The Divorcee Murder Club

Cuarenta Y Dos ~ 42

“You gonna go see Angie at the hospital?” he asks as I slip out of the truck.

“I want to, but I have to work at Penthouse tonight, and they need me there early. I don’t think I’ll have time.”

“What are we gonna do about Richie? We need him back, so Augusta helps us.”

“Leave that to me. I’ll get him back.”

I don’t wait for Jackson to argue. Instead, I close the door. This is my mess. I fucked around with Richie behind everyone’s back, and now Jocelyn has him, but I can’t trust her anymore. As much as my mother hates it, I must bust out my gear and do a little recon to find him. If I can track down Kay and follow him, I bet he'll lead me to Richie.

Speaking of my mother…

She’s sitting on the stoop of my apartment.

“Where have you been?” she asks.

“I had lunch with Jackson.”

A smile spreads across her face. “El guapo?”

Oh, right. I forgot that my mom thinks Jackson is hot. 

“Yes, ma. Him.” 

“Next time you see him, tell him I said hello.”

“Ma, really?”

“What?” She shrugs. “You said he likes my empanadas.” 

“He does. But he has a girlfriend…” I look her up and down. “A young one.” 

“I’m not old!” she skyrockets to her feet, but she’s still shorter than me. Even standing on the stairs.

“No. You’re not.” I kiss her forehead. “So, what brings you here?”

“I need to buy pan dulce and masa for nacatamales at the little mercado down the street. So I thought I’d stop by first.” 

“I’ll walk you there,” I sigh and take her arm, but she yanks it away.

“I don’t need you to walk me there like some old lady.”

“Ma. There was a robbery at the bank across from the mercado last week. So, you’re not walking there alone. Got it?”

“Fine. You’re so bossy,” she huffs, but deep down, I know she loves having a big and tall son, and she slips her arm through mine proudly. 

When we get there, she wanders off to pick out pan dulce, but I stay near the flowers. Coincidentally, Como la Flor by Selena y Los Dinos is playing. I should get Angie some and a get-well card, but my hand hovers over a bouquet of lilies. Does she even like flowers? Is a get-well card cheesy? The woman was shot. She doesn’t have the flu. 

Maybe I should rethink this.

“Those are pretty,” my mom says.

“You think so?”

“Yes. The colors remind me of the sunset. Who are they for?”

“No one.”

She arches a brow. “No one?” 

“My friend is in the hospital,” I mumble.

“The hospital. Why?”

“She got shot.”

“Shot! This isn’t the girl you told me about, right? The one you were interested in.”

“No. Not her. I think things with Mindy and me are over.”

“Then who is this friend?”

“Just a friend, ma. You don’t know her. I met her in—” But my words cut short.