Cinco de Mayhem by Ann Myers Read Free Book Online

tamales.”
    The tech, fresh-faced and eager, beamed in anticipation. He looked younger than Celia. I thought about how fast my daughter was growing up. Closing in on seventeen with orange-streaked hair, charcoal eye shadow, and—egad—a driver’s license. Plus a boyfriend? I wondered if Manny knew anything about her love life. Sometimes Celia confided in her dad if she thought I’d get upset, and vice versa. In some ways, she was mastering her divorced-kid status a bit too well.
    Camera flashes lit up Napoleon’s body, and I went to join Linda. She slumped against a tree a few yards away, her fingers rolling across rosary beads and her lips moving in silent prayer. Above, the brilliant rose and lavender hues of sunrise were fading into clear blue skies.
    Bunny fell into step beside me. Her warm-up exercises had apparently been for interrogation drills. She peppered Linda with questions.
    Linda answered in bursts. “Yes, I found him . . . No, I don’t know what happened . . . I didn’t see anyone . . . I wanted to get my cart and make sure it was okay and get it home before the Plaza got busy. I ran off yesterday and left it here, which was very irresponsible of me. I’m so sorry. Can I take my cart now? It’s in the way of everybody.”
    Bunny wrote as Linda talked. Her questionsseemed pretty neutral until she asked, “So, Ms. Santiago, why did you fight with the deceased yesterday?”
    Linda started to answer. I swung my arm over her shoulder. “Not now. My friend is shaken up,” I said to Bunny. “She’s in shock,” I continued. “I’m taking her home.”
    â€œBut my cart . . .” Linda said. “I can’t leave it here any longer.”
    Bunny leaned in so that her face was directly in front of Linda’s. Enunciating each word, she said, “The fight, Ms. Santiago. Why did you fight with Mister . . .” Bunny consulted her notepad and frowned. “. . . Mr. Napoleon?”
    â€œNapoleon. One name only,” I told her, biting back inappropriate sarcasm regarding the dead.
    Linda shoved her bangs over her left eyebrow. “I didn’t want to fight with anyone. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did.”
    â€œShh . . .” I urged, before Linda said something she regretted. To Bunny, I said, “She’ll come in later and give a full statement.” I backed away, tugging Linda with me.
    Linda was hard to budge. “I’m sorry, Detective,” she said, resisting my tug. “I have to go with Rita. She’s upset. She touched Napoleon.”
    Bunny scowled.
    â€œSorry about that touching,” I said, pulling Linda toward my car. We were nearly there when Manny stepped between me and my Subaru.
    â€œNot so fast,” he said. He raised his chin, an acknowledgment to Bunny.
    â€œThis Napoleon guy appears to have been murdered,” Manny said, presumably speaking overour heads to Bunny. “Looks like someone stabbed him in the back before rolling over him with a tamale cart.”
    Linda gasped.
    â€œYep, and here you and your friend are, Rita,” my ex continued testily. “Messing around with another dead guy.” He looped his thumbs over his belt and assumed the stance of a frontier sheriff ready to shoot it out at high noon. Manny works hard on his supercop look and his looks in general. He shaves high to leave a five o’clock shadow, has skin the color of cappuccino, and—according to one of his recent girlfriends—resembles an actor on a popular telenovela . I’d yet to Google the actor, although I didn’t doubt that Manny could be his fill-in. The man can act, especially when it comes to turning on the charm. He charmed me for years, until I discovered that I wasn’t the only one being swept off her feet. An attractive female deputy passed by and Manny’s gaze tracked her. The same old Manny. Good riddance .
    â€œWe’re