by Misa Ramirez
No Larry.
I ducked out of view before Steve could see me. Barely. I started back down the hallway toward the exit, tossing a new question around in my head. Larry and Jennifer had been friends. Had he known about her proclivity for nudity?
I turned the corner and sped up. For a while, I’d wondered if Selma, the one common denominator between Jennifer’s two lives, could be the killer. But now I was back to thinking it might be Larry. If he hadn’t liked the fact that she’d been a nudist… I had a sudden twining knot in the pit of my stomach. There was something about the way he’d been staring at Selma…
Oh no. Could she be next?
What if he knew about the Halloween bash? My pulse ratcheted up. What if he was on his way there right now?
I snatched my cell phone from my bag and dialed Selma, rushing to the parking lot. She answered before the first ring stopped and blurted, “You’re not backing out, are you?”
“No!” I said, then calmed my voice. Spooking her wouldn’t help. “I’m on my way home to change. Where are you? Wanna drive together?”
“No. I’m halfway there. I’m meeting Parker before we head into the party,” she said, the message in her voice crystal clear. ¡Ay, Dios! Some before-bash nookie was on their party plan. That was more than I needed to know. On the flipside, if she was with Parker she’d be safe.
“Selma,” I said, “could Larry Madrino have known Jennifer was a nudist? That you’re one?”
“Steve’s brother? I don’t think so. He’s so straitlaced. He wouldn’t have understood.”
I couldn’t quite bring myself to warn Selma about Larry—I was part of the Innocent Until Proven Guilty camp—but I did tell her to be careful. “Call if you need me,” I said.
“No cell phones inside, remember?”
Right. “So I’ll just see you at the party then.”
At home, I threw together the best costume I could. With no more time to waste, I wrapped myself in a trench coat and tiptoed down the front staircase of the flat above my parents’ house, praying to la Virgen de Guadalupe that I wouldn’t run into anyone. Especially Magdalena or Gregorio Cruz.
“¡Dolores!” My mother’s voice shot out the front window as I descended the stairs in front of it. “¿Adónde vas?”
One prayer that wasn’t answered. “Just going to a Halloween party, Mami.” I held the trench coat tighter and hurried down the last few steps.
“Espera,” she barked, and I instantly halted. No matter how old I was, I was pretty sure she’d have that effect on me.
“I’m late, Mami,” I said, turning to her.
Her face blurred through the screen, but her frown and her scrutiny of my coat were unmistakable. “What is under that?”
“Nada. Don’t worry. It’s just a costume.”
“Dolores Magdalena Falcón Cruz,” she said, squinting her eyes as if that would help her see through my coat.
My grip on the heavy fabric tightened. I could ignore her and start walking again. Or I could tell her no. But both of these would get me nothing but a whole lot of grief, pretty much for forever. The home-cooked meals would be spooned out with a scowl and a heavy dose of guilt, and the prayers for my soul would triple.
Not worth it.
I cracked open my coat, just wide enough for her to see the plaid skirt I had on.
She squinted her eyes, frowning. “No entiendo.”
I wasn’t about to show her the rest. She’d never understand the sexy schoolgirl outfit I’d scrounged together. I’d cut an old pink-and-black-plaid skirt into an ultra mini—un poquito too mini, actually, since I’d gone with a lacy black thong underneath to give the illusion of nakedness. Unless I could keep my coat on, I wouldn’t be bending over at Cuerpo y Alma.
I wore black high-heeled pumps on top of a pair of pink and black argyle knee socks I’d found in the bottom of my drawer right on top of my first surveillance pictures of Jack and Greta Pritchard.
I went braless under a stretchy white knit top, leaving the buttons undone. The distance between the top’s knot under my breasts and the band of my skirt was interrupted by my belly button ring.
Hopefully it wouldn’t be my only souvenir from a has-been career.
The ensemble was topped off with a pair of fake glasses and my hair pulled into two low ponytails. I was every high school boy’s fantasy.
My mother would not understand any of it.
“Está bien, Mami. It’s just a costume.”
As she shook her head, I seized the moment and hurried down the sidewalk to my car. “Hasta más tarde. I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Away from the prying eyes of my mother, I tucked in my Bluetooth earpiece and called Manny.
He answered with a clipped, “Dígame.”
Verbose, Manny was not. Just a tell me was all he needed to say.
“I’ve got a hunch about the Jennifer Wallace case,” I said. Cut to the chase was always the best M.O. with Manny. No small talk. No frivolities. No nada. Nothing but business, and the occasional intense expression that made me think he knew everything about me—which made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
“Hypothesis?”
“Larry Madrino. Steve Madrino is the trainer for the Royals. Larry is his brother, a fixture at all the games and, I think, may have been in love with Jennifer.” We’d both seen Jennifer’s love trophies, so I didn’t need to explain to el jefe that she didn’t love Larry back. “He had motive and opportunity.”
“How are you going to prove it?”
The very question I’d been asking myself all evening. “I’m going to finish up a different lead first. I have a list of Jennifer’s Facebook friends. I’m going to cross-reference them with the membership at Cuerpo y Alma and see if any match. If they do, I’ll follow those up. If they don’t, then that’s another finger pointing at Larry.”
He grunted, but I sensed it was a grunt of approval. “Get back to me when you find something out.”
He was the boss. It was a given that I’d report back to him. “Por supuesto,” I said.
My finger itched to dial Jack, but I resisted. He said he’d talk to me later. Whenever he’d dealt with Sarah—again. Which must not be done yet.
And I had a job to do. I’d think about him later. Instead, I called Lucy, immediately launching into her for telling Zac about our field trip to the nudist resort.
“I’m sorry, Lola. Really. I tried, but you were right. He knew we were up to something. I had no choice.”
I sighed. “I know.”
“Marriage.”
“Yeah, marriage.”
“What are you doing tonight? It’s almost Halloween!”
“Nada,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t remember the Halloween Ball Craig had told us about.
But she did. “Oh my God, you’re going, aren’t you? I promise I won’t tell this time. Lola, you cannot go back there without me!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Pft. Yes, you do. You’re going to that costume ball.”
I couldn’t lie to her. “If you say one word, I’ll never speak to you again.” A totally empty threat, because life without Lucy would be way too dull, but still…
“It’s a naughty ball,” she said, barely holding in her giggles.
“And I made myself a naughty outfit, so no es problema.”
She squealed, demanding to know the details. I filled her in on the plaid skirt, the sheer top, and the knee socks.
“And nothing underneath? Lola, I’m shocked. No, I’m flabbergasted. No, no, I’m stunned speechless.”
Speechless would be a good thing. “One word,” I said. “Thong.”
But I might as well have been stark naked by ho
w guilty I felt.
“Ohhhh.” I could hear the disappointment in her voice, but she covered it up the next second with her own one word. “Bra?”
“Nope.”
“What color is the top?”
“White.”
“Hmmm.”
Hmmm, indeed. Another reason I hadn’t been able to open my trench coat for my mother. Perky dark nipples on a brisk night and thin, knit white fabric did not go together. Of course, chances were that I’d be overdressed compared to the nudists. “And you’re just going to be in and out of there?”
“Assuming Tiffany or Craig will let me have a peek at the membership list.”
“You sure you don’t want to wait and go tomorrow? In the daylight?”
That idea was a lot more appealing than the event I was about to experience, but I couldn’t put it off. I told her about my worry for Selma, my theory about Larry, and then said, “It can’t wait.”
And it couldn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cuerpo y Alma’s parking lot was overflowing. Everybody loved a good nudist Halloween bash, it seemed. After I found a parking space, I sat in the safe cocoon of my CRV, ogling the nudists’ bare bodies as they headed inside. Most of them weren’t so much wearing costumes as strategically placed accessories.
As I watched the skimpy costumes parade by, I shook my head. ¡Ay, caramba! Since when did Mardi Gras beads and a sequined mask constitute a costume? A couple passed by the passenger window of my car and I couldn’t help but stare. The man was entirely red, from head to foot, and wore devil ears and carried a pitchfork. The woman had flames painted on her body with bursts of fire centered on her breasts.
Body paint. I knocked the heel of my hand against my forehead. Of course!
I had a sudden feeling of relief. Magdalena Cruz may not have approved of my costume, but I was positively relieved at how blissfully covered I was compared to what I was seeing.
Leaving my trench coat behind and bolstering all my Xena strength, I headed in. A knot of guilt formed in the pit of my stomach anyway, and my heartbeat felt like a jackhammer had taken over. Having Lucy with me the first time I’d been here had been a huge confidence booster. Handling this leg of the investigation solo? Un poquito scary.
I hesitated at the door to the office, my hand on the knob.
“Going in?” a woman said behind me.
I tried to answer but ended up staring at her elaborate costume. She was painted like Poison Ivy from Batman, complete with shading on the leaves twining around her limbs.
“Y-yes,” I said.
My first order of business? Talk to Tiffany about getting a copy of the member list. I turned the knob and went in, Poison Ivy and a group of other partygoers right behind me. I backed up against the shelf, knocking over supplements and nudist knick-knacks in my hurry to move out of the way. I started to straighten them up, darting to the counter when the front office was finally empty. Only one woman remained. She wore a long dark wig, heavy eye makeup, black lipstick, and a chain belt slung low on her hips. And nothing else. She had to be Elvira. Or Morticia Addams. AKA Tiffany.
“Hey, remember me?” I asked her over the low, driving beat reverberating through the walls. It took her a few seconds, but when recognition finally dawned, she darted a glance behind her. In case Craig had slipped in unnoticed and heard who—or what—I really was? “The detective,” she said to me when she turned back around. “Your costume’s not exactly nude.”
“I thought sexy and suggestive was okay for this?” According to what Craig had said on the phone, or had that just been a ploy to get me here? I cringed inside, but outside I just remained muy calm. “I don’t think I could pull off the schoolgirl thing if I took off anything else.”
She seemed to consider. “Maybe,” she said with a shrug. “I guess it’ll be okay.”
“I don’t plan to stay long. I was hoping I could go through your member list.” She shook her head and opened her mouth, but to shush her I held up the tub of protein powder I still held. “Wait. Hear me out,” I said, quickly putting the tub back on the shelf. “I have Jennifer Wallace’s Facebook friend list. I just want to cross-reference to see if anyone is on both.”
“There will be—”
She broke off as a few more costumed nudists came through the office, signed in, and proceeded into the banquet hall where the party was. The music grew louder as she opened the door, fading again as it closed after her.
I waited until we were alone again, then said, “I know. Selma Mann. You. Craig. Dierdre. But I need to know if there are others.”
Her dark, goth eyebrows furrowed. “Why? What good will it do? It’s not like she was killed because she was a naturist.”
“Actually, we don’t know why she was killed; that’s the point. She was divorced. She had quite a few boyfriends. She kept parts of her life pretty hidden. And it seems as though maybe somebody didn’t like that. I’m trying to figure out who that might have been.”
“Naturists are gentle. They’re real, you know? They wouldn’t get mixed up in anything sordid like murder, and she didn’t mess around with a bunch of boyfriends.”
“She had an apartment—”
“It’s a cottage—”
“No, no. I mean in Sacramento.”
Tiffany cocked her jet black brows at me like I was crazy. “I’ve heard what people are saying about her, but they’re wrong. She didn’t have another apartment. She still owned this place with Craig. She had her cottage here. She didn’t need anyplace else.”
I let this information trickle through the crevices of my mind. Either Tiffany didn’t know Jennifer very well, or the apartment with all the jerseys and pictures of men didn’t actually belong to Jennifer. What if it was a front for someone else? Selma?
I kept my thoughts to myself and went back to my goal. The membership list. “I just want to see if I can figure out who killed her.”
Tiffany frowned, considering, then shook her head. “I just can’t do that.” She leaned toward me, lowering her voice. “If Craig found out, I could lose my job.”
I didn’t want her livelihood put in jeopardy, but I needed to see that list. “He won’t find out. Tiffany, Jennifer was murdered. The police think that apartment was hers. You’re saying it wasn’t. I need to find out the truth and I need your help.”
Another group of nudists barreled through the lobby on their way to the party—a body-painted Scooby led the way, followed by X-rated versions of Shaggy, Fred, Thelma, and Daphne. They glanced at me, each of them scoping me out with a full up and down perusal. Fred’s eyebrows pulled into a V and Thelma adjusted her fake thick black glasses. “Britney Spears, or are you from the old Van Halen video?”
Shaggy guffawed and slapped his bare leg. “‘Hot for Teacher,’ right? Smokin’, dude!”
“You got it. Doing it different tonight and actually wearing some clothes.” I could almost feel my nose growing. “Who knows what’ll come off later?” I added with a wink.
“Now you’re talking,” Shaggy said with his trademark warbly voice. “Catch you inside, schoolgirl.”
I threw up my hand in a flip wave, trying to mask the ick factor rolling over me. Cheesy pickup lines were bad enough in a good situation. Coming from a naked Shaggy, they were downright disgusting.
“You got it,” I managed, then quickly turned my back and pretended to examine the supplements and knick-knacks on the shelves while they checked in and finally passed through the door to the party.
As soon as they were gone, Tiffany beckoned me over. “I’ll let you see the names, but Craig’ll be back any minute and he’ll fire my ass if he finds out. You better hurry!”
I didn’t waste a single second. I threw the tub of powder back onto the shelf and practically catapulted across the small room and over the counter. �
��So how do you keep track of the guests?”
Tiffany had a wary eye on the door, but she pulled out a card file and set it on the counter. “Everyone has to check in here. We take the information card to verify the ID, collect the usage fee, and that’s it.”
“What about your computer?” I asked.
“I’m setting it up, but it’s not ready yet.”
¡Ay, caramba! Not only did they live without clothes, they’d been living without technology. “So anyone can come at any time.”
“Right. A membership entitles you to certain perks, but otherwise, we’re open to the public.”
“And you never saw Jennifer with anyone in particular?”
She shook her head. “She knew everyone.”
Which made it difficult to hone in on her special friend.
I reached for the cards, but Tiffany zipped her mouth shut as a woman, wrapped in toilet paper, sauntered into the office. She checked in, then sashayed through the door to the party room.
Tiffany’s voluminous chest rose and fell with her breaths. “You have to hurry,” she said nervously. What, did she think Craig could materialize out of thin air?
“I will.” I put my hand on the index card file she’d set on the counter, but she held tight to it. “I promise,” I added when she didn’t let go.
Finally she released it to me. “Don’t tell a soul,” she said, her voice low. “This place is an oasis for people. A sanctuary. It’s private.”
“Got it.” The door opened again and the partygoer turned sideways to fit through the opening. Clear and white balloons attached to her bod, hitting the doorjamb as she passed. “Sorry. Omph! There we go.”
As she muttered to herself, a red flag shot up in my head. That voice. I turned to face the door. “Lucy?”
She maneuvered the last balloon through the door and whipped around to face me, her grin wide and toothy. “In the flesh.”
I couldn’t believe she’d said that with a straight face. She had a shower cap on her head, rosy cheeks, balloons from her torso to her shoulders, and below the waist she had a blue tutu.
