Drop Dead Lola

by Melissa Bourbon

  From what I remembered, Gustavo had worn a wedding ring. Presumably married then. No idea if he had kids or not, but he was gainfully employed and didn’t work anywhere near where Philip lived or near McKinley Park. My gut told me that he wasn’t a killer. I didn’t have proof, but I also didn’t have a motive. I could be wrong in dismissing him, but I didn’t think so. Still, I called the company number anyway. The receptionist who answered was miles friendlier than the Quaffman Electric woman I’d spoken to. When I asked for Gustavo, I expected her to scoff and tell me he was in the field, or to at least grill me about who I was and why I was bothering her about talking to the guy. She didn’t do either. “Sure,” she said. “He’s in the shop. I’ll transfer you over there.”

  “Great, thank you!” I said, my voice a little too peppy from the shock of her friendliness.

  A few seconds later Gustavo was on the line. “I met you last week at the ball field,” I said.

  “I remember,” he said. “What can I help you with?”

  “I don’t think I mentioned it before, but I’m looking into Philip Haskell’s death.”

  “What does that mean, looking into it?”

  “Investigating it. His mother—she was in a coma, you know, but now she’s awake. Her poisoning wasn’t an accident. She remembers—”

  Gustavo drew in a sharp breath. “What does she remember?”

  His reaction. It felt wrong. Like he was worried. My conversation with Jack came back to my mind. Joe Quaffman had come to the hospital to see Marnie. Jack had thought he might be there to finish the job. I felt like I was on the right track, but I didn’t have anyone with a motive and I didn’t know who the killer was. But if I laid a trap…

  The plan had hatched in my mind fully formed and now I went with it. “Oh, gosh. I said too much. She’s still in a fragile state, but she’s going to be okay. Such a relief for the family. After losing Philip, I don’t think they could have handled losing the matriarch. It’s just that she said—”

  “What? What did she say?”

  Was that panic, or just curiosity? But what could Gustavo’s motive be? Had Philip been a better ball player than him? Was that enough? It was a ridiculous thought, but people killed for ridiculously lame reasons that had morphed into something monumental in their minds.

  “She’s meeting with the police at five thirty.” My mother sat on my shoulder calling me mentirosa. It was true, I was lying, but all in the name of the job. I had my boundaries, but they didn’t include stretching the truth or telling a fib now and then. I changed the direction of the conversation. “Gustavo, where were you the night Philip was killed?”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just a routine question when we’re investigating a murder. Checking people off the list. If we can eliminate you, it would make it easier to figure out who did this to Philip. And his mother. And Aaron.”

  “Three…you think one person did all that? The same person that killed Philip killed Aaron?”

  “We think so, yes. Where were you when Philip died?”

  He hesitated for a second before saying, “At home. With my family.”

  Uh huh. Likely story. I assumed that Mrs. Romero and the kids would confirm that whether or not it was actually true. “Okay, great. Thank you. And when Aaron died? Do you know where you were?”

  Again, hesitation. “At Lowe’s, I think. Or maybe at home by then. I, uh, don’t know for sure.”

  “But you remember where you were when Philip died?”

  “Well yeah. We thought he killed himself. The team, you know, we, uh, all talked about how he had to really want to die to do it during that big storm.”

  Good information to have. I could use it when I called the other members of the team. “Say a prayer for Marnie,” I said. “Once the police meet with her, they’ll know who the killer is.”

  Gustavo’s voice cracked when he responded. “Yeah—I will—I, uh, hope they do—is there…anything else? I, uh, I gotta get back to work.”

  “No, that’s it. Thanks.”

  I looked up Jeff Marlson, the next person on the roster. Single. Apartment in Sacramento. Good job at an architecture firm downtown. There were no red flags, but I dialed his number. I needed the story to get around to all the guys on the team. That meant planting the seed with as many people as I could. The call went to voicemail and I left a message. “I’m calling about Philip Haskell and his mother. Mrs. Haskell woke up from her coma. I know you all loved Philip, so I wanted you to know that she’s talking to the police tonight at five thirty. By tonight, we’ll know who killed Philip.”

  Next up was Seth Boyd. I typed in his name, but nothing popped up. I checked the spelling and tried again. Nada. He had two surnames, I noticed. Matthews and Boyd. I tried Seth Matthews Boyd, then just Seth Matthews. That got me the hits I needed. Seth worked at a machine shop, lived alone in the same area as his buddy Michael, and was a few years older than most of the other guys on the team. Again, no red flags. I ran my finger across the line on the roster with Seth’s information, stopping at his phone number. Five seconds later, Seth was on the phone. “You ready for another pint of beer and some pizza?” he asked after I said hello.

  I laughed. Had to keep it light-hearted. A little flirty, even. I knew how to work it if I had too. “That sounds so good, actually. Maybe I’ll come to your next game.”

  “What about your boyfriend?”

  “Who, Jack?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You want him to tag along?” I asked. Playful. That was what I was going for, and I think it was working.

  “Nah, we don’t need him.”

  “Listen,” I said. “I’m calling all the guys on the team. If you can let Michael know, that’d be great.”

  “Sure thing. Tell ’em what?”

  “Marnie Haskell is awake from her coma.”

  “No way. Aaron said he didn’t think she’d make it through.”

  “The doctor thinks it’s pretty miraculous,” I said.

  “Yeah. Man, she’s a sweetheart. That’s good news.”

  “Great, thanks. Soon we’ll have the answers we need.”

  “What answers?”

  Seth was like a fish dangling from a hook. I knew he was going to spread the story far and wide. “We think whoever tried to kill her also killed Philip—and probably Aaron. She remembers, but she’s waiting to talk to the police tonight.”

  “Aaron? You mean it’s all connected?”

  “Well, yeah. We believe he either confronted or was trying to blackmail the killer.”

  He inhaled sharply. “Holy shit, are you serious? That is like a freaking movie.”

  “A really bad movie,” I said.

  “No doubt. I gotta call Michael.”

  “Great. That’ll save me a call.”

  “No problem. I’ll tell the team. No worries there. We have an email list. I’ll send it out.”

  “I already called Gustavo Romero and I left a message for Jeff Marlson. I’ll call Ricky.”

  “Yeah, yeah, good idea. Rick and Phil were tight. He’s going to want to visit Phil’s mom.”

  It was a good idea. I felt like I owed Ricky a personal call. I left Seth to pass on my story to the rest of the team and entered Ricky Naughten into my search engine. Turns out he worked for the state of California. He’d started out of college and had worked his way up. Married. A three-year-old and a newborn baby, only four months old. I read a little further down the page and frowned. The guy had two DUIs from five years ago. At least it looked like he’d cleaned up his act.

  I dialed Ricky’s number. He answered on the third ring. “This is Rick.”

  “Hi, Ricky. It’s Dolores Cruz. I met you the other night at the baseball practice?”

  “Right. Phil’s friend.”

  It was Jack who’d been Phil’s friend,
but I didn’t bother to correct him. “I’ve been letting the team know about Philip’s mom.”

  “What about Phil’s mom? Oh man, did she pass away? Oh no. That poor family.”

  “No, she didn’t die. She’s okay. She’s awake!”

  There was a thunk followed by the slamming of a door. “Sorry. Dropped my coffee. You said Marnie’s not dea—um, she’s out of her coma?”

  “Yes!” I upped my pep squad tone to counteract the surprise in his. “She’s awake and doing great. Miraculous, the doctor said.” I felt like I was repeating the same spiel over and over, with almost the same words, which I guess I was, but this time it felt a little different. Ricky’s response was different than the others had been. He’d clearly been expecting her to die.

  “That is miraculous. That can happen, huh? Because Aaron died.”

  “Yeah, Aaron was exposed longer. I think we got to Marnie just in time. The doctor said everybody is different. She may have some long-term health problems. Actually, he said that she probably will. But she’s awake and talking and she has something to tell the police, even. She knows who did this to her, can you believe it! They’re coming to meet her at five thirty. We’re going to find out who killed Philip and Aaron!”

  “Wow, that is…great. Just…great. Thanks for the call.”

  “I knew you’d want to hear as soon as possible.”

  “Definitely. Can she have visitors?”

  “I think it’s mostly family right now, but I’m not sure. Maybe talk to Anne or George about that.”

  “Yeah. I’ll do that, or I can give Tim a call. I’d like to go see her.”

  A shiver worked its way up my spine. I suspected one of the ball players had something to do with Philip’s death, but I had no motive for any of them. Ricky had seemed like he really cared about Philip, but something about his reaction was giving me the heebie-jeebies.

  I pushed the feeling aside while I made my next phone call to Brooke Callaghan, a police officer with the Sacramento Police Force. She was Jack’s little sister and they were as tight as I was with my brothers and sister. In my case, it was culture and upbringing that kept us so connected. For Jack and Brooke, it was their camaraderie with each other—and their mom—after their dad had run off with another woman. They’d become the Three Musketeers, and they still were. Brooke and I hadn’t run in the same high school circles, and we’d lost touch afterward. I knew she was a “by the police book” kind of woman, which didn’t leave much wiggle room. Unfortunately wiggle room was what I wanted from her right now. I was hoping our history and shared love for Jack would sway her to help me.

  She answered her phone with a clipped, “This is Callaghan.”

  “Brooke. Hey. It’s Lola,” I said, then added, “Cruz.”

  “I only know one Lola, and it’s you, so…” She trailed off and laughed—just a little—but enough to make me think she was in a good mood.

  “I’m sure you heard from Jack about his old friend who died about two weeks ago?”

  “Philip Haskell. Yeah, of course.”

  “Philip’s mom hired my firm—”

  “Camacho and Associates, right? That boss of yours. Ooh la la.”

  “Right,” I said, only after realizing that I should have specified if I was agreeing with her that it was my firm, or that my boss was a hottie. “Um, anyway, Marnie hired me—us—but me.”

  “She doesn’t think Phil killed himself, right? That’s what Jack said.”

  Brooke did not beat around the bush. Straight to the point. “Exactly. But then we found Marnie unconscious in her car, with the engine running—”

  “I heard that. And a guy from Phil’s baseball team died that way.”

  She was on the force. Of course she knew everything, so I could move on. “Marnie’s out of her coma as of this morning. The main suspect I had for the killing has a solid alibi for the time Philip was killed. He also has no connection to Aaron Radley or the baseball team, and I think that’s key. I think that Philip was killed by one of them, in fact, and that the same person killed Aaron and tried to kill Marnie to stop her.”

  She didn’t respond for a few seconds, but when she did, she sounded skeptical. “Okay. I understand your theory, but if this Radley guy was trying to blackmail a killer, that doesn’t mean the killer is on the baseball team. He could have known something about Phil that led him to the person.”

  “I did think about that, but aside from Philip Haskell’s old boss, there isn’t anyone else with a motive.”

  Leave it to Brooke to cut to the chase. “Who on the team has a motive?”

  I couldn’t tell her I had a hunch, or something that I couldn’t yet put my finger on was niggling in the back of my brain. I hated to admit it, but I said, “I’m still not sure.” I hurried on before she could dismiss me as crazy. “But two guys on the same team have died, and Marnie Haskell’s attempted murder. The only connection is the baseball team.”

  She made a little sound that I took as acknowledgement of my logic. “I’ll give you that.”

  I told her about the plan I’d hatched. “Can you meet me at the hospital in an hour? In uniform?”

  She was silent for a beat. “You really think one of these guys is going to show up and try to do something to prevent Mrs. Haskell from talking?”

  I did. I really did. And from the way both Ricky and Gustavo acted, I thought it could be either one of them. “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there,” she said.

  The plan was in motion.

  I walked into Manny’s office to fill him in. He looked at me with his intense dark eyes. He sat back, bending one leg and resting his ankle on the opposite knee. “It is a risk for Marnie Haskell, no?”

  Under normal circumstances, it could be. But I had worked that out. “It won’t be. I’ve coordinated things with the nurses. She won’t be in the room.” I had it all figured out.

  One of his eyes pinched slightly. It was his tell. He was thinking. Wondering about the safety of the situation. After all, two people were dead, and another had barely survived. Did he trust me to not put Marnie into a risky situation? Finally, he nodded—just once. “Buena suerte. Keep me posted.”

  Back at the conference table, I called Jack. He didn’t hesitate for one second after I told him the plan. “I’m on my way.”

  “You’re going undercover. Literally! Oh my God, I wanna see. Can I come?” Reilly sat on the edge of her chair rubbing her palms together in anticipation.

  “Unless you were in a nurse’s uniform, I think you’d be too conspicuous,” I said. In a play, every role had a purpose. This was real life, but it was still a skit of sorts. Reilly didn’t have a part.

  She screeched and jumped up. “Oh my God, but I do! I was a nurse for Halloween a few years ago. I have scrubs. Will that work? Tell me it’ll work, Lola. I have to go with you. This is like a real sting operation. I. Have. To. Go.”

  “If el jefe gives the green light, I’m good,” I said. She could be the nurse tending to the patient. I nodded. Yeah, it could work.

  She scurried to Manny’s office, barging through the door. I heard her ask the question, followed by Manny’s muffled voice. A second later, Reilly tiptoed backward out of his office, quietly closing the door. She pivoted around and jumped up and down, clapping and screaming silently. It was like watching an old silent movie. She gave me a thumbs up and whispered, “Green light. Let’s go!”

  We stopped by Reilly’s apartment. I waited in the car, scrolling through my phone and listening to my celebrity crush, Juanes, while she raced into her place to grab her Halloween nursing scrubs. I jumped, startled, when she jerked open the car door again. “Dios mio,” I muttered. All I could see were butterflies fluttering across pink fabric. She slid in and I noticed she’d even changed her hair. She’d pulled it back into a bun at the nape of her neck and had a pink headband on to hold
back her bangs. Actually, she looked pretty cute. I gestured up and down with my hand. “That is not what I was expecting.”

  “I know. Blue scrubs are so boring, so I decided I was going to be a specific nurse, not just any old nurse.”

  I racked my brain for all the TV and movie nurses I could think of. I drew a blank. “What specific nurse?”

  “Zoey Barkow,” she announced, saying it as if I would know who that was.

  “I don’t—who’s Zoey Barkow?”

  “Nurse Jackie?”

  I shook my head, stumped.

  “The TV show, Nurse Jackie. Edie Falco? Merrit Wever?”

  “Sorry, never saw it.”

  “Good grief, Lola. You need to watch it. Merrit is a star. She’s my idol. Seriously. She. Is. My. Idol.” As I drove toward the hospital, she adopted Zoey Barkow’s voice and personality suddenly, reenacting what I assumed was a scene from the show.

  She was pretty damn good. “You may have missed your calling,” I said.

  “What, nursing?” Her mouth gaped. “No way. I couldn’t live in scrubs every day.”

  I laughed. “Not nursing. Acting.”

  She tapped her index finger against her cheek. “Hmm, maybe, but then I never would have met you. Or my teddy bear, Neil.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “Gracias a dios. Life would not be the same without you, Reilly.”

  She flashed a toothy grin. “Oh, I know it wouldn’t. You need me, Lola.”

  She was right. I did need her.

  “And I need you. You add spice to my life.”

  “Y tú también,” I said. “You add just as much to my life.”

  By the time I parked, Reilly and I had finished our little love fest. Standing next to her in the elevator made me wish I had my own pair of zany scrubs and my own Zoey Barkow to idolize. It didn’t matter, though, I’d be hidden beneath the covers of a bed—as Reilly said, literally under cover—before too long.