intimate gesture. Too intimate.
“What do you think of that?” I asked Jack.
From his quick response, he knew just what I was talking about. “Smells fishy to me.”
Exactamente. Muy fishy, in fact. Did Ricky and Gemma have a thing? Or were we misreading the intimacy of the moment?
Jack and I looked at each other. We got out of our respective sides of the car, each of us quietly closing our doors. Ricky and Gemma were far enough away and intently focused on their own conversation that they were tuned out to everything else around them.
Instead of cutting across the parking lot, we took the scenic route via the sidewalk. With the position of the trees and cars, we were able to come up pretty close to them without being seen. We stopped and I leaned back against a nearby tree, facing them. Jack pressed up against me. To anyone passing, we were two lovers enjoying the spring air, but in reality, I had my ear turned to them and strained to hear what they were saying.
They spoke softly, though, and all I caught were snippets. “It’s horrible…murder, not suicide?…Poor Marnie.” Maybe we were wrong. Maybe Ricky was just comforting the fiancée of his dead friend.
Another few minutes passed with me blocking out every other sound so I could hear them, but to no avail. Finally, Ricky stepped away and Gemma wiped the tears from under her eyes. “Thanks, Ricky,” she said, and then she gave a sharp, “Oh!”
I snapped my head up to see her staring at me. “Um, Dolores? Ms. Cruz?” she said.
Jack stepped back, freeing me from the tree. “Gemma!” I said, my voice in full pep squad mode.
“I didn’t see you,” she said as she rushed to me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I took her hands in mine. “I’m so glad you called,” I said.
Ricky had joined us. He looked at Gemma. She answered the unspoken question. “This is Dolores Cruz. She’s the one I told you about, that Marnie hired to look into Phil’s death?”
“Yeah, we’ve met,” Ricky said as he took Jack’s extended hand. He turned to me. “Any updates?”
Gemma looked at me, her eyebrows raised expectantly. “Right. Anything new?”
“You heard about Marnie?” I asked, not knowing if the “poor Marnie” comment we’d overheard was about Marnie’s current comatose state, or the suffering from losing her son.
Gemma’s brows pulled into deep lines. “What do you mean? Heard what?”
Ricky didn’t say anything. He looked puzzled, and I studied him. Did he already know about Marnie and was he putting on a good show, or was he in the dark? It was hard to tell. “She’s in the hospital,” I said.
“In a coma,” Jack added.
Gemma gasped and Ricky put his hand on her back to steady her. “What are you talking about?�
� he demanded.
As Jack told them what happened with the car and the garage, the color drained from Gemma’s face. “She tried to kill herself, too?”
Jack didn’t beat around the bush. “Or someone did it to her.”
“I—I need to sit down,” Gemma said.
Ricky guided her to a sturdy green aluminum and steel park bench where she sank down and put her head in her hands. “What is happening?” she muttered.
Ricky sat on one side of Gemma and I sat on the other. Jack rocked back on his heels, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “We’re trying to figure it out,” I told her.
Gemma looked up at Jack. “Who would try to kill Marnie?”
He laid it on the line. “Whoever killed Phil. Marnie is the only one who has raised a red flag. If this was intentional, it has to be someone who was trying to stop the investigation.”
“Which means the murderer,” I finished.
Ricky had been silent. He hunched over, his forearms on his thighs, rubbing his hands together. “You can’t be serious about this. It was probably an accident. Maybe she’d started the car and fainted or something. Two murders? That happens in the movies, not real life.”
Ah, to be so naive. “One murder, one attempted murder,” I corrected. “And it has happened in real life. To people you know.”
Maybe too blunt—learned from Magdalena Cruz—but it was the truth. We were trying to catch a murderer, so I couldn’t afford to be soft and gentle.
A truck pulled into the parking lot, horn honking. The man driving stuck his head out the driver’s side window and waved. “Yo, Rick! Game time!”
Ricky waved back, but he couldn’t quite muster a smile. The truck parked and two players jumped out. With their sports bags slung over their shoulders, they jogged to the field.
Ricky turned to Gemma. “I gotta go warm up. We’re going to play the “Star Spangled Banner” and say a prayer for Phil before the game starts. You gonna be okay?”
Gemma managed a nod, and I said, “We’ll stay with her.”
He hesitated, but after a few seconds he gave her hand a squeeze, stood, and jogged off to join his teammates.
“This is too hard,” Gemma said after a while. “I wish we could rewind time and I could have stopped this all from happening.”
“I know, Gemma,” I said, “but all we can do now is find out the truth.”
There was another long pause before she spoke again, then she said, “I have some of Phil’s things in my apartment. Maybe you want to go through them?”
Now we were talking. “Yes, absolutely.”
“Okay. After the game, then?”
I looked at Jack. He could drop me off at my place so I could get my car if he had other things to do. “Yep,” he said. I should have known he’d be right by my side. Of course he wanted to find out what had actually happened to Philip, but he was also an investigative reporter, which meant his natural curiosity was fully engaged.
“After the game,” I confirmed.
A short while later, we sat in the bleachers, the cool April air feeling warmer than it should, but after a cold winter, sixty-eight degrees felt positively hot. Puffy clouds dotted the bright blue sky. Just as Ricky had said, they played the “Star Spangled Banner” through the loud speaker system, then afterward, he spoke into a microphone attached to a portable speaker. “We want to take a minute to remember our friend, Phil Haskell,” he started. A hush grew over the small crowd. Some people bowed their heads. Gemma wiped away the tears springing from her eyes. I rubbed my hand on her back, wishing strength into her.
After a full minute of silence, Ricky continued. “Phil was taken from us too soon. He was a good friend. A good man. And a good baseball player.”
The last line got a low chuckle from a few people.
“I’m going to miss him.” He paused, looking at the ball players lined up next to him. “If you’ll indulge us, each of the guys wants to say something. We’ll be quick, then—” He looked up to the sky. “—Phil, wherever you are, man, you’re missed. Strike out Yogi and say hi to the Babe when you round first.”
Ricky passed the microphone to the guy next to him, then stepped out of the way. “I don’t know what to say, except I’m taking over for you at short stop. Big shoes to fill. Love ya, man.”
He passed the mic on. The next man, who Jack and I had met Friday night, was next. “That’s Gustavo, right?” I whispered to Gemma.
She nodded.
“I’m gonna miss our chess games, Phil.” He hung his head, sniffing, then paused to give himself a few seconds to regroup. “Yeah. I’m gonna miss our chess games.”
He swung his arm, handing off the mic. One by one, the players spoke, saying their personal goodbyes to Philip Haskell. The next two were Michael and Seth, who we’d also met Friday night. Michael spoke first. “Pizza and beer. It won’t be the same without you, man.”
Seth took the mic and, like Ricky had, he looked up at the sky. “Phil, hope they’re playing Drake for you. Keep the family close, man. That’s all I gotta say. Keep the family close.” He touched the mic to his head before passing it on to the next player. Three more men spoke, then Aaron with the creepy stare, stepped forward. A shiver instantly wound through me. Something about the guy made me uneasy. If my grandmother were here, she would be shaking her head and muttering, “El es como una cabra.” He’s as crazy as a goat. It was a saying that was usually lighthearted, but in the case of Aaron, it felt ominous. He held the mic as he searched the bleachers. After a few seconds, he landed on Gemma. Then he shifted his gaze, staring at me. He lifted his chin, as if he were acknowledging me. Speaking only to me. Goosebumps rose on my skin as a shiver wound through me. “Keep your family close, but keep your enemies closer,” he said.
I swallowed. Hard. What the hell did that mean? Why did Seth and Aaron both say something about Philip’s family?
Ricky moved like lightning, ripping the microphone from Aaron. His hands were fisted and he looked ready to pummel the guy, but he threw his shoulders back and turned to face the bleachers. He held up his arm and said, “This one’s for you, Phil. Let’s play ball!”
Nice save, I thought, but I couldn’t shake the disconcerting feeling in the pit of my stomach from Aaron’s words as he stared at me.
The friends and family of the players on both sides of the field cheered and stomped their feet. The game started, and then seemed to go on forever. By the bottom of the fourth, I was done. Aaron was pushed to the back of my mind for the time being. If Jack had been out there playing, then okay. I might have wanted to stay and watch him. But another hour and a half of sitting on the aluminum bleachers was not my idea of a good time.
I turned to Gemma to tell her we’d meet her at her apartment later, but she was already gathering her purse, shoving her wad of tissue into it. “I can’t stay anymore,” she said, and suddenly she was up and climbing over people until she was on the cement and hurrying back toward her car.
I knocked Jack’s arm with the back of my hand. “I guess we’re going,” I said. Together, we picked our way through the people on the bleachers and followed Gemma.
Gemma darted in and out of traffic acting like Jack and I were chasing her instead of following her at her request. “Is she trying to lose us?” Jack groused.
“She’s lost in her grief,” I said. “She isn’t thinking clearly.”
He had both hands on the wheel and a grimace on his face. He was not going to lose her, no matter what.
Gemma swerved, narrowly avoiding a city garbage truck as she suddenly merged into its lane.
“Christ! She’s going to crash into someone.”
I held on tight as Jack switched lanes to keep up with her, holding my breath to stifle the terrified yelp hovering in my throat. We were going to crash if he wasn’t careful.
The way we were weaving in and out
of traffic felt a little like Gemma was O.J. Simpson and we were the FBI in pursuit. It was a harrowing drive, but finally, after twenty minutes of hot pursuit, we pulled into an apartment complex not far from Gemma’s salon. She parked in a covered space, hopped out, and pointed to an area for guest parking. Even from where I sat, I could see her tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes. She’d been sobbing the entire drive. ¡Qué milagro! It really was a miracle that she—and we—had made it back here in one piece.
Jack parked, but by the time we were out of the car and across the lot, Gemma had disappeared. The apartment complex was divided into multiple buildings with sidewalks curving in between the green spaces. We walked into the maze, but she was nowhere to be seen. I spun around. “Híjole,” I muttered. “Where did she go?”
“Up here,” a voice called. Jack and I turned, following the sound. There she was, waving at us from a little balcony in an upstairs unit.
Jack and I shared a raised-eyebrow look as we climbed the steps to Gemma’s apartment. She stood at the open door, moving aside to let us pass. Without a word, she gestured to the single couch and then disappeared into the bedroom. She returned carrying a cardboard box. She set it down on the coffee table, disappeared, then came back with a second box, putting it next to the first. “Some of Phil’s things,” she said.
She dragged a chair from the small kitchen table and sat opposite us on it. “Go on. I don’t know if it’ll help, but you can look through them.”
She didn’t need to tell me twice. I pulled the first box closer and opened the flaps. I couldn’t help but be disappointed by the neatly folded shirts, shorts, and joggers stacked inside. “All clothes?” I asked her.
“There’s more in the closet. He was kind of minimal.”
“He lived here, is that right?”
She nodded. “He moved in about six months ago. At first I wasn’t sure since we weren’t married, but I knew he was the one, so then I thought, why not?” She stopped, breathing in to control the emotions that were resurfacing. “I almost said no. I would have missed so much of him if I had said no.”
Drop Dead Lola Page 14