Bare-Naked Lola (A Lola Cruz Mystery) Read online

  His eyes smoldered, turning from blue to gray, and his lips parted slightly. Just enough for me to imagine exactly what he was thinking.

  “¡Dolores! ¡Ven aquí!” My grandfather’s Marlon Brando voice swept me out of my fantasy with Jack and back into the restaurant. My grandparents held court in their booth, receiving guests, day in and day out. He was sauntering up to his regular table and seeing his wannabe mafioso face and his slick peppery hair knocked the sense right back into me. Jack and I were on hold.

  “Espera, Abuelo,” I said over my shoulder as I straightened.

  Jack blinked, the heat of attraction under control again. “Better go see what he wants before he fires you.”

  I laughed. “If only he would. Then I could work on my cases without splitting my time.”

  “Can’t wait to hear all about it.”

  Ah, but I couldn’t do that. I’d learned that revealing my undercover status to Jack was a risky business. He—and my brother, Antonio—had nearly blown my first incognito moment when I’d worn a wire to catch some flashing shoplifters at Laughlin’s Market. Distance, I reminded myself. The less time I spent with him, the better. And I was still hoping I’d make some great discovery before game time and be able to avoid actually doing the cheerleading thing.

  “I’m closing, Jack, then I’m going home.”

  He flashed that crooked grin, but something in his expression reminded me of the married mind-reading stare Victoria and Lance Wolfe had shared at Camacho & Associates. “I could come with you,” he finally said.

  Yes, you could, I thought. Especially if he didn’t stop making me feel like he was undressing me with his eyes. “N-no you can’t.”

  He blinked, breaking the thread connecting us. “Her family’s coming to get her.”

  I shifted my weight to one side and put my hand on hip, my elbow angled out. “¿Otra vez?”

  He gave me a long, searching look, finally saying, “For good this time. And they’ll keep her on her meds.”

  Right. And I really was Xena. “They haven’t been able to do that so far.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  I caught—or maybe I imagined—the double entendre. “Maybe,” I said, but I wasn’t sure there would ever actually be a first time for Jack and me.

  Chapter Five

  I somehow made it through the next two days without learning a thing about the letters. Not reassuring, given my green status as a detective. I hadn’t gotten paid for my last big case, since it had been personal and off the books. I had to prove myself with this one.

  Victoria, it turned out, was more like a bullfighter than a dance team director. She grabbed el toro by the horns—the bull in this case being me—and did what needed to be done. If I didn’t know she was determined to make sure I didn’t tarnish the reputation of the Courtside Dancers, I’d think she’d made it her personal mission to torture me. And leave me absolutely no time to investigate.

  My attempts to chitchat with the other women on the team had gotten me polite dismissals. I still knew nothing about Rochelle Nolan, the dancer who’d had the affair and left the team. I’d yet to see a letter on the premises. And muscles ached in parts of my body I hadn’t even known existed. If I made it through the Royals’s game that night it would be a miracle.

  Arriving two hours before the game, my new super-sized duffel-bag-on-wheels in tow, I made my way through the lower level of the arena and into the locker room, a huge area with two enormous mirrors adhered to the walls. The stereo blared Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” and someone screamed, “Downtime disco!”

  Whatever that meant.

  A refrigerator stocked with drinks sat in one corner, while salad, bread, Rice Krispies Treats, chicken, rice pilaf, steamed and fresh vegetables, cookies, and PowerBars weighed down the king-size buffet table.

  I perused the room, awed by the transformations taking place. The women were going from stunning to spectacular. I pulled my bag up next to Jennifer, the dancer who’d been the least unfriendly. “Hi.”

  She lowered her chin. Not bad as far as greetings from this bunch went. She hung her outfits for the evening on a portable wardrobe. I stared in amazement. There would be four changes tonight. I hadn’t laid eyes on my costumes yet and had no idea if the outfits Victoria was bringing would even fit.

  I gestured toward the buffet. “Does all that get eaten?”

  “Pretty much. Dancing drains you.” Jennifer studied me. “After three days of practicing, even you should know that. Energy is key.”

  Here was the attitude I’d been expecting. I leaned in so I could speak without anyone else hearing. “Listen, I’m here to do a job. You can make it easy or hard. That’s up to you. But the easier you make it, the sooner I can get out of here.”

  Spider lashes curved up to her brows as her eyes grew wide. She flicked her gaze around and then pushed her bag over to make more room for me.

  About time.

  She brushed her chin-length brown hair, teasing out the top layer of expensive highlights. She ran her curling iron over the ends, flipping them up. “I’ll try to help,” she said quietly.

  I thanked her and then went to work on my own hair. I pulled up the sides, clipping them at the top with a glittery barrette, and then sprayed the long strands of highlights that framed my face and ratted out the back to create extra volume.

  Jennifer examined my reflection. “I’ll do your makeup.”

  Boo-ya. She’d come around!

  She shouted over the sounds of hairdryers, the blaring music, and women chattering. “Tammy! Can I borrow your foundation?”

  Tammy slinked over to us, her long, silky hair trailing behind her like a silk sheet. “It’s way too dark for you, Jenn.”

  “It’s for Lola. You have the same olive skin tone.”

  She gave me a once-over, then threw out a hip and perched a hand on it. “Doesn’t she have her own makeup?”

  Here we go again. They were talking about me like I wasn’t in the room, let alone sitting right next to them.

  “I didn’t know we had to get made up with stage makeup. Next time I’ll bring my own.” I gritted my teeth and forced myself to beam at Tammy. “It’s really sweet of you to share.”

  Tammy’s scowl softened, but only microscopically. Jennifer unscrewed the lid of the foundation, took a triangular sponge out of her bag, and began dabbing my face. “Perfect.” She turned to Tammy. “I’ll bring it back when I’m done.”

  Tammy huffed and walked away, and I saw her muttering something to another girl, peering at me out of the corner of her eye.

  It was definitely like reliving junior high. I had the impression that Jennifer was the queen bee, not Tammy, but she was right up there on the food chain.

  Jennifer finished the foundation and moved on to the eye shadow—deep blue on the lower lid and sparkly silver on top. She worked for a few more minutes before stepping back to admire her handiwork. I peered at the mirror and flinched at my clown reflection. “That’s a bit, um, bold, no?”

  “You’re going to perform in front of twenty thousand people. Your face will be on the suspended monitor—”

  A lump formed in my throat. Twenty thousand people. I’d realized it would be a full arena, but I hadn’t actually put a number to the fans. The Royals were a hot commodity in the Sacramento sports market. They were on top of their game and the fans came out in droves to support them. And since their reality show, the Courtside Dancers had their own rabid following.

  And, ay caramba, my brother was one of the team’s biggest fans. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Staying undercover and incognito was going to be un poquito difícil in front of that huge audience.

  Jennifer shook my shoulder. “Did you hear me, Lola?”

  “I’m sorry. What?” She’d added more blush and I was sure my cheeks could be seen from Mars.

  “I was with Victoria at first. I didn’t want an outsider coming onto the team, you know?”

  I hoped
against hope that she was going to tell me something useful. “But you changed your mind?”

  “Lance made sense. Rochelle’s been seeing Michael Brothers for a long time, so I don’t think that’s why she left. I think the letters scared her, you know, and…” Jennifer trailed off, her eyes darting around the room.

  “And what?”

  “Maybe you should talk to the ball boys. One of them brought the last note to me.”

  “Do you know which one?”

  She shrugged. “No. I never really paid attention. They’re all the same, you know?”

  Right. Like racial profiling, for ball boys.

  “What about the other letters? How were they delivered?”

  “I know the ball boys have passed a few of them to the girls. A couple were left in here. Carrie found one in her bag.”

  My heart ratcheted up a notch. Finally, information that might actually help with the case. Hallelujah! I kept my voice low, masking my excitement. “Where do the ball boys hang out? Do they go into the players’ locker room?”

  “The players, coaches, trainer, and doctor are allowed in the locker rooms. I don’t think the ball boys really have their own special place, you know?”

  I tried to keep my mouth still as Jennifer traced my lips with liner. Finally she finished and I asked another question. “How long have you been a dancer?”

  “This is my fourth season. I worked for a year, then we did Living the Royal Life. It’s been craziness ever since.”

  “Celebrity crazy?” I asked, barely parting my lips.

  Her face clouded. “We’re recognized all the time. It’s not like when Arnold was in town and everyone wanted a glimpse of the Governator, but it’s close, you know? Sometimes I think…”

  Her hands trembled like a nervous cat that wanted nothing more than to shed its skin.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Sometimes I think I should just go back home, you know?” She gestured to her risque cheerleading outfit. “Sometimes this is nothing more than a costume. I’m proud of my body, but in this—”

  She broke off, but she didn’t have to finish her sentence for me to understand. I loved being a girl, but I was a strong girl, and the sexy cheerleader thing pushed my boundaries. “I get it. Makes you feel like just an object, right?”

  “Exactly. Sometimes I just don’t want people staring at me.”

  My gaze ran around the room. “How about them? Do they feel the same way?”

  Jennifer capped the lip pencil and pulled out lipstick. “Selma does,” she said softly, “but not the rest.” She paused as I puckered up for the lip color. “How do you feel?”

  Good question. I was a nonprofessional dancer about to spend the next three hours committing possible career suicide in front of thousands of people. Ever since this case dropped into my lap, I’d had an insatiable urge to visit St. Francis, the church on 26th Street I’d grown up attending. Light a candle and confess that I’d be shaking my bootie in the arena, say a whole bunch of Hail Marys, and be forgiven for whatever sin I might be committing in the scant clothes.

  Today. I’d stop by today.

  “I’ll let you know,” I said, picking a strand of hair from my lips as I stood.

  She took an atomizer from the bag, sprayed it into the air, and gave me a shove into the mist. The scented cloud settled around me. Sweet. Subtle. With a hint of apple and honey blossoms.

  “A specially blended body mist Victoria makes for all of us,” Jennifer explained.

  “Makes?” I breathed in. Delicioso.

  “Victoria and I, we both majored in chemistry. Years apart, but still.”

  I was pretty sure my jaw dropped open. “Chemistry? Really?”

  She scoffed. “‘Cheerleader’ isn’t synonymous with ‘dumb,’” she said. She notched her head toward a few of the other dancers. “Tammy graduated at the top of her class with a degree in English, and Joy”—she pointed to a gorgeous black woman warming up in the corner—“Joy is a teacher. She does this on the side.”

  “Huh.” Guess I’d been cheerleader profiling, figuring they’d bypassed college for a life of fame and…basketball players.

  Wrong.

  The chattering in the room tapered off. Someone lowered the music. I turned around in time to see Victoria gliding through the room. She wore a sparkly, formfitting strapless top and her hair was neatly slicked back just like every other time I’d seen her.

  “Are you ready, ladies?” Her voice rose in controlled pep talk fashion.

  A cheer erupted in the locker room and after a few more encouraging words from their leader, the dancers turned back to their spaces to finish their transformations.

  Victoria floated across the room to me, giving me a once-over. “Makeup’s not bad. Did you have a hand in it, Jenn?”

  “A touch of eye shadow and some blush and voilá”—Jennifer gestured at me as if she were introducing the grand prize on a game show—“A Courtside Dancer.”

  “All I need is an outfit,” I said, eyeing the garment bags Victoria carried. Gold zippers bisected the plastic of each one. My nerves zinged. I’d seen the other girls’ costumes hanging from hooks by their mirrors. Skimpy. And that was an understatement. I was no prude, but I also wasn’t an exhibitionist. Good God, I hoped my family didn’t watch the game on TV tonight.

  Victoria hung the outfits on a hook next to Jennifer’s. “You’re responsible for their cleaning,” she said to me, then turned to the room and announced, “Be ready in fifteen, ladies.”

  And then she was gone.

  I watched, slack-jawed, as the dancers scrambled around, vying for space in front of the mirrors to apply last-minute body glitter, and eventually slipped on their costumes.

  Finally, after I couldn’t stall any longer, I rifled through the garment bags, pulled out the first costume of the night, and held it up. ¡Dios mío! It was tiny! Itsy bitsy, like a miniature yellow polka dot bikini. I’d said size eight but the black jazz pants would fit a ten-year-old.

  This could get ugly.

  “Ticktock,” Jennifer said.

  Right. No more stalling. I sucked in a deep breath, said a Hail Mary for my mother, and stripped down to the thong underwear I’d been told to wear. I wriggled into the first outfit of the night: black second-skin shorts and a royal-blue halter with rhinestones studded all over it. Next to go on were my black dance shoes.

  I spun around, spreading my arms wide. “Well?” I asked, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Holy Mary, mother of God. I couldn’t have been more exposed if I’d been buck naked.

  Jennifer eyed me up and down. “The boobs need work.”

  I cupped the front of the halter and stared at her. “What do you mean, they need work?” I demanded, suddenly protective of my chi-chis. I mean, hadn’t Jack said recently that they were spectacular? Or had that been in a dream?

  Jennifer laughed, whatever angst she had a few minutes ago about being a celebrity gone. “Relax. I only mean that we need to emphasize the cleavage. Take the top off.”

  I hesitated as Jennifer pulled a roll of duct tape from her duffel bag. “Um…”

  “Come on, Lola.”

  I swallowed as I mustered up my gumption and stripped off the halter. And stood, topless, in front of her. I took back what I’d felt a moment ago. Now I felt utterly exposed. It was one thing to undress in a locker room as a high school girl. No choice. But here? Now? Like this? I liked my clothes, gracias, y adiós. I bet Xena never had to do this, and I was pretty sure this wasn’t something Manny had ever done for a case.

  Jennifer began sticking pieces of the tape to my body, jamming my breasts together in the middle. She didn’t bat a fake eyelash. Apparently taping up another woman’s chi-chis was no big deal in her world.

  In three minutes she was done and, with the halter back on, I stared in the mirror. Boob job? No necisito. Duct tape really was a miracle worker.

  Jennifer fastened a blinged-out pendent around her neck. “Don’t forget the
choker and the earrings,” she told me.

  After fishing in the bottom of the garment bag, I found them wrapped in plastic jewelry bags. The choker had an enormous Royals’ emblem hanging from the center and the earrings glowed in the dark. Cheerleader bling. Nice. Taking one last appraisal in the mirror, I threw my shoulders back. I just might pull this off.

  I left the dressing room, rounded the corner to the east tunnel of the arena, and found my place in line. Victoria sat at the entrance, headphones cradling her sleek head.

  “What’s she doing?” I asked one of the dancers behind me. Cassie, if I remembered correctly. She was the only dancer with crazy-curly, uncontrolled hair, but it worked for her. She had a super-sexy vibe, kind of like she’d just rolled out of bed.

  Cassie rose to her tiptoes, then lowered back down. Over and over and over. “Coordinating our entrance with the operations crew,” she said.

  She’d answered me. Nice. Maybe I was making progress. If I became a familiar face, hopefully they’d all get used to me and start opening up. Then maybe I’d get somewhere in my investigation.

  “Girls.” Two dark-haired men greeted us as they passed. The one that spoke flashed a toothy grin, his ruddy cheeks puffing out with the stretch of his mouth.

  “Hey, Larry.” Jennifer gave a flirty tilt of her head. “Steve.”

  “Stevie,” Tammy greeted. She threw her hand up to wave at the other man.

  The greetings traveled down the line. I waved when their gaze reached me.

  “Ah, the new girl. I’ve heard about you,” the one named Steve said.

  “Oh?” Just what had he heard?

  He engulfed my hand in his slightly pudgy one. His skin was smooth and I noted his receding hairline, firm handshake, and the warm tone to his voice. He could have been the team’s personal greeter. “Very nice to meet you. Welcome to the family.”

  “Thank you, Mr.—”

  “Steve. Just Steve.”