Cliff Diver (Detective Emilia Cruz Book 1) (30 page)

Chapter 31

Emilia hugged
Sophia. “I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too,
Emilia.” Sophia patted her daughter’s back.

“You kept me safe,
Mama.” Emilia reluctantly let go. “When I was a little girl. That’s important.”

Sophia smiled.
“And now you’re a big girl. Going to so many school parties.” Her mother
sighed. “I wish you’d wear one of my dresses.’

Emilia was in her
skinny black skirt with a simple white tank top and flat sandals. Her turquoise
necklace was the only spot of color. She picked up her bag and kissed her
mother. “Your dresses are too fancy for me, Mama.”

They went
downstairs together. Ernesto was reading the newspaper in the living room. He
smiled and told Emilia that she looked pretty. Sophia went into the kitchen and
Ernesto took an envelope out of his pocket. “Can you send this?” he asked.

It was addressed
to Beatriz de Cruz, in care of a school in Mexico City. The envelope was
creased in several places, as if it had been in his pocket for some time. The
clumsy printing betrayed his lack of education.

“This is for your
wife?” Emilia asked.

“Yes.” Ernesto
said. His eyes had lost that watery look and he was tanned from days sitting in
the courtyard in front of the house sharpening knives. Emilia had noticed a few
new things in the house, too, obviously bought with the money he’d earned.
There were new curtains at the window and flowers on the table by the
television.

“Are you telling
her where you are?” Emilia asked.

“I’m telling her
that I’m married to Sophia now so I can’t be married to her anymore.”

“You’re asking her
for a divorce?”

Sophia drifted
back into the room and sat on the sofa. “I’m married to Sophia now,” Ernesto
said again.

Eventually they’d
have to deal with his wife’s answer, whenever it came and whatever it said, but
not tonight. Emilia stowed the letter in her bag, told Sophia and Ernesto good
night and got out her keys.

She drove the big
Suburban across the city, the sunset blazing across the sky and her hair
blowing in the open window as she drove along the Carretera Escénica. She
listened to one of the Maná CDs as she drove, the music pumping up her courage
.
 

The turn into the
privada
gate came sooner than she recalled and she rode the brake down the steep
cobbled road. She passed the Costa Esmeralda apartment building and the villas
with their manicured lawns and the espaliered trees along the stone retaining
wall that led to the Palacio Réal.

At the main
entrance, the valet opened the driver’s door and offered her a hand to step out
of the vehicle. Emilia gave him the keys and 20 pesos and walked into the wide
lobby.

Christine was
behind the big concierge counter. Emilia didn’t stop, just shot the blonde
woman with her thumb and forefinger. Christine blinked but recovered and
reassembled her professional smile. Emilia punched the button for the
elevators.

She found her way
to the door on the fifth floor and paused to take the little slip of cardboard
out of her bag. Gripping it with one hand she knocked with the other. It took a
few moments before the door opened.

Kurt stood there
in his khaki pants and crisp shirt, the shirttail out and the buttons undone as
if he’d just come off duty and was preparing to change. He looked very much
like a
gringo.

“Hi,” Emilia said.
She took a deep breath and balanced on the cliff edge.

“Hello.” Kurt’s
ocean-colored eyes were just as she remembered.

Emilia let out her
breath and felt herself falling. She’d totally forgotten her speech, the one
about how she hadn’t been ready before but now she was.

“How have you
been?” Kurt asked into the silence.

Emilia dredged up
the thing she was supposed to do after delivering the speech. She held out the
coupon. “Can I buy you a drink?” Her voice cracked with nerves.

Kurt took the
coupon. “It’s expired,” he said.

“The coupon?”
Emilia managed. “Or me?”

There was an awful
moment of nothingness.

Then Kurt smiled
and Emilia knew she wasn’t going to hit the rocks after all.

Fin

About the
Author

 In addition
to political thriller The Hidden Light of Mexico City, Carmen Amato is the
author of the Emilia Cruz mystery novels set in Acapulco, including Cliff
Diver, Hat Dance and the collection of short stories Made in Acapulco. Her
books all draw on her experiences living in Mexico and Central America. A
cultural observer and occasional nomad, she currently divides her time between
the United States and Central America. Visit her website at carmenamato.net and
follow her on Twitter @CarmenConnects.

 . .
.And Her Next Novel

Keep
reading for an excerpt from Hat Dance: An Emilia Cruz Novel by Carmen Amato,
available  Summer 2013 at amazon.com.

Chapter 1

“I never thought
we’d be able to close down the casino,” Emilia Cruz Encinos said. “Much less do
it in only three months.”

Kurt Rucker poured
them both more wine from the bottle of Monte Xanic cabernet. “Three months
isn’t exactly fast, Em,” he said. 

“Maybe not in El
Norte,” Emilia observed. “But that’s lightning fast in Mexico. Especially when
we’re talking about the El Pharaoh. It’s an Acapulco institution.”

“May it never
regain its glory.” Kurt raised his glass and Emilia touched her own to it. The
crystal chimed, Kurt drank, and the flame of the candle on their table
flickered, sending shadows across the restaurant’s brocade walls and creating a
momentary halo over his yellow hair. Emilia drank her wine with a surge of
incredulity that she was here in this elegant place, with a gringo man in a
suit and tie, celebrating an event she was sure would never happen.

“Another toast,”
Kurt said. “To you, Em. The smartest detective in Acapulco. Rico would be
proud.”

“I hope so.”
Emilia smiled over the rim of her glass but the mention of her dead partner
brought a lump to her throat. Rico and another detective had been killed during
an investigation into dirty cops and drug smuggling that had led to the money
laundering case against the El Pharaoh casino. The squadroom was far lonelier
now without Rico’s good humor and the over-protective attitude that she’d once
found so annoying. He hadn’t been replaced and his empty desk was a constant
reminder of her loss.

“How’s Silvio
holding up?” Kurt asked. “You obviously haven’t strangled each other yet.”

Emilia put her
glass back on the table. “He came through,” she admitted. “Walked into El
Pharaoh yesterday morning as if he owned the place, showed the closure order
and got the files out before the manager really understood what was happening.
You wouldn’t believe all the stuff we took out of there. Spreadsheets, money
orders, employee records. Boxes and boxes of dollars, pesos, euros, you name
it. Half of that money is probably fake.”

“I know you don’t
want to hear this,” Kurt said. “But you and Silvio make a good team. Brains and
brawn.”

“Franco Silvio is
not my partner,” Emilia reminded him, waggling a finger for emphasis. “He’s a
pendejo
who makes me nuts.”

Kurt laughed.

“As soon as Lt.
Rufino gets organized we’ll get some replacements,” she went on. “After
everything that’s happened, they owe me a real partner.”

“I know.” Kurt
slid his hand over hers, stilling it against the white linen tablecloth. He had
a tan but her skin was still a deeper café tone than his. “Dessert?”

Emilia looked
guiltily at her empty plate. The El Tigre was a fancy restaurant, a close rival
to the restaurant at the Palacio Réal, Acapulco’s most luxurious hotel which
Kurt managed. If she’d been to more places like this she might have known that
‘fancy’ meant minute portions. Despite it being a Saturday, she’d been at work
that morning, wrestling the boxes of evidence from the El Pharaoh into some
sort of order, then spent the afternoon in a kickboxing training session with
uniformed cops in the basement gym of the central police administration
building. By the time she’d washed up, pulled her hair into its usual high
ponytail, dressed in her one nice skinny black dress and driven across Acapulco
to the Palacio Réal to meet Kurt, her stomach had been growling. Her elegant
dinner of broiled corvina topped with caviar and accompanied by a dab of
asparagus puree had hardly filled her up.

Kurt leaned
forward. “Maybe we should just see what they’ve got.”

Emilia raised her
eyebrows at him. “You never eat dessert,” she said. A marathon runner and
triathlete, Kurt was always in training. Not only did he look different than
any other man she’d ever been with, he didn’t even eat like the men she knew.

“I just ate a
piece of chicken the size of a peanut,” he whispered and squeezed her hand.
Emilia grinned. A moment later the waiter had cleared the table, wheeled over
the dessert cart, complimented their choices and served them coffee.

They traded bites
of Emilia’s chocolate cake and Kurt’s flan. Kurt stirred cream into his coffee
and put down his spoon, taking a moment to align it with the edge of the table
as if needing time to gather his thoughts. “Now that the El Pharaoh is closed,”
he said. “How about a vacation?”

Emilia blinked as
she stirred her own coffee. “A vacation? On Monday we start on all the crap we
hauled out of there yesterday.”

Kurt opened his
mouth to reply, but his attention slid away from Emilia and towards the front
of the dimly lit restaurant. Emilia half turned and followed his gaze.

“Local celebrity?”
Kurt asked.

“It’s the mayor’s
security detail,” Emilia murmured.

Six burly men in
dark suits and earpieces fanned out as the owner of the El Tigre stepped
towards the door. Kurt had introduced Emilia to him, a dapper Spaniard named
Jorge Serverio who had bowed over Emilia’s hand and complimented Kurt on
finding the most beautiful woman in Acapulco. Serverio owned several high-end
restaurants in Acapulco. Kurt knew him from meetings of businesses supporting
the local tourist industry.

Emilia watched as
Carlota Montoya Perez walked into the restaurant, followed by a dark figure
obscured by the security detail and Serverio’s effusive gestures of welcome.
Carlota gave a tinkling laugh and everyone in the elegant restaurant pretended
they weren’t watching Acapulco’s enormously popular and photogenic mayor.

Emilia swung
around in her seat to again face Kurt across the table. There was a 100-peso
piece of chocolate cake on her plate, a gorgeous man across from her, and every
expectation that the night would end with a shower together in his apartment
before she left the Palacio Réal and headed home. The mayor’s choices of
restaurant and dinner companion were none of Emilia’s business even if her
previous encounters with Carlota had left Emilia torn; captivated by the
woman’s dynamism yet repulsed by her political machinations.

“Have you ever
been to Belize?” Kurt asked.

Emilia pronged
some cake. “No. Why do you ask?”

“I’ve been offered
a job there,” Kurt said.

“A job in Belize?”
Emilia actually felt her heart stutter. The fork slid out of her hand, spraying
cake crumbs and clattering over her dessert dish. It ended up in her lap.
Emilia hastily plucked the fork off her dress and grabbed her napkin. She
scrubbed at the fabric, glad of a reason not to say anything for a minute or
two.

They’d only been
dating seriously for a few weeks, the relationship paced by the time
constraints imposed by competing work schedules as well as Emilia’s innate
caution. The ever-present feeling of unreality at finding herself dating—and
sleeping with—a gringo meant that she’d told no one about him, not her mother
or her cousins and certainly not any of the other detectives at work. Despite
strong mutual attraction, Emilia still wasn’t sure she belonged with Kurt. He
lived in a world of wealth and advantage she only touched when she was with
him. Tonight, for example.

Kurt pushed aside
his empty flan dish. “Em, this was all set in motion months ago, long before we
ever connected. Some headhunter in London got in touch, asked if they could
represent me. They’re always trolling for good talent and tracking who’s who in
the hospitality industry.”

Emilia stopped
scrubbing her dress. It wasn’t stained. She put her napkin on the table. “You
want to leave Acapulco?” she asked.

“When they called,
I’d been in Acapulco nearly two years, longer than I’ve stayed anywhere since
high school,” Kurt said. His tone was one of explanation, not apology. “So I
said, sure, let’s see what else is out there. They sent me a few proposals that
weren’t worth the effort but this one is--.” He paused. “Well, it’s pretty good
and I think I need to look into it.”

“Kurt Rucker!
Looking both dashing and serious tonight!”

Kurt stood and
Emilia realized that Carlota had stopped by their table. The mayor, whom many
considered the most exciting and enigmatic politician in the entire state of
Guerrero, was a striking woman whose age could be anything from 25 to 50 years
old. Jet black hair brushed her shoulders and framed the well-known face. As
before when she’d encountered Carlota, Emilia was struck by how she looked just
like those famous billboards. Both in person and on a poster Carlota projected
a vibrancy that was at once amazingly attractive and disturbingly forceful.
Tonight she wore a white silk pantsuit, her nails were blood-red, and her
escort was Victor Obregon Sosa, head of the police union for the state.

“Jorge Serverio.”
Carlota fluttered her hand at the restaurant owner who’d obviously been leading
Carlota and Obregon to their table. “You didn’t tell me that Kurt Rucker was
dining here this evening. I’ve been trying to get him for my Olympic
Committee.” She arched her perfect brows at Kurt. “You’re a difficult man to
pin down, Señor Rucker.”

Kurt gave a tiny
formal bow. “My apologies, señora.” He spread his hands. “I’m sure my schedule
will be opening up.”

“Have you met
Victor?” Carlota lowered one shoulder so that Kurt could connect with Obregon.

Emilia marveled at
Kurt’s cool composure as he shook hands with the man that Emilia was sure had
been involved in the drug smuggling mess that had gotten Rico killed. She had
no proof, just her gut instinct. And Obregon knew it. Their last encounter some
months ago had staked out the distance between them.

She stood up, too,
twitching the tight black dress as Kurt introduced her. Serverio gave her
another warm smile. Obregon nodded. Carlota pretended to be pleased to see
Emilia and gave her the mandatory ladies cheek kiss as if they were peers or
even friends.

“You’re looking
lovely tonight, Detective Cruz.” Carlota’s eyes flickered from Kurt to Emilia
but otherwise hid her curiosity well. Neither did she give any indication that
Emilia had once turned down an offer to work in her administration.

“Thank you,
señora.”

“And making quite
another splash,” Carlota said with that famous billboard smile. “I heard that
you were the driver behind the El Pharaoh investigation. Keeping Acapulco
honest. I’m pleased. It played very well in the international press this
morning.”

Which is the only
thing that matters, isn’t it? Emilia hushed her thoughts before they turned
into words. She managed a tight smile in return. “That’s good news, señora.”

“Lt. Rufino has
started his tenure as chief of detectives with a bang.” Obregon had dark hair
slicked back from a high forehead and angular cheekbones that spoke of a thick
indio bloodline. Emilia had only ever seen him wear black and tonight was no
exception: black suit, black silk shirt, striated black linen tie. There was a
slight bulge under his left arm and he exuded an aura of power and entitlement
that matched Carlota’s own.

“I guess that
depends if you’re a gambler or not,” Emilia replied. Carlota in white and
Obregon in black. The queen and king of opposing chess pieces.

Carlota laughed,
tossing her head to see who was watching her. Serverio chuckled thinly then
checked his watch.

“Chief Salazar
really made a case for Rufino,” Obregon said. “All the way from Mexico City.
Now I see that he’s hit the ground running.”

It was on the tip
of Emilia’s tongue to say that the investigation into money laundering at the
El Pharaoh had been under way for over two months before Lt. Nelson Rufino
Herrera ever stepped foot inside the detectives squadroom. But again she
stopped herself. There was something insidious behind Obregon’s words,
something Emilia didn’t quite understand, and it made her reluctant to be seen
as either for or against her new lieutenant.

“Lt. Rufino is
settling in,” Emilia said neutrally.

“The squadroom
must be taking bets,” Obregon went on. “Silvio’s probably offering ten to one
that he won’t last a year.”

Emilia didn’t
react.

The corner of
Obregon’s mouth twitched upwards in a half-smile that let Emilia know that he
understood her discomfort with his questions.

“The union will be
very interested to see what Rufino’s got in his bag of tricks. No doubt he has
a lot to teach us.”

“Victor,” Carlota
broke in, now obviously bored. “Can’t you see that Detective Cruz has other
things on her mind tonight?”

“Of course,”
Obregon said smoothly.

Carlota said something
to Kurt and he said something to bridge what might have become an awkward
moment and then Serverio said that the mayor’s table was ready.

“Enjoy your
dinner,” Emilia heard herself say and the little group moved off. Carlota and
Obregon made a striking couple and heads turned as Serverio seated them in a
semi-private alcove. Carlota’s security detail settled into a table at the back
of the restaurant.

Kurt held her
chair as Emilia sat back down. “
Madre de Dios
,” she hissed as Kurt took
his own seat. “Do you think they’re dating?”

“The mayor has not
confided in me, Em.”

Emilia grinned.
“Are you really going to be on Carlota’s Olympic Committee?”

“God, no,” Kurt
said with a grimace. “A summer Olympics in Acapulco? I just find it easier to
tell her no over the phone than in person.”

Emilia shook her
head and ate some cake.

“What was Victor
Obregon up to?” Kurt asked. Although this was the first time the two men had
met, Kurt was well versed in Emilia’s experiences with the union boss. “Why is
he so interested in your new lieutenant?”

“I’m not sure,”
Emilia said. In addition to Obregon’s interest in Lt. Rufino, his reference to
Acapulco Chief of Police Enrique Salazar Robelo had surprised her; she’d never
been sure of the nature of the relationship between the two senior police
officials. They could be friends or foes. “Maybe they don’t like each other or
Salazar didn’t consult the union when he brought in Lt. Rufino,” she
speculated. “But whatever it is, I don’t want to be caught in the middle of
it.”