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

women to talk about how they ran their business, on tape, and the police had been able to shut them down, though sadly, the madam had escaped. Still, Club Ambrosía was free of prostitution—thanks to me.
    Manny narrowed his eyes at her, looked at me, and then back to her. “You stick with Laughlin’s. Dolores will be the primary on the Diggs case. We’ll shift for backup if needed.”
    Color rose on Sadie’s face like a helium balloon slowly filling. She pressed her palms against the table. “But this is a missing—”
    Manny’s hand flew up, his palm facing her.
    She didn’t listen—to the unspoken command or to the hand. “I’ve done dozens of missing persons—,” she started.
    “Decision’s made,” Manny interrupted, his voice tight. Then he scribbled something onto the paper he had in front of him.
    Sadie snapped her mouth shut. I could almost see her blood simmering.
    “Questions, Dolores?” Manny asked.
    I shook my head. “No. I’m clear.”
    “Explícamelo.”
    I stifled the thread of anger that wound through me. I was a professional. I’d been working my ass off, first as an assistant under his license while I earned the mandatory PI hours for the state of California, and for the last two years as a full-fledged associate. He always questioned everything—with everyone—but at this moment, it irked me. I didn’t want to explain myself in front of Sadie. “I’m going to investigate the disappearance of Emily Diggs,” I said, sounding a bit too much like a regurgitated line from my worn PI manual.
    Sadie leaned back and folded her arms, looking smug. “Right, but what’s your first move going to be, Veronica Mars?”
    Oooh, she was
ice
-cold today. My left eye started to twitch. I sat up straight in my chair and, making my voice strong and clear, looked straight at Manny. “I believe I’ll start with the last known address, talk to some people she knows, and go from there.” I wasn’t about to give away all my secrets. Anyway, a good part of investigation was intuitive, and I had to see where the clues led.
    Sadie frowned. I could tell she wanted to keep me on the hot seat, but Manny said, “Fine. Report directly to me—”
    Of course. Who else would I report to? But I looked at him and notched up the corner of my mouth.
“Por supuesto,
Manny,” I said, forcing my face to stay impassive when I heard Sadie hiss. She hated when Manny and I spoke Spanish to each other almost as much as I hated her juvenile nicknames for me. But it made the world go round.
    “I’ll keep you up to date on the police investigation.” He gathered up his papers and stood. “That’s all.”
    We were dismissed. The minute hand on the wall clockclicked up a notch. Ten forty-five. I scooted my chair back and headed out to search for Emily Diggs.
     
    The heat outside pressed against me like a wall of fire. Shimmering panes of glass seemed to stretch across the asphalt, and the air rippled and distorted before my eyes. Flowers in the yard wilted, my hair drooped even more, and sweat dripped from my temples. Another glorious summer day in Sacramento.
    I quickly cocooned myself in my car and turned up the Juanes song,
“La Paga,”
until it roared out of my speakers. Dancing. It was at the top of my wish list—with or without a
rico suave
guy to partner with. It was a short drive to downtown, and I spotted Emily’s house right away, nestled under a canopy of leafy branches. Even lock-your-car areas of Sac, like this one, had spectacular trees. I found one, parked under it, and turned off my car. Juanes would have to wait.
    Emily Diggs’s residence blended in with all the others on the block—a little run-down with ancient geraniums sprawled in the border. I picked my way up to the old wooden door and knocked. A moment later, a small arched cutout in the door creaked open and two lifeless eyes stared at me.
    “Hi.” I held my business card up to the cutout. “My name’s Dolores Cruz. I’m