I took a closer look at the photos of Bill’s kids. There was a hospital photo, a newborn picture taken from above the clear bassinet. My vision blurred. I’d seen the rest of them before.
A scenario burst through me like water gushing through a broken levy. I blinked hard. Dios mío. Was that the missing piece?
Knocking Jack’s arm with the back of my hand, I bolted toward the door. “Thanks for your time,” I blurted, charging out into the darkness. I turned back and saw Bill Johnson staring after us, his mouth gaping open, the ice tinkling in his drink.
My tires squealed as I took off down the street.
“What happened back there?” Jack demanded.
I fumbled for my purse, dropping it. “Damn!” Next time he could drive. “Call the restaurant! Hurry!”
He didn’t ask any questions, just pulled out his phone and dialed. He put it on speaker.
Antonio answered the phone. “Abuelita’s.”
“Tonio!”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, probably holding the phone out from his ear and staring at it like there was a lunatic on the other end.
“Where’s Sylvia?”
“She went home. What’s up, Lola?”
“Did her ex-husband come by?” I spoke between shaky breaths. “Does she have her kids?”
“He dropped them off right after you and Jack left.”
“Tonio,” I said, “what’s Sylvia’s last name?” I held my breath and waited.
“Johnson.”
My lungs compressed. I was right. “What’s her address?”
Antonio’s voice rose. “Whoa. What the hell’s going on?”
“Why did Sylvia say she applied for the waitress job?”
I felt Antonio shrug impatiently on the other end of the line. “Said her ex-husband saw the ad. Why? What’s. Going. On?”
“I have to talk to her.”
“Come pick me up, Lola, and I’ll tell you where she lives.”
I pressed my foot on the gas, frustration zipping through my body. “Just give me her address!”
“No. Come pick me up.”
I slammed my molars together, clamping my jaw. “Fine,” I said through my teeth. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Thirty minutes later, Antonio, Jack, and I pulled up in front of Sylvia’s house, a small tract home on a well-manicured street in Natomas. “It’s too far-fetched,” Antonio said.
“Yeah,” Jack agreed, “but then so is the idea that Sergio stole Lola’s identity, and that really happened.”
“If it’s hard to believe, then it’s probably the truth. Stranger than fiction and all that.”
We stepped out of the car. I paused and made a quick call to Manny to fill him in. If Jack had any thoughts about my phone call, he kept them to himself. Maybe me having to accept Sarah in his life meant he was learning to accept Manny in mine.
We all turned toward Sylvia’s house. Antonio’s dark skin and goatee glowed under the streetlights. He looked grim. “Shit.”
Jack put his hands on my shoulders, lightly squeezing. He studied me, looking me squarely in the eyes. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Antonio said. “Let’s go prove you’re dead wrong.”
I looked at him sadly. I wasn’t wrong.
It took Sylvia a good three minutes before she opened the door. Her hair was wilder than I’d ever seen it, frizzy and bristled. Tiny coffee cups dotted her pajamas. Her face was pale and tearstained, her eyes bloodshot. Antonio moved in front of me. “What’s wrong, babe?”
Sylvia flung her head back and forth, her hair flopping around her. “I’m—um—” She looked behind her and dropped her voice. “The kids are asleep.”
I read between the lines. This was her alone time—when she could grieve for her lost child.
I closed the door behind me, glancing around Sylvia’s living room. It was the polar opposite of the house I’d been in forty-five minutes ago. Toys were scattered everywhere, scraps of paper and pencils carelessly dropped and ignored, books tucked halfway under chairs and the couch. This house had a lived-in look.
Antonio took her hand while Jack and I walked farther into the house. I peeked into the kitchen and peered down the back hallway. A toy school bus had crashed against the wall, its legless occupants abandoned; a backpack lay unzipped, papers fanned out of the opening. Framed pictures elbowed their way down the hallway, school photos, family portraits, snapshots.
I glanced back at my brother. He had his arms around Sylvia, her head buried in his chest. I skittered down the hall, stopping short in front of a traditional family portrait. Sylvia sat primly in a chair, two of her children on either side of her, one kneeling in front of her, and her newborn infant cradled in her arms. A man stood next to Sylvia, his arm around his eldest daughter.
Profound sadness rose in my throat. There was no doubt. Guillermo—Sylvia’s ex-husband—had a nickname, too. Bill. Bill Johnson.
“It’s him,” Jack whispered.
A door crashed open from the front room. “Where’s my son?”
I wheeled around at Bill’s harsh voice. The average-height man seemed to grow to ten feet tall, looming up like a damaged monster. Antonio and Sylvia stared at us.
“Guillermo?” she said, her voice cracking.
Antonio gaped. “Son of a bitch. Is this for real?” He held tight to Sylvia’s arm, running his hand across his forehead at the sweat that beaded there.
My heart cracked in two as I watched agony wash across Sylvia’s face. I had no choice but to lay it all on the line. I turned to Bill. “Rosie was your babysitter, wasn’t she?”
Sylvia lunged forward. “N-no! Her name was Yolanda!”
Bill looked at his ex-wife and shook his head. “She had a different name then, but it was her, Syl.”
I redirected, bringing Bill’s attention back to me. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jack dialing his cell phone. Our eyes met for a split second, and I knew he’d called the police. “When you saw Rosie’s son—”
His nostrils flared, his breathing heavy. “He is not her son.”
“Is it really him?” Sylvia demanded. “Is he alive? Billy’s alive?”
“Of course it’s him, Syl.” Bill’s voice rose, insistent and harsh. “I told you he was alive. I’ve always told you he was alive.”
“B-but he… died. Th-the fire.” Sylvia sank onto a chair, and Antonio slid his hand to her shoulder. “He d-died.”
Bill gripped her arms. “They never found the body.”
“Whoa,” Antonio said, springing to life. “They never found the baby’s body?”
Bill raked his bulky hand through his hair. “Oh, they had a good story. Said since the baby was so young, it wasn’t surprising there was no trace of him left.”
The anguish on Sylvia’s face broke my heart. I looked from Bill to her and back again. “And Rosie?”
Sylvia sucked in a ragged breath. “Yolanda was a friend of a friend. Guillermo and I were both working graveyard.” She ran her fingers under her eyes, whisking away the tears, gathering strength as she told her story. “I got a call at work. There was a fire. The babysitter had gotten the other kids out, taken them to a neighbor. But not the baby. She said she couldn’t get to the baby.” She sobbed. “We never saw her again.”
“Until that party,” Bill said. He squeezed his eyes closed as if he was picturing the scene. “I saw that boy and… and I knew he was mine. I knew it in my bones.”
It was unimaginable, but I’d learned to accept that anything was possible. I remembered what Bill had said on the phone. The boy’s hair had reminded him of someone. Of Sylvia’s wild mane. “You followed her after she left the party.”
Bill nodded, his face hardening with the memory. “They drove off in different cars.” He clutched his hands on top of his head. “I thought the boy was with her, but they’d put him in the guy’s car.”
Bill didn’t seem to realize that he was confessing, in front of witnesses. My he
art pounded faster as he told us what had happened. “So you followed her and confronted her,” I said.
“She acted like she didn’t know who I was. Like I was crazy.” Bill’s nostrils flared. “But I recognized her.”
Sylvia let out an anguished cry. “You never told me!”
“She had our son, Syl. Our little boy.”
She sat heavily at the edge the couch. Bill collapsed on his knees in front of her. “I didn’t mean to do it. She started to run away, and I grabbed her. When I let go, she flew back against the Dumpster.”
I didn’t even try to stop my tears from flowing—their anguish, the suffering they’d gone through was more than any parent should bear. It had torn apart their marriage, had destroyed part of their souls, and as I watched, they clung to each other and the hope that the boy Rosie had been passing off as her son was really theirs.
Bill lowered his head into Sylvia’s lap. “I saw her bleeding, and I ran. I shouldn’t have—” He turned his head and looked at me. “On the news, they said her name was Dolores Cruz. Then I heard about you and the mistake. When I saw the ad at Abuelita’s for the waitress job, I put it together. I thought that maybe you’d helped her hide our son. That you’d given her your name. I thought you’d lead us to him.”
Antonio’s voice had lost its luster. “Did you know all this?” he asked Sylvia.
She shook her head, the tears coming again. “He told me about the job. Encouraged me to apply, that’s all.” Her voice trembled. “I’ve been lost. I just wanted to be normal again. To have someplace to go. People who needed me.”
“Where is my boy?” Bill asked me again in a hoarse whisper. “Where is William?”
“He’s in protective custody.” My body tensed. Even though Rosie was a kidnapper and even if it had been an accident—and I totally understood it and had sympathy for him—Bill had killed Rosie Gonzales, aka Yolanda, aka Dolores Cruz.
Or had he? Would he be indicted for murder, or would it be determined to be an accidental death? As much as I didn’t want Antonio’s heart broken, I wanted this family—Sylvia’s family—put back together again.
It was as if Jack had read my mind. “If you turn yourself in… ,” he said to Bill, but he left the sentence hanging.
Bill stiffened. His eyes went wild. He didn’t look like he was ready to take his chances with the court system.
Jack sidestepped a few feet to my left. Motioning with my head, I beckoned to Antonio. He moved to my right. All of us kept our eyes on Sylvia and her ex-husband.
Antonio looked torn up. I wasn’t sure if he was worried that Bill was getting too close to Sylvia or if he was worried that maybe Sylvia had lied to him and had been using him to get to me. For the first time I could remember, Tonio’s motives were fuzzy around the edges.
He needed some perspective. “He was trying to find his son,” I said.
“He killed once, even if it was an accident,” Jack murmured to me. “He might do it again to stay out of prison.” Then he raised an eyebrow at me as if it were code for something. I had a déjà vu moment—making eye contact on the boat just before he’d been shot during my last case. We were a team, Jack and I.
During the split second I looked at Jack, Bill bolted toward the front door. Antonio was on him in a flash, tackling him. Bill heaved his bulk, flipping Antonio onto his back. He pulled his arm back, ready to fire a full-powered punch.
Sylvia scrambled toward them, clutching at Bill. He cocked his arm, dragging her as he pulled it back.
I was ready to unleash some whoop-ass. “Get off him, Bill! Now.”
All three heads swiveled toward me. The interruption gave Jack an opportunity to grab Bill’s hand. He twisted it, jerking it back until Bill squealed.
Antonio rolled away as Jack grabbed Bill’s other wrist, linking the man’s hands together behind his back and hauling him up to standing.
I kicked myself. Where were my handcuffs when I needed them?
Bill wasn’t done fighting. He lurched back and knocked Jack to the ground. Jack grunted, hanging on to Bill’s wrists and working himself out from the under his weight.
Bill struggled to get up, trying to free his arms from Jack’s grip, but mi amor held tight. Antonio scrambled forward and let his arm fly. His fist plowed against Bill’s jaw, the blow knocking the man’s head back like a punching bag.
“I’ll kill you,” Bill said, his voice twisted. His tongue flicked out of his bloodied mouth. “You’re not going to keep me from my son.”
My mind slowed the scene down, every element like stop frames in a movie. Bill yanked free of Jack’s grip. He hauled his arm back.
“Move, Tonio!”
Antonio sidestepped. Bill turned to stare at me, a disconnected rage in his face. “He’s my son!”
I hauled my leg up, spun around, and—
“Daddy?” A small voice came from behind me.
—I lost my balance and fell to my knees.
Sirens wailed outside, followed by the screech of tires.
Sylvia rushed to her daughter.
Bill rushed for the door.
I stuck out my foot, he went down, and in a matter of seconds, I had him in a headlock.
Two officers barreled in, weapons drawn. They quickly assessed the situation, heard a rundown from Jack, and one of them snapped handcuffs on Bill. The other turned and walked toward me, Jack by her side.
It was Brooke Callaghan. In her blues, Jack’s younger sister looked more kick-ass than I did on my best kung fu day.
What were the odds that she’d be the responding officer to our crisis? Sacramento was a small town underneath all the big-city bravado.
“Lola,” she said. “Good to see you.”
“You, too.” I smiled at her. Any sister of Jack’s could be a sister of mine.
But she didn’t smile back, and I wondered if any friend of Jack’s was a friend of hers, or if it was just me she suddenly had a problem with.
“Detective’s on his way,” she said. Jack moved to my side. His hand slid up my back into my hair.
Brooke didn’t have to like me. Jack did, and that’s all that mattered. I sank into him.
“I called earlier,” she said to him.
He nodded. “I was in the middle of dinner.”
Ah, the phone call that could wait.
Her eyes flicked to me, then back to him. “I have an unexpected houseguest.”
I waited for Jack to ask who it was. To act at least mildly curious, since Brooke had brought it up.
He said nothing. They looked at each other for a long second. Their silent communication was as powerful as mine and Antonio’s. Brooke didn’t need words to tell him whatever was on her mind.
“Houseguests are fun. An old college friend?” I asked, red flags taking over all my senses.
“Old friend, yeah,” Jack said, but he looked like he thought old friends were worse than, say, death.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out just who Brooke’s houseguest was. Sarah, the ex-fiancée, was back. And she was in Sacramento.
Brooke went back to assessing the scene. A few minutes later, she guided Sylvia and her children toward the door. She paused and turned to me. “You’ll need to come to the station for questioning, Lola.”
It was an order, not a gentle request.
I nodded. Brooke was kick-ass. Had to love that about her.
Jack, Antonio, and I piled back into my car. To the police station it was. I pulled out. Behind me, headlights glared. I glanced in the rearview mirror. Manny’s white macho machine truck pulled up behind me.
“Be right back,” I said, throwing my car into park and jumping out.
Manny’s head was turned, but he rolled down his window as I ran up to the truck. Neil sat next to him. I lowered my chin to them both, then blurted, “It’s over.”
Neil grunted.
Manny gave one succinct nod. “Bueno.”
I nodded. It was bueno. Muy bueno.
A movement in the
backseat of the extended cab drew my gaze. I saw Reilly’s purple hair. What was she doing in Manny’s truck?
Then I saw a smaller head of hair, this one about half as dark as Manny’s. I tilted my head to get a better look. It was a girl. About ten years old. She had Manny’s swarthy skin tone and chiseled features. And a rosebud mouth that I’d seen before but couldn’t place for the life of me.
Reilly’s eyes bugged as she looked at me. She gave me a little nod, and it was clear that the secret mission she’d been on all this time had to do with this little girl. Was Reilly moonlighting as a nanny? The notes on her calendar popped into my brain—and suddenly made sense. A visit to the pediatrician and a family law attorney. Manny was trying to keep the agency open, but it was this little girl he was really fighting for.
A horn honked. I jerked around to see Jack standing outside my car, looking impatient.
“Hasta mañana,” Manny said.
I nodded hastily. “Yep. See you tomorrow.” As I walked back to my car, I couldn’t shake the idea that Manny Camacho was a father. Holy shit.
Chapter 22
Jack and I spent the better part of two hours at the police station. Sylvia had been reunited with her little boy. Bill was spending the night in lockup and hoping for an empathetic judge and jury. Antonio was drowning his sorrows with the Hooters girl he’d dated a few months back. And I’d be earning a paycheck again, starting tomorrow.
I’d solved the mystery of Rosie Gonzales’s death. I’d reunited a child with his mother. I decided I’d think about the revelation that Manny was a daddy when I was back in rotation at Camacho and Associates. Now that the cat was out of the bag, Reilly could dish to her heart’s content. I’d make sure of that.
“You really nailed the case,” Jack said as we walked through the police station parking lot.
We got into my car, and I started driving. “Gracias.” My identity, once again, belonged to me, and only me. That was the biggest relief. Now, if I only knew what Jack was going to do about the complication in his life… .
“So,” I said, cutting to the chase, “Sarah’s in town.”
Melissa Bourbon Ramirez - Lola Cruz 02 - Hasta la Vista, Lola! Page 26
