Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 01 - Living the Vida Lola (32 page)

My eyes blurred on my notes, and my head throbbed. I flipped open my cell phone and dialed Just Because.

“This is Dolores Cruz,” I said when Tom Phillips answered the phone.

“Yep?”

“I just heard about Muriel. I’m sorry.”

He harrumphed on the other end of the line and I got the distinct impression he wasn’t wearing black. “At least she called you first,” he said.

“What?”

“I heard her on the phone telling someone she was going to call a detective and tell her everything if she didn’t get some money—whatever that means. I figured you were the detective and I know the man didn’t come through.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Muriel had died before she’d called me. “What do you think she meant?”

“Hell if I know. Said some literaratzi bullshit.” Tom hacked a cough, and I held the phone away from my ear. “A woman scorned, or some shit, and something about a lie.”

My pulse raced. Muriel had been tangling with a killer and had paid the price. Question was, who was the woman scorned—Emily, or someone else? And what was the lie?

The pieces I’d been trying to connect were still miles apart. I hung up with Tom, more confused than ever. I needed a break. And some perspective. Yoga, I decided. That would clear my mind.

K
handi  glided into the  yoga studio,  serenity  oozing from every pore of her body. Meditative calm—that’s what I wanted, but I was too racked with nerves. I closed my eyes and breathed in through my nose, trying to channel some of the teacher’s tranquillity.

It didn’t work. How could it? Someone wanted me dead, and Jack hadn’t called.

“Welcome,” she cooed into her headset.

I moved into the first pose, but my mind whirled with death and killers and threats. I was missing something crucial. Damn it, what was it?
Think
.

Khandi moved us through poses. Her lyrical voice sounded tinny through the speakers. Take her out of the yoga studio and plop her in a jungle boat at Disneyland shooting fake hippopotami, and she’d fit right in.

She started in with her typical train-of-thought monologue. “All of us put on different faces, playing different roles throughout the week. Focus on your core, the you beneath the faces.”

“Different faces. Okay,” I muttered. The woman next to me shot over a
shut up
look. I ignored her and thought about the
roles I played in my life: Daughter, sister, friend, PI, Jack Callaghan’s almost lover.

I moved to the next position, the muscles in my calves uncoiling. What about Emily Diggs? Mother, activist for her son, George Bonatee’s ex-lover, victim. Had she and Bonatee rekindled their affair? A woman scorned, I mused. Bonatee had betrayed Emily a long time ago. Had she held on to that grudge?

“Everyone does it,” Khandi cooed.

Emily’s killer was certainly playing multiple roles.

My mind worked as I arched my back. I’d been focusing on Zod, but now everything kept leading me back to Bonatee. He’d been involved with Emily. He’d fathered her child. He’d steered her away from filing charges against his tattoo shop, and his buddy’s son. He’d been seeing someone else, but was that before or after he moved Emily into his house? Had he called it off with the other woman, hoping to get back with Emily?

Different faces. Different roles.

I thought. And I thought. And I thought.

The revelation hit me so suddenly that I fell out of my pose. “Oh… my… God,” I said.

The woman next to me frowned. “Shh.”

I frowned back. “I’m solving a murder here. Do you mind?”

Her spine stiffened, and she scooted away from me.

I went back to my theory, following the threads that wove through my mind. It was a completely different scenario from the one I’d been focusing on, one that didn’t have a single thing to do with tattoos.

Jack had told me that people kill for revenge and jealousy. I groaned, half in distress, half in anticipation. Had I been looking in the wrong direction all along? Whether or not Bonatee had taken up with Emily again—if his lover
thought
he had, she
could be the woman scorned. I bolted up.
¡Dios mío!
“It’s possible.” One question remained, however. Who could the scorned woman be?

“Go solve your murder somewhere else,” the irritable woman next to me said. Good idea. I’d already grabbed my bag and was halfway to the door. I had to know if my theory still made sense outside the yoga studio and under fluorescent lights. God, I hoped so.

The drive to Camacho and Associates seemed unbelievably long, especially in my smashed-up car. I cursed under my breath, barely resisting the urge to jump the curb and barrel down the sidewalk.

I screeched to a stop in front of the office and crashed through the door. “I have a new theory,” I said, bursting into Manny’s office, belatedly hoping he wasn’t with Isabel on a six-minute rendezvous.

Nope. Empty. Where was he? It was seven fifteen. Didn’t superdetectives work around the clock?

It’s okay
, I told myself.
I’ll call him when I’m sure
. I settled myself at the table and hunched over my notes. Ideas went round and round in my mind. The conversation with Tom was front and center.
A woman scorned. A lie
. I looked at the case from every angle and pieced together a hypothetical timeline of events:

• Emily’s son dies
  .
  
• With no one else to turn to, she contacts George Bonatee, a lawyer, her ex-lover, and the father of her son, for help
  .
  
• When he hears her story and puts together the connection to his business and his friends, the Cases, he sets Emily up in his rental house so he can keep an eye on her. Or, he really wants to help the mother of his son and sets her up in his rental to get to know her again
  .
  
• Maybe he still loves her, maybe not, but his girlfriend probably freaks when she finds out Emily is back in the picture
  .
  
• And is even more freaked when she sees Sean. It had taken me all of two seconds to determine that Bonatee was Sean’s father, and I didn’t know the man. It would have taken his lover a nanosecond
  .
  
• The woman scorned lures Emily to the boat and manages to kill her. No more obstacle between her and the man she loves
  .
  

“What’s going on, Dolores?”

Sadie startled me out of my concentration, and my gaze darted to the clock on the wall—8:35. Where had the last hour and twenty minutes gone? Time flies. “Working my case.”

My empty stomach roared. When was the last time I’d eaten? Maybe food would boost my brainpower.

I gathered up my things. “Did Neil come up with anything on that license plate?”

She nodded, looking me up and down like I’d lost my marbles. “Manny was supposed to call you with the information hours ago—” She bared her teeth. “—before he left with—” She paused.

“Nevermind.” She handed me a note, her red-lipped frown dissecting her face. “He left this for you.”

I made myself breathe evenly. I wasn’t going to get angry with her for not giving me the note in the first place. I opened it and read, stunned. “Ryan Case?” I peered at Sadie. “Are you sure?”

“Neil’s buddy ran the partial with the make of the car. We cross-referenced the list, and that’s the only relevant name that came up.”

I immediately started jotting notes and arrows on my whiteboard, erasing and rewriting until it made sense. “So it was borrowed,” I murmured.

Sadie came up behind me. “That does show things from a
different perspective, doesn’t it?” she said after reading my notes. “Very slick, Dolores. You should definitely call Manny.” I heard her take a breath. “Right now.”

I had another revelation. She used nicknames for me only when Manny was around. It was for
his
benefit, not mine. What was up with that? “Good idea,” I said, digging in my purse for my phone.

I turned my back on her. Two missed calls flashed on the screen. I’d been so gung ho on getting back to the office to review my new theory after I left yoga that I hadn’t checked my messages. Stupid.

The first message was from Jack. “Lola, I have a lead on your case. Bonatee owns a boat called
My Lie
. I’m going to the marina to nose around some more. Give me a call.”

A surge of warmth spread through me. He
had
called.
And
he was following a lead for me. My lie. The boat was the lie Tom had overheard Muriel talking about! The pieces were starting to fit into place.
I’m right behind you, Callaghan
.

Manny’s voice was next. “Your cell phone’s not on.
Llámame
.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll call you,” I muttered.
Right after I call Jack
.

I wheeled around, but Sadie had vanished. I checked the time. Nine o’clock. I dialed Jack’s number.

His apartment phone rang and rang until finally his machine clicked on. “It’s Lola,” I said after the beep. “I got your message. Call me back.”

I tried his cell phone. Voice mail. I tried Antonio. He didn’t answer. “You’re supposed to be in bed,” I said to the machine. “Have you heard from Jack? Call me.”

It was late, would be dark soon, and I wanted to see Jack. But I was no fool. I needed to let someone know where I was going. I looked for Sadie and found her in Manny’s office, logged on to his computer. “I’m going on a field trip,” I said.

She jumped a mile.
Busted
. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to wonder what snooping she was up to.

“I’m going to the marina,” I continued. “My friend found George Bonatee’s boat.” Bonatee said he’d been out of town the day Emily disappeared. He could have been lying, or maybe he’d lent the boat to someone. Someone like his lover.

She logged off the computer and stood up. “I’ll go with you—”

“No!” It wasn’t like there was a killer there, and Sadie’s company would interfere with the way I wanted to greet Jack when I found him. “I’ll be fine. I was just letting your know.”

She shook her head, her messy blond hair looking tousled and perfect. “It’s where the crime took place. You shouldn’t go alone. And Manny should meet us there.”

“Really, Sadie. Thanks, but no thanks.” I headed for my car, but she was hot on my heels. “It’s not like the killer’s there waiting for me.”

“I insist.”

Maybe I could make it to my car and lock the doors before she got in. I hurried, nearly breaking into a run. Then I saw my crumpled car. There’d be no quick getaway in it.

I crawled in through the passenger side. Before I was settled in the driver’s seat, Sadie was in the car. I stared at her. “I don’t need you for this.”

Sadie flashed me a mock smile. And buckled up.

Once I realized that she had no intention of getting out, I gave up. I directed my car to the Riverbank Marina, where I hoped to find Jack Callaghan. And if I was really lucky, I’d also find some evidence that would help me solve this case once and for all.

I
stared at the  phone  after I’d left a third message on Manny’s cell. “Why aren’t you answering?” I muttered. It was completely out of character for him not to pick up. I threw my phone into the backseat, and then I remembered what Sadie had said. Manny called me before he left with… I turned to her. “Who’d Manny leave with?”

She grimaced but kept silent.

Tomb Raider
girl. It had to be. And Sadie was acting
un poquito
jealous. Or pissed. Or both.

The sky had turned almost completely black, just a few stars breaking through the thick blanket of darkness. An awkward silence persisted between Sadie and me. “Why were you on Manny’s computer?” I finally asked her. Just making conversation.

“None of your business.” When I raised an eyebrow at her, she said, “We have history.”

Right. I didn’t want to touch their history with a ten-foot pole. After another length of silence that lasted almost eight minutes, we reached the marina. A spattering of cars dotted the parking lot, but otherwise the place was deserted. I recognized
one of the cars as Jack’s Volvo, and my pulse quickened. He was still here somewhere.

A glance at Sadie made me suck in a breath. She held her gun in her hands. Jack had come here to nose around. The marina was the scene of the crime. Take no chances, Manny had said. Good advice. Sadie had been right to come with me.

I dialed my boss again—still no answer—but left a message telling him where Sadie and I were. Just on the off chance that the killer was out there somewhere and—a shiver ran down my spine—we didn’t return.

Grabbing the flashlight from my safety kit, I shoved it under my arm. “No gun?” Sadie asked, the pinnacle of calm, her own piece held snugly in her hands. She must have been a Girl Scout, always prepared.

“No. I told you, I’m meeting a friend.” But I was all talk. The flashlight doubled as a weapon. And I had handcuffs. I fished them out of my purse and shoved them in the back of my stretchy pants.

I spotted Emily’s boxes, the ones I’d taken from Mary’s house and hadn’t yet given to Sean and his uncle. An aluminum baseball bat stuck out of one of them. I snatched it at the last second and pressed the rear door closed. Yoga pants had no pockets. I debated tossing my keys to Sadie for safekeeping, but opted for under a shrub instead. Better not to risk them being jostled at an inopportune moment.

Even though Jack was out there somewhere, the darkness was ominous. The lapping sound of the river knotted my stomach. Sadie and I stayed in the shadows as we crept along the parking lot to the marina. We picked our way down the wooden planks.

Something creaked behind us.

I spun around. The flashlight dropped. I wielded the bat up over my arms, ready to clobber whoever was sneaking up on us.

Mary Bonatee yelped and shrank back. Her black clothes were skintight, shimmered, and hugged her bony body. She looked like a petrified cat burglar in a bad movie.

“What are you doing here?” I whispered, lowering the bat.

Her eyes bugged. “Looking for my dad. I’ve been sitting in the parking lot, trying to talk myself into going home. Then I saw you.”