“You looking for a book recommendation?”
He doesn’t seem to appreciate my sense of humor. Few people do. “I was told you could help us.”
Us, he said. Curious. “Who sent you?”
“Father Ramon.”
Bingo. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s not me. It’s my boss. Her daughter is missing.”
“You call the police?” I ask.
“We can’t call the cops.”
This raises red flags. Even though he found me through Father Ramon, whom I trust implicitly, something is telling me that if this guy doesn’t want the police involved, then I probably don’t want to be involved either.
“Why not?”
“Let’s go talk to her. She can tell you.”
Another red flag. Where is his boss, and why isn’t she here? Where is this guy trying to lure me? He isn’t a typical errand boy. This guy is six feet tall, wears cowboy boots, and has rough hands. Even though I’m a woman, he positions his body square to mine with his hands ready at the hip. I can tell whether a man knows how to handle himself by the way he stands, and this guy has seen his fair share of fights.
I decide to push. I continue putting away books, looking anywhere but at him. “This isn’t how this works. If she needs my help, she can come see me.”
“Father Ramon said you could help her.”
“God helps those who help themselves.”
He’s getting pissed now. I can tell he’s not used to being denied. I’m not worried, though. What’s he going to do, punch a girl in the middle of a library?
He slaps the books out of my hands and onto the floor. “Listen, bitch…”
Maybe.
He grabs my arm and pushes me against a wall. He’s strong, with the beefy biceps a person gets from manual labor or beating people to a pulp. I glimpse the bottom part of a tattoo on his right shoulder peeking from under his short sleeve—a crudely drawn arrow pointed down.
“My boss wants your help. Father Ramon gave us your name and where to find you. Are you going to help us, or am I wasting my time?”
I finally look up. My yellow eyes stare deep into his soul. He rips his hand away, not expecting this. I feint a move forward, and he rocks on his heels. I smile to see I intimidated him for just a moment. He sneers.
Someone whisper-screams, “You there!”
At the end of the aisle stands a mousy Hispanic woman. She’s stern, with her hair tied in a tight ponytail and dark eyes piercing through horn-rimmed glasses. Her petite figure and porcelain skin make her appear much younger than her forty-five years would suggest. Some of our coworkers have even remarked that we look like sisters, which makes me question how old I must look.
“What’s going on here?” she reprimands as she comes closer.
“Everything’s fine, Lupe.” I return my attention to the man, locking my eyes on his. “Tell your boss I’ll think about it.”
He straightens his shirt before turning away. Lupe presses herself flush against the book stacks as he trudges past her and disappears into the rotunda. We listen to the receding echo of his cowboy boots clacking on the hard marble floor.
Lupe hurries to me and looks me over. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Was this another one of your customers?” She bends down to pick up the books from the floor. “I told you I don’t want them coming around here.”
Guadalupe Navarro is my supervisor at the library. She knows about my side gig as a private detective. Since I only work part-time for the library, she can’t prohibit me from working elsewhere. That doesn’t stop her from judging me for it, though.
“Sorry,” I say.
She rises, carefully putting the books away, then turns to look at me. In heels, she’s roughly my height, but I always feel an inch or two shorter than she. With a gentle sweep, Lupe brushes the fallen hair away from my face. “Such a pretty girl. I don’t know why you don’t spend more time looking for a nice man to take care of you. Then you wouldn’t have to bother with that terrible business.”
I turn away, embarrassed by the compliment and overwhelmed by the kindness. Dating has always been a challenge with my condition. Whenever I find myself getting into a serious relationship, I end up sabotaging it. Most guys already think girls are crazy, so I dread having to explain that I have a literal demon inside me.
“Men aren’t interested in girls like me.” I try to make it sound tough, but I reveal more pain than I intended.
Lupe shakes her head. “Be careful. You’ll be thirty sooner than you think, then men will wonder what is wrong with you.”
Even though Lupe is trying to offer helpful advice, the words irk me more than I’d care to admit. I bite my tongue out of respect, but I can already anticipate this moment replaying itself in my mind over the next twenty-four hours as I think of the laundry list of things I should have said.
I return to putting away the rest of the books and change the subject. “Sorry about that.” I nod in the direction of the recently departed trespasser. “It won’t happen again.”
Lupe takes the hint and turns to walk away. She hesitates then looks back at me. “You’re not going to work for him, are you?” she says with tinge of concern.
“A girl’s gotta make a living.”
She scowls, finding no humor in my remark. “He seemed very dangerous,” she says before disappearing around the bookshelf.
She’s right. Before I take the case, I need to learn more. I decide to go to church after work.
* * *
A bike ride to Pasadena is out of the question, so I pedal home to swap my mode of transportation. I lock my bike in our building’s underground parking structure before settling into my trusted Mini Cooper.
A friend in the police department tipped me off two years ago to an upcoming police auction, so I was able to get