Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 01 - Living the Vida Lola (4 page)

A few minutes later, I walked into Camacho’s with my box
of mapo tofu. “Smells
fabuloso,
” Reilly said from her tidy little corner.

I cracked a smile at her use of my native language. She sometimes added a Spanish word—with a heavy American accent—into our conversations just for flavor. She was a wannabe Latina—only with her ever-changing hair color, fair Irish skin, and spattering of freckles, there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d ever be mistaken for one.

“Gracias, amiga,”
I said, feeding her fantasy. Camaraderie in the workplace was important, and I liked Reilly. The office was like a tomb. As usual the associates had scattered like cockroaches in the light. They all had places to be, people to see, crimes to solve. They were like smoke. I, on the other hand, was more like fog, a little less vapory and I tended to hang around. But I got the job done. I headed for the conference table to eat my lunch and peruse Emily Diggs’s notebook to see what clues I could find. And to put off calling Jack. “How’s it going?” I asked Reilly.

She spun her chair around, draped her arm across the back, and notched her chin down. “
El bosso
is in a foul mood, Lola. Something’s up.”

I looked around in case
el bosso
, aka Manny, was here and Reilly had lost her mind.

She read my thoughts. “He’s out front somewhere. Stormed out in a serious huff.”

I sat down and lowered my voice. “Why?”

She snapped her eyes from left to right before looking at me again. “I don’t know,” she whispered.

Gossip was number one on Reilly’s agenda, but it looked like she’d drawn a blank this time. “Okay.” I opened my box of tofu, inhaling the delicious steam that wafted out. “Let me know when you have the scoop.”

She did her sneaky glance around again. “I’m actively
investigating. Something about his—” She paused and looked around again. “—ex.”

I did a silent gasp. His ex? As in wife?
Muy interesante.
I’d always been curious as hell to see what kind of woman Manny had married—and later divorced. “How do you know?”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “He was talking to her on the phone, and I think he was e-mailing her, too.”

I arched a brow back at her. “But how do you
know
it was his ex-wife?”

“I eavesdropped. They were talking about their divided assets, and he told her that if she did what she was threatening to do, he’d take her to court and finish her.”

Didn’t sound amicable.

“Get this.” Reilly lowered her voice to a harsh whisper and looked conspiratorial. “He came in with a woman earlier today. Gorgeous. Very
Tomb Raider,
if you catch my meaning.”

“No!” I’d never known Manny to mix business with pleasure. And he’d certainly never brought a woman to the office. I waited for more.

She nodded. “Tall. Gorgeous. Perfect hair, perfect body, perfect lips, perfect everything.” She stuck out her tongue and slapped her thighs. “Makes the rest of us look frumpy. It’s so unfair.”

“Hey.”

Reilly gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry.” She looked me over. “You’re not a frump.”

“Thank you. And neither are you. No one does rainbow hair better than you. And rainbow hair is
not
frumpy.” I tried to fluff my own flat hair. Pointless. “I wonder why he brought her here.”

Reilly’s eyes turned to saucers, and she opened her mouth to dish—but snapped it closed again when the alarm beeped. Three seconds later, Manny came around the corner into the main conference room.

He looked from me to Reilly and peered at us as if he knew exactly what we’d been talking about. Ex-wives and girlfriends—well, what did he expect? Whatever the 411 was, Reilly would get the scoop and then she’d share it. Surely Mr. Superstar PI knew that about his office assistant.

He passed us by and went straight into his office, but damn it if he didn’t end our
chisme
session by leaving the door wide open.

I looked back at Reilly and whispered, “Drinks later?”

She nodded, whispering back, “You got it.” She blocked her mouth with the back of her hand and tilted her head toward me. “Oh, and watch out for Sadie. She’s on a rampage today. Blasted me for having coffee near the precious computer.”

I’d always suspected Sadie harbored secret lust for Manny. An ex-wife and
Tomb Raider
girl—all in one day—would definitely cramp her style.

I thanked Reilly for the heads-up and began flipping through Emily’s notebook until I found Jack’s card. A few moments later I was scarfing food and lost in my own thoughts. What was I going to say when I called him?

A hand came down on my shoulder.

Shit!
I jumped, inhaling a soft glob of tofu. Slamming my palm against my chest, I coughed until my throat was clear and then gulped down more than half my water. So much for Manny’s
always be prepared
mantra.

“Are you all right, Dolores?”

I seethed. Sadie. Oh, if only I could meet her alone in a dark alley.

I jerked my shoulder from her icy touch, but she sat down next to me. Reilly stared at her computer, her body completely frozen. Wise girl.

Sadie was dressed in black slacks and a green collared shirt with a Laughlin’s Grocer emblem sewn on the front. Her short
hair was brushed back and clipped with a silver barrette just past the forehead, and she wore a pair of wire-framed glasses. I cocked an eyebrow at her, holding in my laugh. “Nice outfit.”

Her left eye pinched. “I’d take the Diggs case right away from you if…”

“If what? Manny gave it to me.”

Her pencil-thin eyebrows arched toward her forehead. “His mistake.”

“No, his decision.”

She flipped a ruffle on the V-neck of my blouse with her red-painted fingernails. “This is not appropriate dress for the workplace, Dolores.”

My jaw went slack. I’d had just about enough of Sadie Metcalf. “Who died and made you the clothes police?”

“Food, while you’re working around a case file and evidence? Not good.” Her voice rose. “There should be rules around here.”

Before I knew what was happening, her hand shot out like a claw and knocked over my carton. Tofu cubes and thick brown sauce oozed onto the table.

“Shit!” I jumped up before it spilled onto my lap. “What’s your problem?”

But I couldn’t wait for her answer. I raced to the bathroom for paper towels, hurrying back to mop up the mess.

When I looked up, Sadie was sashaying toward the lobby, Emily’s notebook clenched in her hand. “I’ll help you out with this,” she said to me over her shoulder.

No. Way. I didn’t know if knocking over my food container had been an accident or a planned distraction, but either way, Sadie was diabolical.

Throwing down the soggy paper towel, I charged after her. “You cannot take my evidence!” I grabbed her arm and whirled her.

“What’s going on?”

It was Manny. I released my grip and stepped back. He looked from Sadie to me and back. His dark eyes narrowed. “Well?”

I reached for the notebook that Sadie held against her chest. She gripped it tight, scowling at Manny. He held his hand out and gave her a piercing look. Their eyes locked for a long second; then she gave a bitter snort and slapped it onto his open palm.

Wagging an acrylic fingernail at him, she said, “Do I need to remind you, I have every right to—”

“Not another word.” Manny’s eyes turned to slits.

I shrank back toward the little artificial plant, wishing I could disappear and leave them to their fight. Miraculously, Sadie shut her mouth.

Manny’s jaw pulsed as he flipped through the notebook, stopping at a page here and there, glancing at Jack Callaghan’s card stapled to one of the pages. My stomach clenched. This was my case. I was following up on the clues. Especially that one, I thought, realizing that I wanted to call the man.

Sadie piped up with a commentary, her voice measured. “It’s a compilation of notes, doodles, lists, and who knows what else—”

“Which is why I was studying it.” I felt the wrinkles etching into my face. Working in this wacko place was going to make me age prematurely—and I was way too young for anti-wrinkle cream. “Don’t you have some
robbers
to catch at the
grocery store
?”

I could see her struggling to keep her tongue under control. Manny and I both brought out the worst in Sadie Metcalf. “As a matter of fact, I do.” She ran her fingernails lightly up his arm. “But we need to talk later, Manny,” she said with mock sweetness. Then she sidestepped him, glared at me, and plowed out the door.

Manny face was rigid as he watched her.

“Cabróna,”
I muttered as the door swung closed.

He turned and frowned at me. “Dolores.”

I jabbed my finger toward the parking lot. “She had no right—”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He had to be kidding.

He handed me Emily’s journal, and I clutched it protectively. “Make a copy,” he said. “I’ll need to turn the original over to the police.”

I stood rooted to the spot, my heart pounding. Whether it was from Manny’s disapproval or from the run-in with Sadie, I wasn’t sure. Either way, I didn’t like the feeling.

I went back to the conference table, finished cleaning up the tofu mess, and spent the next forty-five minutes photocopying Emily’s spiral journal in the tiny back workroom. Maybe I didn’t owe that much thanks to Jack Callaghan after all. At least not today. Today there was no glamour in being a PI.

Manny came in just as I pressed
COPY
for the last time. He stood back and waited while I used our massive stapler to secure the copied pile of sheets before handing him the original notebook.

“Come into my office,” he said.

I followed him, regretting that I’d called Sadie a bitch. I hated being reprimanded. I focused on his slight limp and wondered, not for the first time, what had caused it. The unsolved mysteries around this place were monumental—and growing.

“What’s your first impression of the case?” he asked when we were in his office.

I breathed a relieved sigh. This was check-for-understanding time. I forgot about Sadie. A few minutes later, I’d finished telling him about Emily’s last residence. “I left a message on the
landlord’s voice mail. He’s a lawyer,” I added. “And there’s a, um, newspaper reporter I need to contact.”

Manny gave a final succinct nod with just the hint of a smile pulling up one side of his lips. “Keep your reports up to date, and document your time for billing. And keep me posted,” he added as I stood up.

It wasn’t even close to unqualified praise, but an approving nod from Manny was huge—the equivalent of a normal boss saying, “Superb! Fantastic job! Keep up the good work!” I took it happily. My goal in life, at least occasionally, was to get him to praise me fully.

I spent the next hour marking key words and phrases from my copy of Emily’s notebook with a bright pink highlighter.

• call A

• ask about regulations

• zoo with S—call to arrange

• my lie

• Just Because

None of it made much sense, but I committed every name I came across to memory, jotting them down in my own notebook just in case my brain failed. I knew clues would unravel as I investigated and Emily’s story would start to piece together, but right now I had a bad feeling. Question after question zoomed into my mind—like a damn popcorn maker going wacky.

• Who are these people Emily wrote about in her book?

• Is she a committed mother, or did she abandon her youngest son?

• What do Emily’s other kids, Garrett and Allison, think happened to their mother?

• Where and who is the father of the kids?

• Why oh why did Jack Callaghan have to be part of this?

Ugh. Too much to think about and not enough functioning gray matter. My mind drifted to the photos of Jack that were tucked safely in my dresser drawer. My body suddenly tingled, and heat rose to my cheeks. I’d seen him naked fifteen years ago, and suddenly that image was plastered in my mind. Too bad for me and my pent-up desire. If he looked anything like the photos I had of him, I was sure his bed was rarely empty.

I went from hot to cold in two seconds flat. My bed was
always
empty. Only my boxer, Salsa, kept me warm, and I didn’t really love it when she wanted on my bed. I pretty firmly believed that a dog does not take the place of a man.

The wall clock ticked in time with the pounding in my head. I glanced over—six-twenty. Already? I could see Manny hunkered down in front of his computer, no end in sight to his evening. Was he going home alone? And where was home, anyway? Did he and Lara Croft share a tomb together somewhere?

I frowned.
I
was going home alone—to the flat above my parents’ house. The flat I shared with my brother, Antonio. Kind of pathetic, when I thought about it, which I tried not to. I wasn’t still twenty-three and trying to make it in the big, bad world.

I thumped my forehead. Twenty-eight years old. It was high time I got my own place away from
la familia.
And even higher time for my brother. But we were both saving for our own houses, paying cheap rent and living above our parents in the meantime. We were both kind of stuck.

I shook away my discouragement and packed up my stuff. Reilly and I had a date for drinks at the Forty-niner, a little hole-in-the-wall bar on the edge of midtown. I needed some
downtime, and the queen of gossip had some dirt to sprinkle around.

On the way, I finally bit the bullet and dialed the number for the
Sacramento Bee
that was on Jack’s business card. A series of instructions led me to Callaghan’s voice mail. My heart did a little pitter-patter at the sound of his low, sexy voice.

“Jack,” I said after the recording started. “This is, uh, Lola. Cruz. Antonio’s sister.” I cringed. Real smooth. Not at all breathy and sexy. “Uh, I’d like to talk to you about a case I’m working on.” I paused, realizing he probably didn’t know what I did for a living. “I’m, um, a private investigator.”
Thanks to you, big boy.
“Give me a call. Please. Thanks.” I rattled off my cell number and hung up, immediately wishing I could hit
ERASE
and start the message again. I’d exhibited zero personality, and that fact, I’m sure, had come across loud and clear. I banged my palm against the steering wheel. Damn, damn, damn.