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

investigating the disappearance of Emily Diggs. Do you have a few minutes?”
    But the muddy eyes just peered at me, obviously not impressed by my bright professionalism.
    I regrouped, smiled, and tried again. “I’m a private investigator. Is there someone here I could talk to about Emily?”
    After a few more seconds, the cutout in the door slammed shut. I stood on the stoop, slack-jawed, threw my arms out in disbelief, and stared at a lone snail clinging to the wall. “Great,” I said to it. I’d been thwarted already. “So what now?”
    The snail didn’t move.
    “Kick the door open?” I suggested, but then shook my head. I’d worn strappy sandals, and I was pretty sure Camacho’s wouldn’t cover the damage. “No can do.”
    Still, the snail didn’t budge.
    “I know,” I admitted, “Kung fu isn’t the answer to everything.”
    The door squeaked open, and my hope returned. A twenty-something black woman stood there looking more refreshed than a person had a right to in this heat. “Can I help you?”
    She was not the same person who’d peered at me a minute ago. Their skin had a similar brown tone, but this woman’s eyes were bronze, and they sparkled like a tiger’s.
    Putting my game face back on, I said, “I’m investigating the disappearance of Emily Diggs.” I stuck my hand out to her. “My name’s Dolores.”
    The young woman recoiled. Her eyes darted to my hand then back to my face. I wavered, almost pulling it back. Was offering a handshake totally uncool? Had I committed a Generation X (or was it Y?) faux pas?
Dios mío,
at twenty-eight, was it possible that I was no longer hip?
    I swallowed and persevered, my hand dangling like a dead fish for what felt like an hour. Finally, she took it in a limp grip, gave it a quick shake, and pulled her arm back to the safety of her own space.
    “And you are?” I prompted with a lilt. Ick. I sounded perky, like I was selling magazine subscriptions for the cheerleading squad.
Rein it in, Lola,
I told myself.
    “Mary Bonatee,” she said with a touch of angst-ridden teenager.
What the hell’s it to you?
her tone screamed.
    A name to go with the face. It was progress. “Mary, nice to meet you. Do you mind if we step inside? I’m melting out here.”
    It was no lie. I was on the verge of looking like the Wicked Witch after Dorothy threw water on her. My blouse stuck to my body, my palms were sweaty, and even my sandaled feet were sticky.
    I edged forward, hoping to ease into the house, but Mary pulled the door close to her side, blocking my entrance. “I don’t know—”
    Once again I contemplated kicking the door in, but I wouldn’t get very much information if Mary were sprawled out on the floor. I smacked my tongue against the roof of my mouth searching for any sign of moisture.
Nada.
Dry as the desert. I tried another tactic. “I understand Emily has children. They must be terrified.”
    A flicker of emotion passed over Mary’s face, but it was gone so fast that I couldn’t be sure it had been there at all. Suddenly, however, she opened the door and let me pass. Relief washed over me the second I hit cool air inside.
    I barely resisted the impulse to rush to the nearest sink and start guzzling from the faucet.
    “How’s that working for you?” Dr. Phil asked from behind curved glass. I didn’t see anyone watching the TV, but I felt a lurking presence. I cranked my head around and searched.
Nadie
. No one. Zip.
    Mary led me to the kitchen. She was skeletal, but I envied the crispness of her appearance. She filled a glass of water from the tap and handed it to me.
    “Thanks,” I murmured, my sandpaper-tongue thick. I gulped it down, finally able to shake the wooziness out of my brain and focus on Mary. She stood with her bony arms crossed in front of her and leaned against the kitchen counter. Classic defiance. I went on alert. What did she have to hide?
    “Can you tell me anything about Emily? Has she disappeared before?”
    “The