Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 01 - Living the Vida Lola

by Melissa Bourbon Ramirez

  “The body art industry.”

  “Whatever.” I didn’t have all the details worked out, and I wondered if I sounded completely insane.

  Antonio nudged Jack over so he could peer into the refrigerator. “How about breakfast? Chorizo?” he asked me.

  “You cooking?”

  “If Mom has any.”

  “Sounds good,” Jack said, his eyes never leaving my face.

  “I’ll be back.” The refrigerator door swung shut, and Antonio headed out the back door and down to our parents’ kitchen.

  After a beat, Jack’s eyebrows pinched together. “You are pretty scraped up.”

  My hand brushed the abrasion on my arm. “Yeah.”

  He strode across the kitchen and stood in front of me. “This isn’t a game, Lola. It seems pretty likely that this woman was murdered and you’re getting in the way.”

  Here it came. I took a deep breath and tried to control my frustration. “Why, Jack Callaghan,” I said in my best Southern belle voice, “I need a man who’ll have confidence in me. Are you questioning my ability to solve my case?”

  He smiled wryly. “Your drawl could use some work, Scarlett.” But then his face tensed. “Be serious. You were almost killed last night. Have you considered that dropping this case might be a smart idea? Let the cops handle it.”

  I counted to ten so I wouldn’t blow up at him. “When I want your opinion, Callaghan, I’ll ask for it.”

  He smirked. “I’m going to give you my opinion, Cruz, whether you ask for it or not. You were fighting crooks with a goddamned broom on Sunday.”

  Anger inched up my spine. I struggled to beat it back down. “The broom worked. And it’s really none of your business anyway. No one asked you to be there.”

  “The hell it isn’t my business.” He ran his fingertips over my arm. “I’m worried about you.”

  My tension started to evaporate. He was worried about me. “There’s no need. I can handle it.”

  Antonio kicked the door open, holding an armload of treasure. “Fresh tortillas,” he announced. And eggs, chorizo, tomato sauce, onion, garlic. Why did he need to grocery-shop when he had a direct supplier right downstairs?

  I checked my watch, grateful for Antonio’s horrible timing. Jack had managed to get under my skin in a split second, and that wasn’t a real good idea, considering his love ’em and leave ’em philosophy. It was 8:34. “I need to get ready for work.”

  I left them to cook breakfast, went to my bedroom, and immediately phoned the office. Manny’s voice rumbled across the line. “Toxicology’s back.”

  “What’d they find?”

  “Codeine and cough medicine in her system.”

  “Okay. So what does that mean?”

  “Nothing specifically. Seavers mentioned suicide.”

  “He thinks Emily downed some cough syrup and codeine and threw herself into the river?” I didn’t buy that theory for a second. Especially in light of my near-death experience last night.

  “I don’t think he believes it. Just mentioned it as a possibility.”

  “There’s no way it was suicide,” I said. I leaned back against the pillows on my bed. “You asked me about my hypothesis—”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Emily believed a tattoo caused her son’s infection. She went to Assemblyman Case and the newspaper about it. She was making waves everywhere. She hit a nerve, and someone wanted her stopped.”

  There was a brief pause. I bit my lip, worried that he was going to burst out laughing any second. “Go with it,” he said quietly. “And keep in touch.”

  The line went dead.

  Only after I hung up did I realize that I hadn’t told him about the car accident. I picked up the phone to call back, but immediately changed my mind. I could fill him in later.

  Paying a visit to Tattoo Haven, Muriel the bartender’s third business, was on my list of things to do. I also had a date with Lucy for a day of shopping. Would she mind tagging along?

  Hopefully not. My cousin’s wife had no kids for the entire day. Even a tattoo parlor would look good to her.

  I took a shower, gave my hair a quick blow-dry, and let it fall around my face to mask the scrapes as much as possible. All my good underwear was in the laundry, and I couldn’t bring myself to wear the one ratty, only-in-emergency pair I had left. What if another car tried to run me over? I couldn’t take the chance of having raggedy panties if I ended up in the morgue. Ridiculous as that sounded, I had standards.

  I turned to my thongs. They were okay, in the right situation—like with a slinky silk dress. But when I was on the job, I preferred full butt coverage. Call it a quirk.

  But with no other choice, I selected a sheer pink strip of lace and string and slipped it on. I pulled on a pair of capris and a ruffled long-sleeve blouse to cover the scrapes on my arms.

  Grabbing my purse, I headed to the kitchen. Jack was finishing up the last of his chorizo con salsa. My dog sat next to his chair, looking up at him with her droopy face. He scratched her head and gave her a bit of tortilla.

  I breezed by Jack, stopping at the counter to spoon some chorizo con salsa into a tortilla. I felt his gaze on me, and my body tingled with awareness. Could he tell what I had on under my clothes?

  “Lola—”

  But he hadn’t asked me out again yet (even if we had only gone out to lunch yesterday), no matter how worried he was about me. “I have to go work,” I said, rolling my tortilla into a burrito. I tried not to worry that I was leaving him in my flat with Antonio and the incriminating photos. “See you later.”

  “But your—”

  Sanity had kicked back in; I’d made too much of his concern earlier. He was a family friend. No more. I couldn’t stick around hoping he’d come through with an invitation for a date, and I certainly wasn’t going to ask him. Not after years of being invisible to him. The door slammed behind me as I trotted downstairs and pushed through the gate to the driveway.

  I stopped short. My car was gone! I slung my purse over my shoulder and ran to the sidewalk, peering down the street. Jackie’s Volvo was parked alongside the house, but otherwise the street was empty.

  I ran back upstairs, grimacing against the pain in my legs and torso as I took the stairs two by two. I burst into the house. “Jack!” I panted. “Someone stole my car.”

  He was leaning against the counter, arms folded, looking like he’d been waiting for me. “I tried to tell you—”

  “Tried to tell me what?”

  “That Antonio borrowed it.”

  I threw my hands up in the air. “But I need it.”

  He looked amused, the corner of his mouth creeping up and his dimple carving into his cheek. “Can I help?”

  I gritted my teeth. “When’s he coming back? I have things to do.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know, but you can use my car.”

  Well, why hadn’t he extended that offer to Antonio? “Don’t you have people to meet, words to write, your own places to go? . . .”

  His dimple deepened in his cheek. “Not right now. And if it’ll help you out…”

  I peered at him. “Twenty minutes ago you were telling me to get a new job. Now you’re helping out?”

  “I never told you to get a new job, Lola. I said I’m going to worry about you as long as you have this job.”

  He had a knack for phrasing things in a way that defied argument. “Okay,” I said. “Thanks.” I followed him down the cement stairs and out to the street. He looked as good from behind as he did from the front. A broad back that tapered to a narrow waist. Jeans that hugged his lower half perfectly. A body that I longed to touch and explore.

  He seemed to move extra slow, as if he knew the torrid thoughts that raced through my mind. Evil.

  Finally, the torture ended. We made it to the street, and he unlocked the door for me. I fell into the driver’s seat of the Volvo. The car was so low to the ground and the deep bucket seats so enveloping that I wondered if my bruised
body would be able to maneuver me back out of it.

  He crouched down next to me, his smile all but gone and his eyes smoldering. “Go out with me tonight.”

  I sputtered on the outside as I jumped for joy on the inside. “Tonight?” Then I remembered Reilly and frowned. “I can’t. I’m going out with—”

  His face fell, and I stopped. To hell with my old-fashioned upbringing. Independent, single, and in lust. I was going for it. “I’m setting a friend up with Antonio, and I’m kind of the chaperone.” I hesitated. If Jack came, there was no way Tonio would back out. “I guess you could come along… .”

  A slow grin slid onto his face. “Then it’s a date.”

  Oh yeah. Date number two. What were the rules for a good girl? Could I kiss him on date number two? Go to second base? Did we have to wait until tonight? “I can drop you at the paper,” I said.

  He opened the passenger door and slid in. “I’d rather tag along for a while. See Lola, PI, in action.”

  I shot a suspicious look at him. “Not like a bodyguard, right?”

  “No. Not like a bodyguard. I’ll do a little investigating of my own. I might just write that article for Emily Diggs if there’s anything to it.”

  The idea of spending part of the day—and then the night—with Jack was thrilling, but did I want on-the-job scrutiny? Especially with my plans for the day. Then again, how could I refuse? He was lending me his car. “I’m working. You can’t distract me.”

  He smiled wickedly as his gaze slid down my body. “I’d say I’ll be the one distracted.”

  I clutched the wheel as I zoomed off. Thong. Thank God Lucy was coming with us, or I’d be tempted to chuck my plans and be distracted with Jack all day. So far, I was liking the man he’d grown up to be, his feelings about my job notwithstanding.

  The car veered. Jack grabbed for the wheel. “Lola!”

  I snapped out of my fantasy and straightened the car. “Sorry.”

  “Maybe I should drive.”

  Never show weakness. I focused on the road. “Nope. Little lapse. I’m fine.”

  He paused for a beat, watching me. “Where are we going?” he finally asked.

  I went for distraction. I didn’t know if he’d approve of our destination. “Someone tried to kill me. You sure you want to hang around with me? It’s not too late to change your mind. I can drop you—”

  He rolled down the window and propped his elbow on the frame. “Where are we going?” he asked again.

  “You know, I’m supposed to meet Lucy at the restaurant. We can probably take her car and you’ll be off the hook.” He didn’t need me to investigate Emily Diggs. Let him follow his own leads.

  His look told me he was probably cursing me inside like I’d been cursing Muriel about just answering a simple question. “Lola. Where the hell are we going?”

  I was saved by the short drive to the restaurant. “Oh, look—we’re here.” Lucy stood on the sidewalk by the front entrance. “There she is.”

  I pulled up in front of her and rolled down the window. “Hey.”

  Lucy’s blond hair was pulled back into two low ponytails, her long flowing skirt nearly dusting the ground. She was whole earth personified, right down to her beaded choker and anklet. She looked at the car, then at Jack in the passenger seat. “Hey.”

  “Lucy, this is Jack. Jack, Lucy.”

  She studied him, and her forehead wrinkled. “Weren’t you at my wedding?”

  Jack nodded. “You’re Zac’s wife.”

  She beamed at him with her California girl smile. “That’s me.” She looked back at me. “Where’s your car?”

  “Antonio has it.”

  “Where’s his car?”

  I made a face. “Long story. It’s in the shop.”

  She leaned closer, peering at me. “What happened to your face?”

  “Part of the long story.” I didn’t want to go into it again. “Can you drive today?”

  “No can do. Zac dropped me off. He needed the van for the kids.”

  I caught Jack’s grin. “No problem. We’ll take my car,” he said.

  A zing shot through me. His smile was beginning to make me crazy.

  Lucy climbed into the backseat. “Are you going shopping with us, too, Jack?”

  No way. I was ditching him before we hit the mall. The shoes I was going to buy were for tonight—and, of course, I’d need a new outfit to go with them. No sneak preview. I was going to make him give little Lola Cruz the attention she deserved. “He’s going to drop us downtown later. First I have to check into something for my case. Is that okay with you, Lucy?”

  She nodded. “I’m going to be your sidekick? Cool!”

  “No,” I said. “No sidekick.” I looked at each of them. “Can you both stay in the car while I do my, you know, stuff?”

  “Stay in the car? No way!” Lucy squealed. “I’m on a vacation day.” She looked at me in the rearview mirror. “I’m not leaving your side.”

  Jack didn’t even bother to respond. I knew there was no way he’d sit in the Volvo while I was in a dive tattoo parlor. I’d given it a shot. What else could I do? They were both adults, and I couldn’t very well handcuff them to the steering wheel. “Oh, all right. But let me do the talking, okay?”

  Lucy closed her lips with an imaginary zipper but couldn’t hide her smile. Jack didn’t look nearly so enthusiastic. In fact, he looked suspicious—and like he’d suddenly gone into full bodyguard mode despite his early protestations.

  Considering my plan, I thought his suspicions were probably well founded.

  Chapter 11

  I did a double take as a rickety old red truck bounced down the street in front of Tattoo Haven. It looked an awful lot like Muriel O’Brien behind the wheel. But it wasn’t her day to be at the tattoo shop, so I figured I was hallucinating. Still, I waited until the truck disappeared around a corner before I let out the breath I’d been holding. After last night, I couldn’t be too careful.

  I glanced at Jack and Lucy. “Ready?” They nodded. We trooped across the street, and I gave them a final reminder. “Remember. Pretend I’m not a detective.”

  Jack considered me. Had he figured out what I had up my sleeve? “You can pretend I’m not a reporter,” he said, “and maybe later, we can both pretend—”

  “Hey.” I stopped and whirled to face him, my index finger pointed sternly at his chest. His slow smile had me withering inside, but I held my ground. “Stop right there.”

  “It was just a suggestion—”

  I continued across the street. “I’m on the job right now. Are you with me?”

  Shooting a sideways glance at Lucy, I caught her raised eyebrows, but she nodded. She looked like she was beginning to wonder what the hell she’d gotten herself into—both with me and Jack and with the run-down looking Tattoo Haven.

  A bell dinged as the door swung open. A velvety curtain separated the front room from the back and hung on a single suspension rod between the doorjambs. Muriel obviously wasn’t socking money into interior decorating.

  A tall, lanky young man sauntered out from the depths. He ran his fingers over a thick chain that hung from a front belt loop to his back pocket. My heart raced as I studied him. He looked familiar. Had I seen him last night at the bar? Could he have been behind the wheel of the kamikaze car?

  No. That wasn’t it, but my brain was ticking.

  I did a quick survey of the room. Jack stood on sentry duty behind me, his arms folded over his chest and his jaw clenched. He was an obvious attendee of the same school of protection as Antonio. Not exactly blending in, Callaghan.

  “Help you?” the tattoo guy mumbled.

  I looked at him with his shaggy hair, nose ring, and multiple ear piercings. Mr. Clean-cut he was not.

  He knocked a cigarette out of a mashed pack and backed it into his mouth. “What’s your poison?”

  Interesting choice of words. I looked around for a stray bottle of cough syrup or codeine. Nada. Of course not. That would ha
ve been too easy. I turned back. “You do piercings?”

  He gestured at the list of services on a display board behind the counter. I read the sign. Yep. He’d pierce any body part I chose. Nothing was off-limits. “What’d ya want done?” he asked.

  In a flash, Lucy was next to me, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Yeah, Lola. What do you want pierced?” The second she said my name, I realized I should have thought of using an alias. Too late. Damn. Hindsight and all that. Manny wouldn’t have made that rookie mistake. Sadie or Neil either. Being around Jack was throwing me off.

  Reading the body parts listed, I grimaced. Even when I was pretending, like now, my self-imposed piercing options held me back. I already had triple earrings in both lobes. A nose ring was completely out of the question. The tongue? No way!

  I’d considered a tattoo—for about a nanosecond. A hypothetical piercing I could remove. A tattoo I was stuck with for all eternity, assuming I didn’t die of a heart infection as Garrett Diggs had. I could just see myself, at eighty years old, hobbling to Mass, a colorful crucifix emblazoned on my wrinkled back.

  Tattoo? Don’t think so.

  I looked at the tattoo guy again and shuddered. There was no way he was touching any part of me below the hips. That left only one place that I was willing to let a stranger poke a needle through. Not that I would actually let it get that far. I’d use my super detective skills to finagle information from Shaggy here and get out before he actually came near me with a needle. “My belly button.”

  Now Jack was beside me, his hand on my elbow. “You’re not serious,” he said with a hiss.

  I yanked free and feigned a loving tone. “Aw, baby, I’m doing it for you. You said you’d like it.” I snuggled up next to him, smiling sweetly at Shaggy.

  “Right.” Jack slipped his arm around me and settled his hand on my hip. A jolt of electricity shot through me. He muttered in my ear, “Do you know what the hell you’re doing?” Then aloud he said in his I-wanna-take-you-to-bed voice, “I know I’ll like it, lover.”

  Lover? ¡Ay, Dios! Right here, right now, Callaghan.