Tags:
Romance,
Mystery,
Contemporary Romance,
California,
cozy,
romantic suspense,
Basketball,
cheerleaders,
melissa bourbon,
Sacramento,
Misa Ramirez,
nudists,
Melissa Bourbon Ramirez,
lola cruz
started on the court again. I scoured the perimeter of the arena, but every single person seemed focused on the game. No one was paying any attention to Geneva.
She flipped the envelope from front to back as if she were searching for some indication of who it was from. She hadn’t been at the meeting at Camacho’s, so she didn’t know what Manny had said about not opening the envelope and minimizing touching it to preserve the fingerprints. It seemed like Victoria and Lance hadn’t relayed that information, either, and being undercover meant I couldn’t very well tell her.
Geneva ran her finger under the flap and pulled out a rectangular sheet of paper identical to the ones I’d seen in the conference room at Camacho’s. She read the message, and with a puzzled face, flipped over the sheet.
As casually as I possibly could, I edged toward her just as she turned to Nicole, the dancer standing next to her. “I got one.”
Nicole’s eyes bugged and her lips parted. “Shit, really? Says the same thing?”
I seized the opportunity to butt in. “What’s wrong? What’s it say?”
The message behind Geneva’s scowl was clear: I better mind my own business. She crumpled the paper and tossed it to a passing waitress.
“No!” I reached for it, but the waitress scurried off to deliver a drink to one of the high-priced seats.
Damn. I’d been going for a super-smooth pluck off the waitress’s tray. Utter fail. Even worse, they’d noticed.
Geneva and Nicole stared at me.
“What’s wrong with you?” Nicole, the only other Hispanic dancer on the team, snarled. There was no Latina camaraderie for her. In fact, she seemed to have the most disdain for me, her expression turning to a scowl whenever I was around.
“I thought you tossed that by mistake. I can go grab it back for you.” I cringed at how bad the lie was, but I had no choice but to go with it. I started to walk past them, keeping an eye on the waitress, but she disappeared into the crowd.
Victoria’s voice was like a rope pulling me to a stop. “Line up,” she said, followed by a quick succession of claps. “Time to wow the crowd with some Black Eyed Peas.”
The music blared in the arena and Jennifer led the dancers back out. I fell into line, searching for the waitress as I left the tunnel. No luck. She was gone, and short of Dumpster diving in all of the arena’s garbage bins, I doubted I’d ever find the note Geneva had crumpled and thrown away.
The clue had slipped right between my fingers.
Chapter Six
I spent the next day tracking down Rochelle Nolan, the woman who’d quit the Courtside Dancers. Finding her address—a sprawling custom home out in Granite Bay—was easy. Getting past the security guard for the gated community wasn’t. I’d brought along my poor, neglected Boxer, Salsa, and poor, neglected Reilly for the company, but now I was wishing I’d come sola . It would have been easier to try to sweet-talk my way past the guard if I’d been by myself.
Reilly, with her newly colored orange hair (to celebrate autumn, she’d said) and slinky black leggings paired with a colorful patchwork swing blouse, filled me in on all her Neil chisme . She didn’t leave out a single detail. Not one. By the time we reached Granite Bay, my eyes had glazed from too much information.
Salsa panted from the cargo area of the CRV as I drove, her tongue hanging out the side of her drooping mouth. What if I had to sneak in? How was I going to do that with Reilly and Salsa in tow? ¡Ay, caramba! What had I been thinking?
“I know, baby,” I cooed, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “I’ll take you for a run later, promise.”
“What now?” Reilly asked, twirling a strand of her hair.
“You and Salsa can wait here while I try to find a place to hop the fence,” I suggested.
She wagged her finger at me, looking for all the world like she was going to say, “Uh-uh, no you didn’t.” But instead she said, “You’re loca .
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