Here’s another shocking moment from my work-in-progress, VIVA ACAPULCO: Detective Emilia Cruz Book 9.
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“Felix Montoya,” Tía
Lourdes repeated as she set the mug of coffee in front of Emilia. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.”
Emilia leaned forward. “Carlota’s father. He’s dead, isn’t he? I heard he was involved in some scandal.”
An online search had revealed nothing about Felix Montoya, as if the mayor’s father had been erased by the advent of search engines. Emilia could have tried to find a trove of old newspapers, but her aunt’s memory and penchant for gloomy news was undoubtedly the fastest way to ferret out the Montoya family’s secrets.
Tía Lourdes gave Emilia a hard look. “He was an immoral man.”
“Did he help launch Carlota’s political career?” Emilia asked hastily before her aunt could commence a familiar sermon on the evils of living with a certain yellow-haired gringo without benefit
of matrimony.
Seated across from Emilia in the tiny kitchen, Lourdes took a sip of coffee, her eyes swiveling to the open doorway to the living room. From Emilia’s spot at the table, she couldn’t see into the other room but she knew that the television was on and who was watching it.
A game show, judging from the slot machine clatter and audience cheers, not to mention the occasional gasps and clapping from the lone viewer. Emilia’s mother Sophia had declined to join her daughter and sister-in-law, smiling vaguely at them before settling in front of the set.
“She said she didn’t want to watch her program at home because Ernesto was taking a nap,” Lourdes said.
Emilia made a mental note to check on her mother’s husband later in the week. He was still frail after surviving a brutal
kidnapping.
“Felix Montoya,” she prompted to get the conversation back on track.
“Such a big deal,” Lourdes said and set her mug down. “He owned
everything. Stores, airplanes, hotels, race cars. Hollywood people came to see him. Always in the society pages. Even in HOLA!”
“What about Carlota’s mother?”
“Her family was rich, too. Beer, I think.” Lourdes shrugged. “Consuela Herenda. She liked flashing her jewels. Felix and Consuela were always with the Hollywood people. On a yacht. Gambling in Monaco and Las Vegas.”
“Before they had Carlota?”
“When Carlota came along, she was in the papers, too. A little copy of her mother. But people like that always come to no good end. Felix got another woman pregnant. He didn’t keep quiet about it, either.”
“He left Consuela for the other woman, didn’t he?” Emilia asked leadingly.
“Yes, he did. She had a girl, too.” Lourdes shook her head. “Consuela killed herself, you know. The humiliation. Such a scandal. Everyone blamed Felix but he didn’t care.”
Emilia slumped against the back of her chair. Her mouth felt dry and chalky from the coffee aftertaste. “How old was Carlota then?”
“Maybe ten or twelve.” Lourdes rose and collected their empty mugs,
clanking them together in a clear signal that that the conversation was over. “Goodness, Emilia, go visit with your mother and don’t talk about this nonsense with her.”
“Why not?”
“It happened at the same time.” Lourdes paused, her eyes sad. “The newspaper was so full of gossip and scandal there wasn’t even space for your father’s obituary. Of course, there was no money for an obituary when everything else happened.”
Everything else. Two words that hid a 30-year-old
cascade of Cruz family tragedy no one was allowed to talk about.
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