The Lola Cruz Christmas Story Read online

a dark mark under her right eye as she shifted her attention to the backseat. Suddenly, I knew why she’d called and any hesitation I had shattered like a broken piñata. Margo Callaghan needed freedom.

  A minute later we were cruising out of the neighborhood. By the time we got downtown, Margo had finally stopped looking behind her, but she still hadn’t offered up any explanation. I cleared my throat, wondering how to ask her about the bruise under her eye. This was a problem I’d never faced.

  She saved me from my dilemma. “Lola,” she said, her voice huskier than it had been when she’d been whispering, “I’m--I’m sorry for calling you. You must think it’s strange, but you’re a life saver. Jack always said you were solid.”

  ¿Como? Solid sounded like a codeword for stocky. Not exactly how I’d like Jack to see me. “It’s my job,” I said, tersely. Or it would be, officially, one day soon. “So what’s going on?"

  She answered me with a question. “Have you ever found yourself in situation you just can’t believe you’re in?”

  A sound came from the back seat and my throat closed. “Right this second,” I said, quickly followed by, “What is that?” Not that I needed her to answer. I had enough cousins to know the sound of--a--a--a baby’s gurgle. Oh God, was I involved in a kidnapping? Had my curiosity gotten me wrapped up in a felony?

  A handful of thoughts zoomed through my head, beginning with the fact that I was violating the Vehicle Code by transporting a baby without a car seat. I wasn’t going to the big house for Margo Callaghan.

  “Me, too,” she said. “I--I thought I could do it.”

  “Do what?”

  She stared out the passenger window. “Make it work for the sake of being a family, you know?” she finally said.

  Family. As in a father, a mother, and...a baby. If this was a kidnapping, I could lose my PI license before I even got it. The sounds from the backseat were suddenly like nails on a chalkboard. Margo turned in her seat, laid her hand on the pile of blankets, and cooed. “Dolores Cruz, meet Anthony. Anthony,” she said to the baby, “meet Lola.”

  I gasped and my foot slipped off the gas pedal. !Ay caramba! “Did you say Anthony?”

  Her head was perfectly still as she stared through the windshield. “He’s four and a half weeks old.”

  I did some quick calculations in my head. If Antonio had run into her after Valentine’s Day, it was possible... “Anthony?” I repeated.

  “My baby.”

  Holy smokes. My mind whirled and my brother’s face flashed behind my eyes. He’d been lovesick over Margo once upon a time. Had he caught her at a weak moment eleven months ago? Had they made a love child together?

  And did he know?

  Tequila. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Five fifty. In the morning. Un poquito too early for a shot of the good stuff. Coffee. It would have to do. A nonfat extra hot super-sized pumpkin spiced latte to be exact.

  A coffee shop caught my eye. I pulled in, parked, and asked Margo if she wanted anything. She declined, crazy girl, but I needed caffeine, muy pronto. Five minutes later, a steaming cardboard cup of java was burning my palm and I slid back into my car, cranking the heater. Little Anthony, or Tonito, as I had the urge to call the baby, had to stay warm in this frigid Sacramento winter. “Okay, Margo, spill it. What’s going on? Why’d you call me?”

  As she glanced nervously out the window, I wanted to add, “And who’s the father of this child?” I forced my mouth to stay shut, keeping that question to myself for the moment.

  “My husband—" She fidgeted with the window switch. “He’s--he’s--” She broke off, and I could hear the fear choking her. “I’m afraid--”

  Because you were unfaithful with my brother? I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep from speaking my own fears aloud. The baby gurgled again, instantly grounding me. If this was Antonio’s son, I do whatever it took to keep him safe. And if he wasn’t Antonio’s son, I’d still do everything I could. Little Tonito was an innocent bystander in Margo’s melodrama.

  The baby’s sounds ratcheted up. He sucked in a gulp of air and then, as if a switch had been flipped, he let loose with a glass-shattering shriek.

  “He’s hungry,” Margo said. “I have to nurse him.”

  I didn’t know chauffeur was part of the PI job description, but I went with it. “Where do you want me to take you?”

  “My husband--he knows all my friends...” she said, trailing off like she was at a loss.

  “Is he...will he...?”

  She tried to shrug off her apprehension, but her eyes darkened. “I’ve warned everyone. He’ll come looking for us. I’m sorry to get you involved, Lola. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  I hesitated to ask, but had no choice. “What about Jack?”

  Margo nodded, the anxiety lining her forehead relaxing a bit. “I called him this morning when things got...he’s on his way. If you can just help me until he can get here—“

  My stomach knotted and random thoughts ricocheted in and out of my brain, there and gone almost too fast for me to grasp them. Jack Callaghan in the flesh. His cousin’s knight in shining armor. Wishing my jeans and a wrinkled red sweater could transform into a sassy Santa’s helper dress trimmed in white faux fur.

  The one thought that rose above all the rest was getting little Tonito some mama leche. “Por supuesto,” I said, followed by, “Of course,” when she raised her eyebrows in puzzlement.

  There was only one place to go. Casa de la Cruz was minutes from downtown Sacramento and the logical place for refuge. But it was also tamale central with my mother, Magdalena Cruz, and my sister Gracie doing the final preparations for the chicken and mole, pork, and potato, cheese, and red pepper fillings. By now, Antonio and my father would be in the basement grinding the toasted sesame seeds, my mother’s secret ingredient. And they’d all be wondering where I was.

  Waltzing in with Margo and little Anthony would raise quite a few eyebrows. It might also turn the holiday a little chilly between me and my brother. “Can you feed the baby here?” I asked, stalling.

  She shivered, and the baby hiccoughed. “But it’s so cold, Lola.”

  She was right, darn it. Even with the heater on, we could see the ice on the rooftops. A chill ran over my skin. “I’ll take you to my place,” I said, consequences be damned.

  She nodded, and off we went. As I drove, she pulled out her cell phone and texted someone. Jack, I presumed. I wasn’t almost a private investigator for nothing. A few seconds later, she confirmed it. “Jack will be there to meet me in a little while.”

  “Great,” I said, my nerves already zinging at the mere idea of laying eyes on him again after all these years. “Um, Antonio’s there,” I added, as much to warn her as to distract myself. I shot a furtive glance at the baby—Tonito—and frowned. “He might not love seeing you and...and the baby. You know he had a thing for you back in high school.”

  Her fingertips fluttered over the bruise under her eye. “I know. He’s...he’s there now?”

  I nodded, studying her. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking or feeling. “We share a flat,” I said, “but I think he’ll be downstairs with my parents. We’re making tamales today. It’s a Christmas Eve tradition.”

  “Maybe you could sneak me in upstairs at your place while we wait for Jack? I...I don’t want to bother Antonio." Her voice cracked and she laid a gentle hand on little Anthony.

  The baby’s crying seeped into my pores—the little guy could be my nephew. Even if he wasn’t, I had an instant soft spot in my heart for him. I would take no chances where he was concerned. Loyalty be damned. “Hold on,” I said, hitting the gas.

  The baby’s crying was frantic by the time I screeched to a stop in my parents’ driveway. Several cars were already parked along the street--my aunts and cousins here to make dozens upon dozens of tamales. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I
could sneak Margo and her baby into the house unnoticed. Number one, I’d left in such a groggy rush, I’d grabbed my car key, but no house key. Number two, it would be a little hard to hide a shrieking baby. But there was no way I wouldn’t give it my all; they needed shelter.

  As soon as I opened the car door, little Tonito grew miraculously silent. “Ah, m’ijo,” I cooed, noticing for the first time the darker tone to his skin and the shape of his nose. Just like Antonio. “He’s an angel,” I said.

  Margo nodded, her eyes welling with tears. “He is.”

  “Wait here,” I told her, knowing just what I had to do. With no key to the front door and the downstairs teeming with family, there was only one way to sneak into my flat unnoticed.

  The pear tree.

  I gulped. I’d climbed the tree a thousand times, but all before I’d hit twenty years old. Now, at twenty-eight, the idea of climbing fifteen feet into that pear tree only made me grimace. But I sucked in a breath. This was for Tonito. Duty called. One of the tree’s branches hung right in front of my living room window. I could scale the tree, shimmy across the branch, and climb into my flat.

  Before I took action, I turned to Margo. “Everything will be fine,” I said. Without thinking, I reached into the back seat and gently touched the back of my fingers to the baby’s rosy cheek. He smiled up at me, gurgling, and my heart warmed.

  And then, a minute later and for the second time that